BEARING WITNESS by Dino Tripodis

When I get called to come out at night it’s usually not for a very good reason. Someone is either in trouble, a jam or in need of a solution that apparently only I can remedy. That’s no ones fault but my own. I’ve earned the reputation and its served me well. And why not? Doing and taking care of the shit no one else wants to be bothered with serves a certain niche in a society where hands need to be clean and reputations can’t afford to be sullied. 

Usually the calls come in after midnight, because as the old saying goes, “Nothing good happens after midnight” and its true. The longer a night goes the riper the opportunities become to find yourself in compromising situations that you might’ve avoided had you wrapped things up at a decent time and while in a smarter frame of mind. Fortunately for me, people are stupid and never as smart as they think they are, and so, I capitalize on their limitations. 

But this call had me out at 9:30 on a Tuesday night, and I already knew what I was going to be walking into. There wasn’t anything to fix. The damage had already been done and there was absolutely nothing in my skill set that could change the outcome. 

I had to go downtown. It was raining; that hard rain that the wipers can’t keep up with and the only thing worse than the rain is the other idiots driving in it. The drive was slow but I honestly wasn’t in a hurry to get where I was going. In fact, part of me thought that if I didn’t show, the outcome would be different but I knew that wasn’t true and a promise is a promise even when those promises kill a small piece of you in the process of keeping them. 

While driving I kept thinking how all of this could've been avoided or at least delayed for a while longer. Certain things could've been put into place. Smarter choices could've been made. Simple lifestyle changes may have altered the course and made this drive unnecessary. But like I said...people are stupid, and given where things were now, Jimmy Bartolo was a fucking idiot. 

Jimmy and I grew up together as kids in Pittsburgh,PA. We got in and out of more trouble than any two kids should have; shoplifting from the five and dimes, running number errands for some of the local bookies and spent more time in detention than out of it. 

Right around the eighth grade, Jimmy moved. His old man got a job in Long Island and Jimmy became a New Yorker. After the move, he’d still come visit in the summers for weeks at a time and we stayed close till he turned eighteen and joined the Navy. He made it a career for decade or so, but stayed behind the scenes as a mechanic, so when he got out he’d have a trade. Civilian life didn't work out so well for Jimmy. He got married, had a couple of kids and when his wife left him for some “douche bag singer” as he put it, he looked me up and found me in my current profession and asked if he could work with me. 

Most of the work I do, I do alone as discretion becomes less than discreet when there are more people involved, but through the years there were times when I needed a trusted hand in certain matters and Jimmy was as loyal and trustworthy as they came. He never hesitated or questioned a job or its outcome. Much like me, he had the ability to isolate and compartmentalize situations and see them to their needed resolve. Thats not something you teach. Thats just something you are. And through the years we both had our fair share of bloodied hands that also broke bread together in the aftermath of work well done. Those dinner conversations “after” were some of my favorites. They were never about the job. Food, I think is what gave Jimmy pause to remember things and occasionally he would share those thoughts. 

“You know what used to piss my wife off?” he said one night with a mouthful of linguini. “She hated that I never used the salad fork. Made her nuts. Said she was embarrassed to go any place nice with me because I didn’t know how to use the right utensils. It’s a fuckin’ fork! 

What’s it matter if I use the big one or the little one to eat my food? One fork. One knife. One spoon. What else do you need, right? Want me to use the little fork? Fine. How’s about I stab you in the throat with it so you shut the fuck up and let me eat in peace.
I mean, I never said that, but...I thought it. Fuck, yeah...I thought it.” And back he would go to his meal until something else popped into his head that he felt compelled to share. I never said much in return and I don’t think it mattered. I think Jimmy just liked having someone to direct his thoughts to and I was a trained listener. Put a drink and a pack of smokes in front of me and you can share your life story if you want. 

