“So that’s how you act when an officer is trying to cut you some slack? ‘Whatever, Mami?’ How about I just give you the ticket or tow your car. Would you prefer that? How far would I have to dig to find some more shit?” She squinted at his license. “Mr. Ortiz? Any warrants? Any driving restrictions? See how much fun this game is? And all because you had to run your mouth instead of just shutting the hell up and taking a simple warning.”
The driver’s gaze oscillated between Luci and smirking looks back at his passengers.
“Hey, look at me. Look at me and take a break from trying to impress little girls. You want to disrespect me in front of everyone? Fine, I can embarrass you too. How about I search your entire car? Think I’d find anything interesting? And, no, I don’t need a warrant. What about the ashtray in your car? I wonder if I’d find anything interesting in there. You’re on school property too. That basically doubles penalties for anything and everything I find. All because you had to be a tough guy. Should I keep going or are you getting this now?”
He held up both hands with palms facing Luci.
“I get it. I get it. I didn’t mean nothing by it—it was just a joke. All good.”
“All good? No, I’ll tell you when it’s all good. And right now it ain’t all good.”
He took the rest of his chewing out with his head bowed and tail tucked firmly between his legs.
“Now you’re going to get back into the car. Put on your seat belt. And apologize to me in front of everyone. Do it now. Don’t say another word to me unless you want to continue this discussion from a jail cell.”
The car grew quiet as he opened the door and buckled himself into the seat.
“Officer, I apologize for disrespecting you.”
Luci stared at him and pointed toward the exit.
“Go.”
Never underestimate the power of a little public shaming.
As the Civic turned the corner and accelerated, one of the back-seat passengers turned around and stared out the back window. Luci had not wanted to draw unwanted attention to her by acknowledging her during her interaction with the driver.
You won’t go very far hanging out with assholes like that, Julia.
She closed the cruiser door and reached for her cell phone to text Mark.
MESSAGE: Nothing vegetarian. I want steak tips.
Forty
It took more than an hour and every ounce of patience Kenny Harrington could muster to get his father dressed and ready for his daily walk around the yard. The old man resisted, slapped his son repeatedly, and screamed out for help. His specific words were indecipherable but the message was clear: he was deathly afraid and confused, and he wanted to be left alone.
“I’ll let you sit here for a few minutes before we go outside, Father. I’ll be in the next room.”
Kenny sat down, rested his head on his computer table, and burst into tears. When he raised his head, he stared at the framed newspaper clipping on top of the dresser—his favorite picture of Mrs. Harrington. She wore red, white, and blue ribbons in her hair and held a small American flag in her hand.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Mother. I promised you I’d take care of him but sometimes it’s too much. What happened? Where did he go? I look into his eyes and see nothing. He’s dissolving. Doctors say this could go on for years, but how long can I go on?
Kenny ignored the flashing computer screens, folded his arms on the table, and rested his head on his forearms as three straight nights with little sleep finally caught up with him. He was awakened by the soft hum of the encrypted servers as they automatically rebooted and started their hourly diagnostics.
Kenny wiped the puddle of tears from the table and blew his nose. When he reentered the family room, Mr. Harrington was gone.
Forty-one
Kenny ran from room to room in a panic-fueled frenzy.
How long was I asleep? Is he still in the house? How far could he have gone? Call the police. No, I don’t need them snooping around my house. Check outside first. Hurry!
“Father! Where are you, Father?”
He checked the basement and bathrooms, outside the front door, down the stairs, and around the house. Nothing.
Kenny stood lightheaded in the front yard and looked down at the cordless phone in his hands. He pressed the talk button and was starting to dial 911 when he noticed a police cruiser coasting down the hill. He ended the call and walked quickly to the end of the driveway, waving his arms.
Officer Charlie Worth pulled into the driveway and leaned his head out the cruiser window.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he offered jovially.
Kenny looked at him confusedly.
“I found him at the top of the hill, standing in the middle of the road. He seemed confused as all hell and slapped me a few times so I had to restrain him, but he’s still in one piece. Back seat.”
Kenny scanned the cruiser and locked eyes with his father. Mr. Harrington was lying silently across the back seat with his hands cuffed behind his back, sheer terror in his eyes. Kenny immediately began pulling on the door handle.
“Let him out right now! Father, it’s okay! I’m here.”
“Okay, hold your horses. I’ll help. Trust me, he’s not going anywhere anyway.”
Kenny’s red face turned purple.
“Open the fucking door and take those handcuffs off him. He didn’t hurt anyone! He’s not a threat!”
Charlie paused and rested both hands on his hips.
“Seriously, is this the thanks I get for getting him out of the street and home safely? Relax, the cuffs are for his protection more than mine or anyone else’s. He’s fine. Nothing’s hurt but his pride, and that’s a hell of a lot less painful than getting hit by a car at forty miles per hour.”
