Lifeline

by Gerry Boyle

  Donna started to cry again. When she cried, her head shook. When her head shook, her earrings, big hoops with turquoise beads, shook too. She seemed very small and very frail and deserving of more than this.

  “You want a ride someplace?” I asked.

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe to my sister’s. I need to get my daughter.”

  “It’s the red truck,” I said.

  Donna walked to the truck and I opened the door for her, clearing off the seat and tossing the newspapers and cardboard coffee cups on to the floor. She got in and held her pocketbook, which was small and made of black leather, on her lap, which was thin and narrow. I got in on the other side and started the truck. The tape in the player started too. It was Audubon Society birdcalls: spring warblers.

  “I like birds,” I explained.

  “What, like in cages and stuff?” Donna asked.

  “No, in the woods. You know, bird-watching.”

  She looked at me curiously but said nothing.

  Donna gave the directions. South through the downtown and out the main drag and over another bridge. We went past a school and a big apartment complex and took a right at a country store. A half-mile out, in what had been a farmer’s pasture, was Marcia’s house, a neat brick-red ranch with a neat brick-red garage. There was a pickup with a camper in the driveway. Behind the truck was a trailer with two snowmobiles on it, wrapped tightly with tarps.

  “Lots of toys,” I said as we pulled up.

  ‘That’s Randy’s thing. He works, like, sixty hours a week at the mill in Skowhegan. They’ve got snow machines, a boat. A new truck plus that one just for the camper.”

  “So your daughter likes it here?”

  “More than her own house, sometimes,” Donna said. “Marcia and Randy never fight.”

  “They have kids?”

  “No. They want to but they can’t. And Randy won’t adopt, so that’s it. Adrianna’s their kid, really. They love her and she loves them.”

  I was parked in front of the house. A curtain moved and a small blonde girl was in the window, waving madly. Donna looked up and smiled.

  “Hi, honey,” she called, and then her face froze and she said, “Oh, Jesus.”

  The truck was bigger in the daylight. It came down the street toward us in a burst of noise, then made a U-turn and pulled up and cut me off. The back window was taped with plastic.

  Jeff got down from the cab. I got out of my tiny Toyota, sticking my keys in my pocket. Donna bolted across the lawn for the house.

  “Hey, scumbag,” Jeff said, walking toward me, ignoring her. “Where’s your rifle?”

  “Under the seat,” I lied. “Where’s your friends?”

  “Home,” he said. “That makes us even, right?”

  “I don’t know. How were your SATs?”

  He got within six feet of me and stopped. His eyes were bleary, and I could smell alcohol already.

  “Rum,” I said.

  “Cuervo Gold,” Jeff said.

  “You like to go down in style, huh?”

  “Who says I’m going down?”

  “You just got arrested. Twice in one day, there won’t be any bail.”

  “That’s my problem.”

  “You got that right,” I said.

  I opened the truck door. Jeff lunged out and kicked it shut. He stood there, hands by his sides, swaying slightly. He was a little shorter than me but wider at the shoulders and hips. His boots were unlaced and his denim shirt was half-buttoned. He was good-looking, with high cheekbones and deep-set dark eyes, just handsome enough to be arrogant. A gold chain showed against his hairy chest.

  “My grandmother had a necklace just like that,” I said. “And these faux pearl earrings. Clip-ons because, of course, this was before body piercing was en vogue. She shopped at Bloomies. People say it’s pricey, but if you shop the sales . . .”

  “Shut up.”

  “That’s not nice.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I heard you the first time,” I said.

  “I don’t think you did, or you wouldn’t be poking my girlfriend.”

  “She’s not your girlfriend and I’m not poking her.”

  “I say you are,” Jeff said, inching forward, getting up on the balls of his feet. “I say that slut was all over you. I say you had your—”

  I moved first, I had to, coming off the line like a tackle and putting my shoulder into his chin and neck. I had the momentum and I drove him back against the side of his truck and got my left forearm up under his neck. He was bent back over the bed of the truck and he reached in with his right arm and grabbed a piece of pipe. Before he swung it, I punched him twice in the throat, once in the eyes, and once in the side of the head near the ear.

