Last Call

by Matthew Nunes

  “All present? Good. Let’s review. A United States Congressman is murdered, and Commander Paul Costa is present to find the body. Time goes on, and Detective Sergeant DaSilva and Detective Lacombe, with the assistance of Commander Costa, set up a sting operation, involving Jason Morley. We have an affidavit to show why it was done. Good work on that one, Commander. Even the assistant U.S. attorney was impressed by your draftsmanship.” Her every word was lashing at me.

  “One way or another,” the sarcasm was almost physical, “a camera crew was on hand to film the whole thing. The recording that was to be traded showed Jason Morley having sex with an unidentifiable, unconscious woman. In the meantime, you bush league hot dogs managed to turn a simple little sting into the shoot out at the O.K. Corral. The result is that a congressional candidate is dead, shot by the good Commander there, eight times no less, the candidate’s aide is dead, shot by the late Detective Lacombe, three times. Commander Costa is wounded by the aforementioned candidate and the first time the North Kingstown police, the Rhode Island State Police,” she gazed at me, “and the FBI find out is after the smoke clears. Did I leave anything out? Let’s all take a nice look at the home movies, now. Perhaps I should order some pizza or popcorn?”

  The sound was excellent, and the images were clear. My conversation with Jason was there, and I saw myself walking towards them. Then Adam reached for his gun, and I pulled mine, Phil stepped completely out of cover, yelling and the tape ended with Larry kneeling at his friend’s side. I heard myself yelling and I saw myself hit and dropping to my knee, the burst of fourteen shots, and fumbling for a new magazine, before Larry got to me.

  “So, what happened?” said the Lieutenant, speaking for the first time. His voice was higher than I expected. He rewound the tape and played it again, in slow motion. “It looks fine, and then the gofer goes to his gun, and all hell breaks loose.”

  Dana was looking at me. It was a look filled with anger. “Anything to add, Commander? Did you wish you had more bullets or anything?”

  “No, Agent Kilroy. I think the video speaks for itself.”

  A man in civilian clothes at the back of the room spoke up. I hadn’t noticed him before. His suit looked too big in places, as if he’d taken it off and put it back on. My watch showed two-fifteen when I glanced down at it. He’d probably been dragged out of bed to this meeting. “I agree, in this case. I’m the Assistant US Attorney that Agent Kilroy referred to. We’ll be conducting more rigorous investigations, but I see nothing criminal, yet.” He walked out without a further word.

  “While it appears that Agent Kilroy’s characterization of you three as bush league hot dogs fits, and there are some jurisdictional issues to work out, I agree with the AUSA, there. In the meantime, I’ll be in touch with your chief, Sergeant DaSilva,” said the State Police Lieutenant. “I expect you’ll be in for some heat on your end. Off the record?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” answered DaSilva, looking him straight in the eyes.

  “May I express my condolences on the loss of your partner. He seemed to me to be exceptionally brave and clear-headed under the circumstances, and may well have saved Mr. Costa’s life.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  Dana smiled, but there was a bitter curl to her lip that I hadn’t seen before. I looked back at her, and she nodded as I left.

  DaSilva drove me home, arranging to have my car brought home for me. “Tough to drive your car with just one hand,” he said.

  “Larry?”

  “I think maybe you and I should hold off until tomorrow,” he said. “I lost the best friend I ever had tonight. He was dying anyway, and maybe he was hoping to get shot, instead of flickering out with the doctors, but I wasn’t ready.”

  “Can I say that I’m sorry?”

  “Yeah, but leave it there, okay?”

  He needed to get used to the idea. He had to be hurt and angry for a while. Maybe he needed to have his wife hold him and to hug his kid. I needed to hug my kid.

  He steadied me as I got out of the car, and watched to make sure I made it to the door. I spent an hour or so on my knees in front of the toilet, finally walking to my room in a kind of daze.

  By eight o’clock, I staggered out of bed. I removed the sling and tossed it into the trash. It felt about like I thought it would. It hurt. I made some coffee, and an English muffin, then called Mrs. Pina.

