“Son, what do you see in that water?”
“Um, pebbles?”
“Good. Now, aside from the obvious.”
“Well, I think I see tiny fish in there,” I said, hopeful to be right. His silent demeanor always took me for a ride. It made him look angry when he was not.
“Even better. Would you like to know what I see?”
“Yeah, dad. What do your oh so wise eyes see in there?” Mimicking a deep bass-like sound of God is not a gift I have – far from it.
“Ha-ha. It’s simple son; I see the water.”
“Huh…”
“Not the answer you were expecting I see.”
“No…dad, that’s not it. I thought you were going to give me another, I dunno…insight?”
He then bit into his half of the bar and grabbed my hand. Slowly, with all the trust little ol’ me could have of my father; he led it down into the icing waters. It was cold. I remember the numbing sensation that tingled even under my toes.
“Dad…it’s really cold,” I whimpered.
“I know son…I know…” he said, munching on his fruity chocolate.
“Daaaad…”
He pulled me out of it. My fingers were pale and numb. I was a little hurt seeing as how he would want to hurt me. My face was contorted with all forms of twists.
“Ha-ha! Come on Spencer. A man like you should be able to handle water. Why you so angry with me?”
“Because my hand’s pale and cold. You know if it stayed any longer it would have to be cut off right?”
“Now you’re just being dramatic, like your mother,” he winked. I remember that night, he drove us down to the café down by the park and bought me the largest mug of hot chocolate I have ever seen, and a batch of pancakes for dinner. It’s a memory that will never fade.
But what stuck out to me later in the night, warm under my covers and snug in my socks, was the lesson he intended to teach me. It was in his eyes, the whole time; that I would understand the meaning of it when I got older.
And now, I think I do.
I stare angrily at my fists. They are cold and numb in this light, this empty and fading streetlight. The precinct is almost empty, and the patrol units are almost all gone. It’s a decision I am not proud of, and it’s one I might regret in the next twenty seconds. But this has to be done. It’s the only way she can get out of there.
The doors open, and he walks out. His coat flaps in the wind, and his walking gait cracks open the silence between his words. He sees me and walks over rubbing his hands. It’s better outside…away from any prying ears.
“Hey Blake,” I start. I can feel his discomfort already; the boxes of cigarettes he must have smoked to just stay up tonight…
“Winters…hey, long time no see. It’s a bit nippy to be talking outside at this hour, yeah?”
“Oh, yeah…mind if we take a walk?”
“Sure. You’re buying of course.”
“Ha-ha. When am I never?”
Side by side, we take a stroll down the dreary pavements. Cracked and slightly with weed they are. Most of them lead to empty homes with full people. Some, I’m sure, are where children go to sleep hungry and spouses bruised. Sure there could be a few whose lives are filled with laughter and joy, but who am I kidding? That choice is never made by all.
“Where have you been man? Chief’s been asking for ya all week. I’ve been by your house and all I got from your land lady is that you’ve been underground. Even Alice got worried, ha-ha.”
“Really? Alice? Of all…wait, Mrs. Robinson told you I was…how would she know?”
“Hey man, women got that intuition thing going for them or something. Or maybe she saw you skulking around.”
The donut shop by the corner of 5th and Proctor is almost coming up. A nice mug of chocolate will be nice for a night like this.
“Maybe…”
“Donuts…that’s really stereotypical of you Spencer.”
“Hey, don’t throw that judgmental look my way. I’m buying anyways,” I say while opening the door. Two separate and distinct worlds are the core of McDunk. Outside, the walls are lined with neon lights like a strip club, but on the inside there are enough homey booths for a family of five. There are a few customers left; an old man sipping his coffee while doing what I would presume to be a complex Sudoku, given his tongue is out between his teeth, and a young lady and her boyfriend hovering over a sheet of paper. Old Mr. Pierce is always here at this time, and the young couple new from the Bronx, the Devaux’s, rarely frequent this joint. We wave at them, and they smile back. I guess being new has its chills.
We sit ourselves at the farthest booth, and Cindy comes along in her brown apron and blonde hair all smiles. It’s never a surprise to find her happy at this time of night. Just from the community college and enough fire power to face the world, she fits right in to serve coffee and give hope to us derelicts of the night.
“What can I get you fine gentlemen this evening?” she says, amidst chewing a very flavor piece of gum. Her eyes, deep green, are clearly on my boy Blake here. It goes without saying that they have a thing for each other.
“A mug of hot chocolate will do me just fine. Two sugars one cream, please,” I order.
Third wheeling is never my option…
“Um, Blake?”
“Yeah man?”
“What will you have?”
“Anything she sees fit for me tonight,” he dreamily says. This crush thing has been going on for far too long now. I groan inconsistently and grab her by the arm. That brings him back. I whisper enough tales of the universe into her ear. Cindy walks away scribbling on her note pad.
“Oi…you don’t have to go off on me like that. What did you tell her anyways?”
“You were practically drooling Blake.”
“I was not,” he starts defiantly. “What did you say to her?”
“You’ll see…”
As we wait our orders to arrive, I fiddle with the salt shakers. This isn’t going to be an easy one.
“Spencer…”
“Mmh?”
