Tattoos: A Novel (18 page)

I glanced at my watch and noticed that it was just going on five. If I didn’t hurry nightfall would come and I’d probably have no shot at finding Fred until the following day. Since it would be Thanksgiving, the chances that he’d be in his old haunt would have been even less remote. Fred and all his buddies would surely have made their way to the Salvation Army to enjoy roast turkey and all the trimmings.

As I approached the bridge, where not only Fred lived but a few others did too, I noticed a fire had already been lit in a huge metal barrel. Street people congregated around it at night to keep warm. Winter was already in the air. I pitied anybody whose only mode of staying warm was a burning barrel of garbage.
 

Three people stood warming their hands over the glowing fire, passing a paper bag covered bottle from one to the other. They shot fleeting glances my way and must have judged me of no interest since they completely ignored me. I moved past the group, a little surprised that Fred wasn’t with them. Maybe he’d already started drinking and was passed out in the place he called home.

I moved up the incline of pavement beneath the bridge. Though the lighting was poor, I noticed the shape of a person curled on a stack of cut up pieces of cardboard. From his dark trench coat that was worn away completely at the elbows and his dirt caked runners, I recognized the form as Fred. His long scraggly gray hair fluttered in the cold breeze, but other than that there was no movement from him. An inexplicable and unwarranted feeling of dread shrouded me, like an icy blanket. No matter how much I tried to shake it off, I couldn’t.

I squeezed the saxophone case tight to my chest as if it would protect me. What I needed protecting from was beyond me. When I was a few feet away from him the distinct stench of unclean, earth and stale booze filled my nostrils. I almost gagged. Yet beneath those smells, ones I was accustomed to with Fred and many other street people, was something even more horrible, something that I’d smelled once or twice before, something that said death was close by.

“No,” I whispered, because I didn’t want it to be true. Not now when I was there to help him, to give him something back that had once been his whole life. I didn’t want to believe that the Strip had taken one more soul for its own.

I pushed myself the last few steps until I was standing over Fred. His lifeless eyes that had once been warm chocolate brown in life, were now polished white stones. His face was washed of all color and frozen in the last expression he’d made at the moment of his death. Dried vomit caked his face and told a story that was all too evident, he’d suffocated on his own stomach contents. I didn’t know how long he’d been dead only that his body was stiff and unyielding to my touch, like hard plastic. Death had always terrified me and seeing Fred was no different. My instinct was to run away and forget I’d ever seen him. Someone was bound to find him and he’d be taken away.

But I knew I couldn’t let that happen because if I wasn’t there to tell them who he was, and who he had once been, he’d be another John Doe. As a testament to the life he’d once lived I needed to make sure that he was given a proper burial. Instead of reuniting Fred with his long lost saxophone I would use Marilee’s money for a headstone and to buy a final resting place for him.
 

Still clutching the saxophone to my chest, I tugged my cell phone from my pocket, punching in 911. After I’d told the operator my location and my name she forwarded my call to the police department. Once again I gave them the details, all the while keeping my focus on Fred. Soon the call was finished and all that was left to do was wait. As I gazed down at Fred I hated the person who’d stolen the only thing that mattered to him. But more than that I hated myself because there was a real possibility that if Fred had gotten his saxophone a few days earlier he might be alive now.

Stupid, I’d been so stupid. All I could think was that not only had I let down Fred but I’d let down Marilee too. I’d promised her that her money would make a difference but I’d been too slow to act. Money could do a lot of things but it couldn’t resurrect the dead.
 

Sirens pealed in the distance. The shrill sound sent a fresh wave of shivers through my already quaking body.

“Poor Fred,” a voice behind me said.

 
I startled, spinning to face the speaker. The woman had a ratty Chicago Bulls baseball cap pulled low over her face, so just her wrinkled mouth showed. Stringy salt and pepper hair, trailed from beneath the hat. Her fingerless gloved hands were clasped in front of her waist as if in prayer. Her pants hung on her thin hips, she practically disappeared in the folds of fabric. I knew Sherly as much as I’d known Fred. Sherly had been one of the few people that Fred had actually bothered to have a connection with. I was more than sorry for her loss.
 

