The Saint
Page 45
She took a bus to Westport, where she caught the train to Manhattan and then the subway to Washington Heights. She’d been running on pure anger for the past three hours but now that she’d arrived at her father’s building, a new feeling of dread threatened to take its place. The building looked one step above condemned. People on the street passed her, shooting her suspicious looks. But she wouldn’t give in to her fears. She buzzed her father’s apartment. When he heard her voice he almost sounded smug.
He buzzed her in and she climbed four foul-smelling sets of stairs to his apartment. He opened the door, and before she could say hello, he’d grabbed her and smothered her in a bear hug.
“Good to see you, too, Dad,” she said, nearly struggling for air.
“God damn, I can’t believe you’re here.” He pulled back and looked at her. “Who are you? And what have you done to my daughter?”
“I am your daughter.”
“Don’t look it. You look twenty years old now. When did that happen?”
“It’s the clothes and the makeup.”
“Supermodel.”
“Stop it.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m too short.”
“And too pretty. You don’t get that from me.” He let her go at last and she glanced around his apartment. A small studio, it might have been nice if someone cleaned it up, put some decent furniture in it. Her father clearly didn’t have the decorating gene.
“I know it’s not much to look at,” he said, walking into the tiny kitchen. “I knew I wasn’t going to be here long. But while you’re here, take your coat off. Get comfortable.”
She doubted she could ever feel comfortable in this place. Dirty dishes sat in haphazard stacks all over the apartment; clothes littered the floor. The whole place reeked of stale cigarette smoke and rotting food. She took off her coat and laid it over the back of the one chair that had the least amount of garbage on and around it.
“So … do you know what’s going to happen?” she asked.
“I’m going to prison,” he said and took a beer out of the refrigerator. “Want one?”
“You know I’m sixteen, right?”
“You’re not driving, are you?”
“No,” she said and took the beer from him. She’d had alcohol before but never in front of either of her parents. Communion wine didn’t count. She took a sip and found it equal parts disgusting and wonderful.
“So how’s community service treating you?” her dad asked, and she heard a note of bitterness in his voice.
“It’s not bad. I do a lot of office work for charities. I hang out at the homeless shelter and help out. Did a day-camp thing this summer. That was fun.”
“Nice work if you can get it. Sounds better than prison.”
She winced. “I’m sorry, Dad. I wish …”
“What? What do you wish?”
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
He drank his beer hard and fast. The man had an unnatural tolerance for alcohol, something he called “the Catholic effect.”
“Still trying to figure out how you got off so easy. I mean, thrilled you did. Don’t want my baby girl in juvie or anything, but still. Community service for five felony counts?”
“I had a nice judge. A good lawyer.”
“Where’d the lawyer come from?”
“The church paid for her. I do some work at the church to pay them back.”
“That’s good for you, then. Real good for you.”
“So … you said you wanted to go to dinner?” She desperately wanted to change the subject. She could tell talk of her light sentence didn’t sit with her father.
“Yeah, sure. But let me ask you something first.”
“Sure. What?”
“I have a new lawyer, too. Smart guy. Tough guy. Not a shark you want to meet in the ocean. Anyway, he’s thinking he can maybe get me a new trial.”
“New trial? Why?”
“Some f**kup with the evidence. Some dumb cop mislabeled a file or something, I don’t know. But if he can swing it and I get a new trial, there’s a chance I won’t have to go to prison.”
“You don’t think there’s enough evidence against you?”
“If I had a witness who’d maybe recant some of her statements she made to the police, then there’s a chance.”
Eleanor could only stare at her father in silence. He opened another beer. She’d barely made a dent in hers.
“You want me to lie on a witness stand for you? I gave an allocution. I’d go to juvie in a heartbeat if I start telling people I lied to the police. I’m on probation and I think I’ve seen enough TV to know perjury is a crime. A big one.”
“Baby, you’re sixteen. Even if you did end up in juvie, you’ll be out by the time you’re eighteen. That’s a year and a half. I’m looking at ten or more years, Elle.”
“I’m not going to lie for you.”
“Ten years. Fifteen years. You don’t care about that? You don’t care about your own father?”