“You go to the movies much, T?” he asked one other time.
“No...not much,” I said.
“I like going,” said Jimmy. “But I gotta be there for the previews, or else the whole 

experience is ruined for me.”
“Why? They got nothing to do with what you came to watch,”I replied.
“I like to see what’s coming up, and I get my snacks all organized, too. I eat the 

Goobers during the previews, and then I crack open the Milk Duds and toss ‘em into the popcorn right before the main attraction. But if I miss the previews then the whole system is out of whack. And another thing...why they always pushing the big popcorn on me? I’m one guy at a 90 minute movie. You want me to get the big one because then I can get free refills? Again, I’m one guy. You know what I’m gonna do next time, T? I’m gonna get the big one and take the fucking tub home with me and the next time I go, I’m bringing the empty tub back and sayin’ “free refill please.” What are they gonna do? Theres no sign that says the refills gotta be on that day, right? I think I got ‘em on a technicality, T. Anyway, we should go to the movies sometime, y’know?” 

Jimmy and I never went to the movies. Aside from the work we did together and drinks and meals afterwards, we didn’t socialize much on purpose anymore. The job and our dinners seemed time enough. Additional socializing didn’t seem necessary, but now I found myself wishing that we had. That’s how regret works. It shows up when its too late to do anything about it. 

The rain had subsided a bit as I pulled into the parking lot. I parked the car, emptied my pockets of anything that would trigger the metal detector I’d have to go through and locked my gun in the glove compartment. I didn’t need a piece for this. Jimmy might have. He hated hospitals. We both did. 

If we ever got hurt on the job; shot, stabbed, a cracked rib on the bad side of a fight, we never went to a hospital. We had people in our pocket and places that we could go to if we needed patched up. Good doctors and nurses who made bad decisions in life that we fixed for them and then were reminded of their mistakes whenever they got a call from us, knowing they had no choice in the matter but to pay the eternal debt. At least until we were dead. Sometimes I’d actually see that look in their eyes. 

“Don’t fuck up on purpose and try and kill me,” I’d say. “That ain’t gonna get you out of this.” Some would respond with a nervous laugh and make a joke about their Hippocratic Oath. Others would just stare back blank, wondering how I knew what they were thinking. 

This time around it was out of Jimmy’s hands. He had a heart attack. He managed to dial 911, but not before calling me to tell me he thought he was having one and stupidly check in. 

“T, I think I’m having a heart attack,” he said. “Call 911,” I said. “Why the hell you callin’ me?” “So, go to the hospital, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “For this...go to the hospital.” 

Two heart stents later, Jimmy was on the mend and scheduled to get out two days after that procedure. 

“I got a second chance,” he said to me. “I gotta be honest...that scared the fuck out of me, T. I gotta change some shit.” 

I don't know what kind of change that would've been for Jimmy. His body was a temple that nobody worshipped. He ate to excess, drank till he was drunk and smoked during all of it. I wasn’t that much different except for the fact that I worked out on a fairly regular basis and actually got check ups to stay on top of anything that might’ve been going the wrong direction. The last doctor Jimmy might have seen was probably a pediatrician. 

I’ve lost count of the guys that hoped for a second chance and never got it. It was always something they wanted once they realized their first shot at life wasn’t going to play out as expected. Jimmy never thought about having a heart attack, and when he did that’s when he started looking at second chance scenarios. When the unexpected things in life grab you by the balls and squeeze...that’s when you start to reconsider your options. 

On the day Jimmy was supposed to get out of the hospital he had another massive coronary. This one worst than the last. It was like the stents put in him two day prior were just for show, and upon further examination it was determined that the heart damage was caused by neglecting to treat a severe case of diabetes that apparently Jimmy had for years and did nothing about, and then everything inside of him started to go to shit. 

I only knew all of this because I got a call from one his daughter’s. Maybe Jimmy knew something was up or maybe he was just playing it safe, but apparently he gave them my number in the event anything went wrong. 

“My father said to call you if anything like this happened,” she said. “Something about you keeping your promise.” 

I thought it was stupid at the time Jimmy brought it up. Just more of his babbling over dinner that he wanted out there and noted. 

