Tell No Lies Page 33

  He fought unconsciousness, holding her as best he could.

  It seemed a very long time until they heard shouts approaching up the tunnel.

  Chapter 72

  Daniel waited nervously in the exam-room chair. He turned his head too quickly, and a dagger stabbed up the nerve line toward his ear, finding the back of his jaw. It had been almost two months since the tunnels, and there was less pain every day, but that still left a good amount to go around, especially in the mornings when he woke up stiff. Though the rebar had sheared through nerve and muscle, the long-term prognosis was good. The front and back wounds were impressive, jagged keloid scars, each the size of a silver dollar. Beneath the shiny purple skin, the flesh was still boggy and gave off a deep ache that kept him up some nights, but it had healed over well enough, and now his body just had to do its job.

  So much had happened in the time since he and Cris had emerged from the earth beneath Chinatown, though nothing could compare to the weight of those preceding eleven days. The story had exploded pyrotechnically, the afterglow lasting through several news cycles. Each revelation seemed to find its way above the fold or onto a Web site’s home page. Two days too late, CSI Media Forensics had released a security still shot from the Fairmont elevator showing Angelberto riding up to Arthur Carroll’s coin-cleaning closet, his shoulders bulging under the weight of the bags of change. The Tearmaker, unmasked. The mastermind, meanwhile, awaited trial. According to the Chronicle, Martin remained on suicide watch in the jail behind 850 Bryant. The article mentioned that the guards had restricted his right to send letters.

  Dooley had protected Daniel as best she could, minimizing mention of his name in news conferences, but a few dogged reporters had sounded out the magnitude of his involvement. He had his fifteen minutes of fame before being gladly demoted to “husband of potential victim.”

  Theresa had come by the house to check on them, wearing her uniform to show off the new hash marks—the youngest lieutenant in the history of the department, according to the press release. They’d sat at the kitchen counter sipping coffee, but the spaces between words seemed to stretch out. Afterward at the front door, they’d talked about getting together again, but they all knew it was a social pretense to ease the sharpness of the good-bye. Pausing at the threshold, Dooley said, “Forget it. It’s Chinatown,” and they’d laughed a little. “Anything you need,” she added, and he said, “You, too, Theresa.” After they shook hands, he stood on the porch and watched her drive away.

  To commemorate the New Year, he’d paid a visit to his future office, bringing a few boxes of books, a lamp, and an overpriced desk set, but he hadn’t felt ready yet to inhabit the space. As he continued to put days between himself and the events of late November, he figured he’d make the transition in earnest.

  This morning Kendra Richardson had called. Hearing his former director’s voice caught him off guard. The near-violent end to the last session had accelerated his departure; he’d not once been back to Metro South. After the pleasantries, Kendra had been sure to remind him that several group members were graduating tonight should he want to stop by. She’d reminded him, too, that he still owed her the damn termination paperwork.

  Now he sat nervously here in the heart of the UCSF Medical Center, the hospital smells bringing him back to visits past, the torturous hours he’d spent on the stiff waiting chairs of the radiation suite waiting for Cris to emerge.

  But it was all different today.

  On the exam table, Cris rustled up onto her elbows and shot him a wink. The scar beneath her eye remained, a thin stroke of purple, but she claimed that she’d grown to appreciate it. An accent mark for the radiation tattoos, she’d said. What good is a body if it doesn’t look lived in?

  She glanced from him to the monitor. “You sure you want to know, mi vida? We can always go lavender for the walls.”

  The ultrasound technician repositioned the wand on Cris’s baby bump and paused to await Daniel’s response.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I want to know.”

  The tech looked at Cris, who nodded.

  “You’re having a baby girl.”

  Cris gave an exultant little cry, and then she was wiping her face. “God, I’m so hormonal,” she said. “It’s not like there was a bad option. ‘Sorry, ma’am, but you’re having a calf.’”

  “A lot of people get emotional when they hear,” the tech said, cleaning the gel off Cris’s stomach.

