by Mark Pepper
Her mother had been wonderful. There had been no sense of rebuke, no cold front; the difficult years had melted away. The small bungalow seemed like the home it once had been. Hayley got up and dressed and went into the kitchen.
Sitting at the table with a cup of her favorite Lipton’s tea, Marie Olsen smiled with love and sympathy as her daughter entered the room.
‘Morning, sweetheart, how did you sleep?’
‘Pretty good, considering,’ Hayley said, sitting opposite. In the daylight, her opinion of last night was confirmed: her mother had lost a lot of weight.
‘How’s your head? It looks sore.’
‘It is. Are you all right, Mom? You look a little gaunt.’
‘I’m fine. How about you? Do you want to see a doctor?’
Hayley declined. ‘Any bagels?’
‘Of course. Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, please. I can do it.’
‘You sit down.’ Marie rose unsteadily to her feet.
‘Sure you’re all right, Mom? Your color’s not so good.’
‘Getting old, dear.’
Marie popped two bagels in the toaster and poured some tea from the pot. She looked back at her daughter with troubled eyes.
‘Larry called,’ she said quietly.
The name made Hayley freeze.
‘Don’t worry, darling, he doesn’t know you’re here. I employed a few old acting skills. He thinks I’m a crazy old broad. I kept calling him Gary.’
Hayley smiled. ‘Thanks, Mom.’
Cheerily, Marie said, ‘I thought this morning we might pop along to the Boardwalk.’
Up to the age of nine, it had been a weekly treat for Hayley. Venice Beach was only a ten-minute stroll from the bungalow. They would roam among the tie-dyed street traders, snigger at the bodybuilders in their enclosure, paddle in the ocean whilst eating ice cream. Just mother and daughter. Until things had changed.
‘I’d love to,’ Hayley said.
‘You can drive us. Put the top down.’
‘Deal.’ But Hayley wondered why her mother didn’t want to walk the short distance. She had always been sprightly enough.
The bagels jumped up in the toaster. Marie snatched them onto a plate, whistling as they burnt her fingers. She buttered them, set the plate in front of her daughter and sat down.
‘Thanks, Mom,’ Hayley said, and began to eat. After two bites she realized she wasn’t hungry; the emptiness inside was nothing to do with food. She drank some tea instead.
‘What will you do?’ asked her mother.
‘About Larry? Go back, I guess. He was drunk, he reacted. It’s just a bruise.’
‘But he could have killed you.’ Marie reached a hand across the table. ‘Don’t make excuses for him, sweetheart.’
Hayley shot an acid stare, then immediately squeezed her mother’s hand by way of an apology. A lot of years had passed; it was time to forget.
‘Sorry, Mom.’
‘Don’t be. I understand your anger. While you were under this roof you hated me.’
Hayley shook her head but knew it lacked conviction.
‘It’s okay,’ Marie said. ‘When you finally left home, like you, I breathed the biggest sigh of relief.’
‘I know.’
‘You don’t, my love. Not why. With you gone, I wasn’t constantly reminded of the selfish bitch I’d been. It’s the reason I gave up my acting career. I loved acting but I didn’t want to make it any more. I didn’t want anyone looking up to me, thinking I was something special when the reality was so different. On those few occasions we’ve got together since, I’ve purposely engineered our arguments so you wouldn’t want to see me again.’
Hayley found a long-held belief beginning to crumble, and it was wonderful.
‘Because of guilt?’ she asked.
‘Of course because of guilt.’
‘But I always thought you hated me for speaking out like I did.’
‘No, darling.’ Marie’s eyes filled up. ‘God, no. Not for one second.’
Larry was sitting on the hood of his Corvette in the parking lot of the LAPD’s Hollywood Station. He had taken an end space on one the rows, so he could spot when DeCecco arrived. He knew the Harley, but didn’t want to risk DeCecco slipping past unnoticed in a car. Colleagues waved at him as they came and went, starting or ending their shifts. He returned their greetings, occasionally being forced into some lightly insulting banter. The sun was trying to lift his spirits, blazing down on him, but it warmed his skin and nothing else. His heart was cold. He had failed to locate his missing wife. Hayley was not at her father’s grave, which was gratifying in one respect, but also annoying for the simple reason that he didn’t know where else to look.
