“I guarantee they will, and Kim is making her famous Husband’s Delight. I know you want some of that.”
Donald agrees. “I do love me some Husband’s Delight.”
Alex smirks at that comment.
“No homo,” Donald adds.
They both laugh.
“I don’t think that’s very PC anymore,” Alex says.
“It still had to be said,” Donald states.
The two finish dressing into their civilian clothes.
Alex picks up his bag with his work clothes in it and slings it over his shoulder. “Alright, I’ll see you later, buddy.”
Donald picks up his bag as well. “See you later. Happy Fourth of July.”
“Same to you.”
The two men close their lockers and walk out the door.
The next morning is a somber occasion at the cemetery. Dozens of people, all dressed in black, are assembled around a casket with the body of Lou Drive. Many people cry. Claire and Larry also attend.
A frustrated Claire continuously scans the assembled people with increasing urgency. She fails to find her target and confronts Larry about it.
“Where the hell is Gabe? The ceremony is about to start.”
“Claire, hush,” Larry responds, “watch your language. This is a religious ceremony, not a bar.”
Claire realizes that Larry is correct and is slightly embarrassed. “Sorry. I’ll behave, but still, where is Gabe?”
“I’m not his keeper.”
“No, but you are his boss.”
Larry looks at Claire disapprovingly. “I’m your boss, too. You’ve used up most of your atta girl points. You better show me some respect.”
Claire isn’t willing to back down. “Lou’s sacrifice gift-wrapped Gabe’s career and that bast--jerk can’t even show his appreciation by attending the funeral? I’m pretty sure we’re the only two from the station to show up.”
“Lou only worked there one day. He didn’t know anybody. I’m just here to avoid bad press,” Larry matter-of-factly says.
“You don’t have to admit that out loud.”
“Why are they having the funeral on Independence Day?” Larry wonders. “Buried on the Fourth of July. It sounds like a war movie, not a fact.”
“You did meet Lou, right? He was as patriotic as they come. He probably had it in his will to wait until the Fourth to have his funeral. Or Memorial Day or Veteran’s Day. Something with a meaning.”
“Hush. The ceremony is about to start,” Larry says.
Claire looks around and notices Lou’s parents staring at the two of them. She immediately folds her hands. The two stand there somberly as the ceremony for Lou Drive begins.
Benji walks into the drunk’s room whom Alex and Donald brought to the hospital. He’s recovering after his injuries were treated. Benji holds a thick folder under his arm that’s labeled “Vigilante.”
“Hello, Mr. Doe?” Benji begins. “I’m sure that isn’t your real name. I’m Detective Benji Tanner; may I speak with you?”
The drunk turns toward Benji. “Mr. Doe will do. No reason to get on the grid now.”
Benji cracks a smile. We have a live one here, he thinks. “As you wish, Mr. Doe. I’d like to ask you about your attacker and the events leading up to it. Do you mind if I record this conversation?”
Benji holds up his digital recorder to indicate its harmlessness.
The drunk shrugs. “Sure, you can record it, but why do you care?”
Benji begins recording. “Because, Mr. Doe, I’m the lead detective in these vigilante attacks. Most of his victims refuse to speak with me. I assume it’s because they all have extensive criminal records. You’re a bit different. You, a reporter, and a pair of kids are the only ones who have relatively clean records. I’ve already received statements from them. Now I’d like yours.”
“What do I get out of it?”
“Well, for starters, you get a sense of civic pride for helping to stop a serial offender.”
The drunk scoffs.
Benji ups the ante. “Plus, I don’t dig a little deeper into your background. Right now, you’re a victim. I prefer to keep it that way. Nobody can live completely off the grid.”
The drunk seems to reflect on this for a moment. “How about all that, plus twenty bucks? A man’s got to eat. Even I’m not hungry enough to call the gruel they serve here food.”
Benji reaches into his wallet and pulls out a fifty. He hands it over to the drunk. “Here, I’m sure a man has to drink, too.”
The drunk accepts the fifty-dollar bill. “I heard that. I like you already, Detective Tanner.”
“Good. Hopefully I can keep your trust. First question, why did the vigilante attack you?”
The drunk answers with what Benji perceives to be rehearsed lines. “I saw him blow up the abortion clinic. He knows I talked to the news about the attack, and he wanted revenge. You guys got to protect the public. Put me in witness protection or something. I’ll testify about him blowing up the place.”
Benji flips through his notes. “We have to make an arrest first. But, take me back to your first encounter. You said that he grabbed you and threw you down, and then the building exploded.”
“Yeah, because he blew it up.”
“Yeah, but when you spoke to Detective Reid during his questioning, you said that you never saw him do anything that clearly indicated he blew up the abortion clinic.”
The drunk stares at Benji blankly. “If he didn’t blow it up, then who the hell did? I sure as hell don’t know how to do something like that, and nobody else was there.”
“That doesn’t mean he blew it up. Maybe he was just saving you from being too close to an explosion.”
The drunk ponders this for a second, but shakes it off. “Then why did he throw me down? That bastard blew up the clinic. Nothing you can say will make me change my mind about that. He needs me dead to shut me up.”
