Paternity Case

by Gregory Ashe

  Hazard grunted.

  “It’s going pretty well, right?”

  Hazard grunted again.

  “Did you know they . . .”

  “Yeah, Somers. Of course I knew. I had magically figured out that they were best friends, I just decided not to tell you.”

  A moment passed, and Somers asked, “Who’s Moody?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “You need some wine.”

  That was starting to sound better and better. Hazard motioned over the waiter again and this time ordered a bottle. The candlelight flashed against the bandage on Hazard’s hand, a shining reminder of Hazard’s most recent case. Together with Somers, he had been trapped at an estate just outside Wahredua. One murder had spiraled into a series of deaths; Hazard had come close to dying himself after a brutal, physical confrontation. The worst of the bruises had healed, but the deep cut on his hand was still a painful scab.

  “How is it?” Somers asked, nodding at the bandage.

  “What did I tell you?”

  “You said that if I asked you about your hand one more time, you’d shove it down my throat.” Somers grinned. “But we’re at a very fancy dinner, and even a thug like you has some manners.”

  Hazard opened his mouth to tell Somers exactly what he could do with his manners, but Nico and Cora’s conversation caught his ear. Cora was speaking, her voice low, her hands wrapped together on the table, her eyes studying her hands.

  “—didn’t know Emery very well, of course, but that’s what—” She paused, as though suddenly aware of Hazard’s attention. Her eyes, dark and gleaming like polished obsidian, glanced towards him and then away. “I’m sorry. I—this is very awkward for me.”

  “Why?” Hazard asked. Then he grunted, biting back a swear as Somers kicked him in the shin. Hard. Somers jerked his head angrily, and Hazard forced his voice to a slightly warmer tone. Very slightly. “I mean, I don’t know why you should feel awkward.”

  Cora laughed, and this time it had none of its former humor. “That’s very kind of you, Emery. But you don’t have to pretend that I wasn’t an absolute bitch in high school.”

  Hazard stared at her. Everyone was waiting for him to respond; he could feel the anticipation. Nico leaned back in his seat, and his hand dropped under the table, his fingers lightly squeezing Hazard’s.

  “You weren’t a bitch,” Hazard finally said. “You were a teenager. We all were.” His voice turned dry. “Nobody should be held accountable for what they do between fourteen and twenty-one.”

  With another cold laugh, Cora sipped at her wine. When she spoke, her eyes were still locked on her pale hands. “The things I said about you, Emery—I’d understand if you never wanted to speak to me again. I told John-Henry this wasn’t a good idea.” She made as if to rise.

  Somers latched onto her arm, and he said, “Cora, you don’t know Emery. He’s not that kind of person. The things I did to him, the things I allowed to happen, Emery should have killed me.” A trace of Somers’s normal, shit-eating grin appeared. “Most days, he still wants to kill me, although maybe for different reasons. What I’m trying to say is that he’s a good man. The best man I know. And I want you to know him too.”

  Something flashed in Cora’s face. Hazard wasn’t particularly good at reading other people’s emotions, but he thought he recognized this one: hope. The realization left him unnerved, as though he’d lost his footing in the conversation. Why the hell did she look like Somers had just tossed her a lifeline? Because she’d made a few nasty comments about Hazard in high school? Was she really the kind of person who carried that kind of guilt for fifteen years?

  They were waiting for Hazard to speak, he realized. His jaw felt rusty as he opened his mouth, and the words bounced off his teeth with tinny, hollow sounds. “I’m not a good man, but Somers is right about one thing: I’m done with that part of my life. Let’s leave the past in the past.” Hazard paused, fighting the selfish part of himself, the part that wanted Somers all to himself, the part that wanted him to snap at Cora with every cruel thought he’d ever had. Then, forcing the words out, he added, “I hope you’ll do the same.”

  Cora glanced at Somers and then at Hazard. She nodded slowly.

  Nico squeezed Hazard’s fingers fiercely. Then, as though that weren’t enough, he bent over and kissed Hazard’s cheek.

  “You are amazing,” he whispered. The fresh stubble on his cheek scraped Hazard as he pulled away.

