started the engine.
The front door was unlocked. Dooley pushed it open. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. His uncle was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looked up when Dooley appeared in the doorway.
âSit down, Ryan,â he said, still in that flat, tired tone.
Dooley stayed where he was.
âWhatâs wrong?â he said. âWhat were they doing here?â
âItâs Lorraine.â
Well, that figured. Lorraine had always had a knack for taking a good day and turning it into crap.
âWhat about her?â
His uncle stared at him for a moment before finally saying, âSheâs dead.â
Dead?
âWhat happened?â Dooley said.
âTheyâre not saying much, but it looks like itâs drug-related.â
Something else that figured.
âOverdose?â
It took a moment for his uncle to answer.
âCould be. Or bad drugs. You never know whatâs out there.â
Dooley stood in the doorway between the front hall and the living room for a few moments, absorbing the news.
Lorraine was dead. That was it. It was over.
He crossed from the hall into the living room and sank into an armchair opposite his uncle. Bad drugs he could understand. His uncle was rightâyou never knew what was out there. But an overdoseâwell, that raised a big question: accidental or intentional? Knowing Lorraine, it was probably the former. But what if it wasnât that? What ifâ?
âWhen?â
âLast night.â
â Last night? How come theyâre just telling you now?â As soon as Dooley asked, he realized what a stupid question it was. âShe didnât have you listed as next-of-kin, huh?â
âActually, she did.â His uncle sounded surprised. âBut they only found her this morning, and it took them a while to ID her. She didnât have a purse or wallet on her.â
âWhere?â
âDowntown.â His uncle stood up. It seemed to be an effort. âThey want me to go and identify her.â That explained why the cops hadnât taken off. They were waiting for Dooleyâs uncle. âYou want to come?â
Was his uncle expecting him to say yes? Should he say yes? If he was some other guy with some other mother, he probably would have.
âNo.â
His uncle nodded. Dooley detected no disappointment, no disapproval, no surprise.
âI could have left it,â he said. âI could have let you finish your shift.â
But he hadnât. Heâd called and told Kevin to send Dooley home because thatâs what you were supposed to do. And now here Dooley was, refusing to play his part.
âIf you want me to come â¦â he began.
His uncle shook his head. âIâll take care of it.â He hesitated. âYou think youâll be okay here by yourself?â
âYeah, sure,â Dooley said. He couldnât believe it. She was dead.
He stayed in the chair for a full ten minutes after his uncle left. Jesus, what he wouldnât do for a drink or a joint, anything to chase away that jangly feeling inside him. He got up and went into the kitchen. His uncle kept his booze in a cupboard above the counter. When he passed it, his hand shook. It would be so easy to reach up and take down a bottle of Jack. His eyes shifted lower, to a bulletin board, everything on itâa calendar, a shopping list, emergency phone numbers, a couple of business cardsâall lined up neatly and, beside that, the phone. He grabbed the receiver and punched in Bethâs cell phone number. It had started to ring by the time he realized that heâd punched in her old number, not her new one. He hung up before Bethâs mother 42 could answer, dug in his pocket for the slip of paper she had written the new one on, and tried again.
He was relieved when Beth answered on the second ring. Then he thought about why his uncle preferred it when Dooley called from a landline. The thing
Learning to Kill: Stories