Dying Truth

by Jay Nadal

  Bobby held the struggling girl with one arm, brandishing the knife with the other. Cade kept his arms out from his sides but kept moving closer. Bobby moved in and out of the shadows cast by the streetlights, darkness striping his face. He smiled.

  “You’re the guy with Brandon Collins earlier. He’s going to get it, too. You think you helped him. You didn’t do shit.”

  “Someone will have called the cops, Bobby…” Cade began.

  Bobby cackled again. “Cops? Old Chief Jo? What do you think he’s going to do? My pa has dinner with him once a month. You think he’s going to do anything to me?”

  “Sure will, Bobby. I’ll make sure of it.”

  The cackle intensified. Bobby threw back his head. His eyes were wide open, staring and pure crazy. “I don’t think so, you stupid son of a bitch. Not in this town.”

  He thinks he’s untouchable, Cade thought, which means he doesn’t care what he does. The knife pointed toward him, but it could be turned on the girl just as easily. She wasn’t struggling so hard anymore. She watched the blade with terrified eyes. This guy would not listen to reason. Whatever he had taken or drunk, he would not be talked down from this. And any move Cade made would be too slow. Bobby could cut or just stab the girl before Cade reached him.

  Bobby’s smile deepened as though he could read Cade’s thoughts.

  “Anyway, you got it all wrong. Anna and I know each other. Don’t we?”

  The girl nodded. Mascara made black half-circles below her eyes.

  “We dated. This is just a lovers’ tiff. No need to involve the law.” Bobby’s tone was mocking. He moved farther down the side street, not letting Cade get any closer to him.

  “Ain’t that right? Ain’t it?” Bobby bent his head close to Anna’s, and she yelped a yes.

  “Son, I’m going to give you one more chance to let Anna go and get yourself gone. I’m not going to let you take her anywhere.”

  Cade kept his voice calm and low. As a cop he couldn’t have pulled his gun in a situation like this. He could see Bobby Dexter was the kind of man who would use his knife out of spite. Pull a gun, and the girl would get cut before Bobby got shot. He didn’t have a gun. He had a bottle of root beer. And a good arm.

  The hurled bottle smashed into Bobby’s shoulder before he could react. He cried out, losing his grip on the girl, who scrambled away. Cade followed up behind the bottle, catching Bobby with his shoulder and slamming him into the wall. He didn’t feel the cut as Bobby slashed at him with the knife, only a warm wet sensation on his right shoulder. Bobby brought up a knee into Cade’s stomach as Cade grabbed at the knife arm and twisted. The blade clattered to the sidewalk, but Bobby lashed out with his other hand, catching Cade on the left side of his jaw and dropping him to one knee.

  Cade was bigger, but the Dexter boy had at least ten years on him. And a feral ferocity. A kick to the ribs kept Cade on the ground, but he grabbed and held the leg, upending Bobby and scrambling back from him.

  “Fire! Someone call the fire department. There’s a house on fire here!” Cade bellowed. A surefire way of getting the attention of citizens used to turning a blind eye.

  Bobby recovered his knife and got to his feet. A grin split his gaunt face. He threw back his head, flicking long hair away from his eyes.

  “Fire! There’s a house on fire!” Cade shouted again.

  Lights came on above them. Then across the street. Next door, a set of blinds on the ground floor twitched, and a silhouetted figure peered out into the night.

  “You want witnesses, Bobby? Go ahead, son. Even your family couldn’t get you out of murder one in front of half a dozen eyewitnesses.”

  Bobby’s grin dropped into a snarl. It bared his teeth. He continued to stare at Cade, though, holding the knife low in front of him.

  The blast of a police siren broke the deadlock. A cruiser turned a corner down the hill and powered up the street, lights strobing. Bobby’s smile returned, and he ran away up the driveway of a house and over a gate to the side. Cade slumped back against the hood of a car, putting a cautious hand to his coat sleeve, feeling the wound. The tip of the knife had nicked him for a couple of inches. It wouldn’t need stitches.

  “That was damned well done, Texas,” Charlie told him, stumping down the street.

  “Kid could’ve killed me,” Cade replied.

