FIGHT

by Brent Coffey

  “So I’m your suspect, huh?”

  “It’s either you or Martha, and you’re the one with the famous temper.”

  Bruce couldn’t argue with Richard’s assessment of him, because his many appearances in court had inspired several write-ups about how quick tempered he was. He knew that if one of them was going to take the fall for this it would be him. The idea of being convicted for something he hadn’t done aggravated him. He saw the state’s outline against him coming together to form a terrifying picture of an indictment and a prison sentence. I: He’d been pissed about not being able to adopt. II: Sara was the person who wouldn’t allow him to adopt. III: His name was on her wall at the crime scene. That might be all the proof any jury would need. Bruce suddenly faced a new possibility. He and Richard might not throw Gabe in prison after all. Richard might be throwing him in prison, if he didn’t figure out what the hell was going on ASAP.

  “Look, Richard, you know that I didn’t do this,” Bruce said for the benefit of Richard’s silent partner.

  “Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t look good. The press is going to find out, and this is a bad time for shit to hit the fan. We can’t have a tainted D.A. prosecuting the mob. You might have to excuse yourself from this case. We’ve both worked too hard to blow our public support over some setup.”

  “But that’s exactly what these guys want! Whoever did this, either Adelaide or one of his lackeys, obviously knows a lot about me and had a reason to sling mud on my good name. This has to be the Mafia, and if I resign today then you’ll be resigning tomorrow. You think the Adelaides will stop with me? No way! You’re next, Richard. If they can intimidate me with some trumped-up bullshit charges, then they’ll sure as hell do the same to you. We’ve got to fight this. I’ve got to be publicly exonerated. Take fingerprints from the crime scene. You won’t find my prints there. Look for any sort of clues the intruders may have left. A dropped glove, a hair follicle, anything. There’s got to be something that we can use to catch the real perps.”

  “You’re grasping at straws, Bruce. The mob doesn’t drop gloves, and they’ve worn hairnets under their masks for years. We aren’t dealing with amateurs.”

  “At least sweep the place for prints. At minimum, I want it made known that my prints weren’t found there.”

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  As he remembered the night Richard had stopped by to investigate, Bruce had an eerie epiphany at Stop and Go. Was there a connection between the message found on Sara’s wall and Gabe’s threat to get him his boy?

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  As Richard had suspected, Bruce’s fingerprints weren’t found at Sara’s condo. Nothing, other than his last name, linked Bruce to the break-in and the dead dog. For her part, Sara became even more adamant against Bruce adopting August. Two days after her home was ransacked and twelve days before Bruce would lose in court, she’d paid the Hudsons an unofficial visit.

  “So, you think being a D.A. makes you immune to prosecution? Is that it, you son of a bitch?” Sara stated more than she asked. Standing in the Hudsons’ open doorway and refusing to come inside and stop yelling, she continued:

  “You can forget about adoption. You can also forget about becoming a foster parent. In fact, asshole, I wouldn’t even try out for Big Brothers and Big Sisters if I were you. I’ve alerted every case worker in this city, and you’ll never get within a hundred yards of a child. I don’t know what your deal is or who you think you are, but you aren’t going to scare me into going along to get along. I don’t play that way.”

  Bruce had been expecting this visit, ever since he’d learned that his name was spelled out on her wall with dog blood. He remained calm and quiet, allowing Sara to process her anger. Trying to reason with a person this angry would only make matters worse. There was no stopping this: she was too heated. Like a hapless coastal resident waiting out a hurricane, he braced himself for more.

  “And what kind of sick perv kills an animal to get revenge? I can’t imagine how cold-hearted you’d have to be to do something that chilling.” The thought of Bruce doing something that chilling suddenly gave her pause. Perhaps, she quickly thought, he’s a psychopath, and it’s dangerous to yell at him. She clenched her eyes and shook an accusatory finger at him, trying to erase the dog’s image.

  “I understand that you’re upset,” was all he could offer before she began again.

