Lonesome Point Read online

  Pablo said, “You know if he has a history?”

  “Used to be a patient at Locktown Community Mental Health Center, he says.”

  “That’s Dr. Burton,” a female nurse standing by said. “He’ll be here in the morning.”

  Pablo gestured to the group of techs. “Let’s take him in the back.”

  Two techs held Reynaldo by the upper arms while the cops uncuffed him. Then they led him to a door with a huge window, while another tech opened the door with a key. They guided him into an area surrounded by seclusion rooms, big Plexiglas windows in all the doors. In a couple of the rooms patients were sleeping, restrained to their beds.

  The nurse hurried ahead with a sheet to a vacant room, tossed the sheet over the bed, tucked it in. They undressed Reynaldo quickly, slipped on hospital pajamas. Before they laid him down, they gave the restraints a tug to make sure they were buckled tight to the bed. They slapped them around Reynaldo’s wrists and ankles, started locking them with keys.

  Reynaldo jerked a leg loose and stamped wildly, catching a tech on the shoulder. Another tech leaped onto the leg, trying to hold it fast to the bed. Reynaldo reared up as far as he could, bucking, neck veins bulging, face red. “Let me go, mothafuckas, I didn’t do nothin’! Let me go!”

  “Easy there, easy,” Pablo said.

  Leo and another tech grabbed ahold of Reynaldo’s arms and pushed him back down.

  His wrists pulled at the restraints. “Don’t do this to me, I’m innocent!”

  A nurse rushed in with a syringe, dragged his pajama pants down and stuck the needle in a thigh.

  Reynaldo bucked a few more times, swinging his head from side to side. Leo turned his face away, sensing what was coming.

  Reynaldo spat. Leo felt some on his neck. The techs at the feet released him and backed out of the room, Leo and the other tech following, the next gob splattering against glass as they slammed the door.

  Walking back outside, Leo wiped himself down with a paper towel and said to Martin, “See how they get? The second they know you’re not gonna hurt ’em, when they feel the worst you have is four-point restraints, they lash out. Happens all the time, just be careful.” Leo nodded in greeting as they passed the other techs chatting in a loose circle, peeling off gloves and dumping them in a wastebasket.

  Martin said, “You’re not going back up?”

  Leo had stopped by the lobby doors outside Crisis. “Just a quick smoke. Tell Rose I’ll be up in five.”

  The night air felt comfortable after the arctic chill inside. Leo walked the curb past the Crisis police entrance, where a big red sign said NO FIREARMS ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT.

  He stopped by the gate to the parking lot and smoked a cigarette, only his third for the day. He’d been cutting back for the last four years. He figured that by age fifty he should have his habit licked, or cancer. He preferred the go-slow attitude in most things. Maybe that’s why he was still at Jefferson two years after he’d declared the job a dead end. He looked up at the sky, a few stars dim in the city lights. He thought one day real soon he’d have to make some life changes, with a baby on the way, bills growing, his career options shrinking as he grew older. Man, changes were overdue.

  A man appeared out of the darkness.

  He was on the corner down the street, the man in the suit. Leo stepped on his cigarette, watched him approach.

  Then he knew what it was that had piqued his interest earlier on: He recognized this guy’s walk. The guy was short, slim. Grinning. Somebody he knew.

  Then Leo recognized him, and all he wanted to do was turn on his heels and walk away far and fast from this dude who could only mean trouble.

  Freddy Robinson came out of the past, extending a hand. “Hey, hey, what up, Lee?”

  Leo grasped the hand of his onetime buddy and tried to return a smile. They shook hands, embraced, and stood back to look at each other, and Leo hated to admit it, but it was kinda interesting seeing Freddy again, how he looked now. The charmer was still handsome, trim in a sharp suit. “You look great, Freddy.”

  “Clean living,” Freddy spreading his arms, “exercise, fresh air, fruits and vegetables.”

  “And strong white rum to wash it all down.”

  Freddy laughed, clapping Leo’s shoulder. “You don’t look too dusty yourself.” He stroked his chin. “What’s up with this?”

  “Going for the scruffy intellectual look.” Leo patted his stomach. “Even started early on the middle-age spread.”