The grumble of the Harley Low Rider could be heard before it was seen, and Larry stiffened at the sound. He hated DeCecco. Ordinarily he might have quite liked the guy, but events had dropped certain people several slots down his league table. If he could attack Hayley, whom he loved, he reckoned he was capable of killing his new partner.
He watched as DeCecco waited for the security gate to roll back. Under the peak of his crash helmet, the rookie’s eyes were shielded by impenetrable Wayfarers, but Larry knew he’d been spotted. When the gate had retracted sufficiently, DeCecco opened the throttle and surged past the Corvette and a row of black-and-whites towards a space at the far end of the lot. Larry hurried over. He didn’t want to appear panicked but he had to catch DeCecco before he got inside.
DeCecco dismounted, removed his helmet and started towards the entrance.
‘Wait up!’ Larry called. ‘We need to talk.’
Joey carried on walking. ‘You said it all last night.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ Larry dodged in front and stopped his progress. ‘You wouldn’t let me.’
‘Put it this way: I heard all I wanted to hear.’
‘But not all you needed to hear.’
DeCecco sighed impatiently but did not attempt to barge Larry aside.
‘Okay, talk.’
‘Not here. In my car.’
The Corvette’s red leather seats were warm. The morning sun had direct access through the open roof. Larry faced his partner and hung his left hand over the central T-bar above his head, trying to appear casual to any onlookers. He got straight to the point. DeCecco had made his objections known already so there was no use skirting.
‘Joey, you are going to do this thing with me so you better get with the program. If you go upstairs with this I will wreck your life, and I ain’t talking no Serpico shit here, trying to get you ostracized. I mean I will fucking destroy you. Are you getting this?’
Staring straight ahead through the windshield, his face set like stone, DeCecco said nothing, which Larry took as a cue to continue.
‘Come on, think about it; it’s going down on our turf a half hour before our shift ends on the last of our three twelves this week. Okay? I mean that’s fucking ordained.’
‘No, that’s happenstance, Larry. Shit goes down all the time in this town. You know that.’
‘You’re not listening. Again, you’re not listening. Fuck, Joey, I need this bust. I need it. And you need it. This could make your career. You don’t want to make detective?’
Joey faced him. ‘What I want, you lamebrain, is to stay alive. I want to be a father. My wife is pregnant with our first child, eight months along. You didn’t know that, did you? You never bothered to ask about me – am I married, do I have kids.’
‘Are you married, do you have kids?’
DeCecco gave a withering sneer. ‘What an asshole.’
‘You seriously want me to talk about diapers and white picket fences?’
‘You mean in preference to you telling me yet again how you saw your partner die? Yes, that would make a pleasant change. For your information, I do know what a cadaver looks like.’
‘Saw one on the TV, huh?’
‘Whatever. Listen, Larry, if you have a death wish, that’s your problem, but do
n’t wish it on me. Either you make an appointment with psych services today, or I won’t just tell Gilchrist what Eddie said, I’ll tell him what you did, and what you’re asking me to do right now.’
‘You wanna trade threats, Joey? Fine by me. You heard of CIW out at Chino?’
‘The women’s prison, what of it?’
‘You fuck with me, you’ll be taking Junior there to visit with Mommy.’
The color drained from DeCecco’s face and Larry guessed that was a bad sign – the blood heading elsewhere, into Joey’s biceps. But Larry had to say more or the threat would be empty.
‘I’ll make sure she’s found with a shitload of narcotics in the trunk of her car.’
Larry hadn’t thought through his use of such shock tactics. What he was suggesting could certainly be arranged. The question was whether he’d sink so low as to make the necessary phone calls.
DeCecco was motionless for several seconds. Then the magnitude of the threat seemed to register and he erupted. Growling a curse, he leapt across the center console and grabbed his partner by the throat. In the confined space, Larry flailed to fend him off, but DeCecco’s grip was torqued up to lethal, that steely glint in his eyes again like the previous night at the bar. Only colder – killer’s eyes.
