“Oh, that’s Boogie. Well, William. He’s our foster son and more trouble than he’s worth. The lil’ bastard stays in trouble, but he’s leaving in a few months, going to an adult living facility.”
“Oh…”
Sarah stood. “Would you like to see your dad now?”
“Yes, please.”
Rebecca got up and followed Sarah down a hall until they were standing in front of a worn wooden door. Sarah opened the door and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit by the light from a television. She flicked the light switch and walked over to the bed.
Rebecca stood in the doorway and waited for an invitation to enter, although she did peep into the bedroom. It was small, but clean. There was a tray table for meals and a television that was loudly broadcasting the football game between the Green Bay Packers and the Detroit Lions.
“Henry, honey, you have a visitor.”
“I…” He coughed. “I-I-thought you said no visitors for a while.”
His voice was feeble. Rebecca stepped back, wondering if she should come back another time.
Sarah looked up and raised a hand to still Rebecca’s retreat. “Well, this visitor is special.”
“Why?” Henry grunted.
“It’s Rebecca, honey,” she said softly.
“Who?”
“It’s Rebecca King, your daughter.”
Henry perked up immediately. He grabbed Sarah’s forearm and attempted to pull himself up. Sarah held his back to offer support.
“My Rebecca?”
Sarah smiled. “Yes, Henry. She’s here to see you.”
“Help me up.”
“No, honey. She’ll come to you.”
“Help me up,” Henry insisted.
“Henry…”
“I’ll not be flat on my back, Sarah. I want to be on my feet when I see my baby girl.”
Concerned that he would overexert himself, Rebecca stepped into the room and walked over to his bed. She was standing over him before he could make more demands of being on his feet. After a few seconds of contemplation, Henry relaxed against his pillow and smiled up at Rebecca.
“Look at how beautiful you are,” he whispered.
“Thank you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Well, we have met, girl. You were just too young to remember,” he reminded.
“Yes, I guess you're right.”
She studied his features, trying to find something they had in common. It was his large, chestnut eyes and thick lips she’d inherited. Even though he was lying down, she could tell he was quite tall. Her mom was only five-one and she was five-eight, which meant Rebecca measured somewhere between her tall dad and her short mother.
Henry smiled with damp, expressive eyes. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but the loud, disruptive sound of rap music flooded the small duplex. He gave Sarah a look that prompted her to walk toward the door. Assumingly, she went to go and put “Thug Life,” a.k.a. Boogie in check.
Visibly embarrassed, Sarah looked back and smiled awkwardly before leaving the room. Rebecca offered a sympathetic smile before returning her attention to her long-lost dad.
“Sarah was never able to have children,” he explained. “She poured all of her love into that boy, but he just ain’t no good.”
Rebecca placed her hand over his. “I understand.”
“Hey,” Henry said, finding new-found strength all of a sudden. “Don’t let this bed fool you. I’m normally a strong, healthy man. Once I recover from this setback, I want to spend some quality, father-daughter time with you.”
Rebecca nodded. “I’d like that.”
“I’m serious, Rebecca. I’m not a weak man, ya know. We still got time to catch up.”
“I believe you.” Rebecca chuckled.
“Good. I—”
A loud bang and the sound of glass breaking ended all conversation. Rebecca nearly jumped out of her skin. She instinctively barricaded the bedroom door with her body.
“What in the…” Henry started.
Concerned about his health, Rebecca held out her hand and urged him to stay calm. Even if she wasn’t very calm, she did want him to relax. He was, after all, recovering from a heart attack. She’d just met him, and she wasn’t ready to lose him.
When something hit the bedroom door hard, Rebecca felt a sudden jolt of pain to her shoulder. She cried out as she fell to the floor.
“Rebecca!” Henry called out. “Rebecca, are you okay?”
Henry jumped out of the bed as if he wasn’t bedridden. Rebecca looked up at her dad. At that moment, while he was in protective mode, he was a giant. For his sake, she shook the pain away.
“I-I’m fine,” she assured.
Henry held out his hand to help just as the door flew off the hinges.
“Chicago Police! Search warrant!”
3
CATO
Nick was grateful for a successful search warrant. He and his team had successfully located their target, recovered two kilos of heroin, and secured most of the house without anyone getting hurt. The breach was without incident until they entered a room in the rear of the rowhouse. After kicking in the door, he was confronted by the very woman who had been invading his thoughts since the day he’d encountered her at the shrink’s office.
The beautiful woman had caught his attention from the moment she stepped out of the doctor’s office. King was what the receptionist had called her. She was breathtaking. Her brown eyes sparkled in competition with her golden complexion. And her body…her body was an enticement Nick hadn’t expected. Long legs, plump tits, and curvy hips he just wanted to grip had had his cock stirring since the moment he’d laid eyes on her.
In the small bedroom, she had commanded his attention. So much so that he hadn’t noticed the tall, elderly man rushing toward him. Nick was still staring at the frightened woman on the floor when he heard Gary, a member of his team, yelling for the man to get down on the floor. Nick looked up just as he was tackled by the older man. He had definitely been caught off guard. But he quickly recovered and flipped the man to the floor.