  “I know, Paul, it’s all on the television. I have Marisol locked away from it, but she saw enough to know what happened.”

  “Damn.”

  “She is okay, Paul. She understands, I think.” I wanted to ask her what she’d said, but she had more wisdom and judgment in her little finger than I had anywhere.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Pina. I have no way to repay you.”

  “There is nothing I would want. Is there trouble with the law?”

  “Probably not. They want this over with.”

  “I think you are right. They said on the news that they believe that the son had his father murdered.”

  “They are wrong.”

  “Yes? Well, what does it matter, now? ‘Sol is safe, and things can go back to the way they should be.”

  Except that a good man was dead, the woman I cared for was furious with me, and my daughter watched a film of me gunning a man down in a close quarters gunfight.

  Still, Lois, Sandra and probably lots of other women could breathe again, knowing he was gone, along with Adam. I spent the day on the couch, waiting for Marisol and Mrs. Pina to come back. I turned down the phone, and let the answering machine handle all of the calls. I dozed once in awhile. When the ache in my arm woke me, I popped a couple of leftover pain pills and went back to sleep.

  I finally woke up and flipped on the television. It didn’t take long. The tape was edited, but they showed Adam reaching for his gun, and Phil stepping out. They cut it there, and showed me shooting Jason. They blanked out the jerking puppet-with-strings-cut movements as my bullets slammed into his body. I saw myself wounded again. There was a greenish tint to the images, because of the light enhancement, and my blood was a splash of chartreuse arcing over my head as I slipped to my knee.

  The District Attorney came on for a brief interview. No charges to be filed. Detective Lacombe died doing his duty in the finest traditions of law enforcement. Mr. Costa was cooperating with the investigation as a licensed private investigator, licensed to carry a firearm.

  He hinted, without saying so, that this would clear the death of Congressman Richard Morley. Detective Sergeant DaSilva would deliver the eulogy at Philip Lacombe’s funeral the next day and the city of Newport could be proud of their police department, despite recent disclosures about one bad apple. I turned it off.

  I had managed a shower and a shave, and was dressed before Mrs. Pina and ‘Sol arrived. They were both quiet, and Marisol seemed distracted. She hugged me, hard, and went to her room to unpack. We had the rest of the day off. I wrote Mrs. Pina a receipt for two month’s rent, and handed it to her.

  “What is this, Paul?”

  “I can’t charge family the same as I would somebody else.”

  “You don’t owe me this much.”

  “I can’t pay you what I owe you, VooVoo.”

  She smiled. “Okay, if you say so, my son.”

  Marisol came out of her room, and was wiping her eyes. “Daddy?”

  “Yes, muffin?” She shook her head.

  “I’m too old to be ‘muffin’ anymore, Daddy.”

  “I slipped, honey.”

  “Daddy, what happened?” Mrs. Pina was looking hard at me, so I figured it was time to give her as much of the truth as I could.

  “’Sol, let’s go sit in the kitchen and I’ll tell you about it.”

  She almost brightened. “I’ll make coffee.”

  The version I gave her didn’t leave a lot out. I shied from rape and drugs and pure evil. I felt like it was a lot more than any eleven year old should know, but she deserved the truth. She’d watched her f
ather, who never spanked her, shoot a man.

  “Sergeant DaSilva’s friend is dead?”

  “Yes, honey.”

  She stared down at the kitchen table.

  “Honey, do you think we should go see Doctor Don?” He was a great counselor and helped us both with our own grief and mourning.

  “Maybe.”

  That meant “Yes,” so I jotted down a note to make an appointment.

  “Daddy, what’s it like, to kill a man, I mean?”

  “It isn’t good, honey. You feel sick and empty all at once. It’s like you did something too big. The only thing that makes it a little okay is that he was trying to kill me.”

  “I’m glad he’s dead, Daddy. I mean I’m not glad he’s dead, but I’m glad you aren’t. Would he have hurt me, Daddy? I remember him at the school, and he seemed nice, but some of the girls said he was creepy.”