  No one seemed to know what to say next. Somers and Cora both drank deeply of their wine. Nico leaned against Hazard, the tips of his fingers playing against Hazard’s. A low thrum interrupted the silence, and Somers pulled out his mobile phone. His eyes widened, and he glanced at Hazard and then Cora.

  “It’s my father.”

  “Go on,” Cora said.

  Somers nodded, as though barely hearing her. He punched something on the screen, put the phone to his ear, and lurched away from the table. The glasses rattled as Somers caught one of the table’s legs with his heel. “Father,” he said as he walked towards the door. “What’s wrong?”

  Nico’s dark, deep eyes rested on Hazard. “Is his father ill?”

  Hazard shook his head.

  “He seemed upset.”

  Yes, Hazard thought. Yes, Somers was probably upset. In fact, scratch that: Somers was definitely upset. Hazard only knew the outline of Somers’s relationship with his father, and much of that was guess-work, but certain elements seemed clear. For one, Somers never spoke with his parents. For another, Glennworth Somerset, his father, seemed like just about the coldest asshole this side of Antarctica. And there were other things, things that Somers had hinted at when he’d drunk too much.

  Hazard realized that Cora was studying him with her dark, glittering eyes. Hazard was speaking before he realized it. “You know better than I do.”

  Cora shrugged. “I’m not sure that I do. John-Henry’s parents all but disowned him when we got married. They softened a little when we had Evie, and they all but welcomed John-Henry back into the viper’s nest when we separated. His father called me a few times. He’s an attorney, not that he’s ever done much besides draw up a few contracts and cash a lot of checks. But he called a few times, threatening to sue me, threatening to sue for custody of Evie, threatening to sue for the house. I thought John-Henry had put him up to it. That was when things were at their worst between us.

  “Then, one day, I ran into them at the store. I don’t even remember which one. It was a clothing store, I think. Probably the Nordstrom’s. You’d think I would remember. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I walked right up to John-Henry and I told him that he could sue me, he could take everything I had, but that he’d never get Evie. I turned around, ready to march out of that store and never look back, but I stopped because I heard—” She paused, tracing the rim of the wine glass with a slack finger. “When I turned around, Glennworth Somers had a bloody lip, and John-Henry was shaking his hand. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t believe what had happened. I ran; it was like I’d done something wrong, like I’d been the one who punched him. I never—I’ve never talked to John-Henry about that. Never. But I knew that he wasn’t the one making those threats.”

  Somers reappeared in the doorway, and Nico’s eyes narrowed. “He’s much more complicated than he seems, isn’t he?” Nico said. “I mean, he’s so . . . he acts like a frat boy sometimes, and the way he talks, the way he stands. But he’s not what I thought. Tonight, for example.”

  “Tonight?” Cora said. “What about tonight?”

  Nico shook his head, and before Cora could ask again, Somers had reached their table. He crooked a finger at Hazard.

  “We’ve got a call.”

  “We’re off rotation tonight.”

  “Well, we caught one.”

  “What happened?”

  “Will you come on already?”

  Hazard studied his partner. “What
the hell could have happened? Are Lender and Swinney already on another call? All the patrol guys—”

  “Will get off your fucking ass,” Somers shouted, and then he broke off, reining in his voice. In a harsh whisper, he continued, “Will you get off your ass and come with me? We’ve got a call. What else do I have to say?”

  The Moulin Vert had gone silent; everyone, from the stuffy waiters to the even stuffier guests, paused and stared at Hazard’s table. Somers seemed to notice the attention; his face colored, and he rolled his shoulders. Swearing under his breath, he stalked towards the door. Conversation began to resume, voices breaking into low, excited murmurs.

  Fishing the keys out of his pocket, Hazard said, “Can you take her home?”

  “You’re going with him?” Nico asked, a mixture of shock and anger tightening his face. “After he talked to you like that?”

  “I can take a cab,” Cora said.

  “I’m going with him because we have a call. Can you take her home?”

  “I’ll take an Uber.”

  “Well?” Hazard dropped the keys into Nico’s hand.