  “You’re damn right I’m upset!” she shouted, concluding that, even if he was a psychopath, she should stand her ground. “So why don’t I break into your place and scatter your shit everywhere, since that seems to be way we’re supposed to handle things when we’re upset.”

  “Leave!” Martha demanded.

  “Oh, so now I’m just supposed to…”

  “I said leave and I meant it. I’ve had enough of you harassing my husband. You won’t listen to his side, you keep interrupting, and you’ve used quite enough foul language, thank you very much. Leave, or I’ll call the cops.”

  Sara glared. She knew she was bested. If the cops were called, she’d have a hard time explaining her behavior to her supervisor. She wasn’t on the clock, but social workers were routinely let go for problems in their private lives… drinking problems, gambling problems, whatever. Having “issues” did nothing for a social worker’s reputation. Having a cop called on you because you took matters into your own hands wouldn’t sit well at the office.

  “Okay, I’ll go, and you don’t have to worry about me ever coming back. But I want the same from you. Don’t you ever, don’t you dare ever step foot in my home again. Because if you do, I’ll catch you next time. I’ve installed security cameras that you’ll never find, I’ve got a new alarm system, and my neighbors have all seen pictures of you. You’ll never get away with this again.” She wondered how he’d gotten away with it this time. How the hell do you kill a dog in a high-rise without someone noticing its cries of pain?

  With great relief, Bruce closed their home’s heavy oak door as she left. He always answered when he heard a visitor. Mormons, girl scouts, didn’t matter. If someone knocked, he answered. Even suspecting a confrontational visit such as this one hadn’t changed him. Frightened people don’t answer their doors and pretend not to be home, and I’m no frightened person. He would’ve answered his door even if Sara had dispatched an angry boyfriend to confront him. But he had to admit, it was nice to finally close his door.

  “It’s over, Martha. August will live with someone else now.”

  “You don’t know that. We don’t know that. It may be over insofar as Sara’s concerned, but she’s just one social worker among many in this city. We can work around her. It’ll take time, and we might have to work with a new adoption agency, but that’s what our lawyer’s for. We need to talk to him. He’ll believe us when we tell him that you didn’t do anything to her home. He’ll figure something out.”

  “No, Martha, it’s truly over. I don’t have the energy to fight two battles at once. I’m spreading myself thin trying to prosecute Gabriel Adelaide. I don’t have the strength to wrestle with social services too. I…” he stopped. The urge hit him. The urge to instantly relieve himself hit him on the spot, midsentence. Bruce’s ulcerative colitis was an inflammatory bowel disease worsened by stress, and the encounter with Sara had been very stressful. He barely made it to the toilet on time. On the john and relieved that he hadn’t soiled himself, he thought, Maybe it’s for the best. I do have shitty health. Haha! He weakly smiled. Let the kid live with someone younger, someone healthier.

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  D.A. Investigated for Home Invasion. The headline was the story. Gina Ringer read the article in the metro section, after being alerted to it by her husband of thirty-three years, Bill. She read it with the same disapproving silence that Bill had read it with. It was that lawyer guy who was trying to adopt August. He’d gone crazy when he found out that the adoption had fallen thro
ugh. He’d broken into Sara’s home, and he’d made quite a mess. It didn’t matter that the Boston Times also said that the investigation was still underway and that no one had been arrested yet. That lawyer guy was already guilty in their eyes. They knew Sara, because they were August’s current foster parents. They’d never liked the idea of August leaving their home, and so they’d never liked the Hudsons. As a foster child, August netted them $500 a month, and there weren’t many sources of income as effortless as babysitting a child too scared to move. Sara, ever the optimist, had been wrong to tell Bruce that it would take a lot of get-up-and-go to watch August.

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  Chapter Two

  Two weeks later, on the day Gabe’s trial concluded…

  August was in bed at 6 in the evening. He was always eager to go to bed early, despite needing hours to fall asleep. His self-imposed 6 o’clock bedtime and his extreme shyness meant that he needed little supervision. The kid barely played. And when he did, it was with great concern. He colored, but he was scared while coloring. He watched TV, but he was scared while watching. Most of his time passed with constant fear. No matter what he did, petting the Ringers’ calico cat, tying his shoes, picking his nose, he stayed scared. He kept waiting for a drunk to kick the front door down and find him. He jumped at every noise, and he never got used to anything. He couldn’t calm down, he struggled to sleep, and he never relaxed. He took a dose of Adavan that most adults would’ve found potent, and he still couldn’t relax.

