“Ma’am, is this your car? You can’t park in the middle of the…”
“Iiii,” she gestured wildly, “am the light of the…the old…” She trailed off and stared at him with a shocked expression.
“What?” Pete looked confused.
“The car?” She sounded equally confused. She stood straight up and put her hand on her hip. Pete looked at Tully then back at the woman who had now scampered to the front of the car. She pressed her cheek against the hood and started singing an unrecognizable tune. Tully slipped out of the cruiser and looked on in amusement. Pete was staring at the crazy woman in disbelief. He looked back at Tully. She planted her butt on the hood of the cruiser and smiled.
“Ma’am?” Pete reached for the old woman’s arm.
“DON’T TOUCH ME,” she screamed. She flailed her arms and ran around to the passenger side and into traffic. Pete dropped his ticket book and rounded the car trying to get control of her. Traffic came to a stop as cars swerved to avoid the crazed woman. Tully made no move to stop her as she ran by.
“Are you kidding me?” Pete threw his hands up. “Grab her.”
With the agility of a pro athlete, the old woman bobbed and weaved to the opposite side. She never noticed Tully.
“I don’t think I will actually.” Tully crossed her arms.
The woman darted back around to the driver door and yanked the handle. The door didn’t budge. She forgot to unlock it.
“Grrrr,” with a mighty grunt, Pete heaved his short beefy frame up and over the hood. He landed beside the woman and she shrieked as he grabbed her and pinned her arms. Tully sputtered with laughter when the woman started barking like a dog. She wiped away a tear as Pete wrestled the barking woman into handcuffs.
When they pulled into the station the clock read 6:15. Late as usual and the parking lot was deserted after the five o’clock shift change. A few cruisers and some unmarked cars dotted the parking lot behind the three-story headquarters. Pete put the car in park and looked over at Tully.
“You still mad at me?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“Truce.” He stuck out his hand.
“I don’t negotiate with terrorists,” she grinned. “You going to Only’s?”
“I’m heading home. Been a day, but you already knew that.”
Tully chuckled as she headed into the station. “Ya did great, kid. You did great.”
Thirty minutes later an irritated Tully left the locker room in jeans and a t-shirt. The tussle with Pete popped a stitch in her shoulder, and she had to apply a butterfly bandage and new gauze to her inflamed arm. She trudged down the long hallway toward her truck and the promise of an ice cube melting in whiskey. Doc could stitch her up tomorrow. They were waiting on her at the watering hole.
Her old rattletrap Blazer was parked on the far side of the deserted lot next to the dumpsters. Away from the nicer cars. She tossed her gym bag on the passenger seat and grabbed the door frame to hoist herself inside. Sharp pain tweaked her shoulder. She grabbed her left elbow to steady her arm and sucked in a few deep breaths trying to control the pain. Movement caught her attention.
She squinted through the gathering dusk. At the rear of the fenced parking lot, Pete slipped through a small gate. It led to an alley running between headquarters and the high brick border wall of an old cemetery. He wore civilian clothes.
That wasn’t right. Tully looked around the parking lot. Pete’s jacked up Silverado was still there. Usually he went straight home, in uniform, and showered there. He only changed at work if he was going drinking. He shouldn’t still be there, much less heading out the back gate in civies.
Tully hesitated. She shouldn’t follow. He might see her. Or worse, she might find out where he was going. Then what? The hairs on the back of her neck pricked up.
Easing the Blazer door shut, she ran to the back of the parking lot and scanned her card to open the gate. She peeked through.
The narrow alley was empty. One hundred yards to the left it ended in trash cans and somebody’s driveway. Oglethorpe Avenue was right. She headed toward Oglethorpe. At the sidewalk, she checked both ways.
Pete was walking through the iron gates of the cemetery entrance a block down Oglethorpe. Tully inched along the brick wall to the corner where it met the iron fence. The path was in clear view. Pete took it straight through.
