"We'll need to speak with him right away," Sgt. Rand said. They shouldered their way past Dez and called out, "Officer Williams?"
"Back here," Williams said. "What's up?"
The IAD sergeants moved in unison toward Williams and flanked him either side, "You're being asked to come with us in accordance with an internal investigation. Will you do so voluntarily, or do you refuse?"
Williams held up his hands and said, "What's this all about?"
"We'll explain more once we get back." Sgt. Phillips reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a small green card to read, "You are being asked to provide information as part of an internal investigation. This is a voluntary interview and you do not have to answer questions if your answers would tend to implicate you in a crime. No disciplinary action will be taken against you solely for refusing to answer questions. However, the evidentiary value of your silence may be considered in administrative proceedings as part of the facts surrounding your case. Any statement you do choose to provide may be used as evidence in criminal and/or administrative proceedings." Sgt. Phillips tucked the card back in his shirt and said, "Do you choose to comply with this investigation?"
Ondrey's eyes flicked from Dez to Fitzpatrick nervously, but neither of them moved or spoke. "Sure, sure," Ondrey said. "Did you really need to come down here and do all this? You could have called and I would have came in."
"Let's go," Sgt. Rand said. "We'll talk more in the car."
Dez watched the two IAD sergeants lead Ondrey through the building and out the front door. He followed behind them to watch them place the officer in the back seat of their black, unmarked vehicle and then pull onto the street. "What the fuck just happened," he said.
"Goddamn rat squad," Fitzpatrick muttered.
"Have you heard anything? Anything at all?" Dez said.
"Nah. It's probably something to do with the twenty-ninth district. That place is a den of thieves and thugs. Don't sweat it."
"Then how the fuck did they know to come here, Skip?" Dez grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him forward, slamming the tip of his index finger into the side of Fitzpatrick's head, "Don't fucking stand there and act like it's nothing. Think about it! Have you heard anything?"
"No, Dez. I haven't heard shit. I'll ask around the DA's office tomorrow and see who knows what."
"God damn it!" Dez shouted, kicking a plastic trashcan across the room.
The closet door slowly opened and Psycho Rabbit's pink fluffy ears peeked out as he said, "Is it safe to come out yet? This guy stinks like piss."
Dez covered his face with his hand and said, "Get that Mexican piece of garbage out of this fucking building. Both of you."
"What do you want us to do with him?"
"Drop him off in Chester City, throw him in the fucking Delaware, I don't give a shit!" Dez shouted. "Just get him the fuck out of here and do not come back until I contact you. Either one of you, understand?"
Skip Fitzpatrick nodded, but the rabbit said, "Do you want us to try talking to him a little more before we let him go?"
"Just shut up, idiot," Fitzpatrick whispered.
"Listen to me, you fucking inbreed," Dez snarled, getting close enough to the rabbit's face to feel its whiskers tickle his nose. "If you do one more thing, just one more, to any single human being without my say so, I'm going to strap you into a chair and cut you apart with a chainsaw. Do you understand me?"
Psycho Bunny looked down at Dez with black, plastic eyes, his mask a permanent fixture of a gaping, buck-toothed smile, and he said, "I understand."
Chapter Six
Frank moved his feet off the ottoman so his little girl had room for her Barbie dolls to sit on it. "Thanks, daddy," Cory said.
He scratched the top of her head and said, "Actually, I was hoping your Barbies would watch TV with us."
"You were?"
"Sure."
"Do you want to play with me?"
"Of course," he said, but he caught Dawn's impatient stare from the kitchen as she stood there holding a wet wooden spoon like it was a throwing knife. "Maybe after dinner, okay? Daddy needs to talk to Mommy."
"Okay," she said.
He got up from the couch and leaned on the kitchen island as Dawn muttered, "I asked you what we are going to do for money?"
"We'll manage," Frank said. "So we cut back on some expenses, so what? It's not like I'm not going to work. I'll get two jobs if I have to. I'll probably still work less than I do now."
