Mickey Slips (Tyler Cunningham Shorts) (2 page)

University Hospital, Syracuse, 1/21/2013, 9:14 a.m.

I’d rolled into Syracuse at a few minutes before 7 a.m., coming south on Route 81, and queried my GPS for nearby Walmarts; there are four within 10 miles of the hospital. I stopped to buy a burner Trakfone, a set of cheap dark sheets, and a big microwave (
the same model luckily
) at each before heading to University Hospital, hoping that Mickey would have gotten some sleep in the hours since we had talked. I was able to get in to see Mickey without a hassle, being a friend of the family (
and arriving at a decent hour
), dressed neatly in slacks and a blazer (
as dressy as I own these days
). He was struggling with the foil lid of a tiny cup of orange juice when I entered his room, and gave up when he saw me.

I could see that it hurt him to smile
; his face was misshapen by swelling and colored with bruises. This gentle man who had spent his life helping people had no business being here … like this. My mind was racing as we exchanged pleasantries and small-talk. I added a nasty refinement to the constellation of ideas that was trending towards a plan.

“So, what did your doctor say Mickey?” I asked, once he had run out of the silly things that people say when they’re embarrassed and don’t want to talk about what you need to talk about.
 

“Pretty much what I told you last night.” He replied (
this morning I thought, but didn’t say … it wouldn’t help, and might slow things down
). “A guy that I know vaguely came in this morning and set my nose. Everything else is superficial … my ribs are taped, but it doesn’t seem to be helping much.” (
It never does, but they do it anyway
), “Honestly though, the worst part was Bill, the guy who set my nose, seeing me like this, in a hospital Johnny.”

“Then you got off pretty easy.” I said, at which point his face, which had been working on a smile, despite the swelling and tape and bruising, collapsed in defeat. Mickey had been trying (
somewhat pointlessly, or even counterproductively, although he couldn’t know it yet
) to put up a brave face for me, and now gave up.

“If only Bill really was the worst thing
… he actually comes in third, maybe fourth. The officer that I struck last night came in to talk with me a while ago, and was quite nice about it, but they’re charging me with drunk and disorderly, along with some form of failure to comply with an officer. What if I go to jail Tyler?” Mickey hung his head in disgust.

“You won’t. This is bad, but you’re a somewhat important guy who’s never been in this sort of trouble before, you can afford a team of flesh-eating lawyers to get you a deal with a fine and some community service at home
… and maybe some diet-form of probation or suspended sentence … if they pursue it at all.” I believed that this was true, but legal research has, strangely, never been an interest of mine.

“Worse
… after the policeman left, and just before you came, Lily came … you might have passed her in the hall on your way in.” Mickey’s eyes filled with guilty tears, and although I felt that I knew, I had to ask.

“Who is Lily? Is she the woman you met at the conference?” Mickey grimaced when I used the word ‘met’, and just nodded. “What did she want?”

Mickey picked his wallet up off of the table that his tray of breakfast was sitting on, and chucked it at the wall with an angry gesture. This was the first such gesture that I’d seen from him in the 25 years that I’d known him (
it’s possible that he had an angry outburst during the first three years of my life, but if he did, I can’t recall the incident
) He said, “She wanted to return my wallet which fell in the gutter during the bar fight last night, she said.”

“And
…” I prompted. That couldn’t be all that there was to the story.

“She mentioned what a good time that she had had last night in my hotel room until I got too drunk afterward and wanted to head out to a bar.” Mickey said this with a combination of anger and confusion in his voice.

“Seeing her this morning, I have no doubt about what happened last night between Lily and me … but I can’t understand it. I don’t drink much, would never cheat on Anne, and don’t go bar-hopping. Tyler … just what the FUCK happened last night?”

In the ordinary course of events, Mickey would never talk like this, but he felt as though his life had come undone. I had to help him keep from falling apart, and also
I had to see what I could do to fix whatever had actually happened. He had slipped, as people do, and I would help catch him.

“But wait, it gets worse! She said that I had encouraged her to make a video of
… what happened in my room, and that her ‘friend’ Shane had come by to pick her up later in the evening, and seen the video at one of the bars we visited. He got mad and we started fighting, which was when the police were called to the scene.” By the end of this, Mickey could scarcely talk … he was red in the face and crying this point and wouldn’t look at me.