On the other side, he cut straight across Perry Street and walked down Lincoln toward the cathedral. As soon as Pete’s shoes hit the pavement, she sprinted down the gravel cemetery path.
Tully stalked her partner from two blocks behind, darting into an alley whenever she passed one. Pete didn’t seem too concerned about being followed. His quick pace never slowed and he never looked back.
On Harris Street he turned right. She sprinted to the corner and stopped to watch. He walked the length of the Cathedral and headed across the street through Lafayette Square. Tully broke into a run to close the distance.
At the end of Harris, she skidded to a halt. He hadn’t cut through the square; he was still there. Pete sat on a park bench under a tree. Another man was easing down next to him. Tully ducked behind a parked delivery van, her chest heaving. Inching to the front, she looked through the passenger window.
Her stomach dropped when she saw who he was meeting. That lying good for nothing snitch was not one of Pete’s confidential informants. She and Pete worked everything together. They knew every detail of each other’s cases. No way this was work.
In fact, the unwashed scum bag excuse of a man was nobody’s CI, but a man with knowledge nonetheless. Nicholas Cummings had dirt on people. A fact he tried regularly to exploit for a get out of jail free card.
Too regularly. No one believed him anymore. That didn’t seem to bother Pete as he sat on a bench with the man, deep in a conversation he forgot to tell her about.
Tully had seen enough. Without waiting to see how the meeting ended, she turned and ran back to the station at a sprint. A limp formed as her hip grew sore. If she wasn’t supposed to know about this, she needed to get the Blazer out of the parking lot before Pete made it back from his after-hours meeting. Let him think she’d gone to the pub. He wouldn’t check.
She drove the ten blocks home in a haze, dripping with sweat, trying to push the evening out of her mind. She didn’t succeed until she got home and grabbed the open bottle of whiskey on the counter.
The gym bag went on the bed and the bottle went to her lips. She let the liquid trickle into her mouth. It was enough to dull the screaming thoughts and heighten her senses. Sweat on her body and the whiskey warming her chest made the air-conditioned room colder.
Slowly she peeled off her shirt, the dark gray nearly black with moisture, and tossed it on the floor. She unhooked her bra and let it slide to the carpet. The bottle went on the dresser while she shimmied out of her jeans, but she picked it up before stripping completely naked.
She went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. The bottle came with her.
Cold water hit her skin. When it warmed, she sunk against the tile letting the water run over her breasts. They were cold like the rest of her. Steam rose as the water got hotter and her skin flushed.
She let out a contented groan. The pain in her hip eased and her mind calmed. She tried telling herself it was the scalding shower, but she tipped the bottle back again and felt better.
Flipping around she propped herself on one hand against the tile and let the water fall down her back and over the curve of her butt. The other hand hung wrapped around Jack Daniels’ long neck. The water warmed her body while the whiskey dulled her racing mind. It felt so good.
The feeling didn’t last long. As her head grew fuzzier, she rested it on her hand. Now it was guilt she felt. It quickly dissolved in a rush of hate. She hated herself for following him. For letting it go this far. For making him dance around the unflattering truth instead of letting him speak. Another swig nearly emptied the bottle.
That’s how it had to be. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Even best friends shouldn’t know everything about each other.
She drained the bottle and stuck her head under the water letting drops patter her face. The glass bottle shattered at her feet and she started awake unaware she had drifted off.
Ignoring the glass shards, she pushed her face directly against the tile. She wanted to stay for an hour but she was out of whiskey. Her old sweats and a fresh bottle would be just the thing.
As she reached to turn the water off a loud crash came from the great room. She froze. Then scratching and a loud thunk.
Someone was in her apartment.
Letting the water run, Tully eased back the shower curtain, listening. Forgetting about a towel, she moved silently into her bedroom and grabbed the gun from her gym bag. Still dripping, Tully pressed herself against the wall by the door and pulled it open a few inches. Nothing. Whoever it was they were quiet now.
Was it him? It couldn’t be him. He never came to her house.
