Already Gone - By John Rector Page 0,28

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 floors, handwoven rugs, and full-length windows overlooking a jeweled city skyline. It is the opposite of what I’d been expecting, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say.

Gabby smiles. “What do you think?”

I move toward the windows and look out at the wall of city lights and say, “It’s amazing.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Gabby comes up next to me and puts his hands on his waist. “You get a little older, and you start appreciating the beautiful things in life.”

“It is beautiful.”

The two of us stare out the windows for a while, neither of us saying a word.

Then Gabby speaks.

“This place used to be a crematorium.”

And all at once, I remember where I am.

I turn away from the window and look at Gabby.

“Got the old oven downstairs,” he says. “The damn thing still works, too.”

“Downstairs?”

“The basement. Here, take a look at this.”

He leads me around the corner and points out a large arched metal door hanging on the wall.

“I popped it off the front of the oven and cleaned it with a pressure wash. It took forever, but once I polished her up, I thought she might look good on a wall.”

“Like art.”

“Exactly.” Gabby grins, shows teeth. “Art.”

I stare at the oven door, and I can’t help but think he’s right. It does look good. It’s morbid and dark, but there’s something fascinating about it, too.

Something almost beautiful.

Gabby finishes the tour on the roof.

He wants to show me his birds.

“Racing pigeons,” he says. “It’s a hobby, and a little side business of mine. Something to do in retirement.”

I laugh under my breath.

“What’s so funny?”

“You being retired. I can’t picture it.”

“Can’t stay young forever, Jake. You might not see it, but things have changed out there. The world is different, and there’s no place for guys like me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The players are all different. Now it’s the people in the suits who control everything. They talk and they negotiate and they make deals. They’re the ones you have to worry about, not the guy running things from the back booth at the neighborhood bar.”

“You were always more than that.”

“Was I?” Gabby shakes his head. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a package of sunflower seeds and pours a few into his palm. “These days I’ve got my shop and I’ve got my birds. That’s enough for me. The rest doesn’t matter anymore.”

I watch Gabby open the cage and lay the seeds across a long wooden feed tray. I think about what he said, and as I watch him, I have a hard time not believing him.

He looks happy.

I think back over all the time I spent with him as a kid, and I can’t remember ever seeing him smile.

I wait until he closes the cage. Then I motion to the birds and ask, “What kind of business is this?”

“A small one,” he says. “I’ll rent the white ones out for weddings. Some people like to release birds, and you wouldn’t believe how much they’re willing to pay to do it.”

“I thought you released doves at weddings.”

“Doves don’t have the homing instinct. You release doves and all you’re doing is feeding the hawks.” He taps the