Small Crimes (15 page)

He
took a slice of ham, broke it into pieces, and dropped them onto the eggs
before scrambling all of it. He then scraped the eggs onto a plate and placed
it in front of me.

'How
about some toast?'

'Sure.'

After
he made me some toast and coffee, he sat down across from me with his tea. He
sipped his drink slowly as I ate the eggs.

'What
did you do today on your first day out?'

'Visited
some friends. Nothing much else.'

I
felt awkward sitting there with him. We were never very close. When I was a kid
he used to spend a lot of his time at the firehouse and I never saw him much.
Later, when I was in high school and starting as quarterback, we got a little
closer. He'd show up for my games and take me out to dinner afterwards. Still,
we never connected. Now it was as if we were strangers. He was just some old
stooped man drinking a cup of tea. And I could tell he was as uncomfortable as
I was.

He
cleared his throat and waited until I looked at him.

'Joey,
have you thought about what you're going to do?'

'What
do you mean?'

'I
was hoping you would think about college.’

‘I'm
too old for that,' I said. 'I'm forty. I'm not going to sit in a classroom with
a bunch of eighteen-year-olds.’

‘Other
people have done it.'

'I'm
not going to. Besides, how would I pay for it?’

‘I'm
sure you would find a way.'

If
I kept the police pension I'd be able to, but I wasn't going to do that.
Besides, I needed to get a real job so I could do something for my daughters. I
couldn't wait four more years for that. 'Even if I wanted to, I don't think too
many colleges would take a forty-year-old ex-felon. What I was thinking was
that maybe I'd go to a trade school and become a plumber, or maybe an
electrician.'

His
face deflated with that. 'You could do that, Joey,' he said, 'but I hope you
consider college. I'm sure if you set your mind to it you could find a good
school that would take you. I think that would be the best thing for you.'

'I
appreciate your concern.'

He
gave me a sad, wistful kind of smile. 'Do you remember what you got on your
SATs?'

Of
course I remembered. My SAT scores were a sore subject that we had gone over
time after time in the past. I shook my head and pretended I didn't.

'Eight
hundred math and seven-sixty English,' he said. 'The only thing that I demanded
of you when you were in high school was that you take the SATs. You didn't even
study for them and you got those types of scores. Even though your grades
weren't too good, with those scores and the way you excelled in sports you
could've gotten into a good college. I should've pushed you harder. I shouldn't
have let you just drift along and become a cop.'

'And
why was that?'

He
let out a loud sigh. 'Joey,' he said, 'I'm going to speak frankly with you. I'm
not trying to start a fight or upset you. Can I do that?'

'Go
ahead.'

He
seemed stuck, his face locked in a pained expression. As he sat there with his
hands resting lightly on the table, I couldn't help noticing all the liver
spots decorating them. There were more spots along his forehead where his hair
used to be. Finally, his internal struggle broke and he made a decision,

'I
shouldn't have let you because
I
knew
how it would turn out,' he said at last, his manner more relaxed. I knew you'd
get bored, and I knew with the way you, uh, are, you'd end up getting in
trouble. I knew all that and I did nothing about it. Just as I know you'll get
bored as either a plumber or an electrician and that you'll end up falling into
the same old patterns. I don't think you could help yourself. I think college
could change that. At least it could give you a chance.'

As
I sat and stared at him, I could feel my throat tightening and a hotness
spreading along my face and ears. Part of what he said was true, but only a
small part of it. Yeah, I got bored as a cop, but that had nothing to do with
what followed. The fact that he thought he could sit there and judge me when he
didn't have a clue was infuriating. And the fact that he was so damn sure of
himself only infuriated me more.

'Dad,
it's almost funny you showing all this concern now,'
I
said. 'You couldn't even visit me once in seven years.'

'I'm
sorry about that, son.'

'Forget
it.'

'No, I'd like to explain. About not visiting you
in jail—’

‘At this point I couldn't care less.’

‘Now, Joey, don't be like this!’

‘Don't be like what?'

'I'm
trying to talk to you as a man,' he said. 'I'm not trying to upset you and I'm
not trying to pick a fight. But I do want to talk to you. And I want to explain
why we didn't visit. This isn't easy for me, but I want to explain. I think
I
should. Joey, what you did was so, um, so...' He seemed lost
for the right word.

I
volunteered, 'Unforgivable?'

He
nodded. 'It was. I don't know if you knew, but I was there that night. I saw
you when you walked out of the courthouse covered with blood. You were still holding
that letter-opener. I saw firsthand what you did to Phil.'

He
seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then his eyes focused back on me. 'You got
to remember, Joey, I've known the Coakleys my whole life. Barry Coakley, Phil's
uncle, was a buddy of mine in the department. I had worked alongside him for
over twenty-five years. I couldn't face the guys after what you did, I had to
retire. And then I started finding out more about you. About your gambling and
drug addictions. I also had a long talk with Elaine. She told me how you used
to spend almost every night at that strip club having sex with prostitutes.'

'I
never cheated on my wife.'

He
showed me a frail, sad smile. 'Joey—'

'I'm
not lying about that. I did have a gambling and cocaine problem. And I did
spend a lot of time at Kelley's. But I never once cheated on Elaine.'

