Princes of Arkwright

by Trafford, Daniel

  Tucker shrugged his shoulders. “So tell me, Uriel,” he said, “how does one go about becoming an angel?”

  “God creates you,” said Uriel.

  “Well, when people die, don’t they become angels?” asked Tucker.

  “No,” said Uriel. “They become dead.”

  “Well, suppose a man wanted to become an angel,” pressed Tucker. “How would he do it?”

  “How would a dog become a man?” said Uriel. “It is a stupid question. An angel is an angel. A man is a man. And a dog is a dog. You don’t change who you are.”

  “But I thought God could do anything,” said Tucker.

  “He can.”

  “Then I want to become an angel, like you,” said Tucker. “Can’t you talk to God for me?”

  “Talk to him yourself, Tuckerbromley, for he has given you a well-trained tongue.”

  Victoria came back with her arms full of bottles, dropping them into a large brown bin. Tucker rubbed the back of his neck and looked toward the pool tables.

  “There are a lot of blue-hairs in here tonight, Victoria,” he said. “These pool leagues are getting older and older.”

  Tucker turned back and was dumbstruck by Uriel’s expression, which was a mixture of shock and fear. “We must leave at once, Tuckerbromley,” he said.

  “Why?” asked Tucker, looking around at the old-lady perms bobbing up and down like ocean buoys. “Oh no. Demons? Here?”

  “Yes,” said Uriel. “Let us go.”

  “Why can’t you just fight them?”

  “Do you really want me to start striking elderly women in the middle of a crowded pub?” asked the angel, his eyes burning.

  “Well, aren’t the other people in here in danger then?”

  “No,” said the angel. “They are interested only in you.”

  “Why are they interested in me?” asked Tucker. “What did I do?”

  “You are under my protection,” explained Uriel.

  “Wait a minute,” continued Tucker in an angry whisper. “Do you mean to tell me that I’d be safer right now if I wasn’t being protected by an archangel?”

  “We call that ‘divine irony,’” said Uriel. “Now let us go.”

  They stood up and looked at the front windows. The shadowy forms of several elderly heads were popping out of the fog and pressed up against the pane. Tucker and Uriel immediately sat down.

  “Now what?” said Tucker.

  “It is time to flee with great alacrity. Come with me.”

  Tucker got up and followed Uriel into the men’s room, bolting the door closed.

  “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here, Uriel,” observed Tucker. “There aren’t any windows in here.”

  Suddenly, a sound like a violent scratching could be heard coming from the door.

  “Occupied!” shouted Tucker. “Uriel, what’s the big deal? What could they do to us anyway?”

  “You do not want to know,” said the angel, examining two urinals.

  The scratching at the door got louder and was accompanied by a high-pitched whimpering sound.

  “Uriel,” said Tucker. “Do you think this dead bolt is going to hold them off?”

  “No,” he said. “But this will.”

  As he spoke these words, the angel reached out with both hands, pulling the flush levers on the urinals and water came spilling down the insides of the porcelain.

  “Um, Uriel?” said Tucker. “I’m pretty sure that’s not holy water in there.”

  “What is holy water?” asked the angel, his hands still on the levers.

  Tucker was about to make a reply when the first drops of water came spilling over the sides of the toilet. Just as they hit the red tile, Tucker felt the floor drop out from under him. It still appeared exactly the same, but the floor now had the consistency of blood. Tucker lost his breath and tried to struggle as the liquid floor sucked him down. All was dark now and Tucker couldn’t breathe. He had the sensation of moving very quickly as he flailed his arms and legs, searching for a solid surface. Suddenly, the cold air slapped him in the face as he washed out of a large pipe and went plunging head first into the water.

  This time, he had no trouble swimming, and looked about frantically to see where he was. Above him, he could see the underside of a bridge. He was swimming in the foul chilly waters of the Arkwright River, just in front of the bar.

  “Uriel!” shouted Tucker. “Uriel!”

