Jackboot

by Will Van Allen

  “Really.”

  “You want me to tell you or not? He was drinking, getting into fights, chasing girls. He used to borrow my ID to hit the bars. One night he’s back there having a good time but gets busted, the cops arrest him, only they’re not after him ’cause he’s underage, they’re after him on account he’d screwed one of their wives in the parking lot, and it wasn’t the first time. So they drag him outside, he puts up a fight, six on one, he takes a pretty good beating, but it’s nothing compared to the one they give him down at the jail.” He cleared his throat. “Anders stopped them, but not before Sean ended up with a broken nose, broken ribs, broken arm, stitches up the side of his head and a ruptured spleen. He was in intensive care for a week.”

  “My God.”

  “Anders brought Mace along to tell me, and called your sister who talked me out of doing something.”

  “Something stupid? Like tonight? How come I never heard about this?”

  “You were four.”

  “I was not.”

  “The Peking security video showed Sean fighting the cops so it looked bad. Scolari worked a deal—”

  “Like tonight.”

  “Like tonight. Everyone walks away, forgets the whole thing, the city pays the medical bills but accepts no culpability.”

  “So you pee on the restaurant’s door?”

  “That’s a first. We were driving by, call it serendipity.” He looked ashamed, if only a little. “That smelly fat guy at the bar? Mangiano? Used to be a cop. Among other things.”

  “He was one of them, huh?” McConnell nodded. “But who would marry that guy?”

  “Who indeed. No, it was Boucher’s wife, the prick detective down at the jail.”

  “Ahh…So that’s why he hates you and your brother.”

  “It’s one reason.” He wasn’t any more forthcoming. “Where am I taking you?”

  As the garage door dropped he killed the engine and let out an exhausted sigh.

  “You sure you don’t mind?” she asked again.

  “No. But you’ve seen the size of this house. We can sleep on opposite ends and pretend we’re alone.”

  “That sounds terrible.”

  “Kinda, yeah.”

  “Still, better than listening to Karla’s orgasms all night.”

  They looked at each other. Sighed. Got out.

  He cleared his throat. “You can have my room. I don’t mind the sofa. Or didn’t before those bastard cats took over.”

  “It is a comfy sofa.” She nodded. “Why are you being nice to me all of sudden?”

  “I’m too tired to fight. We can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

  While he rinsed off in the shower she picked through his T-shirts, selecting an aged one riddled with holes that was baby-soft against her skin. She checked herself out in the dresser mirror. Her cheek was still rosy-red but didn’t look like it would bruise. Her French coin hung outside the shirt and she rubbed it between her fingers as G-man came over and nuzzled her hand.

  “Just make yourself at home,” John said, only this time without sarcasm. He dried his hair and threw the towel into the bathroom. Bachelors.

  “Is that what you sleep in?” she said, noting his shorts and T-shirt.

  “Not usually.” He looked around the room. Looked for the right words. “So…You’re alright?”

  She nodded. He nodded back, headed for the sofa, glancing at the dog who settled down on his haunches. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Traitor.”

  He was halfway down the hall before she said, “John.”

  A long moment. He poked his head around the doorway.

  She glanced at the bed, offered him a nervous half-smile. For his part he looked ready to bolt for Texas. He rallied, took a deep breath and closed the door.

  They ended up naked, mostly, but there was no sex. She wrapped herself around his thighs, her hands about his neck, careful of his tender back. She dug fingers into hair still damp with spearmint, pressed her breasts against his chest, his urgent need hard against her panties. Their lips touched in tentative probes, cautious of going too far, both aware if they did forbear temptation there was no knowing what that would mean tomorrow. How they managed she would never remember. But one thing she would. When his muscular arms embraced her, she let out a shuddering sigh, and its hovering implication abandoned mystery.

  Why had her sister called him after her rape? Leant upon him for succor, shared her last words as she departed, her life bleeding out and into that tub? Why did Marissa now feel so safe in this man’s arms?

  It was never the house. It was the occupants that drew her back over and over. Her sister’s mystifying cats. The loyalty of G-man, at the floor beside her even now. And the man. Her sister had known him, his faults, his sins. Her sage sister had not been rash at all. She had known all along that when your need was so grave he was the only person to call.

  He snored lightly, stirred, kissed her head.

  She sighed. Nestled closer. Whispered, “Vous savez toujours ce qu’il faut dire à une fille.” And slept.

  CHAPTER 40

  AUGUST

  Spokane, Washington

  Nine came early.

  How he had been able to leave her in his bed—ripe, willing, unravished—was a miracle of moral fiber, an ineffable feat of willpower. Or so he kept telling himself.

  The bastard cats on their sofa-arm thrones gazed accusations. He took the dog with him, just in case they had retaliatory notions. They were crafty those two felines.

  He left the dog to pant in the passenger’s as he yawned and exited the driver’s, stretched and grunted his way to Carrie’s front door. As he reached to knock, it opened.

  “Be warned. She’s of a mood.” Carrie stepped aside to let him in.

  An effort not to brush against her bosom. “Clive Cussler called. He needs your help. They’re trying to raise the Titanic again.”

