by Colin Conway
Outside the club, they were met with the shock of a cool spring night. They walked away from the entrance and Jean aided Stone as he leaned against the brick building.
“You okay, boy-o?”
Stone nodded. “I’m good.”
“You’re hitting it pretty hard and here I was the one who wanted the night out.”
“Been awhile,” Stone said, his words heavy and slow. Even so, he was careful not to drag Jean into the Betty Rabe drama. “You’re not exactly drinking like a nun, either.”
“Drinking like a nun? What kind of analogy is that?”
Stone’s smile was crooked. He laughed. “A drinking nun. That’s stupid.”
She joined in his laughter.
For dinner, they’d eaten pho at Viet Dong and the conversation was careful never to get around work. It focused on their interests and the friends they shared. Whenever work did come up, both quickly steered the topic back to a safe haven.
“So what’s going on with you?” Stone asked. “Everything okay?”
Jean turned and leaned against the wall next to him. “No. Not at all.”
“What’s up?”
“Hahn’s acting all weird.”
Stone faced her. “Weird, how?”
Jean shook her head. “I shouldn’t say.”
Stone smiled. “Is okay. You can tell me. ’Sides, I won’t remember tomorrow, anyway.”
Her eyes met his and she seemed to be considering something before she spoke. “He lent me out to Patterson.”
“That sounds kinky.”
Jean hit him with the back of her hand. “Don’t be gross. She wants me to ask around HR about the Armstrong investigation. See what I can find. I think they’re scheming something, and I don’t like it.”
“Huh.” Stone wondered if the Armstrong mess had been what she’d meant earlier in the week when she said something about things getting worse. He tried to focus on the thought, but his mind couldn’t grab on firmly.
“I don’t like being used that way,” Jean said, her voice hardening. “Makes me feel…dirty, you know?”
He fought through the haze of alcohol. “I understand.”
“There’s also a rumor circling around that Hahn is somehow involved with the death of a girl. You know anything about that?”
He studied his friend before answering, but it was probably too long, he realized. “No, I don’t.”
“It’s probably bullshit, but if you know something, Gary, you need to tell me.”
Stone slowly blinked several times, but he didn’t say anything.
“Because if it was Shelley Mason, I can confirm that she was an intern he was fooling around with last year. It didn’t last long before she was asked to leave. If something happened to her, I don’t know what I would do.”
“Shelley Mason?”
Jean nodded.
“She was asked to go?”
“It was wrong, but HR wasn’t involved. Holy crap, can you imagine if they knew about that with all this other drama going on?”
“Who asked her to go?”
Jean looked away, so he immediately knew the answer.
“You?”
“He asked me to, and I did it.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought he was a good boss who made a single mistake. Now, I’m not so sure. I mean, having me do that stuff for Patterson, that really, you know, pisses me off. I didn’t want him to get into trouble with Shelley, though. Do you understand? And I didn’t want her to get dragged through the mud.”
“Did she go?”
Jean suddenly looked sad. “Yeah. She was…, she was a nice girl. She was sad, too, but, you know, she saw the writing on the wall. She didn’t want to be there any longer either.”
“No one else knew?”
“Just Hahn and me, I think.”
Stone leaned his head back against the brick wall. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit.”
The club’s music continued to pulsate as people passed by, ignoring them. Stone turned to her. “Jean, why didn’t you tell me about this when it happened?”
“I wasn’t proud that I did it. Have you ever done something you’re not proud of? You don’t go tell the world about it. You just shut up, keep it to yourself, and do your job.”
Stone stared straight ahead, her words ringing in his ears.
“Boy-o,” Jean said, patting his shoulder, “I think I’m done. Call me tomorrow.”
She left without another word, leaving him with his thoughts.
After exiting his Uber ride home, Stone stumbled to his front door. Once inside, he locked his house and put his back against the door. He inhaled and exhaled, working hard to regain control over the alcohol in his system.
Shelley Mason.
Stone repeated the name again, not wanting to forget it. She was another girl that Hahn had used and discarded. Had her dreams of being in city hall been dashed by her proximity to the councilman?
His eyes locked on to the report sitting on his kitchen counter. He walked heavily over to the counter and stared at it. His face twisted in anger as he snatched the report. With both hands, he applied tension in opposite directions. The papers began to tear, but he stopped.
Jean’s words haunted him then.
Have you ever done something you’re not proud of?
He dropped the papers back on the counter and sprinted to the bathroom. He flipped open the toilet lid, dropped to his knees, and vomited.
SUNDAY
Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.
—Felice Leonardo “Leo” Buscaglia, author and motivational speaker
CHAPTER 36
Dana Hatcher allowed herself to sleep in. She and Maggie Patterson had gone out for a few drinks last night, and while she wouldn’t have said she was drunk, she definitely had been feeling the vodka. Maggie seemed to be able to drink incessantly and hardly be affected, other than becoming a little more…well, a little more Maggie.
They’d met a couple of guys about halfway through the night and spent an hour or two dancing and drinking. She actually got to laugh last night, and that felt good.