“I’m sorry Sherly,” I said, knowing my words were meaningless to her. She tipped her head in a silent response.

“He always did like the drink too much,” she said in her British accent. I noticed a stray tear slip down her dirt stained cheek. I did the only thing I felt I could.

“Here,” I said, pushing the saxophone toward her. She studied the case for a second, tipped the brim of her hat up then brought her focus to me. Her amber eyes sparkled with tears. With her suffering in plain view it only made it tougher to keep it together.

“Is it his?” she asked, a slight shake in her voice.

 
I nodded. Another tear trailed down her face. I swallowed a few more times before I trusted myself enough to speak.

“I just got it back and I wanted to give it to him, because I knew how much…” My throat seemed to close over and I couldn’t speak anymore. But I could tell by her expression that it had been enough.

“He loved that old sax, and he could play it.” She swept her arm up in the air. “I guess he’s playing in Heaven now,” she said.

I nodded. “Will you take it?” I asked, “in memory of him?”

She shook her head then tapped a stubby finger to her temple. “I have all the memories right here. And to be truthful without Fred to breathe life into it, that saxophone is just metal and ivory.”
 

Her smile was warm. I felt my lips curve in response. A part of me always thought that I knew the people on the Strip, about who they’d been and who mattered to them, but I didn’t, not really. Because beneath the dirt and grime and the unpleasantness of the human condition in need, was the rawest version of love, hope and camaraderie. It was a connection that people who had everything didn’t understand and never would.
 

It took heart to say no to the offer of Fred’s saxophone because in all practicality Sherly could have pawned it and used the money. In her own way her refusal to take the sax was evidence of the deep and unwavering relationship that they’d once had. Fred had meant more to her than five hundred dollars, a virtual fortune to someone living on the streets.

Sherly cast her eyes toward Fred. She went down on her haunches, her hands resting on the stained knees of her khaki cargo pants that were paper thin from wear.

“It’s okay Jax, I’ll stay and give the police the details.”
 

“Are you the one who called this in?” a deep voice said from behind me. I turned toward the fresh faced police officer now standing there. Not much older than me, with short dark hair and a flawlessly ironed uniform, he had the bright polish of someone who hadn’t seen much of life and death on the Strip. I knew that Fred was in good hands.

“Sherly will give you all the info you need,” I said. The police officer put his hand up, signaling for me to wait.

“What’s that in your hands,” he said motioning to the sax case.

“The past,” I said simply.
 

The officer squinted and was about to say something but Sherly cut in. “The sax belongs to him officer, Fred didn’t have much more than the clothes on his back.” Her eyes had dried up and she was all business. She was clearly on a mission to see that Fred was taken care of. I marveled at her strength in the face of her loss.

“Fine.” He pulled out a pad of paper and brought his focus to Sherly. “So can you tell me what happened here?” he said. I didn’t hear Sherly’s response because I was already too far away. My legs ate up the distance back to the sidewalk that led back to the pawn shop. As I moved away, the saxophone seemed to grow progressively heavier, and I just wanted to be rid of it. I’d failed Fred, now he was dead. I tried to convince myself that no matter if he’d had his instrument back or not he’d probably still be dead, but I couldn’t quite manage it. And the weight of my guilt was so heavy that it seemed to suck all my energy away.

As I walked, a movie of Fred playing the sax, life in his eyes, pleasure in his expression, played through my mind only to be replaced by an image of his blank death stare. I was quite sure that it would be a long time before I shook that picture from my brain. Then Marilee was there, disappointed that I’d botched the one thing that gave her purpose and the will to fight another day. How could I tell her that I’d been too late, that I’d misjudged the severity of need and now Fred was dead.
 

