by Justice
“He hit you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He kissed my breast. “It doesn’t matter at all. Like my beard?”
“Very much.”
He sucked my nipples. “How about the haircut?”
“You’re handsome no matter what.”
“Meaning I look like a fuckin’ skinhead.” He came up for air. “It’s because of the lice. Rampant little critters.” He looked up and ran a hand across his denuded head. “Shampoo they use here burns like hell. Send me some decent stuff when you get back home, okay?”
“Do you need anything else?”
“No, nothing. At least nothing available in a store. Kiss me, angel.” Once again, his mouth attacked mine. “Let me give you satisfaction…like we did in my apartment.”
“I’m too sore. Besides, I want to talk to you. I’m ready to know the truth.”
“It’s over, Terry. Let it ride.”
“Just tell me yes or no.”
He kissed me and didn’t answer.
I pulled away. “Chris—”
“It won’t change anything. Drop it.”
“I know it won’t change anything. It certainly won’t change the way I feel about you. But I still want to know.”
“God, you’re beautiful—”
“Chris—”
“Drop it!”
“Chris, did you kill her? Yes or no?”
His face contorted in anger. Abruptly, he pushed me away. “Yes, Terry. I killed her. I didn’t mean to do it. But that doesn’t make Cheryl any less dead. Are you happy now?”
I stared into his eyes, trying to decipher their muddied look. “I don’t believe you.”
My answer made him madder. “And why don’t you believe me, Terry?”
“I…just don’t.”
“It certainly won’t change the way I feel about you,” he imitated me. “What a crock of shit—”
“Chris—”
“You know why you don’t believe me?”
“Chris—”
“You know why?” he said louder. “You don’t want to believe it. You can’t allow yourself to believe it. Because that would mean you just gave your cherry to a lowlife. And what would that say about you?”
“It’s not that at all.”
“Yeah, say it enough times and maybe you’ll convince yourself.”
“Why are you getting so angry?” I said. “You told me to ask you.”
“That was then, this is now.” He glared at me with furious eyes. “So now you know. And you’re disappointed! Too fucking bad I didn’t meet your expectations—”
“Chris, it doesn’t matter—”
“Oh, cut the shit, Terry! You just got fucked! Cool it with the Goody Two-shoes virgin bit and get real, okay?”
I blinked several times. Then I whispered, “Please don’t talk to me like that.”
His eyes engaged mine for a moment, then they broke contact. He shook his head and blew out air. His voice turned soft. “We’d better get dressed. Gestapo’ll be here soon.”
I covered my face and broke into sobs. He took me in his arms and rocked me gently.
I said, “I wanted to make this perfect for you.”
“It was perfect.” Chris hugged me tightly. “God, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”
I bit back tears, kept my head against his chest, my hands resting against his newly developed pectorals. His new body…a shorter fuse, so unlike the Chris I knew. I said, “You’re on steroids, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “I needed bulk in a hurry.”
“I understand completely,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I don’t blame you.”
He didn’t answer me.
“Do you need more stuff?” I asked. “Do you need anything at all?”
“No, I’m all right.” He broke away from me and began feeling around for his clothes. “I’ve got money …some clout. I can get the illegal stuff. Just can’t get decent shampoo.”
“I’ll send some right away.” I found my shirt and slipped it over my neck. “So you’re surviving okay?”
“Surviving’s a good word. Mafia still carries weight.” He put on his pants and shirt. “Not that I haven’t been tested, but simple shit. Nothing I couldn’t handle. They’ve got lots of jail bands here. So I’m okay.”
“What instruments are you playing?”
“Headbangin’ ax for the Aryans, mandolin for the shitkickers, and bass for the soul brothers. Rest of the time, they leave me alone. They got me doing foundry work…lots of ore under the desert. It’s as hot as hell but I don’t mind. I like sweating and the work builds up muscle. Foreman’s an okay guy…meaning you can buy him. When the shop is closed, he lets me fool around with the scrap. I’ve done some interesting sculpture. Let me help you on with your pants.”
I nodded.
He raised my legs and slipped them into my pants. “Terry, you’re all bloody and red down there. You should see a doctor. Just to make sure you’re all right.”
“That would be a first. Death by deflowering.” I paused. “Unless you meant something else.”
He looked blank.
“We didn’t use protection, Chris. I’m about midway through my cycle.”
He shrugged carelessly. “Nothing we can do about that. We’re both Catholic. If it happens, it happens. You know I’d take care of you. You sure you’re all right? I tried to be gentle, but I got carried away. I’d feel better if you saw a doctor.”
“If I need to, I will. Don’t worry about it.”
He raised his brow. “You’re a lot cooler than I gave you credit for. I thought you’d go ballistic when you found out I was using.”
“Chrissie, I understand that there are different laws here.”
“Man, ain’t that the truth. You know what, Terry? There are different laws everywhere…even in our so-called civilized society. We all think we live under one big Constitution, but we don’t. We’re influenced by our own cultures. In my family, extortion is a time-honored trade—”
“Chris—”
“I’m not saying I believe it’s good. But really, when you think about it, my uncle’s only doing what comes naturally. Where he grew up, paying the don was just a fact of life. His community thinks it’s normal. Among his people, he’s well liked and well respected.”
