River Rules Page 20

  Tomassi sank like a cement block. “Hyperventilating.” He motioned with his fingers and croaked, “Paper bag.”

  Peter ran inside. “Here—you want me to hold the bag? I’m calling 911.”

  He shook Peter off and held the bag over his own nose and mouth. Tomassi took about ten breaths into the bag and then took it away from his face.

  Peter grabbed Tomassi’s wrist and placed two fingers on his pulse. “I don’t like it. Breathe, do the belly breathing.”

  Tomassi nodded, his breathing growing less ragged. “Nancy. Pushed you under the bus.”

  “John, should I call 911? How about Donna?”

  Tomassi shook his head no. “Nancy folded.” He paused, winded completely. “Brock Saunders, the Consortium.” He put the bag over his mouth again and sagged against the door frame.

  “What?” Peter massaged Tomassi’s slumped shoulders and inspected him nervously. “Come on, Johnny. Breathe, dammit.”

  Tomassi trembled visibly. “I can’t fix this. Christ, I’m dizzy.” Tomassi motioned for Peter to help him up.

  “Let’s get some water.” Peter put his shoulder under Tomassi’s sweat-soaked armpit and half-dragged him into a chair near the window. He turned the box fan on the highest setting and aimed it at Tomassi. “Damn it, John—tell me you’re OK.” The cool breeze slowed the torrents of sweat on Tomassi’s face, but he glistened with an unhealthy sheen.

  “I have to talk to you.” Tomassi’s voice, slower than usual gained some strength. “Fucking anxiety, I’m fine.”

  “OK, I’m listening. And you better get yourself checked out. No dying in our fifties.”

  Tomassi, eyes closed, nodded. “A world of hurt coming your way.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Nancy wouldn’t sell me out. No way.” Peter watched his old friend’s shaking hands. “Since when you been getting panic attacks?”

  “Forget it. Consortium’s got you.” Tomassi leaned back, clearly exhausted. “Violating probation, the papers.”

  “That’s bullshit. So I found their damn documents. So what?”

  “Douchebag. Theft, trade secrets, that’s what.”

  Peter relaxed for a nanosecond, insults were good. “Lies—all lies. They’re full of shit. Wait, she actually ratted me out? What the hell is happening here?”

  “You gotta get in front of this. Hear me? Call Lori or Vic. Do what you need to do.” Tomassi emphasized each word slowly. He rose unsteadily but sank back down. “Get me outta here. I’ll be fucked if they find out I warned you.”

  “You’re a good man, John. The best. And you’ve got real stones.” Peter chattered anxiously and helped him up. “Jeff’s by the barn. Let him give you a ride home. Sean can drive your car since it’s not the cruiser.” Before Tomassi could protest, Peter texted Jeff who drove the tractor over as fast as it would go.

  “Let’s get you home, John-o,” Jeff said, using a long-retired nickname for Tomassi. He mouthed the word, “Hospital?” and waited for Peter to nod yes or no. Peter gave an almost imperceptible no. Jeff arched an eyebrow but said nothing.

  After Jeff bundled Tomassi into the car and took off, Peter hesitated. He didn’t know whether to call Nancy and give her hell or to listen to Tomassi and call Lori. Pacing back and forth, he opted for Lori. When he went straight to voicemail, he called Vic.

  “Hey, Vic. You still my defense attorney?”

  “Maybe. Gimme a dollar and we’ll see. What’s up?”

  “You still in the office?”

  “Yeah, why? You want to drop by?”

  “On my way.”

  Vic didn’t take his eyes off Peter. The story stunned him into silence.

  “Unfucking real. I get to play me in the movie. This is crazy shit.”

  “Yeah, well, John said it was beyond real, as in 100 percent true.”

  “Alright. Here’s what we do. First off, you and Tomassi never spoke. Got it? Second, do not—and I mean absolutely do not—contact Nancy. You can’t tip your hand. She’s talking to the Consortium willingly or not, but either way, you know nothing. Third, I’m gonna call Ian and get him moving. Fourth is big. How are you gonna pay for this?”

  “Vic, I don’t know.” Peter lowered his head into his hands. “And please don’t ask Carmen. I’m begging you.”

  “Look, whatever. I gotta make some calls. In the meantime, you lock your trap and throw away the key. Capisce?”

