ON The Rocks (An Ozzie Novak Thriller, Book 3) (Redemption Thriller Series 15)

by John W. Mefford

  I let him have it. “Do you recall raping a woman a few years back?”

  He went still; his pale skin lost what little color it had. The waitress arrived with his drink. It appeared to be a martini, a green olive on the side.

  “Can I get your friend anything?” she asked, turning to me.

  “He was just leaving,” Dr. Copeland interjected.

  I ignored him. “Do you have any soup? Actually just broth would be nice.”

  She wrote it down and walked off.

  His eyes stayed on me, although I could see them shift to my chin. He wanted to say something, but he was too infuriated to speak. The idea that he’d raped anyone was so repulsive, I wanted to grab him by the throat and choke the life out of him. I had at one time questioned whether Rosie was telling the truth about her experience with Copeland. His look now confirmed it for me.

  “So, the answer is yes, then. You do recall it.”

  “I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.” He picked up the martini glass by the stem and made a loud slurping sound as he sipped from the top of the full drink. As he set the glass down, I thought I noticed a slight tremble in his hand. Could be Parkinson’s. More likely, it was the fact that he was a fucking rapist. “You don’t recall raping a woman? No, let me check that, gang-raping a woman, teaming up with two other people?”

  He lowered his head and his volume. “You heard what I said. These allegations are ridiculous. Is this your way of getting back at me? You had to quit school and find another way of faking your way through college. That must be it. I should be the one who holds you in contempt. But it’s the exact opposite, isn’t it? So sad that you’ve carried this burden all of these years. And now you fabricate this story.” He waved his shaky hand in the air and rolled his eyes. I wanted to gouge those lying eyes from their sockets with the fork in front of me. My fingers landed on the fork, and I played with it, swirling it round and round.

  I said, “I didn’t fabricate anything. It’s the truth, and you know it.” I picked up the fork and spiked it into the wooden table. His head shot back, startled, and he stared at the fork, which eventually fell to the table. There was a long pause. Finally, he pressed his lips together and shook his head. “You are a psychopath. I can see the rage in your eyes. And that god-awful bruise on your chin. Just more evidence of how you’ve gone mad. It’s sad in many ways. Look at what you’ve become.”

  I was in no mood for a game of mental chess with this man. I said, “Rosie. Does that name ring a bell?”

  He looked off, put a finger to his chin. He shook his head and then went for his drink. “Name doesn’t ring a bell. Now, I suppose if someone were to get access to my records at the University of Texas, they might find someone by that name in one of my classes. But I don’t recall the name.”

  He acted like UT wasn’t his current employer. “Have you retired?”

  “I’m still a tenured professor, but thank you for asking.”

  “You didn’t say where.”

  “It’s part of my retirement plan.”

  “It being…?”

  My soup arrived, and so did his sandwich. He downed the last of his martini in one swallow and asked for another.

  “Your retirement plan?” I prompted.

  He looked to the bar, as if someone, or some drink, might rescue him. Then, he released an exasperated breath. “I work part-time at Austin Community College. I’ve taken their English department from the dredges all the way to the top. We’ve been ranked in the top three for the last five years.”

  “Pfft. At a junior-college level.” I couldn’t resist the poke.

  He ignored me, and his next drink arrived. He gulped down half of it as I spooned some soup into my mouth. I used my napkin to tenderly wipe the area around my mouth and then put both my palms on the table.

  I said, “The statute of limitations for rape is ten years.” I sat back casually and shrugged. “From what I know, this crime you committed took place more than ten years ago, so legally, there’s nothing she can do.”

  A hint of his smug smile appeared. “So there you have it, then. Why are you pestering me about something that, according to the law, essentially doesn’t matter anymore?”

  He’d basically just admitted to raping Rosie. Not in outright terms. But in Dr. Copeland speak, that was admission.

  “Here’s the deal, Doc. I want you to admit what you and your two ass-kissing teaching assistants did to Rosie.”

