Hurt Machine Read Free

New York was that cold uncaring place, the place where neighbors hear the screams of a young woman being murdered and turn their heads, the place where EMTs basically tell a dying man to go fuck himself.
    I shut the computer down. There wasn’t anything else there for me to know.
    I’d had a long day, a happy day, for the most part. Just as I’d been able to put some distance between Carmella and me earlier in the day, I’d done a good job of keeping thoughts of the cancer at arm’s length during the party. I toasted Sarah and Paul. I watched them dance. I danced with Pam, with my sister Miriam, with Paul’s mom, and with Sarah. Still, it didn’t take much for my thoughts to shift back to my pending mortality. The level of my obsession with the disease really surprised me. During the few days since the diagnosis, I would sometimes look down to find myself rubbing my palm across my abdomen. It was as if I was trying to make a silent peace with the damned cancer or reach an accommodation with it.
Come on, we can get along, you and me. Gimme a few more years. Let me see some grandchildren. No, okay, that was greedy. How about a grandson?
Fuck me, this was going to be harder to deal with than I thought. I was an ex-cop, for chrissakes, a pragmatic SOB, but here I was trying to do a deal with a malignant lump growing inside my belly.
    There was no way I was telling Sarah about it, not this close to the wedding. The wedding was simply a convenient excuse. I wasn’t going to tell anyone until circumstance forced me to. After Katy, my first wife, was murdered as an indirect result of some half-truths and secrets I’d kept from her, I’d sworn off secret-keeping and lies for good. That lasted about five minutes. A long time ago, I used to tell myself and anyone else who would listen that I was an open book, that secrets were an anathema to me. Bullshit! Secret-keeping was as reflexive for me as squinting my eyes in the face of the sun. And the cancer wasn’t the only secret I’d be keeping and the lies I told myself weren’t going to be much of anything compared to the ones I’d already started telling.
    “That was Carmella, wasn’t it?” Pam had asked, her anger still evident as we both watched my ex-wife and ex-business partner disappear around the corner.
    “You’ve seen her picture before, yeah.”
    “God, she is beautiful. What was she doing here?”
    “She heard about the party and she wanted to congratulate me and wish Sarah all the best.”
Lie
number
one
. As easy to tell as breathing. “She knew Sarah from the time she was a little girl and they always liked each other.”
    Pam was professionally skeptical. It came with the territory. She was a PI, a real PI, not a PI like me, a guy who more played at it when owning wine shops with his brother got too boring to bear. Pam was licensed in Vermont and operated out of an office in Brattleboro. Brattleboro suited her. The rent was relatively inexpensive and its location gave her easy access to most of New England and New York. She did the majority of her work in New England, but, if the money was right, took cases as far south as Jersey. We met while I was looking for Sashi Bluntstone and the story of how we wound up together is pretty complicated. Let’s just say that since our initial relationship was based on secrets and lies—hers, not mine—I was a total sucker for her. Kindred spirits, you know. It helped that she saved me from being beaten to death by a vengeful ex-cop.
    We’d been together for about two years now, if you could call the cha-cha we did being together. We’d both been down the aisle before and neither of us was hankering to take that stroll again. It was one thing for Sarah to sell her vet practice down here and move up to Vermont with Paul. They were young and just starting out. But Pam and I were set in our ways and weren’t going to pull up roots and relocate so we might live unhappily ever after. We had what I suppose you might