by Lynch, Sean
“He’s had enough,” Farrell said, darting forward and halting the advance of Kearns’ fist.
“Not by a long shot,” Kearns said.
“No more,” Stephen slurred. His eyes were unfocused and his head rocked from side-to-side. Kearns dropped him and stepped back.
“You ever go near Jennifer Farrell again,” Kearns said, “I’ll finish this. I’ll hunt you down and kill you graveyard dead. Are we clear?”
Stephan Ainsley bobbed his head.
“Get the hell out of here,” Kearns said, moving aside. “Before I change my mind and end your miserable life right now.”
Stephan staggered to his feet. Cradling his broken arm, he stumbled out of the room towards the door. They watched him through the window as he made his way along the sidewalk on wobbly legs, leaving a blood trail as he went. The workmen in front of the house stopped their tasks and ogled him as he crossed the street and got into his vehicle.
“Alameda Hospital Emergency Room is three blocks east on Clinton Avenue,” Bart Hynds called out from the yard. Stephan Ansley nodded and drove off.
Kearns looked over at Jennifer to find her staring up at him, her eyes wide. His shoulders slumped and he wordlessly left the room. He went to the backyard, silently passing a workman patching bullet holes in the kitchen.
He was kneeling in the grass, and examining a nine-millimeter shell casing that must have escaped the crime scene technician’s scrutiny the night before, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Kearns looked up to find Jennifer.
“Why did you do that?” she said.
“I’m not going to apologize,” Kearns said, standing up and facing her. “I don’t care if you hate me. He needed what I gave him.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“Because I’m an idiot, I guess,” Kearns said, looking down.
“The real reason?” Jennifer said, taking his chin in her hand and pulling his eyes up to meet hers.
“Because I love you,” he said. “Always have.”
Jennifer leaned in and kissed him. When the kiss broke, Kearns found her eyes closed and a smile on her face.
She opened her eyes and took his hand. “Let’s go back inside.”
When they re-entered the house, they found Farrell and the Judge at the bar in the study pouring drinks. Norm Hynds had gone to check on his brother in the front yard.
“Why am I not surprised to find you two at the bar?” Jennifer said.
“It’s a hot day,” the Judge said.
“A man can get thirsty on a hot day like this,” Farrell said.
“He surely can,” Callen said, clinking glasses with Farrell.
“You two kissed and made up yet?” Farrell asked. “Wait,” he said, before either Kearns or Jennifer could answer. “I don’t want to know.”
“I’m going to freshen up,” Jennifer said, releasing Kearns’ hand. She kissed him on the cheek, gave her father a dour look, and walked out.
“I’m sorry about damaging your furniture,” Kearns said to Judge Callen, pointing to the demolished coffee table. “I’ll pay for it.”
“Sorry? Are you serious? If ever a young man deserved a thrashing, Stephan Ainsley is that man. I enjoyed what you did to him immensely. If I was as good a judge as you are at beating the shit out of people, I’d be on the Supreme Court. Besides,” he said, sipping scotch, “I’ve always hated that damned coffee table.”
“Thanks for doing what I couldn’t,” Farrell said. “I also enjoyed what you gave Stephan Ainsley.”
“He had it coming,” Kearns said, accepting a beer from Farrell.
“That he did.”
“You think his father’s going to sue me?” Kearns asked.
“Don’t worry,” the Judge said. “If he tries, I’ll take care of it. Since you kicked his ass in California, the suit would have to be filed here. I know every judge in the ninth district on a first name basis. I know where most of their skeletons are buried, too. Such a lawsuit would go nowhere.”
“That’s comforting,” Kearns said.
“I must admit,” Callen said, “you made me a bit nervous at the end. That bluff about killing him might have been a little over-the-top.”
“Who said I was bluffing?”
Chapter 51
Kearns walked around his Jeep and opened the passenger-door for Jennifer. She stepped out onto Lombard Street, wrapping her sweater tightly around her body.
