by H. P. Bayne
For Dez, there would be no peace were he to learn his loved ones couldn’t find their own. He knew it, and Sully knew it. And Dez also knew there was a very real likelihood Sully was protecting him from that reality.
For now, Dez decided he was prepared to allow it.
The alternative was unfaceable.
They parked on the street outside the house, Betty’s flowers waving a welcome in the late morning breeze.
The house’s exterior was deceiving, as if it hadn’t been told. Dez was reminded of the look on the face of a mother he’d visited with his sergeant a couple weeks ago, one of those notification-of-death visits that made most cops feel sick with dread beforehand and depressed as all hell afterward. Sergeant Granger had told him some parents seemed to know before he even got to the door. Not this lady. She’d been completely unprepared for the ultimate heartbreak, her expression open and welcoming as if expecting to find someone she knew and liked on the doorstep.
They’d left her a broken mess, with a kindly neighbour to take care of her until her surviving child could get there. Dez had been his own version of a broken mess later.
These flowers were that woman, and Dez didn’t want to see this place a week from now.
Perhaps Thackeray didn’t either, not yet having made a move to leave the SUV.
Dez had been inclined to wait him out for a bit, but it had gotten to the point of awkward, the question needing asked. “Everything okay?”
Thackeray, in the rearview mirror, was staring through the backseat window toward the house. “I think it’s sinking in. My mom’s really gone, and my dad’s never going to be in any state to be anything more to me than someone I pity. Weird, when you realize part of you was wishing for something, almost behind your back.”
“I’m sorry.” Dez meant the words. He knew loss, had become intimately acquainted with the beast since childhood. There was nothing better to say than that, nothing that would magically change the situation. Dez was lucky by comparison; he had his wife and daughter, his mom and his brother. Thackeray had no one and, with a conviction like his clinging to him, probably never would.
The right thing to do would be to offer to come in and hang out for a while, but all Dez wanted was to spend time with Kayleigh. She made him laugh, and he needed that, even if it could only be for a few minutes.
Sully put a temporary end to that plan.
“Dez, there’s someone in the house.”
Dez ducked his head, trying to look through the passenger side window to see what his brother had spotted. “Where?”
“I saw someone in an upstairs window.”
Dez repressed a shiver at the thought it might be one of Sully’s “someones.” “Was this person with body or without?”
“With. At least, I think so.”
“Man or woman?”
“I’d say a man, but I didn’t get a really good look.”
Dez turned to Thackeray. “Were you expecting anyone?”
“I don’t even really know anyone.”
Dez scrubbed a hand through the stubble that had built on his lower face. The smart move would be to call 9-1-1, have some on-duty officers swing by and check it out, but that might well end in his being a laughing stock should it turn out the intruder was a Sully special. “Bloody hell. Look, I’ll check it out. You two wait here.”
He was annoyed but not surprised when he heard Sully’s car door open and close as Dez was making his way to the front door with the keys Thackeray had provided. “Sully—”
“You’re not checking the house on your own.”
There was no point arguing. “Stay behind me and don’t wander off.”
“The point is for me to be your backup. Hard to do that unless I’m at your back, isn’t it?”
“No one likes a smart ass, Sull.”
There was little question the intruder was aware of their presence. If Sully had seen him, no doubt the guy had seen them as well. He’d be looking for a way out rather than a hiding spot and, depending on the extent of his desire to avoid getting caught, it might be he’d be willing to go through rather than around them to get there. And there was always the possibility the guy had a weapon he’d be prepared to use. There was plenty enough gun crime in this city and it was getting easier for those who wanted one to get their hands on a firearm, giving Dez one more contingency to worry about.
No immediate sounds came upon their entering the house, nothing to tell them where an intruder might be lurking. Dez grasped a handful of his brother’s hoodie and tugged him to the edge of the opening to the living room. “Stay behind the wall and keep watch on the stairs. I’m going to check the back door.”
Dez found it secure, both locks in place, and there was no sign in the kitchen or living room of any broken windows.
Dez returned to Sully, whispering the lack of find to his brother.
“Maybe he left already,” Sully suggested.
“Not through the door. The deadbolt’s on. No way to lock it behind him unless he has a key.”
Leaving Sully once more, Dez cleared the rest of the main floor, finding only an empty half-bath and a dining room Betty had partially converted to an office space.
Dez returned to the front hall, shaking his head at Sully as he moved to take the lead up the stairs. Sully fell in behind him as they made for the second floor, Dez shifting sideways and crossing foot over foot until he was high enough to glimpse the landing through the wooden bannister. There, he paused, forcing Sully to a halt beside him. Standing stock still, they each held their breath as they listened for any sounds that might tell of an intruder shifting in a closet or a window left open following an escape.
Sully seemed to have read his mind, tugging Dez down until he could whisper an observation directly into his ear. “The windows don’t open, at least not in Betty’s room. I think it’s from when Harry was here, to keep him from getting out.”
Dez nodded. If the windows in that room were sealed, it was possible others were too. Regardless, there was no sound to indicate a window was open, nor the sensation of breeze wafting through any of the open doors. Unless the guy had managed to get out a window and close it after his escape, that meant either the man was still here, or that it wasn’t really a man at all—or at least not anymore.
