“Going to take some getting used to. Mind you, I still have some small side jobs to keep me busy — boat maintenance for some rich folks up in Manchester, that sort of thing. Maybe I’ll finally learn to sleep in after forty years of waking up before the rooster crows. Hell, I might have myself a leisurely breakfast. Kick up my heels. Even read the newspaper.”
“Do they still print newspapers, old man?”
“No one likes a smartass.”
“Wasn’t aware I was competing in a congeniality contest.”
“If you were, you certainly wouldn’t win.” He glances back at me. “Your brother — he’s working on that old outrigger, right? Over by the commercial warehouses?”
I nod. “Reina.”
“La Reina.The queen.” He falls curiously silent. A seagull gives a croaky call as it soars overhead. It’s nearly across the harbor by the time Tommy speaks again. “Fitting boat name for the Latin Kings, I suppose.”
Startled, I look over at him. “What?”
“Did you think your brother and his crewmen were filling those holds with fish? Don’t be a fool. Everyone around here knows they use that old rust bucket for one product and one product only — and it don’t require refrigeration, if you catch my drift.”
“They’re using the boat to move drugs up the coast,” I mutter. Jaxon’s cocky words the other day come back to me in a rush.Most of the shit we’ve got going on right now is thanks to me.Yep. This has my brother written all over it. I grind my teeth together. “I should’ve known. As soon as I saw my brother on that boat, I should’ve realized he was up to something. It’s not like he’d bother working an actual job.”
“Have to hand it to him — it’s a smart plan.” Tommy leans back against the bench. “Far less regulation here in Gloucester than in a big city like Boston. They pull in once a month with a full hold of heroin, load it into bait crates, pack it into waiting fish trucks… Product is on its merry way across the state by sunup.”
“They’re probably supplying all of Massachusetts.”
“All of New England, more likely.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Jesus has no hand in this.” Tommy lets out a low whistle. “Satan, on the other hand…”
“I should’ve known,” I repeat, frustration bleeding into every word.
“Well, you know now. Question is… What are you going to do about it?”
“What do you mean? What canIdo?”
“You can turn your brother in, for starters. He’s a wanted man. Violated his parole. The authorities would be more than happy to toss his keister back in the can.”
I run a hand through my hair. It’s grown so long, the tips brush the top of my shoulders. “I should. I should’ve called the other day, the moment I saw him on the docks. God knows it’s what he deserves.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a bullshit answer.”
I sigh. “I don’t want to cause my parents any more pain, okay? They’ve been through enough.”
“Pain is inevitable.” Tommy’s voice turns gruff. “Every parent knows when they have kids, they’re setting themselves up for a lifetime of it. Reproducing is like cutting off chunks of your own heart and sending them out into the world, hoping like hell they don’t get too banged up, but knowing in your gut there’s no avoiding it. You can’t prevent the pain from happening. All you can do is be there when it does.”
There’s no missing the undercurrent of agony laced through his words. The story Deacon Hayward told me about Tommy’s family flashes through my head. I feel strangely guilty knowing the grim details of his personal tragedies. If he wanted me privy to that story, he would’ve told me himself. It’s like I’ve spied through a window into my intensely private boss’s soul without permission.
There’s no way in Hell I’m about to broach the topic of the fire, and all he lost in it. So I merely clear my throat and say, “I’m not planning on having kids anytime soon, Tommy.”
“That’s not what I meant as a takeaway.” He shakes his head. “My point was, your parents don’t need you to shield them from pain — no matter how you’d like to, no matter if you believe it’s somehow your responsibility to do so. They’re your parents. They’re the ones who are supposed to protect you, not the other way around. Don’t believe me? Call and ask them what they think. See how they react when they hear what your brother is up to, these days.”
I squint out at the harbor, trying to keep the small sailing class in my line of sight. They’re nearly out of the channel now — ten white dots on the horizon, skimming across the sun-dappled waves without a care in the world. I wish sometimes I could turn back the clocks to when I was ten years old, and my biggest worries were whether I’d be able to save up enough for a real pitching glove before tryouts. I’d do it all over, minus the mistakes.
“I hope he’s caught. I hope he pays for what he’s done. But turning in my own brother — no matter what he’s done to me — seems… I don’t know. Low. Base. I accused Jaxon of betraying his own blood… destroying our family… If I turn him in, how am I any different?”