by Imani King
“Fucking... Red...” Art groaned and clutched at his stomach. The first police car rolled around. A policeman and a man in plainclothes hopped out of the car at the same time, guns pointed at Art. Red nodded to them and put his own gun away.
At the same moment, Freddy appeared at the door, a makeshift tourniquet tied around his leg. He hopped out and leaned on the railing. Though his already gray face was even paler, he smiled.
“Good job, kid,” he said, nodding my way. “This fucking guy, right?” He sneered in Art’s direction. Red and I both laughed. Another car pulled up, lights flashing. The policeman we’d first seen ran up to Freddy and helped him down the stairs just as an ambulance pulled onto the scene.
Red pulled me into his arms and kissed me. In the background, I heard Art shouting and the clinking of handcuffs closing together. But all I could feel was the man who held me, the man who kissed me. I opened my mouth to his hunger, letting myself melt into him. He pulled away for a moment. We both watched as the men pushed Art’s head down and forced him into the police car.
“Gabriella, I didn’t tell you,” Red said, smoothing my hair and pushing it behind my ear, “But the reason I’m not afraid anymore... well it’s all because of you. Gabriella, I love you. If I weren’t such an awful person--“
“Red,” I said, “Shut up. You’re not a bad person. You killed a man who hurt your family,” I whispered, and they won’t take you away for that. Don’t you get immunity or something?” I felt the tears rising up. “I... I love you too, and you can’t go. Not when I’ve just found you. You can’t go.”
“I’ve got to. These guys know who I am, and they know that I’m here.” The policeman who had helped Freddy walked up to Red and cleared his throat.
“Sorry we have to do this here, buddy. But Redmond North, you’re wanted for questioning in the murder of your father, David McGuire. It’s part of the deal, ma’am,” the policeman said, looking to me. “If you’ll come with me peacefully, sir, I’d appreciate it.” Red pulled his hands away from mine, but I tried to hold on to him, gripping his fingers tight.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, stepping toward the cop. “The best thing you could do is forget about me Gabi. I’m no good.” I let my hand slip away from his. He stepped into the second cop car, and the tears came, flowing down my cheeks.
I was left standing there, alone, as the cars pulled away toward the station.
Red
The cop car was hot and smelled like the sweat of a thousand bodies that had been hauled off to the LAPD. I looked around, wishing I could roll down the window, but cop cars ain’t set up that way. I saw enough of them in my youth to know.
“The guys are going to take you in to explain the night of Rose’s murder, and then I’ll come back for you to talk about your father.” The officer—Fisher, I recalled—was supposed to be a friend of Freddy’s and an all-around decent sort of guy. I nodded and looked out of the window, wishing Gabriella was beside me.
Gabriella. Seeing her stand there, watching the cars as they left. There shoulda been some sort of law against making the girl stay there by herself. But the cops didn’t need her, at least not now, and she was just left behind. Like she didn’t have any involvement. Like she hadn’t lost a damn thing at all. She’d lost her innocence, her father, the only family she’d had for years and years. And I’d borne witness to it all. I wanted to smash the window, roll out of the car, and run back to her. With me in jail—or worse, according to Art’s threats all these years—there would be no one around to comfort her, no one to protect her.
But still, it was better this way. I was no good, and someone needed to get Art to pay for the person he’d become. I wondered how it had all started for him--if he’d been a sociopath all along, or if he’d grown into this evil man over time, his heart growing blacker and blacker with each turn.
I thought of that night—not the one with Rose, the one with me--that night he’d come to me, just as my father had taken his last breath. Damn, I was just a kid, and I’d trusted Art so much when he’d said my father needed to go, that he’d hit his wife and little girl one too many times. And worse. He’d made me write it all out, and I’d done it. God help me, I had. I was sure Art had already brought that up with the cops as a bargaining chips. He had held onto my written confession for years. His last bargaining chip, and I was sure he was going to use it.
But still, this was right. It was time for me to pay.
We rolled into the station, where the FBI agents and undercover police who’d been working Art’s case waited. In all my years as a criminal, I’d never once worked with the police. But Gabriella had changed me, made me into a man who could do the right thing. Freddy had assured me that my criminal work for Art wouldn’t come into scrutiny—they had the man they wanted. But my father was a different matter. The worst crime I’d committed—the one Art had me on the line for.
I was pretty damn sure they all knew who I was by now. Freddy said they had thought I came to work for Art from Los Angeles. That’s how well Art had covered his trail.
“You ready?” The portly cop looked over at me and turned off the engine.
I nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Fisher walked around and opened the back door of the car, then gestured to the entrance. With a hefty sigh, I stepped out and up to the station, wondering what lay ahead of me. I could only hope that I’d be able to get away from gen pop as much as possible. I wouldn’t mind staying to myself, staying away from the people who could kill me. And who knew, maybe they’d let me out for good behavior in twenty-five years. The cop walked behind me, a nasty, shadowy reminder of the mistakes I’d made. He led me to a room where I would meet with the detectives working the Rose Dawson case. The Hollywood Rose murder, finally solved. Or just about, anyway. I sat down and swiveled in the chair, staring off into space for what must have been minutes. But time seemed to fade away, and a great weight had started to lift away from my shoulders.
I might not ever be free again, but for once, I was doing the right thing. I had been fixing Art’s messes for years, but on this day, I was fixing my own. And I was worthy of the woman I loved. My beautiful Gabriella would suffer for a short while, but I’d be nothing more than a passing fancy in a few months. There would be some strong, good man in her future, and it wouldn’t be me.
“That’s just fine,” I said. “As long as she’s safe.”
“Is that so?” A crackly old voice startled me. I looked up and saw a leathery old cop sitting across from me. He’d slipped into the room so quietly that I hadn’t noticed him.
“Aiken is the name,” he said, extending a hand. I shook it, and I wondered then why I wasn’t in cuffs--why they hadn’t bothered to cuff me at all. I was there as a criminal, wasn’t I?
“Redmond North. Or Redmond McGuire. People call me Red.” I leaned back in my chair and raised an eyebrow.
“You claim you were with the accused on the night of Rose Dawson’s death.”
“I was. And I gave the fabric I’d saved to Freddy.”
“We’ve got it. It’s in the lab right now. We’ve been working with the FBI for years to get a conclusion to this case.” The cop shifted in his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. “I always thought it was old Art who did it. But his alibi was always crystal clean. You helped him out with that, didn’t you?”
“I helped him cover it up.”
“And why was that?”
“He was the boss. He had dirt on me and definitive evidence. And now I’m turning myself in. Funny how things happen.”
“Funny, yes.” The cop paused for a moment and laced his fingers together, cracking his knuckles loudly. “You know Rosalind Dawson had a trace of a rare poison in her system when she was found? We had trouble isolating the compound, but it appeared to be similar to rohypnol. It made her pass out, and then the bastard beat her to death. Allegedly, that was Art.”
“Yeah, I said all this to Freddy when he took my statement. I knew Art h
ad poisoned her, and I knew he killed her. I didn’t know what he poisoned her with. Just that he had.” Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, my pulse growing rapid. The fluorescent light flickered in the room, and the cop remained silent for a moment.
“You were seventeen when you met Art. Is that right?”
“Fourteen, actually. He worked with my father and gave me the odd job here and there.” The cop nodded.
“A dirty cop? I’m sorry you had to see that as a kid.” I nodded and gulped. The feeling of that night came back to me, rushing through my body, making each hair stand on end. In all the years that followed, I could conjure that feeling of pressing my thumbs into my father’s windpipe while he slept. “Federico told us all that you were a good man.”
“I’m sure he’s wrong about that,” I said. I laughed grimly.
“Well, he’s pretty sure you are. Said that everything you’ve done has been under Art’s command. That Art groomed you from a very young age, and he’d convinced you to kill your father. Is that true?”
“Maybe it is. He was more like a father to me than my own dad was. But I made that choice to attack my father. I was the one who killed him.”
“Not so fast, Redmond,” Aiken said. “I had one of my people in New York look back through the autopsy files for your dad. McGuire, right?” I nodded. “It looks like there was poison found in his system, nothing they’d seen before back in 2003. Similar to rohynol, but it looks like that’s your boy’s signature move. The choking, Red, that was done after your father passed away. But you were never around to see the files, to find out about the case.” My throat closed, my heart beating hard, pounding in my ears.
“What are you saying?”
“It doesn’t look like it was you. Seems like Art tricked you into believing you killed your father. And you spent all these years--twelve years is it now?--thinking that you’d done it. Seems like your father, God rest his soul, was a man who had it coming to him. But it was Art that done it. Not you.”
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“And if we can get you on the docket as a material witness to put Art away for good, we’ll get you off with probation.”
“I don’t think I understand--“
“You thought you were coming in here to be the sacrificial lamb. Well, my man, it seems like you’re off pretty free. As long as you don’t leave the state.” The officer grinned. The beads of sweat felt cold and clammy against my forehead. I gulped again and leaned back in the chair. My body was wound as tight it as it was when I’d gone to save Gabi. I’d been living all these years with the thought that I’d killed my father. “You there, young man?”