When they left the bar, they tried to take a walk through Riverfront Park, but it was after midnight and she knew the park was closed. Security roamed around on bikes, shooing out stragglers and people who wandered in unaware of the park curfew.
Even though Hatcher knew this, she didn’t say a word when the group decision came about. She wasn’t sure why, other than that for one night, she didn’t want to be a cop. Just a woman out for drinks and dancing and some fun. So she held her tongue while they made the short walk to the park.
Luckily, another couple was walking out as they approached and warned them about the curfew.
“The park Nazis are booting everyone out,” one guy said.
“Closing the park is ridiculous,” his drunk boyfriend added. “It’s public land.”
Maggie looked at her with a raised brow to confirm the park hours. Hatcher nodded, ending their big adventure.
As the group split up, Maggie offered her date a ride. Since both of the men had used Lyft to get to the bar, there was little pretense in the offer, and he immediately accepted. They said their goodbyes, Maggie hugging Hatcher and whispering lurid suggestions in her ear, until Hatcher laughed and pushed her away. The new couple walked away, arm in arm.
The other man, an art teacher name Kailer, stood watching them go, before turning awkwardly toward her. “So…?”
Hatcher took out her phone. “You need an Uber?”
He was disappointed but took it well. That was part of the reason why she’d said yes when he asked if he could call her sometime. They exchanged numbers and easy conversation while they waited for his ride. He gave her a short goodbye kiss, but it had been a good one, and made her glad that she might see him again.
She wished at times that she was a
s fearless as Maggie, but her days of going to bed with a man two hours after meeting him were long past. The truth was, those days had been fleeting enough, not fitting with her other life choices. As much as she wished she could forget about being a police officer for a short time, deep down she knew she could never completely not be a cop. She would always be careful. It was her nature, and her nature led her to this profession. The profession, in turn, reinforced her nature.
Lying alone in the warmth of her bed, she replayed all of this in her mind. She felt a tinge of regret, and maybe a little sadness, but mostly the whole night made her happy.
Ray Zielinski wasn’t happy. His head throbbed. His mouth was dry and tacky. His stomach did flip-flops, and any thought of food or another drink almost sent him into the bathroom.
I could probably make the toilet from here. If I just got a little arc on it, I could puke right into the bowl from here.
He lay in his bed for a long while, unable to think of anything except how bad he felt. When he finally looked at his clock, he groaned.
He sat up. Cymbals crashed in his head.
Coffee.
And aspirin. Some antacids for the road.
He looked at the clock again. No time for a shower. His extra duty detail awaited him, and he was going to be lucky if he made it there on time.
Zielinski forced himself to stand and slowly pulled on his police uniform.
Margaret Patterson sat at her kitchen table and watched her children play outside.
The two seemed to be happy, chasing each other around in the backyard. She wouldn’t admit it to most people, but motherhood wasn’t her deal. She’d had the children for her husband, because she thought that’s what a loving wife was supposed to do.
As the children grew, Patterson had an uneasy feeling that something was broken inside her. She just didn’t connect with either of them the way that her husband did. It didn’t matter whether it was the boy or the girl, she looked at them both like miniature aliens living in her house. The maternal instinct that so many others prattled on about was a mystery to her. She could pretend she had it when she needed to, but most of the time, the kids were little roommates who made messes that she was required to clean up.
Regardless, that didn’t mean she was going to roll over at the divorce proceedings and let her husband have them. Quite the opposite. She fought for everything she could get, including custody. Besides, he was the one who wanted the legal separation, not her. Of course, she’d come back over the top to demand the actual divorce. She had thought their marriage was working just fine, thank you very much. He was the one who suddenly developed a need to search for meaning in his life, not her.
He claimed it was because he was unhappy, and the universe was pushing him in a new direction. It sounded like new age bullshit to her. More than likely, he had a girlfriend stashed somewhere. She never found evidence of such, but it didn’t mean she would ever stop believing that was the reason he wanted out. Why else would a man throw away seven years of a perfectly good marriage?
The kids continued to run around the backyard. Patterson tried to understand what they were doing. It looked like they were playing some weird game with a wiffleball bat, a deflated football, and a naked Barbie doll. She rolled her eyes. As long as the two of them stayed outside, it was fine with her. She didn’t need to know the rules to that game.
She sipped her cup of coffee and thought about last night. Dana was always fun to hang out with, even if she was a bit uptight. Patterson figured that was the cop in her. It was good to have her around, though. It balanced out her wild side which she struggled to control following her divorce. Getting older hadn’t helped.
Which was evidenced by her offering to drive Tanner home. It must have been his longish hair that did it for her. It definitely wasn’t the stupid earring. And what kind of grown man owns a boutique guitar shop? Talk about arrested development. But he was cute and that was enough for a moment’s distraction.
Thank God she didn’t go up to his apartment with him. That would have been too much shame to bear. The hand job she gave him reminded her of a high school rendezvous and it seemed to make him happy. She would like to blame the moment on the vodka tonics, but she knew exactly what she was doing. He hadn’t been forceful or even coercive. In fact, it was her idea. She just didn’t want to go home after dropping him off, but she didn’t want to go upstairs with him either. And, there was absolutely no way she would go down on him. She wasn’t that kind of woman.
