After the Evil – A Jake Roberts Novel (Book 1)

by Cary Allen Stone

  What are you waiting for? All men are evil. Kill him now.

  Lori is terrified waiting for the voices to stop.

  No, I can’t, don’t you see?

  As my hand touches her shoulder, she jumps. She looks traumatized and stressed. I’ve never seen her like this.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing Jake.”

  She scrutinizes the look on my face and knows I’m going to need more information.

  “Sometimes the flashbacks of the days with my ex-husband come when I least expect them. One minute everything is fine and a split second later, this. I’m sorry. Jake you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

  She blinks rapidly and exhales.

  “Lori, you know by now I care about you. I mean I used the H-word tonight. I shouldn’t have been talking about my work. I’m a homicide detective, and that’s an extremely upsetting subject. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry for upsetting you. Please forgive me.”

  As I wait for forgiveness, she surprises me with a question as she points at the CD I still have in my hand.

  “What are you doing with that?”

  Holding it up, I rotate the CD and study it. After what I had just said about not bringing the job home, I’m not sure I want to tell her why.

  “Again I apologize, while looking through your collection I found it. Gates played the same one at every crime scene. It’s played repeatedly on song number three. I’m not familiar with the group.”

  “Do you think it means anything?”

  Kill him mommy, he knows.

  “Must, but I don’t know why. I was surprised to see it on your shelf, haven’t had a chance to listen to it. Do you mind if I do?”

  I’m distracted and fascinated by it as I walk over to the stereo.

  “Gates was one sick puppy.”

  I set the CD on the tray and look for the play button

  “You should have heard the things he said. What kind of sick mind has someone got to have to do such coldblooded things?”

  “Why do you consider him a sick puppy?”

  That question hits me oddly, so I stop with the CD and look at her.

  “The mind is a crazy place, Jake. It’s hard to tell why someone would do such things. It’s difficult to say because of your friend, but sometimes, some people are led, destined, even directed to do such things. They don’t have a choice.”

  I’m astounded by her defense of Gates. Many people, because of their circumstances and what life handed them, could give up and become bad, but they don’t.

  “Are you saying Gates may have had an excuse for what he did? He was driven to kill?”

  “I’m just saying circumstances have the power to change us, be it for good, or bad. Not everyone has the capacity to handle what happens to us in this life, that’s all I’m saying, Jake.”

  My answer to her philosophy of understanding is brief, pointed, aggressive and sarcastic.

  “So let me get this straight. I need to understand Michael Gates was abused, or spanked, or whatever, so it was okay for him to kill my friend, Oh, I get it, my God what was I thinking?”

  The temperature in the living room plunges to bitterly cold.

  See mommy, I told you.

  “Jake, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. Maybe I’m just not ready, I don’t know. I think I’m going to need more time.”

  I’m crushed. I have been suffocating her with my life and my job. It’s too much for me, so it must be too much for her. I don’t know what to say, or if I should say anything at all.

  What’s wrong with you, man?

  As I turn to leave, I stop, hoping she will invite me back into her arms. Her eyes plead with me. I gently close the door behind me. Standing outside, I’m numb. I make my way back to my car.

  Walk away man.

  * * *

  “Daddy, it’s you’re little girl. I need you, daddy, I did a bad thing,” Mika said.

  He listened while his little girl collapsed under a mountain of anguish. He was a powerful man, yet he knew he was powerless to rescue her. All he could provide was compassion, understanding and the familiar voice that dispensed the logic of life. His grip tightened on the telephone.

  “Mika, where are you, baby? I can be––”

  “No daddy.”

  Mika forced out the words through her sobbing. She knew she was stronger, but this time her raging emotions took complete control. There wasn’t a chapter in the parent manual Robert could refer to, so he could help his daughter. It wasn’t a subject parents normally faced. During his early years in Special Ops, he had killed, but never close up, never saw the victims. “DBD, Death by Detonation” his comrades called it. All he could do now was to listen to his little girl who was hurting. Robert Scott, captain of industry, who was highly regarded as an effective communicator, and hard nosed negotiator, struggled to hold back his own tears. Mika finally settled down and told her story. The fact he was listening meant everything. The words came out slowly.

  “I just needed to talk to you.”

  “Where are you, honey?” Robert said.

  “I’m at Jake’s.”

  “Good, is he there with you?”

  “No, I don’t know where he is right now, but I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

  Her intuition told her differently when she first arrived. She took a shallow breath.

  “We were at a standstill in the case––no leads, no clues. I had gone back to Quantico to regroup. Harmon called and told me Ed was murdered. I flew back immediately.”