  Freddy stepped onto the curb beside him. “Still writing the poetry?”

  “Yeah, yeah. How ’bout you, still selling auto parts?” Meaning stolen parts.

  Freddy shook his head, a smile twitching the corners of his lips. “I’m outta parts sales. No money in it. More money in poetry probably.”

  Leo chuckled, looked away. Guy was still the same. “So what brings you here, Freddy?”

  “Had a date. Was in the area, decided to come by and visit you.”

  Leo pushed his hands in his pockets, trying to appear relaxed. Seven years ago he and Freddy had parted on difficult terms, so Freddy saying he was coming by to visit was heartwarming bullshit. “How did you know I work here, Freddy?”

  “Easy, dawg. I just asked around. Contacted people we used to run with back in the day. Ask this one, he tell me to ask that one, that one gave me some info, like that.” Freddy gestured to the construction project across the street. “What’s that they’re building?”

  “A new mental health annex. This one behind us here, it’s gonna get torn down. Been around since the sixties.” Freddy wasn’t even listening.

  “So how you been keeping, Lee?”

  “Fine, fine. So was it my brother told you where I work?”

  Freddy angled his head and smirked.

  Leo said, “Okay, stupid question.”

  “Patrick still the same pompous asshole?”

  “Careful there, that’s my brother you’re talking about.” Then, “Yeah, of course he is.”

  “Just so you know, I don’t hold anything against him anymore. Or against you. I’m over that. I did some thinking. When I was incarcerated. I had time to reflect and I said to myself, Freddy, dawg, let the past fade. Go out there into the future and seize your opportunity and make something of yourself. So that’s what happened. No time for grudges, know what’m saying? I’m through with that, strictly positive vibes I deal with now.” Freddy stretched out his fist for a pound.

  Leo obliged, self-consciously. Thinking, This guy’s got some major balls saying this. But Leo didn’t want to delve into all the bad memories, the failed drug deal, Freddy’s six-year prison stint. And Patrick, despite his dislike of Freddy, had had nothing to do with any of it. Freddy had gone down because he deserved it, and if not for Patrick’s skills as a lawyer, he could’ve served really serious time, instead of standing here now, spouting self-serving trash. But Leo said, “Glad to hear it. Listen, partner,” glancing at his watch, “I’ve got to run. Can’t make a career of this cigarette break.” He put out his hand for a shake.

  Freddy smiled, ignoring the hand. “I understand. But before you go,” and he stepped closer so that he was inches away, “I wonder if you could do a little somethin’ for me.”

  Leo prepared himself for the real reason Freddy had shown up after all these years.

  “There’s a guy on your floor, an old man, Massani.”

  Leo watched Freddy look away, acting all nonchalant. “You know him?”

  “Not personally. But let’s say I represent people who do. His former business associates. Mr. Massani is refusing to talk with them, refusing visits from them. There’re some matters of grave importance to discuss, so to speak. I was thinking you could be the man to help, you know, arrange a meeting.”

  Leo said, “Me? I’d like to help but if a patient doesn’t want visitors, there’s nothing I can do about it, really. We can’t force patients out of their rooms to see people they don’t want to see. And visitors aren’t all
owed in patients’ rooms, so …”

  “I hear you, I hear you.” Freddy pursed his lips and nodded to show sympathy. “But this is a matter of pressing concern to the people I represent. Whole bunch of them would be affected if this meeting don’t happen, feel me? I’m sure you could do something.” He reached into his inside pocket and produced a roll of cash. He licked his thumb and started counting, flicking the bills. “How much you need, Lee?”

  Leo looked away, sighing. “Mr. Massani is in seclusion right now. I don’t know if you understand what that is, but he’s there under doctor’s orders. Patients go in there for different reasons, extreme paranoia or endangering self or staff—” Leo broke off, realizing he was sounding like a policy manual. “Anyhow, once you’re there you’re not allowed visitors and you don’t get out till the doctor signs you out, and he only does that when staff recommends it. So I’m saying, if Mr. Massani didn’t want to see visitors before? It’s even worse now. Now he can’t. There’s really nothing I can do to help you, honestly.”

