Landfall - 2. The Kiss of Hope

Can't do anything with Jackie's body—the coroner has it, the exam won't be complete until tomorrow noon.

Called the boys as soon as I got in the cop car for the drive home from the police station to tell 'em of their mom's death. Got voice mail for both of 'em, left a message to call me back ASAP. Also sent a text, “Call. URGENT.” It's damn near midnight, and on a Saturday, I'm certain both were out on dates.

We're pulling into my drive maybe 15 minutes later when Corey called. He and Trey had apparently gone to a concert with their dates, and were still at the stadium—you could hear the band playing in the background. I raced into the house through the rain to complete the call.

“Dad, what's up? We never get messages from you—and both voicemail and text?”

“Cory, where's your brother?”

“Trey's here, he got the same message. I'm putting ya on speakerphone. Just tell us what's going on, Dad!” Panic creeping in his voice—it's starting to shake.

“Your mom and I were attacked when we were driving home tonight. One of the shots hit her. She didn't make it, boys.......” I'm crying at this point.

There's a thud—apparently Cory dropped the phone. I'm hearing multiple sobs. Muffled questions in the background. Trey's back on the line. “Dad, are you ok? When did all this happen? Where were you? Are you...”

“I'm ok, Trey....still in shock. Been with the cops after your mom died. She died beside me in the car. They're working to find out who did it, but no answers yet. Really don't have much more I can tell ya.”

Open sobbing on the other end of the connection. Both boys weeping. Minutes of nothing but grief and shock--no words necessary.

Heart explodes from broken to shattered when hearing their grief.

Cory's back on the line. “Dad, we'll be home in 3 hours. We love you. God, why is this happening?”

“Boy's it's raining, drive very carefully. In fact, why don't you drive in tomorrow morning—get some sleep tonight, maybe the rain will be gone.”

“No, Dad. We need to be home with you—all of us together. We'll see you in a few hours.” The connection ends.

I'm still damp from being caught in the rain, and I'm brain dead. Too much to process. I go in, strip out of my clothes, pull on a pair of sweatshorts, and head to the den to pour a scotch. Still in shock I guess. Sit on the sofa, prop my bare feet up, and try to think clearly—so much to do, so little time. Started crying. In a few seconds the world changed. And in a few days, all this will be gone.

Boys arrived home as I polished off the 2^nd scotch. Not only moving slowly, but drinking slowly. They'd obviously been driving way over the limit to get here in a little over two hours, and fell immediately on either side of me, sobbing, hugging me close. I could do little more than cry myself.

Then their questions started with me filling 'em in on what happened. Told 'em about going to the police station, but that I was quickly cleared as a suspect. Nothing else to be told of that encounter—just another secret.

Jackie's funeral on Monday afternoon went well. Friends of the family, friends of the boys, all there, all shocked at this disaster. Jackie didn't deserve this—she'd been a good wife, a great mom, helped out at the church feeding the folks who'd gotten wiped out after the tornadoes took out all those towns in Oklahoma. I was honored by the presence of so many, but only knew they were there by the signatures I saw in the registry later. In a fog.

Also at the service were all of the bank staff—tellers up to Chairman of the Board. They closed the bank—all locations of it. I'd talked with William Lee, the chairman, on Sunday, and he was cordial. “Take as much time as you need, Frank. It's horrible that a bunch of thugs would do a random shooting like this.” His sources within the police department had faithfully reported the initial cover story David and the FBI had put out.

After the funeral and graveside service, many stopped by the house to give their own personal condolences. As is typical, everyone had their own story of Jackie, and we laughed as much as we cried. Jackie would have loved it.

The next day started the settle in/grief recovery process. The boys moped around the house, as did I. We'd call out for pizza or Chinese, or do simple sandwiches at home. No one was in the mood to go out. And, I made a point to corner each of the boys alone to tell 'em anytime they needed me, anytime they needed to talk, that I was there for 'em. Both were doing about as good as you'd expect.

