Remember when I said years ago I made two decisions that would change my life?
I told you about the first but this is how the second happened. I’d already given my boss and human resources my notice but still had one outstanding case I was determined to close.
A high-profile case involving stolen cars. The short version is, a group of young adults were responsible for acquiring vehicles that didn’t belong to them. I’m talking, Gone in 60 seconds kind of stealing. When my tip paid off, I followed the leader called ‘Stang' with the intent of busting him and going out with a perfect record.
Only after watching him for a bit, did I realize he wasn’t going to steal the homeowner’s car. He was looking for something. Getting closer, I saw it was someone. A much younger, tinier, innocent version of him.
While he’d known I was behind him, he didn’t tense or run for it. Instead, he pointed at the picture window and asked, “See that kid in there?”
“Yes.”
“He’s my baby brother,” and facing me I didn’t see a thief, I saw a young man yearning for his baby brother not to go down the same path he did. “He’s supposed to do big shit, have a shot. ‘Cept his fucking foster parents treat him like shit and cash his checks. I thought cutting him loose was the right thing to do. Thought the system would help him and I was wrong.” Not letting me speak he continues. “I’ll let you take me in. I’ll even take all the heat if you do me one favor.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
With tears in his eyes he said, “Take care of my brother. Get him the fuck outta there.”
In front of a stranger’s home, I made a deal. “I didn’t see you tonight, Michael. In fact, I’ve been at home this whole time researching how to remove a minor from the system. I’ll take care of your brother if you make me a promise.”
“I’m listening.”
“Don’t come for him.”
“Don’t let him come for me neither.”
We shook on it and he walked away.
From that day on, I kept an eye on his brother from a distance. I worked every angle with the system that I could. I hated his foster family and I’d anonymously call in information hoping it would get him placed elsewhere. When that didn’t work because the system was bogged down, I started inserting myself into his life hoping he’d notice me. And Pita, being Pita, noticed. I let him film me pretending not to see him. Then one day, I blew his cover and took the chance in speaking to him.
This went on until his eighteenth birthday. Only I didn’t know he was legal when I made the last call.
Because of me, he was put out on the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back. Luckily, I was able to con some guys he knew into taking my money and getting an apartment together. Then I watched the kid get a job, hang with his friends and start to make a life for himself. And through it all, he always found time to hang with me too.
I offered him what I could careful not to be too pushy for fear he’d run or search for his brother.
He never spoke of Michael directly. Just about their shared loved of Mustangs.
So, I bought one.
He was hell bent on becoming a PI so I took him under my wing to make sure it happened. the right way, the safe way.
And through it all, I never told him the truth. I couldn’t risk him walking away.
This kid who was more man than a lot of men I know, only ever wanted one thing from me.
He wanted me to love him.
In trying to make him into a strong, independent human, I didn’t give him the one thing he needed most.
The words.
Because, I could have lost him tonight.
Michael may hold care for his little brother but he was ten times the criminal now than he was all those years ago. Allowing Pita any kind of contact with him was not a reality I would allow. Though, I was sure Michael went out of his way to frighten him so he’d never look again, I saw it in the kid’s eyes and knew he wouldn’t.
At least now he knew first-hand why I had done it and we could move forward.
As long as I live, I’ll never forget hearing the fear in his voice or seeing him tied up and in pain.
I promised to take care of him and I had failed.
And yes, I was aware of the act he was laying it on thick but, I let it go, giving my real tears time to dry up.
Knowing he’d call my bluff, I tell him, “I tolerate you,” to continue our game.
But when his eyes turned red, showing me how vulnerable he truly was and he whispers, “Do you want to know my name?” I quit playing the game.
Taking his face in my hands, I look him dead in the eyes and say, “Your name is Matthew Alan Reinhart, you were born on October 2, 1998. You weighed 7 pounds, 7 ounces and were 16 inches long.”
“You know my name,” he says as the tears roll down his cheeks.
“I do and you also know I adore you, Matthew. You are ours, always.”
Looking up to Dion, who had thrown his arm over my shoulders to comfort me, Pita asks us, “Ours?”
“You’re mine too, kid.”
Throwing himself in our arms, he hugs us with a strength I didn’t know he had and yells, “I have a family!”
As our moment concluded, I checked the room to find we were the only ones in it.
At least in this, Michael made the right decision.
With Dion’s back out and Pita likely needing stitches or that tetanus shot I say, “Let’s get my men to a doctor.”
Neither one argued with me.