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Title: Passages 1/1
TLG's Headquarters "Why the hell hasn't she?" I tear my eyes away from the icy screen, a glower my only meager means of satisfaction. I'm drivin' myself nuts, but sure. How can I help not doin' what comes so naturally? It's been too many weeks already. Where the hell's that e-mail she promised me? And she did promise, right? I mean I heard her say she'd be in touch. >From somewhere in the back, Frohike is really going at it, cussing at whatever it is he's looking for but not finding. Wish he'd either find it, or shut up. He's getting on the nerves I haven't fried yet. I scroll through my electronic haul of correspondence again in case I missed Cin's message the first time I barrelled through. Sometimes, I'm too quick and miss finer details. I'm not expecting any fancy handle, she'd just use her real name for her being new to the etherworld. I hit it for a third try, but it's still bupkes. Nothing's from her; her promise is still unfulfilled, and I'm totally miserable. With each passing day, I'm souring on the idea that she's gonna make good on what she swore she said she'd do. I'm such an ass...thinkin' I'd hear from her again, despite what I did for her. But I was the one who'd made it clear she didn't owe me a thing. Didn't I? More cursing streams from my mouth like I'll win a million bucks for how much I can fire off under half a minute. "The formatting again?" Frohike's holding the IBM ViaVoice software we want to see if we can adapt to in-house compatibility. "Not even close," I growl gutterally, mad at the world, and not at him in particular. "Then what the hell's eatin' you? Especially these last few days? Damn, man," he says, sounding off the cuff as he's ripping the cellophane off the slippery packaging. "John not checking in regularly like he said he would got you ticked? I know it has me." I look at him, he looks at me; impasse. Like if either of us says anything, the dumb spell will be broken. I haven't said anything about what went down in Vegas. What I did for my old girlfriend, with kid-in-tow, there; pulling off the virtual heists to make her an insanely rich woman, and me a candidate for chump of the month. I haven't said anything, owing to my wanting to keep some things in my life private. But I've begun feeling weird about the whole damn thing. Not confiding to Frohike or Byers hasn't felt right. Maybe if I tell Fro' about Cindy, he could give me some advice I can use. And right now, I could really use some. Being this depressed sucks. I shouldn't have kept what I did from them; especially from Fro'. He and I, hell, the narc too, aren't related by blood. We're related by something more binding, much more essential in the lives we've chosen to live. We're related by the conviction of our trust. And if there isn't that, what've we got? A big fat nothin'. I don't care how corny that sounds. It's true. There's not much in this world that falls under the heading of unconditional trust. Yeah, I may fight them to the death in wars of words, and be an all-around punk-ass when I wanna, but I trust them, and for me to say so is like saying I know how to hack okay. Byers and Frohike are the integral parts of what make me whole, and help keep me that way. If I ever really forgot that, it would mean the end of my world as I know it. I did sorta forget that in Vegas, which is probably why I feel like Jiffy Pop crap. With a sullen look keyed into my face, I wait for 'Hike to finish his preliminary inspection of the introductory preamble of ViaVoice. After he stops frowning, I say, "Fro'...?" "Hhummm?" He scratches his crinkled brow. "I wanna tell ya about Vegas. The thing I did." I finish off with a heavy sigh. "It's about that friend I helped out..." He looks up from his perusal so he has me in his sights, and says with a self-satisfied snag in his voice, "As I recall, you never fleshed out what 'stickin'' it to the snake entailed, and who you did the stickin' for, ma man... I decided I wasn't going to push it." Bet dollars to doughnuts he saw that little shudder. I don't waste time beating around any bush, holding this in feels physically impossible since I've held back telling for so long; I confess, to the deed, why I did the deed, and how shitty I feel not hearing from the only chick I've ever let get next to me, as in joined at the hip close. He doesn't react right away, and I fidget restlessly in my chair, wondering how hard he's gonna come down on me. When he's this long and drawn out, it's a formidable weapon in his arsenal of mind gaming. He's the indisputable winner when it comes to layin' guilt trips; Fro''s the pro. There's no contention next to him. He drops onto the closest stool, just staring at me until I can't take it anymore. "Say somethin', will ya, man," I plead, but he gives me some very unreadable eyes in silent reply. After another endless minute, he finally speaks. "Guess I don't haveta ask you what you were thinkin' with..." I cross my eyes. Why does he always go there? "I wasn't. I stayed out all night, but my virginity's still intact. She's Cin, man, the greatest friend ever. I'd stay a monk forever if she wanted me to." "Now _that's_ weirdness." "Her kissing's always's been enough." He shakes his head like it's time I should head for my room; no supper or T.V. for me tonight. "So what are you expecting
