The Return: A Novel Read Online Free Page B

rather enjoying the idea that he no longer had to pretend interest in what was going on in the world.
    He tried Skelly a few more times, then called the car dealer and learned that the check had arrived and that he could pick the vehicle up anytime. He spread an old towel across the kitchen table and cleaned his pistols, an activity that always calmed him, although not tonight. Perhaps it was the money. He placed the cash in his gun safe, double-locked his door, left the loft, and hailed a cab.
    The driver was not enthusiastic about going to Long Island City, but Marder waved some large bills and off they went. At a small lot on a dull commercial boulevard, he bought his camper and truck. Marder had never actually been in a truck camper before and was favorably impressed when he stepped inside. To the right as he entered was a clever shower–toilet combination and to the left a large wardrobe. Along one side were arranged a three-burner propane stove and a sink, with a refrigerator below. On the other side was a padded bench with a dining table that swiveled out of the way so that someone could sleep on the bench. There seemed to be plenty of storage in the overhead cabinets. Up a stepladder, extending out over the truck’s cab, was a sleeping loft equipped with a full-sized bed. The thing was full of light and smelled faintly of plastics.
    Marder had spent nearly all his life in the city and so was not much of a driver, and the bulk of his new vehicle was a little daunting. But after a bit of awkwardness and overcautious driving, he got used to the smooth power of the V-8 and the inability to see what was directly behind him. By the time he drove onto the Brooklyn–Queens Expressway, he had started to enjoy himself.
    He soon became confident enough in his driving to use his cell phone but achieved the same irritating result. Skelly was the only adult of his acquaintance who refused to own a cell phone, and so it was always a pain in the ass getting in touch with him. Marder left the expressway at Brooklyn Heights and drove slowly through the prim green-shaded streets. He parked illegally in front of a modest brownstone, got out, and pushed the bell button next to a slot with no name in it. The door issued no welcoming buzz. He looked up at the top floor, where Skelly lived. It was dusk now, but no lights shone there.
    When he returned to the truck, he realized he had forgotten that the previous day was September 19, and so of course Skelly would not be at home. He would be on his annual commemorative journey to oblivion on the anniversary of Moon River. Marder always forgot; Skelly always remembered.
    Oblivion was in any case a regularly scheduled stop for Skelly. It was something they occasionally did together, but this anniversary trip was one that Skelly did alone. Skelly was Marder’s longest-surviving continuous relationship. Forty years now they’d known each other, but they were not what most observers would have called best friends. Skelly spent a lot of time out of town. He called himself a security consultant but was closemouthed about what he actually did, and Marder had learned not to inquire. Skelly must have made decent money at it, for Brooklyn Heights apartments were not cheap, and he always paid for more than his share of drinks and meals and tickets. Skelly did not like going to movies and sporting events alone, and Marder was happy to accept his invitations. Marder did not have many friends in his profession, and these few were not the sort to go to hockey games at the Garden and then tour the saloons, usually ending the evening in some bucket of blood in Greenpoint or Red Hook, at which Skelly often got into fights. Young men or bigger men would take him on and find themselves pounded into the ground. Marder often had to pull Skelly off a surprised and bloody opponent and scatter cash around to assuage complaints.
    Now Marder drove south on Fourth Avenue, then cut over to Second, passing under the