Only one thing was certain: they weren’t going to find anything standing here. Dez once again led the way and positioned Sully on the landing, away from the stairs. “Yell if you see anything.”
Sully offered a half-smile. “No problem. You too.”
One of the four doors up here was partially closed, and Dez could just make out the end of a floral bedspread—likely the most feminine item Betty owned—through the gap between door and jamb. Dez decided to try there first, mentally running through the list of hiding spots as he moved: behind the door, under the bed, inside the closet. There was no point trying to disguise his movement; his large, booted feet caused the hardwood to creak and crack with each step. And so, upon reaching the door, he threw rather than eased it open, sending it with a bang into the wall.
The movement garnered a response, although not the one he’d expected. The sound of his name on Sully’s lips had him spinning in time to see his brother rushing a masked man who was making for the stairs.
Dez started toward them, but the intruder was quicker, delivering a blindingly fast roundhouse to Sully’s jaw that sent him crashing back into Dez. The man didn’t waste time, sliding down the heavy oak railing to the lower floor rather than bothering with stairs. Dez righted Sully and made to follow the man, his brother at his flank.
The intruder made it outside just before Dez burst through the front doorway. Thackeray stood beside the SUV’s rear passenger side door, pointing dumbly toward the park. Thackeray’s effort was needless, the suspect still in sight as Dez broke into a sprint, pumping long legs and arms in pursuit. One of his former partners called him Jack Rabbit and insisted on driving each shift to free Dez up should a foot chase be required
. Dez was happy enough to go along with it, well aware his height and physical condition left him able to end pursuits quickly and still be in a state for a fight once he got there.
That was proving the case now, the distance quickly closing between him and the man. Just another few feet and Dez would be able to fall back on one of his high school football moves, a flying tackle that typically ended in bumps and bruises for the bad guy and, for Dez, reverential back slaps from his colleagues.
It didn’t come to high school football moves today. This guy, it turned out, could qualify for the pros.
Up ahead was a playground, empty but for a few rusty pieces of equipment and a sandpit Dez would have checked for syringes before allowing a child near it. With just feet separating them, the man ran for the swing set and wrapped one hand and the opposite elbow around the steel bar that formed one of the support posts. The man swung himself around the post, slamming his booted foot into Dez’s head. Starbursts flashed and the ground rushed up at him, leaving him flat on his back in the sand beneath the swing set. His heart skipped erratically, and the pain had him trying to determine whether it was worth staying conscious. Darkness beckoned, but Sully gave him reason to stay present, arriving on the scene a moment later and taking his own run at the guy. Dez struggled to sitting in time to see his brother slammed to the ground hard enough to leave him gasping for air his rattled lungs couldn’t process.
With just a couple of seconds to spare while the man repositioned himself for another attack on one of them, Dez fought through the off-centred world, dug deep, and managed the tackle he’d planned to execute earlier. The man went down, but he wasn’t of a mind to stay there, getting his rock-solid left forearm up and braced against Dez’s windpipe while readying his right for a blow. Dez shifted just enough that he was able to block the strike and relieve pressure on his throat, but that was about all the guy was prepared to allow.
Dez was used to sloppy street fights, the vast majority of suspects having no knowledge of proper defensive strategies. This guy was no street fighter and, if Dez hadn’t already figured that out, the man’s next move proved it as he hooked Dez’s right leg, grabbed hold of his right arm and drove his hips up. With both leg and arm temporarily in his opponent’s control, Dez was rolled sideways and ended with the other man straddling him. Dez was able to get his arms up as the suspect began throwing punches at his head, preventing two strikes but taking one to the side of the head that stunned him long enough to ensure a second found its mark.
He managed to get a leg up, intending to use it to nudge his assailant off balance, but Sully got there first, launching himself at the man’s back and going for a choke hold. While the man grabbed at the arm Sully was using to restrict his air, Dez got in a pair of punches before following through with a knee to the guy’s side. Busy with Sully, the man toppled, allowing Dez to regain the upper position while his brother tried to retain his own hold.
The guy wasn’t done, directing a kick at Dez’s thigh that pushed his leg from under him. Grunts of discomfort from Sully suggested he was being struck hard, and Dez found himself grateful for his brother’s high pain threshold as he continued to hold on. Dez grabbed the arm the man was using to hit Sully—the left one—and twisted, angling to force their opponent onto his belly. There would be little he could do from that position, not with two of them on top of him.
But, once again, the suspect managed to thwart the attempt—although not in any way Dez could have foreseen.
The man’s arm came off in his grasp.
As the arm pulled free of the man’s jacket sleeve, Dez cursed between heaving breaths; it took a moment to see it for what it was: a dark-toned prosthesis.
The man’s balaclava was well-fitted and had remained more or less in place throughout the fight. It no longer mattered. Dez knew who they were dealing with.
“Terrence Waters,” he said. “Give it up, man.”
The words signalled an end to the fight, and the army surplus store manager stopped struggling, allowing Sully to use one hand to pull the mask off. Dez hadn’t really needed the confirmation, but there it was anyway: Terrence Waters glared up at them while drawing quick breaths through widened nostrils.