“You didn’t get me out of the station to munch on donuts and stare at my crush. What’s up?”
“No. I definitely brought us here to do just that.”
“Be real for once Spencer.”
“Okay…okay…the thing is…”
“Aaaand one hot chocolate for you, two sugars and one cream, a plate of pancakes for the table, and for you…our very special coffee delight with extra cream and extra foam,” she says. The whole time her eyes never leave Blake’s. She lays them carefully by the table and walks away with a smile on her face.
“I think you should double-check your napkins Young,” I mysteriously hint. He checks and scoffs in glee.
“You actually asked her to give me her number?” the napkin is soldered in pink lettering and a pair of lips, fresh of color.
“You weren’t going to ask her for it were you?”
“Well…I might have, given the time…”
“Liar.”
“Hey!”
“Fine…”
“This is enough buttering up of the old Young. How much shit are you deep in Spencer?”
It’s now or never. He’s the only one in the department I can trust with this.
“I know the Chief has had his suspicions about me and this case ever since I took it. And I know you have the gut feeling about Jasmine Glenn-Turner and I. So…I called you out here to settle the matter once, and once alone.”
He sighs. I sip my chocolate.
“Go on…”
“Jasmine was my first love. Back over eight years ago, she was my soul mate. Even now, I can still feel the bond we shared as if no time has passed. Things got a little…complicated, and we split up. I went to college and she, well…got married off to our recent murder vic. Circumstance is never our friend I suppose.”
“So…you were at her hotel room the night you escorted her yes?” he asks, gently stirring his m
ug…
“Yeah, I was.”
“And the time we interrogated her…you still knew her then?”
“Yes.”
“So you fucking lied huh?”
The end of that statement comes with the snap of the wooden spoon he’s stirring with. Clearly he’s angry.
“Blake…look, I love that girl alright? Eight years of my life have gone without her man, and now she’s back in my life in all the wrong ways. That ass abused and crap on her for all that time man. And now I don’t think there’s a better call to justice than this.”
“Spencer…” he starts, edging in his seat and clearly at unease, “what you’re doing is against anything we’ve believed in ever since we took the oath. Why are you even telling me this?”
“Because I trust you, and you’re my partner,” I say, pausing for the lesson to sink in, “and because if you had known Cindy for almost half of your life you wouldn’t say no if you were me.”
The shift of the color in his eye is a sign that the point has hit home.
“Alright Spencer…I’ll hear you out. What makes you so certain she didn’t do it? No offense, but you did say she was abused for pretty much her entire marriage, right?”
It is liberating to be at par with him. Finally, I can let him on everything I’ve found out.
“…Veronica Shingle and her accomplice,” I finally add. My chocolate is already done, and the pancakes stuffed in my belly. His special is not done yet; Cindy brought him one more a few moments earlier.
“That is one hell of a conspiracy Spencer…sure we can hack it?”
“Ha-ha. Come on, let’s get to the precinct. I’ll show you what I believe is enough evidence in the storage unit.”
We rise up and walk. The shop is empty, save for Mr. Pierce. I think he really needs some sleeping pills, or a proper code breaker for that Sudoku.
“Hold up…” says Blake as he walks to the back of the counter, where Cindy sits reading a book tiny in size. A peck on the cheek is all he can do to sate his carnal bleed…for now.
“Why are you still smiling? Is it the thing I did back there with Cindy? You don’t have to be a child about it you know…it was pretty basic stuff. Oh, you’re gonna be the silent one now ey?” he asks once we’re out of the shop. The moon is fair and the wind biting. It reminds me of an old day long ago, where my dad taught me many a lesson by the creek with a plate of pancakes and a hot mug of chocolate.
Life is cold, uncaring and unchanging. Its main theme is time, and the score is beautiful. I smile some more, reveling in the unspoken wisdom of a dead man.
“You said we,” I say, walking down the streets lined with cobalt eyes and dead stares, ready to put this whole blue matter to rest.
Chapter 22 – Spencer
“Right there. Freeze that image. Zoom in…lose the pixels. That’s it.”
The evidence locker is damp and stuffy. The tech guy, Alfred Libowitz, is the equivalent of a genius when it comes to the gritty side of computer wizardry. Blake and I walked into the precinct trying to mitigate the evidence in storage that might prove a link to the murder charge against Jazz. And what better than the video footage of the club where Carl frequented?
Oh yes. The sense is piling up shit after dump of shit. The autopsy reports missing must have failed to indicate the indelible marker on his underarm the night of his murder. Blake and I had to get to the morgue to see it. Whoever is behind this is one conniving ball of…
“Right there! Blake…does that seem normal to you?” I ask, curious of the developments happening on screen.
“No, not at all Winters. That is clearly special ad peculiar behavior,” he adds.
“Um, would you boys like a cup of tea and some crumpets? What’s with the Holmes get-up?” asks Alfred, sniffing away at the dust bunnies hovering in the air. The mildly stuffy nose he has gets too uncomfortable for Blake. As for me, I’m more used to that kind of shit with mom.