outta me? A swift kick in the keister, knocking you into next week? A lecture?--sorry,
fresh out. A hefty pound on the back for pullin' off the rip-off of the
century? Like I should be impressed?" "Frohike, I need..." He leaves the stool, and I grab him in the crook of his arm as he's muttering, "A real stupid move. I'm gettin' too old for your outrageous crap." He shakes himself free of me. "I didn't crack into those banks to bump-up my ego, or bribe my way into her bed." Even I hear the sharpness in my whine; its pathetic shrillness. His look alone makes me feel I've run Maginot lines. "Bet that woulda been some show of appreciation." That was downright slimy. I bar his way. I'm primed to fume, and he has to know it. "Didn't you hear what I said? She needed out of a bad situation. I was only trying to help her. Help her kid; you'd have seen him, you'd've wanted to help too. Don't stand there and tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing." "I don't do the half-cocked." He slams into me, and the diminutive giant butts me back. "Know what your problem is?" He's chomping at the bit to tell me, so I count to three. "You like to throw stones, but when it's you, you can't see the forest from the damn trees." I'll need a translation for that. "Mind makin' with the 'For Dummies' version?" I coach. 'Hike smirks every bit as potently as I do. "You did a 'Byers,' and now, just like ours truly, you're expectin' the member of the fair sex in question to reciprocate. In the real world, it don't work like that man, even if she was your main squeeze, once. I don't know how many times I've tried to get Byers to understand how it plays. Now I gotta get you to see too?" "You don't gotta get me to see nothin'." "I thought you had better clues. You're always mouthin' off like you do." "Then how does it work?" I bluster. "You say you've got her number," he underscores. "Yeah, so?" "So call your long lost. You make the move." "But...uh, I don't know. Like suppose she well, suppose..." "Suppose she doesn't want anything to do with you?" I feel like he's spoon-feeding me Pablum, but I nod. "After you put yourself through hell for her?" "Like, yeah." "Then you kiss her off, lick your wounds, get over her, and chalk it all up to one for experience. You be a man about it. And, lover boy, you NEVER DO ANYTHING SO GOD ALMIGHTY BRAINLESS..." He smiles dangerously. "Again," he decrescendos, like the attendant calm after the storm. "You even get the urge to do a repeat of anything so stupid, Blondie, I'll..." "Tear me a new one?" "Naw, something more original. I'll split your lily-white ass width-wise. Your pick. With a straightedge, or a pair of scissors. The rustier the better, either one." I wince, imagining how that'd feel "You'd have to catch me first," I cajole, seeing he's mellowing out, "Doohickey." "Who says you'll be conscious when I perform the surgery?" He tries a 'what were you usin' for brains' flash of his weighty eyes on me for size, then asks the question. "My heart, that's what," I say bluntly. "Crackin' in the name of love. Sheesh, I'd never thought you of all people, man." I give a nervous, gutless chuckle, then think out loud. "What if she didn't make it home yet? I don't wanna spoil any surprise involved for her mom if there is one." Frohike balls up the wrapping like he's sublimating. I ponder with words spoken in deliberation, and know my eyes have taken on a faraway look. "She should be back all this time, though. I mean, it's over a month already." Frohike's look grides first, then slices me through. "Just call her, man. End the suspense, and find out before you drive yourself, along with me and Byers, stark ravin'." Then he huffs, "Stop makin' with the fatal exceptional looks. Unlike suit-boy, you have a number where you can reach your chickadee. Drop the dime so you'll know the score. It beats makin' it up, and paralyzing useful brain function, not that you'd notice with the way you've been acting lately." "Think we got to the root of our phone-tapping problem?" I hesitate before adding, "I don't want anyone picking up on the way she sounds." Frohike pokes his eyes into every nook and cranny our jumbled spiderweb of insulated exchanges reside, tucked into every square inch of the room. "That's what I love about you, man. Even in the throbby throes of love weirdness, you're paranoid to the core. Just call your chick, Scarecrow. We haven't gotten any warning sigs since last week. I think we tackled the problem, so go ahead. Find out. You can thank me later." "Remind me." Cin's number coalesces in my mind as I'm going for the phone. Sure hope taking Frohike's advice is the smart thing to do... | 8:20 p.m. "Huh-hello? Um...Mrs. Tanner?" The deep gulp I just took clears my swimming head. 