“Let me guess the rest Mickey. She managed to talk her friend out of pressing charges, but he (
not Lily, of course, but unreasonable Shane
) wants money or else he’ll send a copy of the video to Anne and the girls, whose pictures they saw in your wallet.” I paused for breath, “Is that about the size of it?” Mickey just nodded, ashen.

“You got set up Mickey
… quite nicely. I’m pretty sure that she’s not registered for your conference, but was trolling for a rich doctor. You enjoyed the attention of a beautiful woman, as men often do (
myself excepted
), and she gave you some drug to render you docile and impressionable. When she was done with you (
no need for too much in the way of details here, I don’t like thinking about anyone having sex, much less a father-figure of mine being drugged and forced into the act
), she dragged you to a public place, and set you up for an embarrassment and injuries that would distract you long enough for her to get away and finish building the trap for you.” He looked up at me with whipped puppy-dog eyes, and I jumped in before he had a chance to apologize … again.

“That’s all the bad news, and it’s plenty bad. They built a nice trap and you were
, unfortunately, the poor sap that wandered into it. The good news is that you’ve got me. I can never repay you for a million kindnesses and lessons and pieces of advice that you’ve given me, but I may be able to fix this; and that’s what I am going to try, if you’ll let me.” Mickey started to talk and I cut him off.

“You’ve been telling me and anyone who will listen about how smart and unique my brain and personality make me, and you helped (
more than anyone else alive
) to make me happy and proud about who, or what, I am (
not entirely true, as I don’t really ‘do’ happy or proud, but Mickey would appreciate the sentiment anyway
), so it’s fitting that you can benefit from who, or what, I am.” I paused for a breath before rushing into the closer, realizing that I could feel my flush and elevated heart rate, indicative of emotional involvement in what I was saying, beyond the show that I was putting on for Mickey. I do favors for clients, and sometimes acquaintances, but never get involved in their problems emotionally … until now (
I wondered briefly how it would affect my process or the final product
).

“You’ve always known that I see the world differently than ordinary humans do. I use that
difference sometimes to help people, and now I’m going to help you. I’ve already got eighty-seven percent of a plan, and the rest is coming together in the back bits of my brain as we speak.”

“Do the police need you for anything?” I asked, and Mickey gave a tiny shake.

“Does your health, after the bar fight, preclude your leaving with me now?” Another tiny shake.

“Did Lily give you a deadline?”

Mickey spoke quietly, and to his lap, “No Tyler, she said that she’d be in touch in the next day or two, on my cell-phone.”

“OK, so we’re going to get you checked out right now, and I’ll drive you to your hotel and then to the airport, so you can head back towards Manhattan. You should check into an airport hotel until the regular
ly scheduled end-date of your conference here, and then go home and tell Anne that you were mugged, which is essentially true.”

“Tyler, I can’t lie to
…” I interrupted Mickey, and started rounding up his things and herding him towards the bathroom to get dressed while I threw his stuff into a bag to carry out.

“You can tell her the whole truth if it makes you feel better, but you were the victim here, not Anne, and you should make sure that she sees it in that light.” I advised him through the closed door.

I have never understood Mickey’s preference for difficult truths over convenient lies, but I imagine that it’s one of the things that makes him a good man, and makes me something just a bit less.

We made sure that he was checked out with the hospital and his conference and hotel, and I got him out to the airport in time for a
1 p.m. flight back down to JFK. He promised to stay in an airport hotel for a couple of days. I gave him one of my burner-phones (
generically activated this morning, along with the others that I had bought
) in exchange for his phone, and watched him enter my current phone number into the contacts list. If Mickey thought anything odd about the back of my Element being filled with microwaves and camping gear and duffels that clanked like firearms when jostled, he was tactful enough to keep his own counsel.

At the airport drop-off, I walked around to his side to take his picture with my phone, and endure a hug from him. Once he got past security, I breathed a sigh of relief, and then gave Kevin, at
Dinosaur Bar-B-Que, a call in order to put the next bits of my plan together. I was comforted that the human element (
at least the one that I cared about
) was out of the equation now, and I could focus, once again, on the ends, and not the means.

Dinosaur Bar-B-Que, Syracuse, 1/21/2013, 2:27 p.m.