  “Why would I do such a thing? That’s preposterous.”

  “And I want you to send her a written apology.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Maybe. But I think you were born this way—a sick, twisted man who preys on women. And you deserve to rot in hell.”

  “I did not do what you said.” He swung his head to look around the restaurant. “Do I need to call the manager over here?”

  “You mean Poppy? She’s a good friend of mine.” I crossed my arms.

  He pulled out his phone. “I have friends as well. And they work for the police department. You’re harassing me, and I will not stand for it.”

  I snatched the phone out of his hand and tossed it beside me in the booth.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I pointed a finger straight at him. “We all have friends in certain agencies. I have cop friends too. But throwing me out of this bar won’t do you a damn bit of good. I have a friend who works for the Austin American-Statesman. Ever heard of that publication? He’s always looking for a juicy story. And with the press, there are no statutes of limitations. None. He would salivate over a story like this. Front-page feature. And then your precious reputation would crumble into a pile of stinking dust.”

  His neck broke out in red splotches, but he stared right through me. I didn’t turn away or move at all. We were like two rams with our horns locked in battle, neither willing to back off an inch. If anything, given my state of mind, I was itching for a good fight, broken jaw and all.

  “You…” he seethed. “You sonofabitch. You think you can take me down? You just wait. At the right time, the right place, you will get yours. I promise you that.”

  “I’m quaking in my boots.”

  Two hand claps swung my attention toward the bar. Poppy was walking in our direction. “I’ve been calling out your name for the last five minutes,” she said, eyeing me and then the doctor.

  “I was distracted,” I said, pulling in a breath.

  She must have sensed the tension. “Gentlemen, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but you will not fight in my bar,” she said, swinging a finger between the two of us. “If you have a reason to duke it out, then go to the local boxing club, or try fencing or something. But not here. Is that understood?” Her eyes fell on me, a questioning look there. She, I could tell, was wondering who this other guy was, what this was all about. “We’re just having a little discussion about the terms and conditions of a new arrangement—right, Doc?”

  His nose wrinkled like he’d just smelled the worst possible odor imaginable. He pushed away from the table and stood. “I’m done here.” He threw a twenty on the table and then pointed a shaky finger at me. “If you continue to harass me, then you’ll leave me with no other choice than to pursue legal action.”

  I mockingly batted my eyelashes as I said, “And if you don’t admit that you gang-raped Rosie and write her an apology, then I’ll be forced to go to the press. You’ve got twenty-four hours. The clock is ticking. Tick tick.”

  He growled something indecipherable and then stormed out of the bar.

  “Gang-rape?” Poppy said as she watched him leave.

  “Yes. He did that to Rosie—my client—years ago.”

  She rolled up her sleeves and turned to the door. “I’m going to chase down that motherfucker and shove his balls down his throat.”

  “Hold on, Poppy. He’ll just sue you. He wants that to happen.”

  She plopped down on the other side of the booth
, shaking her head. “Wow. He did this to Rosie?”

  I nodded.

  “That poor girl.” She looked away. I wondered if the topic had dredged up old memories for her of when she’d worked the streets as a strung-out prostitute. She’d been my second client as a practicing attorney.

  “I know, I know. She’s gone to hell and back. Dr. Copeland was just one person who took advantage of her. There are others.”

  She turned to me, reached over, and put her hand on top of mine. “I said she was trouble, and, in some ways, she might be…for you. But, Ozzie, I can see why you want to make things right. That,” she pointed toward the door, “is unacceptable.”

  I looked at her, but I had no response. I was already questioning the entire conversation with Dr. Copeland, whether I should contact Tracy at the Statesman and whether that would actually benefit Rosie.