He opened the door, grabbed the old man by the arm, sat him up straight, and lifted him out of the back seat. Kenny wrapped both arms around his father and pressed the side of his face against his chest. When Charlie removed the handcuffs, Mr. Harrington’s petrified arms sprang forward and wrapped firmly around his son’s shoulders. He whimpered as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“It’s okay, Father. I’m here. I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you alone again. I promise. Don’t cry, Dad. Let’s go inside and forget about our walk for today.”
Officer Worth stood erect with his hands on his hips as Kenny and Mr. Harrington slowly started toward the house.
“You’re welcome,” he said sarcastically.
“Go fuck yourself,” muttered Kenny under his breath.
The officer’s eyes popped wide as he moved toward the Harringtons.
“What did you say to me?”
Kenny ignored him and kept his father moving toward the safety of the house.
“I’m talking to you! Get back here, you ungrateful little punk.”
Kenny froze and turned his head in Worth’s direction.
“Little punk?” he asked.
“Did you tell me to go fuck myself?”
“No.”
“You’re lucky I found him when I did. If you don’t like the way I brought him home, I really don’t give a shit. You’re his caretaker, right? If you were doing your job, I wouldn’t even be here right now. So drop that fucking attitude and show me some respect or I’ll lock your ass up for disorderly conduct and whatever else I feel like charging you with. Do you understand me?”
No response.
“Do you understand me?”
Kenny bowed his head.
“Yes, sir.”
Worth nodded his head approvingly, then turned and walked back to his cruiser. As he backed out of the driveway, he leaned his head out the window and called to Kenny with a smile.
“The old man’s not going to remember any of this anyway.”
Kenny squeezed his father’s hand and kept moving. Once inside, he took off the old man’s shoes and helped him lie down on his bed. Mr. Harrington was asleep within minutes. Kenny immediately
sat down in front of his computers in the next room and looked up at the picture of his mother.
Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll make him pay for that.
Forty-two
Mark pulled into Luci’s driveway shortly before 7:30. Her small home sat about fifty yards off the main road, surrounded by trees. She had purchased the house a year ago, and it offered much more privacy than the busy apartment complex where she had lived when Mark was last home. He parked in front of the two-car detached garage and carried the food up the front walkway.
“It’s open,” Luci called from within when he rang the doorbell.
Of course it is. Why would a single woman living in the woods bother to lock her door?
He closed the door behind him, walked into the kitchen, and placed the food on the table.
“It’s me. Where are you hiding?” he asked.
“I’m in here.”
Mark followed the sound of Luci’s voice and found her sitting on the sofa in the living room. Her hair was in a loose ponytail, and she wore black sweatpants and a white tank top. She pretended to be reading, but he could see smudged makeup around her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just reading something sad,” she said unconvincingly.
He sat down on the sofa and placed a hand on one of her bare feet.
“Not buying it. What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Where’s the food? I’m starving.”
Mark knew better than to push it.
“It’s in the kitchen. Where do you want to eat?”
“Right here.”
He set up dinner on the coffee table and she immediately dug in. He walked back to the kitchen, poured a glass of cabernet from an open bottle on the counter, and set it down next to her plate.
“You look like you need this.”
“Thanks. What have you been up to?” she asked.
“Well, mostly just stuff around the house. It’s in decent condition, but Agnes wasn’t able to do much these past few years. A lot of painting and a few handyman projects—mostly inside jobs. Next up is getting the outside in order. Nothing too fancy.”
“So you’re selling it?”
“I don’t know yet,” he said, after chewing on a juicy steak tip and drinking some bottled water. “But it needs the work regardless.”
Both were true statements. Mark had no idea whether or not he would retire and move on to the next phase of his life or head back to the Family. It was the only life he had known since high school, but part of him was telling him to let go, settle down, and smell the roses. The house could probably sell as is, but the upgrades would make it easier to market, and the work kept him occupied and gave him time to think.
After finishing their meals, they both sat back with full bellies. Luci spoke up after a few long minutes of silence.
“So I answered a call today for a three-car accident. First one on the scene.”
“Yeah? I assume it was a bad scene.”
“One of the worst,” she added softly, draining the last sip of her wine.
Mark went to the kitchen and returned with the bottle of wine. He filled her glass and sat back down on the sofa, a little bit closer than before.
“Do you want to tell me about it? It’s entirely up to you.”
She took a long, slow sip before answering.
“Drunk driver. Middle of the day. Of course, he’s fine, but one of the other drivers is in critical condition. And the third car—”
“You don’t have to talk about this, Luci,” he said after a few seconds of silence.
“The two passengers in the third car were a mother and her five-year-old daughter. Both dead on impact. It was a fucking mess, Mark. No matter how many times I see shit like that, I never get used to it. It never gets easier. As soon as the other cruisers showed up and the EMTs took over, I cried hysterically and threw up.”
Mark put a hand on her leg and said nothing.