“Yes, this is quite a lot to take in.” I ran my fingers through my hair and leaned over on the table, head in my hands.
“That’s it, young man. You can go for now. And we’ll expect you to cooperate with the trial. But the case is pretty cut and dried, even if Art doesn’t confess.” I heard a banging on the door that led out to the station. The lilt of Gabriella’s voice was on the other side of the door. The cop sighed and stood up.
“Hold your horses there, young lady.” He turned to me. “She’s been out there, asking about you, you know.” It felt like years since I’d really smiled, since I’d given myself over to the hope of a future. I’d had nothing that made me want to smile, nothing that had given me hope. But on the other side of that door was a woman who did all that for me. The cop opened the door and Gabi rushed in.
“You can’t keep him here,” she said, panting hard. “He saved my life.” She grabbed onto my arm and I pulled her into me.
“Gabi, it’s okay. They’re letting me off right now. I just have to testify. That’s all.”
“That’s it, young lady,” the cop said. Gabi looked at me with wide eyes.
“Is that true? Red, is that true?” Her voice was raspy, and I could see that she’d been crying. I brushed my hand over her cheek, relishing the feeling of her so close to me.
“We’re free, baby. We’re done with it.”
“That can’t be, Red. It can’t—”
“It was Art. He was the one who killed my father.”
She sobbed and leaned into me, clutching my shirt. “What... God, oh God. You’re innocent. You’re innocent!” She looked up at me and beamed. Her eyes, so often sad, sparkled and shone.
“Gabriella, let’s go while the getting’s good.” I put my arm around her and nodded to the cop. “I’d better get out of here before they change their mind.” I led Gabi away from the station and out into the bright sunlight.
“Guess I’m driving this time.” She gestured to her Audi. “You’re completely free?”
“Probably probation. I think they’re just happy I helped them bring that asshole in.” She nodded. I looked her over. She was dressed in dark jeans and a flowing purple blouse. Her curves were under there, filling out each piece of her clothing. But this somehow seemed to be suit her better than any of the expensive dresses Art had gotten designed for her. “You look beautiful.” I grabbed her there in the dusty parking lot and drew her in and kissed her, the touch of her soft lips lighting me on fire from the inside. When I tasted her breath, it tasted like mine, and I thought that I might fall into her and consume her completely. I kissed her once more, softly, slowly. And then I pulled away and watched her smile, brighter than the California sun.
After all, we had our whole lives ahead of us. And we weren’t about to spend the best moments standing outside of a police station.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Red
“Did I ever tell you I can actually cook?”
“That toast you made me was delicious. But no, you didn’t tell me that you could cook,” she said, unpacking the few pictures she’d brought from home. I saw her pick up a framed photograph of her and Rose. She was a girl, no older than six or seven, sitting in her mother’s lap. Rose held her close. Even from that photograph, so very long ago, it was easy to tell who she would look like. She put the photo on the kitchen counter. “Are we cooking tonight? I’m sick of going out to restaurants.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of the Indian food in Berkeley,” I said, laughing. “But I do make a mean chicken cordon bleu. You might like it. We could go down to the market, get some fresh produce, make a big salad…”
“Yes, yes absolutely. But don’t you have to go down for the deposition tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I said, catching her arm and pulling her towards me. “But I’ll take the train. It’s not until the late afternoon. I can sleep on the train.”
“I should be studying for the anatomy midterm,” she said, smiling. So smart, so pretty. I kissed her hard and ran my hands over her back. Here in Berkeley, she wore soft, drapey shirts and tight jeans. Just as sexy as her designer L.A. dresses, but more beautifully her. Unafraid, finally home.
“Isn’t that next week?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Mmm, I guess. But it doesn’t hurt to get ahead just a little.” She tried to turn away to go back to sorting through the pictures. I looked around the house we’d purchased two weeks after moving here. It wasn’t luxurious, not in the way that my penthouse had been, not dark and cavernous the way Art’s house was. It was filled with light, the exposed beams on the ceiling painted white, the windows tall and long. There was even a backyard with a stone patio and a raised garden bed that Gabriella had immediately filled with herbs and vegetables.
“We’re plenty ahead. And besides, I can help you study for anatomy.” I kissed her again and then pulled my gray t-shirt off over my head. Gabi had given me plenty of shit about not wearing suits in Berkeley, but the truth is, I didn’t feel like it anymore. After all, I was retired. And as a retired man, I was planning to tend my garden, make meals for my woman. And maybe, after she’d graduated from medical school, we’d see about kids. The very thought of it made my heart skip a beat. The family neither of us had ever had.