Close Encounters

by Kitt, Sandra

  In the brief silence that followed, Lee frowned at what he sensed was confusion and indecision on Barbara’s part. He filled the pause with movement, shifting away from the door.

  “This is your lucky day, my man,” Lee said easily. “We don’t need you right now. We got more out of what you did—or didn’t do—than you realize. You’re free to go. But you better watch your back. You’ve got problems.”

  Mario began putting on his Calvin Klein leather coat. “You think so? I tell you what, Lieutenant—” He turned a malevolent grin on Barbara. “Mija. You ain’t fuckin’ seen problems yet.”

  He buttoned and belted his coat while they both stood watching. When he was done, Mario opened the door of the interrogation room and walked out.

  Barbara let her body relax and cursed quietly under her breath. “I think I really messed up on this one.”

  Lee began gathering papers. “I’ll let you know when you can beat up on yourself. Mario is slick and he’s smart, but he knows he’s not in a great position right now.”

  “I just want this thing over. I want Earl Willey’s ass in the joint for a million years… and Mario out of my life. Dead and buried would be good. Maybe we should have kept him for as long as we could… for anything. At least then we’d know exactly where he was and what he was up to.”

  Lee palmed his records and held them against his thigh as he considered her agitation. “No need to. It wouldn’t accomplish anything. Besides, he’s more use to us on the street. What does ‘mija’ mean?”

  Barbara’s eyes grew wary. “What? Where… where did you hear that?”

  “Mario called you that just before he left. Mija… I think that’s what he said.”

  She averted her gaze, hiding her expression by turning back to the table to pull together her own pile of documents. “It means like, ‘my girl.’ ‘My daughter.’ But it’s also like calling a woman a babe or chick. Something like that,” she said dismissively.

  “Kind of personal,” Lee observed, following her out the door.

  “Spanish guys say things like that. Mario would say it to a chair if it had breasts.”

  She tried to hurry away, but Lee’s next question forced her to drop back.

  “You wanted to say something to me?” he asked, glancing speculatively at her.

  She looked at him, assessing, finally shaking her head. “No, it’s okay. I guess… I’m a little worked up.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, you are.”

  Barbara took a deep breath and flashed a grin. “Sorry. But you don’t have to worry, Lee. Everything’s fine.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that,” he murmured as he watched her hurry away.

  Barbara walked quickly to the stairs at the end of the corridor and rushed down them. She drew a few curious glances, but paid no attention.

  “You okay, Barb?” an officer called out as she passed, her haste suggesting that something was wrong.

  “Thanks, I’m fine.” She headed for the precinct exit.

  “’Fraid of getting a ticket on your car?” asked one officer who crossed her path at the entrance. “Hey… I know someone who can fix it for you.”

  There were one or two chuckling responses behind her. She hurried out into the street without a coat, though the day was raw and a drizzling rain was falling. The wind tore at her, making her squint as she looked up and down the street. She spotted Mario about to cross at the corner and ran to catch up with him. Barbara knew he was expecting her to. Mario followed her progress until she had almost reached him, then stepped back against the building for protection from the weather.

  He lifted his arms away from his body and grinned at her. “You gonna arrest me?”

  “What are you going to do?” Barbara asked, ignoring his sarcasm.

  “You worried?” Mario asked in mock surprise. He cackled. “You shoulda seen your face back there, man. I thought you was gonna wet your pants.” He laughed again.

  “What are you going to do?” she repeated.

  His grin disappeared. “Just like I told you. What I gotta do to protect myself. You thought I was gonna out you right there, didn’t you?”

  “Look, it’s your own fault that you’re getting squeezed. I tried to help, remember? I was the one who tried to cut a deal for you. Before that, Narcotics had you cold and you were headed for time.”

  “Yeah, I ’preciate that. But you still one of them fuckin’ cops! I don’t trust you any more than you trust me. I liked screwing you and all, but shit, I can get punta any damn time I want from any bitch out here.”

  Barbara refused to react to his cold remarks. “I told you you can’t use that against me. Even if the department believed you, they’d still back me up.”

  “No, what you gonna do is try and pin that shooting on me. You said so. That could put me away for life, man. I ain’t going for that.”

  “I don’t have anything to do with that,” Barbara said, inadvertently admitting police duplicity.

  “Tough shit. All bets are off. You gotta do what you gotta do. So do I.” He turned and walked away from her, heading to his black Jeep Cherokee.

  “What? Do what?” she called after him.

  Mario didn’t even bother turning around to face her. Barbara watched him get into the Jeep and pull out into traffic. She hugged herself as the cold dampness sent chills through her body, and then walked briskly back to the precinct.

  Barbara was far less concerned about explaining why she’d gotten soaking wet than she was with a growing suspicion of how Mario intended to get even.

  Mario couldn’t remember her name, but he knew where to find her.

  He stepped off the crowded hospital elevator and pretended to be looking for a patient’s room. There was enough activity going on to prevent his presence from raising any notice. He scanned the corridor, looking for her, hoping he’d recognize her again.