As he slid out of the car, he’d asked if he could see her again. Of course, she lied and told him he could.
Outside, her son hit the Barbie doll across the yard with the bat and her daughter ran away with the deflated football, holding it over her head as a trophy. She wanted to say that there was a metaphor for life in there, but the two of them were giggling wildly.
Nobody has that much fun in their adult lives, she thought and continued to sip her coffee.
Captain Tom Farrell ate brunch with his wife, Karen. They’d been together since his first year of college. That had actually been his only year of college for a long time, as he’d left school to join the police force. He and Karen had been together for almost eight months at that point, and when she told him she was pregnant, the decision to become a cop was an easy one.
The pregnancy failed, with their unborn daughter inexplicably dying in the womb at the six-month mark. One terrible procedure later, the whole idea of their new little family was gone. They’d tried again, but nothing ever came of it. At some point, they both came to terms with their fate, and moved on. Karen went back to college and coaxed him to do the same once he’d made sergeant. He had her to thank for his bachelor’s degree as much as anything he’d done to earn it.
And yet, she was one more person he lied to, that he kept from telling this huge secret he’d been hiding for almost two years.
It was exhausting.
“You want to try my eggs Benedict?” Karen asked.
Farrell shook his head.
Karen looked at him with concern. “You love eggs Benedict.”
“I’m full,” he told her.
She glanced at his half-eaten plate, then back to him. “Tom, is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine.”
A slight look of hurt crossed her face. Most people might have missed it, but Farrell knew her expressions. She knew he was lying, and he’d wounded her.
“Is it work?” she asked. “You know you can talk to me about it. Maybe I can help.”
I wish I could.
He forced a smile. “It’s just some logistical crap I have to work out for the chief’s command staff meeting tomorrow. Honestly, I should have stayed a sergeant.” He motioned toward her plate. “Here, let me try a bite of that.”
Clint slid into the barber’s chair. He’d managed to come at the perfect time. The pre-church crowd had cleared out and the post-church crowd hadn’t yet arrived. He even ended up with Abe, who was his favorite of the three barbers. Abe understood that shit wasn’t right in the world.
“Damn,” Abe muttered, as he shook out the hair apron and spread it over Clint. “You’re overdue, son.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Abe fastened the apron’s collar. “A man can’t ever be too busy to take care of his own hair. People judge you by your ’do.”
“I hear that.”
“And by what you do.” Abe grinned at his own joke. “What you want, Wardell?”
“Tight,” Clint said. “I want it tight.”
Abe set at getting him correct.
Tyler Garrett pulled to the curb outside the small convenience store at Market Street and Rowan Avenue. The area had seen hard times over the past several decades and had not experienced the recent gentrification that other parts of the city had. The bright afternoon sun highlighted the ugliness the neighborhood did not bother to hide.
He rolled his window down and mad
e eye contact with the Native American man leaning against the bus stop sign. He wore a red sweat suit and a dirty, white baseball cap turned backwards. The man slowly looked both directions then returned his attention to Garrett. He nodded once, a barely perceptible movement to anyone not watching.
Garrett pressed the accelerator, swung back into the lane of traffic before turning into the parking lot. The car stopped in the middle of the lot.
A tall, white man in a dirty, yellow windbreaker and a black beanie exited the convenience store and approached Garrett’s car. He walked around the front to the driver’s side. The gaunt man leaned on the open window and smiled, revealing a missing front tooth.
“How’s business?”
“You tell me,” Garrett said, not bothering to look directly at the man.
“Things is picking up. You know, you know. Making some headways into new neighborhoods. You know how it is, right?”
“I know how it is, Skunk,” Garrett said, his eyes continually scanning the street. A couple of young kids rode their bikes southbound on the sidewalk.
Skunk looked up and over the roof of the car. Garrett’s eyes flashed to his rearview mirror and saw the Indian at the bus stop nod.
The gaunt man bent back down and smiled, revealing the hole in his mouth again. “We good?”
“We’re good.”
Skunk reached into the car and shook Garrett’s hand. When he was done, he turned and strolled back into the convenience store. Garrett opened his glove box and tossed a roll of uncounted twenty-dollar bills into it. There would be time to count it later.
He then dropped the car into gear and left the parking lot.
Chief Robert Baumgartner sat on the deck of his lake house, watching the sun dip in the sky. It had been a warm spring day, and a good one. He’d spent it with his girlfriend, Darla. She’d talked him into a short hike, which really meant a long one. Although he wasn’t too excited about it initially, he felt good when they reached the summit of the small butte. They’d found a nice spot in the sun, spread a blanket and had a pleasant picnic, including some wine that she surprised him with, pulling it out of her backpack with a flourish. They ate and drank and laughed. If the little clearing wasn’t so close to the path, and if he wasn’t the chief of police, they might have risked going a little further than the few kisses they’d exchanged while chatting.