Damaged Amazon

by Kim Pritekel

  ****

  Andrew pulled up to the house, his heart racing and palms sweating. He had no idea what he was about to face and honestly, had no idea how he was going to keep his inner turmoil together. He had as long as it took for the automatic garage door to open and for him to pull his car into his space next to Jill’s to get it together.

  Taking a deep breath, he killed the engine before hitting the button for the door on the sun visor-mounted remote. He gathered his things and climbed out of the car and headed into the house.

  Sylvia was sitting at the island working on homework. He walked over and gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m okay. Really crazy day, Dad.”

  He nodded and sighed. “So I hear. Where’s your mom?”

  “Upstairs and she is seriously and totally upset,” she said.

  He gave her arm a quick squeeze before heading upstairs to face his fate.

  “Jill?” he called as he made his way upstairs to their bedroom, shrugging out of his overcoat and flipping it over his arm. Tyler’s bedroom door was open and the room was empty, as was his entertainment center, wires dangling everywhere. “Oh boy,” he said, continuing on. “Honey?”

  “Adrienne, there has got to be something you can do. I am begging you,” Jill was saying into her phone as Andrew entered the room. He noted his wife was pacing, dressed in black yoga pants and a fitted light blue tank top. He figured she’d just worked out or was planning to.

  He sat on the padded bench at the foot of the bed to untie his wingtips, removing one at a time and peeling the black dress socks off, setting them beside him on the bench so he could toss them into the hamper in the walk-in closet. He glanced up at Jill again, following her pacing path across the huge bedroom.

  “What is he facing with the school district?” she asked, looking as though she were near tears. “A hearing? What?” Her eyes closed and she covered her face with her hand. “God…You’re kidding. Possible expulsion?” She flashed angry eyes at Andrew before continuing her pacing. “All right. Let me know and thank you, Adrienne. Bye-bye.” She threw her phone on the bed. “He could be expelled from the district, Andrew!”

  “Yeah, I got that. Let’s talk about this,” he said, pushing to his feet. He carried the socks to the laundry basket then walked to the center of the room, hands on hips as he studied Jill where she’d plopped down on the bed. “How did this happen?”

  “Tyler and Jarrod Kinley apparently grabbed their math teacher’s keys, and at lunch, they figured out which one was her car and took off. If Kinley hadn’t crashed into a damn stop sign, God only knows how far they would have gone and how much more trouble they’d be in.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Did he take his game systems, too?”

  “Hell, no,” Jill raged, pushing up from the bed. “I took the damn things.”

  He nodded with approval. “Okay, so where is he? Your voicemail said you paid the bail—”

  “He went home with my dad.”

  “What?” Andrew’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious? You may as well have sent him home with goddamn Tiberius, Jill! That man has a flagrant disregard for anything we’ve tried to do with Tyler.” He, too, began to pace and was tempted to rip his hair out. “How could you do that, Jill?”

  “I needed you today, Andy!” Jill placed her hands on his chest and shoved, forcing him to take a step back. “Damn it, where were you? I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do with this kid,” she cried.

  “So, you call the biggest ass this side of the Rockies?” he yelled, incredulous.

  “I needed someone and, as usual, you weren’t available.”

  “So,” he said, voice deadly calm, “you call the first man who comes to mind, then?”

  “I didn’t know what to do,” she said, her voice a little more than a whisper.

  Without another word, Andrew nearly tore the buttons from his shirt as he removed it, tossing it into the dry cleaning basket, and shed everything else, tossing trousers and tie haphazardly in the general direction where they were supposed to go. After tugging on running pants and a tee, he snagged a pair of tennis shoes and sports socks.

  “Where are you going?” Jill exclaimed, following him out of the room.

  “To get my son away from that monster!” Andrew roared. “Or, have you forgotten what he’s capable of, Jill?”