We stayed around the house, not going out for the next couple of days—but I'd noticed an increase in the traffic on the street. More TV cable trucks, a couple of plumbing trucks, a car-detailing service van, and more. Found out later it was the FBI keeping an eye on us, making sure we were safe.

A couple of days of being at home all the time was driving us all crazy. Thank God, Lake Texhoma is only a couple of hours away. We decided to hang out at the lake one afternoon and headed out in Jackie's Buick the next day. I let David know what we were doing the night before, and were followed by a couple of unmarked sedans, but I said nothing to the boys.

We enjoyed the clear day, and running around on the lakefront. The boys splashed in the water like a couple of kids, the cares of the last few days washing away. We'd talk as we stretched out on the towels on the shore, really bonding. I told each of the boys privately how much I loved 'em, how very proud I was of 'em. They filled me in on their lives. Both had grown up to be fine young men.

Trey, 20, took after me with his barrel chest, dark hair, and medium skin. At 6'3”, 240 pounds, he's a couple of inches taller than his old man, but I've got him beat with a solid pelt of fur on my pecs. His chest has filled in but is still relatively smooth. His solid build is perfect for him as a corner back, and despite his bulk, he's fast on his feet. NFL scouts are still talking about his plays during the end-of-season game last year. He's not ignoring his studies, either—solid B+, and with his outgoing personality, political science is a good fit. And boyfriend looks like a fashion magazine model and a sharp thinker, too. They'd make a gorgeous political couple. And both are so open and cool, the gay questions are non-issues.

Cory, 19 next month, took after his mom, tall, lean, willowy. Quiet. A thinker with a mind like a sponge. When he was little, maybe 8 or 9, found him on the floor, reading the encyclopedia. Looks like Jackie, too, with blonde hair and coloring, and delicate features. He's a “pretty boy”, but only in appearance. He and Trey had the typical fights as brothers do, and he gave as good as he got. At 6'1”, and 175 or so, he's almost as tall as his brother, but thinner, all sinew and muscle from his swimming. His girlfriend is studying chemical engineering, a real genius, good-looking in that all-American girl kind of way. They're even at the point of finishing each others' sentences.

Did I mention how proud I am of my boys?

Changed clothes, stopped by a nice little surf and turf place near a small town on the Oklahoma side of the lake. Ended up back home, all three of us relaxing with a beer or drink. Yeah, they're men, responsible men, my boys are free to drink around me. Besides, after this week, they deserve it.

Spent Friday taking care of financial business of Jackie's and mine. Had my now clean car delivered back home before I headed out. Met with my attorney, and updated my will, making sure the boys would be well taken care of with funds I'd squirreled away in banks separate from my own, as well as some stock/bond investments. Don't want everyone at work knowing too much of my business, right? Sometimes secrets can be a good thing.

Walking out of my attorney's office, my cellphone rings.

“Don't look around, Frank, just go on to your car. I'm a few cars away from ya, can see ya, but don't act out of the ordinary.” Yup, David's a pro.

“We can't meet, Frank—at least not until after we finalize your testimony. Wanted to give ya an update. I'll stay on the line, but go ahead and get in your car.”

Hit the remote, and climbed in the driver's seat. Hard to believe less than a week ago Jackie had died in the seat beside me—the FBI had done a great job of cleaning everything up.

“Ok, Frank, I'll give you an update, but got a few questions for you. First, how are you doing? Know this has been a hurricane of activity. Right now, you're in the landfall period, as the eye of the storm moves on shore and things are calm. But it's about to get really intense as winds pick back up. Are you ok? You've had a shitload to deal with. How are you? How are the boys? Tell me the truth, guy.”

Wow. The consummate professional has a human side. He really does care, above and beyond the legal side of the case.

“I'm hanging in there, David. Sometimes I'm in a fog, other times it's like watching an HD movie, with me sitting in the theater observing. Missing Jackie, I haven't been single since college. The boys are doing ok, I guess. We talk a lot, they're sad, but seem to be doing ok. Hell, I guess things are getting back to almost normal—woke up horny as hell this morning.”