“Let me ask you something, T, and I’m being serious here.”
“Ok.”
“If there ever comes a time that I’m on the ropes and can’t be saved. If I’m shot, 

stabbed...whatever, and there ain’t no coming back from it...finish it. Put me down. I don’t wanna suffer.” 

“What, like a dog? What the fuck is the matter with you? You're Old Yeller now?”
“I’m serious. I mean...be sure, dammit, but yeah...I don’t wanna deal with that shit.” “But you want me to,” I said. “Jesus...when do you think of this stuff?”
“I think about a lot of stuff,” Jimmy said quietly. “I just like get it out there when I can. So, 

you’ll do it, right?”
“Sure,” I said. “In fact, why I don’t I just kill you now. End MY suffering.”
“No, not now,” Jimmy laughed. I wanna get dessert. But promise me, ok?”
“Yeah, “ I said. “I promise.”
When I got to Jimmy’s floor at the hospital, who I assumed were his daughters were 

sitting in some chairs in the waiting area. Next to them was a priest. Never a good sign. The last pictures I had seen of the girls were graduation photos that Jimmy showed off with pride. The girls were two years apart and had grown into beautiful young women since high school, but we had never met. What looked to be the oldest stood up to greet me. 

“Are you, Mr. Thompson? I’m Elizabeth...Jimmy’s daughter. This is my sister, Teresa.” The younger one stood up as well and shook my hand. 

“Yeah, but call me Frank,” I said. I’m sorry about your pops, girls.” They both gave that silent thank-you-and-don’t-know-what-to-say nod. 

“Apparently we were on his emergency call list in the event something like this would happen,” Elizabeth stated. “But we haven't heard from him since our birthdays last year, so quite frankly we were surprised to get the call. And then he was so adamant about getting you here, we thought that call would’ve been yours.” 

“He called me when he had the first heart attack and after they put the stents in, but when it all went took a turn...” 

“Right,” said Elizabeth. “I understand. We’re family. In name anyway. Of course we should've gotten the call,” as if she was trying to convince herself. 

“He sounded good when I talked to him. He was ready to get out of here. What the hell happened? I asked. “Did somebody fuck up?” 

“My father fucked up with the way he took care of himself,” said Elizabeth. “Like I told you on the phone, after the first heart attack and the stents were put in, he had another one, more massive than the first. They put him into an induced coma while trying to figure out what happened. He was breathing on his own eventually at one point, and they ran more tests. The issue wasn’t so much the valves and arteries as it was the actual heart. It sustained a lot of damage. I’m sure the diabetes he ignored didn't help matters. Over the course of an evening he sustained another ten shocks to the heart and more during surgery the next morning.” 

“They had to do chest compressions while he was on the table,” as Teresa spoke for the first time. 

“Yes, they did,” Elizabeth nodded. “And then placed him and the heart on ventilators. Once they started the surgery, they saw the extensive damage and switched gears. It was supposed to be a procedure to assist in cardiac circulation for a failing heart, but once they saw how bad everything was, they went with a different tact, which was only temporary to see how he reacted to it. Then his lungs and kidneys started to fail. They started to do an endoscopy to figure out some hows and whys, and during that procedure he had a stroke. There’s probably a dozen other things, but it doesn’t matter. We’re here now and the only thing keeping my father alive are the machines they have him hooked up to.” She paused. “I can’t imagine he’d be too pleased with himself right now.” 

“No...probably not,” I replied. 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Teresa chimed again. “He told us to call you if things went badly and to wait, Mr. Thompson. So, what are we waiting for?” 

I didn’t answer Teresa. I didn’t know how to answer, Teresa. What was I supposed to say? I promised your father if he was dying that I’d kill him and put him out of his misery? I imagined that Jimmy wanted me to be there to make sure they pulled the plug on him. That there were no last minute, life preserving efforts to keep Jimmy alive in theory but dead in a life he’d want no part of. 

“Your father worked for me. We grew up together as kids as well. We were close.” 

