Already Gone by John Rector Page B

out. He wraps them around me and pulls me in. For an instant, I feel my feet leave the floor. I can’t help but smile.
    When he lets go, he steps back and holds me at arm’s length and says, “Holy shit, Jake.”
    It’s the first time I’ve seen him in almost ten years, and I’m shocked at how little he’s changed. His hair is a bit thinner, and the lines on his face are deeper, but the eyes, cold and blue, are exactly the same.
    “It’s good to see you,” I say.
    He nods. “Show me.”
    I hold up my left hand.
    Gabby looks at the spot where my finger used to be, and something changes in his eyes. He grabs my hand and turns it over in his. I watch the jaw muscles twitch under his skin, and my heart starts to pound in my throat.
    “Those two foreign fucks did this to you?”
    I nod, don’t speak.
    “And your wife?”
    “That’s what I need to find out.”
    Gabby looks at me and smiles. “Don’t worry about that, kid.” He puts a hand behind my neck and squeezes. I try my best not to wince. “We’ll find out. Count on it.”
    He lets go and motions for me to follow him.
    “Come on in, I’ll show you what I’ve been up to in my golden years.” He slaps my chest. “You know I retired?”
    “You retired?”
    He holds up a hand, seesawing it back and forth. “I decided to give it a try after your old man went inside this last time. I thought it best to step out while I still had the legs to do it.”
    “I didn’t know,” I say. “I wouldn’t have called.”
    “Bullshit. You’re family, you and your dad.” Gabby stops and turns to me. The lines on his face deepen. “I was real sorry to hear about what happened to him. He was a good man, you know that?”
    I lie and tell him I do.
    Gabby nods and leaves it at that, instantly forgotten.
    “Well, come on in. I’ll give you the nickel tour.”
    He turns and walks on, not looking back.
    I step inside and let the door close behind me.

– 18 –
     
    I follow Gabby down a short hall into an open room with high ceilings and metal shelves along the walls. The air smells sweet, like sawdust and wood stain, and the only light comes from a mounted security box in one corner.
    Gabby steps past me and flicks a switch.
    Several rows of lights flicker to life above us.
    The room is filled with stacks of wood and half-built furniture. There are hand tools hanging on pegs along the wall, and reams of cloth and upholstery scattered across work benches.
    “This is it,” he says. “What do you think?”
    “Impressive.”
    I follow him around the workshop while he points out all the different tools and the stacks of tables and chairs along the wall, some finished, some not.
    “All this stuff is custom made. Good quality, too. It’ll last, believe me.”
    “Looks like it.”
    “Got a couple kids working for me during the day. They’re both younger than you. Musicians, I think, potheads, but good kids. Hard workers.” He points to a door at the back of the shop and says, “That’s my place.”
    “Your office?”
    “My home.”
    “You live here? In the building?”
    “Sure,” he says. “It’s not as quiet as the yard, but there’s no traffic at night. After five o’clock, I’m the only living soul for two miles in any direction. It’s like living in the country without the country.”
    “What about the yard? Did you sell it?”
    Gabby shakes his head. “I’ll never sell that place. I just wanted a change of scenery.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You want to see where I live?”

     
    We walk through the door in the back of the shop then up a steep flight of stairs to the second level. Gabby is telling me what the building looked like when he moved in, but all I can think about are the two guys who cut off my finger. They’re here somewhere.
    I do my best to be patient.
    With Gabby, that’s important.
    When we get to the top of the stairs, Gabby opens the door and says, “This is it.”
    It’s like stepping into Oz.
    Hardwood