  CHAPTER 53

  HERB BAKER, NOW SEVENTY AND FEELING POORLY, insisted on holding Sherry’s memorial service behind the gnarled fruit trees where he let her camp out. The weather forecast called for a scorcher of a day in the mid-nineties, so the gathering started at ten in the morning.

  Herb had served in Vietnam with Sherry’s second oldest brother, Billy. Walking shakily on two canes, Herb stopped every few feet to acknowledge well-wishers and mourners. The long procession through the crowd took forever, but it gave him wings. By the time his daughter led him up to a wooden armchair placed on a makeshift stage, Herb looked like a younger man. He began to speak into a microphone, part of a system set up by his grandson who encouraged him to hold it further away from his mouth after some painful squawking static.

  Peter stood next to Ian. Jeff and Annie were sitting with Donna Tomassi, and Jeff kept casting a watchful eye in Peter’s direction. Jeff went ballistic when Peter told him about Nancy, who didn’t show up, provoking more than a few whispers.

  “She wouldn’t dare,” Peter said. “She couldn’t look me in the eye for a second.”

  “That Judas bitch?” Jeff seethed. “Never. And Saunders is mine.”

  The organized police presence set a tone of respect, and Tomassi had his guys doing crowd control, parking and traffic. Tomassi, himself, wearing full uniform, stood by the stage, scanning the crowd.

  Peter didn’t see Carmen at first, but he felt her in the air. When he turned to slap a mosquito off Jeff’s shoulder, he saw her. Carmen, in a crisp linen dress, looked sad, and leaned into a tall mountain of a man who had his arm around her. Peter nodded in her direction and then glanced away.

  “Settle in, people. I’ve got some stuff to say, and I’m not getting down until I say it.” The noise of the crowd hushed until the only the birds and the bugs were audible. Herb made eye contact with a few audience members who encouraged him to get going.

  “Sometimes, I wonder who was luckier—me for coming back home to Bridgeville all scarred up in mind and body or Billy Nicholas for dying on Hamburger Hill. Yeah, I don’t think you’d understand. We had a saying; every unit had a saying: The unwilling led by the incompetent to do the unnecessary. Remember that because I’m going to ask you to repeat it soon. But, let me tell you Hamburger Hill wasn’t nothin to die for. Pain and fear and sacrifice. Men who weren’t more than boys, screaming. And blood, so much blood.” Herb had to stop because he was winded and crying. He took out a worn handkerchief and wiped his eyes before blowing his nose loudly.

  “Now, some of you don’t know Sherry Nicholas had two brothers die in the war. Bobby died at Khe Sanh in ’68. She was seven. The Nicholas family couldn’t handle those boys dying, and sorry to say, it wasn’t home sweet home that kept Billy and Bobby from enlisting. And Sherry ended up fending for herself except for the ghosts and monsters at home. This is not a fairy tale I’m telling. And I know many of us wish we’d done more for Sherry.” He stopped, seeming to forget what he wanted to say. His daughter whispered in his ear, and Herb resumed speaking.

  “Sherry was murdered, strangled to death and thrown into the reservoir like a handful of mud, in her own hometown of Bridgeville. That’s not the Bridgeville I dreamed about in country. And it’s not the one she somehow found her way back to. Now I’m mad as hell about why we’re here today, and I know most of you feel the same way. Why’d I say most of you? Because we have to weed out the lying bastards who’re stealing our water.” Boos cascaded through the air. Herb raised a shaky hand to ask for quiet.

  “If I was a betting man, I
’d put money on them pulling the strings to break her neck. See, Sherry—she’d never drown. Girl swam like a mermaid. And those sons of bitches, they’re not to set foot on my land, but I’m sure some of their lackeys snuck in. If you see them, let me know and I’ll kick them out myself.” He tilted dangerously to the right as he tried to stand. His grandson hovered close by his side, hands outstretched to catch him. Cheers filled the air along with chants of, “Herb—Herb.”

  Herb asked for a moment of silence. Then he shouted into the microphone. “What’d I want you to remember? Say it loud.”

  It started as a low rumble and then coordinated into a roar. “The unwilling led by the incompetent to do the unnecessary!”

  “Yes, sir,” Herb said. “Let’s start backwards. The unnecessary is stealing away our water, never mind during a drought. This is our water, so where the hell do they get off selling it to some blood-sucking company to bottle it and make millions?” He waited, hands trembling with Parkinson’s. The crowd coaxed him to continue.