  “Kid’s a damned psycho. Did he get you? I’ve got dressings in the store. That’ll take care of that.”

  “Where’s the girl?”

  “Long gone. Took off down Walter Lane. Didn’t get a good look at her.”

  “She said her name was Anna.”

  Charlie shook his head. “Don’t know her. Saw how she was dressed, though. Girls these days just don’t have any sense.”

  “That’s a mighty progressive attitude you’ve got there, New Hampshire,” Cade said dryly. He winced as he probed the tear in his jacket.

  The cruiser stopped, lights painting the houses blue and blood-red to either side of the street. Two men got out. Cade recognized one, the bulky guy with the white hair who had told off his partner for trying to tackle a drunken Bobby Dexter earlier. He sauntered over, thumbs hooked behind the front of his belt. His mouth was cast into a sneer.

  “Pat,” Charlie greeted.

  “Charlie. That’s Chief Joseph to you.”

  “Anything you say, Pat.”

  The sneer dismissed the old man. Joseph stood in front of Cade and looked him up and down.

  “Want to tell me what’s been going on here?”

  “Bobby Dexter was assaulting a girl called Anna. I stopped him. He attacked me,” Cade told him matter-of-factly. He had a feeling how this was going to go.

  “That a fact.” Joseph looked around at the lit windows. Curtains and blinds closed once again. “Any witnesses?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to go door to door yet, Chief. I’m sure one of these good folks will tell you what they saw.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be bothering them at this time of night. Mr.…” Joseph waited expectantly.

  “Cade.”

  “Right. I think we have ourselves a vagrant causing a breach of the peace within town limits.”

  “That’s bullshit, Pat. I saw the whole thing. Bobby Dexter had a switchblade. He was going to rape that girl,” Charlie protested.

  “You can see the future now, can you, Charlie? Huh? Hey, Mitch, did you see Bobby Dexter anywhere around?” The other cop shook his head, smirking. He had short, curly dark hair and thick eyebrows. He chewed gum and looked bored.

  “No, sir. I saw a man running from this guy Cade. Didn’t look like Bobby Dexter to me.”

  “Do you think if we ask these neighborly people what happened, they’ll tell us Bobby Dexter was here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And do you think an old fart like Charlie Biggs here could see what was going on from all the way up at his store? In the dark?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What I thought.” Joseph turned back to Cade. “Your story doesn’t hold up, Mr. Cade. Going to have to take you in. Drunk and disorderly.”

  Charlie exploded. “You dumb son of a bitch. What the hell are you talking about, drunk and disorderly. You’re so deep in Billy Dexter’s pocket you could count his change for him.”

  “Watch your mouth, or you’ll be joining your friend here,” Joseph warned.

  Charlie made to square up to the chief, but Cade put an arm across the old man’s barrel chest and pushed him back.

  “It’s okay, Charlie. You can’t do anything. I reckon a night in the drunk tank is heading my way. That right, Chief?”

  “I think so. Am I going to need to cuff you, Mr. Cade.”

  “No.”

  “Mitch, cuff him anyway.” Joseph’s sneer bloomed into a nasty grin.

  “Charlie. You have the Collinses’ number?” Cade asked as he turned his back, presenting his hands for the cuffs. If this asshole was hoping he would resist, he could think again.

&
nbsp; “Yeah, I’ll call them straightaway.”

  “Don’t bother,” Joseph drawled as Mitch hauled Cade to the cruiser. “He’s staying overnight to sober up. He isn’t going anywhere ’til morning.”

  7

  They were fighting again. No, they weren’t fighting. The old man fought. Momma just took it.

  Tommy knew it was coming when Momma sent him and Beth to their room. They both sat on his bed, his arms tight around his little sister. Then the front door banged open, and they heard the first shout from Him. Him, not Daddy or Pop. Not anymore. It was just Him. Sometimes there was quiet after he came barging into the house. If he liked what Momma had cooked for him. The two kids huddled together, and as He ate, they listened to the TV. He liked to watch Cheers and M.A.S.H., and Tommy tried to make his little sister feel better by making up what the characters on the TV were doing. She had learned to be careful not to laugh out loud.

