Tank

by Erin Bevan

  He saw the rise of her chest and the twinkle in her eye.

  “I won’t.”

  He breathed a small sigh of relief. She would stay, at least until he got back.

  The rumble of motorcycles broke the moment. She shifted her gaze toward the other two men and took a step back.

  “You ready, son?” Father yelled over the noise.

  Boy, does this man have shitty timing.

  “Yeah,” he yelled back and cranked his ignition. “I’m ready.”

  “Let’s go.” The leader pointed toward the road and zoomed ahead, Steele following close behind.

  Tank glanced back at the house where JoJo waited inside.

  “You should go,” Annie said. “They’re leaving you.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I should.” Turning his head, he spotted the two men waiting at the end of his drive. Something, according to Steele, they didn’t do.

  He glanced back at Beauty and held out his hand. “Do you trust me?”

  She watched him, hesitant. The frightened woman from last night showed herself again. Of course she didn’t trust him. He began to pull his hand back, when she reached out and grasped it. The tingling flew through his arm.

  “I do.” She squeezed his fingers, and the movement shot to his heart.

  “Good.” Gently, he embraced her hand, and dropped it before he pulled her closer. He wanted to kiss her, show her what a real man felt like, but not now. Not yet. It was too soon, for both of them. The moment in the kitchen they shared…poor judgment on his part. She needed time.

  He reached for his helmet, tossed it on, and sped down his drive, putting space between them before he changed his mind about kissing her. The faster he did his duty for the day, the faster he could get back to her.

  Tank followed Father and Steele up a cracked sidewalk. A pot of red flowers hung by a rafter from the top of the porch. The screen door had a hole in the mesh the size of a baseball.

  Kid probably got a beating for that.

  Father put a hand out to stop him at the top of the steps. “We always give plenty of space between the door and us. If we stand too close, people, especially women, get turned off. They are less likely to answer if they feel threatened or pressured.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Tyler took another step down so he and Father were eye level. If he appeared shorter, maybe he wouldn’t look so menacing.

  “And take off your bandana. We try to look as gentlemanly as possible when we handle a situation like this.”

  Tank did as he was told, and slid the cloth in his front pocket.

  Steele opened the screen and racked his knuckles across the wooden door. “I’ll take it,” he said as he stepped back by the stairs.

  “Sure.” Father nodded. The man leaned his head closer to Tank and whispered, “Just follow our lead, okay?”

  “Got it.”

  “And smile for Christ’s sake.”

  He flashed Father his teeth, and the man backed up.

  “Not a grimace,” he whispered. “I said a smile, damn it.”

  He softened his features as a sinking feeling settled in his gut. He could do this. He would help this kid. From the looks of the neighborhood—nice cars in the driveway, middle class homes—it wasn’t a place someone would suspect child abuse. Then again, abuse didn’t discriminate amongst class.

  A brunette woman opened the door. She wore a light pink tank top and jeans. The lady was close to the same size and stature as Annie, but the resemblance stopped there. From the woman’s face, she appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. A fresh, purple bruise covered her bicep. Imprint of a thumb. The coloring reminded him of Annie’s swollen eye.

  He tightened his fists then immediately loosened them. If the lady would of noticed, he might have frightened her. Instead, he concentrated on smiling.

  Don’t grimace. Don’t grimace.

  She glanced over the three of them, and straightened her shoulders. “Can I help you, gentleman?”

  “Umm…hello, ma’am.” Steele rubbed the back of his neck, his cool demeanor slipping for a second. “My name is Blake Steele.” He held a hand to his chest then pointed to each of them. “And this is Jack Grimes and Tyler Wilde.”

  Jack? The fact Father had a real name never occurred to him. He glanced back at the long-haired man. He did kind of look like a Jack. Kind of.

  “And you’re Ma…” The fireman cleared his throat. “Mary Franks, right?”

  What the hell was wrong with him? Did all women make him stutter?

  “Yeah?” She gave him a questioning look.