  “The incompetent—well that’s easy. The Consortium and the damn town officials who made this secret deal. It wasn’t theirs to sell. Yep, not theirs. Now who’s the unwilling? We are,” he yelled hoarsely. “We are unwilling to let this go. Am I right?”

  The crowd erupted. “Herb—Herb.”

  People milled around afterwards, lining up to shake Herb’s hand. When it was Peter’s turn, Herb, eyes glazed, put his hand out automatically.

  “No way. Get in here, Herb,” Peter said, opening his arms wide. Herb sagged against him, and Peter righted him by the elbows after hugging him tight.

  “Petey, I’m so tired. You need to make sure the bastards pay.”

  “I’m trying, I’m trying.” Peter tried to get Herb to balance on his own two feet, but he swayed alarmingly. “Hey, can we get Herb into the shade and give him some water?”

  Ian helped Peter guide Herb to the golf cart that his grandson drove over, and they lifted him into the seat. He clutched Peter’s sleeve, his tremors heightened by fatigue.

  “Don’t be a stranger.” Herb’s voice, barely above a slow whisper, chilled Peter’s heart. “I don’t have much time.”

  Peter squeezed both of Herb’s liver-spotted and gnarled hands. “You’ll outlive us all, Herb.”

  The golf cart lurched off, sending clouds of dust into the air. After saying some more goodbyes, Jeff reminded Peter that they needed to drop by the commissary.

  “We gotta check on the bake and take inventory. Rach’s expecting us.”

  Rachel, taking a short break, saw them pulling into the parking lot and jogged over to offer hugs.

  “Pete, you look so down. It’s gonna be OK. Just be safe.”

  Jeff, surprised by the sudden burst of affection, held onto his daughter for an extra beat.

  When Peter met up with Marco for the morning shift the next day, Marco patted him on the back.

  “Memorials always sad, Coach. I been to too many.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you been kinda down for a while now—not like you. What’s happening?”

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. But I can’t.”

  “What—you don’t trust me? Coach, I’d put it on the line for you any day, any time. Take a bullet like the Secret Service. You gotta trust me.”

  Peter flinched. “Marco, Marco. Don’t. I trust you completely, and I swear I’d tell you if I could, but this is some very evil shit. A betrayal by someone really close. And the consequences are really bad. You’re like a son to me, but for your own good, your own protection, I can’t tell you.”

  “You in trouble again, that’s my problem, too. I know a guy who knows a guy. You read me? Maybe, we make this go away.”

  “No, the last thing I want is for you to get sucked in. You got your own stuff, and I don’t know how this bullshit plays out. Come on.” Peter checked his watch. “Enough true confessions. We need to haul ass. Let’s get the show on the road.”

  When the breakfast run started, Marco reminded Peter to smile. “No long face, aight?”

  Peter rallied, buoyed by Marco’s contagious energy and Great Full Bread’s appreciative customers. He bantered, he charmed, but his battery drained completely by the end of lunch. Once they sold out of almost everything and were cleaning the truck, Marco asked, “Does KJ know about this?”

  “Absolutely do not tell him. This is my mess. I’ll handle it.” Peter shut the conversation down with uncharacteristic vehemence.

  “OK, listen. Time out. I got some ideas about fancy paletas. We do some for the hipster vegans, some others covered in chocolate and coconut. Maybe chili powder. We got like ten kinds, but we could do twenty real easy.”

  “You’ve got bona fide business smarts. I’m in.”

  “I got a good head for this. Damn, how come I never knew before? Everybody always sayin’ I’m never gonna amount to nothin’. Just a punk.”

  “What bullshit. People got a lot to answer for.”

  “Damn straight. So what kinda fruit base you want? I’m thinking we go heavy on the fresh watermelon, peach and strawberry. Gotta support and represent. No farms, no food, baby.”

  CHAPTER 54

  THE DAY OF THE WEDDING, PETER TRIED FASHIONING a boutonniere to Brutus’s plain brown leather collar, but Brutus pawed it off.

  “Fine. Message received.”

  Peter followed Ian’s advice to put Nancy’s negative energy in a thick steel vault, locked up tight and buried deep underground.

  “At least for the wedding and festivities,” Peter said. “I can’t let her spoil their happiness.”