  “I wouldn’t have let him, muffin.”

  She nodded. I decided to let her think about it, and see if she wanted to talk later on. After our brunch, I played the messages from the machine. Almost all were from reporters, one from Sandra, two from Bill Latronica and one from DaSilva. Nothing at all from Dana. My stomach shrank or fell or something. It definitely felt lousy.

  “Sergeant DaSilva.”

  “Paul Costa, returning your call, Larry.”

  “Hi.” There was a pause. “Is your daughter okay?”

  “I think so. I think she will be.”

  “Good.” He still sounded half asleep. “Paul, I think if you can manage it, it would help if you could come to Phil’s funeral.”

  “I was hoping it would be okay with you if I did.”

  “Yeah, that would help,” He’d already said that. It wasn’t like him to be vague.

  “How are things at work?”

  “Oh, the chief thinks I’m an asshole. He thinks I should consider my retirement benefits.”

  “He’s got his head up his ass.”

  “Nah, no room. He’s got the States and he’s got the FBI up there, reaming him out already. You know, shit flows downhill.”

  After a pause, he continued. “Both Phil and I wanted the Congressman’s killer.”

  “According to the DA we got him,” I answered softly.

  “You don’t believe that anymore than I do.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Bullshit. I think you have the answer, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  “I don’t know it. I have a couple of guesses,”

  “You’re a good guesser.”

  “I’ll see you at the funeral.”

  “See you there.” He hung up without saying any more.

  My next call was to Latronica. “Sandra’s been calling me all day. She wants to know about scheduling that interview,” he said.

  “I have a message from her, too. I’ll be talking to her, and I haven’t forgotten our deal. I want to get through the funeral.”

  “Funeral? Oh, yeah, the cop who was killed.”

  This was getting to be a hard guy to like. “Yes, the cop who was killed. I’ll be in touch with Sandra and once we get something going, I’ll make sure you’re in on it.” I hung up without saying anything else. I dialed Sandra’s number.

  “So, hello. Long time no nothing.”

  “Nothing to say until now, Sandra.”

  “No? Bill Latronica has you as Wyatt fucking Earp, on tape no less, and you didn’t think I might want in on a story like that?”

  “I promised you an exclusive interview, Sandra.”

  “It’ll be old news by then.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Paul, really. I know it sucks for people in the real world, but your fight and the loss of that detective will be page three tomorrow and back section by Friday. Won’t even make the local broadcast after his funeral.”

  “Even if the Congressman’s killer is still on the loose?”

  A breath hissed into my ear. “Is he?”

  “Or she, Sandra, don’t be sexist.”

  “Screw you, Costa. Seriously, is there still a story, here?”

  “You tell me. The whole ménage, Morley, the son, Adam, the killer of the congressman. Sex, lies and videotape. This could put you as a permanent on one of the cable channels as a criminal conspiracy insider. You could get funny horn rimmed glasses and bad neck ties, and—”

  She interrupted. ”If you are screwing me, here, I swear I’ll come up there and tell the world that you’re gay or something.” She got me to smile.

  “On a more serious note, Paul, are you okay?”

  “If I said it’s fine would you believe me?”

  “Probably not, but you’ll say it anyway, right, tough guy?”

  “No point in talking about it, Sandra. It’s pretty awful. If it wasn’t for me, a good cop’d be alive, and so would Morley and Adam.”

  “I knew Morley and Adam. They’re no loss, and I saw the whole tape, you all tried to keep them alive. You can kick the shit out of yourself if you want to, Paul. I’m no shrink, but I know about hurting. I think you did your best, tried to do it right, and those two goons made it go sour. What’s the other cop saying?”

  “DaSilva. Larry DaSilva. He isn’t much of a talker.”

  “You think he blames you?”

  “No, I think he blames himself.”

  “Christ, Paul, you’ve found yourself a soul mate. Look, solve the mystery, call me and I’ll make you the most famous bartender in Rhode Island. People will be falling all over themselves to tip you. Beautiful women will throw themselves at you. Oh, wait; we already do that, don’t we? Skip that one.” She paused.