  “We’re with a group called The Blue Guardians. Have you ever heard of us or seen us around town?”

  Mary glanced over Steele and Father’s vests. “Yeah, I’ve seen a few of you guys around, but a nurse at the hospital this morning told me about you. Said you guys could be trusted, and I could go to you for help. She also mentioned you guys even visit kids in the hospital sometimes.”

  “Yes, ma’am. If we get enough notice and have permission, we do.” Steele seemed to have found his regular voice again. “Our group’s mission is to help protect women and children who’ve been abused. We got word from one of our members yesterday that your son has been hurt, and someone from the hospital called Jack this morning stating the same thing. We just came to see if we could offer any help.”

  “Yeah?” Mary let out a sigh. “Well, we sure could have used your help last night.” She pushed the screen door open wider. “Would you men like a glass of sun tea?”

  “That’d be nice, ma’am. Thank you.” Steele gave her a side smile.

  Tank imagined that smile came in handy for the firefighter every once in a while.

  He followed the Guardians into the living room. A little boy, about seven or eight, sat on the couch, hugging his teddy bear, his stare glued to some animated cartoon on television. The child didn’t bother giving them a glance.

  Nathaniel.

  For a moment, Tank saw himself sitting there.

  Yes, he could help this little boy.

  “You men can have a seat at the table.” Mary pointed into the small kitchen area to her right. She walked ahead of them and grabbed three glasses out of the cupboard.

  Tank followed the guys, all the while trying to catch another glance at the boy.

  “He won’t talk to you,” the mother said. “He’s scared.”

  “Where is the father now?” he asked.

  “Jail.” Mary dumped ice into the three glasses. “We had another altercation last night. I didn’t know he was abusing Nathaniel. I swear I didn’t.” She stopped putting ice into the glass and gripped the counter tops. Her knuckles matched his moments before.

  He ached for Mary, and a part of him wished his mother were here to console her. No one could offer advice to a mother better than another mother.

  Steele rushed to the woman’s side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’re here to protect you. Both of you.”

  She glanced at Steele, then him and Father, and nodded her head. She wiped a tear away, and took in a deep breath. When she went to reach for the pitcher on the windowsill, her hands shook so much she nearly dropped the jug.

  “Let me do that.” Steele reached for the tea and poured the three glasses.

  “Thanks.” The nervous woman leaned back against the counter. “Craig, he’s hit me some, but I swear I had no idea he did it to Nathaniel until this past week,” her voice wavered, and she glanced into the living room to see if her son could hear their conversation. “Sure, Nate would have a bruise here and there, but he’s a boy. I just thought he was doing what boys do, ya know? Being a kid, getting dirty, that sort of thing. It wasn’t until he tossed the baseball through the screen door that I realized Craig’s anger didn’t stop or even start with me.”

  “Start?” Father asked before he sat.

  Tyler followed the man’s lead.

  Mary glanced back into the living ro
om. “Nathaniel is my stepson. His mother died during childbirth. I’ve raised him since he was four.”

  Perhaps that’s why she didn’t know he was being abused. She wasn’t the child’s real mother, but the notion didn’t set well with him. Even the best actress in the world couldn’t fake the care and concern this woman seemed to show for her son.

  “When was the baseball accident?” he asked.

  “Last week.” Mary turned to look out the window. “Nathaniel’s a good kid. He didn’t deserve to be hit like that.”

  “No one deserves to be abused, Mary,” Father said in a low voice.

  Her shoulders relaxed at his tone. No wonder the man was the leader; he probably learned to talk like that in school.

  “Maybe so, but especially not Nathaniel. He’s not my blood child, but he’s my boy, and that’s all he was doing. Being a boy. He and a neighborhood kid were playing catch. The other kid didn’t catch the ball, and off it sailed through the screen and into the living room.” Her grip remained firm on the countertop’s edge.