  As the frigid water seeped further into his skin, Tucker swam to the opposite bank very slowly, for his saturated clothes impeded his progress. The strip of vegetation between the river and the street was only about 20 feet, but was so thickly choked with trees, weeds and briars that it was impossible to see the street from the river – especially at night.

  “Uriel!” shouted Tucker again, but there was no response. He strained his eyes searching the riverbank, but it was still so foggy that he would have had a hard time distinguishing a man from a tree. When he finally emerged from the water, he stood up just as a stiff breeze came swishing down the river, throwing Tucker into a convulsive shiver. The angel was nowhere to be found and the detective’s thoughts turned to his apartment and a warm shower. He started scaling the sharply angled riverbank, scratching his hands and tearing his clothes on the thorns and branches that clogged his path. Above him, the lights inside St. Michael’s Church glowed amber through the huge stained-glass window facing the river. On the window, a barefoot and effeminate Saint Michael, with long, billowing blond hair and a sword in his hand, stood on the prostrate form of Satan. Using the window as a guide, Tucker forced his way through the woods and over the wall in the same spot he had seen the old woman scurry away just the night before.

  As he approached his apartment, the front door opened and Wayne appeared on the front step with a recycling bin filled with empty bottles of antifreeze. Tucker caught the familiar scent of boiling cabbage as he stood in front of Wayne, silent and dripping.

  “Tuck man,” said Wayne, looking intently at Tucker through heavy eyelids. “You smell. What happened to you?”

  “I was flushed by an angel,” said Tucker, making squishy sounds as he struggled to walk down the hallway.

  “Huh?” said Wayne.

  “Nothing, Wayne,” said Tucker, putting his key in the lock. “I’m cold, wet, exhausted and in dire need of some more life insurance. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go scald myself under a hot shower and hope to hell I can get some feeling back in my extremities.”

  And with that, the door slammed

  9. ROLAND LEMIEUX

  Tucker Bromley walked down Station Street with a brilliantly wrapped birthday present under his arm. Wrapping gifts was a particular talent of Tucker’s, and he took great pride in his skill. He hadn’t bothered to ask Victoria what sort of a party it was going to be, so he just wore a gray suit with no tie and hoped there wouldn’t be a houseful of screaming children.

  He found the apartment without any trouble and knocked on the door. A sour-faced man about 65 years old with glasses and a prominent bald spot answered the door.

  “Yes?” he said, his six-foot-two frame towering over Tucker.

  “Um,” said Tucker, “is this Victoria Lemieux’s apartment?”

  “Yes it is,” said the man, frowning and looking down on Tucker.

  “Dad, let him in,” said Victoria. “This is my father, Roland Lemieux. This is my friend, Tucker Bromley. We used to go to school together.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Victoria’s father, suddenly revealing an amiable disposition. “You’re the cop who overpowered those murderers.”

  Tucker swelled at this introduction and was glad it took a pleasant turn. He hadn’t counted on meeting Victoria’s parents today, and was glad he didn’t give an awkward first impression.

  “So, is your mother coming?” he asked, looking around.

  “She’s been dead for five years, Tuck,” said Victoria, looking down.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tucker, n
ow thinking that an awkward first impression was inevitable with him. “I didn’t know. So, um. where do the presents go?”

  “Presents!” yelled Lenore, as she came running out of the kitchen. “I’ll take it!”

  The girl grabbed the gift out of Tucker’s arms and brought it to a small table with a few other presents on it.

  “I wrapped it myself,” said Tucker, looking around the room for a compliment.

  “I was just thinking about how beautiful it is,” said Victoria obligingly.

  “Hey,” said Tucker. “I’m pretty proud of my wrapping skills.”

  “Proud?” cried a voice in the kitchen. “You seem downright smug.”

  Aly stepped into the living room to cast a contemptuous glance at Tucker. She wore a sweater with a long denim skirt, both black.

  “Oh,” he said, “you’re here. Good.”

  “Thank you so much for the present, Uncle Tuck,” said Lenore, standing in front of Tucker and beaming.

  “Uncle Tuck?” he said, looking at Victoria.