  “I’ve barely had any coffee or sleep. You sure you want to piss me off this morning?”

  “No.”

  She gave him the once-over. He was in shorts, old T-shirt and running shoes.

  “That girl let you leave the house like that?”

  “She didn’t stay over.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m taking Katie running, today.”

  She snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  He didn’t need luck, not today. Well a little couldn’t hurt.

  A sign on Katie’s door read “KEEP OUT!” and below it in angrily scrawled Sharpie “this means you MOM!!!” He knocked.

  “What? The asshole here already?”

  “The asshole’s standing right outside your door.”

  The door swung open as if possessed and Katie stepped out in a ruffled pink miniskirt and red T-shirt that read “Parents suck” in black. She had already labored at her makeup.

  He put his hands up.

  “What?”

  “Clowns scare me.” She glared. “Get back in there, wipe the Crayola off your face and change. We’re going running.”

  “As if,” she snorted.

  “Oh we are,” he assured.

  “The hell I am!”

  “Katie—”

  She crossed her arms and stared at some invisible but apparently significant spot behind him on the wall. He slid down the same, using his rear because his back would have complained, his muscles groaning anyway. Katie turned for her room. “Uh-uh. You stand there.”

  She let out a loud sigh of most profound exasperation, pursed her lips and stared him in the eye.

  Ten minutes later Carrie came around the corner, dressed for work. She looked at one then the other.

  “Call CPS, mom! Dad’s forcing me to stand here!”

  At least she acknowledged he was her dad.

  “Why is he forcing you to stand there?” her mom asked.

  Katie went silent.

  “John?”

  He was silent, too.

  “Peas in a pod,” Carrie clucked.
“I’ve got houses to show. You two have a most wonderful day together.” She hummed a merry tune as she tapped her heels down the hall.

  Ten minutes later, Katie harrumphed. “How long we going to stand here?”

  “I’m sitting. You’re the one standing.”

  “Why can’t I sit down?”

  “Parental privilege.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Much longer and that sun is going to be a lot higher and a lot hotter.”

  Five more minutes went by.

  “How’s Jer?”

  “I dunno.”

  “You guys getting along?”

  “I dunno.”

  He took out his billfold and organized it.

  “Why’d you do that to your hair?” she asked.

  “No reason, really.”

  “For that girl?”

  “No.”

  “I hate it.”

  “I’m not all that fond of the crap you got on your face, myself.”

  She popped her tongue. “You lose more weight? Are you sick? Dying, hopefully?”

  Five more minutes. He could see the machinery ticking away. Finally, she stomped her foot down. “Gawd! I hate you! This is child abuse!”

  Silent another minute. He looked her over. He hadn’t seen her in daylight in a while. Her shoulder-length hair was lighter from the summer sun. She had her mother’s cheekbones, her slightly rounded nose but his eyes. The makeup and skirt were all wrong, she’d always been a tomboy at heart, but she was definitely not his little girl anymore, on the verge of womanhood. All sorts of trouble. It was his own fault. He should’ve knocked up an ugly woman instead of her mother.

  “Alright! I’ll change! Jesus Christ!”

  “And no more swearing. Your mother lets you get away with it, that’s her business, around me you’ll talk like you didn’t just arrive at port.” He pushed off the wall and labored back up to his feet. “Hurry up.”

  She slammed the door but it was superficial. He had won the battle. One down, a thousand to go.

  Two minutes later she came out in orange running shorts and tank top with socks and running shoes in hand, hair in a quick knot. She had wiped off the makeup and looked like his daughter again.

  “Wow. It’s like magic. A clown goes in and my daughter comes out.”

  “You’re cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs,” she grumbled.

  Carrie’s second husband’s cardinal-red Lincoln squealed into the driveway as they came out the door. He left it running, ambled over in his brown suit with his balding head gleaming in the morning sun, his compensating curly locks dangling in the back. He gave the impression of a tawdry salesman, who thrived on making “big” deals over happy hour hot wings at Hooters.

  “Jerry.”

  “John.” He swept by them, giving Katie a look.

  Katie mumbled.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said he’s a fucking fat fucker!” she blurted.

  He opened his mouth then stopped as the “fucking fat fucker” returned with a file in hand, noted Katie’s glower, snorted a dismissive “good luck!” as he dropped into his Caddy.

  “They both work Sundays?” McConnell asked, watching him drive off.

  “As if. They’re screwing at the office then going to The Swinging Doors for cocktails and brunch.” Her look could have shattered stone. “What do you care? You pussied out. Didn’t even fight for us. You let mom go be with fat-ass Jerry and abandoned me.” She turned and walked over to the truck.

  He followed slowly after her. “Backseat, Geronimo.” The canine obliged.

  “When’d you get a dog?” Katie asked, the surly dropping momentarily as she reached her hand out and earned a wet Geronimo lick.

  “He was your uncle’s.”

  “Oh.” She pulled her hand back.

  “It’s okay, Katie.” He nodded. “There’s Gatorade at your feet.”

  “It’s blue.” She made a face. “I hate the blue.” She looked out the window. “I wanted to go to the funeral, I just…”

  “Yeah. Well. Got a couple cats, too.”