  “That’s not fair,” she whispered, tear-filled eyes wide. “That’s not fair.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to calm down or be sorry for his words. “And while I’m gone,” he growled, pointing a finger at her, “I want you to figure out what the hell we’re going to do about Tyler.” He plopped down on the top stair and tugged on his socks then his shoes. “He’s our son, damn it, and we have to stop blaming the school, the teachers that are so horribly mean, the dog, or the goddamn moon cycles.” He glared at her where she stood nearly hugging the wall. “We’ve made this mess, Jill.” He was stunned when he had to swallow hard to prevent his emotions and sorrow from showing. “We’ve made this mess.”

  With that, he trotted down the stairs and out of the house.

  ****

  Lawrence Schaeffer, Sr. glanced down at his one and only grandson, basically the only grandkid who counted. Sure, he had three, maybe four granddaughters—he was never sure—but it was Tyler. He was the man of the bunch, the one who would continue the Schaeffer name and his legacy.

  He’d brought the kid home, and now they sat in his man cave, the seventy-inch screen tuned in on ESPN. He glanced over at the boy who was slouched in a leather armchair. “Sit up,” Larry, Sr. said, and when he was ignored, he leaned over the arm of his own matching chair. “I said, sit up!”

  Tyler nearly jumped out of his chair but sat steel-rod straight, looking over at his grandfather with wide eyes.

  Larry, Sr. chuckled, amused. “Come on, boy,” he said, pushing up from his own chair, knees creaking from too many years of abuse, on the field and off. He walked over to the bar and slipped behind it, pointing to one of the stools for the almost-sixteen-year-old. “Sit your ass down.”

  He watched out of the corner of his eye as the boy took a seat, looking around. He had to internally chuckle as Tyler looked incredibly nervous, as though he were waiting for the firing squad.

  “So,” he began, grabbing a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. He poured two tumblers half-full and tossed some ice into each before placing one in front of his grandson. When he saw the uncertain look in the boy’s eyes, he leaned on the bar top with a large hand splayed to show its size, therefore his power. “You afraid, boy?”

  Tyler shook his head and grabbed the tumbler, taking a drink.

  Larry, Sr. burst into laughter as Tyler coughed, spitting some of the whiskey out to dribble down his chin. “Pathetic,” he grumbled, throwing a rag at Tyler. “Clean yourself up and take a proper drink, like a man.” Larry, Sr. eyed the boy as he downed his own drink. More coughing and sputtering ensued, but Tyler got most of it down. “There ya go.” He reached across the bar and smacked his grandson on the back. “Feel good?”

  Tyler nodded as he coughed a few times. “Damn, that shit is strong.”

  Larry, Sr. grinned. “A man’s drink.” Pouring the two another, the older man studied his grandson. He was a good-looking young man and had the potential to turn some heads with the ladies. He had dark hair like his father and the chiseled good looks Larry, Sr. preferred to think came from his line. His grandson had certainly inherited his height.

  Tyler accepted the refilled drink and glanced up at his grandfather. “My dad never lets me do this.” He smirked. “But he never lets me do anything.”

  “Look, kid,” Larry, Sr. said, leaning on the bar. “What you did today was stupid, all right? But, mainly because you got caught.” He sipped his drink. “You’re a man, and hey, men will be men, right? That’s our God-given right.” He pointed a thick finger at the teen.
“You remember that.”

  Larry, Sr. glanced up when the doorbell rang followed by a savage banging on his front door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nora turned onto her father’s street and into his driveway. She was surprised to see Andrew’s Mercedes parked there and then outright panicked to see the two men near blows on the front porch.

  “Shit,” she said, gunning her car and squealing to the curb. She barely got the key out of the ignition before she ran from the car, not even bothering to shut the door. Andrew was pinned to the outside wall of the house by her father. “Dad!”

  “He’s my son, damn it!”

  “Yeah, well then maybe you should try being a father!” Larry, Sr. shouted.

  “Stop! Dad, stop this. Stop it.” Using all her strength and body weight, she shoved her father away from Andrew. “Stop.” A hand on the chest of each man, she glared at them both. “What the holy hell is going on here?”