  “Yes, fine,” Nico said. “I’ll take her.”

  Planting a kiss on Nico’s cheek, Hazard squeezed his hand and trotted towards the door. Part of him was aware of the stares that followed him. The town faggot had gotten in a fight with his cop partner. The town faggot had kissed his boyfriend in public. The town faggot—Christ, that was never going to stop. He’d be dead and buried and they’d probably put up a sign marking the town faggot.

  But most of his mind had already raced ahead, towards Somers. In their time together as partners, Hazard and Somers had passed through some difficult and dangerous times. Nothing had ever made Somers act this way. Hazard wasn’t given to premonition; he wasn’t particularly good at reading the emotions of the men and women around him. Even he could tell, though, that something had deeply upset Somers, and Hazard wondered what it could possibly be.

  SOMERS SLAMMED DOWN THE ACCELERATOR, and the Ford Interceptor leaped forward. It was a new car, purchased by the department to replace the Impala that Somers had destroyed by driving it—albeit unintentionally—into a flooded river. Under other circumstances, an act like that might have cost Somers his job; at the least, it should have planted him firmly behind a desk. Instead, Somers had cracked a string of grisly murders, and in addition to winning him public acclaim, it had diverted the worst of the administration’s anger.

  The Interceptor, a black SUV with buttery leather seats and the lingering aroma of new car, plowed through Wahredua’s snow-choked streets without a problem. Thank God for that; Somers was driving like a madman, and as he took the corners of the cramped riverside streets, only the Interceptor’s excellent tires kept them from skidding into the cars parked along the side of the road. Without taking his eyes from the road, Somers punched at the radio, cranking the dial. Static pounded through the car, along with squelched bursts of country music, until Somers settled on a station. Heavy metallic music rattled the windows; Hazard’s head rang from the noise.

  With a flick of his hand, Hazard silenced the stereo. “What’s going on?”

  “I was listening to that.”

  “No, you were trying to blow out your eardrums. And mine too. What happened?”

  “You turned off my fucking music. That’s what happened.”

  “Was it something with Cora? Did I say something? Did Nico—”

  “Don’t be an idiot.”

  “Somers, either tell me what’s going on or stop the car.”

  In answer, Somers dropped his foot on the accelerator. Gray snow sailed up on either side of the car, the slush hissing and slapping at the Interceptor’s frame.

  This was unusual. No, beyond unusual: it was out of this world strange. Somers never acted like this. Somers was always the cheerful one, the optimistic one, the positive one. He was always, definitely, the kind one. And here he was, acting like a prime cut of asshole, which meant that something had gone topsy-turvy in Hazard’s world.

  Hazard, to his own surprise, found himself reaching out to lay a hand on Somers’s shoulder. “Hey. What’s going on? Is someone hurt? Is it your dad? Your mom?”

  Somers barked a laugh, but some of the iron had left his voice when he spoke. “I know I’m acting like an asshole. I want to be an asshole right now. Can you give me five minutes? Five minutes that I get to be an asshole.”

  “Yeah,” Hazard said, dropping his hand. “Five minutes.”

  “Nico’s a little bitch.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Who the hell does he think he is, sneaking into that dinner, nosing around Cora like he—like he knows her. Talking to her like that. I brought Cora there so she’d talk to you, not to the overgrown baby that you’re dating. And instead, what does she do? She spends a fucking half hour talking to Nico like whatever he does is the most interesting thing in the whole goddamn universe. You know what he is? He’s not a baby. A baby is something you care about. He’s—he’s irrelevant. He’s totally irrelevant to you. You think that’s who you’re supposed to be with? A horny grad student who can’t pick up his own dirty socks? Come on, Ree. I’m sick of you dicking around like this.”

  “When your five minutes are up,” Hazard said, cracking his knuckles, “we’re going to talk about this.”

  “And you: why won’t you admit that your hair is different? What the hell is going on with you? Tonight, what was that about? You haven’t seen Cora in, how long? Twenty years? Twenty years, and you can’t do more than say hello, shake her hand like it’s wet fish, and then pretend like she’s not there the rest of the evening?”

