Page 68 of Vanish From Sight
“I’m glad because I wasn’t going to make any more.” He got up and went into the kitchen. Ray ran a hand over his face and staggered to his feet.
“Um. Where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall. But if you’re taking a piss, use the seat. And by that, I mean, sit your ass down. I don’t want to be wiping up drops from the floor.”
Ray gave a half-hearted salute and went to relieve himself.
He passed the master bedroom. It was simple but odd with a king-size bed covered in a camouflage bedspread. There was a bedside table that held a small lamp and a few books related to foraging, different kinds of mushrooms and surviving the end times.
Ray shook his head and wandered into the bathroom. It was small but functional, with a rustic sink and mirror, a clawfoot tub that looked as if it had seen better days, and a separate shower. The walls were wooden planks and there was a smallwindow which offered a view of the surrounding yard and forest.
On the wall was a framed motto: “The only easy day was yesterday.”
He returned a moment later to find a mug of coffee, a bottle of Advil, some cream and a bowl of sugar on the table. He sank into his seat under Ed’s watchful eye. He tossed two pills back and swallowed before drinking some black coffee.
He kept glancing up at Ed. He knew the old fart wouldn’t back down unless he told him.
“The casino. Okay? That’s who I owe,” Ray blurted out.
“How much?”
He was hesitant to say. It was embarrassing.
“C’mon. Spit it out.”
“Four G’s.”
“Four thousand?”
“Add two more zeros to that.”
“Four hundred thousand?”
“Give or take.”
There was silence for a minute or two.
Ed blew out his cheeks. “Ah, I can respect someone owing money to try and get by in life. A loan for a business, a mortgage, a college course, hell, even a car, but gambling?”
“Go ahead. Say it.”
“Oh, I’ll say it because I’m sure your family won’t. That takes some high-level stupidity. Have you never heard the saying the house always wins?”
Ray yawned and took another sip of his coffee, letting him ramble.
Ed continued. “Of course you have. But that’s not it, is it?”
Ray met his gaze, his brow furrowed.
“I mean, sure, many a man has killed himself over debt, butyou, a cop, a Sutherland who cares more about the reputation of their name? What else did you fuck up?”
Ray groaned again, squinting at him. “You know, I’ve had one hell of a night. I’d appreciate it if we didn’t do this right now.”
“And I’d appreciate you cutting the bullshit. And don’t tell me it’s your missus. We might be the bane of the female species, and likewise, but no Sutherland is going to toss himself into a gorge over a woman. If that was the case, you would have done it when she divorced your ass years ago.” He paused. “Oh yes, Noah told me. So…?”
Ray set his cup down and eyed him. It was like the old-timer could see right through him. He looked up at the Sistine Chapel painting. He knew more about it than Ed realized.
“Do you know that Michelangelo never wanted to paint the Sistine Chapel?” Ray looked back at Ed. “Yeah, he was already busy working on a marble tomb for three years when he received the commission.” He paused for a moment and reflected upon the copy of the masterpiece above him. “He accepted, despite the fact that he told others he felt he was more of a sculptor than a painter and had no experience with frescos. You know why he agreed? Most will say it was because he was commissioned by the pope to paint portraits of the twelve apostles and that he felt it was an honor to work for him. That’s what they would have you believe. It sounds so much more palatable than the truth. It’s all bullshit. They leave out the part about the letter he wrote to his friend, where he told him that Pope Julius II forced him to do it. Apparently, Pope Julius was in the habit of beating him with a stick and had also fired him at one point. I believe his words were ‘he could paint anything around the apostles and that he wouldn’t hurt Michelangelo.’”