  She stopped to wipe away tears.

  “When I got back to the precinct, I met Harmon and we watched through the one-way mirror, while Jake interrogated the suspect. Jake left the room for a minute. He had been listening to the confession and it turned his stomach. After what Gates said, after what he has done–– God could not have created such a monster.”

  Robert sat down in his chair. He was careful not to miss even one word. Mika continued as more tears fell. She pushed hard to get the words out.

  “Jake walked out into the hallway and saw me. He started walking toward me when there was a shot fired behind him. Gates had taken an officer’s gun, shot and killed the officer then aimed at Jake. He was going to shoot. Jake wasn’t armed. He dropped to the floor just as I fired, I thought I hit Jake, but Gates went down instead.”

  She stopped speaking as every detail of the shooting replayed in her mind from the sound of the discharging weapon, to the spurting of blood, up until the last breath she saw him take. Her confession was over and she waited for forgiveness.

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Stay there until Jake gets home. He understands. I will do whatever you want, get whatever you need, sweetheart. You’re not alone, Mika. We’re all here for you.”

  His voice cracked with concern and hurt.

  “I love you Mika, so very much.”

  “I love you too, daddy.”

  Robert heard the line go dead. He stood for a long time staring out at the city lights through his office windows. He thought about life, the world, people, and about the human struggle with good and evil. Those same thoughts passed through Mika, right before she crashed into a coma-like sleep. It was the mind’s way to sooth the pain.

  * * *

  A brilliant astrophysicist said that chronology, particularly the past, is protected. He said that even if you had a time machine, and traveled backward, the past would remain intact. Yet, we always try to alter it. We try to paint it over in different colors of perception-red, reason-blue, and excuse-yellow. What we simply should do is learn to live with it. So far, the bad in my life is running far ahead of the good. I thought my relationship with Lori would change that. I was wrong. Falling in love happens all of the time in the movies, why can’t it happen for me? It occurs to me I’m driving in circles. Harmon is right I didn’t belong behind the wheel of a three-thousand-pound lethal weapon. I figure it’s time to hose down the fire inside.

/>   For some strange, mystical, illogical reason, I pull up in front of Chipper’s place, alone. I remember Chipper’s warning, and I must be out of my mind. I guess that happens when you just don’t care anymore. My feet completely disregard the warnings from my brain, and I resolutely march toward the front door. Beneath Chipper’s sign, I come face to face with several of the brothers who are understandably irritated, and in shock.

  “You got a death wish?” one says.

  I must have, because I’m outnumbered and outgunned. An Uzi is brought up under my chin. I’m forced into a stare down with the brother holding the weapon, until I hear a familiar voice.

  “You gots to be one dumb muthafucker!”

  The words provide a temporary reprieve from an early demise, because the triggerman looks at Chipper. The big man prevents my impending death, not out of respect for the badge, or love for me, but because of his curiosity. He wants the answer before I’m executed. I look at the muzzle first then at the man behind the weapon.

  “You have the right to remain silent.”

  Roaring with laughter, Chipper rotates his three-hundred-pound-plus frame. He starts banging the wall hard with his meaty fist as he gasps for air to replace the laughter.

  “You are one crazy sonabitch. Come here.”

  My right hand rises up and nudges the Uzi away. The disappointed look on the brother’s face says that in another place, and at another time, I can plan on a rematch. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, I make my way to Chipper. He throws an arm around me, and leads all of us inside. At his table, he kicks out a chair indicating I should sit. I accept his invitation and do exactly as I’m told. As he wipes tears of laughter from his eyes, Chipper gets back to business.

  “Whatchu doin’ back here, man? I told you the last time not to come back. Either you’re deaf, or jus’ stupid, I don’t know which.”

  He sizes me up. He shifts his massive frame in his chair. He raises his empty glass. A full glass replaced it. The woman who sits to his right wipes his brow and strokes his baldhead. It occurs to me, I would pay money to see Chipper and Harmon in a wrestling match.

  “But I jus’ gots to know, crazy man, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

  My head bobs. I smirk. After a few shakes of my empty cranium, I respond.

  “A woman.”

  “Getouttahere, I knew it! You ain’t jivin’ me are you?”

  “No jive.”

  “Damn, how many times that story been told,” he says.

  I force a grin. I don’t understand why I’m speaking to him like we’re best friends. Then again, he is the only one interested in my sad story.

  “I need to fall into a deep, deep hole...and drown.”

  The intensity in my eyes backs me up.

  “I know dat’s right,” he says.