  Hazard dropped back into his seat, watching the dashboard clock. The Interceptor launched out of Wahredua, rattled across the old MP tracks, and plunged into the darkness beyond. At this time of year, when darkness came early, Warhedua looked like the last place of light and warmth in a burned-out world. Ahead of them, the sodium lights dropped away until the only thing illuminating the asphalt was the Interceptor’s headlights, bluish-white, the color of fresh snow if it had somehow transformed into light.

  “You know,” Somers continued, his voice still biting and low, “I thought maybe things had changed. I thought my life was going to be different. All this press from the Windsor case. Cora. But then my father calls, and it’s like the world stopped turning twenty years ago, like I’m just this kid who won’t take out the trash or do my homework. Like he’s going to say jump, and I better damn well jump high enough to impress him, and that’s a joke because he’s never been impressed in his whole life. Not by me, anyway.”

  “Your time’s up. Either apologize about Nico or get ready for a broken jaw.”

  Somers blinked rapidly into the blue luminescence from the dash. The muscles along his jaw tightened, relaxed, tightened, relaxed. He probably could have bitten through an engine block like it was cream cheese.

  “I shouldn’t have said that about you. You were really kind to Cora. She was so sure that you were going to—”

  “I don’t give a fuck about that. Apologize about Nico.”

  The muscles in Somers’s jaw flexed and released, again and again. His fingers fanned out along the steering wheel. “Look, I’m pissed about my dad, and I took it out on you. I hate feeling like this, you know? And I hate the way I just acted. I hate that I said those things—”

  “Somers, you better goddamn apologize about Nico right now, or you won’t be able to apologize until they unwire your teeth in about six months.”

  For a moment—a long moment, maybe thirty seconds—Hazard was sure that Somers wouldn’t apologize. There was so much anger in his face, so much tension. Then he braced the heels of his hands on the steering wheel, forcing himself back into the seat as though bracing for a collision. He sucked in a breath, shook his head, and said, “I’m sorry I said that he was—”

  “No. Don’t qualify it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

 
“Don’t do that again.”

  “What I said about you—”

  “Jesus, Somers. Don’t you get it? I don’t care. I have never given so much as a goddamn second to caring what you say about me, what you think about me, any of it. Drop it and tell me what’s going on.”

  “But you care what I say about Nico?”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know. All right? That’s the thing that pisses me off. I don’t know what’s going on. Here’s what I know: I haven’t talked to my father in six months. And you know how I know that it’s been six months? Because that was the last time my father got pulled over for speeding, and he just about ripped out Miranda Carmichael’s throat when she pulled him over. I had to dance like a cat with its tail on fire to keep her from dragging him to jail. You know Miranda; she’s a rock, and she wasn’t going to put up with that behavior.

  “And when I’ve finally got it all sorted out, when I’ve promised Cravens that I’ll pull doubles and when I’ve promised Carmichael a month of lunches and when I’ve finally put the whole damn mess to bed, what happens? I’ll tell you what: nothing. Nada. Silence. My father might as well be on the moon. Until tonight, that is. He calls me up. He tells me to get over to the house. ‘We have a disturbance.’ Those were his words. And then he told me, again, to get over to the house. I said he should call the police. He said—” Somers broke off, taking a shuddering breath.

  “He said what?”

  “Never mind. The important part is that he’s got me by the balls. Again. And here I am, running across town to put out one of my father’s little fires. I don’t know what the problem is, but here I go.”

  “Here we go,” Hazard amended.

  “Yeah,” Somers said, his voice softening. “Thanks.”

  “Why didn’t he call the police?”

  “Because as usual, my father prefers to handle things like a gentleman, which means not involving the authorities.”

  “You don’t count?”

  “I’m family. I’m expected to keep my mouth shut and make problems disappear. Another cop wouldn’t do that. And don’t give me that look. I’m not crooked, Hazard. But I sure as hell have pulled every string I can pull. I’ve pulled them until they’ve just about snapped off in my hands. Tonight’s just going to be one more time.”