She strained to see into the kitchen, but she couldn’t without opening the door further. She chastised herself for not setting the alarm. There was no point in paying for it because she always forgot to turn the damn thing on.
The air kicked on. Her skin erupted in goose bumps as the register beside her spewed out cold air. Icy droplets let go of her hair and fell to the small of her back. They didn’t warm as they crept down her exposed skin.
Planting her feet, she swung the door open and drove gun first into the big room. The moment she stepped through the door a loud crash came from the picture window that looked out to the courtyard.
He’s outside.
Tully fell to the floor and crawled under the window. The curtain was parted enough for her to look through.
“Motherfuc…” Tully trailed off. She lowered her gun.
The neighbor’s yellow tabby cat sat on the wide sill. He’d knocked over two terra cotta planters with wilted black plants Tully long ago forgot. He turned to look at her. His purring rattled through the window making her want to shoot him.
She sat back against the wall to let her heart rate come down. Then she realized she was soaking wet and naked. She took several long breaths as she put her gun in the end table and went to get a towel. Gradually she calmed.
Tully toweled her hair dry and slipped on her ragged blue sweatpants and a white tank top. From the medicine cabinet she pulled a large gauze bandage and a prescription bottle. She covered her bloody shoulder and tapped two pills into her hand swallowing them without water. The prescription bottle went back into the cabinet next to three others.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a new bottle from the cabinet. She was hungry but all she wanted to do was rest. Settling on the couch, she checked that her duty gun was still in the end table drawer next to her daddy’s 386 Nightguard and the framed picture of him in uniform. She clicked on the television and stopped on a cooking show. Easing a heavy blanket over her shoulder, she lay back against the cushions as the AC kicked on.
FIVE
“Tully, did you finish your homework?”
“Yup,” Tully yelled.
“How do you answer your mother?” Samuel Meara’s deep voice boomed.
“Yes, Ma’am,” she yelled.
“Better. Alright, hands up. You ready?”
The little girl nodded and threw her hands up by her ears, bobbing back and forth. Blond hair stuck out wildly from a failed ponytail.
Sam knelt on both knees and grinned, then raised his fists. His gun belt and brown Stetson lay discarded on the floor, and his brown sheriff’s uniform was open at the collar. He had the same unruly hair as his daughter only brown. They shared the same blue eyes.
He threw several light punches at his bobbing eight-year-old. She swatted his big hands away with her small ones.
“Good. Nope. Keep ‘em high.”
“Oww.” One of his jabs made it through her defense and tapped her forehead.
“You okay, Baby?” He grabbed her head and twisted it looking for a mark.
“Just kidding!” She jumped on him. Laughing, they fell to the orange shag carpet in a heap. A pretty blond with green eyes leaned against the doorjamb. “Dinner’s almost ready, you two.”
“To dinner!” Sam cried.
“To dinner!” Tully mimicked.
Alice Meara shook her head and pulled her oven mitt back on.
“Smells wonderful, Hon,” Sam pinched her butt and sat down at the table.
“What are you two going to do tonight? Since Tully has her homework done.” She shot both a ‘you will behave yourselves’ look.
“Nothing,” answered Tully trying to suppress a smile. One look at her father and she broke into a giggle.
Alice Meara smiled and shook her head. “Do I need to transfer to dayshift to keep an eye on you two?”
“I wish you would, Hon.” Sam reached over and pulled her onto his lap. “You worry me working all night.”
“Oh, it’s alright,” she smiled at him. “I’m grateful my job survived the cuts last year.”
“I’d feel better if you worked daylight hours. I don’t like the hospital at night. It gets rough.”
She ran her hand through his hair and kissed him. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me.” She hoisted herself out of his lap and disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Daddy, did you lock up bad guys today?”
Sam turned and saw Tully holding out her plate. His mustache twitched as he spooned tuna casserole onto it. She started shoveling it into her mouth.
“Yes. Did you get an A on your test?”