Terrence delivered one more hard elbow jab to Sully’s ribs.
“Get the hell off me, kid.”
Sully looked up at Dez, seeking approval, and Dez provided it through a nod. Sully rolled away and stood, Terrence refusing the hand Dez extended to help him up. Terrence rose to his feet and shrugged out of his jacket before seizing the prosthesis from Dez and starting the process of putting it back in place.
There was no point offering help, particularly given it was more likely to be seen as offensive rather than polite. It was clear Terrence was a proud man, and a tough one at that. He’d seen action, and the last thing he’d want was sympathy. He’d said as much at the store recently.
The struggle over, Dez recognized the taste of blood seeping from a cut inside his bottom lip, and he spit red, looking up to find Terrence smirking at him.
“Didn’t hurt you too bad, did I, big guy?”
“Nothing I can’t handle. Maybe you want to tell us what you were doing in the Schusters’ house.”
“You’re taking some interest in that pervert. Why’s that?”
“Asked you first.”
Prosthesis back in place, Terrence shrugged. “Guess I figured I’d look to see if the man had any other dirty stuff kicking around. Skinners like him, they don’t change. They keep going back to the familiar, looking to get their fix the same way as any heroin addict. There’s no way to program that out of them, not once they get the taste for it. You know that as well as I do, being a cop, don’t you?”
Dez did know that. He’d helped on more than one search and seizure with the Internet Child Exploitation team, and had been told on all but one occasion the guy they’d arrested was a repeat offender.
But, having spent some time with Thackeray and having heard his story, Dez was beginning to have some doubts about that particular ex-con. “Thackeray Schuster says he was set up.”
“And you believe that? Of course, he’s going to say that. No one wants to admit they whack off to kids.”
“I don’t know yet if I believe him. But he’s raised some questions that need answering.”
There was no point asking Sully’s opinion. He stood off to the side, eyes focused on a spot just beyond Terrence’s left shoulder. Someone was there, invisible to all eyes but Sully’s.
Dez returned his focus to the problem he could fix. “You stay away from that house, you hear me? I’m willing to say you gave us the slip as long as you promise to stop harassing Thackeray. No more posters, no more stalking the house, sure as hell no more break-ins. I’ve got a lot of respect for you, given what you’ve obviously been through, so I don’t want to have to arrest you.”
“Don’t do me any favours just because of my injury.”
“It’s not about your injury. My respect has to do with the fact you’ve served this country. I’m trying to return the favour, if you’d bother to take your head out of your ass long enough to listen.”
Terrence’s narrowed eyes held all the skepticism Dez would have expected from ex-military. While the world was full of cynics, few had earned the right as completely as those who’d served. People like Terrence Waters had witnessed some of the worst humanity had to offer, and it showed in his face—as well as in his body.
Dez took the chance, decided to ask the question. “Hope you don’t mind me asking, but what happened to your arm?”
The eyes had yet to fully un-narrow, but Terrence answered anyway. “IED in Afghanistan. Hit our vehicle. I was blown out instead of up. In my case, all they had to look for was the arm. One of my friends, his arm was one of the only recognizable parts of him left. Some people call me lucky.”
Sully’s attention snapped back to Terrence. “Is that why you’re doing this? Going after Thackeray Schuster?”
“What
’s that got to do with what happened back then?”
Sully shrugged. “It’s about justice. Chances are no one was ever really held to account for what happened to your friend. Something like that, the memory, it doesn’t go away. You’ve got a pretty solid reminder with your arm. And you’ve probably asked yourself why you survived, what that must mean about your purpose here.”
Terrence’s laugh held the darkness and threat of a gathering storm. “You think I give a damn about purpose, coming through what I did?”
“What are you doing here, if not because you give a damn?”
Dez guessed Sully had been on the money, given the two quick steps Terrence took to close the gap between him and the younger man. No doubt the veteran had been analyzed and re-analyzed during attempts at counselling once back home but, understandably, he wasn’t about to listen to someone who had no clue about the horrors he’d seen. How did someone who’d been to hell and back accept help from a shrink in a white button-down shirt, patent-leather shoes and glasses carefully selected to fit his or her facial shape? It wasn’t likely he was going to willingly take being read by a twenty-something bar employee in need of a haircut and a better wardrobe.
“You don’t know me, and you sure shit don’t know what I’ve been through. Keep your opinions to yourself.”
Dez stepped closer, using his size in his favour even if his moves had proved less than perfect next to Terrence’s. “Then you keep yours. In all honesty, I don’t give a personal damn about Thackeray Schuster, but I do care about what goes on in the area I police. Stay the hell away from this, you hear me? That’s your last warning.”
Terrence’s eyes were slits, his mouth a tight line, but he said nothing else before turning and storming across the park in the opposite direction from the Schusters’ house.
“Who’d you see this time?” Dez asked. “His dead troop mate hanging around him?”
“Not just him. Betty was there too.”
“Huh. Looking out for her son, maybe?”
“Maybe.” The word from Sully’s lips carried more doubt than its actual definition.