Before I even knew what I was doing I was getting on the bus that went to St Martin’s, with Fred’s old sax held tight against my chest. I knew it was dumb for me to go there, since Marilee was home with her parents for the holiday. But somehow I figured if I could go to her room and be around her things it would help me deal. I fingered the phone in my pocket, tempted to call her, just so I could hear her voice. I released my hold on the phone, pulling my hand out again. Marilee knew me too well not to hear the tension in my voice and know that something was wrong. She deserved a break from the hospital and maybe even me.
 

The sudden realization of how easily life could change made me want to ensure that I never missed an opportunity with Marilee. We had never gone anywhere together, or done anything even remotely normal for a couple. Those facts alone made me determined to make new memories with her, ones that were away from the confines of the hospital. As if on cue my phone buzzed in my pocket. I tugged it out, glancing down at the screen. I was disappointed that it was only Zeke calling. I ignored it. Knowing him, he was just calling to remind me about the gig we had that night.
 

I turned the phone off and shoved it back into my pocket. The bus pulled over at the stop near the hospital. As soon as my feet hit the concrete I was almost running to the front door as if my life depended on it. Dusk had slipped into night. The Christmas lights that adorned the colossal pine tree at the entrance, twinkled merrily as though everything was just fine. It felt like a punch in the face.

When I hit the front doors I fished out my security card from my wallet and swiped it through the card reader. Once through the sliding glass doors the familiar scents of the hospital surrounded me and somehow oddly comforted me. It amazed me that something that would repel most people felt like home to me, because Marilee lived here.

 
Despite all the holiday decorations and festive ambience the foyer was morgue quiet. The hospital always did its best to let as many people go home and celebrate as possible during any major holiday. For the most part the hospital managed with just a skeleton crew. Even some of the sicker patients would have day passes so they could be with their loved ones.

 
A pang of sorrow pierced my heart because it was the first time in a long while that I would be there in the hospital and Marilee would be gone. Even so, I made my way to the third floor, telling myself that I only needed to see her room, her things and somehow it would be enough. When I rounded the corner I noticed that the curtains to room 312 were drawn and the door was closed. I glanced down the hall almost embarrassed at how truly crazy I was. It wasn’t natural to feel like I did about Marilee, like my whole world revolved around her. But sadly I realized that it actually did.

I’d heard about people like that, people who couldn’t take a crap unless their girlfriend told them they could. I didn’t want to be that kind of lame-ass because nobody should have that kind of power over anyone else. Yet I was quickly accepting that my feelings for Marilee had somehow morphed into something that was much bigger than me.
 

I scoped the hallway for any nurses who might have caught me in my act of sappy lovesick absurdity. I already had a fake story that would explain why I was there. When I saw the coast was clear I zipped over to the door, pushed it opened and slipped inside. I was inside with the door closed in less than ten seconds. I shut my eyes, sweat peppered my brow and my mouth had gone cotton dry. I imagined myself as Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, adrenalin firing on all cylinders. When I thought about how absolutely demented my analogy was I released a soft laugh.

“Jax?” At the sound of my name my body seized and I stopped breathing. Seconds later I registered the voice. My eyes popped wide and I felt like the dumb ass of the century. That was until I put the pieces together and remembered that Marilee wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Marilee?” I said. My back was still pressed to the door as if I was glued in place. As thrilled as I was to see her the fact that she was there at all stunned me. Her face was bright with a blush that went from the top of her head right down her neck into her cleavage. Without a word I made my way to the bed. Since I still had the saxophone tucked against my chest I stopped only long enough to lean the case against the wall. Arms free, I took her in my embrace and was kissing her as if everything was exactly as it was supposed to be. She clung to me with the intensity of someone who hadn’t seen me in months, not days. A thousand questions flooded my brain but they all took a backseat to the joy that I felt being with her.

When our lips finally broke apart I was breathless, as if I’d been running for my life.

“Why are you here?” we both said at the exact same moment. We laughed and I had to admit the sound of her laughter, made all the horrible feelings I’d wrestled with over Fred’s death lessen a bit. When our laughter died away we were silent, staring at each other as if we were both seeing mirages.