“And it’s not just a year and a half for me. This could f**k up my whole life. Am I supposed to send in college applications with a juvenile detention facility as my current address? I don’t think NYU lets in criminals.”
He buzzed her in and she climbed four foul-smelling sets of stairs to his apartment. He opened the door, and before she could say hello, he’d grabbed her and smothered her in a bear hug.
“Good to see you, too, Dad,” she said, nearly struggling for air.
“God damn, I can’t believe you’re here.” He pulled back and looked at her. “Who are you? And what have you done to my daughter?”
“I am your daughter.”
“Don’t look it. You look twenty years old now. When did that happen?”
“It’s the clothes and the makeup.”
“Supermodel.”
“Stop it.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m too short.”
“And too pretty. You don’t get that from me.” He let her go at last and she glanced around his apartment. A small studio, it might have been nice if someone cleaned it up, put some decent furniture in it. Her father clearly didn’t have the decorating gene.
“I know it’s not much to look at,” he said, walking into the tiny kitchen. “I knew I wasn’t going to be here long. But while you’re here, take your coat off. Get comfortable.”
She doubted she could ever feel comfortable in this place. Dirty dishes sat in haphazard stacks all over the apartment; clothes littered the floor. The whole place reeked of stale cigarette smoke and rotting food. She took off her coat and laid it over the back of the one chair that had the least amount of garbage on and around it.
“So … do you know what’s going to happen?” she asked.
“I’m going to prison,” he said and took a beer out of the refrigerator. “Want one?”
“You know I’m sixteen, right?”
“You’re not driving, are you?”
“No,” she said and took the beer from him. She’d had alcohol before but never in front of either of her parents. Communion wine didn’t count. She took a sip and found it equal parts disgusting and wonderful.
“So how’s community service treating you?” her dad asked, and she heard a note of bitterness in his voice.
“It’s not bad. I do a lot of office work for charities. I hang out at the homeless shelter and help out. Did a day-camp thing this summer. That was fun.”
“Nice work if you can get it. Sounds better than prison.”
She winced. “I’m sorry, Dad. I wish …”
“What? What do you wish?”
“I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
He drank his beer hard and fast. The man had an unnatural tolerance for alcohol, something he called “the Catholic effect.”
“Still trying to figure out how you got off so easy. I mean, thrilled you did. Don’t want my baby girl in juvie or anything, but still. Community service for five felony counts?”
“I had a nice judge. A good lawyer.”
“Where’d the lawyer come from?”
“The church paid for her. I do some work at the church to pay them back.”
“That’s good for you, then. Real good for you.”
“So … you said you wanted to go to dinner?” She desperately wanted to change the subject. She could tell talk of her light sentence didn’t sit with her father.
“Yeah, sure. But let me ask you something first.”
“Sure. What?”
“I have a new lawyer, too. Smart guy. Tough guy. Not a shark you want to meet in the ocean. Anyway, he’s thinking he can maybe get me a new trial.”
“New trial? Why?”
“Some f**kup with the evidence. Some dumb cop mislabeled a file or something, I don’t know. But if he can swing it and I get a new trial, there’s a chance I won’t have to go to prison.”
“You don’t think there’s enough evidence against you?”
“If I had a witness who’d maybe recant some of her statements she made to the police, then there’s a chance.”
Eleanor could only stare at her father in silence. He opened another beer. She’d barely made a dent in hers.
“You want me to lie on a witness stand for you? I gave an allocution. I’d go to juvie in a heartbeat if I start telling people I lied to the police. I’m on probation and I think I’ve seen enough TV to know perjury is a crime. A big one.”
“Baby, you’re sixteen. Even if you did end up in juvie, you’ll be out by the time you’re eighteen. That’s a year and a half. I’m looking at ten or more years, Elle.”
“I’m not going to lie for you.”
“Ten years. Fifteen years. You don’t care about that? You don’t care about your own father?”
“And it’s not just a year and a half for me. This could f**k up my whole life. Am I supposed to send in college applications with a juvenile detention facility as my current address? I don’t think NYU lets in criminals.”
