Lights Out

He didn’t want to hit Jack. Jack wasn’t some degenerate in the next cell, some rapist, murderer, thief. He was his brother. But now, with the balance shifting, he could do it if he had to.

Perhaps Jack realized that. He sighed and said, “All right. Why not? I’m in the toilet anyway.” He lit another cigarette, inhaled. The smoke puffed him up a little, restored some of his confidence. “It was just child’s play, really. Raleigh and I started a little business. Raja Research. Raleigh and Jack, get it?”

“What kind of business?”

“The essay business. We sold essays. In a gray area, I suppose, but so are Cliffs Notes and Monarch, right?”

“Monarch’s all right.”

Jack looked puzzled for a moment. “We bought product from fraternities all over the country,” he went on. “Brad lent us a grand to get our library stocked. We paid him back in a month. Everything was going great. We had a sliding price scale, depending on subject, difficulty of the course, length of the paper, all that. Then one day Raleigh sold one to the wrong guy. They took it so seriously, threatened to take us to court, held an investigation. Brad was afraid his name was going to get dragged in-they wanted to know where the start-up money had come from.”

“So you blackmailed him for the seven and a half percent.”

“That’s a prejudicial way of putting it, br-Eddie. I’d decided by then, this was February or March, that college wasn’t for me. I knew what I wanted. The opportunity presented itself. I kept Brad out of their tinpot investigation, made them think that Raleigh was just an underling who didn’t know what was going on, and got on with life.” Jack paused; he watched Eddie. “There. The whole truth and nothing but. Is that so bad?”

“What about swimming?”

“Swimming’s not a life, Eddie. I wanted to get started.”

“Started at what?”

“Making money. Besides, the practices were endless and I wasn’t getting any better. Up and down those lanes for hours-it’s pretty dumb when you think about it.”

“The point is not to think about it.”

“Ah,” said Jack with a little smile, “the Zen approach. That’s not me.”

Eddie liked that smile. It almost distracted him. “And now Raleigh’s taken a fall for you.”

“More or less.”

“What deal did he make?”

“That’s a moot point now. He’s not going to be happy. That’s about the only satisfaction I’ll be able to salvage from this.”

“How much did you offer him?”

“A hundred grand.”

“Did he really do a year?”

“We didn’t expect anything like that. Three months at most, maybe even a suspended sentence.”

“I’d have been rich at the same rate.”

“A million five? That’s not rich.”

“What’s rich, Jack?”

“We’ve been through that.”

“You want to be rich, don’t you?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Eddie had never thought much about money. Was there any mention of money in “The Mariner”? No.

Jack rose from the couch. It took some effort. He fastened his pants, buckled his belt, went to the window. Eddie was reminded of Karen steeling herself before the visit to the Mount Olive Extended Care Residence and Spa. Jack held up his finger and thumb, spaced about an inch apart. “I came this close. That’s what kills. It’s not failure, it’s getting so close you can smell it and taste it. That’s what kills.” Rain ran in sheets down the window. “Did you have much rain … down there?” Jack asked.

“The weather wasn’t a factor.”

Jack nodded. He looked at the phone. “What’s the best way of doing this?”

“Doing what?” Eddie said. This was the first time Jack had ever asked him for advice, with the exception of play conversation in their pirate games.

“Surrendering to the inevitable. What do you think-call my lawyer, call Karen, call the SEC?”

“Are we at that stage?”

“Thanks for that we,” Jack said. “Christ, I can’t get used to you with no hair.”

“I’m growing it down to the ground.”

A smile crossed Jack’s face, almost too quickly to see. He stubbed out his cigarette hard, against the window. “Yeah, we’re at that stage. Where are we going to find two hundred and thirty grand?”

“Funny thing,” Eddie said.

“Funny thing?”

Eddie didn’t reply at first. It was justice, in a logical sort of way. He had done penance for a crime he hadn’t committed. Punishment without crime left a void, waiting to be filled. And if that was just a debating trick, then he could always say that what he was about to propose wasn’t criminal at all, that the money belonged to no one. And if that too was tricky in some way, he could call it reparation, the way the Japanese had been compensated for their internment, and the Jews for the Holocaust. The idea took hold of him. It was right.

Jack was staring at him. “What funny thing?” he said.

Eddie smiled. “We’re going to shoot the albatross,” he said.

Outside: Day 7 26

Monday.

Jack dressed for the occasion. He came out of the bedroom wearing a black turtleneck, black Patagonia jacket, black jeans, black high-tops. He was carrying a black gym bag.

“What’s in there?” Eddie said.