Page 53 of Doozer

I killed the motor and removed my helmet.

“Marco, what is this? Why all the noise?” my mother asked. “I thought it was the end of the world.”

“I’m sorry, Ma. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just need to talk to Pop, that’s all.”

“Normal people call,” my father said. “They don’t disturb the neighbors with a lot of racket.”

“Sorry, Pop, did you say racket or rackets?” I asked, my eyes locked on my father. “I know you’ve got some new friends who are into some… interesting stuff.”

“Go on inside, Marisa,” my father said, kissing my mother’s forehead. “Marco and I are gonna talk out here for a minute. I’ll be back inside before my coffee gets cold.”

“Okay,” my mother said. “But no more noise with that motorbike,” she said, scurrying back to the house.

“What the hell is all this about, Marco?”

“You know it’s not a good idea to drink coffee at night. It can fuck with your sleep,” I said, climbing off my bike.

“Is that why you’re here? To give me advice on how to sleep better?”

“Actually, I’m curious how the fuck you manage to sleep at all,” I said, pulling Kitty’s file from my saddle bag. “Doing business with criminals, and all.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” My father asked, scanning the pages in the file. “What is this? How did you get these documents?”

“How I got them isn’t nearly as important as what’s in them,” I said.

“These documents are my business,” my father bellowed, before quickly lowering his voice.

“No, Pop. It’s okay. I want your neighbors to hear this. After all, it’s their approval you’ve been seeking all along, isn’t it? They should know who you really are.”

“What are you talking about, Marco?”

“You’ve spent so much time building up your precious reputation as some sort of pillar of the community. Caring only about what complete strangers think about you. Ashamed of your own son because he didn’t conform to your version of what it means to be a man. Living behind a phony code of ethics. But it’s all a lie, Pop.”

“Marco, you don’t understand how the business world works—”

“No, Pop. It’s you who doesn’t understand. These people you’re doing business with are criminals.”

“No, no, see,” my father said smiling. Pointing to one of the documents. “You’re wrong, I’m working with Reggie Snodgrass on this. You know, the appellate court judge.”

“Yeah, I know. Through his daughter’s development company.”

“That’s right, his daughter Patricia,” my father confirmed.

“Since when are you so chummy with the Snodgrass family?”

“Reggie approached me right around the time I announced my retirement. He said he had a deal that would secure my retirement and asked if I’d be interested in investing.”

“And you didn’t find it odd that a judge you’ve had nothing but contempt for in the past just happened to have a deal he wanted to cut you in on?”

“Like I said, Marco. The business world is often complicated.”

“How complicated was it to set up that off-shore account? Or did the judge do that for you?”

“Is that what this is about? The tax shelter Patricia helped me set up?”

“Tax shelter? Are you fucking kidding me, Pop? Or should I say Leo Vox?”

“Please, son. Keep your voice down,” my father begged.

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