Fall With Me

ordering a hit on someone probably wouldn’t give him much pause.”
    “Your mother seems to disagree.”
    “You’ve talked to her?”
    “Yes. We’re also trying to get in contact with your brother, Cameron. He’s not answering his phone, though. Do you know his whereabouts?”
    “No.”
    “While we know your brother was not officially affiliated with your father’s business, they did work closely together, correct?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Do you think your brother knew anything about this?”
    “No.”
    “Are you sure?”
    I take a sip of the drink, the fizzy sugariness coating my throat. “That’s a really great moustache,” I say.
    He ignores the comment. “Does it surprise you to hear that your mother does not think your father is capable of doing something like this?”
              “Look, I’m happy to help in whatever way is necessary, I really am. My parents have grown apart over the years, and honestly, my mom most likely had no clue what my father was up to in regards to anything. So if you’re asking me if she’s lying—she’s probably not. Hook her up to one of those polygraph machines, if you want.”
    “That probably won’t be necessary.” He strokes that glorious moustache and then turns to walk off. “We’ll be in touch if we’ve got any more questions.”
    “Great,” I say, wondering how exactly he plans on doing that since the only phone I’ve got is one I don’t even know the number to.
     
    *
                 
     
    Finally, we leave the hospital. I want to go to my apartment, but Jill insists we go see her uncle, who is sending a car for us.
    “I really need to talk to him,” she says. “I need to tell him he was right. That he was right all along.”
    The car picks us up and takes us to the Upper East Side. The doorman lets us in and we take the elevator up to the penthouse, where her uncle is waiting when the doors open.
    “Uncle Nate,” Jill says, and she runs to him and hugs him. “You were right about everything. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
    “Jill—what on earth is going on?” He lets go of her and scrutinizes her face, gripping her by the shoulders. Then he sees me and does a double take.
    “Who . . . what are you doing here?” he says finally.
    “Uncle Nate, this is Griffin. This is my uncle Nate,” Jill says.
    I hold my hand out. Her uncle has the oddest look on his face, as though he recognizes me, though I’m fairly certain I’ve never seen the guy before in my life.
    “Nice to meet you,” I say.
    He’s still giving me a look like I just told him I eat shit for breakfast or something.
    He stutters. “Hello,” he finally says, coughing. We shake hands, his palm slick with sweat. I wipe my hand on my jeans.
    “Are you okay, Uncle Nate?” Jill asks.
    He coughs again and shoots me a look, then turns his gaze to her. “Yes, Jill. Everything’s fine.” He looks at her more closely. “What happened to your neck?”
    We go and sit in the parlor. They start talking, and from what I get from the conversation, it sounds like Jill’s uncle knew about this all along. After a little while, though, I zone out, and try to make sense of the fact that not only is my father a giant asshole, he’s responsible for the death of one person and nearly killing someone else. So he’s even more of a giant asshole than I thought he was. More ruthless, more sociopathic, just completely fucked up. What will happen now? It’s hard to picture good old Dad in Sing Sing, but if I’m honest, that’s exactly what I hope will happen.
    I get up and use the bathroom. When I come back, Jill and her uncle are still talking, so I sit back down. From somewhere behind me, I hear the door open and footsteps approaching.
    “Nate, you in?” a male voice calls.
    I recognize that voice. It takes me a second, but then it clicks, and when he appears in the doorway, I’m not surprised to see he’s got a pockmarked face and picket fence teeth.
    “Bruce,” Nate says, jumping up as Snaggletooth steps into the room. “This is my niece, Jill. And her boyfriend. Griffin .”
    The three of us stand there and I can feel the pieces falling into place, practically hear the click click as they align like gears on a watch.
    Nate coughs again and Bruce extends his hand. “Nice to meet you both,” he says.
    “Have we met before?” I ask.
    He too stutters and then clears his throat and shoots a surreptitious glance at Nate.
    “No,