  Clutching Zoggy, his green zebra, August talked to God, as he lay staring at his bedroom’s ceiling. God, he prayed, don’t let it be tonight. Don’t let it happen tonight. It didn’t matter that he’d seen his father die. He was still scared that his father would bolt into his bedroom to kill the last Middleton left. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll do better at kindergarten next time. He knew that repeating kindergarten wasn’t normal, and he felt stupid, but trying harder seemed like all he had to bargain with for God’s protection. If you don’t let anyone get me tonight, I’ll be sooooo good tomorrow. I promise. And Zoggy says that he loves you, God. Zoggy says that he loves you this much. (He stretched his arms out to their greatest length, holding his stuffed animal in his right hand.) And Zoggy misses mommy-in-heaven, and Zoggy loves mommy-in-heaven. Tell mommy-in-heaven Zoggy loves her.

  In the midst of his fear, a warm feeling told him God liked his prayer.

  God and Zoggy kept August company. They were the kind of friends he liked. They were quiet, and they didn’t scare him. They also didn’t laugh at him for having to repeat kindergarten. God and Zoggy knew about mommy-in-heaven, and they didn’t mind. They never made fun of him for not having parents, unlike some of his classmates. God and Zoggy would be with him regardless of which home he went to next. They’d been with him before he lived with the Ringers, and they went everywhere with him. To school, to counseling with his therapist, and on any errands Gina included him on.

  Also keeping August company that night, though no one knew it, was a nondescript sedan with Luke Espinoza inside, parked across the street and five houses down from the Ringers’ house. Luke’s last assignment had been murdering Mulberry and Bronston to ensure their continued silence at Gabe’s trial, and tonight he was on a strange mission. This was a first in his career. He was supposed to find out what August wanted to play with and get it for him. Why, he had no clue. In his many years as an associate, a guy officially employed by a Family, he’d never been charged with toy shopping for an orphan. It made no damn sense. What kinda cash could be involved in this operation? he wondered. As Luke sat with a cigarette in his lips, he retrieved a pair of Nikon binoculars from the glove compartment and used both hands to hone in on the Ringers’ place. His binoculars were no use. He’d hoped to find toys in the front yard so he could figure out what occupied the kid’s spare time. That would’ve made things easy. Spotting an old rusty bike leaning against the house would mean that he should buy the kid a new shiny bike. Seeing a twelve foot trampoline in the backyard would mean that he should buy the kid a twenty foot one. Figuring out what the kid wanted would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if he could’ve done it from his car. With no clues in sight, he got out of his car, tossed his cigarette, crossed the street, and rang the Ringers’ bell.

  “Who do you think that is?” Gina asked a snoring Bill, as he snoozed on the recliner in front of the 6 o’clock news.

  She decided against answering the door. Whoever was there would eventually leave. But the doorbell was quickly followed by knocking, loud and impatient. This annoyed her, as she was trying to catch the day’s top stories. She tried once again to ignore the beckoning call of an overly zealous solicitor. She chose to act as if no one was home, not caring that the TV’s noise and the Corolla parked in their driveway told a different story. Sipping raspberry tea, her eyes widened as the doorbell started again, accompanied by even louder knocking and what sounded like shoes kicking the door’s bottom. Disturbed, she set her tea on the coffee table and rose to answer the door.

  “Alright!” she yelled, momentarily waking Bill. “I’m coming already.”

  “Good evening, ma’am. I’m here to inform you that your household has been randomly selected to receive free toys from Kid’s Center,” Luke began, after the door swung open.

  She eyed this stranger who’d nearly beaten down her door with a disapproving look. In addition to being rude, she judged, he also smells like smoke.