“Alright, Mr. Doe. I respect your commitment, but if he wanted you dead, then why didn’t he just kill you that first night? He could have just let the blast take you out and you never would have seen him.”
The drunk becomes increasingly jittery. He fidgets with his blanket, and Benji watches his legs shift anxiously beneath it.
“Maybe he decided to kill me after I talked to the police and the TV people. I tell you, I’m scared for my life. You have to take care of me.”
“Maybe, but if that’s true, then why are we having this conversation?” Benji asks.
“You walked in to talk to me. That’s why. What the hell kind of question was that?”
Benji furrows his brow. He realizes that something doesn’t add up in the drunk’s story.
“What I meant was, why are you still alive? The vigilante is quite capable of killing. No offense intended, but you don’t look fit enough to even run away from him. So, if he wanted you dead, I’m pretty sure you’d be dead right now.”
The drunk stops looking directly at Benji. His eyes constantly dart between the door and the window.
“Mr. Doe, please let me help you. I know you have more information to share with me. Get it off your chest. I’ll even throw in a second fifty.”
The drunk is clearly nervous, but he doesn’t seem ready to come clean. Benji decides to turn up the pressure. He pulls out some pictures from his folder and tosses them on the drunk’s lap. The drunk picks them up and starts to look through them.
“What the hell are these?” the drunk asks. “I don’t want to see this.”
He throws down the pictures of the beaten bodies of previous vigilante victims. Benji starts to pick the pictures up.
Benji identifies them. “These are pictures of other victims. Both those who survived and died. You notice anything about them?”
The drunk shakes his head. “No. Should I?”
“Well, the wounds on these victims are much different than the ones you have.”
The drunk pants as visible beads of sweat form on his brow.
Benji selects another picture. This time of a beaten woman.
“This woman was punched in the face. Witness statements and pictures show that the vigilante has armored gauntlets. Your bruises on the face aren’t as traumatic.”
The drunk stops looking at Benji. “I’d like you to leave now.”
“Don’t be like that. Just tell me what really happened.”
“You don’t want to know. These people are everywhere. That’s why they do business in a smaller city instead of the metropolis up the highway. I can’t tell you anything.”
“It wasn’t the vigilante who attacked you, was it?”
The drunk refuses to respond or look Benji in the eyes.
“I’m guessing you got jumped by a couple of guys and wanted to extend your fifteen minutes of fame by blaming the vigilante.”
“Please leave,” the drunk frantically repeats. “You’re killing me by being here.”
Benji moves in closer to the drunk. “Just whisper it into my ear. Help your community. We’ll keep you safe.”
The drunk seems to have moved beyond nervous and into full blown panic mode. “Nurse! Nurse! This man is bothering me!”
Benji gathers his stuff and turns off his recorder. “Fine, have it your way, Mr. Doe. I guess I will have to look a little deeper into your background.”
“Get out of here! I want a lawyer! You can’t talk to me without one!”
“Have a happy Fourth of July, Mr. Doe. I think you’ll be able to see some fireworks out your window.”
A nurse rushes into the room and glares at Benji. “You’ll have to leave now.”
“I’m already on my way out,” Benji says.
Benji leaves as the nurse attends to an extremely panicky drunk.
The funeral service for Lou Drive is now complete. People wait for their turn to speak with the parents and sister of Lou.
After several minutes, Larry and Claire make their way to the family.
Claire reaches her hand out to Lou’s mother. “Mrs. Drive, I would like to extend my deepest condolences on your loss.”
Mrs. Drive briefly shakes her hand and quickly lets it go. She glares at Claire.
Claire continues. “I didn’t know Lou very well, but--”
Mrs. Drive interrupts. “I know who you are, Miss Kennedy, and you didn’t know Lou at all. He was at work one day with you and--” Mrs. Drive stops to sniff and wipe her eyes. “--And now I’ve just put him in the ground!”
Mrs. Drive starts to cry. Her husband wraps her up in his arms.
Mr. Drive joins the conversation. “I’ve heard you saying some nice things about my son on the news. I appreciate it, but don’t stand here and pretend that this is anything but the guilt talking.”
Claire begins to tear up.
Larry comes to Claire’s defense. “Folks, please. We’re here to pay our respects to Lou. I saw good things in him and deeply regret that he’s no longer part of our team.”
Lou’s pregnant older sister steps forward. “Just go! Nobody wants you here. Just go and stop sensationalizing his death to meet your bottom line!”
This comment hurts Claire because it’s so close to the truth.
Surprisingly, Mr. Drive speaks somewhat in support of Claire. “Everyone calm down. That’s not fair to Miss Kennedy.”
“Thank you,” Claire says.
Mr. Drive holds up a hand to Claire. “Don’t get me wrong. I know that you must have twisted my son’s will to get him to do something so foolhardy. I may never be able to forgive you for that.”
Tears start to silently fall from Claire’s eyes, and even Larry tears up a bit. Claire appreciates his emotional support.
Mr. Drive continues. “I’m too much of a Christian to waste any more words on you today. Please leave. I appreciate what you tried to do, but it’s time for the two of you to go.”