  “I’m here to get my son,” Andrew said through gritted teeth, his normally beautiful blue eyes electric.

  “Yeah, well if you’d been half a father, my daughter wouldn’t have sent him home with me, would she?” Larry, Sr. growled.

  Truly afraid, as she could feel the hatred streaming between her father and brother-in-law, she turned to Andrew, by far the most levelheaded of the two. “Andy,” she said softly, “please go wait in your car.”

  “I’m sorry, Nora,” he said, sparing a glance before returning his glare to the older man. “Not without Tyler.”

  “Okay. Then at least stand down. Okay? Please?”

  Andrew nodded, even as his jaw muscles bulged. He took a step behind Nora, who turned back to her father.

  “Dad.” Her voice was soft but firm. “I came to talk to you, but if you don’t back the fuck off, I will call the cops.”

  His steely gaze fell to her. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.” To her relief—and surprise—he backed off, glaring at her as he crossed thick arms over his chest.

  Pushing past her father, she looked left and right in search of Tyler. She was confused and frightened at the situation but knew how volatile her father could be. She also knew there was a severe hatred between him and Jill’s husband, which she also didn’t understand. It seemed to have started around the time Andrew and Jill married.

  “Tyler?”

  She glanced into the living room then kitchen only to hear someone groaning in the area her father used as his personal space. Essentially, if anyone had estrogen flowing through their bodies in great quantities, they weren’t welcome. This was only the second or third time she’d ever seen into the room, and something caught her eye.

  On the wall behind the bar was the typical shrine to Lawrence Schaeffer, Sr. that they’d all seen their entire lives: framed pictures from his college ball days, from the moment he signed on with the Denver Broncos, Sports Illustrated covers that he dominated in the early 1980s. But, one picture that stood out, among all those of him standing beside sports legends and celebrities, was a picture of him standing with an attractive woman. To her practiced eye, Nora figured from the clothing and quality of photography at the time, the picture was likely taken in the late seventies or eighties. He was grinning like a fool as he stood next to a stunning redhead who looked just as happy.

  On the surface, the picture showed nothing more than her father’s typical flirtatious nature with beautiful women, but what caught her was the fact that, if she didn’t know better, she thought she was staring into the face of her twenty-seven-year-old sister, Shannon.

  Time stopped for Nora as she looked into the woman’s expressive eyes, noted the deep auburn of her hair, her facial structure, and the slight quirk of her left eyebrow. All of these were features of her stunning youngest sister.

  Without thought, she reached into her pocket and produced her cell phone. Lifting it, she clicked several shots of the picture before turning away to deal with the situation at hand.

  “Tyler?” She noticed him staggering over toward the leather couch, hunched over and holding onto everything as he moved along. “Shit,” she said, noting the two tumblers on the bar, both empty, and the bottle her nephew carried with him, hugging it to his side like a football. She couldn’t help but snort internally thinking how proud her dad would be. She gasped as he stumbled, hitting his head on the large, bulky coffee table before falling to the floor, groaning. “Tyler.” She ran over to him, tucking her phone back into her pocket as she knelt down beside the teen. His head was bleeding and he looked utterly disoriented. “Andrew!”

  After some squabbling by the front door, Nora heard heavy footfalls running her way until Andrew slid around the corner. Under any other circumstances it would have been amusing, but it was anything but.

  “Jesus,” Andrew said, kneeling on the other side of his son. “Get a towel.”

  Nora jumped up and hurried to the bar, grabbing a white towel and quickly wetting it with cold water before running back, placing it over the teen’s bleeding cut. She glanced up when she heard her father enter the room.

  “What the hell, Tyler?” he boomed.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Dad?” she demanded, holding the rag hard against the wound to stop the bleeding. “He’s a fifteen-year-old boy.”

  “Yeah, and he’s already a pansy enough as it is. There ain’t nothing wrong with introducing him to some fine whiskey.”