  “We don’t have any kids, so off you go!”

  “Well, ma’am,” Luke interrupted, catching the closing door with his foot, “I’m sure you know some kid who would enjoy a new toy. Maybe a kid at church? Or one in the neighborhood? Or, say, a foster kid?”

  “I just told you, we ain’t got no kids, and we don’t know any either. Whatever you’re selling, we ain’t interested.”

  “I ain’t sellin’ nothing.” Why’s she making this difficult? I know there’s a kid in her life. For God’s sake, he thought, I even know the kid’s name. “All I’m here to do is ask what free toys your kid wants from Kid’s Center. Your household is the grand prize winner in our most recent contest, and your kid can have a ton of free stuff. We’ll even deliver it for free. All you have to do is tell us what toys to bring.”

  Before she could lie again about not having any kids in her household, Luke reached into the pocket of his black sport coat and drew out an unlabeled white envelope, handing it to her. She narrowed her eyes towards the outstretched hand offering her the envelope. Maybe if I take this flyer, or whatever’s in this envelope, this salesman will be content and hit the road. Tearing it open with a nonchalant sigh, her lack of interest evaporated when she saw what was stuffed inside. Ten crisp $100 bills greeted her, with Benjamin Franklin’s sly look asking Weren’t expecting me, were you? She counted the bills and then recounted them. The guy had just handed her a thousand bucks for no apparent reason.

  “Now will you tell me what the kid wants to play with?” Luke asked.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Like I said, your household has been selected to receive free toys from Kid’s Central. I mean, Kid’s Center. All we need to know is what shit, I mean, stuff you want us to bring.”

  Curious, August shyly peeked around the hallway corner, making his blonde hair and wide eyes visible to Luke. August had heard the doorbell and the knocking, and he’d been paying attention to the conversation from his open bedroom door. He didn’t like talking to strangers: he didn’t even like seeing them. Still, free toys sounded intriguing, and he thought Zoggy might like a friend. A stuffed lion perhaps. He summoned all the courage he could find and made his silent presence known to the man at the door, by quickly waving a timid arm in a “hello.” He maintained his position of mostly hiding behind the corner, sporting a one piece pajama outfit that covered him from his shoulders to his feet with cats and dogs. His blonde hair had a tussled bed look from resting on his pillow. Luke, relieved to see evidence of
a kid in this home, raised an eyebrow in August’s direction. The killer and the kid made eye contact. Seeing the man at the doorway looking beyond her, Gina turned and saw August. She didn’t attempt to explain the discrepancy of August’s appearance in a childless home.

  She thundered at August, “Well, what do you want? Huh? Speak up! Don’t keep the man waiting.”

  Hugging Zoggy tight to his whole body (the stuffed animal was nearly as big as he was), August mumbled something into Zoggy’s head that neither Gina nor Luke could make out.

  “August, we haven’t got all day! Stop hiding in the hallway and tell the man what toys you want,” Gina ordered, putting the cash back in the envelope and stuffing it into her pants pocket. If she had to put up with more clutter in August’s room to keep the thousand bucks, then he could have as many free toys as he wanted.

  Seeing that he was trying her patience and not wanting to anger her, August walked into full view of both adults and spoke in the tiniest of voices:

  “Can I have a lion, please?”

  “A lion! Geez, kid, I can’t do that. I’m here to bring you toys, not animals,” Luke guffawed.

  “He means a stuffed animal lion,” Gina corrected him, rolling her eyes. “Guess you ain’t never had kids before.”

  “Oh, gotcha.” Luke admitted to himself that engaging kids wasn’t one of his strengths. Killing their parents? Yes. Knowing what toys they wanted? Absolutely not. “Fine,” he went on, “what else do you want?”

  “Make it quick, August!” Gina snapped.

  “I don’t know… Could I have a fire truck too? That’s all, please,” he said, finishing quickly so Gina couldn’t snap at him again.

  “He means a toy fire…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it this time,” Luke interrupted. “Is that it? That’s not a lot. I was expecting you to have a list longer than my Malibu. You want anything else?”