  “Craig popped Nathaniel so hard across the face, it’s no wonder he didn’t pass out. I picked up the phone to call the police, but Craig knocked the phone out of my hand and stormed out. He disappeared for a few nights. He’d never been gone so long before. I thought maybe something happened to him.”

  “Did you ever call the police about him missing?” Tank took the tea glass Steele offered.

  “No.” Mary glanced at him and shook her head. “Is it mean to say I hoped something bad had happened to him? If the police looked for him and found him, well then, they would send him right back home. I didn’t want him here.”

  “But since something happened again last night, I’m guessing he came back, right?” Father asked.

  “Yeah. Things got pretty bad.” The mother stopped and took in another breath.

  “Take your time,” Steele suggested. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

  She shook her head. “No, I want to.”

  “Here, have a seat.” The firefighter crossed the kitchen and pulled out a chair for her. She followed and sat down.

  “While Craig was away, I had some time to talk to Nathaniel. He’d been extra quiet lately. He’s seven. I thought maybe it was just a difficult time for him, being between the little boy stage and big boy. He’s starting to get homework from school, so I thought maybe he was just tired. But after asking him a few questions, I realized all the times Nathaniel would clam up and not talk were times after Craig had hit him. I was always at work or out grocery shopping whenever it happened.”

  Typical abuser. They hurt someone a fraction of their size to make them feel in control, dominant, important. He gripped his tea glass tighter. If this Craig man had been home, he would have chunked it at the man’s head. Then again, that wouldn’t make him any better than Craig. And he would never be an abuser.

  Mary continued, “I asked Nate why he never told me, and he said it was because he was scared if he told, Craig would hit him or me more. I didn’t know he knew Craig hit me. He always did it in private, and I tried to hide the bruises. I didn’t want Nathaniel to know.” Her pained gaze turned to her arm. “Turns out, I wasn’t doing a very good job of disguising my problems. Today, I guess I didn’t see much of a point.” She sighed and fought back another tear. “Can you imagine? Your seven-year-old not coming to you because he was worried of being hit more? No child should have to go through that. I know he’s not mine, but I would give anything for him. I suppose that’s why I didn’t know Craig abused Nathaniel. I’m not his real mother. I don’t have that mother’s intuition everyone always talks about.”

  Steele grabbed a paper towel off the counter and handed it to her. “I’m sure that’s not true, Mary. I’m sure you’re a great mother.”

  “I agree,” Tank said, echoing Steele. His thoughts had been accurate. This woman was no fake. She loved the little boy sitting on the sofa.

  “Thanks. A month ago, I might have agreed with you. Now, I’m not so sure.” She dabbed her eyes.

  His heart broke more for her. He imagined at one time his own mother had some of the same mixed emotions this woman faced now.

  When Mary stopped crying, he pried more. “What happened last night?”

  “Craig came back all apologetic. Said he would never do it again. Even tried to apologize to Nathaniel, but Nate didn’t care. That little boy in there”—she pointed into the living room—“that boy who’s always been so full of love, looked at his father with sheer hate. I can’t blame him. I hate Craig, too, but he’s not my father. No boy should hate his father.”

  He glanced back at the kid, the bear still tight to his chest. At least this little man would never have to suffer again.

  “Anyway, I told Craig I had talked to a lawyer, and I was in the process of filing for a divorce, as well as seeking custody of Nathaniel. He went ballistic. Started throwing things, threatening to kill me. Nathaniel got scared and ran to our neighbors’. They called the cops. Craig’s in jail today. My only hope is he stays there, and Nate stays with me. Forever.”

  “Since your husband is in jail, and the counselor from the hospital called, then I can assume you had to talk to the police. It’s how protocol goes,” Father explained.

  “Yes, so did Nathaniel. Well, as much as the counselor could coax out of him to tell the police at least. We just got home not too long ago from the hospital. Craig’s going to trial. I hope the bastard gets a long time in prison, and loses his rights to Nathaniel.”

  “So do I, Mary,” Tank said. Blood or not, love couldn’t be hidden. And just because Craig was Nathaniel’s biological father didn’t mean he was a real father. There had to be someone better out there for this little boy.