  If the old man had won on a bet, or not gotten too drunk at the Lone Star, or just plain fell asleep from the beer and the food, they would be okay. That was what they prayed for in the sweltering, white-painted wooden church every Sunday. It didn’t happen often.

  The voice lifted again, and Tommy held his breath. For the sound of the first slap. The first plate flung against the wall. It was a small trailer. Just two bedrooms, with ten-year-old Tommy sleeping on the floor to let his eight-year-old sister have the single bed, unless he woke in the morning to find her cuddled in beside him. The walls felt like cardboard, and they all shook when He was mad and having one of His fights.

  This was a bad one. Things were being thrown around. He was smashing up their home. Momma was screaming at him, and there were the sounds of flesh struck hard by flesh. Tommy wanted to rush out and hit Him. Grab a two-by-four or a hammer and just… But he couldn’t leave Beth. Tonight was the worst yet. Beth cried into his chest. Tommy cried, too, but they were tears of pure rage. And a realization grew within when he knew what he had to to do.

  Whispering to his sister to keep quiet, he stole around the tiny room, collecting clothes together into their schoolbags. Then he went to the room’s only window and pushed it up. It screeched against the frame, and he froze before it had moved an inch. The noise in the living room had stopped, and for an endless moment there was complete silence. Then His heavy footsteps reverberated through the trailer as he strode across the living room to the door of the kids’ bedroom.

  Tommy pushed at the window with all of his strength. It sang out like a screech owl and moved another inch. Tears of fear and frustration coursed down his face as he pushed. And pushed.

  “Come on! Come on! Open! Open!” he shouted as the door of the room slammed open so hard it struck the wall and cracked.

  His terrible hulking shape filled the doorway. And beyond him, sprawled on the living room floor where He had left her, was Momma. She wasn’t moving. Beth screamed.

  Tommy woke with a yell. For once his self-control deserted him. He didn’t recognize his surroundings, and it set panic racing through him. He was on his feet and backed into a corner of the room in a heartbeat, searching for the threat that had brought him out of sleep. Reality set in. He recognized the jail cell of the Burford Police Station: gray-painted concrete-block walls, and a steel door with a closed observation hatch a two-thirds of the way up, another at waist height, wider, for food trays.

  A hard metal bench hung from one wall by gray-painted chains. A thin mattress covered it. Its consistency had much in common with the metal it covered. An aluminum toilet bowl and sink completed the furnishings. An acrid smell of industrial-strength bleach seared his nostrils. He remembered.

  The Burford police had arrested him after his altercation with Bobby Dexter—after he had saved a girl from a serious assault. He sat on the bench, resting his head in his hands and wondering what time it was. There was a single window set high in one wall. It was pale with daylight. He guessed early morning and lay back down on the bench.

  How long since he had dreamed of his childhood? He tried to recall details, but they were hazy. He remembered it had involved Him. And he remembered the fear. The terror. That stayed with him. The fear of a young boy for his mother and sister. He jumped at the sounds of heavy metal bolts being shot back. The door swung open. The young black officer stood in the doorway.

  “Okay, Mr. Cade. You’re bailed. You’re free to go.”

  “Bailed? I haven’t even been in front of a judge. How can there be bail?” Cade propped himself on his elbows.

  He wasn’t about to help these people pretend he had been legitimately arrested. The officer—Nate, as Cade recalled his name was—looked uncomfortable. Then he gave Cade a level stare.

  “It’s an expression, sir. You were held until you had sobered up. Flint County police have the authority to raise a ticket against you. Your fine was paid. Now, if you please.”

  He stepped aside from the doorway. Cade didn’t move.

  “Were you on duty last night when I was brought in?”

  “No.”

  “I wasn’t read my rights. I wasn’t given any blood alcohol test.”

  “Chief said you were found brawling in the street and smelled of beer.”

  “I say the chief is a liar.”

  “He’s the Burford chief of police, and you are nothing, anywhere, Mr. Cade.” The officer put an emphasis on Cade’s now very civilian title. “I’m not arguing with you about how we police this town. Now please get on your feet and vacate the cell.”

