Run You Down (Rebekah Roberts #2)(67)
“Where did you get this?” I ask. My head feels light. Keep it together, Rebekah.
“I’m sure there’s DNA on it; they’ll be able to get him with that.”
“Get him?”
“My dad,” he says. “My dad killed Pessie.”
“Ryan!” says Mellie, her teeth clenched. “Sit the f*ck down.”
Ryan sits. Falls, more like. The burden now out of his chest and into mine. My head begins to sweat and I pull off my knit cap. I have the feeling that I am standing above the table watching myself, giving myself orders. Maintain eye contact. Zip close the duffel bag. Set it aside; it is evidence. Breathe. Breathe again.
“How do you know?” I ask, my voice tighter and higher than when I last spoke.
“I was there. Okay? But I’m not going down with him. No f*cking way. He’s already ruined my life. He’s like the plague. He just spreads.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Ryan looks at the ceiling. He’s calmer since he sat down. More focused. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“How about with you being a faggot?” says Mellie, shaking the powdered milk mix for Eva.
“Hey,” I say quietly. But she doesn’t even look at me.
“There you go,” says Ryan. “My dad and Hank didn’t know I’m … gay.” It’s hard for him to say the word. “I’ve known since junior high, but Sam was the first, like, relationship I’ve ever had.”
Mellie makes a kind of snort. Ryan ignores her. “When we met I was still working for my dad and the Brotherhood. I mean, what did I care? I was like, twenty-one, and it was good money, easy work. I was living with my friend Kaitlyn, and Sam started crashing with us there. My dad and Hank saw him, maybe, three times that whole first year. We made up this story that he was a German exchange student Kaitlyn met at work. My dad got a kick out of that. When he saw him he’d be like, Heil Hitler. I thought it was f*cked up, but Sam thought it was funny. He really hated where he came from.
“And after he got out of prison, he hated it even more. He blamed everything on the way he grew up. On how, like, they didn’t protect him. I mean, I get it. But you gotta move on eventually. Anyway, I thought he was back working with Kaitlyn, but it turns out he was also delivering for my dad again. Behind my back.”
“Why do you think he did that?”
“When he was inside he stabbed somebody who’d been hassling him and it turned out that the guy was somebody the Brotherhood wanted out of the picture. The guy was dealing inside and, I don’t know, it was some sort of turf thing. Anyway, word got back to my dad and he sort of got Sam protection for the rest of the time he was in there. Obviously, he didn’t know Sam was gay, either. And then when he got out, Sam felt like he owed him. Plus,” Ryan sighs, “he liked my dad. I can’t spend ten minutes in a room with him. Nigger this and spic and faggot. That’s all normal to them.” Ryan lowers his voice. “But especially after prison, Sam was a lot angrier. And honestly, he’s kind of racist. It’s the one thing I really didn’t like about him. He’s not as bad as my family, but sometimes he’ll talk about how black people are dirty and descended from, like, some Biblical character who was cursed. I don’t know. I tried to ignore it. Anyway, so him and my dad just … got along. Sam used to say that everyone where he grew up was weak. That they didn’t teach kids how to defend themselves. He dug how my dad was the opposite of that. He’d be like, nobody messes with your dad. After prison, Sam was kind of obsessed with being all macho. Lifting weights and shooting and—”
“Sucking dick,” says Mellie, interrupting him.
Ryan ignores her. He’s racing to get the story out.
“At some point he started carrying a gun my dad gave him. He didn’t tell me. He probably knew I’d freak out. A gun is a major parole violation. Like, do not pass Go, go directly back to prison. It was a couple weeks before Pessie … died. I found an apartment in Hudson that’s nearer to my work and Sam was helping me move in. He was staying with his sister, on and off, but he didn’t really like it there.”
“Aviva?”
Ryan looks surprised. “Yeah,” he says. “How’d you know that?”
The words rise up fast, proud: “I’m her daughter.”
“Her…?” Ryan puts his hand over his mouth. “Oh my God. You’re from Florida?”
“She told you about me?”
“She told Sam. Wait. Do you know where they are?”
“Aviva and Sam? Are they together?”
“I don’t know! Sam won’t return my calls since…” Ryan inhales deeply. “I don’t blame him. If he hadn’t met me Pessie would be alive.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Okay. So, Pessie came over to my new place with Chaim; that’s her son. He’s like, one, I think. He crawls but he can’t walk. So we’re just hanging out in the living room and Chaim is sitting on the floor and Sam’s backpack is by the couch and Chaim, like, pulls it open and Sam’s gun slips out and Chaim picks it up. I didn’t even notice, and then Pessie screamed. She grabbed Chaim and went ballistic on Sam. Saying how reckless and thoughtless he was. How she didn’t understand him anymore and she couldn’t believe he’d put her child in danger. She was shaking. She looked like a totally different person. Pessie used to visit a lot before we got locked up—before she got married and had the baby—and she was always really, like, even-tempered. She didn’t come around as much after Sam got out and it was clear she was being a little cautious with him, but I never saw her get mad about anything. She told Sam she didn’t want to see him again. She said she had to take care of her own family now and he needed to, like, get his shit together.