Dawn's lips pursed together but she chose not to speak. She turned toward the stove and started to stir the spaghetti in the pot like it had called her a bad name. "You had no right to make this kind of decision without me," she finally said.
Frank took a deep breath and came up behind her, standing close enough to lay his hands on both her shoulders and smell her hair. "You're right. I'm sorry," he said. "It's going to be for the best, though. I promise." There were a million explanations he wanted to give, a million things to lay out in front of her for his defense, but he decided to just let the apology sit for a moment, unspoiled by excuses.
"I guess now I don't have to worry about you leaving us," Dawn said.
He pulled on her arm to get her to turn slightly and look at him, "What does that mean?"
Her eyes filled with accusation but she turned to look past him at their daughter, still playing with her dolls, singing innocently to herself. "You okay in there, sweetie?"
"I'm fine," she said.
Frank lowered his voice, "I'm not leaving you."
"Well maybe you should. It's obvious you aren't happy here. I keep trying to make plans with you and you blow me off. You're always running off to God knows where to do God knows what." Her voice started to shake, "You think I can't do better than you, Frank? You think there aren't still people out there who find me attractive and want to spend time with me?"
Frank stared at his wife as his mind reeled, trying to calculate what she was saying. "Are you trying to tell me something, Dawn?"
Dawn looked down at the pot and scratched her face, "No, not exactly."
Frank grabbed her by the arm so hard she winced, "What the hell does that mean!"
"You're hurting me, Frank," Dawn hissed. She peeled his fingers away and stepped back.
"Are. You. Seeing. Someone. Else," Frank said.
"No," Dawn said. "Are you?"
"No," Frank shot back. "Of course not."
Dawn looked at him contemptuously, "Do you know what I think? I think that even if you were I wouldn't be able to tell. When we first married I knew everything there was to know about you. I could tell what you'd say before you even said it. I could just look at you and know how your day was, whether you were happy or sad, all of that. But now? It's like living with an alien."
"I'm still me, Dawn. I haven't changed how I feel about you."
"That doesn't mean it’s the same for me, Frank."
"What does that mean?"
"I want a divorce."
"What!"
She took a deep breath and suddenly laughed with relief, "There. I said it. I want a divorce. I'm tired of living like this and I can do better."
Frank stepped back, eyes blinking rapidly. He felt himself stagger like she'd punched him in the face. "You can't have one. I'm not divorcing you," he finally said.
He reached for her, trying to pull her close to him so he could tell her things would be better, but Dawn blocked him from coming near her and said, "You don't have to. I'm divorcing you."
He sat down at the table and did not speak until Dawn called the girls in for dinner and began to pass out their plates. He listened to Cory talk, her musical, tinkling voice the most beautiful thing in the entire world. He looked at Devon, his older daughter, and noticed that she was starting to look like a younger version of Dawn when they'd first met. It wouldn't be long until the boys began to notice how pretty she was becoming either. If they haven't already, he thought. He could make out a bra strap on her shoulder under her t-shirt
and thought, when did that happen?
"I'll pick you both up tomorrow from school so I can get you to rehearsal on time. Make sure you have your ballet shoes in your schoolbags, okay?" Dawn said.
"Okay, Mom," both girls said.
"Rehearsal for what?" Frank said.
"Recital. It's in two weeks," Dawn said.
"I'll take them."
The women at the table all turned and looked at Frank silently.
"I'm off. I'll pick them up from school and I'll take them to rehearsal," Frank said. "I'd love to."
"You're sure. That means you have to be there," Dawn said. "No last minute excuses or drug jobs or anything else."
Frank shrugged, "I said I'd do it. I'm sure you can go get other stuff done."
"Okay," Dawn said, looking at him skeptically. "Then I'm going to rely on you for this."
"Wait, wait, wait," Frank said, looking at Cory. "I have one question. Do I get to dance too?"
"No, silly," she giggled.
Frank smacked the table, "What? I was going to get ballet shoes and everything. I was going to be the duck."