  Cris lay back on the table and cried a little more.

  Softly, Daniel said, “What?”

  “I never thought I’d get to do this,” she said.

  He reached across, took her hand. The tech put away the cart and departed. The door swung shut, leaving them with the sudden quiet. Cris stared up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. He marveled at her profile. Her hair was rich and shiny, her skin smooth. She’d never looked more alive.

  “What do you want to name her?” he asked.

  Cris chewed her lip. “Francisca.”

  “Like the girl,” he said. “Like your nana.”

  Cris smiled.

  “Like the city,” she said.

  * * *

  Driving away from the hospital into the bitter January gray, Daniel got a call from the high-strung manager of Evelyn’s new building, his words a continuous flow, his manner toggling between anxious and indignant. After attempting to shoehorn in a few responses, Daniel said, loudly, “Okay, I’ll be right there,” and hung up.

  He glanced across at Cris, who’d observed, amused.

  “Something about requiring a building permit for construction,” Daniel said. “He and Evelyn are at loggerheads.”

  “Shocking.”

  “Can we go?”

  “Do we really need to?” Cris asked.

  “She’s my mom,” he said. “And she’s scared.”

  Cris looked out the window. “I’ll wait outside.”

  They drove across to Nob Hill, Evelyn’s second-favorite neighborhood and the highest summit in the city. Here on the “Hill of Palaces,” she’d found an old brownstone that some enterprising soul had carved into little condos. Her non-corner apartment on the second floor had a partial view of Grace Cathedral.

  As they pulled up, Cris took note of the building. “A significant downgrade,” she said. “But hardly the Bowery.”

  He double-parked, and they climbed out. Through the lobby door, he could see Evelyn inside, animated, her finger pointing at the sour face of the manager.

  Cris leaned against the outside wall to the side of the awning. “I’ll be right here.”

  He went in, Evelyn’s shoulders sagging with relief at the sight of him. “I don’t understand why I need another permit to change the crown moldings in my own—”

  The manager shook a clipboard emphatically. “The board has been very consistent on the requirements for—”

  Daniel held up his hands. “Is this really what this is over? A one-page form?”

  Both aggrieved parties said, “Yes.” The manager added, “And the board vote, which will happen during Monday’s meeting.”

  Daniel took the clipboard. “I’ll fill it out.”

  “I needed a permit to replace the kitchen counter,” Evelyn said. “A permit to add soundproof glass. And now this? A permit for crown molding? I just don’t see why this little power play is necessary.”

  “Because, Mom. You don’t own the building. So you have to abide by the rules, no matter how annoying they might be.”

  “Are they designed to be annoying?”

  “In part,” Daniel said. That didn’t win him a warm parting glance from the manager, but it drew a faint smile from Evelyn.

  She waited until the office door banged shut behind the manager, then said, “I miss James.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Thank you for handling the form,” she said. “And that bitter queen.”

  “Last time I was here, I met his wife and sons.”

  “Oh, like that me
ans anything.” She checked her watch. “I have to be at the club for lunch.”

  “I see you’re really adjusting to your lifestyle as a pauper.”

  “Meg is hosting,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Well, then.”

  An awkward pause.

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Daniel said. “Cristina’s starting her second trimester.”

  “Oh, come on. There’ll be plenty of time for all that doting and blithering once the thing is born.” She checked her watch, then turned toward the elevator. “I need to put my face on.”

  Her face already looked on, but he nodded, and she took her leave.

  He walked out and found Cris there, her eyes closed, her face tilted up to the sun. He watched her for a moment until she opened her eyes and said, “Stalker.”

  “What now?” he asked.

  “Peking duck.”

  He laughed and held up the clipboard. “Let me just fill this out.”