  “Seriously, call me if you need to talk. I think you did the right thing, and I think the cops did the right thing. It isn’t your fault.”

  “Everything is somebody’s fault, Sandra.”

  “Sure. I have to run.” She hung up.

  Marisol had been standing in the living room’s archway until I was off of the phone. “Daddy, I need something dark to wear to the funeral, and I don’t have an outfit that fits. I want to look right.”

  “The funeral is at ten tomorrow morning, so let’s go pick something up now. I don’t have to work tonight. Mrs. Pina, would you like to come?”

  “No, thank you. I should go to the funeral, but I have plenty of funeral clothes. You make sure of that at my age.”

  We headed for the nearest mall. She picked out a pair of loafers, dark tights and a navy blue dress, with a hat. I was pleasantly surprised to find it all on sale.

  I checked and found that I had a dark suit, still in the dry cleaner’s bag, with a white shirt and gray tie. We avoided broadcast TV, and I played rented videos until it was time for her to go to bed. She was reading a book to me, when she stopped and looked up. “Will Dana be at the funeral?”

  “I don’t know, honey.”

  “Can you call her?”

  “How about if I call her and let you talk to her?”

  I was a coward. Still, I had to find a way to talk to Marisol about Dana and how maybe things had changed.

  “She’d like to talk to you, Daddy,” she said, handing me the receiver.

  “I was kind of hard on you, at the State Police Barracks.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “You screwed up, you know.”

  “I got that.”

  “And we need to talk.”

  “I’ll be at the funeral.” We sounded like strangers, arranging a first time meeting. “I’ll meet you right afterwards.”

  “I know an ice cream bar that Marisol might enjoy.”

  “Okay, that sounds fine.”

  I thought about the passionate and lusty woman. I thought about that, for a long time that night. I thought about it until dawn. I finally felt sleepy, and it was time to get moving.

  ***

  Larry DaSilva was in full uniform, including gloves and medals. Some of them I didn’t recognize, but I saw a Silver Star along with two Purple Hearts. I assumed the others h
ad to do with his police work. There was a black mourning ribbon around his badge, but he looked erect and well rested.

  His eulogy was plain spoken and low key. Police from all over the Northeast were there, and they applauded. Cameras followed us to the cemetery and filmed the volleys and Larry, standing at rigid attention, his hand up in a salute that would have made a Marine DI proud.

  He walked right over to Marisol, Mrs. Pina and me. He bent from the waist, took my daughter’s hand, and shook it gently. “Thank you for coming, Miss Costa,” he said, formally. She took one look into his devastated face and threw her arms around his neck.

  “I wish you hadn’t lost your friend, Sergeant.” I heard cameras clicking all over the place, and began to regret coming, until I looked at DaSilva and saw how much that hug had meant.

  Mrs. Pina smiled sadly at him. “I hope you will accept my condolences.” She had struck the correct note. Still, she probably got more practice than I had.

  DaSilva’s wife was a pleasant woman, with short blonde hair cut in some kind of bob, wearing a simple black dress. She had short, clean nails and I got the feeling that whatever she did would be low maintenance. She looked like someone who had to be ready for something on short notice, so she kept things simple. He introduced us and she shook my hand and Marisol’s, then Mrs. Pina’s.

  “Larry speaks well of all of you, Mr. Costa. He seems to consider you a friend, though he’ll never admit it. Your daughter is wonderful.”

  “She gets me by in lots of places, ma’am.”

  “I hope your troubles are behind you, Mr. Costa. I really liked Phil and in a way, I think this was the best thing that could have happened. That sounds awful, but he didn’t deserve to suffer that way. I like to hope. I’m a policeman’s wife, and we’re good at hoping.” She and Mrs. Pina nodded to one another, like members of a secret club. She walked away for a short distance to give Larry and me a moment, looking like a woman who’d once been a cheerleader, or maybe a softball player.