David laughed. “Yeah, I guess that is getting back to normal! You've got a horndog reputation, so I shoulda expected that. Look, Frank, I'm not your lover, but I AM here for you. Please don't think of me as a glorified cop, think more like a protective big brother—you can tell me anything, talk to me anytime, I'm gonna be here for years to do whatever I can to help ya.”

Damn, he's good. I'm really feeling far more comfortable than even five minutes ago.

“Ok, back to business. Here's where we are: The grand jury convenes on Tuesday of next week. That's when your name appears on the witness list on Monday afternoon, and you may hafta do an initial deposition depending on what the prosecutor thinks—he's playing this so close to the vest, even we don't know everything he's up to. The federal court docket is being cleared, with the actual trial starting two weeks from Monday, with your testimony that Wednesday. You'll be the lead witness, and we expect that you'll be on the stand for a few days. Once the trial concludes, the plan moves forward. How long are the boys gonna be with you?”

“Think they need to go back to school Sunday evening. They've been out long enough, I don't want 'em to get too far behind in their studies. They need to get back into their own routine.”

“Ok. We'll continue to keep your house covered, discretely. Monday evening, we're gonna provide round the clock security for the boys, with some of our agents moving into the house across the street from theirs. We'll partially fill 'em in on what's going on, but you'll need to talk with them yourself. Tuesday, you're leaving town with me and my team to a remote location after your grand jury appearance. We'll fly out, and fly you back in as needed. Then after your testimony, we'll go forward with the rest of the plan. Any questions?”

“Sounds like you've taken care of everything. Thanks for watching my boys.”

“Frank, I told ya...I'm your big brother. Don't worry, we'll work through all of this, and you'll have a normal, if different life soon.”

“Damn, you're not exactly my type, but I was hoping we'd be lovers, guess big brother will work ok.” I laughed, throwing his joke back at him. He belly laughed long and hard. As an effective tension-breaker, it worked for both of us.

“We'll talk about your type later, Frank. Oh, by the way, you'll get a new phone delivered to your house on Monday by Fed Ex. I'll get an estimated delivery time, and there'll be additional information in there you'll want to review, ok?”

“Sure....and figure I'll talk with you then. Thanks for the help, David. I really appreciate it, and appreciate your taking care of the boys—more than you know.”

The connection ended, and I headed home. Yeah, there's a dark Camry behind me, gotten used to being followed.

Boys and I had dinner Friday night, broached the topic of them heading back to school on Sunday. After an intense discussion, they finally relented, but made it clear they'd be home every weekend possible; they were worried about me—said I'd been keeping to myself too much, too quiet. Reassured 'em I'd be fine.

Sunday night came, and the boys loaded up their truck to head out. Yeah, it was as emotion-filled as you'd expect—from both them and me. They had no clue what was ahead.

Monday morn, I headed to the office, told my staff I'd be in the office only briefly, using the excuse of taking care of some stuff of Jackie's estate to get out of the office. Was home by 10:30 or so, Fed Ex delivered the phone at 11:00. As soon as the guy stepped away, and I closed the door, the phone inside started ringing.

Tore the package open in the hall, and answered it.

'Hiya, Barry. It's David. Just making sure you got the phone.”

“Barry?”

“Yeah, you're Barry Evans starting now. Frank Cavauto will shortly no longer exist. This is a secure line, so we can speak freely—and you better get used to the name. How ya like it? Picked it out myself. ” The bastard actually giggled.

Yeah, it really is kinda funny in a perverse sort of way. From a distinctive to a more common-sounding name? Shit, this will take some getting used to.

“Yeah, it's ok, you dumb bastard. That your way of getting back at your little bro? “

Laughing, “No, Barry. It's designed to help ya blend into the crowd. And, inside the box the phone came in is a folder with the details about Barry's life. You'll be learning 'em on the plane.”

“Plane?”

