Page 98 of Savage Roses

The last room I enter with a resigned sigh. Leontine is up, reading under the dim light of her bedside table. She doesn’t dignify me with any acknowledgement as I undo my tie and slip off my shoes. She merely turns the next page in her book.

“Honey,” I say on a rare note of defeat, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it.”

“You promised. Ernest, youpromised.”

“I know. I know. Something came up. It… it was important.”

“More important than your family?”

“That’s not what I… will you cut me some slack, Leontine? For heaven’s sake, I’ll be here with you and the kids all day tomorrow.”

“Your daughter cried for you. Your son shrugged, so used to you being gone, he disappeared into his headphones. Do you know what kind of family you’re raising?”

“It’s not on purpose—”

“You’re raising a family that’s used to their father being gone more often than he’s present. That’s not what I agreed to when I married you.”

“I’ll do better. I… I promise.”

“You promised this morning. You promised on Halloween… and Marcel’s jr. football games. And when I went into labor for Delphine. You’ll forgive me if your promises don’t mean shit, Ernest.”

My eyes close in exasperation. I can barely argue her point when she’s right. I have promised… and I have failed.

Many, many times before.

But tonight, it was different. Though I can’t begin explaining why. She and the kids need to be kept separate from this. I’ll have to handle it on my own.

“I’m sorry,” I offer weakly. “Honey, you have to believe me.”

She shakes her head, the disappointment dripping off her as she takes off her reading glasses and closes her book. They’re placed on the bedside table before she twists off the lamp and rolls over. I’ll be given nothing but her back tonight.

Another sigh tumbles out of me. It’s deserved, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.

I go into our generously-sized, his-and-her walk-in closet and finish undressing. It’s as I’m unbuttoning my dress shirt that a jingle plays from within my briefcase. The noise sounds loud in the silence of the house, spurring me to rush over to turn it off.

City officials are typically given IBM cellular devices for work purposes. Most, uninterested in the technology, don’t bother using them. The things are the size of bricks and feel clunky hauling around. I stick mine in my briefcase and ignore it more often than not.

Who in the world could be calling me at this hour? And for work purposes?

“Hello,” I say in low tone, peeking at the closet door. I’d prefer not to disturb Leontine. Seconds pass and nobody answers me on the other end. “Hello? Who is this? Is this some immature practical joke?”

“Ernest Adams,” comes a male voice that’s restrained and heavy with a Russian accent. “Are you free to speak?”

“Who the hell is this?!” Then it dawns on me, and I scowl. “You have some nerve calling me at this hour on this number!”

“I have information to provide you,” he interrupts in the same drab monotone. “Information you may find useful.”

“And what makes you think I’ll trust you? That I want to hear your ‘information?’”

“You want the same as I do. For the Neptune Society to be destroyed and men like Leandro Crotone to perish. We have much more in common than you think.”

delphine

present…

I’m no longersure what’s real and what’s a figment of my imagination. Precious seconds pass us by, Dad and I staring at one another from where he stands in the doorway, and I’ve stumbled to a stop. His impatience grows as the bullets ricochet and rebound and the gruesome fight wears on.

He latches onto me by the forearm and drags me toward him. You’d think I’d fight him on it; we’re not on good terms. The last time we spoke was weeks ago in his office at city hall when I’d issued a threat, warning him to leave Salvatore alone, and he’d had the audacity to tell me Mom would be ‘so disappointed.’

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