“But he’s living under American law—”
“Which is arbitrary at best. In Texas and Florida, they fry people. The death penalty’s outlawed in Massachusetts. There’s no consistency. Laws are broken every hour of the day by lawmakers, why should we expect the criminals to behave?”
“So we should just chuck it all and live in chaos?”
“I’m just saying laws work in a context, that’s all. In my uncle’s community, a law against extortion is not only meaningless, it’s just plain silly.”
I looked at him. “You’ve thought a lot about this.”
“You’re the legal son of a big mafioso, you think about these things. Look, I’m sure I’m trying to justify in my own mind what my uncle does. But I do understand where he’s coming from.”
Not wanting to get him mad, I nodded in agreement. It seemed to satisfy him.
“Anyway, I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. It won’t happen again.” Chris kissed me softly on the cheek. “I’m sorry if I misjudged you.”
“I do love you, Chris.”
“I’d sure like to believe that.”
I whispered, “Please tell me what happened with Cheryl?”
“Terry, I was drunk—”
“Chris, I’ve seen you drunk. You’ve got more memory than a pentium chip. That line satisfied the lawyers. But it doesn’t satisfy me. What happened?”
He didn’t answer.
“Christopher, talk to me.”
He ran his hand over his face. “Terry, you know when I leave this place, I’ve got to go home.” He sighed. “We’ve had a change of plans. I’m being married off to Lorraine’s older sister, Maria. She’s
fat, she’s ugly, and people call her retarded—”
“When did this happen?”
“It was my punishment for copping a plea instead of letting my lawyer handle the case.”
“Chris, why’d you do that? I didn’t ask—”
“I know you didn’t ask,” he said. “But I wanted to do it for you. Because the sketches were my fault. So here I am and here you are. We’re together, Terry. This arrangement is the best thing that ever happened to us. As much as I hate it here, I don’t want to get out. Because what do I have waiting for me?”
“Me.”
“Oh, baby doll.” He shook his head. “You’ve met my uncle. You want to mess with him?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I’m telling you what’s important to me. Are you going to come back and visit me again?”
“Of course.”
“Swear?”
“Swear.”
“No matter what?”
“No matter what. Did you kill her?”
“Terry, I’m not going to answer you. Because I’m screwed either way. I tell you, ‘Yes, I did it,’ you’re destroyed—”
“Chris—”
“If I tell you, ‘No, I didn’t do it,’ you’ll start hunting around for some psycho sex killer—”
“You didn’t do it, did you?”
He ignored me. “If you care about my feelings, you’ll just drop it. What’s done is done. Let’s just enjoy the time God has blessed us with.”
I was quiet.
“Come here.” He patted his lap.
I climbed back on top of him. He took my face in his hands and kissed my lips. “I love you. I want you to know that. Promise me you’ll let things ride.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you won’t go around being my avenging angel. Swear to me you’ll let things be.”
Before I could answer him, the door opened. Chris gripped me hard, his face a mask of despair. “Just five more minutes, please.”
“Wouldn’t chance it, buddy. Lock-down’s in fifteen minutes. They don’t count your head, you bought yourself thirty days in the hole.”
“Chris, you have to go!”
He held me tighter. “Oh, God—”
“Please!” I begged him, pushed him away. “Please!”
He swallowed dryly, then stood up. Gave me a heart-wrenching smile. We exchanged vows of love, then he left.
The door slammed shut and I was alone. I wept bitterly. My face was beard-burned and I could barely walk. But a long hot bath and I’d be close to normal. I’d be back home. But the boy I loved would remain in hell.
And he did it all for me! Donatti was right. I owed him…I owed both of them. At least I could look the old man in the eye and say that I’d handled it. But it wasn’t enough.
The guards came back for me. Procedure was identical except in reverse. I checked out of the logbook, and by two in the afternoon, I was in my old hot, stuffy clothes and once again traveling isolated desert roads. My eyes drooped, my body ached for sleep, but I refused to succumb. There were things to think about.
True, I had promised Chris I wouldn’t avenge him. But that didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t. Because, really, how much control did I have over other people’s actions?
33
She stood up when he came in, said she was sorry to be bothering him. Being a polite kind of guy, Decker told her it was no problem. He pointed to one of the orange plastic chairs attached to the floor, but she didn’t sit.
“Could we speak where it’s a little less…public?”
Decker studied the teen. She wore a floral strap dress over a white cotton tee. Her legs were encased in nylons, her feet housed in white, polished flats. Her cheeks were tinged with blush, her lips coated with something glossy and mauve. She had dressed for the occasion. Her eyes were bright and purposeful. They accepted his scrutiny without a flinch.
She reminded him of Cindy—scared but tough. He thought about his daughter living off campus in New York. At first Decker had thought Cindy wanted to stay to prove herself strong. No rapist was going to chase her away. Now he was thinking it was something much more mundane.