“Just get that footage on tape alright? We’ll need it in court in a few hours. Add that image too,” I prescribe. The sun is about to come up. The night was long and we are spent. The work was loads, but much easier considering the help Blake put in. The morgue was the hardest part, especially when it came to the viewing of the dead meat.
“You got it,” he says. His fingers type faster than the hair on his head. At least he has his brains…
Footage and photo in hand, we walk fast to the Chief’s office. He’s in, as always.
“Rock, paper scissors?” Blake asks. It’s never easy knocking on that door.
“Get in here,” the Chief roars. Hurriedly, we rush in.
“Winters…nice to see you. Been a while, hunting down the murderer, ey?”
“Yes s…”
“And Blake. Keeping the peace I presume?”
Oh crap. Interrupting the man again is seriously gonna get me something. It won’t be nice, but it’ll bite.
“Yes Sir.”
“Good. I assume what you hold in your hand is concrete evidence?”
“It is,” I quip.
“Then go.”
His word is God around here. The stench of roses and something dead emanate from the walls. It would be wise to leave as fast as his silence screams. We don’t need to be told twice.
“So…this will bring the date of the final hearing closer. Got any hopes yet?” asks Blake.
“Not really. I just need to get a few things down first before going to see her in jail today.”
“Wait,” he stops me in my tracks close to his desk, “you visit her in jail? That wouldn’t look good on paper bro.”
“You think I care?”
He takes his time mincing it. “No, you don’t.”
“Exactly. Now, like we talked about – keep it low till I can get a judge to hear me out. Preferably Willis or McCabe. I’ll give you a heads up when it will be clear to go on and bring them in.”
Alice knocks on the table and winks at me. Manly musk…it’s good for us all. She smells of olives and pine. It’s refreshing of course, and neither of the two of us physically denies it as she walks by flaunting her ass. Too much drama in that…
“That woman is trouble man. Stick to Cindy,” I advise. We are at the edge of the hall now. The sun is up and in our faces. I like it. It’s like ice cream on an oven.
“And you…stick to getting your lady free. Good luck with the judges,” he calls and walks away.
“Yeah, thanks,” I say. All hope lies in my pocket.
Chapter 23 - Jasmine
“Hello Jasmine. My name is Stephen Banning, and I will be representing you in this trial.”
The man in the brown suit, heavily padded with cotton and skill over the years, looks at me gently from across the table with enough interest to bring back the study of pencils. He is short, seemingly astute, and not in my pay-range. Things have been shifting, turning, and while I’m in here a lot has changed.
Ray had to go. That bastard had something to do with the case, and if not directly, then it involved money. Spencer gave me a number to call, and this is the man that heeded. I don’t know how I’m going to pay him eventually, but if his business is to get me free, then we could work something out.
My eyes find a lock in his brown ones, and he opens his briefcase.
“I really don’t know how this is going to work, Mr. Banning. I…”
“Please. Call me Stephen. Now don’t you fret Jasmine. You are in good hands now. We’re going to get you what freedom you deserve soon. There’s been a staggering amount of detail that has come to light in recent days; enough detail to get you out of these sordid walls and back into the swell outlandish burst of sunlight outside.”
“Ah…” I breathe. His English accent is off the charts. So pristine and clear.
“Spencer shall be here shortly, but it would be advised we stay off of each other for now, yes? We wouldn’t want a compromise in the detail, now would we?” By the several mentions of ‘we’ he definitely cracks open a smi
le, openly leaving it to determination that he implies Spencer and me.
He takes out a sheet of paper and places it in front of me. A pen soon follows after. “I shall need you to sign this miss.”
“What is it?” Daddy taught me at least one thing – never sign what you can’t read. The fine print is too small.
“Oh nothing complex, I assure you. It’s an understanding between us; me as you lawyer and you as my client. Spencer sorted out the payments earlier, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“Hmm…if this allows you to take away my kidneys in my sleep, than know I’m coming for you in your sleep Stephen.”
“Ha-ha. I wouldn’t think any less of you if you did,” he quips, and takes away the paper, blows on it, and stuffs it back in his case. “I believe he’s right outside. I shall be off now.” His swift strides remind me of an old and lanky neighbor of mine when I lived with dad. He swung around like his limbs were not his. I like him.
Opening the door, Spencer comes into full view. His face seems older, like he hasn’t slept in a very long time. The stubble under his chin is more of a triumphant ‘fuck you’ to the world.
“Mr. Winters,” he says, nodding as he passes him by.
“Mr. Banning,” spells Spencer as he walks in and shuts the door behind him.
“So…did he creep you out yet with the pen theory?” he asks, walking towards me and holding my hands in his as he sits. “What pen theory? How can you afford that lawyer Spencer?” I ask, warming up to his blood rushing upon my skin – not in the funky way many would pervert.
“Oh…good for you. He always got to me with that fucking story back in college. Don’t worry about it Jazz…he owes me a serious favor from way back when. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to settle the score,” he explains.
“Ha-ha…okay. But Spencer…”
“Hmm?”
“What’s the pen theory?”
“A story for another time Jazz. I promise I’ll tell it to you when I get you out of here.”
That warms up the pits down low.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you more,” he professes.
Triple Pass: An MFMM Reverse Harem Romance Page 53