“What did my father do for you?” Teresa asked. She had no idea. I’m sure neither of them did. 

“I have a consulting firm,” I replied straight-faced. “And your father was one of my best trouble shooters.” 

“ A trouble shooter,” said Elizabeth with a tone of skepticism. “Ok...and what was the promise?” she asked. 

I modified the answer. “To make sure if something like this happened that it went like it was supposed to.” And then I lied. “I made the same deal with him for me.” 

“I guess he beat you to it,” Elizabeth said solemnly.
“Yeah...I guess so.”
The priest who was sitting took the silence that followed as his cue to introduce himself. “I’m Father Michael,” he said with an outstretched hand. “I’m the hospital chaplain.” 

“You Catholic, Father?” I asked.
“Protestant,” he replied. “Is that a problem?”
“Honestly, I don’t know how this works.” I said. “Whatever gets him to where he needs 

to be is the thing. Guess it doesn’t matter who says the words.”
“So, we’re going with the Last Rites, the separation of soul and body?” asked the priest. “Is there something else?” I asked.
“I have prayers for healing the sick so they get better.”
“Yeah, from what I gather, thats not happening,” I said.
A doctor and what looked like some fresh-faced interns had joined us and asked if we 

were ready. The girls nodded, but I asked for a minute.
“Do you think I could see him alone first for a few? Say a proper goodbye, and all?” Everybody present looked at everybody else for a silent consent, and with that I went 

into the room to see Jimmy. He was wired up seven ways to Sunday and was on a ventilator, looking like a shell of the man I knew. His face looked like he was crying on the inside and his body looked frail and weak, like you could break a piece of him off if you wanted, and I asked myself: if I had a knife, would I just stick it in his failed heart and finish him like he wanted me to? Because he was exactly where he never wanted to be, and even though I was here to see the end out properly, I felt as though I was failing him in some way. 

“I’m sorry, pal. I let ya down. I should’ve killed you when you brought it up,” I said, making a joke Jimmy couldn't hear. And then I squeezed his hand, but got nothing back. 

A few minutes later, the girls, the priest, and the doctor entourage came in to finish things. The priest said the words which hopefully would get Jimmy a spot in Heaven. If not, I had no doubt that he would be saving a seat for me in Hell. The doctors started to shut things down, and the girls held back tears. 

When they finally took him off the ventilator, Jimmy’s eyes popped wide open and he actually sat up with a gasp; one last big breath before falling back down, but not before he looked right through me with eyes that seemed to say, “Why didn’t you finish me, T?” I never felt more guilty about not killing someone. 

Jimmy’s damaged heart kept beating for another twenty minutes or so after being taken off all the machines. Almost as if he was debating whether or not he was ready to go, but eventually he had no say in the matter and he was gone. 

We all silently walked out of the room together, and I asked.
“Did you discuss arrangements with him? I could help with that.”
“He said he wanted to be cremated, and if we wanted to, split the ashes between Teresa 

and me.” She paused and looked at me. “I suppose we could split them three ways if you like.” “If you're both okay with that, then sure. I’d like that very much,” I said.
“Can I ask you something else?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.” 

“Was my father good at what he did for you?” 

I didn’t have to lie this time. “Your old man was great at what he did. I don’t think I’d still be in business without him.” 

“I’m glad,” sighed Elizabeth. “He always wanted to be good at something. Thank you, Mr. Thompson.” 

“Frank,” I said. “Call me, Frank.” 

“Thank you, Frank,” she replied with a touch of a smile. “Maybe someday you’ll tell me what my father really did for you, but for now...I’m just glad he found you again when he did.” 

I said my goodbyes to the girls and told them to call me if they needed anything, but I knew I’d never hear from them. We were all closing this chapter in our own way and the story from here had no reason for us to see one another again. 

As I left the hospital, the rain had started up again in a torrential way and made the drive back home just as slow as it was at the start. My phone went off. It was after midnight. Someone had made some bad decisions again and it was time to go back to work.