The Missing Person Page #5

Yes. And tell him one thing for

me, Mr. Rosow. Will you?

Sure.

Tell him I can't wait to be with

him.

Bad news.

Want a hit?

That kid blocks the plate like

Thurman Munson.

I drank too much. Harold's gone.

No. You think I drink too much, too

much to bring this guy back to his wife.

You were banking on that. Lana

almost pulled it off.

You always did like your

conspiracy theories, John.

You sure you don't want a pop?

No. Can I have a couple of

scallion pancakes though?

Knock yourself out.

Don't forget the sauce.

Yum. I do miss the take-out

Chinese.

There's no place good in Chicago

that delivers.

I could've told you that, and

I've never even been in Chicago.

What about the pizza? They got

that Chicago style, right?

Yeah, they got your Chicago style

pizza, sure, but you know what that is?

And I just found this out

myself. It's just Sicilian style.

It's just a different name for

Sicilian.

We went over to Difara's the

other night and got seven pies.

I think he's still making them.

The boys miss you, John.

We all miss you.

How long have you been on

Drexler Hewitt's payroll?

Here we go.

You get paid by Miss Fullmer to

find Harold,

but you get paid even more by

Hewitt not to find him.

Is that it? So you hire me to

bring him back to Miss Fullmer,

but you hire me more for Drexler,

because you figure I'll muck it up.

You got a napkin?

I earn my money.

You get the medex to forge

Harold's death certificate.

With Harold officially dead,

case closed.

All the insurance and

compensation money gets collected,

and the estate gets divvied up, and Drexler

Hewitt gets his piece of the Fullmer pie.

I'm sure you got your crumb. But then, oh,

a friend of the missus sees Harold in Mexico.

Harold wasn't coming back. He was

gone, might as well have been dead.

It was high time she figured

that out for herself.

Why do you care?

9/11 families were paid by the

government

according to how much the victim

would have earned in a lifetime.

I know. And Harold was a big

deal broker.

That's a lot of money. Enough for a greedy

lawyer to want to make sure he stays dead.

So Drexler bought you to help

him.

He knew how much Miss Fullmer

trusted you.

Listen, John. Harold wasn't

going to stay home. He's nuts.

His old lady is a kookjob. All

that money, for what?

It's crazy. People like that,

they're not like us.

She just wanted to talk to him,

Gus.

I'm gonna' need you to leave

your cell phone.

It's got all those nice pictures

on it.

Oh well. I had the feeling it

was gonna' get old anyway.

Oh, John, one more thing.

Your old buddy, Don Edgar?

Taking care of all the little

kiddie widdies down Mexico way?

What about him?

That orphanage is a front.

Don Edgar, the most major dope

dealer in Tijuana.

Yeah, that's right. Whether Harold knew it or

not, he was in cahoots with a very bad hombre.

I don't believe you.

No? It's true. Why do you think

the FBI was snooping around?

Christ, what happened to those

kids?

Don Edgar says he sends them

back to their families.

Right. And I'm Tinkerbell.

You seem upset, John.

What are you thinking?

You thinking you want to come

over here and hit me?

No. I'm just trying to remember

what I ever saw in you.

Did he give you any trouble?

No. He was very nice.

No trouble at all.

Put your hands under the table.

Yeah.

He plays like an angel,

doesn't he?

Tomorrow morning, you go back to

her.

The gig is up. This is the old

reality, Harold.

You're in New York. You ain't

dead, there aren't any angels,

and the missus wants to see you.

Matter of fact, she said she

can't wait to see you.

You know about angels, Rosow.

Oh, I do?

I saw you listening to the song.

Did you see him, Miss Charley?

No, I did not.

You know the music is okay, but

the service stinks.

We're empty here.

Where's the waitress?

Good morning.

What the f*** are you doing,

you idiot?

Who's the saint who looks after

money?

I can't hear ya.

Never mind.

Do you have a problem with me

smoking?

NO!

Come on!

I appreciate this, Charley.

Oh, that's okay.

No, I really do.

You want me to go up with you?

I think I should go alone.

Okay. Well, I have some business

with Drexler Hewitt, so...

Good luck.

Good luck.

Memories flooding you right

about now, huh?

No, not really.

Hey, listen. There's no way you're going

in with this kind of attitude, okay?

You stand up straight and look

happy to see her. Come on.

Remember me, darling?

Is that you, sir?

Don't be rude to the lady.

I need to use the bathroom.

Hey, this is what, one of those

recreations of a famous painting?

Yeah.

Kind of funky looking, isn't it?

Julian, Mr. and Mrs. Fullmer's

son.

He won the contest at school

with that piece.

The theme was Masterpieces of

American Art.

Julian was only eight years old

when he painted it.

Pretty good for an eight year

old, I guess.

Don't touch it.

John?

John?

Let me go, please.

Please let me go.

You wake up one day and you're

an adult.

And all the people you were just

dreaming about have gone or changed.

So you shake the sleep dust

from your eyes and you say,

was it really so long ago that

you and I sat together in fun?

No. Not so long ago. But life

goes by in the blink of an eye.

Sobriety, after all this time, isn't

as bitter as I thought it would be.

Recently, for a second or two, I almost

felt like things were okay with the world.

Strange to feel that way, when

you know there are wars everywhere,

and everything is going to hell

in a hand basket.

But still, I must admit, for a

moment, I felt some kind of peace.

Charley, she finally said yes

to a date with me.

I have a confession. I lied.

You were right.

I have four older brothers.

And I was an All-Star shortstop in the

boy's little league three years in a row.

Till they kicked me out.

Remember when it was like that?

When we were all together? And I

figured we'd play forever.

I had no idea.

She's not a half bad girl,

Charley.

She's looking for a job now.

I told her she could be my secretary

once I got a few more assignments,

but she said she didn't mix

business with pleasure.

I promised her I was no

pleasure. Yuk, yuk, yuk.

Sometimes I think back to that day at

Miss Fullmer's place, and I ask myself,

did you do the right thing?

I don't know.

What is that, the right thing?

A police reporter once said that when we

pass beyond the lights of a precinct station,

we go into another world, a

place beyond right and wrong.

I don't really mind living this

way. Quiet.

Not much to say.

But sometimes, every once in a

while,

I remember back to when I had

you.

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