He
shrugged weakly. 'Maybe you didn't,' he said. Anyway, it took me a long time to
come to terms with what you did, especially my role in it. It took a lot of
soul searching on my part. The toughest thing for me, Joey, was that nothing
you did came as any surprise to me. To be honest, I think I almost expected
it.'

All
I could do was stare at him. Stare at him and hate him for being so damn sure
of himself. Finally I muttered something about was that so.

'Yes,
Joey. I've read a lot of books and talked to a lot of people.'

I
didn't say anything. I just stared at him and hated him all the more.

'I
talked to psychiatrists, Joey.' His mouth moved for a moment as if he were
stuck. Then he said, 'You've got what would be called a narcissistic
personality disorder.'

'You're
making psychiatric diagnoses now, huh?'

'Joey,
please listen to me. Please. I know it fits you. I've talked to enough people
and read enough about it to know that. Back then, of course, I didn't know what
your disorder was called, but I knew what was in you. And I did nothing about
it. I'll never forgive myself for that. I think that was part of why I couldn't
get myself to visit you.'

I
could feel myself trembling as I stared at him. My voice sounded odd to me when
I asked whether my mother felt the same way.

'I'm
not going to lie to you, your mother was hit very hard by what you did. She'd
never wanted to believe me when I'd try to talk to her about you. She'd always
defend you, Joey, always ignoring what was right in front of her face. Then
after you tried to murder Phil, she couldn't ignore it any longer. I think
that's why she spends almost every day volunteering. She's trying to make up
for all those years of ignoring what she shouldn't have ignored.'

I
had only finished half my food, but I'd lost my appetite for what was left. I
pushed the plate away. 'Well, thanks for the eggs and the psychoanalysis. I
think I'm going to head off to bed.'

'Joey,
I'm trying to talk honestly with you.'

'Yeah,
I guess there's got to be a first time for everything. But I appreciate your
taking the time to figure out my personality defects. It was Very thoughtful of
you.'

'I
wish you'd think over what I said and not be so dismissive.'

'Look,'
I said, feeling the hotness intensify along my neck and ears, 'you don't have a
fucking clue; Go play psychiatrist with someone else. You don't know me and you
never did.'

'Then
explain to me why you did the things you did.'

'Because
I screwed up. Because shit happens. Nothing more and nothing less.'

'Son,
how many close friends do you have?'

'What?'

'Humor
me, please, how many close friends do you have?'

'What's
that supposed to prove? I just spent the last seven years in jail.'

'Before
that. You can go back to when you were in high school. Name me one close
friend.'

'I
had plenty of friends on the force before I was arrested. And I had plenty on
my football and baseball teams back in high school.'

'I
know, son, but name me one that you ever considered a close friend and not just
an acquaintance.'

'Look,
I'm tired of this. I'm not playing this game anymore.'

'Son,
I'm bringing all this up for a reason. Partly so you can try to get help, but
also for your daughters' - and my granddaughters' - sake. You've been talking
about custody, but you got to understand how harmful that would be. You got to
understand what that would do to Melissa and Courtney. I know deep down you
don't want to hurt them. But you got to understand, Joey.'

I
was too angry at him to explain that I knew that as well as him. That any talk
of seeking custody changes was so that him and my mom could see my kids. 'You
think I could hurt my daughters?'

'I
don't think you'd want to intentionally, but be honest, son, what real feelings
do you have towards them?'

'What
the hell are you talking about?'

'If
they were to die tomorrow how would you really feel?'

'I've
had enough of this.' I pushed myself away from the table. I turned my back on
him. I had to. I couldn't look at him anymore. As I made my way towards my room
I heard him stammer out from behind how he had books on the subject in his den
and that I should try to read them. That was the only thing he would ask of me.
I got to my room and slammed the door shut.

I
stood frozen for a long time and then I started sobbing. I couldn't help
myself. It wasn't out of hurt or pain, but because I was so damn angry. I
wanted to hurt him for being so damn cocksure of himself about me and for
twisting me - in his mind anyway - into some kind of monster. And for
questioning whether or not I had genuine feelings about my daughters. For
doubting whether I truly loved them.

Of
course I didn't have a chance of sleeping. Not with the cocaine in my system
and not with the thoughts that were racing through my head. Sometime around
three in the morning, I went to the den and found his psychiatry books. Several
of them were nothing but general layman's books. One was on personality
disorders and another dealt with surviving a narcissistic personality. I
thumbed through the general books, and then took the other two to my room.

I
had both of them finished by five in the morning. From what I could tell a
narcissistic personality was a form of a sociopath. They had similar
characteristics: an exaggerated sense of self-importance, a complete lack of
empathy towards those around them, and they were exploitive in their
interpersonal relationships. True sociopaths, though, were better at hiding
what they were and could be charming, while narcissistic, personalities,
because they were so caught up in their grandiose views of themselves, stuck
out like sore thumbs. They tended to be arrogant and shallow, with an
unreasonable sense of entitlement and a need to be admired; kind of like
spoiled brats. There were other things that I found that were interesting;
their drugs of choice were alcohol and cocaine, they seldom formed close
friendships, and they were driven by power. All in all it was interesting
reading, but that's all it was.