"You're right, Samantha. You deserve to know what that was all about," he said, glancing at my mother, who gave him an encouraging look.
"Come," he said, gesturing to the living room. We filed in and sat down, Mom and Dad on the couch, me on the loveseat facing them. I twiddled my fingers in my lap. I wanted to hear, I didn't want to hear.
It didn't matter what I wanted anymore.
"Ten years ago … geeze, Samantha, you were eight. Ten years. How did … " Dad got a glassy look in his eyes, his sentence trailing off. Mom coughed, bringing him back on track. I knew that part of it was for show, just Dad stalling telling me the story. Dad sighed.
"Ten years ago, I was a police officer, just a regular cop. There was a fellow on the force with me, named Giordino. Danny Giordino. He was a good guy. We never talked much, weren't close, but you know. Cops are family. He bought rounds at the bar. He had a wife, no kids. Young, same age as me. A whole world in front of him … "
Dad seemed to get lost in the story again, in his memories.
"He coulda been Sheriff, I guess," he finally said after a long moment. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thought, he continued in a no-nonsense tone.
"We had some trouble back then with a group of bikers who'd rented out one of the hotels. Bad guys. This was in the 90's, and there were all sorts of ATM scams, still are, but worse back then before we had the technology to stop some of them. These guys were stealing money left and right, credit card fraud, identity theft. Plus, they had something going on with a couple local dealers, slinging heroin.
Samantha, this was serious business. Serious, serious business. We waited for months to dig up enough dirt on them to put the leader away, if not the whole horde. But, you know, things just moved slowly. Trying to gather evidence, trying to make a case that would stick. These guys were as smart as they were bad.
But we got them, finally. We had enough to make it stick. We got re-enforcements to come up from Billings, got ready to swarm the hotel, take ‘em all down. But when we got there …
I don't know how they left without anyone noticing. I mean, those bikes make a lot of noise, you'd think someone would have noticed. But no one did … the hotel was empty, Samantha. They'd cleared out. The only thing left? Two bodies. Dead bodies. One of them was one of their chicks, a worn-out looking gal, couldn't have been much older than you. Poor thing was probably doomed from birth. Worst case of meth mouth I've ever seen.
And the other body was Danny Giordino. He was … I'll just, I'll never forget it. It's one of those moments as a cop when you realize how … how dangerous it all is. You were so young, Samantha, and I saw that body, and I thought, what if I never see my little girl grow up?" Dad was welling up now; I felt like my heart was breaking.
Have you ever seen your father cry? It's something most people would be a lot better off never seeing, I'd wager. I felt my own eyes filling with tears, saw my mother's head hanging low, as we sat in silence.
"Two bodies. One cop, one woman. We couldn't tell, from the way the bodies were splayed out, who'd shot who. We knew she didn't shoot him. He might have shot her. We didn't know. We didn't know how he'd gotten there, either. He wasn't on a call. He was a good cop, though. And I think …
Well, I'll tell you what I think. I think he went there to try and save that little boy. See, the woman, she was shacked up with the leader of the group. Their president, so to speak. Tank Culver," Dad said, his eyes now growing cold. The name shook me. I knew that was Boon's father. I didn't need Dad to finish the story; I had all the pieces now, could figure it out for myself. But I wanted to hear him tell it. Tell me. Make it make sense.
"Real name John Culver. Biker name Tank. He and this woman had a son. That young man," Dad said, his tone growing darker with each word. "That young man you've been … fraternizing with. I recognized him. He couldn't have been more than 12 at the time, but I recognized him. After Giordino, I studied all our surveillance for days. I couldn't get it out of my head. I think Giordino went there to try and get her and the kid out before the place got raided. So they wouldn't have to see … "
Dad trailed off. We sat in silence, the ticking clock the only noise. Finally, he sighed again.
"I know it's not his fault, what happened to Giordino. I know that, Samantha. But he's bad news. Boys like that, they grow up bad, and they only get worse. If he's got half the piss and vinegar in his blood that his dad had … I think that's who did it, by the way. I'm pretty sure, it was John Culver. Who else? That boy's no good. I don't want him in my city, I don't want him in my block, I don't want him near my daughter," Dad said, finishing with a stare that turned my blood to ice.
I sat, turning the story around and around in my brain. I imagined Boon as a young boy, a pre-teen, on the back of his father's bike, fleeing the scene of the crime. I imagined two bodies, pools of blood. I imagined my father standing over a dead cop. I imagined flashbulbs taking pictures. I imagined a woman.
"How awful," I finally managed to squeak out. Mom nodded gravely.
"Your father has his reasons, Samantha."
"I'm sorry I scared you, baby. I am. I … I lost my cool. I just saw his face and it all came swimming back. All that blood … and me with a little girl at home and … I just, I lost it. I know, I went about it the wrong way. That was wrong of me. But I need you to understand … "
"I do, Daddy. I understand. I … get it. But … but what if he's not like his dad? What if he's different?" I regretted the questions as soon as they left my mouth. Dad's face grew cold again.
"I don't want you to take that risk, Samantha. Now, you know my side, I don't want you to go digging for his. I'm serious about this, Samantha, this is not up for negotiations. You are never to contact that boy again. If he knows what's good for him, he's halfway to Portland by now, anyway. Samantha, if you care about me at all, you'll promise, right here and right now, that you'll let this go. You'll have a good summer and meet a nice local boy and go to school and forget all about him."
Dad's face was cement, a brick wall, impenetrable. He meant all of this from the bottom of his heart. I could tell that. From the way he was speaking, from the look in his eyes, this was serious business. What could I do? I nodded.
"I promise, Dad," I said, vaguely aware, in the back of my mind, that I was making a promise I wasn't sure I could keep.
18
I didn't exactly get sent to my room after that, but it was clear the BBQ was off and I needed time to think. I didn't call Alicia and Becky right away. There was enough for me to process on my own, without calling in extra opinions.
Dad's story made sense: it made sense that he would react so violently to seeing Boon. It made sense why he wanted me to steer clear of him. It made sense in so many ways. It also made sense for me to follow his order never to see Boon again: it was clear, now, that he really was up to no good, at least as far as his gang was concerned. A few puffs on a joint was one thing, but heroin? Identity theft? Those were serious, serious things. And I was fresh out of high school: I had no business getting involved in any of that.
But then … he must have been so young then. He couldn't really have had anything to do with all that. And was it really fair to judge the son by the sins of the father? He'd found me, come all that way, just to see me … didn't that say something about him? He hadn't needed to do all that: he could have just forgotten all about me, about our time together. It didn't mean that he was a great guy, per say, but it meant something, right?
I paced my room, hands in fists. Suddenly, I remembered what Boon had slipped into my palm; I'd forgotten all about it. I dug my fingers into my pocket. It was small, square … pulling it out, I saw that it was a matchbox. Gateway Inn, it read on the front. So I knew where he was staying now. Whatever good that did me. It does you no good at all, because you're not going to see him, I thought with one part of my brain.
Now you know where he is, you can see him, ask him, thought another part. I groaned and threw the matchbook on the bed. I texted Alicia and Becky, asking them to log back on to Skype. In seconds, we were in another video call.
I told them the story my father had told me. I watched their faces anxiously, making note of every expression and reaction. Becky had her eyes narrowed, following the story with concern. Alicia was leaning forward, wide-eyed, hanging on every word. When I finished, no one said anything for a long while.
"So … I mean, what do I do?" I finally asked, dying to hear their opinions.