now."
"Were you asleep?"
No,
his father mouthed, eyes falling closed.
"Thinking?"
Yes.
His father opened his eyes, picked at the morphine tube to be sure it was not pinched or bent. There flickered in his expression a serious intent, a flash of concentration that told Ray that his father was still mostly here.
"Thinking about what?" Ray asked.
"Worlds."
"Worlds?"
"Yes," his father whispered, "worlds within worlds."
Ray glanced at the automatic Dilaudid pump. He had a few minutes before it sent another bolus into his father's bloodstream, knocking him out.
"Dad, the reason that everything happened last night was I have a girlfriend who has disappeared. You haven't met her. She's Chinese. We broke up a few weeks ago. Her brother wants me to find her and what he did was his way of telling me how serious he was."
His father nodded calmly. "Threatening."
"Yeah."
"Studied you, I think."
"I think so."
"Figured out your vulnerability. Me."
Ray exhaled by way of agreement.
"I was hoping you might meet that nice lady who lives next door there." He cracked a slow-motion smile. "She needs a husband, fast."
"I did meet her."
"Oh, then—"
"I was talking to her when they grabbed me."
His father's mouth pulled at one side. "You had a long
talk."
Ray ignored this. "These guys weren't messing around."
"You could call the cops," his father noted.
"Should I?"
A long pause. His father shook his head weakly. Licked his lips.
Ray handed him a cup of juice. "But they could maybe protect you."
"Not me I'm worried about."
"I think I should move you, Dad. Somewhere safe."
"Hospital?"
"I was thinking, yeah."
He sipped his juice. "People die in hospitals, son."
"Dad—"
"I want to die in my own house, in this room. And I don't really care how I die, Ray, or when, so long as it's in this room, in this bed."
This was a speech he'd heard before. "Yes, but these guys will come back, Dad."
"Let them. What's the worst they can do? Murder me? They'd be doing me a personal favor."
Ray hung his head. Six weeks earlier, when he could still walk a bit in the house, Ray's father had told him he wanted to end it sooner rather than later. Did Ray mind if he shot himself? "Why put you through what's coming?" his father had asked then. "Why put
me
through it?"
"Why? I want every minute with you, Dad."
His father had nodded silently.
But Ray hadn't been convinced, and so within an hour, he had gathered all of his father's guns and ammunition and taken them out to the shed in their small backyard and hidden them in a waterproof wrap beneath a couple of bags of peat moss. A shotgun, a rifle, twoGlock 9 service pistols, always kept oiled and clean, plus the boxes of ammunition. Then he'd put a new lock on the shed and hidden one copy of the key inside the rotten birdhouse outside the kitchen window and put the other on his own key ring. If his father had somehow noticed the absence of the guns, he hadn't mentioned it. Of course it was possible his father had not only noticed the absence of the guns but had also discovered or deduced their new location. Ray had leaned a shovel up over the new lock so that it couldn't be seen from the house, but he knew that his father missed very little. The man had been a detective, after all.
But that was weeks ago, and his father had gone steadily downhill ever since. Now the Dilaudid pump clicked; the stuff was going into the tube in his father's wrist. Ray wouldn't have much more time to talk, so he returned to the topic of Jin Li's disappearance. "Her brother told me she was in a car with two Mexican girls who died a few nights ago, and I just spoke with Pete, who told me about it."
"So you
did
call the cops."
"Sort of. It's Pete."
"He's a detective second grade, with thirty years on the job. Method of homicide?"
"It was a car full of shit. Dumped it in the car, drowned them. Pete said his people hadn't gone into the drains yet, because of environmental issues, traffic—"
"Bunch of crap.
"Were you asleep?"
No,
his father mouthed, eyes falling closed.
"Thinking?"
Yes.
His father opened his eyes, picked at the morphine tube to be sure it was not pinched or bent. There flickered in his expression a serious intent, a flash of concentration that told Ray that his father was still mostly here.
"Thinking about what?" Ray asked.
"Worlds."
"Worlds?"
"Yes," his father whispered, "worlds within worlds."
Ray glanced at the automatic Dilaudid pump. He had a few minutes before it sent another bolus into his father's bloodstream, knocking him out.
"Dad, the reason that everything happened last night was I have a girlfriend who has disappeared. You haven't met her. She's Chinese. We broke up a few weeks ago. Her brother wants me to find her and what he did was his way of telling me how serious he was."
His father nodded calmly. "Threatening."
"Yeah."
"Studied you, I think."
"I think so."
"Figured out your vulnerability. Me."
Ray exhaled by way of agreement.
"I was hoping you might meet that nice lady who lives next door there." He cracked a slow-motion smile. "She needs a husband, fast."
"I did meet her."
"Oh, then—"
"I was talking to her when they grabbed me."
His father's mouth pulled at one side. "You had a long
talk."
Ray ignored this. "These guys weren't messing around."
"You could call the cops," his father noted.
"Should I?"
A long pause. His father shook his head weakly. Licked his lips.
Ray handed him a cup of juice. "But they could maybe protect you."
"Not me I'm worried about."
"I think I should move you, Dad. Somewhere safe."
"Hospital?"
"I was thinking, yeah."
He sipped his juice. "People die in hospitals, son."
"Dad—"
"I want to die in my own house, in this room. And I don't really care how I die, Ray, or when, so long as it's in this room, in this bed."
This was a speech he'd heard before. "Yes, but these guys will come back, Dad."
"Let them. What's the worst they can do? Murder me? They'd be doing me a personal favor."
Ray hung his head. Six weeks earlier, when he could still walk a bit in the house, Ray's father had told him he wanted to end it sooner rather than later. Did Ray mind if he shot himself? "Why put you through what's coming?" his father had asked then. "Why put
me
through it?"
"Why? I want every minute with you, Dad."
His father had nodded silently.
But Ray hadn't been convinced, and so within an hour, he had gathered all of his father's guns and ammunition and taken them out to the shed in their small backyard and hidden them in a waterproof wrap beneath a couple of bags of peat moss. A shotgun, a rifle, twoGlock 9 service pistols, always kept oiled and clean, plus the boxes of ammunition. Then he'd put a new lock on the shed and hidden one copy of the key inside the rotten birdhouse outside the kitchen window and put the other on his own key ring. If his father had somehow noticed the absence of the guns, he hadn't mentioned it. Of course it was possible his father had not only noticed the absence of the guns but had also discovered or deduced their new location. Ray had leaned a shovel up over the new lock so that it couldn't be seen from the house, but he knew that his father missed very little. The man had been a detective, after all.
But that was weeks ago, and his father had gone steadily downhill ever since. Now the Dilaudid pump clicked; the stuff was going into the tube in his father's wrist. Ray wouldn't have much more time to talk, so he returned to the topic of Jin Li's disappearance. "Her brother told me she was in a car with two Mexican girls who died a few nights ago, and I just spoke with Pete, who told me about it."
"So you
did
call the cops."
"Sort of. It's Pete."
"He's a detective second grade, with thirty years on the job. Method of homicide?"
"It was a car full of shit. Dumped it in the car, drowned them. Pete said his people hadn't gone into the drains yet, because of environmental issues, traffic—"
"Bunch of crap.
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