Ah, the crash of a perfect pocket shot.
“Good shot, Dad,” I was impressed, he wasn’t nearly this good last time we bowled together.
“Well, two leagues a week combined with about nine practice games will raise anyone’s average. Can you believe I’m actually carrying a 204?” We hadn’t discussed much of anything so far. The ride over had been spent on small talk. The tip had not even been touched on any of the serious topics we would inevitably discuss. Dad had brought my old black 16 pound Danger Zone, along with my bowling shoes, when he came to pick me up. I settled into my first shot. Funny, I hadn’t remembered the lanes being this slick the last time I bowled.
“C’mon, Kev, you can do better than a gutter,” Dad smiled wide. Man, how I had missed him. “Pick it up now!” He urged me on, clapping his hands.
Somehow his encouragement gave me the power I needed to muster up a 9 count. Not all that bad. I was happy. Of course, I was with Dad, that probably had something to do with it. I sat down as Dad got up for his next shot. With his back to me he asked...
“Why’d you come back, Kev?”
“I’m not sure,” I responded. He threw his shot and walked back. Dad sat down next to me and put his hand on my knee.
“Kevin, Amy said you came back because you were worried about Christian.”
“Dad, I can’t stand the feeling.”
“What feeling, son?”
“The feeling of helplessness. My son, my only son, being in serious trouble and me not being able to do anything about it.”
“I have a few answers for you, Kevin. First, there is nothing you can do about it. Absolutely nothing. Christian will be found when he’s found, and there really isn’t anything you can do to help.” That was definitely not what I wanted to hear.
“But....”
“Hold up, Kevin, let me finish. Now, I don’t think that’s the only reason you came back.”
Damn.
He’s got you pegged.
“Son, why are you here?”
“Dad, I’m in serious trouble.”
“What have you done, Kevin?”
“I need help. Real help.”
“Oh my God, Kevin, what did you do?” He was staring at me, his eyes penetrating into my thoughts. I had to come clean.
“Dad......I killed a man.” Dad’s head fell. He stood up, took his ball off the ball return, put it in his bag, slipped his shoes off, put his loafers back on, and stated quietly...
“Let’s go.”
Somehow I hadn’t expected one of the stops on our reunion outing to be a lawyer’s office, but here we were, inside the offices of Lafayette and Son, Attorneys at Law. The elder Lafayette was a friend of dad’s and from what had been explained to me, a man who could be trusted. My dad and Mr. Lafayette referred to each other by their first names. I got the feeling that wasn’t a privilege most people received from these two paragons of the law.
“Frank, we have to turn him in. It’s not a negotiable option.” My father’s given name was Frank, actually Franklin. He didn’t like to use it when possible though. To this day the only one that called him that was Mom.
“I know that. I just want to get the point across to you that he needs special attention. Kevin is not your normal client. Not only does he need special care, but also medical help so that this sort of thing doesn’t happen again,” Dad was pleading my case quite effectively. “And you’ve got to understand, he did it completely in self-defense. Right, Kevin?”
“Getting stabbed wasn’t on my to-do list for that day, no,” I was flippant, yes, but what kind of question was that. I had explained it to him three times on the drive over.
“He is going to have to spend a few days in a containment facility. Its the basic routine for a 5150 patient such as Kevin,” said Mr. Lafayette.
“What do you mean?” Dad asked.
“Cases that involve mental disabilities require the prisoner to spend 72 hours in a mental health facility. We can get him out on bail after that, but for the next three days that’s where he’s going to have to be.”
“Plo...” My dad’s use of Mr. Lafayette’s first name surprised me. It was a rare name indeed. “Make sure he’s taken care of. I don’t want to lose him again.” Dad looked over at me. I glanced back.
It's the same old bullshit.
Plo spoke again.
“Kevin, I’m going to have to ask you for a favor.”
“What?” I wasn’t in a very congenial mood.
“I’m going to need complete cooperation from you, all the way. I can promise you I will get you out of this. It will happen! But for us to be successful I need you to be a model citizen for the time being. Do everything you’re told. Don’t turn this in to something worse than it is,” he spoke convincingly. It didn’t take long for me to figure out what the right move was. I nodded affirmatively. He picked up the phone and spoke quickly. In less than 30 seconds he was explaining everything to us.
“Kevin, the police will be here in a few minutes. Your dad and I will follow you over to St. Mary's Mental Hospital. All I ask from you is your cooperation.” I nodded again. We sat in silence for a few moments before we heard a knock on the door.