  Maybe I could win on points.

  The pipe came up and hit me in the back of the head, but I was so close to his body that he couldn’t get weight behind the swings. It jarred me loose and I spun away from him, ripping his shirt and chain and swinging him against the hood of my truck. He staggered for just a second, and I jumped onto the truck and him and pressed his head back as far as I could.

  His legs went off the ground and I dug the keys out of my back pocket and raised the jagged metal high over his face.

  “Drop it,” I said, panting through clenched teeth.

  Jeff grunted and swung the pipe and hit me in the back of the head again, this time harder. He swung again and it made a clank against my skull and there was a black flash and I slammed the keys as hard as I could against his mouth.

  He said, “Ohhh,” and blood spurted from his lips. I raised the keys again and then there was a scrape of gravel and a blip of a siren and a voice on a PA that said, “Police. On the ground. Get on the ground. Get on the ground now!”

  “So he says you came at him without provocation,” the cop said from the front seat of the cruiser.

  “He said that? Provocation’s a big word for him.”

  “That’s my word. He said he was just talking to you and you came at him.”

  The cop was Donna’s friend, Officer Lenny. I’d read his name tag and was surprised to see that Lenny was his last name. His first name was William, and he was sitting in the driver’s seat of the Chevy cruiser with a clipboard on his lap, writing with a chrome Cross pen. The radio coughed and he reached over and turned it down. The ambulance with Jeff in it pulled away

  “Poor baby,” Lenny said. “Just stalling so he doesn’t have to go to jail. Now tell me what happened.”

  “He had a pipe,” I said. “He was drunk and pissed-off because I wrote about his girlfriend and her appearance in court, where she came to get a protection order. He’s threatened to kill her and he’s threatened to kill me, and in my opinion he’s a bail risk. He came out to my house last night and threatened me.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Prosperity.”

  “He didn’t assault you?”

  I hesitated.

  “It didn’t get to that,” I said. “This time he came at me with a pipe, swung first without any sort of provocation, and I pushed him away to defend myself. I had my keys in my hand, and when he was hitting me on the head with the pipe I was forced to use my keys as a weapon.”

  “That’s not what he says,” Lenny said.

  “Who you gonna believe?” I said.

  “I’m gonna let the DA’s office worry about that.”

  Lenny wrote, and I watched him. He was in his early fifties, had a military precision about him, and seemed to take his job very seriously. My gut said he was a good man and a good cop. My gut had been wrong before, but not often.

  “Never should have let him out,” Lenny said suddenly. “Guys like that get full of booze and drugs and it’s just a matter of time. I believe he’ll hurt her if they keep giving him more chances.”

  “Tell the judge that.”

  “I will. But I want you to tell me more about your connection to all this.”

  “Isn’t much of one. I met Donna a cou
ple of days ago. At court Tuesday. I just started covering the court for the Observer. I wrote about her coming to court and he saw it. He came after her and came after me. Today she was at the courthouse trying to talk to Tate about the whole thing, and she was upset. She didn’t have a car, so I offered her a ride out here to pick up her kid.”

  Lenny scribbled, his face inscrutable.

  “You involved in a relationship with her?” he asked without looking up from his clipboard.

  I looked at him.

  “No. I just met her. I’ve talked to her twice. And I’ve got somebody else. I mean, no.”

  Lenny still didn’t look up.

  “Maybe it’s none of my business, but I’m gonna say it anyway. You’d be wise to keep your distance from things like this, Mr. McMorrow. They have a way of sucking you in, especially if you’re the type who thinks he can save the world.”

  “You think I’m that type?”

  “I’ve seen it before,” Lenny said.

  “I told you. I was just giving her a ride. The guy came at me. I didn’t have any choice.”

  He looked at me in the rearview mirror. I couldn’t see his mouth, but his eyes seemed to grin.

