by Mark Stone
This was a church yard. This was our father’s funeral.
“You need to think about what you’re doing,” I said, spinning around and looking as Peter turned to me. “What I said about being a detective, about your thugs being on the line for assaulting me; that goes for you too, Peter.”
He flung another fist at me. This one connected, hitting my jaw with much more force than I had expected.
I stumbled backward, seeing stars. I wasn’t sure where Peter was keeping his strength, given his lack of muscle mass, but the guy sure packed a punch.
“Goddammit,” I muttered, dabbing at my lip and coming away with blood. “I told you that was a felony.”
“That’s what lawyers are for, trash,” he said. “Now come at me. When I put you on your ass, I want you to know it’s because I’m better than you in every way.”
I blinked, looking at him. Seeing him charge me again, I let it all loose. All the years of pent up anger and frustration, all those times this man made me feel like I was less, like my mother was garbage, and that my father was regretful for even having me in the first place, came welling up inside of me.
I saw a flash of my mother’s face as I ran toward him, bridging the gap.
Peter swung and went under, driving a shoulder into his chest and using the force to pick him up off the ground. Turning downward, I slammed him into the pavement.
He hit with an oomph and I heard the air leave his lungs.
“Bastard,” he muttered through the pain.
“I am what I am,” I answered, my jaw clenched. “Now stay down.”
Breaking every “guy law” in existence, Peter drove his knee hard into my groin.
Pain exploded through me as he pushed me off. My hands went to the injured area and he stood quickly, kicking me hard in the gut. I wrenched forward, feeling sick and ready to vomit.
“You’re nothing!” he said, rearing back to kick me again. “You’re always going to be nothing!”
His foot raced toward my gut again, but I caught it. Pulling his foot upward hard, I threw him off balance. Peter fell beside me and I heard something crack as he hit the ground. His arm, his shoulder, something had broken in the fall, and I heard him wail in pain as he grabbed at his body.
Peter looked back at his men, and yelled, “Get him!”
I looked up at the men, who were snapping into action. My training kicked into action.
I pulled my coat back and reached for my gun. I wasn’t going to use it, of course. Almost a dozen years on the force, and I’d never shot someone I didn’t absolutely have to. Still, I wasn’t above putting the fear of God into them. We were right outside His house, after all.
I reached for my gun and found nothing but air. A horrible, sick feeling flooded me.
Then I heard the shot.
The horrible crack of a gun firing filled the air. My head snapped toward the sound, and I saw Lucy with the barrel pointed in the air.
“Step off!” she said and the guards, to their credit, backed away.
“Give me the gun, Lucy,” I said, pulling myself upright.
A touch of hesitance came over me as I reached for it. I didn’t know this woman, and she admittedly had some addiction problems in the past. Still, she handed it right over, her eyes stuck on Peter as he writhed on the ground.
“I hope he’s paralyzed,” she said.
“Get inside,” I told her swallowing hard and turning back to my half brother. “Peter Storm,” I started. “You’re under arrest.”
13
Half a day and a change of clothes later, I walked into the district attorney’s office. It was, at once, a familiar and foreign experience. I had never been in this building before. Though I’d gotten into my fair share of trouble in my younger days around these parts, I was proud to say it never rose to the level of being officially prosecuted. Still, I had bagged enough criminals up in Chicago to be familiar with this sort of thing.
Though, if I were being honest, assault charges weren’t really enough to score me a meeting with the big boys up North. Boomer told me this guy was new. So maybe he just wanted to be by the book though. Maybe he wanted to be thorough.
“You wanted to see me,” I said, walking through the door after my knock received a clipped ‘Come on in,” from the person on the other side of the door.
I found myself staring a sandy haired man standing up behind a cherrywood desk. It might have been a byproduct of my years as a beat cop, but I instantly sized him up. He was a big guy, a little larger than me, and his physique spoke of more than a surface amount of care. This guy wasn’t only a district attorney. He was gym rat to boot. His eyes scanned a sheet of paper in his hand intently and a toothpick danced around his lips as he mouthed something to himself.
“Detective Dillon Storm?” he asked, moving only his eyes to meet me.
“That’s me,” I answered, crossing my chest with my arms and settling across the desk from him. “Can I help you with something?”
“Probably, but I doubt you’ll want to,” he muttered, his eyes moving back to the papers in his hand. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
“Because you’re not,” I said matter of factly. “If you’re going to stand, I might as well do the same.”
His attention never moved from the paper in his hand, but a smile tugged at the ends of his lips, shifting the toothpick even more so.
“Fair enough.”
Looking around, I saw boxes piled up along the walls, some still taped shut.
“Still unpacking?” I asked, tapping my foot against the hardwood floor.
“Not really,” Ethan Sands admitted. “I’ve been here for seven months now. I figure, if I haven’t needed this stuff by now, they can stay in the boxes.” His eyes finally flickered back up to me as he placed the paper on his desk. “Would you like to know what I was reading, Detective Storm?”
“Something tells me that you’d like me to like to know. So what the hell? I’ll bite. What is it?”