  He walked the entire ward and then turned around impatiently to retrace his steps. Suddenly a young woman in hospital garb stepped out of a room carrying several vials of medication in a small plastic tray. She glanced up and her eyes brightened.

  “Mario! What are you doing here?”

  He relaxed into an easy stance. “Hey… mija.” He grinned.

  Mario let his eyes rake seductively over her as he bent and kissed her cheek. He held her attention with a look of appreciation for her feminine attributes. A look that, while not spontaneous, was real. “You’re looking good,” he drawled.

  “It’s been a long time. Where you been? I thought you were going to call me.” The attractive brunette pouted prettily and looked up at him with a sharp gaze.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but you know how it is. I’ve been busy.”

  She sucked her teeth and pitched her voice low. “Goñyo, man. Don’t give me that shit. You just like every other guy.”

  “Naw, I swear. I been working…”

  “Yeah? Doing what? You so busy you can’t call or come around? Last time I saw you, you practically chased me all over the fuckin’ ward.”

  His smile grew warmer. Now he remembered her name. “Come on, Gina. I’m sorry I didn’t call, all right? I had things to take care of. My son’s mother was on my case ’cause she needed money.” His voice whined convincingly with the burdens of his life.

  He glanced quickly up and down the hall. He didn’t like staying in one place too long. People saw you and they remembered. He shifted his position so that his back was toward the nurses’ station.

  “’Member when I got cut that time and came in to get fixed? You got off duty and you came to see me? It was like midnight or something, and we snuck into that office and did it on the sofa.” He chuckled.

  She averted her gaze before looking at him hopefully. Mario bent closer, whispering in a caressing tone to create instant intimacy and promise.

  “I thought we was gonna get caught,” she whispered. “And you started bleeding again from that knife cut…”

  He touched her arm. “And you
stopped it. I didn’t think you could forget that. It was good, right?”

  A slow smile began to play around her mouth as she glanced at him from beneath long, dark lashes. An intercom announcement near the nurses’ station brought them both back to the present. Gina looked down the corridor and back to him.

  “I better get back to work. What are you doing here?” she asked again.

  “I came to see you, mija.”

  Gina became wary. “That’s bullshit,” she said, once again furtively making sure that no other personnel were nearby.

  He persisted. “I thought we’d get together tonight. When do you finish?”

  She rolled her eyes in frustration. “Fuck. I can’t tonight. I’m busy,” she added belatedly on a sly note.

  He didn’t take the bait to show interest.

  “How about tomorrow before you come in to work? You got time to see me?”

  Gina debated, clearly wanting to, but not wanting to make it too easy for him. She shook her head. “I get off at three o’clock tomorrow. Come pick me up.”

  He grinned at her. “Then what?”

  “We can go to my place. That dickhead husband of mine won’t be there.”

  “No?”

  Gina shook her head in disgust. “I threw his ass out. He was fooling around with some bitch across the street. Let him go stay with her.”

  Mario winked at her and kissed her cheek again. “So I’ll see you tomorrow. But I need something from you right now.” Her expression turned wary again. “Come on, Gina. It’s just a little favor,” he coaxed.

  “What?”

  “There was a woman on this floor a few weeks ago, a black woman named Carol Taggart. I need to call her about some business.”

  Gina looked skeptical. “What kinda business you got with her?”

  “It’s business,” he said a bit impatiently. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

  Gina sighed. “Mario, I could get fired for telling you that.”

  “You give me what I want… I give you what you want.”

  She softened visibly under his seductive words. Mario knew from the way her nostrils flared that it was a done deal.

  Chapter Eight

  “PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AT the beep. I’ll get back to you…”

  “Hey, Carol. Where are you? I was hoping to—”

  “Wesley—wait a minute—”

  Carol fumbled with the phone, waiting out the recording mechanism as her brother’s voice was interrupted.

  “I’m here, Wesley. Sorry about that,” Carol said.

  “I was starting to wonder. Are you screening your calls?”

  “Kind of.”

  “What do you mean, kind of? Somebody bothering you?”

  Carol hesitated, deciding to downplay the odd call she’d gotten the night before, when the caller had asked if she was Carol Taggart, only to hang up abruptly when she confirmed that she was. There was no point in worrying Wesley.

  “Just wrong numbers,” she responded. “It happens.”

  “As long as they’re not reporters. I told you I don’t want you talking to reporters unless you let me know first.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “When do you start back to work?”

  “I started this week.”

  “Didn’t the doctor tell you to take it easy? Jesus, Carol, it was only two weeks ago that—”

  “Three. It’s not like I was at death’s door. Well, I was, but…”

  “What are you talking about?” Wesley asked, puzzled.

  Carol sighed. “Never mind. The doctor told me to return to my usual routine when I was ready. I did.”

  Wesley grunted. “Doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “I went for my follow-up visit and I got the go-ahead to do just about anything. Except swing dancing and bungee jumping.”

  “Cute,” Wesley muttered.

  “I got a call from Ann. Mom tracked her down and told her what happened.”

  Wesley groaned. “Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I spoke to her. How’s she doing?”

  “Apparently very well. She’s engaged.”