“I’ll never get used to how it can be sunny and warm in the East Bay,” she said, “but as soon as you cross over the Bay Bridge it’s foggy and cold, even in July.”
“That’s San Francisco for you,” Kearns said. “I’m still not used to it myself.”
It was a little before 11:00 A.M. on Monday. Kearns waited until after breakfast to drive Jennifer into the city to avoid the heavy morning commuter traffic. She wanted to retrieve some items she’d forgotten when she’d left so hastily the night of the shootout.
Farrell had gone back to his apartment the afternoon before. His broken window had been boarded up by his landlord, but since he hadn’t been back since the attack on Jennifer there he wanted to survey the damage before Bart Hynds’ construction crew began repairs. He also said he’d seen enough of Kearns in the past few days to last a lifetime, and was sick of looking at his redneck mug.
“You’re not going to smoke, are you?” Jennifer challenged, when Farrell left Judge Callen’s house.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” he said. “I quit already. Don’t you have any faith in your old man?”
“Of course I do,” she said, giving him a hug. “But I know you too well. We’ll have to work on the drinking next.”
“Perish the thought,” Farrell said, throwing his arms around her. Before he drove off, he promised to meet Jennifer and Kearns for dinner the following night.
“Don’t you think we should have called before coming over?” Jennifer said, as they mounted the stairs to Farrell’s apartment. “I don’t want to wake him up.”
“It’s almost lunchtime,” Kearns said. “I’m sure he’s up. Anyway, I don’t think his phone survived the gun battle in his apartment.”
Jennifer inserted the key her father gave her and found it worked. Apparently when the two intruders broke the door off its hinges, at least one of the custom locks had remained intact. She slowly opened the apartment door and peered inside.
The interior was still a mess, with shards of wood and plaster dust everywhere and bullet holes dotting the walls like a sieve. She and Kearns entered and closed the door silently behind them.
“He must be in the bedroom,” she whispered, pointing to the closed door down the hall. “I knew we should have called. He’s sleeping in.”
“He has been missing a lot of shut-eye during the past few days,” Kearns conceded. “Don’t worry,” he said. “If he gets mad at us for coming over unannounced you can blame me.”
“I don’t want to blame you,” she said, leaning up and kissing him. He filled his hands with her thick red hair and several minutes passed like seconds.
“That’s enough,” she giggled, pushing herself away and wiping lipstick off Kearns’s face. “We’ll have time for that later.”
“I like later,” he said.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s do this together.”
“If you say so.” They approached the bedroom door.
“Dad,” Jennifer called out, knocking on the door and opening it simultaneously.
“What the...?” Farrell exclaimed, abruptly sitting up in bed. He was startled, nude, out-of-breath, and his comb-over was disheveled.
Lying naked next to him, wearing an equally-astonished expression on her flushed-from-exertion face, was Dr. Patricia Marks.
“Oh my God!” Jennifer gasped, shoving Kearns out of the bedroom behind her and slamming the door after them.
“I’m so sorry,” she yelled through the door, once she and Kearns were in the hallway again. Kearns was laughing hysterically.<
br />
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“You and your father are even now,” he howled. She wrinkled her nose at him.
“Who is that woman?” she said. “Do you know her?”
“I do,” Kearns said, finally able to control his laughter, “Believe it or not, she’s my psychiatrist.”
They walked back to the kitchen. “We should leave,” she said.
“We’re here already,” Kearns said, fully regaining his composure and wiping his eyes. “You might as well get what you came for.”
Jennifer nodded and went into the spare bedroom, closing the door behind her.
At that moment Farrell emerged from his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He was wearing a bathrobe and had combed his thinning hair back into place.
“Can’t say much for your timing, Deputy,” he said.
“I thought you said Dr. Marks was a swing and a miss?” Kearns said.
“I may have understated the success of my romantic campaign with the good doctor,” Farrell said.