  “It was either that or ‘Mr. Bromley,’” she replied.

  “Uncle Tuck it is,” he said. And he picked up the girl and swung her around.

  “So what happened to you last night?” asked Victoria. “I looked up and you had disappeared.”

  “Well,” said Tucker, looking around the room for a lie. “Somebody spilled something on me and I had to go home to change. I was just so tired I went to sleep.”

  “That was an interesting story your friend told,” said Aly.

  “We’re not friends,” said Tucker. “I know he’s a little weird.”

  “Why?” said Aly, defensively. “Because he’s interesting and has a great imagination? That’s more than I can say for you.”

  “So what story did he tell?” asked Victoria’s father.

  “It was just a story to illustrate how prayer can be useful,” said Victoria

  “He sounds like a pretty smart guy,” said Roland. “Maybe he can get you to start going to church again and get your daughter baptized.”

  “Dad, don’t start this again,” said Victoria, rolling her eyes. “Not today.”

  “Do you know how much it bothers me that my granddaughter isn’t baptized?” he pursued.

  Victoria made no answer. Tucker stuffed his mouth with some cheeseballs and tried hard not to pay attention.

  “What do you think, young man?” said Victoria’s father, looking hard at Tucker.

  “I think Lenore should open her presents,” said Tucker.

  “Yay!” said Lenore, clapping and jumping.

  “She can’t open mine until later!” snapped Roland, determined to have his anger spill into the next conversation.

  “OK,” said Tucker. “She can open mine.”

  He handed his gift to the girl, who ripped open the paper with a delighted shriek. Tucker winced as his hard work was mercilessly destroyed, lying at his feet in shreds. Beneath the fancy paper was a leather-bound copy of “The Hound of the Baskervilles.”

  “Now that you’re 10, I think you’re ready for it,” said Tucker. “Maybe we could read it together. I can read a chapter then you can read a chapter.”

  “Really?” screamed the girl, jumping up and hugging Tucker tightly.

  Victoria said nothing, but just stared at Tucker, smiling. Soon the birthday cake came out, and the other presents were opened. Aly gave Lenore a journal and Roland gave her a very warm-looking pink winter coat, which she immediately tried on and refused to take off.

  “Well, I’ve got to be going,” said Roland, standing and looking at his watch.

  “Already?” said Victoria. “Why?”

  “I have to go to church,” he said. “I’m reading at 6 o’clock Mass. I’m also going to light a candle and apologize to God that my daughter didn’t have my granddaughter baptized.”

  Victoria, Aly and Lenore all stared at the floor as Roland frowned and put on his jacket. “Happy birthday, Lenore,” he said, opening the door. “That coat should keep you warm this winter.”

  He closed the door behind him, and everyone sat in gloomy silence.

  Now Tucker was not the kind of man who would ever get involved in a family squabble. He had seen too many of them over the years that ended up leaving scars far deeper than the cut should have caused. Also, it was none of his business. He had just met the old man and the last thing he would do is chime in. Furthermore, Tucker had such little interest in religion, he had a hard time grasping why anyone would get so passionate about it. Even an atheist passionately disbelieves. But Tucker had less than disbelief. He just didn’t care.

  So, considering all of this, it’s hard to imagine why, at that particular moment, Tucker suddenly felt the urge to after Roland and have it out with him. Maybe it was the fact that he hated injustices. Maybe he hated to see Victoria upset. Maybe a little thing deep inside him — the thing that made him become a cop in the first place — wouldn’t permit him to just let it go.

  Whatever the reason, Tucker had talked himself into action. And once Tucker’s mind was made up, no force in hell or earth could dissuade him.

  “I think I should get going, too,” said Tucker.

  “Not already!” said Victoria.

  “I have a big day tomorrow at work,” said Tucker. “I’m getting some new cases to work on. I was supposed to look over them on Friday but never got a chance. Anyway, happy birthday, Lenore, and I’ll see you soon. Are you working tomorrow, Victoria?”

  “Yes,” she said, still looking disappointed. “I start at 6.”