“No! Stop! He’s sick!” the King woman screamed as she scrambled off the floor.
She climbed on Nick’s back and wrapped her small arms around his neck. She wasn’t hurting him, but he was unsettled by the way her touch made him feel.
“Let him up!” she screamed as Gary snatched her by the waist and threw her to the floor a little too hard.
Nick frowned when her face hit the floor. Tears fell from her eyes as she watched him subdue the old man. She was watching the man intently, not at all concerned about her own predicament. He must've been her father.
“You’re gonna kill him,” she whimpered. “He is sick. You are going to kill him.”
The man struggled beneath him, but not with much force. He did seem weaker than a man his size should have been.
Nick stood and lifted the man from the floor. His intention was to help him to the bed, but as soon as he was on his feet, the man rushed toward Gary.
“Get off of her, you son of a bitch!” he roared.
Nick grabbed the man, bear-hugged him from behind, and forced him to the bed. Then he yelled for Gary to get the woman off the floor. Ignoring his request, Gary grabbed his handcuffs and yanked the woman’s arm behind her back. When she winced and cried out in pain, he barely contained his anger. His entire body went red hot.
“Motherfucker!” he seethed through gritted teeth. “I said help her up.”
Puzzled by Nick’s ire, Gary looked up at him with knitted brows.
“Now!” Nick ordered to clear up any confusion.
Gary reluctantly released her arms and helped her to her feet. The woman snatched away from Gary and turned to Nick. She wiped the tears from her face and asked, “What is this? What’s going on?”
Nick could tell she was willing herself to stay calm. “Search warrant,” he responded plainly.
The woman wiped the front of her shirt and looked over at the old man. “A
re you okay?” she asked him.
“I’m fine.”
Although he said he was fine, his breathing was labored and he was sweating profusely.
“Can I help him?” she asked Nick without looking at him.
“Go,” Nick responded.
She hurried over to the bed and helped the man lie down. She grabbed a pitcher from the nightstand and poured water on a towel that was hanging from the headboard.
Nick watched as she gently wiped the sweat from his forehead. While she nursed the man, he made assumptions as to the type of woman she was—the type of wife she probably was, the type of mother she may have been. A feeling of guilt shook him back to his current situation. He grabbed the radio from his duty belt.
“6310,” he called into the radio.
“Go, 6310,” the dispatcher responded.
“Squad, can you roll an ambulance to this location?”
“6310, you still at the location of your search warrant?”
“10-4,” Nick confirmed.
“Okay, what do have?”
“I got a male, maybe early sixties. He’s having trouble breathing.”
“10-4, 6310. Your ambulance is rolling.”
“10-4. Thanks.”
* * *
It was forty-five minutes later, and the paramedics had come and gone. After the man, who Nick now knew as Henry Norris, calmed, he was given a clean bill of health. Except for Henry, who was resting in bed, every civilian in the house that hadn’t been placed into custody was instructed to sit on the sofa.
William Robinson, a.k.a. Boogie, and his buddies were taken into custody. The King woman was sitting quietly on the sofa, wringing her hands. But after a lengthy conversation with the woman of the house, Nick became more aware of circumstances behind the woman’s presence in the residence. It was a simple case of bad timing that had brought her to that location on that particular day.
He pulled a contact card from his back pocket and walked over to her. He told her he needed the information of everyone on the premises. She cooperated by giving her name, address, and phone number. Even though there was no box on the card for such information, he was sure to ask her marital status. He shamelessly stuffed her card info into his back pocket with absolutely no intention of turning the card in to evidence. He didn’t know what he was going to do with her personal information, but he wanted it nonetheless.
“Do you need a ride home, Miss King?” he asked, secretly praying she would say yes.
“No, thank you,” she responded with a soft voice. “I have a car outside.”
Damn!
He nodded to his team, gesturing for them to exit the house. He reluctantly followed, wishing he had another excuse to speak to Rebecca King.
“Do you need a ride home?” Gary mocked once they were outside. “Da fuck was that, Sarge?”
“Shut up and get the car,” Nick grumbled.
4
KING
Rebecca adjusted her glasses and shifted in her seat. She continued the delicate and meticulous process of cleaning the priceless painting, Van Gogh’s Bedroom. It was one of her favorite pieces. There were three versions of the same painting, constructed by Vincent van Gogh’s very hand. The original of the three was on exhibit in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam while the third was on display at the Musée d’Orsay in Paris. Thankfully, the second work of art was cataloged at the Art Institute of Chicago where Rebecca was an art conservator.
Her thoughts drifted to Paris and long, romantic walks along the Champs Elysees and the River Seine with a certain tall, handsome, blue-eyed cop. Since her mind wasn’t on the important task of preserving the hundred-and-twenty-eight-year-old work of art, she thought it best to take a break.
She raised her glasses and slid them over her hair like a headband and then placed the soft-bristled cleaning brush on the drafting table. She rubbed her eyes as if she could wipe out the image of his perfectly plump lips and chiseled masculine jaw.