  She patted my hand, stealing my attention back to the here and now. “I know you have all of this shit going down with Nicole. I can see you’re hurting, Oz. It breaks my heart. But life isn’t black and white. It’s all shades of gray. What you’ve done with Rosie—you had your reasons. Maybe they were selfish reasons, or even spiteful ones. You made a mistake, but, hell, man, give yourself a break. You didn’t do anything with Rosie except think about it. And that only makes you human. It doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re the opposite of that. You love with your heart wide open. Even with all of your sarcasm, I know you see the best in people, sometimes when they don’t even deserve it.” She thumped her chest as a tear bubbled in her eye. “I should know. You saw it in me. Just please do me one favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Make it right with Nicole so that you can live with yourself. Do what you need to do to keep Rosie safe. You don’t have to choose between the two of them. You’re a damn good man.” She pulled me up and hugged me like she couldn’t lose me. She whispered in my ear, “Please, don’t ever change who you are.”

  28

  The doorbell rang, and it made me flinch. No one had rung the doorbell during the short time Mackenzie and I had lived in the apartment. I reluctantly pulled my eyes from my phone and laptop screens—I’d been trying to reach Rosie and Brook while also conducting some research of my own. I set the devices on the coffee table and shuffled to the front door.

  “You must be Ozzie.” A man wearing an untucked blue-and-gray flannel shirt extended his hand. I shook it. He had a warm smile. He leaned away, allowing me to see Mackenzie and Ariel giggling, chasing each other with Nerf guns in the grassy area just outside our place.

  “I didn’t catch your name,” I said, unsure if he’d said it and I just didn’t hear.

  He flipped around. “Ooh,” he said as he rubbed his chin, gesturing toward mine.

  I wondered if I could use makeup to hide the enormous bruise.

  “Sorry for staring. It just looks quite painful. I’m Ervin.”

  The girls screamed with delight as they scurried about. “You don’t think they like each other or anything?” I joked.

  His face turned rigid for a second. Then he pointed a finger at me. “Oh, I get it. You’re into sarcasm. I’m a little slow on the uptake these days. It’s been a long few months...” His voice trailed off as he turned to look at the girls.

  I looked into the sky. It was getting dark, but the gray bank of clouds had broken, and I could see shades of blue and purple at the horizon.

  “Hey, Mackenzie. About time for dinner,” I called out.

  She stopped in her tracks and held out a hand. “Five more minutes,” she begged.

  “I’m a sucker,” I said to Ervin. I called out, “Okay. Five more minutes.” Then I waved toward the inside of my apartment, inviting Ervin in. “Can I get you a drink while the girls finish playing?”

  He rubbed his hands together. They had calluses all over them and appeared to have been dipped in gray ink. “Just got off work. A drink would be nice.”

  I walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and found two bottles of beer. “Will a Shiner work for you?”

  “Perfect.”

  I gave him the bottle, and he twisted off the cap and took a gulp. I grabbed a glass and made myself some ice water.

  “You going to make me drink alone?”

  “I’ve already had my drink of the day,” I said. “Was at Peretti’s earlier.”

  We walked back to the doorway and watched the girls play. I asked where they had moved from.

  “Fort Worth,” he said, rocking his head.

  “And what brings you to Austin?”

  He kept his gaze on the girls. It seemed as though he was contemplating what to share. He finally turned his head and released a heavy breath. “Needed a change of scenery. We’d traveled down here a few times and loved it. So, Ariel and I decided that Austin would be our new home.”

  I noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Didn’t mean much. A lot of guys found reasons not to wear their rings, or they worked manual jobs that wouldn’t allow for it. And then there was me. I still wore my ring. I’d never taken it off. Not when Nicole was having an affair and had unceremoniously dumped me. Not when I was traipsing across the country trying to locate Mackenzie. Not even when I was playing this odd game of cat-and-mouse with Rosie.

  Earth to Ozzie. Your latest flirtation with disaster was just this morning.

  Damn, it seemed like I’d lived six months since then.

  But I could sense something deeper looming in the air with Ervin.