“Here's the plan, Fra...uh, Barry. “ Another giggle. “ Pack a bag for a week's stay. It's hot there, a casual, resort style place. We'll send a car and driver by to pick you up at 1:30 pm. It'll be labeled as a United Cab, car number 1234. He'll ask for Barry Evans. If it's the right car, get in. We'll be taking you to the prosecutors office to sign off on your deposition—we've not used your name in the working docs—then we're putting you up in a hotel tonight. Tomorrow we're flying you out. No grand jury appearance necessary. Security on the boys kicks in later this evening. We'll fly you back in for the trial. And we'll have the house watched to make sure there are no issues here while you're gone. Any questions?”

“Nope. I'll be ready.”

Bag packed, lots of shorts, t-shirts, swim trunks. A pair of khakis, a single dress shirt and blazer, with tie. Loafers, sneakers, flip flops. Underwear, a few pairs of socks, razor, shampoo, deodorant....yeah, there's enough for a week there.

Knock on the door. Must be the “cab”. Driver is standing there, “Mr. Cavauto? We're ready for you.” Look over at the cab in my drive. It's National Cab, number is 9851.

SHIT! Wrong name, wrong car. They've found out!

Try to keep my cool. “Driver, I left another bag upstairs, first door on the left. Would you mind getting it for me while I check the back door, and get this bag to your car?”

He smiles. “Sure. We'll get you taken care of.” Heads up the steps, spot the outline of a small gun in it's holster in his back hip pocket. When he gets to the top of the steps, I take off running out the front door. Shots being fired, I duck, but keep running. Make it to the property edge, the expected United Cab pulls up—and the right number. I throw the door open, dive in the back, and scream “Drive!” at the cabbie.

Another car pulls up as we pull out. Dark Crown Vic sedan—David's team, I'm guessing, since the two of 'em are returning fire at the cabbie in my drive, and another car at the far opposite edge of the property. Cabbie does a full-power 360-degree turn in mid-street, tires squealing, races away engine floored, he's obviously professionally trained. He's shouting on speaker phone, “We're coming in hot! Full lockdown! Mission compromised!” We're now up to 80 miles per hour on residential streets. In a three quarters of a million dollar neighborhood. Make it over to the George Bush Tollroad a half-mile away, hit the on ramp, still accelerating.

Now at 100 and climbing. We just flew threw the OCR license plate readers in the toll section. Slow down? Fuck no!

Joined by 4 Texas Rangers patrol cars—one on either lane just in front of us, clearing traffic ahead, the other two trailing behind, in the lanes on either side of our car. Sirens blaring. “Delta Delivery,” the driver shouts into the speaker phone ahead.

Grab the phone out of my pocket. David is speed dial 1, I hit it. He's on the line before I even hear the ring.

“David, what the fuck's going on? This looks like a scene from a bad movie, I'm in a cab that's pegged the speedometer, surrounded by a Rangers' escort, my house is open, and guys have been shooting at us!” I'm shouting. Yeah, I'm a little shaken.

“Barry, we've got a leak in the department, apparently. Those were your friendly banker buddies shooting at ya. One's dead, the other is under arrest. They obviously know you're testifying.” You can hear the stress in his voice—but he's controlling it. Like I've said, he's a pro.

“Don't worry, we're bringing you to our offices here in North Plano. We've got a secure entrance here. You'll sign everything, we'll leave from here. And, Barry—we're starting security on the boys now. My people will pick 'em up, they'll be at a hotel, we'll take care of class arrangements. Don't worry, they'll be safe.”

“David, I'm not signing anything until I know the boys are ok. Got that?” I'm pissed, scared, and don't know what the fuck I'm doing. “I just gotta know, ok?”

“Understand completely, Barry.” The fucker is definitely a pro; my outburst didn't even get to him, and even with all this insanity, he's still using my new name. “We'll get 'em on the phone by the time you're here. Your big brother's got ya. See ya in a few.” The call ends.

