Chapter 4

     We had to lay Patrick off because he couldn't keep his mind on his work.  He wouldn't take care of his truck; he couldn't be bothered with the time it would take for an oil change.  He rarely checked his fluid levels or did his pre-trip inspection.  He was obsessed with what Lou was doing while he was out of town.  So he ran 1400 miles up to Michigan and 1400 miles back as quickly as the truck would take him.  He was happy he would get the summer off, we told him to take the time to get his head together.

     My husband and Patrick were going out for a drink and I had to pick Patrick up, Mike was supposed to go too, but said he didn't feel like it.         

     When I got to Patrick’s his wife was out, they were having problems too, they were talking about divorce, the whole family was in on it. 

     Nervously Patrick said, "You know Peggy, there is something you should know, Lou wanted me to ask you something." 

     "Well what is it," I asked in disgust? 

     "She said to ask Peggy how it feels, to have her crack addict son have her car stolen?"  My mind raced, in just a few seconds the puzzle pieces began to fall into place.

     Patrick went on to say, "Peggy!  We all partied together.  Mike was usually the one to go get the stuff, sometimes I went along."  He looked at me to see how I was taking this news, and continued.   "It started getting out of control, maybe it was Mike who took the money that disappeared." 

     "I know Mike didn't take it, he doesn’t need it, he has his own money, he would never steal it.  Are you so blind you can't see your wife has a problem too?"  I angrily replied. 

     When I got home, and, after the guys left for the bar, I called Mike, I told him point blank what Patrick's wife had said.  He was speechless for a minute.  I said, "Well, talk to me Mike, is this true?"      

     After an unbearable silence he spoke anxiously, "Mom, yes I've been doing crack cocaine.  I thought I had a problem with it but I am in control.  If there were a problem I would ask for your help." 

     I didn't tell his dad about either of these conversations. 

     The following week a detective came into our office, "I'm looking for Mike," he said. 

     "I'm Mike," said Mike's dad.

     "You’re not the Mike I'm looking for, but you’re probably his father."   The detective said.  "Can I speak with you.?” 

     "What's wrong?"  I asked, my voice full of anticipation.

     "Who are you?"  He questioned.

     "Well, I'm that Mike's wife and the other Mike's mother." 

     "Well, I'll talk to you too.  Your son filed a false report, the car was not stolen, and he was in a known drug neighborhood, not once but twice, we've got him over there two days prior to the car incident.  Mike needs to come talk to me and tell the truth or I will charge him for filing a false report." 

     We talked some more, the detective, Big Mike and I, and we assured him we would talk to Mike and get back to him the next day. 

     Later at the house, we all sat down at the table, Big Mike then told little Mike about the visitor we'd had that day.  He asked Mike if he wanted to talk about it. 

     Mike looked at me, and I nodded.  He took a deep breath and the whole story came out, how he had been doing crack cocaine.  He had picked up this guy and let him drive to find some crack, and where they went.  He said they didn't find any after a couple of hours and he got out of the back seat to take the wheel, when the guy took off and left him standing there. 

     Well, now that we knew what had actually happened, we had to take him to the detective and let him retell the story.

     He was very apprehensive about going down to the police station.  The detective had told Big Mike that he was going to scare the hell out him. 

     I was scared already.  "How about setting it up for Thursday?"  I asked.

     The day we went to the station it was pouring rain.  The sky was as dark as our moods.  We went to the detective’s office.  He invited us in and explained, "You filed a false report, young man," He looked at Mike for a moment, then continued, "If I were to charge you with it you'd end up in jail.  The decision is yours.  Your parents care very much about you.  To have parents still together puts you in the minority, you were raised by these two people in a decent home, there are few families like this left, and I can't understand how you could put them through this.  We could be viewing your remains in a morgue right now." 

     He stopped, offered him a cigarette, and went on "How would you feel, Mike, if your parents had to identify you with half of your face blown away?  We have them like that right down the hall in the morgue.  All too often I see beat-up bodies of kids your age.  Now tell me why you were in that neighborhood!" 

     Mike told him with little emotion.  The detective actually wanted to see some emotion some regret so he kept on him until he broke him.  He broke all of us, big Mike, little Mike, and me.  We were all crying.

     With tears streaming down his face, he said we were the best parents and he didn't want to hurt us, he was so sorry he had. 

     At that point the detective said that was all he wanted to hear and released him, he asked him to call him anytime he was in trouble.  He said he would be very happy to talk to him and help him in any way! 

     On the way out Mike said, "He wanted to see me cry, he just

wanted me to cry!"

     "Yes, he wanted to see you show some emotion," I said, consoling him.

     "I was holding back all the time, mom." Mike replied.

     Big Mike looked over at him, wiping his eyes he said, "If you learned something in there this afternoon it was worth it." 

     "I've learned to stay the hell out of that neighborhood and away from that drug."  Mike faltered. 

     For a couple of days that worked too.  Then he was back at it.  Big Mike worried, "Maybe we should take the car away from you."      

     "No, please, I'll go crazy, I know I can kick this, just give me a chance," Mike cried.

     One evening about a week later, I was home watching TV when the phone rang.  It was Big Mike "I got my car back,” he stated proudly. 

     "What?"  I exclaimed!  "Where? They found it?"

     "I found it,” he replied sounding as if he just made detective of the year.  "At a gas station on Broward Blvd. I was taking Dan home and saw my car at the pump.  I pulled in there and told Dan to call the cops."  He laughed.  "Then the guy saw me looking at the car, he must have gotten nervous.  He was putting the pump back; I knew he was getting ready to leave.  I just dove in the passenger side window, right over some fat black woman, and turned the ignition off."  He was laughing so hard now he told me to hold on.  He continued, "I got right in his face, I asked him what the hell he was doing with my car?  He said he didn't steal it; some white boy let him use it.  I told him it was my car!" 

     Before the cops were ever even called Big Mike had his car back and the thief was gone.  "The woman was scared, her kids were crying.  But I "got my car back"!"

     I could just see his chest exploding, he was so proud of himself.

Reviews

[teddybard]

Frightening chain of events, but an awesome read.