  Freddy shook his head and lifted a finger. “Lemme restate my request.” He looked around furtively, stepped closer. “I’m not sure you’re comprehending the importance of what I’m asking you, but hey, that’s my fault,” palming his chest. “Everybody’s got something they want to keep private, right? Everybody.” He flung an arm out. “Massani. Me. And you. And your brother. Things we want on the down-low. In the dark.”

  Leo squinted. “What you talking about?”

  Freddy said, “Don’t play games with me, Lee. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Fingers of ice swept down Leo’s spine, down his legs. He looked at Freddy, slick in his expensive suit, and regretted that two minutes ago he hadn’t left this shifty son of a bitch at the curb. He said, “What does that have to do with Massani, Freddy?”

  “Everything is related. You should know that, ain’t you the poet?” He smirked, returning the roll of cash to his pocket.

  “You threatening me, Freddy?”

  They were face-to-face now. He could smell Freddy’s breath.

  Freddy said, “The people I represent would like you to open the door and let Massani out so this meeting can occur. Massani is somebody they need, I got a job to do, and I got information concerning a certain incident that you and your brother would prefer be kept secret. This is how important this Massani situation is. You do this for me, for the people I work with, and I’ll make sure everything stays under wraps. Provided you help me do my job.”

  Leo’s past had prepared him to expect deviousness from people, so looking at Freddy, he didn’t feel shock or disgust, just exhaustion. He thought he was over and done with this shit. His throat tight, not sure if he could speak, he studied the pavement. Finally, he raised his head. “The fact this could cost me my job means nothing to you, huh?” Right away he saw the absurdity of the question. A car drove out of the parking lot and a woman at the wheel waved. Leo waved back, too distracted to notice who it was.

  Freddy said, “I’ll get back to you on the day and time. This meeting will be at night, of course. This week. Some details still got to be ironed out, but it’ll be this week, and since you didn’t believe me when I showed you,” patting his suit pocket, “let me tell you. The gentlemen I represent, they’ll take care of you, make it worth your while. Tell me if five bills sounds good. Nice little cheddar? Take your woman out for a meal at a fine restaurant, a night in a hotel …” He jiggled his eyebrows. Straightened the lapels of his jacket, adjusted his tie. “Got any questions, anything need clarifying?”

  Leo shook his head.

  Freddy took out a cell phone. “You got a cell?”

  “Can’t afford it.” Leo gazed at him, through him.

  “What’s your number up there on the floor?”

  Leo exhaled heavily. “305-555—”

  “3097,” Freddy said, punching in the last digits. “Just remembered I got it right here.” He winked, letting Leo know he already had knowledge. “This ain’t no big deal, man. This just plain bidness. I got a job to do and you the man with the keys, simple logic. Don’t let past disagreements get all tangled up with this. We do this job and afterward we sit down and have a drink, me and you, talk things over. A’ight?” He lifted a hand high with flair, wrist bent, expecting Leo to meet him in a shake.

  Leo just watched him before he walked past, brushing the man’s shoulder.

  “I’ll phone with the instructions,” Freddy called. “You the dude with the key, Lee. Nod if we on the same page!”

  Leo nodded, kept going. Then he heard Freddy, clearly.

  “Remember Lonesome Point, Lee.”

  Leo wheeled around, but Freddy was leaving. Leo watched him walk away under the streetlight, back into the darkness he had come from.

  2

  FIRST CHANCE HE GOT, Leo flipped through the patients’ charts, under the guise of checking Martin’s work. Rose was on her break and Martin was in the TV room next door channel-surfing. Leo could hear the news, then sitcom laughter, then a Hummer commercial, while he pored over Herman Massani’s chart.

  Race: Hispanic. Age: seventy-two. Diagnosis: schizoaffective disorder. Admitting psychiatrist: Dr. Garrido, Rainbow Community Mental Health Center, Hialeah, Florida. Leo had never heard of a Dr. Garrido or a Rainbow Center. He flipped to the Physican’s Notes section. Recognized Dr. Burton’s chicken scrawl, his signature. Sometimes a doctor counseled another’s patient in his absence, so that wasn’t out of the ordinary. But why was Gar-rido so absent? Jefferson Memorial was a public facility, where admitting psychiatrists were also the ones who came two or three times a week to counsel their patients, write orders or scrips. But after the admission pages, there was no evidence of Garrido. Was he on extended vacation? Did he retire? Die? Something about this was odd, and, man, Leo wanted no part of it.