  “Mary, we’ll help you as much as we can. We want you to know that.” Steele sat next to her at the dining table.

  “We can position men outside your door twenty-four seven,” Father informed her. “But seeing as how Craig still has full custody of Nathaniel, we can’t relocate you guys. That would be considered kidnapping. Another downside is if Craig gets out of jail on bond, then we wouldn’t be able to stand guard either. Since this is his house, he would say we were trespassing.”

  “I appreciate your help.” Mary reached out and patted Father’s hand. “But there is no need to worry. The judge took away any chance of bail. Something about him being a threat to possible witnesses. Which is true, and the only person harming us was Craig. As long as he is locked away, then we’re okay.”

  “If there is anything we can do, let us know, okay?” Father asked.

  “Sure. My parents are wiring me the money for a divorce. If all goes as planned, I’ll be moving to a place a little smaller, a little cheaper. If you guys want to lift some boxes, well, I suppose when I do move, I could use your help.”

  “That’s a promise,” Father said.

  “Ma’am.” Tank glanced back at the boy. “I know you said Nathaniel doesn’t talk much after the incidents, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like to try.”

  The woman gave him a dubious look. “By all means, but don’t be too disappointed if you can’t get through to him. The counselor barely got ten words out of him all morning.”

  He stood. “Thank you.”

  Father placed a hand on his arm and raised an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”

  “Trust me, Counselor.” Tank slapped the man on the arm.

  “I’ll introduce you.” Mary stood and escorted him to the living room. She sat next to her son and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Hey, Nate, baby, these men are here to talk to you. This is Tyler. He’s nice.”

  “I don’t want to talk.” Nathaniel sulked and sunk lower into the sofa.

  “I know, baby. Why don’t you just listen, okay?”

  The kid looked up at his stepmom and nodded. A bruise covered his cheek and grazed his hairline. Tank’s chest tightened.

  “Thanks, sweetie.” Mary kissed her son on the hea
d and stood. “I’ll go back to the kitchen with the other two men. I’ll just be right there, honey.” The mom pointed to the kitchen table. She gave Tank a side-glance and ambled back toward Steele and Father.

  When she was out of earshot, Tank took a slow step closer. “Hey, Nathaniel,” he said, keeping his voice gentle and low. He didn’t want to scare the kid before he really began. “May I sit here?” He pointed to the recliner next to the couch.

  Nathaniel kept his head low, but gave the chair a side-glance and yielded the briefest head nod. Carefully, Tank sat.

  A picture of the boy and a man sat on the sofa table.

  “Is this your dad?” He pointed to the picture.

  The kid glanced over and pouted his lower lip. “I don’t have a dad anymore.”

  The pain of losing a father ran deep inside of him. He swallowed the anger and sadness and focused on the kid.

  “I hear you like to play baseball. Is that true?” Tank asked, changing the subject.

  The boy stared at the floor and gave a shoulder shrug.

  “Yeah, I like baseball okay, but my favorite sport is football.” He leaned in and whispered, “Can I tell you a secret, Nathaniel?”

  The boy cut his glare back to him.

  Tank took that as his cue to continue. “See, I’m from Louisiana, so I’m a Saints fan myself. I’ve only lived in Black Widow a couple of weeks, but since we are so close to Houston, I see lots of Texans gear. I like it here in Black Widow, but if I tell those guys in the kitchen I’m a Saints fan, they may not let me stay in their group. Don’t tell them, okay?” He pointed to the men in the kitchen.

  The boy looked him straight in the eye. “Okay.”

  “You promise?”

  The kid nodded.

  “Whew.” He grabbed his bandana out of his pocket and swooped the rag over his forehead. “Good. Glad to get that off my chest.”

  Nathaniel stared at the cloth. “What’s that?”

  “This?” He unfolded his bandana and held it up so Nathaniel could see. “It’s my Batman. I take him everywhere I go.”