Claire’s voice is weak and barely audible. “I’m sorry.”
Claire turns and walks away. Larry looks at the family one more time and nods. He blinks his pooling tears away. Mr. Drive returns the nod as he holds his wife and daughter.
Larry follows Claire. “I’m sorry. That must have been rough.”
Claire breaks down and falls to her knees. Larry scoops her back up and hugs her.
“They’re right. I’m a horrible person. I got Lou killed,” Claire says before committing to sobbing.
“No, you didn’t,” Larry says as he rubs her back. “You absolutely did not. Those people are grieving. They need a scapegoat, and that means us. You can’t keep beating yourself up over this.”
“Larry, I’m falling apart. I need help.”
“I think you have PTSD. What you went through would have made me catatonic. You’re much stronger than I am. I think you need to speak with a professional.”
“You mean therapy? I’m not that messed up, am I?”
“It’s not the phrase that I would use, but yes. You need help. I can get you a great guy. He helped me after my second and third divorce. He wasn’t much good with the fourth one, but that was a unique situation. You remember how much of a handful Katie could be.”
That gets Claire to smile. “She was a bit much.”
“Now I know you need help. That was being extremely polite, and polite isn’t you.”
This gets Claire to laugh. “Thanks, Boss. I needed that. I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”
“Good. How about another one? Let’s get some lunch. There are a ton of good specials for the Fourth.”
Claire realizes that her makeup is a mess from crying. “Looking like this?”
She gestures toward her face.
“Why not?” Larry asks. “Nobody will care. If anything, they’ll be sympathetic. A beautiful woman is rarely criticized. Plus, it’ll be my treat. So, what do you say?”
Claire briefly ponders this. “Alright, Boss. I’ll let you take me out. Hopefully it’ll go better than my last date.”
“Why don’t you go see that detective and apologize?”
Claire considers this.
Larry pushes her farther along. “You know they have their annual police versus firefighters softball game today. It shouldn’t be too hard to find him.”
Claire is unsure. “Do you think he’ll listen to me? I was being a bit of a bitch.”
“It was the repressed grief talking. If he’s a good man, he’ll understand. If he doesn’t, then screw him. Better to know now than two years into a marriage. Trust me.”
Claire laughs again. Larry successfully cheered her up.
“Okay,” she relents. “I’ll try, but first I need a burrito.”
“Sounds good; very American of you on this important day.”
The two walk off less emotional than a few minutes earlier.
Later that afternoon, the drunk sits in his room. He’s calmed down from earlier, but he’s still jumpy. The phone rings, and he’s startled to the point of screaming out loud.
“Damn it. My heart can’t take this shit.”
The phone rings again. The drunk looks at it and is hesitant to answer.
“Nurse! I need help,” he screams.
Nobody responds to his call. The phone continues to ring.
“Hello! Patient needs assistance.”
The drunk repeatedly pounds the nurse call button on his remote control. There is still no response.
The phone rings for its tenth time. Clearly the person on the other end wants a conversation. The drunk reluctantly picks it up and puts it to his ear.
“Hello?” the drunk casually says.
A woman with a sultry voice is on the other end of the phone. “Mr. Tootles, thank you for finally answering. I hope your injuries weren’t
the reason for your delay.”
The drunk begins to breathe heavily. He doesn’t like being addressed so accurately.
“How do you know that name?” he asks.
She cheerfully responds, “The same way that I know you’ve been speaking with the police. The same way that I know you’ve tried to turn an encounter with The Opposition into a chance to improve your quality of life. It’s my job to know.”
The drunk wets himself in his hospital bed. There’s something about her voice that terrifies him to his core.
“Mr. Tootles? Are you still there?”
He weakly responds, “Yes.”
The woman continues in a cheerful voice. “Good. I want to inform you that The Enterprise is disappointed in these activities.”
The mention of “The Enterprise” gets the drunk into beg mode. “Please. Please. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t tell them anything. In fact, I lied to get them looking in the wrong places.”
“And, we appreciate those efforts. Sadly, they were too little too late. The Enterprise must terminate your contract. Enjoy retirement.”
“No! I want to work! I’m too young to be retired!”
The phone goes dead. The drunk looks nervously toward the window. The glass breaks as a bullet enters the room and penetrates the drunk’s skull. He falls over dead.
Outside the hospital, in the top floor of a business two buildings over, lies the shooter.
Julie disassembles a large sniper rifle. The shot that she just made was exceptionally skilled. Her bare arms are visible, with their numerous scars.
Julie finishes disassembling her rifle and pulls out her cell phone. She dials a number and waits for someone to answer on the other end.
“Mr. Chairman,” she starts, “our employee has entered retirement.”
Julie listens to the response.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Julie hangs up the phone and leaves the room.
Colberton Park bustles with carnival activities. On the baseball diamond, the annual Independence Day Police versus Firefighter softball game is getting ready to start. Unfortunately, most of the police star players are missing.
A flustered Carlos anxiously paces. “Am I the only one around here who cares about being punctual?”
Bystanders Page 11