Larry thought he was going to die. While he still had the physical strength and mental spark, he ceased his ineffectual struggle and snatched the Tanfoglio from its holster and thrust the muzzle under DeCecco’s chin. The .45 was kept cocked and locked and Larry now thumbed off the safety. Two seconds later he would have pulled the trigger, but DeCecco heard the click and came partly to his senses. He didn’t release the stranglehold but it loosened sufficiently for the greyness to depart Larry’s brain.
‘Get the fuck off of me!’ Larry wheezed. ‘I mean it!’
DeCecco instantly let go and sat back in his seat. He fumed for a moment then got out of the car. After slamming the door, he took his crash helmet off the Corvette’s hood and swiped it at the wing mirror, smashing it to the ground. Instead of walking away, he stood there defiantly, looking in through the open roof. Larry quickly holstered his weapon and got out, eyes belatedly darting here and there, checking for witnesses to what had just occurred, and what still might. Thankfully, no one in the lot appeared to be staring, but time would tell; no senior officer could ignore such a serious falling-out.
‘You broke the glass, Joey,’ Larry said hoarsely. ‘That’s seven years’ bad luck.’
‘I’m not superstitious.’
‘That’s irrelevant. You cross me, I’ll cram all your bad luck into sixty seconds.’
DeCecco smirked. ‘Anytime, Larry. You and me. Hand to hand.’
‘Mano à mano,’ Larry mocked. ‘You got me real scared.’
‘I should do. But you obviously didn’t read my résumé.’
Mother and daughter shared the most pleasant half hour. Despite her worries, Hayley couldn’t remember a time in recent memory when she had felt more relaxed. A vital connection had been reestablished, and she considered it had been worth the physical hurt to bring it about. A bump on the head to cure a lifetime of anguish seemed a more than fair exchange.
One thing had been niggling: why her mother had not employed the same strategy she had professed to using before? Namely, manufacturing an argument to put some distance between them. She finally had to ask.
‘Mom, what’s changed since the last time we met?’
Marie flinched almost imperceptibly. ‘How do you mean?’
But Hayley had noticed that split second’s discomfiture. ‘I think you know.’
Marie gave a little shrug, stood up and guiltily turned her back, busying herself at the sink.
Hayley felt an immense flood of sadness. Something was very wrong. She looked at her mother’s hair, bunned at the nape of her neck. Once dark and lustrous, now predominantly grey and flyaway, it seemed somehow to encapsulate the tragedy of their lost years.
‘Mom ...’
‘I have cancer.’
Hayley felt her eyes go wide, her empty stomach churn. The lump on her forehead began to throb crazily. If she hadn’t been seated, she would have collapsed.
‘Is it ... serious?’
Marie turned round, smiled faintly. Hayley shook her head, horrified by her crass remark; when was cancer ever playful?
‘I mean –’
‘I know what you mean, dear,’ Marie said gently. ‘Yes, it’s serious. It’s terminal.’
As the prognosis sunk in, Hayley felt her strength ebb away. ‘It can’t be,’ she said, ‘there must be some treatment.’
‘I take something for the pain, but no … not a cure. Not at this stage. It’s everywhere.’
‘Surely they could have caught it earlier. Weren’t there any signs?’
Marie nodded slowly and resumed her seat. She smiled as one who had made her peace.
‘I left it too late. Not a mistake; a conscious decision. I felt no desire to halt its progress.’
Hayley was incredulous. ‘Why?’
‘I’m tired. For years, when I’ve closed my eyes at night I’ve wished they wouldn’t open on another morning. I’ve been living in limbo, sweetheart. When your father died, my life ended. I guess, if you love someone, it always feels that way for a while. But for me it never got any better. I did try. Well, you know how that worked out; things just got worse. Which only confirmed how futile it all was. Some people get two chances in this life, sweetheart, some don’t. I didn’t. So I don’t regard this illness as anything bad. On the contrary: I wish it could have happened sooner.’
Sorrow gave way to anger. Hayley’s brimming tears subsided. She shot to her feet, knocking the chair over.
