Jackboot

by Will Van Allen

  “I’m here judge.” He strode through the door, the detective storming in after him.

  “Judge, what the hell’s going on? Anders says you worked out some deal! I’m not agreeing to any goddamn deal!” Detective Boucher was silenced by the judge’s raised hand.

  “Sergeant Anders, please see these four gentlemen get a ride home. Detective Boucher, if you have a moment, please.”

  John had been staring at her from the other side of the glass until the detective had entered the room. Now he scowled from the doorway, and as Anders led the others out, the room was filled with pregnant hatred.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here—”

  “No detective and I’m going to inform you”—the judge waved the papers—“but first, you ever speak to me like that again I’ll have your balls in a jar so fast you can take them with you to set on your dash as you take up life as a meter maid. Understand me?”

  The detective’s mouth opened to retort but smartly clamped shut.

  The judge gestured and John padded out.

  “Now, I don’t know what’s going on with you two and I don’t care. It stops right here, right now! You want to kill each other, drive to the county line, but not in my district!”

  John and the detective glared at one another.

  “That understood?”

  She had never seen that look in John’s eyes. Pure loathing.

  “That understood?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “As for this foolishness tonight, it’s settled. Mr. Mangiano, Mr. Simms”—he glanced at the papers— “Mr. Vandenburg and Mr. Desmitt have signed their declarations. The proprietor of The Quarterhorse is not wanting to press the issue, and as Mr. McConnell and Miss Flynn have also declined to pursue charges, none will be filed against any party.” He raised his hand, cutting off the detective. “Mr. Mangiano and Mr. Simms both have an extensive record and are on parole. Both were made aware they would face serious jail time, and both felt that this agreement was in their best interests, along with their two associates. All parties have wisely agreed that this was a mishap of immaturity that will never happen again, and all have agreed to move on. All that’s required is the interviewing detective’s signature.”

  The detective’s jaw dropped. “You are out of your mind! I’m not signing nothin’ that lets him walk!”

  The judge frowned at the papers. “Mr. Mangiano and Mr. Desmitt stringently assured me that you would sign off on this deal. Were they incorrect in their assurances? Should I have Anders bring them back in?”

  John snorted.

  The detective’s disgust mirrored John’s, but it was masking something else.

  The judge looked to John. “Am I missing something?”

  I certainly am. What the hell is going on?

  “Gimme the fuckin’ papers,” the detective snarled.

  “No, no, let’s talk it out.”

  “Fuck you, McConnell! You and your stupid asshole brother!”

  He snatched the papers from the judge, sat down on the bench, fingering through them and furiously signing his name.

  The judge turned on John.

  “Knock that smirk off your face. You’re in a lot of trouble. Stitches, a broken nose, bruised ribs—you could have seriously injured someone tonight. What were you thinking? You have a daughter, for Christ’s sake! This young lady here, who, God only knows why, cares about you! Do you see her cheek? What would your mother say? Shall I call her up and ask? Is that what I have to do?”

  “No, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  “Come again?”

  “It won’t happen again, Your Honor.”

  “You think I like being woken up in the middle of the night? We’re off to Whidbey in the morning, watch the whales and clam with the grandkids. I should make you go with and entertain them for the week, that sentence might straighten you out. But I won’t do that to this sweet young woman who thinks you’re worth waiting for.” He gave her another sly wink. “To behave like this, on your first date, of all things. You don’t deserve her.”

  “We’re not dating, Your Honor,” she and John said in unison.

  The judge snorted as the detective stood. “Anything else, Your Honor?”

  The judge looked over the paperwork. “You cross your I’s, dot your T’s?”

  “Yes. Can I go now?”

  “I should order you to shake hands, but I think it would end up with both of you in contempt.”

  Marissa agreed.

  With a final baleful glance, the detective left, slamming the door behind him.

  Judge Scolari appraised the door. “Do I want to know what I don’t know?” he asked John.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “You wouldn’t tell me anyway?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Huh. What’s this business about work?”

  “I quit.”

  “Uh-huh. So what are you doing now? That corner office is still open.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Miss Flynn, you come see me too when you pass the bar, yes? Good. I love talented people.”

  “Your Honor.” She stood up. “Is this really how justice gets done?”

  He smiled eruditely. “What do justice and comedy have in common?”

  “Wha—?”

  “Timing.” He cast an apologetic glance at John. “No. No justice tonight. But think how much time and money we saved the taxpayers.”

  She opened her mouth but he cut her off.

  “It’s a messy profession we’ve chosen, you and I. Remember, it pays to have friends.” He waved the papers and made for the door. “I’m off to the beach. Try and make it home without killing anyone, will you John?”

  “He and Anders think they owe me,” he told her as he retrieved his shoes and wallet from the bailiff.

  “For?”

  He ignored her.

  “Am I talking to myself?”

  “For beating my brother half to death.”

  The bailiff looked up.

  “McConnell!” Sergeant Anders strolled over. “Judge square things?”

  John grunted. What was it with these men and grunting?