  “I might stop by, then,” he said. “Good night.”

  Tucker closed the door and ran down the hallway into the parking lot.

  “Mr. Lemieux!” he called out, just as Roland was getting into his Chevy Lumina. He stood up smiling and said, “That’s OK, you can call me Roland.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that,” said Tucker. “I respect my elders – particularly one as elder as you.”

  Roland’s smile quickly turned to a frown. “What is it you want?”

  “Victoria and Lenore were pretty upset by what you were saying,” said Tucker.

  “They know what my beliefs are. I feel very strongly about them.”

  Tucker started pulling on his ear. “Do you really think Lenore is going to roast in the flames of Hell because she didn’t have some water sprinkled over her?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” said Roland, jerking his head to one side. “But if she’s not raised a Christian, Victoria will pay for it with a few years in Purgatory.”

  “So,” said Tucker, “you’re helping God along by giving her a little Purgatory on earth?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a little rough on her.”

  “My beliefs …”

  “… are more important than your daughter’s happiness.”

  Roland opened his mouth widely as if he were about to bellow, but no sound came out.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tucker. “I know it’s none of my business. All I see is a great woman and a fantastic little girl. I know that’s mostly your doing. I just can’t help thinking that one word of compassion might go a little further than all that nagging. You must be proud of the job Victoria is doing as a mother. Aren’t you? It would probably mean a lot for her to hear it.”

  Roland said nothing, but clenched his jaw and stared at Tucker intently.

  “But if all that has to take a back seat to you protecting them from a cruel and vengeful God,” said Tucker, “who am I to interfere?”

  The detective turned on his heel and began walking back home.

  10. DECEPTIONS

  Bang!

  “Archangel!” shouted Tucker, snapping out of a dream to the sound of his apartment door being kicked in. Six men in riot gear pointed guns at him while one of them shouted, “Don’t move! Arkwright police! Face down! Put your hands on your head! Now!”

  Tucker complied, while yelling, “Who are you?”

  “Sh
ut up, sir!” yelled the same cop, whose voice Tucker didn’t recognize.

  “I’m a police officer,” said Tucker as best as he could with his face buried in his pillow.

  “What?” yelled the same officer.

  “I’m a cop!” screamed Tucker, lifting his head and forcing out this statement in a high-pitched whine.

  “State your name!” yelled the officer.

  “Bromley. Tucker. Detective sergeant.”

  “Holy crap!” said one of the other officers. “Tuck, we didn’t know you lived here.”

  “You know this man?” asked the first officer.

  “Of course,” said the other cop. “This is Tucker Bromley. He’s a dick.”

  “Nothing personal in that I hope,” said Tucker, jumping to his feet with a scowl on his face. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” Then he added, pointing to the first cop, “And who is this guy?”

  “He’s leading this leg of the sting, Tuck,” said the second cop. “He’s from Cumberland, part of the inter-town SWAT team. That’s why he didn’t know you. Why did you yell ‘Archangel’ when we came in? Operation Archangel was last month. This is Operation Blue Dawn.”

  “Why are you here?” Tucker said slowly, still scowling. He was wearing blue-striped pajamas and had his fists on his hips, giving the impression of a large defiant toddler.

  “Your neighbor,” said the cop. “We busted him. Didn’t you know?”

  “No!” yelled Tucker. “Nobody said a word to me. What was he busted for?”

  “He’s operating a meth lab,” said the cop from Cumberland. “Didn’t you know?”

  “OK, everything’s secured downstairs,” said a woman’s voice. “Is it all set up here?”

  “Sure, Rochelle,” said the cop from Cumberland. “Come on in.”

  “Tuck!” said Rochelle, walking into the bedroom and looking quizzically at Tucker. “Why are you in your pajamas?”

  “I live here, dammit!” said Tucker, stomping his foot and looking more like a toddler than ever. “Don’t you people check these things?”

  “I didn’t even know there was an apartment up here,” she said. “It looks like a single family house from the outside. Why didn’t you tell us?”