  “Right,” Lenny said. “And if you’re smart, you won’t get in any deeper. A word to the wise, my friend.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  I got out of the cruiser, and my head swirled and ached. Lenny got out too. He handed me the clipboard and I signed the statement form on the bottom. The door of the house opened and Donna came out, while Marcia stood in the doorway with Adrianna and watched. Donna walked across the lawn and Lenny got back in the cruiser.

  “You might want to stay here with your sister,” Lenny said to her through the window. “I can’t guarantee that he won’t be out again.”

  Donna nodded. She had redone her eyes and put on lipstick, which was pink. I felt a sharp spasm of pain and I grimaced and put my hand to the back of my head, where I could feel the scabbed-over scrapes.

  “Whoa,” I said.

  Donna reached out and held my arm with both hands.

  “You okay?” she said. “Why don’t you come in and sit down?”

  Lenny looked at me and his eyes grinned again.

  “Word to the wise,” he said, and put the cruiser in gear and pulled away.

  “Come on in,” Donna said, and she looked up at me, this time letting her gaze linger. She was so small, so blonde, and her eyes were so big and dark.

  “Maybe a cold drink,” I heard myself say, and Donna walked me across the lawn, still holding me by the arm.

  There was a microwave on the counter, next to a food processor and a twelve-cup coffeemaker. Everything was shiny and new, like a display at Montgomery Ward. There was a two-week menu on the almond-colored refrigerator, which had an icemaker in the door. On the menu I could make out the words “American chop suey” and “Pepper steak.”

  “Diet Pepsi or regular?” Donna said.

  “Water would be fine.”

  She held a glass to the door and filled it, then put it down in front of me on the kitchen table. Adrianna came in with a stuffed dog in her arms. She was wearing pink pants with flowers on them. Her hair was curly and blonde like a wreath and she was brown-eyed like her mother.

  “This is Shaggy,” she said.

  “Hello, Shaggy,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Shaggy is pleased to meet you too,” Adrianna said, then looked up at me.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jack.”

  “Like the beanstalk?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Like the beanstalk.”

  “Go ahead now, honey,” Donna said. “Go and play.”

  “You ever climb a beanstalk?” Adrianna asked, frisking around the kitchen with the dog.

  “No,” I said. “But I’d like to. You have any magic beans?”

  “I’ll ask Aunt Marcia,” she said.

  She trotted off. Donna sat down next to me.

  “I’m sorry you had to get all caught up in this,” she said.

  I shrugged.

  “What can you do?” I said.

  “How’s your head?”

  “It aches.”

  “Maybe you should’ve gone to the hospital.”

  “Nah,” I said. “I have to get back to work. I’ve missed the morning session.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Wing it.”

  I smiled.

  “I’m really sorry,” Donna said, and she reached out and patted my arm, letting the last pat linger.

  I got up from the table. Marcia came in with Adrianna, holding her against her legs.

  “We don’t have any magic beans, Jack,” Adrianna said in a tiny voice. “Aunt Marcia says we’re all out. Can you get some at the store, Aunt Marcia?”

  “Sure, honey,” Marcia said in a gentle tone I hadn’t heard from her before.

  She looked up at me and didn’t seem gentle at all.

  “So what are you going to do?” I asked Donna.

  “Hope they keep him in, I guess.”

  “I’ll talk to Tate, if you want.”

  “Thanks,” Donna said.

  “You can both stay here,” Marcia interrupted, still holding Adrianna to her.

  “I need my own life,” Donna said.

  “How ’bout I keep Adrianna for tonight?” Marcia said.

  “No, she needs to be in her own bed, I think. Don’t you, honey?”

  “I want to stay here,” Adrianna said.

  I moved toward the door. Donna went to get Adrianna and the little girl bolted down the hall. I let myself out and Marcia followed me all the way to the truck. I got to the driver’s door and stopped.

  “She doesn’t need another enabler,” she said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Another enabler. That’s all these guys are. That’s all she is to them. Donnie, her husband, was useless. Jeff is a goddamn psycho. She gets involved with these guys because she drinks.”

  “I’m surprised to hear that,” I said. “I didn’t think it would be that simple.”