  “Nothing wrong?” Andrew exploded.

  “Don’t mess with me, boy,” Larry, Sr. said, pointing a finger at his son-in-law. “This state has a ‘Make My Day’ law and I sure as hell ain’t afraid to use it. You’re in my house.”

  Andrew stood up and walked over to him. “And don’t you forget, old man. I know things about you that would ruin the reputation of the great Larry Schaeffer. This is my son.”

  Nora looked from one to the other, not sure what to think or where this unbelievable eruption of hatred was coming from. She decided to change the subject with the reason she’d come in the first place.

  Once again, she found herself between the two men. “Andy, why don’t you check on Tyler. He seems to be coming around,” she said softly. When he returned to his son’s side, she turned her focus to her father. “Listen, Dad, the police need to get a sample of your DNA.”

  “What? Why?” His stance grew aggressive, arms crossing over his chest and lips pursing into a thin line. “No.”

  “Dad, this is for your daughter. I don’t know what’s going on, but Sarah asked me to—”

  “Never did like that Mexican bitch and I still don’t. Turned my damn daughter into a flannel-wearing, pussy-loving dyke. No.”

  “Jesus, Larry,” Andrew said, wiping away the last bit of blood from Tyler’s wound. “It’s a goddamn cheek swap.”

  “I don’t trust those cops,” Larry, Sr. said, shaking his head. “No way.”

  Nora was shocked by his refusal and honestly didn’t understand it. “Even if it means helping your own child?” she said softly.

  “My guess is, if they need DNA, there ain’t no helping her.”

  “I can’t believe you said that.” She backed away from him, only to back right into Andrew. She felt his hands on her shoulders, squeezing slightly.

  “Look, Larry, here’s the deal,” Andrew said, his voice deadly calm. “You will do this for Shannon. I’m one of two witnesses who know you gave a fifteen-year-old boy enough whiskey to knock a horse out. It has a name and it’s called contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

  “Get your faggot son and get out of my house,” Larry, Sr. growled.

  “You have exactly two hours to get down to the Pueblo PD and give a DNA sample,” Andrew said, Nora moving away from him and over to Tyler to help him to his feet. “If you don’t, the dirt starts to fly, you got me?”

  Without another word, Larry, Sr. turned and left the room.

  “Two hours!” Andrew called after him.

  ****

  “Hey, Sarah. Good news and ba
d news, which do you want first?” Mark asked, walking into the large room where he and Sarah had their desks with twenty of their closest colleagues. He walked over to her desk.

  Glancing up from her computer screen, she gave him an unsure grimace. “Good news.”

  “We got a sample of Shannon Schaeffer’s father’s DNA twenty minutes ago. I sent it to the lab with a rush order.”

  “Go Nora,” Sarah said, sitting back in her chair and lacing her fingers behind her head. “And, the bad news?”

  “There was a body found in Shannon’s torched apartment,” Mark said soberly, perching on the edge of her desk.

  Sarah’s desk chair came to a springy snap as she sat forward. “What? Who?”

  “Penny Garcia.”

  Sarah’s mouth fell open and eyes wide. “The neighbor lady?”

  “One and the same, and the second set of prints found on the plastic case that held that thumb drive.”

  “Whoa, shit,” Sarah said. “Cause of death?”

  “Homicide is saying blunt force trauma, but until autopsy comes back, no clue whether she was dead before or after the fire. If no soot in her lungs, she was already dead.”

  “Holy cow,” she said, shaking her head and staring off into space for a moment. “Has the son, what was it, Ronnie, been notified?”

  “Dunno. El Paso is taking care of this. They said they’d let us know what they find out. They also talked about you and me heading up there for a meeting to see if the two cases are connected.” Mark pushed off her desk, turning to head back in the direction of his desk.

  “Mark,” she said, stopping him. “Don’t you find it curious that the only fingerprints found on the outside of that case are the stars of a missing case and a probable homicide?”

  He glanced at her. “Very.”