Not even 15 minutes later, we're pulling up to one of the gleaming glass towers off Central Expressway in far North Plano.. A winding back ramp up to a 2^nd floor parking level. We're right by elevator doors, with 2 armed security guys standing guard. Driver pops out, enters a code, doors open, we're whooshed up to an unmarked floor. All the floor indicators are blank, and there's no display to show what floor.

David's standing by the elevator when we get out. Grabs me, bear hugs me, and says, “Let's get this paperwork done and get you out of here.” He turns, walks down a corridor to a small room with only an outside window. Inside are two guys sitting around the conference table. Papers in an open file folder. Phone off to one side.

“Guys, Frank and I need a few minutes. Excuse us, please?” They quietly leave. David is looking intently, blue eyes like lasers on me.

“Look, this is where everything changes. It's landfall on the back of the storm's eye. We've got things planned down to the minute, but it's all up to you. Everything you wanted is in here,” pointing to the folders. “Are you ready to do this?”

He's right—Frank's world is ending. Barry's world is just starting.

Deep exhale. Didn't realize I'd been holding my breath.

“Yeah, I'm ready. But like I'd said...”

“Your boys are on line one, Barry. They're gonna have lots of questions. Be careful of what ya say—the plan isn't fully in place, yet, ok? But above all, “ his face softens, “know they love you impossibly big.”

And with that, he stands, turns as he gets to the door, says, “I'll be outside when you're ready,” and leaves the room.

Hit line one. “Hiya, boys.” Trying to keep my voice steady.

“Dad, Dad, Dad!” Cory and Trey's voices blend into a single plaintive cry. “What's going on? We're being held here, they're saying you're under arrest, they got us out of classes......”

“Ok, boys, listen up.” Spend the next 15 minutes uninterrupted explaining how I'd fallen into my work with the mob, how their mother never knew anything, how the mob was responsible for her death. I'm not under arrest, I'm testifying against 'em, that I'll have government protection. Didn't tell 'em that it was a witness protection program. Another goddamned secret.

Yeah, I'm feeling like a fraud—and probably said so. It's probably the most tension-charged conversation I've ever had. Most of the call is a blur. I do clearly remember telling 'em over and over how much I loved 'em, how much Jackie had loved 'em. That they needed to follow the instructions of the agents assigned 'em to the letter, that it was all for their protection. To keep their eyes open, be aware. It'll all be over soon.

Silence.

More silence.

“Dad, can we see you?” Cory's voice is choked up, I can hear Trey trying to hold back a sob in the background. Their sounds convey the hurt, confusion, dissolution of their dad's image—and fear.

“Boys, that's not going to happen right now. But soon, I hope. Just do what the agents tell ya to do, and this will all work out. And know I love you more than you can ever know. You're fine men, and I'm so very proud of you both. You're the best things that ever happened to me and your mom. Hold your heads up. Make me and your mom proud.” Now I'm crying.

“Dad, we love you no matter what, call us soon, ok? Bye for now!”. The call ends and only the lonely sound of a dial tone remains.

There's a knock on the door. It's David. “You OK? Ready to get this done?”

Wipe my eyes. “Yeah, let's do it.”

The suits come back in, zip through the deal I've made with the FBI, and an overview of the deposition. I initial every page, and sign the last page. I sign the work diaries I kept of each day's activities and notes. A notary is here, documenting that it's really me. They all leave, now just David and me.

“It's time, Barry. Chopper is on the roof to take us to the plane. Let's go.”

I leave the room, knowing that may be the last time the boys would ever speak with their father, Frank Cavauto.

Back down the hall to that anonymous elevator. David enters a code. Wisked up to the roof. There's a chopper waiting, security on either side of the elevator doors.

I'm about to step out into the sun to run to the chopper, David grabs my arm, and spins me around. Pulls me into a bear hug back in the elevator. I slump against him—I'm drained.

“I got this for ya, Barry. You're gonna be ok. I know this is tough but I'm here for you. You're doing the right thing, and this is gonna work out fine. You'll see.”

And, with that, David kisses me with the most passion, reassurance, and hope I've ever felt.