at the courthouse.” I knew damn well how he was doing, and where he was doing it, but I was attempting tact.
“My son is getting the help he needs.” Her cold, dismissive tone annoyed me. Like I was a telemarketer pitching worthless swampland, interrupting dinner. Where was the protective, overbearing mother of a few days ago? Beatrice jumped on my lap, and I stared down at her with a “What the fuck?” expression. My fat white catpretended to understand. Then she coughed up a hairball. Had this whole world lost its head?
“He’s at the North River Institute?” I said, priming the conversation.
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that strange? I mean, North River doesn’t seem like the best fit for your son.”
“How would you know what’s best for
my
son? This has nothing to do with you.”
“You asked me to drive up to the courthouse in Longmont?”
“I never asked. You volunteered.”
“Because you were upset.”
“Or because you felt guilty denying our claim over a technicality?”
I hadn’t denied anything. Her son confessed. To my boss. But I knew pointing that out now would get me nowhere.
“I don’t understand, Mrs. Olisky. Last week you were freaking out about Brian feeling lonely for a few hours in a courtroom. Now you’re saying he’s been locked up inside a juvenile detention center, and you don’t have a problem with that?”
“Do you know they found drugs in the car?”
“I heard they found a joint, yes.”
“Do you know that’s how my other son, Craig, died?”
“Because of pot?”
“Because of drugs! Drugs killed my boy. I will not sit by and watch them destroy the only son I have left.”
I thought about their accident. The timeline didn’t add up. Even if Brian had been alone in the car at the time of the crash, his mother arrived at the scene before the cops. Why wouldn’t she have known about the marijuana sooner?
“I’m sorry, Donna. Mrs. Olisky. I’m confused.”
“About what?”
“When did you learn about the pot?”
“It doesn’t matter. My son needs help. The courts were kind enough to offer a treatment program for him. I took them up on their offer.”
“North River isn’t treatment. It’s a behavioral modification detention center. And it’s not cheap.”
“Since
your
company declined our claim, I don’t see how
our
finances are any of your concern.” Donna Olisky cleared her throat. “I have to get back to work now. Don’t call me again.”
I flinched when she slammed down the receiver.
What the hell? I stared into the earpiece I held at arm’s length.
Why
did
I care? This had nothing to do with me. So what if Brian Olisky had been handed over to North River on a trumped-up, bullshit charge? Why did I care if his mother was buying into the antidrug hysteria up here? Her and the rest of the goddamn state. I could’ve explained to Donna Olisky how after everything I’d seen pot was a goddamn vacation, pills a picnic. Then again maybe Donna was the smart one. Who was I to offer advice on how to deal with drugs? I’d botched every attempt.
I was ready to leave it there. I had Nicki’s photocopies rolled back up and was about to walk out to the garage and ceremoniously drop them into the trashcan like I’d done with my own failed attempts investigating the Lombardis.
Instead, I grabbed my phone.
“Hey. You up for taking a ride?”
* * *
“What the hell is this place?” Charlie asked.
We sat in my idling Chevy, shielded by a cluster of pines. Tall,barbed chain-link ran the length of the perimeter, boxing the property. Had to be a few solid acres. The main building, squat, stout, intimidating, sat a football field away across a windswept gully. With high lookout towers and too much room to cover before reaching freedom, the place mirrored a penitentiary.
Like Nicki mentioned, the complex appeared to be in the state of serious influx. I saw the skeletal frame of a new building at the back end of the lot—and not a storage shed
“My son is getting the help he needs.” Her cold, dismissive tone annoyed me. Like I was a telemarketer pitching worthless swampland, interrupting dinner. Where was the protective, overbearing mother of a few days ago? Beatrice jumped on my lap, and I stared down at her with a “What the fuck?” expression. My fat white catpretended to understand. Then she coughed up a hairball. Had this whole world lost its head?
“He’s at the North River Institute?” I said, priming the conversation.
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that strange? I mean, North River doesn’t seem like the best fit for your son.”
“How would you know what’s best for
my
son? This has nothing to do with you.”
“You asked me to drive up to the courthouse in Longmont?”
“I never asked. You volunteered.”
“Because you were upset.”
“Or because you felt guilty denying our claim over a technicality?”
I hadn’t denied anything. Her son confessed. To my boss. But I knew pointing that out now would get me nowhere.
“I don’t understand, Mrs. Olisky. Last week you were freaking out about Brian feeling lonely for a few hours in a courtroom. Now you’re saying he’s been locked up inside a juvenile detention center, and you don’t have a problem with that?”
“Do you know they found drugs in the car?”
“I heard they found a joint, yes.”
“Do you know that’s how my other son, Craig, died?”
“Because of pot?”
“Because of drugs! Drugs killed my boy. I will not sit by and watch them destroy the only son I have left.”
I thought about their accident. The timeline didn’t add up. Even if Brian had been alone in the car at the time of the crash, his mother arrived at the scene before the cops. Why wouldn’t she have known about the marijuana sooner?
“I’m sorry, Donna. Mrs. Olisky. I’m confused.”
“About what?”
“When did you learn about the pot?”
“It doesn’t matter. My son needs help. The courts were kind enough to offer a treatment program for him. I took them up on their offer.”
“North River isn’t treatment. It’s a behavioral modification detention center. And it’s not cheap.”
“Since
your
company declined our claim, I don’t see how
our
finances are any of your concern.” Donna Olisky cleared her throat. “I have to get back to work now. Don’t call me again.”
I flinched when she slammed down the receiver.
What the hell? I stared into the earpiece I held at arm’s length.
Why
did
I care? This had nothing to do with me. So what if Brian Olisky had been handed over to North River on a trumped-up, bullshit charge? Why did I care if his mother was buying into the antidrug hysteria up here? Her and the rest of the goddamn state. I could’ve explained to Donna Olisky how after everything I’d seen pot was a goddamn vacation, pills a picnic. Then again maybe Donna was the smart one. Who was I to offer advice on how to deal with drugs? I’d botched every attempt.
I was ready to leave it there. I had Nicki’s photocopies rolled back up and was about to walk out to the garage and ceremoniously drop them into the trashcan like I’d done with my own failed attempts investigating the Lombardis.
Instead, I grabbed my phone.
“Hey. You up for taking a ride?”
* * *
“What the hell is this place?” Charlie asked.
We sat in my idling Chevy, shielded by a cluster of pines. Tall,barbed chain-link ran the length of the perimeter, boxing the property. Had to be a few solid acres. The main building, squat, stout, intimidating, sat a football field away across a windswept gully. With high lookout towers and too much room to cover before reaching freedom, the place mirrored a penitentiary.
Like Nicki mentioned, the complex appeared to be in the state of serious influx. I saw the skeletal frame of a new building at the back end of the lot—and not a storage shed
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