  “Well, I’m telling you for her sake, not yours. Hers and the baby’s. Back off.”

  I looked at her. What did I look like, I thought—a cruiser of singles bars?

  “I don’t have to back off,” I said. “I’m already backed off. I was never backed in. Really. I have somebody at home. I’m just trying to do my job.”

  “Well, go do it. I’m sorry about what happened today, but we don’t need any more of your help. That baby needs a normal life.”

  “Which you’ll gladly provide?” I said.

  “What’s that mean?” Marcia asked, adding even more chill to her voice.

  “I don’t know. Just that you seem to get along well with Adrianna.”

  “I’m practically her mother,” Marcia said. “What that child has seen in her life . . . I just try to give her some stability, you know?”

  “She’s lucky to have you.”

  “And I’m telling you to stay away and let my sister get back on her own two feet. She doesn’t need another man in her life.”

  “And I don’t need another woman in mine,” I said.

  I thought for a moment, then threw one out.

  “Or a child,” I said.

  Marcia almost snapped her chain.

  “Don’t come near her,” she hissed. “That little girl is my—I’d do anything for that little girl. Anything. So stay away.”

  “She’s your what?” I said.

  “My life,” Marcia said. “You go and don’t come back. And don’t go near that baby or my sister.”

  “You’re your sister’s keeper?”

  “Go, and leave us alone,” Marcia said. “Or you’ll—”

  “I’ll what?”

  “Regret it, Mr. McMorrow. Go.”

  10

  So I went, getting back to court at eleven thirty. The bailiff gave me the evil eye but let me in when there was a break. I sat in the back r
ow with an empty stomach and a screaming headache. Worse than that, something in Donna had stirred something in me, and I didn’t feel good about that at all.

  Roxanne wouldn’t feel good about it either.

  The judge was a white-haired man this time, very calm and placid and slow. After a few minutes, one of the probation guys slipped in and sat at the end of the row beside me. He was fortyish, small and wiry, and had a smile-creased face that looked as if he’d long been bemused by human nature.

  I asked him the judge’s name.

  “Poulin,” he said. “Nice guy. Too nice.”

  “This your beat?” I asked.

  “Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he said. “Mondays and Wednesdays in Augusta. Every other Friday in Waterville. It’s controlled chaos. Who are you?”

  “McMorrow. Jack McMorrow.”

  “Oh, Jesus, you’re McMorrow. You’ve got this place stirred up. I thought Tate was going to put a warrant out for your arrest.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this court hasn’t had a real reporter here in . . . I don’t know. Maybe they never have. You know what you ought to write about?”

  “What?” I said.

  “The goddamn plea bargains she hands out. She has some guy ought to be in the slammer and she gives him a suspended sentence, friggin’ two years’ probation. Hey, I don’t have time to chase any more of these guys. I’ve got a hundred and ninety-three clients. Right now. Today. I’ve got rapists and arsonists and all these badass types I see once a month. It’s a joke. It is.”

  “So why doesn’t she go for jail time?”

  “Because these guys aren’t going to go for a plea with jail. They’ll get a lawyer and go to trial and take their chances. And there’s a chance they’ll win.”

  “And Tate will lose.”

  “You got it.”

  “So she plays it safe.”

  “At the public’s expense. We’ve got loonies running the streets. You wouldn’t believe who’s walking around out there. I mean, I’m their probation officer and I don’t have the goddamn foggiest notion where they are.”

  “What’s your name?” I said.

  “Doesn’t matter. You want a good one? There was this guy in here this morning. John DeSoto. A goddamn career criminal. I’ve had him on for most of the last twenty years. Guy is here for assaulting his neighbor. Some bullshit argument. He hit the guy in the face with a shovel. A shovel. Cops have him for aggravated, and by the time Tate gets the case in here, it’s been pleaded down to simple assault. Thirty days suspended and a two-hundred-dollar fine plus restitution for the guy’s medical bills. But this guy couldn’t pay a parking ticket. Doesn’t have a pot to piss in. The cop was ripped.”