  A cable car topped the rise, accompanied by that distinctive clanging. Daniel started in on the permit form, but Cris touched his arm so he’d look up and soak in the sight of the car coasting over the brink. The conductor, his cap and gloves from another era, went nearly horizontal to engage the brake. The injury rates for conductors were off the charts—knees and backs giving out, hands turned arthritic around the giant pliers of the grips. There were so many easier ways to get folks up and down a hill, but the city charter included a provision that cable cars, the only mobile national monuments, could never be outlawed.

  And besides: Easy was overrated.

  The cable car drifted past, unveiling Grace Cathedral, imposing on the outside but free-spirited within, with its Keith Haring AIDS altarpiece, its stained-glass windows of Einstein and FDR, Frank Lloyd Wright and John Glenn. Secular luminaries inside a house of God topping a hill populated with the mansions of rail barons.

  The closer one looked, the less the city made sense. It burned and shook, rose and fell, and at times even defaulted on its obligation to remain underfoot. It made things hard on itself. In that stubborn persistence were a host of annoyances and contradictions, but a kind of beauty and character, too.

  Daniel returned his attention to the clipboard.

  A few moments later, he heard Cristina say, “Jesus Christ, doesn’t the woman know how to hail a cab?”

  There Evelyn was at the curb, one hand raised feebly in the air; she must have moved past without noticing them. Taxis zoomed by, taking no notice. She tried again, but the commotion of the street seemed to overwhelm her.

  Daniel glanced for the doorman, but then a familiar earsplitting whistle sounded from right beside him. Cris took her fingers from her mouth and pushed off the wall as a taxi yanked to the curb.

  Evelyn glanced across, surprised at the sight of Cris suddenly there at her side. Cris opened the door for Evelyn, held it.

  The two women regarded each other.

  “Thank you,” Evelyn said. She paused, the hint of a curve in her spine, then gave the faintest nod. “Cristina,” she added, and climbed into the taxi.

  Chapter 73

  Hesitating in the hall outside the door, Daniel was more nervous than he could ever remember being. He listened to the familiar patter of the room. X’s laughter. Big Mac’s booming voice. A-Dre getting worked up over something. Finally gathering his courage, he stepped inside.

  A chorus of greetings went up.

  “Counselor!”

  “Mister … ah, ah, Crime Fighter.”

  He smiled and gave a nod to the new counselor, a pleasant if tired-looking woman in a worn skirt suit. “I’ll give you the floor,” she said, rising.

  “Thank you.”

  The counselor shook X’s hand and then Fang’s. “Good luck out there. My door’s always open.”

  When she left, Daniel smiled at the two of them. “The big graduates.”

  “Yeah,” A-Dre said. “Us other shitheads gotta keep draggin’ our asses in here.”

  Everyone laughed more than seemed called for, probably to break the tension. Daniel looked around, finding his bearings. He noticed that Lil’s hair was up, her skin clean, and she wore a flowered shirt.

  “Lil,” he said, “you look beautiful.”

  She waved him off. “You’re getting paid to say stuff like—” She caught herself. Dipped her head. “Thank you.”

  “No new members?” Daniel asked.

  “Nah,” Big Mac said. “After Martin they’re gonna let the original crew ride it out until we all graduate. Enough disruptions, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Why don’t you sit down?” A-Dre said. “Stay awhile.”

  In his nervousness Daniel had remained on his feet. He said, “Because X is in my fucking chair.”

  She cracked up, clapping her hands. “Come on. We got some stuff to show you.”

  He sat. “Like what?”

  She pointed.

  A-Dre was holding both hands clamped around his own neck.

  “You hafta guess,” X said.

  Daniel said, “A-Dre’s gonna strangle himself?”

  “Ta-daaa!” A-Dre flung his arms wide. His neck, clear of any tattoos. Daniel stared in disbelief at the place where “LaRonda” had once been inked.

  “I had that shit lasered off,” A-Dre said. “My cousin has a place. You think that motherfucker hurt going on…”

  “And…” Lil said.

  Fang had his hand over his heart, as if reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.

  “No,” Daniel said, grinning. “No.”

  Fang removed his hand, revealing a shiny name tag. “Osh Hardware.” He couldn’t keep a smile from lighting his face. “Tools and Hardware.”