“Apparently.”
“Incidentally,” Farrell said, “she told me to remind you not to forget your appointment on Wednesday.”
“Now that I’ve seen her in her birthday suit,” Kearns said, “how am I supposed to sit across from her and concentrate on resolving my psychological issues? From what I just saw, she’s got a body built for distraction.”
“She knows how to use it, too,” Farrell said, more to himself. “What are you two doing here? I thought we weren’t supposed to meet until dinnertime?”
“Jen and I are going to the zoo this afternoon. She wanted to pick some things up on the way.”
“You and my daughter seem to be getting along pretty well,” Farrell said.
“My intentions are purely honorable,” Kearns said.
“If that’s true,” Farrell said, “you’re even dumber than I thought.” His face relaxed into a grin. “Actually, I couldn’t be happier for both of you.”
“Thanks, Bob.”
“By the way,” Farrell said. “Just because you’re now a sheriff’s detective doesn’t mean you can’t help a guy out with a private investigation now and then. It wouldn’t hurt my P.I. business to have a sworn sheriff’s detective moonlighting on some of my cases.”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Kearns said.
“What’s to think about? We’re a team, you and me. Like Astaire and Rogers, or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
“More like Laverne and Shirley,” Kearns said.
“Look at all we’ve been through,” Farrell said. “Together we’re unstoppable.”
“That’s not the word I’d choose,” Kearns said.
“What word would you use?”
“Incorrigible.”
Jennifer came out of the spare room, averting her gaze. She had a small overnight bag with her. She took Kearns’ hand and tugged him towards the door.
“Hi Dad,” she said meekly.
“Hello Jen,” Farrell greeted her. “Or should I call you Miss Coitus Interruptus?”
“Dad!”
“I’m going to take your daughter and leave now,” Kearns told him, rolling his eyes. “We’ll be back at six to pick you up for dinner.” He thrust his chin at the closed bedroom door. “Are you bringing a guest?”
“And if I am?”
“Tell her to put her clothes on.”
“Spoilsport,” Farrell said.
The End
Acknowledgements
I wish to express my heartfelt gratitude to the following individuals for their invaluable support in the writing of this novel:
My friend and literary representative, the one-and-only Scott Miller of Trident Media Group. He is an honorable man in a world where that commodity is becoming increasingly scarce. Everybody else has an agent. I have Jerry Maguire.
Brianna, Nicole, and Emily of Trident Digital Media, for their extraordinary forbearance and professionalism.
The Usual Suspects, who make my home a community.
The Calaveras Crew. Salty bastards all, and men to ride the river with.
Lastly, and most importantly, my wife Denise, daughter Brynne, and son Owen; the greatest blessings ever bestowed on a fellow. I am humbled every day. Today, tomorrow, and forever; you know the rest.
About the Author
Sean Lynch was born and raised in Iowa, in a Civil War-era brick farmhouse restored by his family. When not outdoors shooting his BB guns, Sean could be found reading crime and science fiction, paranormal and military non-fiction, and trying to persuade his parents to let him stay up past bedtime to watch the late-show creature feature.
After high school Sean obtained a Bachelor of Sciences degree and served in the US Army as an enlisted Infantryman. He migrated to Northern California’s San Francisco Bay Area, where he recently retired after nearly three decades as a municipal police officer. During his Law Enforcement career Sean served as a Sector Patrol Officer, Foot Patrol Officer, Motorcycle Officer, Field Training Officer, SWAT Team Officer, Firearms Instructor, SWAT Team Sniper, Defensive Tactics Instructor, Juvenile/Sexual Assault Detective, and Homicide Detective. Sean concluded his career at the rank of Lieutenant and as Commander of the Detective Division.
A lifelong fitness enthusiast, Sean exercises daily and holds a 1st Dan in Tae Kwon Do. He still watches late-night creature features. Sean is partial to Japanese cars, German pistols, and British beer.
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