“POLICE!”
“Good shot, Dad,” I was impressed, he wasn’t nearly this good last time we bowled together.
“Well, two leagues a week combined with about nine practice games will raise anyone’s average. Can you believe I’m actually carrying a 204?” We hadn’t discussed much of anything so far. The ride over had been spent on small talk. The tip had not even been touched on any of the serious topics we would inevitably discuss. Dad had brought my old black 16 pound Danger Zone, along with my bowling shoes, when he came to pick me up. I settled into my first shot. Funny, I hadn’t remembered the lanes being this slick the last time I bowled.
“C’mon, Kev, you can do better than a gutter,” Dad smiled wide. Man, how I had missed him. “Pick it up now!” He urged me on, clapping his hands.
Somehow his encouragement gave me the power I needed to muster up a 9 count. Not all that bad. I was happy. Of course, I was with Dad, that probably had something to do with it. I sat down as Dad got up for his next shot. With his back to me he asked...
“Why’d you come back, Kev?”
“I’m not sure,” I responded. He threw his shot and walked back. Dad sat down next to me and put his hand on my knee.
“Kevin, Amy said you came back because you were worried about Christian.”
“Dad, I can’t stand the feeling.”
“What feeling, son?”
“The feeling of helplessness. My son, my only son, being in serious trouble and me not being able to do anything about it.”
“I have a few answers for you, Kevin. First, there is nothing you can do about it. Absolutely nothing. Christian will be found when he’s found, and there really isn’t anything you can do to help.” That was definitely not what I wanted to hear.
“But....”
“Hold up, Kevin, let me finish. Now, I don’t think that’s the only reason you came back.”
Damn.
He’s got you pegged.
“Son, why are you here?”
“Dad, I’m in serious trouble.”
“What have you done, Kevin?”
“I need help. Real help.”
“Oh my God, Kevin, what did you do?” He was staring at me, his eyes penetrating into my thoughts. I had to come clean.
“Dad......I killed a man.” Dad’s head fell. He stood up, took his ball off the ball return, put it in his bag, slipped his shoes off, put his loafers back on, and stated quietly...
“Let’s go.”
Somehow I hadn’t expected one of the stops on our reunion outing to be a lawyer’s office, but here we were, inside the offices of Lafayette and Son, Attorneys at Law. The elder Lafayette was a friend of dad’s and from what had been explained to me, a man who could be trusted. My dad and Mr. Lafayette referred to each other by their first names. I got the feeling that wasn’t a privilege most people received from these two paragons of the law.
“Frank, we have to turn him in. It’s not a negotiable option.” My father’s given name was Frank, actually Franklin. He didn’t like to use it when possible though. To this day the only one that called him that was Mom.
“I know that. I just want to get the point across to you that he needs special attention. Kevin is not your normal client. Not only does he need special care, but also medical help so that this sort of thing doesn’t happen again,” Dad was pleading my case quite effectively. “And you’ve got to understand, he did it completely in self-defense. Right, Kevin?”
“Getting stabbed wasn’t on my to-do list for that day, no,” I was flippant, yes, but what kind of question was that. I had explained it to him three times on the drive over.
“He is going to have to spend a few days in a containment facility. Its the basic routine for a 5150 patient such as Kevin,” said Mr. Lafayette.
“What do you mean?” Dad asked.
“Cases that involve mental disabilities require the prisoner to spend 72 hours in a mental health facility. We can get him out on bail after that, but for the next three days that’s where he’s going to have to be.”
“Plo...” My dad’s use of Mr. Lafayette’s first name surprised me. It was a rare name indeed. “Make sure he’s taken care of. I don’t want to lose him again.” Dad looked over at me. I glanced back.
It's the same old bullshit.
Plo spoke again.
“Kevin, I’m going to have to ask you for a favor.”
“What?” I wasn’t in a very congenial mood.
“I’m going to need complete cooperation from you, all the way. I can promise you I will get you out of this. It will happen! But for us to be successful I need you to be a model citizen for the time being. Do everything you’re told. Don’t turn this in to something worse than it is,” he spoke convincingly. It didn’t take long for me to figure out what the right move was. I nodded affirmatively. He picked up the phone and spoke quickly. In less than 30 seconds he was explaining everything to us.
“Kevin, the police will be here in a few minutes. Your dad and I will follow you over to St. Mary's Mental Hospital. All I ask from you is your cooperation.” I nodded again. We sat in silence for a few moments before we heard a knock on the door.
“POLICE!”