"What duck?"
"The duck with the lake!"
Devon rolled her eyes, "You mean Swan Lake?"
"Same thing," Frank said. He flapped his arms and said, "Honk-honk. See? I'm practicing already."
His cellphone rang from the other room and Dawn shook her head as she chewed in exasperation, "Never fails."
Frank stabbed a pile of spaghetti with his fork and shrugged, "I don't hear anything. Do you guys hear anything?"
"Nope," Cory said, smiling as she stuffed her face with food.
He lifted the fork to his mouth and started to chew. Eventually, the phone stopped ringing.
After dinner, he told everyone to leave their things on the table and he would clean up. He gave Dawn space, knowing it would be useless to crowd her. When she said she was going upstairs to tuck the girls in, she added, "I'm probably going to bed too."
Frank stood up when she said it, and she gave him a light, passionless kiss on the cheek that felt automated and routine. Frank said, "Okay. I'll be up in a few."
He cleaned up the dishes from dinner and loaded the dishwasher. He put the extra food in containers and found space for them in the fridge. After it was finished, he went upstairs and into his kids' room and kissed both of them on the tops of their heads. "Goodnight, my loves," he said.
"Goodnight, dad."
He bent down close to Cory's ear and whispered, "Honk-honk," making her giggle again. Frank shut their door and walked over to his bedroom and put his hand behind his back before he knocked lightly. Dawn was sitting up in bed watching TV and said, "What are you doing knocking?"
"I didn't want to come in if you weren't decent or anything."
"You've been looking at me naked every day for fifteen years."
"I know, but that doesn't mean it's my right or anything. It's supposed to be a privilege."
Dawn clicked off the television and said, "Listen, I don't really want to talk right now. Can we discuss it tomorrow?"
"Sure," Frank said, "but I just figured you'd want to see what I found."
"What did you find?"
He showed her his hidden hand and smiled, "I found a back rub hidden in the pantry and you won't believe it, but there was a foot rub in there too."
"Seriously?" Dawn said.
"Seriously," Frank nodded.
Dawn sighed and rolled over on her stomach to lower the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders and pull it down to her waist. Frank pumped a few squirts of moisturizing lotion into his palms and rubbed them briskly together to warm it up before squeezing her shoulders. Dawn grunted approvingly as he worked the muscles on her back and arms and Frank said, "I didn't come up here to talk, you know."
"Oh really?" Dawn said. "Well I hope it wasn't for sex, because that's not happening."
"Nice," Frank said. "I came up to ask you on a date."
"A date?"
"Dinner and a movie. Just us. No kids, no stress. Me and you on a date."
Dawn took a long pause before she said, "Can I think about it?"
"Sure." He finished up her back and moved down her legs, working the lotion in as he went, then using his thumb to hit all the pressure points in her heels and the arches of her feet. He massaged each toe and said, "I think my work here is done."
"That was nice, thank you," Dawn said.
"My pleasure."
"Are you coming to bed now or staying up?"
"That depends," he said. "Can I sleep in here or do I have to go on the couch?"
"Don't be stupid. I would never kick you out of your own bed."
"Okay," he said. He slid off his shirt and pants and tossed them aside as she clicked off the lights. He climbed into bed beside his wife and lay there for a long time looking up at the dark ceiling. "I know I fucked up," he said. "But I'm trying from now on. Starting right now. I'm going to do better if you give me a chance."
Dawn shifted slightly toward him in the bed and said, "What movie did you want to see?"
"Well," he said, "anything with Sandra Bullock or Reese Witherspoon, preferably. Does Nicholas Sparks have any new books being made into movies, because damn, I'm a big fan."
She laughed and he felt her leg slide across the bed toward him until their feet were touching. He lowered his hand and rested it on her thigh, stroking her gently through the fabric of her nightgown. "Goodnight, Dawn."
"Goodnight," she said.