‘I’m not listening to this. I’ve only just found you; I am not letting you die. Pack a case, we’re going to the hospital.’
She righted the chair and looked expectantly at her mother, but she didn’t honestly believe her words would have any effect. Smiling benignly, Marie stood up.
‘Come on, daughter-of-mine; let’s go down to the Boardwalk.’
‘Hey, Lar, how’s Joey shaping up?’
Fortunately, Larry was hidden from the questioner by his locker door; the mention of DeCecco had transformed his expression into pure disgust. He could recognize the voice. Only one person called him Lar, and he hated the abbreviation. Kevin Mallory, a beat cop with five years on the force. He was by-the-book, as straight as they came. With some difficulty, Larry produced a smile and stepped back to show it to Mallory. He continued buttoning his black shirt as he answered with a lie that pained him.
‘Oh, pretty good.’
‘Yeah,’ Mallory said, ‘he should be with his background.’
It was just the two of them in the room. DeCecco was upstairs getting a coffee. Mallory sat down on the central bench to tie his bootlaces.
Larry frowned. ‘Background?’
Mallory laughed. ‘Yeah, right …’
‘What background, Kevin?’
Mallory looked up from his boots. ‘You don’t know?’ he asked, astonished. ‘You haven’t talked to him yet? Lar, you’ve been partners a month.’
‘Kevin, what are you talking about?’
‘He’s ex-MARSOC.’
‘What?’
‘Marines Special Operations Command. The élite. Like the Army’s Green Berets or the Navy SEALs. You didn’t know that?’
Larry felt his skin goosebump. He’d been tangling with a genuine hard-ass and hadn’t known.
‘No,’ he said, feigning nonchalance. ‘How come you know?’
‘He told me. We got talking.’ Mallory stood up and began combing his hair in the locker mirror. ‘He’s a cool guy.’
Larry was computing the information. DeCecco’s comments now made sense – about having seen a corpse, having the guts for more than just police work, his résumé. But he didn’t want to believe it.
‘That’s bullshit,’ he said. ‘Why leave an organisation like that to join the LAPD?’
‘Hey, we’re not so shabby.’
‘Kevin, we’re the fucking boy scouts compared. No … it’s bullshit. He’s lying.’
‘I saw his armed forces card: USMC Retired.’
Larry felt sick. He knew it was true. Which meant DeCecco could have killed him earlier, snapped his neck like a dry twig. The choke-hold had been nothing but a warning, a statement of intent.
‘Yeah, Lar, you got yourself one hell of a partner.’
Larry slammed his locker door and glowered.
‘Do me a favor: stop fucking calling me Lar. My name’s Larry.’
Mallory held up his hands in defense. ‘Hey, no problem.’
‘And I had one hell of a partner. Frank was the best. I don’t give a fuck what the Marines taught Joey DeCecco. The streets are different. He knows dick about being a cop.’
Still with his hands in surrender mode, Mallory said nothing. Larry buckled on his utility belt and headed out of the room to find his errant partner.
On the upstairs landing he stopped dead. DeCecco was just leaving Captain Gilchrist’s office.
Jet-lag kept John in bed until past two p.m. He knew nothing of the day until Virginia brought him an extremely late breakfast. Bacon, scrambled eggs, beans and hash browns, orange juice and coffee. All sleepy-eyed and shock-haired, he sat up in bed to take the tray on his lap. Exposed from the waist up, his body was still tautly-muscled from his military years.
‘You should be in the movies,’ Virginia said.
He smiled at the compliment. ‘Thanks for breakfast.’
‘I’m serious. I can talk to someone if you like. I’ve made some good contacts.’
‘You don’t know if I can act.’
‘Hey, this is Hollywood – who cares?’
He laughed. ‘You old cynic.’
‘Eat,’ she said, and sat at the foot of the bed.
John tucked in, and although she seemed happy enough just to watch him, he soon began to feel uncomfortable. He felt like an interloper in the Chester household. His motive for traveling all this way was not entirely pure, a fact he had admitted at the range yesterday. He wasn’t sure he deserved all this attention from Donnie’s sister.