  “Engaged! Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Wes…”

  “Sorry. Who is he? No, no, forget that. Where is he?”

  “Tunisia. He’s a doctor with UNICEF.”

  “Of course he is. Ann is like Rosemary Taggart the second, in search of a Jim Taggart.”

  “I used to wish I could be more like Ann. Nothing ever seems to bother her. It’s as if she’s in a permanent state of grace.”

  “I’m glad you’re not like Ann. She’s great, but as sisters go you were much more fun. Is she still in South America?”

  “Until June. Then she and her fiancé are coming back to the States so Mom can help with the wedding plans.”

  “Well, at least I know I won’t have to wear a tux to their wedding. Probably a sarong or…”

  Carol laughed. “If you wear a sarong, I’m taking pictures for sure.”

  “Mom and Dad are going to be very disappointed in you if you start in with blackmail.”

  Carol, who had been strolling around her kitchen with the cordless wedged between her ear and her shoulder, wandered into the living room and took up residence in her favorite chair. Nearby, on the floor, was the sketch pad she’d been working in lately, open to her latest effort. As she settled down, Carol lifted the pad and stared broodingly at the image.

  “Wes, I—I’m glad you called. I have something to tell you.”

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “First, you have to hear me out without saying anything.”

  “Already I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “And second, you have to promise me, you have to swear you won’t tell Mom and Dad.”

  He grunted. “You’re always telling me not to swear. I can’t promise anything until I hear you out.”

  “Well, if you can’t do it my way, then I have nothing to say.”

  “All right, all right. I promise.”

  Suddenly Carol’s heart began to beat faster with the anxiety of revelation. Wesley knew and understood her better than anyone alive, but even she was scared about his reaction to what she was going to tell him. She sighed audibly and braced herself.

  “I—I think I know who shot me. It was a police officer.”

  “Goddamn! Matt was right. There was no way—”

  “Wesley, shut up,” Carol interrupted sharply. “I’m not finished.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry. Just one quick question?”

  “What?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He told me,” Carol said simply.

  “He… he told you? Who told you?”

  “The officer. The one responsible.”

  “He told you,” Wesley muttered. “I don’t believe this. Why confess? Unless he wanted to shift the burden of responsibility onto you, ’cause he sure as hell isn’t going to turn himself in.”

  “He turned himself in to me.”

  “That’s too easy!” Wesley thundered.

  “He didn’t mean to shoot me. It was an accident. It happened very fast and—”

  “Carol…”

  “It was dark. I walked into a—”

  “Carol, stop for a minute. Time out. Do you realize what you’re doing? You’re defending the bastard. Worse, it sounds like you’re blaming yourself.”

  She closed her eyes, rubbing her temple. Her hands were trembling. “I know that,” she whispered.

  “Why, for Christ’s sake?”

  “Wes, I know he didn’t mean to do it. The fact that he came to me himself really made a difference. You and I both know that’s not how it usually turns out.”

  “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t let him off the hook. Why aren’t you mad as hell?”

  She sighed. “Because—because I’m alive. Because he apologized. Maybe because of Mom and Dad. All that stuff we were taught about forgiveness. The way I see it, I got a hug
e second chance that morning. Doesn’t he deserve one, too?”

  There was a long silence on the line before Carol heard her brother sigh deeply. Of course Wesley would see the reasonableness of her argument. That didn’t mean he bought into the “forgive and forget” philosophy. Carol wasn’t sure that she did either, but what were the options? What would be gained by exacting revenge? What would be lost?

  “Does this at least mean you’ve changed your mind about the lawsuit?”

  “No, I haven’t. I’m telling you this because I want you to understand why I don’t want to sue.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to me, Carol. What am I missing?” he asked impatiently.

  “I don’t want to be a victim. I don’t think he wants to be one either.”

  “Just how do you figure that?”

  “If this gets into the press, it’ll be blown all out of proportion, and the minute I file suit, it will get out. You know it will. It’s too… sensational. Too juicy.”

  “You could have died.”

  “But I didn’t. Now, do I take my second chance, thank God, and get on with my life? Or do I scream for his head on a silver platter?”

  “Forget his head,” Wesley scoffed. “Let’s take the money.”

  Carol got up from her chair and began pacing nervously. “You sound like Matt.”

  “I’m about to change my opinion of him,” he said dryly. “Look, I guess it’s very nice that this cop has confessed to you. So he has a conscience. But the police still owe you.”

  “No one owes me anything!” Carol said sharply. “No one. It’s what I owe myself that matters. Jim and Rosemary Taggart did not owe me a family to make up for the one that abandoned me. They chose me. I wasn’t owed my life when I was shot. But I got it back. As far as I’m concerned, that’s payment enough.”

  “So if I can’t persuade you to sue the city, why are you telling me this? Just to push my blood pressure through the roof?”

  “I needed to tell someone. You know why? I suddenly felt like… like a traitor or something. There’s the expectation that because I’m black and there’s all that bad press about the police—”

  “Well deserved, I might add.”

  “That I’ll hang them out to dry and take the money and run. I told you as my brother, not as my lawyer.”