Sadly, what she couldn’t erase was the image of the big man tackling her ailing father. He did, however, apologize, explaining that his goal was to secure every room in the home. He went on to say that he was only trying to stay safe and ensure the safety of his men, which was understandable. Since after all, it was a drug house, and Henry did rush him. She did take note that ultimately, his aggression diminished once the situation calmed.
“Rebecca, are you okay?”
She was startled at the sound of her co-worker’s voice. “Huh? Yeah…Yes, I’m fine.”
Jessica crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes as if studying her.
“What? Stop sneaking up on folks.”
“Honey, I called your name three times. You were in Lala Land.”
“Oh… I’m sorry. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to know if you had plans for the weekend. There’s a party at Butterfly Saturday and I need a date.”
Jessica was a conservator as well and not just a colleague, but a friend. They’d met while studying art and archeology at the University of Chicago. She was a brilliant archaeologist. The girl was a super nerd, but one couldn’t tell by the way she looked. She was a tall, sexy, white girl with fire red hair and voluptuous curves reminiscent of the curvy pinup girls circa 1950s. But not even she could make Rebecca want to spend her Saturday night in a crowded club.
Rebecca grimaced. “A party?”
“Yes. You remember those, don’t you? Drinks? Music? Dancing? Men?”
Rebecca rolled her eyes and slid her glasses back down her face. She retrieved the brush from the drafting table. But Jessica grabbed her wrist before she could return to the painting.
“Geesh, what’s up with you lately? You’re only thirty-five years old, but you act like you’re sixty-five. I swear, Rebecca, a little fun won’t kill you.”
Yeah, but too much just might.
“Come on, girl, live a little.”
Rebecca dropped the brush on the table and looked into Jessica’s intense amber stare. No one at work knew her health status. She wasn’t a party girl. She was always careful not to overexert herself. And because she needed to be close to her doctors, she didn’t travel much. So, it was understandable why Jessica thought Rebecca was a prudish bore.
“Whose party?” Rebecca asked, considering Jessica’s invitation.
“My cousin, Yvonne. She’s celebrating a birthday.”
“You have a cousin named Yvonne?” Rebecca always thought of Yvonne as an ethnic name. “That sounds like a family thing.”
“Exactly,” Jessica responded with a roll of her eyes. “That’s why I invited you. I’m gonna need somebody there who I actually like to talk to.”
Rebecca leaned back in her seat and laughed. Although Jessica rarely had nice things to say about her family, she still found herself more than a little envious that she had a family to complain about.
All she’d had was a neglectful, drug-addicted mother who’d killed herself after her boyfriend of only six months left her for another woman. And since her mother had been estranged from her own family, Rebecca had been left on her own. She went into foster care only to run away after the very first sexual advance from her foster father. At sixteen years old, Rebecca had been forced to learn to fend for herself.
“Um…hello? Party?” Jessica pressed, pulling her back to the present.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll go,” Rebecca relented. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do.
“Great. I’ll drive. “Jessica darted to the exit of her tiny office before she could change her mind. “Gotta get back to work,” she said over her shoulder.
“Yeah, right,” Rebecca scoffed.
Jessica pretending to care about doing work was a joke. She had been at the institute much longer than Rebecca, and Jessica’s skills had been unmatched until she’d joined the team two years ago.
Rebecca had been a conservator at the Museum of Modern Art for three years before returning to Chicago. She was vetted and highly coveted by the Art Insti
tute. And before the symptoms of her condition became a hindrance, Rebecca had spent three years working in the Vatican. With her coveted arrival, Jessica was no longer the hottest ticket in town.
Surprisingly, Jessica was never competitive. Her life was filled with so much romance and excitement that her work life didn’t seem to matter as much as it did to Rebecca. Jessica actually seemed happy that there was someone to bear the burden of actual work, and Rebecca was happy to assume the busy work. She welcomed anything to take her mind off of the fact that she was running out of time.
Her thoughts drifted to her father. On her way to work, Sarah had called to tell her that her dad was still recovering well from his heart attack, despite the shock of a police raid on their home. She also said that, due to an extremely high bail, Boogie would have to remain in jail until his trial. By that time, their custody arrangement would be null and void.
She was relieved to hear the news that the young thug would no longer be able to put her dad and his wife at risk. After a thirty-minute conversation with Sarah, she’d agreed to join them for dinner the next day. Though she had to admit, she still felt a bit awkward in their presence.
“Rebecca, dear?” The sound of her boss’ distressed voice blinked her out of the brief daydream. She looked up and was instantly concerned by his worried expression.
“What is it, Ben? Are you okay?”
Benjamin’s wide green eyes told Rebecca that everything was not okay. She found herself wondering if she had done something wrong. But quick breaths and the sweat beading on his forehead suggested something much more pressing.
“Ben! What is it?” Rebecca pressed.
“There’s been a threat.”
With a frown, she asked, “What do you mean by threat? What kind of threat?”
“Bomb,” was all he said.
She instinctively scanned her office to see what works of art would have been considered priceless. Typical of a conservator, she thought of the art first. Hell, she was dying. She might as well preserve the precious history. Its importance would live long beyond her fragility.
Cato’s Heart Page 2