  “Something you want, Anders?” John sat down on the bench to put on his shoes.

  “Yeah. Couple things. First, received a complaint you stole a necklace from Lori Davis.”

  McConnell glanced at Marissa who was now wearing the French coin on a silver chain around her own lovely neck.

  Anders caught the glance, snorted. “I see this is complicated and I’m too damn tired for complicated tonight. Second, I know she’s your little girl but you can’t be manhandling cops out there. Makes me look bad, and they’re liable to shoot you without caring what I say next time.”

  “Won’t be a next time.”

  “Next time, come see me first, we’ll straighten it out.”

  “Hm.”

  “You need a doctor?” Anders asked.

  “No.”

  “Bleeding through your shirt pretty good on your back there.”

  “Just some scrapes. I’ll be fine.”

  The cop nodded, gave her a sideways glance. “Thought you mighta’ switched teams, started battin’ for the other side.”

  Anders could be funny. She was starting to really warm to this guy.

  “Go on home, get this sweet girl outta’ my jail.”

  “That’s funny, she was just asking about my brother and your sweet jail.”

  Anders scowled. He reached out, shook her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Flynn. My condolences for your loss.” He gave John a look and walked away.

  When they were outside she said, “That was mean.”

  “I wouldn’t even be down here if it wasn’t for him.”

  She arched her eyebrow. “Really.”

  “Where’s my truck?”

  She nodded. “I thought it was just me, but you keep everyone at arm’s length, don’t you?”


  She threw his keys at him and walked away.

  CHAPTER 39

  AUGUST

  Spokane Washington

  But you only got so far without a car in Spokane at four AM.

  McConnell held the truck’s passenger door open. “You walking home then?”

  Marissa looked all around him for other options. “There’s a taxi over there.”

  He glanced at the dark yellow cab, then back at her, vulnerable and alone in the night. “You coming or not?”

  They cruised through intersections beneath flashing yellow after flashing yellow in silence. If he thought he was sore before…. He just wanted to go to bed and forget this night. He’d been lucky. Luck eventually ran out. Marissa still seemed a bit bewildered, and angry of course, fuming quietly and pensively beautiful.

  “We don’t have to talk,” she said, reading his mind.

  “I thought that’s all you wanted was to talk. Blah blah blah.” She ignored him. “How’s your cheek?”

  She rubbed her middle finger against it. That’s how it was. Lovely. “Even now, you can’t apologize, can you?”

  “They started it.” That was incredibly juvenile. But almost the truth. He could’ve walked away.

  “You’re a vile, violent, ill-tempered asshole who asks for favors then spurns those who do them.”

  He thought about that. “I don’t like violence.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “Being good at something and liking it are two different things.”

  She pivoted in her seat. “Really? That’s your rationale? Next you’re going to say ‘I had my reasons.’”

  His phone rang and she dug it out of her purse.

  “Carrie’s your ex-wife, right? She’s been calling while you were ennobling yourself in jail.” She handed him the phone.

  He grunted, “Yeah,” giving the fiery woman in the passenger seat an equally fiery glare.

  Carrie’s voice shrilled in his ear. “Yeah? Yeah? Where the hell are you? I’ve been calling all night!”

  “It’s so wonderful to hear that octave at this hour.”

  “Katie’s gone again and won’t answer her cell!”

  “Calm down, already.”

  “You’re just a wonder with women, aren’t you?” Marissa commented quietly.

  “This is all your fault!” Carrie yelled.

  “Me? What did I—”

  “You haven’t talked to her in weeks then you call this morning out of the blue, leave that idiotic message? Do you know what you do to her when you call like that, John? Do you?”

  Had he called Katie? The morning was an age ago. He vaguely remembered thinking about calling on the drive home after doing a bit of skullduggery. Damn it. “She’s at that boy’s house, isn’t she? Why didn’t you—”

  “Because you never gave me the address.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  He hung up and made a quick U-turn.

  “Trouble in River City?” Marissa mused.

  “Funny. Where am I taking you?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this.”

  He pulled up to the corner house, his aches and pains taking a backseat as he surveyed the scene. Another party, this one quieter than the last. Kids were learning every day. Made you proud.

  Marissa unbuckled her seatbelt. “Wait here.”

  “This isn’t your business.”

  “You are such an idiot.”

  He opened the door—

  She put a hand on his arm, her voice a modicum less sharp. “Didn’t your buddy just warn you when it comes to your daughter? You could call him and ask—oh wait, you pissed him off, just like everyone else in the world.” He glared at her. “There’s your way to do this, then the right one. The latter requires some tact, and I witnessed your tact at the bar.” She glanced at his hands. “You going to strangle the kid like you are that steering wheel?”

  He looked down. Battered knuckles were whitely wringing the leather to death. He released his grip. “Fine. Two minutes. Then I’m coming in.”

  “John—”

  “She’s the only daughter I got.”

  Marissa cocked her head. She bit her lip. Peered into him.

  “What?” he asked. “What?”

  She opened the door and slid out. “Katie, right?”

