Big Dick McGee
If you don't know, now ya know
Be gentle, I haven't written in years, and I tapped this out this morning, while the boss was away. Maybe it's part of a larger story, I don't know. But I had been playing around with the idea of using a divorced Dad as a main character. Dunno if he'll stay a homicide detective, or if the ominous tone of the last line will be changed. But I thought it might be a nice little "hook".
Anyway, feedback is most appreciated. Here Goes:
As James Reilly stepped from his silver Ford Taurus onto the driveway of the modest single home, he mused to himself that he was already thinking of it as the driveway and the house, not his driveway, his house. It amazed him to realize that seventeen years of thinking about things a certain way could be completely changed in a matter of two months.
James hesitated at the front door for a moment. He breathed deeply, looking up at the fat white clouds scudding across the blue August sky. At 8 o’clock in the morning, it was already shaping up to be a typical Philadelphia Dog Day. “The three H’s”, the weathermen liked to say: Hazy, hot, and humid. James could sweat with the best of them, and already a sheen of perspiration dotted his forehead. Weather’s got nothing to do with it, he thought to himself, nervously wiping his brow.
James gathered himself and knocked on the white screen door of the home he’d lived in for the better part of two decades. Never get used to this, he thought. Will it always be this hard?. He didn’t have time to ponder, because the door opened immediately after his second knock.
“Jimmy! Howyadoin’?” the man fairly bellowed at him, “C’mon in, sport!”
Now, if there was one thing James hated more than being called “sport”, or “pal”, or “buddy”, it was being called “Jimmy”. Or “Jim”, or-God help him-“Jimbo”. His Father had named him James not after himself, or even his Father. As far as James knew, he was the only James in the family. No, Lee Henry Reilly had named his only son after one Lester Alan James, his partner for 4 years on the Philly Police Department. Lester was killed in 1964, while off-duty. He was attempting to help a woman who had been involved in a car accident, when an 18-wheeler struck him, pinned him to the guardrail, and dragged him thirty feet. Lee knew that the only regret his partner would have, is that he didn’t live long enough to know that he’d saved the woman’s life.
So, naturally, when Peggy Reilly gave birth to her son later that year, Lee decided to name him after his fallen partner. Not wanting to stick his son with a name like Lester, he opted to Christen him James Andrew Reilly. Lee made sure his son knew the meaning of his name, and often showed James pictures of a barrel-chested black man, never far from his Father, and always with a genuine smile on his face.
So, James hated being called anything other than his given name. He knew he sounded like a pretentious ass when he corrected people with a polite, “It’s James, please”, but so be it. Hell, he named his son Sean and his daughter Amy because they couldn’t be contracted or nicknamed.
Jake Spivey knew James’ preference for his given name; James was certain that Jake made every effort to avoid using it, out of some bizarre need to elevate himself above James. As if sleeping with his ex-wife, living in his former home, and raising his kids wasn’t enough. Jake was on the smallish side, maybe 5’7”, and he most certainly suffered from the “small man’s syndrome”. So whenever the 6’2” ex-husband came a-knockin’, he had to be snide. Whatever.
“Hi, Jake,” James, sighed, suddenly weary of the game. “Does Brenda have the kids ready?” Before Jake could answer, Brenda yelled from the living room. “Come in, James. They’ll be ready in a minute. I should’ve known you’d be right on time. I guess the military and the police taught you that much, anyway.
James pushed his way past Jake, ignoring the glare, and entered the living room. In the six months since he’d moved out-nope, that’s not true, he thought, since I was kicked out-Brenda had removed pretty much every trace of their life together. Gone were the horrendous lamps they’d picked up at a yard sale, back in ’86, and the pictures of James with his partners on the force. The Hokusai print he’d loved so much, and had adorned the space above their couch for eight years, was gone as well, replaced with a cheap lithograph of a golf painting. One thing was definitely different: there was no longer a palpable air of regret when he came in the house. It was more like finality.
Before he could complete his inventory of what was changed this week, Sean came bounding down the stairs. “Hey, Dad!! Amy will be down in a minute, you know how she is about her hair these days!”