  “Uncle Sean hated cats.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  They drove out to the other side of the river, across the TJ Meenach Bridge, out along Government Way to the Centennial Trail, which was always a good run. He pulled in at the old cemetery.

  “Let’s stretch a minute.”

  “You that old?”

  “It’s not for me, it’s for the dog,” he whispered behind his hand. He stretched his violently weary muscles, popped aging joints, mentally grimacing at the run ahead. Geronimo cocked his head, Katie tapped her youthful foot, both eager to get on with it.

  “You sure you’re up to this, old man?”

  “You scared?”

  “Get real.”

  “Alright. First to the Bowl and Pitcher Bridge, that’s about three miles. I win you come over and help around the house. You win and I buy you lunch first.”

  “I’m young not stupid. How about I win you buy me a new cellphone?”

  “Ready?”

  “Just a sec. I need to—Go!” She took off with Geronimo barking after her.

  He gave chase, despite the aches and pains, long strides catching them quickly and he passed her and veered to the right along the rocky dirt path that followed high up on the hillside above the water.

  “Hey! No one said cross country!” Katie yelled.

  “Adapt, overcome!” That’s what his dad had always told him.

  His footfalls pounded the dirt as the trail dipped low along the water and rose back up again. His back burned with the rub of his shirt, more as he started to sweat, his ankles still a bit wobbly, but the sunshine was bright and warm, and it felt good to run. Katie lagged at first but was soon right on his heels. She put on a burst of speed at the end but he had her beat with a kick of his own and they both pulled up at the wooden footbridge, panting with the dog, both pacing around, hands on hips as the white water rushed by below.

  “Dad, you’re bleeding.”

  He pulled the shirt up and looked down his shoulder. There were rouge spots on the white fabric, but nowhere as bad as last night. “Just fell and scraped it up the other day. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” she assured him.

  They caught their breath. The peace of the river, the warm sun through the trees, the smell of pine mingling with sumac. Being there with his daughter. He forgot for a while that he was a killer of men and a thief. He had forgotten all morning. Today, he was just—

  “Dad?”

  “What?”

  “I’m starving. If I beat you back to the truck then you just buy me lunch, no chores, ’kay?”

  “Tell you what. You win and I won’t make you pick up the dog poop in the backyard.”

  “Dad!”

  “Run!” he yelled and she did with him right behind her.

  They had lunch at Doyle’s Diner. He sat across from his daughter drinking coffee as his own father had across from him, in the same booth, served by the same Rosie, who smothered Katie with attention as she had him. Some things come full circle as they were meant to be.

  “So that chick last night,” she said around her strawberry waffle, “she’s kinda bitchin’.”

  He grunted casually. His own thoughts had circled back to that “bitchin’” chick throughout the morning.

  “When she found me I kinda told her off. She said if I didn’t get my ass outside within ten seconds she was going to drag me out by my hair.” She chewed on that. “I believed her. You guys friends with bennies, or what?” she probed.

  “I’d say we’re in the ‘or what’ category.” He sipped at his coffee. “You okay with me dating?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”

  At the house he introduced her to Crockett and Tubbs who didn’t bother to raise a paw hello or even their heads for a how do. The cats had been guests for months (he refused to acknowledge their permanent resid
ence) and the fact this was Katie’s first time to meet them only reemphasized the gap of time that she had been absent. He felt disgust at that, by it mostly being his choice. His father wouldn’t have approved at all.

  Whining that child labor was illegal and hadn’t he heard of the Emancipation Proclamation she followed him up the stairs to the bedroom at the end of the hall. It was the master and quite the wreck. The walls were half-painted in periwinkle, Carrie’s choice of course. The remodel never complete, the bathroom needed caulking, fixtures finished. Sunlight fell from the skylight upon dust-covered boxes of unwanted stuff too bothersome to take with her when she left, leaving for John to dispose of, a task he had willingly ignored as much as the room.

  “This is your and mom’s room,” Katie said. “You still haven’t done anything with it.”

  “It’s your room now.”

  “What? I already have a room.”

  “Yeah, but this one goes to eleven. And has its own bathroom,” he added.

  “Are you’re trying to bribe me?”

  “Yeah. I want you to come over more. Like before.”

  She studied him. “Are you sure?”

  “You’re not a little girl anymore. That’s what you keep telling me. You should have a big room with your own bathroom.”

  “No, I mean, are you sure you want me around? You seem awfully busy, going out of town, dating this new chick.”

  “Nothing and no one comes before you, Katie.”

  Her dark look returned. “I dunno if I can believe you.”

  “Yeah. I get that.”

  “Do I get an Xbox?”

  “We can talk about it.”

  He sensed her teetering, afraid to forgive and move forward in their relationship, afraid to fall back and find him not there again. He wanted to reach out and steady her but she needed to make the decision on her own. It was the way his dad would have done it.

  She sucked in air. “Okay.” Looking around the room. She wanted more, needed more.

  Screw it.

  He grabbed her and pulled her close and she let him. When she did pull away she wiped at her nose, and for the first time in a long time her smile touched her eyes.

  “Well? You going to finish that bathroom or what? We’ve got a lotta work to do.”