Visiting Hours

Part Four

 

Five Years Served

“You sure about this? You’re a smart kid, you could stick through it if you wanted to.”

“I know but that’s the thing, I don’t want to.”

“He know?”

“I’m going to tell him before I go back—I’ll finish out the semester, take the exams but that’s it.”

“’Not gonna change your mind, are you?”

“Not right now I’m not. I may go back someday but—I don’t know. It’s just not for me.” Robin traced the fake wood grain on the desk with his finger, his eyes intent on the cheap material.

“So what are you goin’ to do, go home with your tail between your legs and live in the room you lived in when you were ten years old?”

Robin exhaled. “Yeah well, that’s the problem. I don’t want to do that, I mean that’s a no-brainer but I haven’t completely figured it out yet.”

“You gonna tell him that?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You know that you blow this chance, you don’t get it back, you know that, right?”

“With school?” There was a rare flash of genuine anger, possibly the first time the Boss had seen it from the kid. “Of course I do; I can go back any time I want, all I have to do is change my mind.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Drop it, okay? Change the subject.” He pulled a magazine out of his bag. “I brought you the new issue of Vanity Fair that you wanted. You’re right, that article about you is pretty slanted; ‘you going to write them or sic your lawyers on them for libel or something?”

“I’ll know after I read it. So…”

Robin looked at then man through the bulletproof clear plastic. They’d been meeting like this, visiting every few months since John Gadolfalo had been locked up over five years ago and had developed a sort of friendship based on mutual fascination and, in a weird way, admiration.

In a perverse way Robin saw him as an intelligent man who made something of himself, made money, supported his family as well as he was able, had the respect of his colleagues (such as they were) and ran a successful business. The tradeoff he’d made was that he’d turned to the dark side of the force to do so. It probably wasn’t something he would have done, but he didn’t really judge the man; if Bruce hadn’t ridden up on his white horse when he did, who knew what would have happened?

The Boss saw Robin as a worthy adversary, a smart and dedicated professional shaped by personal tragedy caused by one of his underlings—dumb-ass Zucco—and for which he felt some (unacknowledged but very real) responsibility. The kid was what he unconsciously half wished his own son was and would probably never come close to. Frankie—his own son, about the same age as Robin, was serving a one to three year sentence for possession with intent to sell a controlled substance, the bust partially credited to the kid on the other side of the glass.

Frankie was a screw-up.

Robin was close to the top of his profession and rising.

Frankie would probably do the revolving door thing with prison for years.

Robin could pick and choose anything he wanted.

Frankie would blame anything and anybody for everything.

Robin owned it, good or bad, he took it as it came.

Frankie dropped out of school the minute he turned sixteen.

Okay, Robin had decided to drop out of college, but he still had a badge from Interpol and the GPD to keep him busy.

Frankie hung out with low-lifes and losers.

Robin founded the Teen Titans and worked with the Justice League.

Frankie made the police blotter.

Robin was on the cover of Newsweek last month.

Frankie blamed Robin for not helping him beat the drug charges.

Robin had almost nothing to do with the case.

Frankie couldn’t string more than five words together and his vocabulary almost exclusively consisted of ‘awesome’, ‘amazing’, ‘dude’, ‘shit’ and ‘fuck’.

Robin gave interviews to the world’s media and spoke at the UN and the White House.

Crap.

And neither of the men sitting in the visitor’s room today had ever or likely would ever reveal that they both knew things about one another no one was ever supposed to know. As long as they both played by the unspoken rules, they had an understanding.

“So, what’s going on with that girlfriend of yours? ‘You still seein’ her?”

The boy—the young man—looked back up at him. “We broke up. She kind of dumped me.”

“’Because you’re leavin’ school or is she seein’ someone else?”

Robin nodded. “Both. She said I was never around and she couldn’t figure out why I was always busy when she wanted to see a movie or something.” He fidgeted a little, uncomfortable with the subject. “’You ever hear from your kids?”

“Frankie? He’s sitting in a cell, nah.”

“Sorry, I know that. What about your daughter, Karen? Do you hear from her does she ever come to see you?”

The Boss looked almost happy. “She comes every visiting day, always brings me stuff to read, always tells me what’s going on with her. She’s going to Rutgers; did I tell you that? Got good enough grades that they couldn’t keep her out, never been in any trouble, always keeps her nose clean.” His pride was plain. “She’s my angel.”

“Does she know I come talk to you?”

“Yeah, I told her; she likes that you take the time. I think she’d like to meet you sometime; you think you could do that?”

Hesitation. Robin didn’t want to get sucked in any further than he already was. “I…”

“’C’mon, won’t cost you anything.”

Robin laughed, “Of course it will, John, one way or another, it’s going to cost me.”

“You need to get yourself a new girl, kid, I’m telling’ you. A good woman makes all the difference for a man. You’ll see.”

“You’re trying to set me up with your daughter? Mr. Gadolfalo, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“What? She’s a nice girl, you’re a nice boy—it’s perfect. Besides, I know you’d treat her right, give me one less thing to worry about.”

Robin smiled at that. “What makes you so sure? I was born with as many hormones as anyone.”

“Sure you were but you were raised right, I can tell. You’re catholic, right?”

“Okay, let’s not go there, okay? Seriously, let’s just not.”

“I’ll tell her that you’re going to call her. Her birthday is in three weeks; take her out to dinner; she’d like that. My dime.”

“Mr. Gadolfalo…”

“F’me. Okay, f’her—her old man is in prison. Make her happy.”

“Ah, c’mon…”

“Robin, okay, look, I’m serious about this—you don’t want to date her, don’t date her but take her out for a nice, quiet dinner. She has questions she wants to ask you, wants to know how I’m really doin’, ‘thinks that no one is telling her the truth. Tell her I’m doin’ okay, she’d believe you.” The Boss looked human; his walls and masks down. He was a scared father worried about his daughter.

“Dinner, but I’m not promising anything, okay? And if I get any real flack about this I may have to cancel—you understand, right? Conflict of interest isn’t cool.”

“Yeah, sure. Do the best you can, that’s all I’m askin’.”

“Okay, but like I said—it may not happen.”

“You’re a good kid. ‘You do this, I owe you. Hey, kid.” He stopped Robin who was just standing up to leave. “An’ she might change your mind about bein’ a drop-out.”

“’Doubt it.”
 

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