“It’s a letter from your half brother’s lawyer,” Ethan answered. “He’s informing us that Peter Storm reserves the right to sue the county.”
“Sue the county?” I asked, nearly chuckling. “That doesn’t surprise me. I figured he’d lawyer up.” I shook my head. “Though he’s the one who jumped me.”
“That’s not the way the story is shaking out on this end,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “The way I hear it, you came sauntering into his father’s funeral, arm in arm with the widow like the two of you were about to start sucking face in front of the old man’s coffin.”
“What?” I balked, my eyes growing wide and my pulse picking up like waves before a storm. “That’s not what happened at all. I mean, it’s not the way it happened.”
“Right,” Ethan answered, his movements tight as he picked the paper up and slammed it into a drawer in his desk. “I suppose you’re also going to tell me that you didn’t follow him outside, threaten him, beat the hell out of him, and then arrest him for assault when he tried to fight back.”
“Hell no. I didn’t do that!” I answered, my voice growing louder as the indignation in me grew. “That son of a bitch is lying to you.” My hand fell hard against the cherrywood of his desk, scattering a few of the papers left on it. “I’m a police officer, for Christ’s sake. My word should count for something.”
“It does,” Ethan answered. “It’s the only reason you’re not in a cell in the county lock up right now. I’d say alongside your brother, but he was released nearly an hour ago.” He grabbed the papers, stacked them back together neatly, and then looked down at my hand, still pressed against his desk. “I’m going to need you to refrain from doing that again.”
“Then I’m going to need you to explain yourself,” I responded, my jaw tightening more and more with each passing second. “Because, from where I’m standing, it looks to me like you’re just another yuppie bastard ready and willing to give the rich people in this city preferential treatment.” I glared a
t him, disgust filling me up like bile rising into my throat. I had been gone for a dozen years, and this crap was still the same. The rich get away with everything, and the rest of us are left carrying the bag.
“Well then you should take a closer look, Detective Storm,” Ethan Sands answered, moving around his desk to stand face to face with me. “Because, from where I’m standing, it looked like you crossed a line.”
“And what line is that exactly?” I asked, looking the man up and down. He was bigger than me, and I had no doubt he could handle himself. Still, if it came down to it, I’d put my money on me every day of the week and twice on Sunday. “Because the funeral I went to earlier; it was for my father too. And the only reason I walked in there with Angela was because Peter had posted goddamned guards at the door of the church to keep me out.”
I balked. What the hell was I doing? How bad were things that I was contemplating who would win in a fight between me and the damned district attorney?
“Look,” Ethan sighed. “I’m not without sympathy. I’m sure this has been a difficult time for you. I heard about what happened to your house, and I promise the person responsible will be dealt with accordingly, but this isn’t the way to do things.” He ran a hand through his sandy hair. “For what it’s worth, your brother is sack of shit, and I believe you when you say he started it. However, I have a church full of witnesses telling me how your presence there provoked him and a young girl who swears she was there when you threw the first punch.”
‘Lucy?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Lucy told you I did that?” It didn’t make any sense. She seemed to hate Peter as much as I did. Why would she come to his defense? And why would she lie to do it?
“Is that the woman responsible for discharging a firearm that should have been on your hip on church grounds?” Ethan asked.
“Things happened quickly,” I admitted. “That was a mistake.” My eyes fell to the floor. “Showing up there in the first place might have been a mistake.”
“I don’t blame you for being upset, Detective Storm, and I don’t even blame you for lashing out. Hell, if half of what Boomer told me about your childhood is true, then I’d have probably cleaned that bastard’s clock years ago. If anything, I applaud your restraint. I can’t have you being unprofessional though.” He shook his head. “You know you’re not supposed to be on this case. You shouldn’t have been brought to the scene of Mr. Sheets’s death and you absolutely shouldn’t be chasing leads. You don’t have jurisdiction here and, more troubling than that, you have a complicated and troublesome relationship with the family the investigation is focusing on. I get that you’d want to help. I really do but, speaking strictly from a legal standpoint, your involvement’s more likely to muddy the waters.”
He had a point, but I didn’t care about any of that. The only piece of Ethan’s speech that even broke through to me was the fact that the investigation had settled on the Storms. I was right. They were involved. Now all I needed to do was prove it.
“I need you to trust that the police department here can do their job,” Ethan said. “Can you do that, Detective Storm?”
I took a step back, not because I was afraid. If anything, the DA had gotten more cordial in the last few minutes. I just needed a bit of space, and to look at him when I told him what I was going to say. I needed to be clear.
“I do trust the police department here, Mr. Sands,” I answered, my voice calm and concise. “And the reason I trust them is because I’ve known most of those boys and ladies since we were all pissing in diapers. I’d trust them with my life. Hell, I have trusted Boomer with my life on more than one occasion. They trust me too, sir. I’m not sure how things were in San Francisco or wherever you came from.”
“I’m from Pennsylvania,” he answered, almost insulted by the insinuation.
“Well, we’re close knit here, Mr. Sands. We help each other where and when we can. The head of this police department has asked for my assistance in this investigation.”
“The head who also happens to be your best friend,” Ethan said quickly in response.