Tully nodded and poked a noodle out of pursed lips.
“Tully.” Alice had come back in with a basket of bread.
“Then I guess we both get ice cream before bed.”
“Yay!” Tully clapped.
“I know how much is in there, and I will be checking in the morning,” Alice said. Sam winked at Tully, and the little girl giggled again.
A few hours later Sam tossed Tully onto her bed. She laughed and flopped over. Suddenly her face grew worried, and she looked up at him.
“What’s wrong, Baby?” He sat next to her.
“Daddy, can girls be policemen?”
“Of course they can, Baby. Why?”
“Morgan, at my school, said I have to. Since you and grandpa were policemen that I have to be one too. Or you won’t be proud of me. He said that’s how families are supposed to be. He said he’s gonna be a builder ‘cuz that’s what his dad is.”
Sam took his daughter’s chin in his hand. “Don’t you listen to a word that nitwit Morgan says. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
She put her hand on top of his and held his gaze without flinching. The worry knotting her eyebrows smoothed.
Sam touched his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. He felt her stir and long eyelashes batted against his cheek. “I will always be proud of you, no matter what. Understand?”
She nodded, her face bright again. Sam Meara was helpless against the force of his little girl’s smile. “Snogs.” He leaned down once more. Tully kissed his nose and snuggled down on her pillow. He pulled the Strawberry Princess blanket over her and snapped off the little lamp.
“Love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, Baby.”
Before he pulled the door he looked back. “And you can be anything you want to be.”
“I wanna be a nurse like Mommy,” she murmured sleepily.
Sam closed her door and headed to the kitchen to grab a couple of beers before ending up in his easy chair. As soon as he sat, he realized he forgot to turn the TV on. He left it off. They needed to get one of those new remote-control TV’s for nights when he was too tired to get up and change the channel. Which was every night. He finished his second beer and laid his head back.
Bobby Hayward had been beating his pregnant girlfriend again today. That inbred hick was as sharp as a bu
tter knife, and only slightly smarter. This time he went too far and even she couldn’t deny it. Sam had to arrest Bobby which meant a near brawl.
Anytime they dealt with one Hayward, they dealt with all of them. Even the girlfriend with the broken jaw.
Bobby had never been arrested for anything more serious than drunken fistfights. Somehow he and his brother Charlie managed to stay out of any serious trouble. But God help anyone who tried to say they’d done anything wrong. Every time the cops showed up on that dilapidated porch, out they’d come. Everyone but Ida, the matriarch, running out that door like they were on fire. Had to protect their own, even if they’re rotten as month old tomatoes.
But whatever Bobby could mete out to that poor girl was nothing compared to the punishment his brother’s girlfriends endured. At 6’3’’, 250 pounds, Charlie Hayward was pure muscle and unfiltered mean. He was also reasonably smart for someone kicked out of ninth grade for beating up a teacher.
Charlie took over as head of the rag-tag family after Old Man Hayward drank himself to death in the decrepit recliner under the pines behind the house. These days Ida, her sons, their bruised girlfriends, and their perpetually dirty brood lived a crowded existence there.
Sam’s can hit the floor with a clunk, and he started awake. He yawned and decided he should get to bed. A faint scratch at the kitchen door stopped him mid-rise. He listened and heard it again. But this time a whisper followed. His stomach lurched.
Crossing to the desk in the corner, he pulled out the top drawer. As his hand curled around the butt of his revolver, a loud splinter announced the failure of the wooden door. It slammed against the wall, and he could see the hulking silhouette of Charlie Hayward backlit by the porch light. Another dark shape peeked out from behind him.
Sam darted to the hallway as a shotgun blast ripped through the quiet. The paneling exploded beside him. He fired several times across the living room and ran for his bedroom. A loaded Remington 12 gauge waited in his closet. That would even things up a bit.
As he entered the hallway he glanced at Tully’s closed door, sending up a quick prayer that she wouldn’t come out.
The Last Innocent Page 4