Sean was nine years old, and tall for his age, just like James had been. He was already up to his mother’s chin, and James had no doubt that by 15, Sean would be looking down on Jake. Both literally and figuratively. Like his Father, Sean had a pale Irish complexion, shock of black hair. He also had Brenda’s cool blue eyes, a striking combination. He’s gonna be a heartbreaker, James thought, for the hundredth time. I’d really better have “the talk” with him sooner rather than later. With everything James read on the internet these days, 9 might even be late. Thankfully, Sean wasn’t too big or too old to give his old man a hug, though kisses had been taken off the table for quite awhile.
“So what are we doing, Pops?”, Sean asked, as he broke the embrace. “Well, son, I though we’d go skydiving, then swim with some sharks, and follow it up with dinner at a swanky French restaurant.”
Sean rolled his eyes at this, but James saw his smile, no matter how hard Sean tried to hide it. “I thought we’d hang out, son, the three of us, and do whatever you guys want to do this weekend. I’ve already told my Captain, nobody is allowed to call me for four days. Promise”.
“James, don’t,” Brenda started, but James cut her off.
“Brenda, I’m using actual vacation time this weekend. Leddy knows I’ll be unreachable this weekend, even by cell phone.”
Sean, a whip-smart little boy that already had his father’s keen instinct for detecting things, said, “Dad! Does that mean we’re going to the cabin?”
James smiled at his son. “Good job son, that’s exactly what it means. I keep telling Captain Ledowski we need to put you on the payroll.” Brenda glared at this last, but James pretended not to see.
Amy came bounding down the stairs a moment later, her long blonde hair trailing behind her like a cape. No, it’s like a halo, James thought, and grinned at his daughter’s beauty.
“Daddy, daddy!” Amy squealed, “Are we going on the boat this weekend?”
“You betcha, darlin’. You’d better pack a swimsuit.”
“Well,“ Amy answered, a devilish little smile crossing her face, “I couldn’t decide which one to wear, so I brought all four, just in case, is that ok?”
James laughed out loud. “Of course it is, honey. You can bring fifteen changes of clothes for every day if you want. I’m strong enough to carry all your bags.” James hugged Amy, who at age 8 was definitely a Daddy’s girl, and not too old for a kiss. Amy was the spitting image of her mother, so it never occurred to James to put 2 and 2 together, and realize that Amy’s conception occurred while he was in Boston, at a seminar. By the time James learned the truth, Amy’s biological Father was long gone, and Amy was 5. To James, who had raised her from an infant and showered her with a Father’s love, she was no more someone else’s daughter than he was a Pakistani Postman. James formally adopted her last year, just prior to his marriage finally falling apart completely.
James forgave Brenda, was willing to give it a go. And they did, for another year. But the truth of the matter was, James thought less of Brenda, no matter how much he tried not to, and Brenda was just plain fed up with life as a homicide detective’s wife. Cliché, but true. James knew that Brenda would be happier with Jake, a bank manager, and he’d be happy…well he’d be happy alone for now, with his work and his kids. That was enough for right now.
Brenda, standing next to Jake with her arms crossed-they look like a little old couple, both about the same height James thought-and said, “James, be careful up there. You know it makes me nervous when you take the kids to the cabin. I mean, you have to drive ten miles just to get cell service.”
Funny, James thought, you never minded me taking the kids up there when we were married, and you were fooling around with our next-door neighbor. James swallowed his bile and said, “Brenda, I’m a cop. Everyone up there knows I’m a cop. And besides, the most dangerous thing up there is poison ivy. We haven’t even seen a bear in-what?-five years. We’ll be fine.”
Jake looked like he wanted to say something, but James didn’t give him the chance. “Ok, kids, get your bums in gear and load up the car. Chop-chop!” Sean rolled his eyes again, but dutifully complied. It made James’ heart smile to see his son help his sister with her bags. A good boy, that one. At least I got one part of our marriage right.
“Brenda, I’ll have them back by eight or nine o’clock Monday night. You enjoy yourselves…Sports”. James couldn’t resist a little jab at Jake, who was trying very hard to ignore it.
Sean and Amy filed back in, and gave their mother a quick hug and a kiss. Sean waved goodbye to Jake, but James felt a little twinge of jealousy when Amy hugged him. “Bye Jake”. She said sweetly.
“Be good for Daddy,” Brenda said, as they filed into the car. “Call me when you can.”