  Daniel clasped his hands, aimed them at Fang.

  “I guess I’m the loser in the group.” Big Mac thumbed his nose, blinked a few times. “Lost my job.”

  X brightened. “He’s been taking pity-party lessons from Lil, though, so that’s good.”

  Big Mac smirked, and Lil flipped Xochitl off, then seemed surprised by her own reaction.

  “Sorry to hear that, Mac,” Daniel said. “How’s things at home?”

  “Solid,” he said. “They been solid.”

  They visited for a time, making fun of one another, reliving some favorite moments. Fang stood up to imitate A-Dre’s swagger. “’Member when A-Dre was all like, ‘Fighting’s fun. I’m … ah, ah, ah, I’m good at it.’”

  “Look at Tools and Hardware, gettin’ all cocky,” A-Dre said. “Hope you don’t have to talk in that new job a’ yours.”

  They gave each other five.

  X stood up and mock-cleared her throat, blushing at the formality. “We want to thank you.” She tugged self-consciously at one of her braids. “For everything you did for us.”

  Daniel’s face grew hot, and he looked down at the tile. “I learned more from you than you did from me.”

  “We have one more surprise for you,” Lil said.

  X ran to the door and leaned out into the hall. There was a murmured exchange, and then she pulled gently back into sight holding a toddler. The girl was striking, dark-skinned with loose, sloppy curls. Her long lashes and profile removed any doubt that she was Xochitl’s daughter. Though the girl was hardly a newborn, X gripped her awkwardly and with great care, as if afraid she was going to drop her. As she returned to the circle, a middle-aged woman slid in from the hall and stood by the door with her back to the wall.

  A social worker. Supervised visit.

  Daniel opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  X showed off her daughter. “Isn’t she pretty? Far as I can tell, all she does is say sorta words and break sunglasses. Is that what babies do? Break glasses?” She bounced the girl gently on her hip. “I don’t get to keep her.” She shot a mad look at the woman in the back. “Yet. But I get to see her two times a week, and if I line up a job, it’ll be more, and then maybe. Maybe.”

  Daniel stood and said, “May I?”

&nbs
p; X nodded and handed him her child. He held her for a moment, fighting to swallow past the growing lump in his throat, and finally he said his good-byes. He went up the corridor to the bathroom, closed himself in a stall, and tilted his face into his hands.

  When he cleared up, he came back out into the hall.

  Farther down the corridor by the elevator, Kendra was in a heated discussion with a man wearing a sweater vest. She looked up, spotted Daniel, and smiled, and the man took advantage of the distraction to disappear into the elevator. Kendra walked to Daniel and gave him a hug, enfolding him in a swirl of yellow caftan.

  “You got my papers, baby?” she asked.

  He pulled the termination agreement from his back pocket. Looked down at the paper. Handed it to her. She took it, not happily.

  “You see off the graduates?” she asked.

  “I did. The new counselor?”

  “She’s great. But the guy for the new group?” Kendra gestured toward the elevator. “That was him fleeing midsession, tail tucked. They ate him alive.”

  “He wears a sweater vest.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I shoulda known.” She glanced past Daniel at the last room down the hall. “They’re still in there, gloating.” She rolled up his termination agreement, tapped it thoughtfully against her mouth. “Now I gotta find someone else to take them on.”

  Daniel said nothing.

  “They’re gonna be emboldened now that they scared off one counselor,” Kendra mused. “It’s a big challenge, taking on a room like that.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” Daniel said.

  “What?” She feigned surprise. “Oh—you thought I was asking…?”

  “And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to…”

  “Well, it’s not like it’s a full load. It’s one group.”

  “I have a private practice to start.”

  “You know the good thing about only having one group?”

  “Lemme guess,” Daniel said flatly. “You can fit it in around a private practice.”

  “That is what I was thinking.”

  He set his teeth. She watched him, her head slightly drawn back. A standoff.