  “Five feet, dark blonde, pretty when she’s not scowling. Probably with that Josh Lyons kid. You’ll know the one, he looks like he’s two minutes from meeting his maker.”

  “Back in a jiff.”

  He watched her dismissive yet feminine walk up to the house, jaws dropping on the porch as she disappeared inside. Probably smiled and did her superciliary thing just because she could.

  Thirty seconds later out she came, Katie in tow. The girl was wearing what he hoped were shorts and not underwear and a black shirt with a hot pink Playboy bunny logo. The girl clambered darkly into the backseat and slammed the door after her. McConnell regarded with a wince the interloper who might be his daughter, livid beneath thick black eyeliner and the glittery maroon lipstick caking her lips.

  “What the hell are you wearing?”

  Katie crossed her arms, her face contorting in furious indignation.

  They pulled away and he tilted the rearview so he could see her glowering face.

  “Don’t look at me!”

  “I’m your father. I’ll look at you anytime I want.”

  “You are not my father! My father wouldn’t be such an asshole!” She turned her glare out the window.

  “Wow,” Marissa said. Katie reaffixed her glare on her but said nothing.

  “Stop swearing,” he said for lack of a better response. There were probably better but he didn’t have them at the ready.

  “Mom lets me swear.”

  “I’m not your mom.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  He brought the truck to a screeching halt.

  “What are you doing? We’re in the middle of the street!”

  “Yes,” he said as he put it in park.

  “Drive!”

  “Are you having sex with that boy?”

  “Just drive, asshole!”

  Marissa smirked. He gave her a dark look and turned it on his daughter, whom there was no doubt was his, with her set jaw and cool eyes. “Katie—”

  “What the hell do you care? What do you care what I do?” She swallowed back tears.

  “I care.”

  “Whatever.”

  She faced the window, stubbornly wiping at her eyes.

  Carrie paced the drive, lit cigarette in one hand, phone in the other. She wore a shimmery green robe over a white nighty. Before the truck rolled to a stop, Katie leapt out of the backseat and ran past her into the house, just making the door before breaking into a sob.

  “Jesus. What took you so long?” Carrie hugged him then pulled back when she saw he had company.

  “Oh. Sorry. You were on a date.”

  “No.” He heard a door slam inside, watched Katie’s light turn on.

  “Ahem.”

  Maybe he should follow after her.

  “John? Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  “Yeah. Carrie, this is Angela Flynn’s little sister, Marissa. Marissa, Carrie.”

  Marissa stepped out of the truck.

  “Not so little,” Carrie said.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Marissa said sweetly.

  Both women smiled, Carrie dragging off her cigarette.

  “Is she going to be alright?” he asked.

  “Drama queen? She’ll cry herself to sleep. But I’m telling you John I’m about to send her butt to boarding school.”

  “No we’re not.”

  “I am. Or one of those boot camps.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “She’s just angry. Mostly with me.”

  “Don’t feel special, she’s mad at the world. But it’s your fault, I’ll grant you that.”

  “He has no idea of the problems facing young wom
en these days,” Marissa chipped in. “I’d call him ignorant, but that’s probably a bit kind. Retarded maybe? Not really very politically correct. But if the shoe fits…”

  Carrie gave her a second look, then they both appraised him. He felt like a hock of ham.

  “What if I start coming over every day?” he said. “It’s still summer, I’m not working. We’ll go fishing or something.”

  Carrie laughed. “What if you called her every day like you said you would? Every week even? What if you watched her soccer like you said? What if you just followed the damn parenting plan, John?”

  “Alright.”

  Carrie sucked on her cigarette. “She’s you all over. Stubborn, proud. Rude. Always been a daddy’s girl.

  You know it, I know it, she knows it.” She exhaled smoke. “I don’t know how many more times you can break her heart before it won’t go back together.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait. You’re not working?”

  “You’ll get your check. And I’ll be here tomorrow. Today. Nine o’clock.”

  Carrie laughed again. “John, John, John. She’s thirteen. Its summer, she’s rarely up let alone functional before noon.”

  “Have her ready at nine.”

  They drove in silence. Again.

  “She still wants you, you know,” she heard herself say. “Your ex-wife, that is.”

  He gave her a look.

  “You look good; you could probably get her back. Her tits can’t be real?”

  His look sharpened.

  “Your daughter’s dying for your attention, too.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “That’s what daughters do. They work all their lives to fool their fathers.”

  “You going to play Dr. Phil the whole way home? Where is home, by the way? Hold on.”

  He pulled on the wheel and they squealed into the empty parking lot of a Chinese restaurant, the Peking House. “Wait here,” he said, got out, walked over and unbuttoned his fly and, if she could believe her eyes, proceeded to urinate all over the doors. One late night traveler passed by and honked. John waved.

  Returning to the truck he reversed, pulled back onto Division Street like nothing amiss had happened.

  “You couldn’t wait?” she asked. He grunted. “What the hell, John?”

  He took a deep breath. “When my brother was nineteen he was angry—”