  “I was kind of lucky, I guess,” he said. “After such a bad string of luck, I guess I was due.” He took another swig of beer as I lifted my chin, the guy sign for Tell me more, if you’re cool with that.

  He pulled in a breath through his nose. “Ariel’s mom, Vivica…she, uh…” He wiped his mouth with his wrist. “She passed away about a month ago. She fought as long as she could. But the cancer just wouldn’t give up until it took her from us.”

  His eyes became moist.

  “Man. I’m really sorry to hear that. It must have been tough on you and Ariel.”

  “Yep. We’ve been dealing with it for over a year. Surgeries, chemo, radiation. And then there’s the insurance companies.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Don’t get me started.”

  “I’m not a fan, either.”

  Another moment passed. I was curious about something. Finally, I got up the guts to ask. “You said you were lucky. How’s that?”

  “Well, I was actually talking about my job. I worked for American Airlines up at DFW Airport. And they were nice enough to find me a job down here at Bergstrom, and they even allow me to work shifts so I can be home for Ariel most of the time.”

  “That’s cool. I’m sure Ariel appreciates that.” I chugged down some of my water and then gently touched the cool glass to my bruise. That deadened the throbbing pain some.

  “But I never knew how lucky we were as a family until Vivica was diagnosed.” His voice became scratchy. His wound was still fresh.

  I said, “Hey, man, I didn’t mean to drag you into painful memories.”

  “No, it’s not that.” He picked at the gold label on the beer bottle. Another deep breath as he glanced at my left hand. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but Mackenzie has told Ariel a few things about you and your wife. Nothing to worry about; in fact, I think she’s more worried about you. She said she just wants her dad to be happy. And you know what? That’s the same thing Ariel told me when we moved down here.”

  I felt a lump in my throat. Ervin continued. “During this last year, I learned one thing. To live in the moment. I used to get bummed about going to work, doing the laundry when I was tired from working all day. I had my complaints about Vivica, and she definitely had some about me. And then, when she was diagnosed, poof…it all went away.” He looked at Ariel off in the distance. “Through the torment of watching my wife suffer, we grew closer. We started to cherish every moment, even the tough ones. We’d make silly jokes about the nurse who could
n’t find her veins because they were so rubbery. Ariel started calling her mom ‘Plastic Woman.’”

  He put his hand over his chest. “Vivica was my Wonder Woman. The only thing I regret is not seeing that before she was diagnosed. She’s never coming back. All I have is those memories, but I also have a new outlook on life. Look forward, not back. Don’t remember the bad in people—feel their goodness. And dammit, cherish the here and now.”

  I nodded, as a flood of thoughts and memories—past, present, and future—collided in my mind. “Live in the moment.”

  Ervin thanked me for the beer, and then I thanked him for the insight. Maybe there was some goodness in humanity after all.

  29

  Dr. Copeland flipped on a lamp and settled into his leather chair—the same one that had been in his office on the UT campus. It was worn and had scratches, many of which would be attributed to his ornery cat, Professor Thornbush. He let out a chuckle. The oversized cat had a prickly attitude. If you thought you could sweet-talk him or gently pet him until he became a warm, loving animal, you’d soon feel the swiftness of his right hook, claws and all.

  He opened one of his favorite old books—J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye—and rubbed the yellowed pages. He must have read the book about a hundred times, if not more. He’d practically memorized all the lines. Why, he often wondered, had he taken a liking to this old novel, published way back in the 1950s?

  He lifted the book to his nose and inhaled the musty scent.

  It was a timeless story, yet still raw, even when compared to novels written in the twenty-first century. He often saw some of himself in the main character, Holden Caulfield, a teen who was on a mission to rid the world of its imposters. Holden was cynical, just as he had been while growing up. Holden felt alienated. The doctor had felt the same way as a teenager and, to a degree, even more so as an adult. Never quite cool enough to fit in, not confident enough to try.

  He went to the first page and read the first sentence, the best first sentence of any book he’d read: “If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.”