“Try all of this!” Kevin crowed triumphantly, as he threw down the last of a seemingly endless parade of plates and bowls of BBQ and sides. I was working my way steadily through all of it, but he always tried to beat me with food whenever I came through town. The previous March, Kevin’s ex-wife (
and her new boyfriend)
had grown sick of shared custody, and taken Kevin’s six year old daughter, Tracy, with them (
absent permission or legal authority
) when they moved to Ohio. People we both knew through three degrees of separation had put Kevin and me together, and it had worked out well for everyone involved (
except the ex-wife and boyfriend, who might get out of jail in time to attend Tracy’s graduation … from grad-school
).

Kevin had a great relationship with his daughter, a wonderful job at the best barbeque joint in New York State, and no money at all to pay me (
to his ongoing chagrin
). It didn’t bother me a bit, as the retrieval of Tracy was easy and quick (
and interesting
), and now I eat for free whenever I’m in Syracuse.

I finger-squeegeed the last morsel of brisket from the top plate on the stack
twenty minutes later, and told Kevin once again that he put out a nice plate of food. “I won’t be hungry again for hours!” I said, giving him a smile designed to show him that I was kidding and grateful and full.

“I wish that I could do something else to thank you Tyler.” Kevin said, and dug out a picture of Tracy. “Here she is at the Christmas
Choir Concert … isn’t she an angel?” he asked.

“She is, and that’s all the thanks I’ll ever need, but there actually is a favor that you could do me Kevin
… but certainly feel free to say no if it’s a hassle.”

“Whatever it is, it’s done
… just say the word Tyler.” He gushed, and for a microsecond, I thought about letting Kevin take a more direct (
and violent
) route towards settling Lily and Shane for me and Mickey (
just a microsecond, I promise
).

“You mentioned one time that one of the owners of Dinosaur owns a garage around here that he lets people borrow to work on their bikes and trucks from time to time.” I remembered Kevin talking about it the last time I came through town.

“Yah, Mike’s place … not really a garage so much as an empty warehouse with a roll-up door and piles of crap in the corners. Why … is your car busted?” Kevin asked guilelessly.

“No, the Element is fine, but I need a private spot to do some work for a couple of hours. Do you think you could set it up for me?”

“Sure, I can ask. When would you like it for?”

“Kevin, I need it for this evening if possible, or if not, as soon as he can manage. Also, since Mike doesn’t know me, could you leave me out of it? Don’t mention my name to him or anyone else, OK?”

“Sure Tyler I can do that, but why? What’s the deal?” Kevin asked, clearly unable to imagine why I would need or want garage space on the sly.

“Kevin, I’m in town helping out a friend, like I
helped you and Tracy out last year. I need to do some work in a quiet and private place for a couple of hours, and if you could set me up with it, I’d consider us more than even.” I even tried to waggle my eyebrows meaningfully during this part, and I could see a low-watt idea flicker on in his head, and then he winked at me.

“I got it Tyler, I’ll go up and see him now. While I’m gone, try these fried green tomatoes
… they’re killer.” He smiled broadly as a waitress brought a huge and heaping plate of battered and fried tomato slices based on some signal that I’d missed.

He was gone for seven minutes
. The smile on his face when he came back was clear enough that even I could tell that he had good news for me. He dropped a greasy set of keys next to the now empty plate where the fried green tomatoes had been, wrote an address on the only unsullied napkin within twenty feet (
eating at Dinosaur usually ends with me finding splatter evidence of BBQ-sauce and bits of meat in my hair and clothes for days
), laughed when I asked for a bill (
although I did leave a twenty for the waitress who would have to clear and clean the table after I left
), and told me that the warehouse/garage was mine for as long as I wanted, as long as I promised to checked in with him for another meal before leaving town. I agreed and headed out … thinking about a nap in the back of the Element to digest the 8000-calorie meal I’d just enjoyed, and let the lizard bits in the back of my brain work a few final details out.

While I was drifting off to sleep, Mickey’s phone got the first of many calls and messages and texts from home/Anne. I replied just this first time, in text form, on Mickey’s behalf, telling Anne and the girls that ‘I’ was fine, keeping busy, enjoying the snow, and eager to see them in a couple of days. It didn’t stop the calls/messages/texts over the next hours and days, but it would likely delay Anne
from reaching out to the Syracuse PD for enough time to let me either fix or completely screw up Mickey’s life.

I put the phone back in my pocket, cranked the seat back, and dropped into
my usual dreamless sleep.