  Cade stared at him, unmoving, then abruptly swung his feet to the floor and got up. He put on his jacket with exaggerated care, favoring his wounded right shoulder.

  “You seem like you could be a good cop. You shouldn’t be here, son,” Cade told him.

  “If you please. Sir,” was Nate’s stubborn response.

  “Ask Charlie Biggs what happened last night. He ain’t got no reason to lie. And there was a girl being attacked by that mutt Bobby Dexter. Her name was Anna. Someone must have seen her downtown last night.”

  Nate looked troubled as Cade walked out of the cell and preceded him down the corridor. At the far end, he waited while Nate punched out a key code. The lock clicked open, and Cade paused with one hand on the cold metal panel of the door.

  “The Dexters are trying to shakedown my family. And there are others. And Burford police are letting it happen. Now, don’t you worry none. I don’t intend to slander the good chief. I’m just expressing my opinions. And if you’re okay with what's going on here, then I’m just a no-good drunk from out of town who don’t know shit about anything. But I wanted you to know what I think. In case you care.”

  Cade went through the door. It let out beside a reception desk of varnished wood. A sergeant sat behind the desk at a computer. A tray sat on top of the desk, and Cade recognized his phone, wallet, belt, cap, and boots. Beth sat in a wooden chair with a bright orange plastic-covered cushion. Some chairs had spatters of paint on them, which didn’t match the current decor. She got up. She was pale, mouth a thin line and arms folded tight.

  “These are the belongings which were confiscated from you when you came in. Please sign for them and indicate if anything is missing,” Nate instructed flatly.

  Cade signed without looking. He took his belongings, then slid on his boots and belt. Finally, he pulled on the cap.

  “Officers.” He nodded to the two policemen and then strode out. Beth reached the double doors to the street first and slammed them aside without breaking stride. It was raining outside, vigorous drops that exploded as they hit puddles. They were both wet by the time they reached the car. Cade got in and closed the door. Then Beth hit him.

  She punched him in the chest. Then again. Then again.

  “You stupid asshole,” she raged, slapping at his head and face with open hands. “As if we don’t have enough to worry about. You go and get drunk and then arrested. What the hell did you think you were doing? Is this how you repay us for letting you stay in our home? Be part of our fa
mily?”

  Another punch, to the shoulder this time. He half turned to catch her hands, and she landed a solid left hook onto his injured shoulder. He yelled. Beth stopped hitting him, surprised by the sudden agonized look on his face.

  “I guess you haven’t spoken to Charlie Biggs,” Cade gasped through the red-hot poker of pain that was pulsing down his arm.

  “No, why would I? The police called me this morning to say they were holding you for being drunk and disorderly. Did you hurt yourself?”

  “No. Bobby Dexter did, though,” Cade growled, still clutching a protective hand to his shoulder.

  “Bobby Dexter? What the hell is going on, Tommy? Did you go looking for Bobby Dexter? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  “I wasn’t looking for him. I happened across him and stopped him carving up some poor girl. And the police arrested me.”

  Beth flung her hands to her head, resting her elbows on the steering wheel.

  “I don’t need this, Tommy. I don’t need this. Maddie didn’t want to go to school this morning because she didn’t want to miss out on her Uncle Tommy being around. She doesn’t know you spent the night in jail. Brandon stormed off last night and didn’t come home. He probably slept at the garage. I hope he slept at the garage. I feel like everything is falling apart and I’m the only one trying to hold it together, and I can’t do it anymore.”

  Her shoulders shook with sobs and her hands hid tears. Cade put his arm around her.

  The dream came back to him. Holding Beth as He raged against His rotten life and having no money and living in a trailer in Liberty. It was always someone else’s fault for Him.

  The memory strengthened Cade. He pulled Beth to him, and she fell against his chest. For several minutes she cried as he held her. Just like they were kids once again.

  Beth pulled back, wiping her eyes.

  “So, let’s hear it. Tell me what happened.”

  “What I said. I met Charlie Biggs and shared a beer with him. We heard a scream, and I went to see what it was. I found Bobby Dexter assaulting a girl and…I stopped him. He had a knife. Stuck my shoulder with it.”