“Be that as it may, sir, it’s his call, his office to run the way he sees fit.” I shrugged. “So it’s none of your damned business.”
The District Attorney looked at me with steady, if frustrated eyes. He knew I was right, but he also knew it could be trouble.
“Don’t make this any harder for me, Storm,” he said, declining to add the Detective moniker to my title. “You find a smoking gun, you let somebody else pick it up. Understand?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I answered. “Good enough?”
“I suppose it’ll have to be. I trust you can find your way out,” he answered, and went back to his papers.
14
“Is he giving you any trouble?” I asked as I walked into the hospital room where my grandfather was still being treated. There was a smile on my face but, as I got a look at the figure on the young nurse serving my grandfather a tray of food, and realized how reasonable a concern that was.
My grandfather was harmless, but he was from a different time, and he could be as fresh as gulf spray to the face when he saw something he liked.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” the nurse said, setting the tray down, shooting my grandfather a wink, and headed back out of the room.
As soon as she exited, I moved around to take a seat next to my grandfather’s bed. He looked to be alert. Judging by the way he watched the nurse walk away, he might have been too alert.
“Stop your perving, old man,” I said, shaking my head and plopping down next to him. “That girl’s young enough to be your granddaughter.”
“Shows what you know,” he answered, his voice weaker than I was comfortable with. “I was looking on your behalf. Young enough to be my granddaughter means just the right age for my grandson.” He nodded slightly. “You’re welcome.”
I chuckled, a little uncomfortable with the idea of my grandfather setting me up, and surveyed the selection the old man had on the tray in front of him. Looked like vegetable soup, mashed potatoes and green Jell-O with those fruit bits in it. Yep. That was either hospital or prison food. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.
“Well, I didn’t know I needed help, but thanks, I suppose,” I answered, shaking my head.
“If you don’t know, I’m not sure I can help you, son,” he answered. “You been gone twelve years, and I haven’t heard a peep about a girl who might have caught your eye.” He lifted his hands into the air. “Or a guy. You know, the times are a changing and all that. I don’t judge.”
“Shut up,” I grinned. The truth was, there had been more than a couple of girls who had caught my eye up in Chicago. Lord knows there were some who’d caught more than just my eye. I’d even dated a bit while I was up there. I never could find one to stick though and, until that happened, it seemed wrong to bring the only family I had left into the situation. When I introduced a woman to my grandfather, I wanted to make sure it was the right one.
“Any news on who set the house on fire?” he asked, digging into the soup and making a weird face as it touched his lips. My grandfather was a stickler about vegetables. He’d had his own garden since I’d been young enough to disappear behind a potted plant. This sort of thing definitely wasn’t going to satisfy him.
“I’m working on it,” I answered, turning my attention out the window. It was beautiful day today, just like every day had been since I’d gotten here. Maybe you could fault Florida for a lot of things, but beauty wasn’t among them.
“What is that supposed to mean?” my grandfather asked, dropping the spoon into the soup distastefully and leaving it there. His expression had changed, grown more stone like. “You’re not supposed to be working on it at all. You’re on vacation, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“You’re starting to sound like the district attorney,” I muttered.
“Good God in Heaven. What on earth were you doing with the district attorney? It’s like you
don’t know how to relax.” He glared over at me. “Didn’t I teach you how to fish, boy?”
“You taught me a lot of things, old man,” I answered. “Including how to do what’s right. A man is dead. He had my number on his phone. Our house has been burned to the ground, and all of it happened during the first time I’ve been home in over a decade. It’s not a coincidence. What kind of person would I be if I just ignored all that.”
“A smart one,” he answered quickly. “But I suppose that’s too much to ask. Your mother was always as stubborn as an ass in a heatwave too. So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
I laughed and, as if on cue, my phone buzzed. I looked down at the screen and spied Charlotte’s name across the top.
Sighing, I sent her to voicemail. I still had no idea what thing in her past Boomer wouldn’t speak of, but I was trying not to let that bother me. I was busy right now.
“Who’s that?” my grandfather asked. “Better not be trouble.”
“Of course it’s trouble,” I joked. “Just look at whose phone it called.” Looking around the room, I noticed nothing had really changed since this morning. “Why aren’t they prepping you for release?” I asked, suddenly tensing up. “Weren’t you supposed to be out by this afternoon? It’s already twelve thirty.”
“Don’t get your knickers twisted, boy. It’s fine. The lady doctor came in earlier and said she wanted to keep me for a couple of days, just for observation.”
“You can just call her a doctor, Grandpa,” I said, standing as my heart rate picked up.
“And why does she want to observe more? I thought you were good to go? I told those damned nurses to let me know if anything happened.”
“Don’t blame them, son,” he said, sitting upright. “I told them not to bother you with it.”
“And why the hell would you do that?” I asked, looking toward the open door for a sign of anyone who might be able to tell me what was going on here.
“Because I knew you would make a big deal of it,” he answered, obviously irritated. “I’m an old man, Dilly. I got nowhere to go and there’s a bad storm that’s supposed to be coming off the Gulf in a couple of days. What’s the harm in me staying put for a bit?”