'Hike's standing so close he hears the thin, craggy voice answer in response. "Yes, this is Melissa Tanner. Who's calling please?" Before I reply, I try slowing down the rapid beats of my heart. "I'm. This is. I'm..." Frohike's solid pinch of my ass gets the ball rolling. "This is Ring--I mean, this is Richard Langly, Mrs. Tanner. Is--" "_Richard Langly_!" Following a sharp intake of breath, she knocks into my ear, "Mercy, it's been ages, Richie." For several moments there's silence, and then, I think I'm hearing what sounds like words being spoken through a hanky, and there's a distinct pinging sound in the background. Half of me wants to hang up, half makes me stay on. "Uh, Mrs. Tanner, is Cindy there?" It's like it took me ten years to get that out. "Oh, Richie... Dear..." Another long pause, and then... The woman's crying, oh, God, she is crying. What do I say? What do I do now? "Mrs. Tan-Tanner, wh-what's wrong?" I stammer with a tongue that feels like it's mired in muck. "Ri-Richie, Cindy's. My-my beautiful baby's dead..." "What the fu--" Frohike catches my eye sharply, shaking his head vigorously. A little of his stern prohibition registers. "H-How, Mrs. Tanner? How?" I blurt, my throat is stinging somethin' fierce. "Wh-when?" Just when I think I'll never get an answer, her mother says all strangly, "A hit-an'-run. Three weeks ago to the day. Sh-she'd no sooner stepped out of the house. An eyewitness said a car jumped the curb, struck her down, and kept going. Another witness said the car had an out of state plate; Nevada's I think it was. She said she wanted to drop by the library to see if they had any computers. I-I can't believe my Cindy's gone..." Oh, God... "W-Was? Was Jef-Jeffy with her?" I jiggle out, and Fro' clamps his hand around my left forearm, his fingers digging. She was gonna, oh, God, she was gonna... "No, thank God. No. And, mercifully, he's too young to know why Mommy's nev-" She falters so hard I can almost see her choking on her words. "W-Why Mommy's never coming home again. Ever..." I suck it up and wail, "I wanna come. I'm comin' there." Struggling against tears that will win out eventually, and as incoherently as hell, I go on somehow. "To see you, her son..." Entrenched in shock, I hear her gather herself. "Her funeral was two Saturdays ago, Richie, at the English Brothers'. It was a private and brief service. The way she surely would have wanted it." "I'm coming," I croak hoarsely, swaying a little. "I gotta see 'em again, like in Ve-Vegas." Standing is getting harder as the room starts pitching. Frohike eases the phone out of my frozen grip, and it's like I'm on the other side of town instead of right next to him when I hear him say, "I'm a friend of his, ma'am. Hello? Yes. He'll get back to you when he can. We're very sorry about your loss; very sorry. Goodbye..." The last thing I remember before passing out are her lips; the way they had toyed with mine the last time we were together. The last day seeing her alive. Before she drove away, saying how she couldn't wait to see me again, later that night. A night that was never meant to be, like our ever being together again, now. When I come to, 'Hike's holding my hand, replacing the ice pack with a cool, moist towel. My glasses are off. He strokes my forehead, which feels nice, reassuring, but I'm frantic. "She got found, Fro', the bastard found Cindy." I struggle to sit up in the lounger. How did he manage to drag my bulk over here? "Had her killed," I sob, and 'Hike squeezes the hand he's been holding. "Easy, easy. You've been out over a half hour. The way you blanched. You got me worried." "Dammit--if I hadn't pulled that stunt...and told her to get outta there, she'd still be alive. They eroded the layers I put in place, somehow." A violent shiver rips through me. "It's my fault she's dead; my fuckin' fault. I only hurt those who love me." "That's crap, and you know it. There's too many variables to start blamin' yourself, and that hard. Get yourself out of there," Frohike says like there's no option, but like hell am I gonna let it go. "But the plates. You heard what her mom said. They were Nevada plates. Scumbag had her hit. Damn him to hell, and me too while I'm at it," I cry, slamming my fists like mallets into the armrests' sticky, imitation leather. "I blew it, and Cin's paid with her life," I keep on, inconsolably. Frohike holds the towel firmly in place against my brow. I'm not making it easy for him since I'm squirming and writhing like I've got fire ants in my pants. "You an' Byers gotta come with me. I gotta go to Erie; gotta see her mom, see the kid. I gotta see where Cin is. Where they put her. Her final--" Rapidly, I hiccup several times in succession. "Slow it down." "You'll come, huh? Huh? Ya gotta, Fro'." He nods what looks like a little wearily, but assures, "Ya got it. Sure Byers and me'll take the trip. Whatever you want." His eyes look as sad as I've ever seen them after he says, "Whatever ya need." Hollowly, painfully, I murmur, "Her. I needed her..." I shut eyes that are sagging, as a freshet of tears leak from them again, and brace my brow with my left palm. "My Cin..." I say through a windfall of sniffles. Fro' daubs at my streaming
leakers, and gently says, "Always and forever, sweet friend." End |