  “Or yours,” Ian said.

  “If I’m happy, it’s news to me.”

  “You’re happy. Trust me.”

  After consulting with Lori and Marti, Peter wore a navy blazer, blue button down Oxford shirt, and tan khakis.

  “No tie, hallelujah.” But, he told Jeff and Tomassi they had to wear one. “Only the holy get excused.”

  Peter had slimmed down considerably from the last time he wore his good clothes, a pleasant surprise. “I look good, admit it, Brutus. It’s all that hard work and clean living.”

  After one last check of his buttons, he and Brutus drove up to the orchard with time to spare. Peter parked his truck in a corner of the lot and stuck his head in the kitchen by the pavilion to see if Paco and Marco had delivered the special order. Carmen saw him as she rushed around and gave him a quick thumbs-up.

  “It’s all here,” she yelled over the din.

  “Great. Need any help?”

  “No. Good luck—now out of my way,” she said, rushing past him in a Hot Stuff apron shaped like a chili pepper.

  “You, too.” He watched her with a smile until he almost got slammed in the face by a tray full of steaming dishes. He inspected the Great Full Bread items that Paco and Marco had arranged on platters. Everything looked good to go.

  The 6 pm ceremony started late, getting underway around 6:30. By then, the softer light of evening gave off a beautiful glow. The September sun had been strong enough to merit a 7 on the UV index, but the evening air felt comfortably cool.

  Fiori Orchards never looked better. Carmen had her people working up until the last minute. Using a vintage-inspired floral theme perfectly matched to the rustic chic vibe, Carmen had arranged dense clusters of flawless white flowers on every table.

  Ian and Jade arrived very promptly.

  “I can’t believe we’re the first ones here aside from the brides and family.” Ian looked around in amazement.

  “No one shows up on the dot. It’s more of a suggestion.” Jade wore a fashionable pink strapless dress that emphasized her curves and the twisting rose tattoo that transfixed Ian.

  Ian, in a white linen untucked shirt, exuded a tropical vibe. Looking around, he breathed in deeply and exhaled loudly. “No worries. It gives us more time to explore. Maybe we can meditate by the oak tree.”

  “What the fuck are you wearing?” Andre laughed a
s he and his date strolled over. “You look like a dental hygienist. Are you sure you want to be seen with this guy?” Andre asked Jade. “Meet Tiffany.” The attractive young woman by his side smiled and gave a small wave.

  “It’s a guayabera, you toff. A fancy one, I’ll have you know.”

  “Hi, I’m Jade. From the Journey ashram.” Jade extended her hand, and Andre shook it heartily.

  “Jade on a journey, it’s nice to meet you finally. You can do better.”

  “Andre’s my biggest fan—can’t you tell?” Ian threw a mock punch into Andre’s mid-section. “Tiffany, I offer you my condolences on having to spend time with this bloke.”

  “You got to be channeling some Cuban dominoes old dude in Miami.” Andre returned the favor. “Where’s your cafe Cubano and cigar?”

  “So nice to meet you. Ian has only mentioned you about 200 times.” Jade put her hand lightly on Ian’s shoulder and smiled.

  “Only to complain. Andre, somehow, Jade has agreed to suffer your company tonight. And, did AJ lend you last season’s prom outfit?” Ian grinned with pleasure as he saw Andre squirm. His teen-age son was quite the fashionista.

  “Prom outfit, my ass. Have you ever even been to a prom?” Andre plucked at his perfectly tailored tan summer-weight suit. “You couldn’t catch me dead in some plaque-picking, x-ray taking scrub top, oh wait, I mean guayabera.”

  Rachel and her boyfriend strolled over, arm in arm. Rachel’s hair, a delicate shade of pink, matched Jade’s dress perfectly, and they bonded over the color. Rachel showed off her new tattoos after exclaiming over Jade’s thorned rose.

  “Look, one is a little food truck that says Great Full Bread.” Rachel stuck out an ankle from her long halter dress. “And here’s the one just for me.” Rachel showed them the blue cursive R etched on the inside of her forearm.

  “You afraid you’re going to forget your name?” Jeff’s voice boomed as he joined the group. Jeff had already ditched his sports jacket and loosened his tie.

  “Dad—cut it out. Where’s Mom?” She straightened his tie. “This is too short.”