"Yeah, I read it in the papers." Tommy smirked.

"Why don't you people go home?"

"Can we see Phyllis?"

Packard turned to Marie. "No visitors tonight. Maybe tomorrow or Tuesday."

"Well, what's the story with my brother?" Tommy asked.

"I don't think so." Packard shook his head. "He'll be home soon."

The double doors in the hallway swung open. Stony strode in in a T-shirt and wrinkled chinos, a copy of the newspaper rolled in his fist. His eyes were red, and his hair flew in six directions. When he saw his parents he started crying. Packard glanced down, noticing Stony was barefoot. Tommy grabbed Stony's hand and sat him down. "This is my kid." Stony leaned against his father's chest, rubbing his eyes.

"You have any idea what happened?" Packard asked Stony.

"He don't know nothin'. Hey, you sure it wasn't burglary?"

Packard nodded. "No way." He stood up, hissing, as he stretched his legs. "You folks want anything? Some coffee?"

Three mute no's.

"Well, look, if anything comes up, call me at this number." He tore a piece of paper from his notebook and handed it to Tommy. He smiled briefly, walked away, then turned around. "Mr. De Coco?" He nodded for Tommy to come to him. They walked down the corridor out of earshot. "Lissen ... ah ... did your brother have anything goin' on the side?"

"No." Flat and formal.

"How about her?"

"Phyllis? You gotta be kiddin'."

"Hmph." Packard placed his hands on his hips. "You got the key to his place?"

"Yeah." Tommy dug into his pocket. Packard stopped him. "Look, I seen a dozen of these things before. Guys flippin' out like that, tearin' up the place, beatin' on their wives. You been up there yet?"

"Whadya mean?"

"The apartment."

"No." Tommy shrugged, confused.

"That place is a mess, lotta blood and busted-up furniture. Now, your brother will probably be home Monday. If I were you I would go up there sometime today and clean it up. Your brother comes home, sees it like he left it, he might go nuts again, you know what I mean?"

***

That afternoon it poured worse than Saturday. The four De Cocos walked around the house like zombies. Nobody talked, turned on the TV or the lights. When the phone rang, everybody jumped out of their skins.

"Tommy?"

"Chub!" Tommy's stomach flipped. "Howya doin'? What happened? Where are ya?"

"I'm fuckin' sick to my heart, Tom. I'm so goddamn ashamed. I'm still in Jacobi. I can't ever look her in the face again."

"Hey, the doctor says she'll be O.K."

"I know."

"What the fuck happened?"

"I can't talk about it. How the fuck am I gonna make it up, Tom? How many fuckin' flowers do I gotta buy? Oh God, I just wanna fuckin' crawl into a hole somewheres an' die. When I heard she didn't press charges I broke down an' cried like a baby. How's Stony takin' it?"

"Stony? He's O.K. He's a little blown out. So am I. Were you drunk?"