The Last Kind Words by Tom Piccirilli

Author:Tom Piccirilli [Piccirilli, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller
ISBN: 9780553592481
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2012-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

I went home and Gilmore was sitting out on the porch with my father. I was surprised to hear my old man laughing, but there it was. It sounded real.

I knew that Gilmore’s romanticized concept of family, twisted by his youth, had somehow led him to us. I wondered what would have happened if he’d been lucky enough to live in middle America with a boring-as-fuck-all family perched on a plastic-covered couch, watching Lawrence Welk repeats. Would he have been better off or worse? Would we?

“Hello, Terrier.”

“Gilmore.”

My father took a deep pull on his beer, then said, “We were just talking about that time Gramp got caught on the bay with a stolen kayak and some silverware. His car died over on Oak Beach. Thought he could land the kayak at Fire Island and instead got caught in the ferry channel—”

Gilmore showed a lot of teeth in his smile. It wasn’t nearly as bad as his grin. “—and almost wound up pulled into the props of a boatload of gay activists planning a parade at Cherry Grove.”

“He spent the day with them, said they had good barbecue and knew how to laugh.”

“I arrested him after he stole a clam boat and tried to make a getaway.” Gilmore swung himself aside in his seat to face me. He leaned in and motioned for me to do the same. “He didn’t realize it had no motor and he had to pole himself back to the mainland. He got tired halfway across and sent out an SOS. He didn’t know the water was only three feet deep and he could’ve walked back. Not one of your better-planned jukes.”

“Old Shep was never much for ocean activities,” my old man said.

I didn’t remember the story. It sounded made up. It sounded like my father was being ingratiating, using Gramp as a punch line just to keep Gilmore smiling. I wondered why he would bother.

I wondered if Gilmore was here to square off with me again, in some way using my father as leverage against me. I sat, took a proffered beer, and waited for the questions. I was surprised when the men continued passing anecdotes. Stories of stupid burglars and cops on the take who got nailed with their hands in the evidence locker. They didn’t try to engage me in any way. I even found myself joining in a bit. Finally I wished them good night.

I stepped inside and went up to my room and then padded downstairs and took up a perch by the front window, where I could listen to my old man and Gilmore talking. The night-light over the kitchen sink didn’t reach my dark corner. I sat on the floor and dropped my head back against the cold wall.

“He looks well,” Gilmore said. “He say anything about his time away?”

“Not much. Just that he was enjoying himself.”

“That’s good. Anything about where he settled?”

“A farm,” my father said. “Milking cows, feeding chickens, all that. Raised corn.” My father cracked open another bottle, took a sip.

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