James Reilly, Philadelphia Homicide Detective, former altar boy, and now Divorced Dad, swung his battered Taurus out of the driveway, his former home, wife, and life fading into the distance.
He didn’t realize that one of the three people in the car would never see it again.
Anyway, feedback is most appreciated. Here Goes:
As James Reilly stepped from his silver Ford Taurus onto the driveway of the modest single home, he mused to himself that he was already thinking of it as the driveway and the house, not his driveway, his house. It amazed him to realize that seventeen years of thinking about things a certain way could be completely changed in a matter of two months.
James hesitated at the front door for a moment. He breathed deeply, looking up at the fat white clouds scudding across the blue August sky. At 8 o’clock in the morning, it was already shaping up to be a typical Philadelphia Dog Day. “The three H’s”, the weathermen liked to say: Hazy, hot, and humid. James could sweat with the best of them, and already a sheen of perspiration dotted his forehead. Weather’s got nothing to do with it, he thought to himself, nervously wiping his brow.
James gathered himself and knocked on the white screen door of the home he’d lived in for the better part of two decades. Never get used to this, he thought. Will it always be this hard?. He didn’t have time to ponder, because the door opened immediately after his second knock.
“Jimmy! Howyadoin’?” the man fairly bellowed at him, “C’mon in, sport!”
Now, if there was one thing James hated more than being called “sport”, or “pal”, or “buddy”, it was being called “Jimmy”. Or “Jim”, or-God help him-“Jimbo”. His Father had named him James not after himself, or even his Father. As far as James knew, he was the only James in the family. No, Lee Henry Reilly had named his only son after one Lester Alan James, his partner for 4 years on the Philly Police Department. Lester was killed in 1964, while off-duty. He was attempting to help a woman who had been involved in a car accident, when an 18-wheeler struck him, pinned him to the guardrail, and dragged him thirty feet. Lee knew that the only regret his partner would have, is that he didn’t live long enough to know that he’d saved the woman’s life.
So, naturally, when Peggy Reilly gave birth to her son later that year, Lee decided to name him after his fallen partner. Not wanting to stick his son with a name like Lester, he opted to Christen him James Andrew Reilly. Lee made sure his son knew the meaning of his name, and often showed James pictures of a barrel-chested black man, never far from his Father, and always with a genuine smile on his face.
So, James hated being called anything other than his given name. He knew he sounded like a pretentious ass when he corrected people with a polite, “It’s James, please”, but so be it. Hell, he named his son Sean and his daughter Amy because they couldn’t be contracted or nicknamed.
Jake Spivey knew James’ preference for his given name; James was certain that Jake made every effort to avoid using it, out of some bizarre need to elevate himself above James. As if sleeping with his ex-wife, living in his former home, and raising his kids wasn’t enough. Jake was on the smallish side, maybe 5’7”, and he most certainly suffered from the “small man’s syndrome”. So whenever the 6’2” ex-husband came a-knockin’, he had to be snide. Whatever.
“Hi, Jake,” James, sighed, suddenly weary of the game. “Does Brenda have the kids ready?” Before Jake could answer, Brenda yelled from the living room. “Come in, James. They’ll be ready in a minute. I should’ve known you’d be right on time. I guess the military and the police taught you that much, anyway.
James pushed his way past Jake, ignoring the glare, and entered the living room. In the six months since he’d moved out-nope, that’s not true, he thought, since I was kicked out-Brenda had removed pretty much every trace of their life together. Gone were the horrendous lamps they’d picked up at a yard sale, back in ’86, and the pictures of James with his partners on the force. The Hokusai print he’d loved so much, and had adorned the space above their couch for eight years, was gone as well, replaced with a cheap lithograph of a golf painting. One thing was definitely different: there was no longer a palpable air of regret when he came in the house. It was more like finality.
Before he could complete his inventory of what was changed this week, Sean came bounding down the stairs. “Hey, Dad!! Amy will be down in a minute, you know how she is about her hair these days!”
Sean was nine years old, and tall for his age, just like James had been. He was already up to his mother’s chin, and James had no doubt that by 15, Sean would be looking down on Jake. Both literally and figuratively. Like his Father, Sean had a pale Irish complexion, shock of black hair. He also had Brenda’s cool blue eyes, a striking combination. He’s gonna be a heartbreaker, James thought, for the hundredth time. I’d really better have “the talk” with him sooner rather than later. With everything James read on the internet these days, 9 might even be late. Thankfully, Sean wasn’t too big or too old to give his old man a hug, though kisses had been taken off the table for quite awhile.
