Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter) Read Free Page A

security guards go, they were pretty lax.
    I’ve been frisked by mob guys in the past in such a way that my private parts were made to feel open to the public. With these guys, I could have been carrying a bazooka, and I doubt they would have noticed.
    They motioned me into a room at the rear of the house, which turned out to be a den. There was a large-screen TV, and Nicky was sitting in an armchair watching ESPN. Watching might be the wrong word; Nicky appeared to be paying no attention to it at all.
    Nicky seemed to be expecting our visit, or at least he didn’t show any surprise. All he said was, “The dog is here. What time is it?”
    I introduced myself as Andy Carpenter, though I was tempted to say I was Hike Lynch, in case anything happened that would cause Nicky to order some kind of retribution. He didn’t respond to that, or to my mentioning that Joey suggested I stop by, or to anything else I said.
    But he sure as hell liked Tara. She went right up to him and he started petting her, occasionally laughing a weird laugh as he did so. This has now gone on for almost forty-five minutes, though it feels like next week will be two years since we got here. When one is with Nicky Fats, time goes in slow motion.
    Nicky seems intermittently lucid, snapping back and forth from clear statements to borderline gibberish. But one constant is his petting and focus on Tara; she has got this therapy thing down really well.
    Suddenly, Nicky looks up at me and says, “Who are you?”
    I’ve mentioned my name a couple of times already, but decide that I don’t need to point that out. “I’m Andy Carpenter. Joey suggested I come visit.”
    “Good boy, that Joey.”
    I nod vigorously. Nicky Fats is the kind of guy that makes you want to nod vigorously. I’ll keep doing it until he says something like, “Stop nodding vigorously, asshole.”
    “Yes, definitely a good boy, that Joey,” I say, since it seemed to fit in with the nodding vigorously approach.
    “He coming here today?” Nicky asks.
    Now, I know that Nicky has been in contact with Joey in prison, so it’s not like it’s been kept a secret from him the last six years. But if he’s forgotten about it, I’m not going to be the one to rebreak the news to him. “No, he’s not coming today,” I say.
    I swear, I can see his eyes, and behind that his mind, start to clear. “He’s locked up,” Nicky says.
    I nod, less vigorously this time. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
    “Who are you? How do you know Joey?”
    “My name is Andy Carpenter. I am Joey’s lawyer.”
    “You lost the case?”
    This time a slight nod and an involuntary cringe. “I lost the case.”
    “My fault,” he says. “My fault.”
    I assume he’s using the wrong pronoun, and instead of “your” fault, is saying “my” fault. I decide to be gracious and defensive at the same time. “It’s nobody’s fault.”
    “We shoulda hit the bastard ourselves, as soon as it happened,” Nicky says. “I shoulda told Carmine. We should have been the ones to do it. My fault.”
    On second thought, maybe he’s got the pronoun right. But whatever he’s saying, it’s so strange that I can’t let it go. “What are you talking about? As soon as what happened?”
    “The prick couldn’t be trusted, you know? He was dirty; he had no honor. We shoulda hit him months before.”
    “Are you talking about Solarno? Richard Solarno? The guy they said Joey murdered?”
    Nicky nods and seems to be getting agitated. “I knew the prick couldn’t be trusted. I shoulda told Carmine.”
    “Solarno? Is that what you’re saying? Why would you have to trust him? How did you even know him?”
    Then something else seems to click in the relic that is his mind, and he stares straight at me with very cold eyes. “Get out of here. Take the dog.”
    One more vigorous nod and Tara and I are out the door. I’m not sure, but I think she is nodding as well. Vigorously.

 
    No one will ever have to put out an “All