  When his break came his head was buzzing. He took a blanket to the staff room, unfolded the bed from the pull-out sofa, and stretched out. Wide awake in the dark. Trying to turn his thoughts toward the life he was creating with Tessa. He thought, Damn, Tessa, if only you knew the whole truth about me. Well, not only about me, but also the people who helped make me the fucked-up individual that I am.

  He got three minutes’ shut-eye tops before the phone rang to signal end of break.

  IN THE morning, he paid his last dollar to the parking lot attendant and aimed his car for 1-95. Wind rushed in the way he liked it, but it wasn’t soothing today. Close to home, the needle read empty, so he pulled into a gas station on 135th Street. If memory served, Tessa had said they had seventy-six bucks in the account to last until payday. He slid his debit card and pumped ten dollars’ worth, the old Corolla too unreliable to trust with more.

  Leo lived in North Miami, in a one-bedroom apartment near the end of 135th. The neighborhood was slipping but holding on to the peace and quiet that he and Tessa liked, which was why they’d stayed. Plus it had a certain charm: the Cuban bodega there on the corner of 135th and Biscayne where he bought his café con leche and tostadas; the old Key West– style town houses over here, and then that straight stretch of road under leafy almond trees that led to the gates of his building. Nothing too pretty, but the area was affordable.

  Two years ago, he’d met Tessa at a poetry reading at Tobacco Road, where she bartended. They’d talked, he’d drunk and poured out his soul. Can’t hardly get stuff published anymore, he’d said. Can’t hardly finish a poem. I guess I shouldn’t take myself too seriously. She had said, I take you seriously. I’m standing here listening to you, aren’t I? He returned the next night, and at closing time they kissed in the parking lot as cars drove by. It was a comfortable beginning. She was looking for someone who was mature, responsible. He fit the bill: The years had mostly tamed his impulsiveness, and he was responsible enough. Now, he realized, her agreeable nature and patience made him never want to leave.

  In no mood to brave the elevator, he took the stairs to the fifth floor. He walked down the carpeted hallway and
smelled breakfast wafting under the doors, rich black coffee. Heard knives and plates clinking, sounds of the ordinary life denied a graveyard-shift fool like him.

  He shucked his shoes and clothes at the door, not wanting Tessa to complain again about the germs he was bringing in from the hospital. The bedroom door was closed, Tessa still sleeping. He drank some orange juice at the kitchen sink, scoped his mail in a basket on the dining table. He sifted through the envelopes. Bills and two rejection letters, one from Iowa Review, the other from the Atlantic.

  Shit, who was he trying to fool, thinking the Atlantic would ever give him a shot? It was his best poem in the past year, but now that he read it again it felt too light, trivial even. “The Meaning of Sound,” he had called it. Whatever.

  Tessa was in bed, eyes open. “Hey, you,” she said, voice husky with sleep. She was on her side, Wordsworth curled behind her bent legs. The Jack Russell opened his eyes, saw Leo, went back to sleep.

  Leo slipped in behind Tessa, wrapped an arm around her bare stomach. He whispered, “You’re so warm and cuddly.”

  She said, “Mmmmm. Your hands are cold.”

  He nuzzled the back of her neck. She pressed her rump against him. The dog growled, protesting the disturbance. Leo’s palm roamed the swell of her stomach, stopped below her belly button. “How’s Arsenio doing this morning?”

  “Quiet, probably sleeping. And his name is not Arsenio. And we don’t know if it’s a boy.”

  “Okay. How’s little Natasha doing?”

  Tessa groaned. “No, that won’t be the name, either. Are we going to start this again? How was your night?”

  “You don’t like Natasha?” Leo snuggled closer, pressing against her bed-warm skin. “Your belly feels round like a globe. As though it now holds all the little children of the world.”

  A moment of silence.

  “Are you stoned?”

  “I’m just a contemplative guy, and I’ve been contemplating the cycle of life and shit. I’ve been thinking, if the baby is born black, I should perform one of those African rituals you see in movies—”