“They were driving home from the store. That’s it. And now they’re gone. Just like that.” She locked eyes with him. “I cried and threw up in front of everyone. That’s never happened before. Things are supposed to get easier, not worse. You’re supposed to get used to it.”
“Says who?” he asked.
“Says common sense, Mark. I’m a cop. This is my job and I cried like a little girl.”
“You cried because you’re human and just saw something most people only imagine in their worst nightmares. That’s nothing to be embarrassed or self-conscious about.”
“I was the only one who broke down.”
“Bullshit. You were the only one who did it there. The rest may act stoic at the scene, but I bet a lot of them felt worse than you. Nobody gets used to that stuff. At least nobody normal.”
“You’re not a cop, Mark.”
“No kidding. But I’ve seen some stuff, Luci.”
“Are you trying to one-up me?”
He took his hand off her leg and leaned away.
“No, it’s not a competition.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just pretty wound up about this,” she said, grabbing his hand and putting it back on her leg.
“Don’t worry about it. Usually I deserve it—you just jumped the gun a little bit this time,” he said with a smile. “And I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that you are not used to horrible things.”
“You’re just being nice,” she said, squeezing his hand.
Mark stood up abruptly and clapped his hands once.
“Stand up, Officer Alvarez. When you feel like shit, you gotta move. Show me around your new castle.”
The tour ended with both reclining on Luci’s back deck. Stars came in and out of focus as invisible clouds drifted slowly across the night sky.
“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” Mark said to break the silence.
Luci turned her head sideways to face him.
“Can you tell me about any of the stuff you’ve seen?”
“Misery loves company, right?”
“Something like that,” she said softly.
He thought hard to remember an experience that he could share without divulging classified information. What seemed like an eternity was really only a few seconds as he decided to reach back to the pre-Dunbar, pre-Family half of his career.
“Okay. Do you remember hearing about Jessica Lynch? She was a female soldier taken prisoner in Iraq during the early days of the war and eventually rescued.”
“Vaguely.”
“I was on that rescue mission. And—”
“You rescued her?” Luci interrupted.
“That’s not what I said. There were a lot of people on that mission. I was just one of them. Anyway, about half a dozen other soldiers were taken prisoner as well when her convoy was ambushed. They were already dead by the time we determined where the shitbags were keeping them.”
Luci shook her head back and forth silently.
“While the tier one guys were rescuing Lynch from the hospital building where they were holding her, I was across the street with my Ranger unit recovering the other bodies. They had been tortured, killed, bodies mutilated and buried in a shallow mass grave. We dug them out with small shovels and our bare hands. Piece by piece.”
Mark stood up, walked to the edge of the deck, and leaned back against the railing.
“No matter what, I can never seem to shake the images and smells. It was one of the worst experiences of my life.”
“One of the worst? What the hell could top that?” Luci asked rhetorically.
“The same thing you saw today. Kids. Mothers. Noncombatants and friends who zigged one day when they should have zagged. Sometimes it seems so random. You know what? That’s the kick in the balls about life and combat. You can do everything right and prepare for every contingency and still lose through no fault of your own. You go left when you should have gone right. I try not to think about it. But lately, something’s been telling me not to press my luck an
ymore.”
Luci stood up and leaned against the railing facing the backyard. The moonlit grass swayed back and forth with the wind like waves on the ocean. Mark turned to face her.
“You know you should be proud of yourself. You got the job done first and worried about your own feelings later. You kept your shit together when you had to and that’s the sign of a professional. Well done.”
She bowed her head and dusted off the railing with her hands.
“Thanks. Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything,” he answered cheerfully.
“What’s combat like? What’s it like to have to kill somebody? Police have to do it sometimes, but it’s never happened in this town and I’ve never talked with anyone who has gone through the experience. How do you deal with something like that?”
He folded his arms.
“Wow. That’s a lot. You know … you’ve had a long, tough day. Maybe we should—”
“Please,” she said softly. “I need to know at least a little bit about what you’ve been through too.”
Mark sat back down in the chair and looked upward. The clouds were gone and the stars shined brightly.
“It’s scary, but only beforehand. The anticipation is usually worse than the engagement. Once the action starts, your training kicks in and you don’t have much time to think until it’s over. Once it’s over, it’s hard to describe the feeling. Elation, maybe?”
“Elation?” she asked.
“Yeah. Whether it’s one-on-one or a group thing, there’s a moment of pure euphoria. You could have just been killed but you weren’t. You were either better or lucky. Either way, you’re the one still standing. Others feel survivor’s guilt if they have lost comrades. Some get sick. Everyone’s different.”
“Have you ever been wounded?”
“Nah. Nothing big. Just some bumps and bruises. A few cuts,” he said as he unconsciously rested his palms across his abdomen and felt for the scar.
“I’m glad you’re home in one piece. And I’m glad for guys like you who are willing to do whatever it is that you do. I imagine you hear that from a lot people, but I want you to hear it from me too.”
Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel Page 12