How’s it going, Princess?
Fine, Daddy. I can’t talk. Someone’s waiting for me.
A long pause. A girl someone or a boy someone?
Oh, Daddy!
And with that, she had hung up on him.
Cindy had a boy up her sleeve. Dear Lord, please make him a nice guy and not a scumbag like Chris Whitman.
The thought brought him back to the present. To Terry he said, “Would you like to talk at my desk?”
“If that would be okay.”
“Come.” He led her through the door marked SQUAD ROOM, passing through the detectives’ anteroom where two dees were fielding calls. He brought her into the working area proper. For once, Decker’s desktop was clear. He pulled up a chair for her, then motioned her to sit. After she did, so did he.
“I forgot what you like to be called—Terry or Teresa. Or we could go very formal and I could call you Ms. McLaughlin.”
She let out a small laugh. “Terry’s fine.”
“So what can I do you for, Terry?”
Her eyes were anywhere but on him. “I saw Chris the other day.”
“You did?”
She nodded.
Decker said, “How’s he doing?”
“He’s…coping.”
“Good.”
She said, “He seemed depressed.”
“I’d be depressed, too, if I were in prison.”
Neither spoke.
Terry said, “Can I ask you an honest question?”
“Sure, although I can’t guarantee an honest answer.”
She looked at her lap, then at his eyes. “Do you think he did it, Sergeant?”
“Are you asking me if I think Chris killed Cheryl Diggs?”
She nodded.
Decker said, “Yes, I think he did it.”
“Not even a little doubt in your mind?”
Decker rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Are you here to proclaim his innocence?”
“I know, I know,” Terry said. “You think I’m dumb and naive.”
“You’re not dumb.”
“I’m not naive, either. I asked Chris straight out. I asked him if he did it.”
“And?”
“He was…vague. Deliberately vague.”
“It’s hard getting the words out,” Decker said.
“Except we both know that Chris is a great liar.”
Decker raised his brow and waited.
Terry shrugged. “I think he’s testing me…will I still love him even if he did do it? I told him I would. It’s the truth. But I don’t think he believes me.”
Decker didn’t speak.
Terry said, “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I respect you. I just wanted to know if there was ever a little, teeny…minuscule doubt in your mind about Chris being the one.”
“Terry, there’s always a little, teeny, minuscule doubt.”
She looked up. “Really?”
Decker was about to explain, then thought better of it. But she was sharp and caught it.
“What is it, Sergeant?”
Decker said, “Nothing.”
She became animated. “You do have a little, teeny doubt, don’t you?”
“You forgot minuscule.”
“Do you have any doubts?”
Decker didn’t answer. He noticed her facial muscles tighten. She said, “What is it? Some sort of code of silence? You can’t admit your doubts to us ordinary people?”
“Terry, Chris Whitman is a murderer.”
She looked at him sharply. Then her eyes grew heavy with sadness. “So I guess I got what I came for. Like they say…the truth hurts.” She shrugged. “Maybe Chris is right. Maybe I am better off not knowing.”
“I would think so.”
&
nbsp; She started to get up, then changed her mind. “You can’t tell me anything to make me feel better?”
The statement, said with such blunt innocence, tugged at Decker’s heartstrings. “Did Chris send you here, Terry?”
“No.” She shook her head vigorously. “As a matter of fact, he’d be really angry if he knew I came. He wants me to let the whole thing ride. See, once he gets out of prison, he has to go back home and marry some girl he doesn’t love…or even like. Some sort of arranged thing with his uncle.”
Decker said, “Is the girl’s last name Benedetto?”
“Yes, but it’s not Lorraine,” Terry said. “It’s her older sister who’s apparently fat and ugly and stupid. His punishment for not consulting his lawyers before he confessed to the police.”
Decker said, “Chris must trust you to talk so openly about his family.”
“Of course he trusts me. He loves me. I love him.”
Casually, Decker asked, “What else did he tell you about his uncle?”
Terry shrugged. “Just that Benedetto is a rival of his uncle. I guess the Mafia works like old royalty. They use marriages to keep peace. So you can see why Chris isn’t anxious to be freed.”
“I don’t know, Terry.” Decker said, “Prison seems like a funny kind of haven.”
“Except in prison, he has me…visiting him.”
“How many times have you gone to see him?”
“Just once so far. But it was really intense.”
Decker focused on the girl’s face. “Intense?”
She looked down and nodded.
“Whitman’s uncle…Donatti arranged some kind of special visit for you?”
Again she nodded.
“A conjugal visit?”
She looked away, her cheeks crimson.
“Ah,” Decker said. “So this is how you’re spending your summer vacation.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Not at all.” Decker waited a beat. “Well, maybe a little. I’m sorry.”
She smiled with moist eyes.
Decker spoke gently. “Terry, the case was closed two months ago.”
“Can I look at Chris’s file?”
“First of all, it’s not Chris’s file, it’s the Diggs murder file. Secondly, no, you can’t look at it.”
“You’d let Chris’s lawyers look at it, wouldn’t you?”