He’d be the Salingers’ inside man as much as they needed him.
And being asked to do this thing in Brussels had been an honor. And one of the most important things he’d ever done.
“That shit you’re working on,” Chuck said, interrupting his thoughts. “That’s going to make this binding?”
Carl grimaced. “We can’t coerce this guy to give up his bodily fluids,” he said. “In fact, Julia told us explicitly not to. She said Josh would never forgive her if we did this against his consent. This is just to establish dates, times, etc. Make sure it’s all legal and the doctors can proceed as soon as he signs. I’m an expediter, Chuck, nothing more.” His job was to put a legal face on things; he had no delusions of anything romantic or exciting, even as he broke the law.
Chuck nodded. “I know. I….” He let out a sigh. “Dammit. That kid—that kid gave me a new start. He gave all of us a new start, you know?”
Carl nodded, understanding. Yes, he’d fallen under the Salinger family spell long ago, but Josh had been part of that charm. Watching Felix, Danny, and Julia pour their hearts into the little boy had defined something for Carl Cox. He’d had a feeling—a vague, unclassified feeling—that the world was not as black and white as simply outwitting bullies, and that doing the right thing wasn’t ever going down into the ledgers as a win in the plus column. But seeing the simplicity of adults interacting with a child? That had told him all he’d needed to know.
Do no harm.
He’d started bending the rules that first year, when he hadn’t gone after Danny Mitchell, the man who would steal an already stolen statue and return it to a museum, leaving his adopted son’s model of Squidward in its place.
Anything Carl could do, no matter how small, how undistinguished, to help restore the heart of the Salinger family, he would do.
He’d leave the flashy stuff to Chuck, to Hunter, and to Hunter’s boyfriend, Grace. If all these people needed from him was paperwork and security, well, turned out that was his specialty, and he could supply it.
“I….” Carl had no poetry. He was an insurance investigator. That pretty much indicated his soul was a desert of practicality. “I need very much for Josh to recover,” he said finally. “I know you’re his friend, Chuck, but I saw him as a kid.” Memories hit him hard and out of nowhere. “Danny and I have met a handful of times in the last nine years. Usually he was pulling a job and I was right behind him. But before we’d engage in cat and mouse—and the cat never wins those, believe me—we’d end up having a cup of coffee together, and he’d pull out pictures of Josh. I… I don’t know how he got them. Josh at his birthday party or Josh onstage. Josh and Grace taking selfies at Willis Tower. Danny watched that kid grow up. And watching Josh grow up kept Felix alive for him. And I mean, I knew. I knew that if Felix was alive for him, I didn’t have a chance. But that kid kept Danny alive. I don’t have a wife. I don’t have kids, and my mother is terrifying, but I had the promise of turning a corner in Prague or Antwerp and running into Danny and having a family. I need that kid to be okay. Do you understand?”
Chuck was looking at him unhappily.
“He’s my friend,” Chuck conceded. “But Carl, man, so are you. And I say this as your friend—you need a life. One of your own! You are more than just an adjunct performer in Felix and Danny’s little play. I love them, don’t get me wrong. And I’d die for Josh, and so would the rest of us. But I’m going to have some hope and envision a life in a year or so when Josh is all happy, fine, and the picture of health and off running jobs and getting laid. And when that’s going on, I want to be in on the job, but I also want to be spending time with Lucius when I’m not. What do you want to do?”
Carl thought about it. “I’d like to have a cat,” he said. “Or a dog. One of my own, in my own apartment. I sort of have an apartment right now, but it’s sublet to someone who works in DC, and mostly I just keep my clothes in the spare room. I want to have an apartment and to be home often enough to have a cat.”
“What about a boyfriend?” Chuck asked, sounding patient. “You want one of those?”
“Or girlfriend,” Carl said, because that was also a possibility.
“Sure. Fine. Or a girlfriend. What about a friend, of the naked kind? A life. You want a life, Carl? One of your own and not borrowed from Danny Mitchell?”
“Sure,” Carl said.
“I’m convinced,” Chuck muttered. “C’mon, man. With some conviction!”
Carl snorted. “I’m not the guy who gets the guy,” he said. “Or the girl. And the only conviction you should be worried about is a legal one. My job is to keep us from getting convicted.”
Chuck kept staring at him, his broad face disbelieving, his sprawl in the swiveled seat deceptively tense. “I don’t believe you,” he said after a moment.
“What’s so hard to believe?” Carl asked mildly. “I’m not that guy. I’m the suit. I’m an afterthought to the crew. I get it.”
Chuck shook his head. “No, man, I really don’t think you do.” Frustrated, he pulled out his phone and sighed. “Look, I got another hour of shuteye before we fuel up in New York, and then I’m going to make you sit in the cockpit next to me while I show you how to keep this bird in the air all by yourself.”
“Are you going to show me how to land?” Carl asked, eyebrow raised. “Because I understand that’s the hard part.”
“Sure. Sure I’ll show you how to land. Whatever. But while I’m showing you all about planes in the air, I want you to think about something.”
“What?”
“A bird may not be a penis to Carmichael Carmody, but if Mikey wanted to show you his birds, that’s still something special to him. Which means he thinks you’re special. So maybe find more ambition in your personal life than a cat and an apartment, okay? Maybe have a little faith that you’re destined for greater things.”
Carl swallowed a lump of frustration. “You can’t have it both ways, Chuck. I can’t be super exciting and destined for greater things at the same time I’m safe enough for your friend who needs security. Did you ever think of that?”
Chuck scowled at him. “You’re making me tired. Take a nap and get ready. One way or the other, you, my friend, are going to fly.”
CARL HAD to agree with Good Luck Chuck—flying was a blast. He was pretty sure he couldn’t have crashed the plane if he’d tried; Chuck’s instructions were far too succinct for him to accidentally push down on the controls when he meant up, and Carl was, in fact, a fast learner. He’d noticed that most of Danny’s crew were “fast learners,” which was code for “bloody geniuses” in most cases. Carl had often pondered that a select few criminals seemed to take up breaking the law as sort of a hobby to stave off boredom.
It was for Chuck, anyway.
“Yup,” Chuck said as Carl mastered the stick. “Yup. Doin’ great. Plane’s sailing smooth. Nothing but blue sky. So blue. Blue as far as the eye can see. Very few clouds.”