Nostalgia took a sharp left turn. Driving, Peter took in the half empty shopping strip. A couple of vape shops and a bedraggled beauty supply looked back at him. He remembered that strip when it was the place to afterschool chill. He thought of hanging with his boys over a platter of fries for hours at Angelo’s Pizza until Little Angie told them to you don’t have to go home but youse can’t stay here. Peter remembered pumping his pedals up Folsom and coasting down Oak.

Remembering when he broke his pinkie trying to flip his skateboard in front of Bradlee’s, Peter turned from watching the road to talk to Emma. Her thin smile made him change his mind. From the stiffness in her shoulders Peter could tell she thought his home town was hood. Her crossed arms told him she thought this spur of the moment trip to see his step-granddad was ridiculous.

Bailey was hard to take, Peter knew that. He liked a good cigar and a dirty joke. But Bailey and Nana didn’t hesitate to take Peter in when his mom went away. And after Nana died, Bailey and Peter held on to each other. From the main road their car turned onto the tree streets.

Brick rowhomes lined the narrow meandering streets. Despite Emma, Peter and Bailey talked regularly. Or they did until the last month or so. Suddenly Bailey hurried him off the phone when he answered calls at all. The last four days there was only a dialtone. Emma said he probably was nursing a hangover or playing the AC slots. But if that were true Bailey would call to tell jokes about worshipping the porcelain throne or something.

Emma didn’t understand how Bailey worked maintenance in parks and rec even after his knees gave out to buy their family home. Bailey had caught odd shifts as a bar back to pay for Peter to go to the good high school. Bailey scrimped for years to buy rental properties. The old man was goofy but nobody’s fool. Four days and no answer meant something was wrong.

On Beech, red flashing lights from cop cars and an ambulance made Peter’s heart stop. I’m too late, Peter screamed inside his head with each step. Braking hard, Peter threw his car into park and raced towards home. Wrapped in a silvery blanket, his step-granddad sat on his stoop talking to an uniformed officer. Seeing each other, they ran into each other’s arms.

“Petey you’re here. Thank God, you’re here. Did the Secret Service reach out to you, too? Make them listen Petey. I have receipts. all of my notes. I made records, Petey, of each call. It they would just let me back in the house then we wouldn’t have this problem!” Bailey yelled towards the cop.

Quickly, Peter hugged the older man again. He motioned to the officer for patience. Putting her hands on her hips, she sighed.

“Calm down, Old Bill, let me help. You gotta bring it down and explain,” Peter said.

“Some drug gang stole my identity. I was working with the Secret Service and the Social Security Department of Investigation agents to secure my savings. I put everything in gold just like they said. Then this guy shows up to take the last box of gold bars but I knew him from Jojo’s so I figured the cartel was coming after me. So I - it’s bad Petey. Help me Petey. You have the words,” Bailey said.

Mumbling, the older man broke into sobs. Peter patted Bailey’s shivering back.

“So what are you a neighbor, friend of the family? The DoorDash guy is in a bad way,” the cop said.

“No, not really,” Emma said from behind Peter.

Peter shot his wife a shut up look. She shrank back. He turned back to Bailey, wrapping him tighter in the thin blanket. When had his Old Bill Bailey gotten so frail. The cop looked up from her notepad expectant.

“I am family and this man’s attorney. My client is clearly in shock, a vulnerable senior, and will need immediate medical attention before questioning."