He reached over to the nightstand for his phone to check the time but it wasn't there. He'd left it downstairs. Frank folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. There would be no midnight call from a CI with a "big score," no three AM panicked request for him to come in right away and sludge through blood and guts. This is how normal people live, Frank thought. Dawn's foot was warm against his leg. He slowly descended into sleep and did not dream.
The police arrived the next morning.
Frank opened his eyes to hear his wife say, "Well, he's asleep right now. What do you need him for?"
A man replied, "I'm here to retrieve departmental property from him. I need his keys, his phone and the computer passwords for his office."
Frank flew out of bed and grabbed a t-shirt and shorts from the nearest drawer, racing down the steps to see Corporal Donoschik standing in his living room, dressed in full uniform. His tall black boots with a long dagger stuck in the one side, his crush cap tight to his face. Both Devon and Cory were sitting on the couch, looking up at the officer with trepidation and it was all he could do not to grab Donoschik by the face and shove him down the steps. "Outside, now," Frank said.
"I'm here to collect departmental property," Donoschik responded.
"If you don't have a warrant, get the hell out of my house this instant."
Donoschik shrugged and turned on his heels without bothering to say goodbye to the girls or Dawn as he left. "Do you need me to call someone?" Dawn whispered.
"No, I'll be fine," Frank said. He followed Donoschik through the front door and pulled it shut behind him, closing in on the highway officer so that their chests nearly touched and there was less than an inch between their noses, "How fucking dare you come into my house like you're seizing property from some kind of criminal."
"I'm just doing what I was directed to do by the Chief of Police."
"You and that worthless piece of shit can kiss my ass. Tell him I said so."
"Your keys," Donoschik said. "Your phone. Your passwords. Now."
"Check your records, douche bag. I don't have a departmental phone."
Donoschik' s eyes twitched as he tried to assimilate that, "You use it for departmental business, though. I'm taking it just to be safe. The Chief said he wants it."
Frank laughed, "Well he can shit in one hand and put what he wants in the other and see which fills up first. You aren't getting my phone."
"You just have to keep making this worse and worse on yourself, don't
you?"
"It's what I do when I'm confronted by douchebags who think they're hot shit," Frank said. He walked past Donoschik to get into the front door and closed it behind him before hurrying up the steps. He grabbed his keys off the table and quickly removed his station keys from the key ring, then headed back down to the porch. "Here," he said, opening the door and holding them out.
Donoschik was standing in the street, holding his phone up to his ear as he nodded and said, "Yes, sir. I understand." He dropped the phone in his pocket and said, "The Chief is ordering you to provide me with your phone for twenty-four hours so that it can be verified you do not have any sensitive departmental information hidden on it."
Frank held up his finger, "One, he cannot issue an order to me through an officer of equal or lesser rank to me. Two, he cannot seize my personal property unless he has a warrant. Period."
"Fine, then we'll get one."
"Sounds good. I'll be here waiting."
"What are the passwords to your computer?"
"You have a pen?" Frank said. He waited for the officer to pull out a pen and his notepad and leaned over to say, "ManorFarms, one word, underscore, SuxCock. One word. It's case sensitive. Nope, wait. I changed it the other day."
Donoschik stopped writing and looked up at him. "What is it really?"
Frank snapped his fingers, "ManorFarmsSuxBigFatHerpesInfestedDick. That's it. No underscore. My bad."
Donoschik clicked his pen and slid it back into his pocket, "We'll have our tech guys take care of it without your help then. See you in a few hours with the search warrant, Frank. Since there's guns in the house I guess we'll be bringing a SWAT team. I hope your kids like the taste of tear gas."
Frank lunged at him, trying to claw out his eyes, but Donoschik instantly produced a Taser and held it to Frank's chest, pressing against him with its green plastic doors that would burst open with sparking needles at the slightest squeeze of the trigger. Frank looked down at the electricity weapon and stopped moving.
"How bad do you want this day to be, O'Ryan?" Donoschik said.
"If you pull that trigger, you'd better run for your life, asshole, because I will break your neck when I get up."
Superbia (Book 3) Page 11