“So what are we doing, Pops?”, Sean asked, as he broke the embrace. “Well, son, I though we’d go skydiving, then swim with some sharks, and follow it up with dinner at a swanky French restaurant.”
Sean rolled his eyes at this, but James saw his smile, no matter how hard Sean tried to hide it. “I thought we’d hang out, son, the three of us, and do whatever you guys want to do this weekend. I’ve already told my Captain, nobody is allowed to call me for four days. Promise”.
“James, don’t,” Brenda started, but James cut her off.
“Brenda, I’m using actual vacation time this weekend. Leddy knows I’ll be unreachable this weekend, even by cell phone.”
Sean, a whip-smart little boy that already had his father’s keen instinct for detecting things, said, “Dad! Does that mean we’re going to the cabin?”
James smiled at his son. “Good job son, that’s exactly what it means. I keep telling Captain Ledowski we need to put you on the payroll.” Brenda glared at this last, but James pretended not to see.
Amy came bounding down the stairs a moment later, her long blonde hair trailing behind her like a cape. No, it’s like a halo, James thought, and grinned at his daughter’s beauty.
“Daddy, daddy!” Amy squealed, “Are we going on the boat this weekend?”
“You betcha, darlin’. You’d better pack a swimsuit.”
“Well,“ Amy answered, a devilish little smile crossing her face, “I couldn’t decide which one to wear, so I brought all four, just in case, is that ok?”
James laughed out loud. “Of course it is, honey. You can bring fifteen changes of clothes for every day if you want. I’m strong enough to carry all your bags.” James hugged Amy, who at age 8 was definitely a Daddy’s girl, and not too old for a kiss. Amy was the spitting image of her mother, so it never occurred to James to put 2 and 2 together, and realize that Amy’s conception occurred while he was in Boston, at a seminar. By the time James learned the truth, Amy’s biological Father was long gone, and Amy was 5. To James, who had raised her from an infant and showered her with a Father’s love, she was no more someone else’s daughter than he was a Pakistani Postman. James formally adopted her last year, just prior to his marriage finally falling apart completely.
James forgave Brenda, was willing to give it a go. And they did, for another year. But the truth of the matter was, James thought less of Brenda, no matter how much he tried not to, and Brenda was just plain fed up with life as a homicide detective’s wife. Cliché, but true. James knew that Brenda would be happier with Jake, a bank manager, and he’d be happy…well he’d be happy alone for now, with his work and his kids. That was enough for right now.
Brenda, standing next to Jake with her arms crossed-they look like a little old couple, both about the same height James thought-and said, “James, be careful up there. You know it makes me nervous when you take the kids to the cabin. I mean, you have to drive ten miles just to get cell service.”
Funny, James thought, you never minded me taking the kids up there when we were married, and you were fooling around with our next-door neighbor. James swallowed his bile and said, “Brenda, I’m a cop. Everyone up there knows I’m a cop. And besides, the most dangerous thing up there is poison ivy. We haven’t even seen a bear in-what?-five years. We’ll be fine.”
Jake looked like he wanted to say something, but James didn’t give him the chance. “Ok, kids, get your bums in gear and load up the car. Chop-chop!” Sean rolled his eyes again, but dutifully complied. It made James’ heart smile to see his son help his sister with her bags. A good boy, that one. At least I got one part of our marriage right.
“Brenda, I’ll have them back by eight or nine o’clock Monday night. You enjoy yourselves…Sports”. James couldn’t resist a little jab at Jake, who was trying very hard to ignore it.
Sean and Amy filed back in, and gave their mother a quick hug and a kiss. Sean waved goodbye to Jake, but James felt a little twinge of jealousy when Amy hugged him. “Bye Jake”. She said sweetly.
“Be good for Daddy,” Brenda said, as they filed into the car. “Call me when you can.”
James Reilly, Philadelphia Homicide Detective, former altar boy, and now Divorced Dad, swung his battered Taurus out of the driveway, his former home, wife, and life fading into the distance.
He didn’t realize that one of the three people in the car would never see it again.