  He looks around the interior of the bar at his contemporaries who are stunned by his taking me under his wing. The look is enough to convince them to go back to what they were doing, which they do with disregard for the fact I’m an officer of the law. Illicit business transactions take place. The jukebox cranks back up, and booms base lines against the interior walls as some nasty rap lyrics talk about killing white folks. The air is heavy with smoke. Chipper signals and a stiffer drink is placed in front of me. I can tell it’s strong by the smell. A few of these and I’ll be stiff, which is what I’m here for. It also happens to be the best money could buy. To my surprise, it’s on the house. I knock it back and as the alcohol slithers into my blood stream, I go into a form of temporary cardiac arrest. It feels as if my eyes are rolling back. I try to stay sitting up.

  “So, what is your story, crazy man? I like sad, sentimental stories, they make me cry,” he says.

  Chipper laughs so loud, I can’t hear the music any longer then he settles back into his chair, hands tented, and waits patiently for my answer. My glass has been replaced with a full one, again. I don’t even notice how, or when it arrived. Just as I open my mouth to answer, Chipper has a major revelation.

  “Hey, you’re the cop I saw on the news, you and that serial killer guy!”

  He snaps his fingers. He also says it as if he doesn’t have a list of his own victims to claim. I don’t understand why I’m friendly with Chipper the serial killer, and not with Gates the serial killer. It’s probably because Chipper didn’t murder my friend.

  “Blew the mutha away, and you’ve got lady problems, too? Hey bro, your life sucks.”

  The man said a mouthful. After telling the amused Chipper the highlights, or rather the lowlights of my life, my day ends face down on the table in an alcohol-induced, deep sleep.

  * * *

  She held the frame with the picture of her beautiful Emily smiling back at her frozen in her sixteenth year. The photograph was taken the day before the suicide. It was the last happy moment they had together. It was the last happy memory Lori had. She hoped that would have changed with Jake.

  I’m glad you made him leave, mommy.

  Lori shrugged then the other voice broke into their conversation.

  He’s trouble, just like all of the rest. They hurt and beat, and you suffer. They all have to die.

  She answered aloud because there was no one left to hear.

  “But I really think he’s different than the others. He’s caring, gentle and passionate. He would be good for me. He would take care of me.”

  He’ll abuse you. He doesn’t care about your pain. He wants filthy sex and to control you.

  Emily spoke from the photo.

  It’s just us, mommy, if it wasn’t for daddy I’d still be with you.

  Tears welled up in Lori’s eyes. The scene of Emily’s suicide, the note she left, and the funeral all played in her mind. Watching the mourners throw the dirt on the casket was too much to bear. Maybe the voices were right, but he was different. She wanted him.

  What if he discovers you’re dark secret?

  She needed time to think. She had to find a way to make it work, and a way to silence the voices.

  “I love you Emily, but I still need to live my life.”

  Lori picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Crew scheduling, Monica.”

  “Hi, this is Lori Powers, employee number zero-zero-three-zero-one. I thought you might have a trip you needed covered, I’m available.”

  “You must be psychic, because I was just trying to fill an overnight to Boston, interested? It leaves at eleven in the morning, and will be back by midmorning the next day. Oh wait, I show you in the computer as out sick.”

  “That was earlier, something I ate, but I’m okay now. I can take that overnight.”

  “Great, I’ll show you on the trip.”

  Lori listened. The voices were gone. She wandered out into the living room and listened closely, but she didn’t hear them anymore. After repositioning the flowers on the table, she saw the CD Jake had found. She picked it up and replaced it on the shelf. In her bedroom, where she thought she would be sharing the night with Jake, she instead gathered her things for the flight. She had just enough time to pack and get a little sleep.

  Boston was a favorite layover of hers. She loved walking around the city and knew exactly what to pack for. She could go to the real “Cheers” bar regardless of the fact it didn’t resemble the set of the famous television show. Another option, if the temperature were right, would be to get some sun in the park with the swan boats. She also thought she might stop by one of the many palm readers to have her fortune told.

  Maybe her future still included Jake.

  * * *

  “Man deserves to get wasted.”

  Chipper gave specific orders, like a commander in the field.

  “Call up his partner. You tell the man where he is, and to come get him now, I can’t have no white, red, or whatever the hell trash he is, sleeping on my pool table.

  He leans over to see if I’m still alive.

  “Should have gone into a life of crime, dawg, its easier. I mean it this time, don’
t come back here again.”

  After he pats my head, two more brothers hoist me up and carry me outside. An irreverent toss of my limp body lands me on the hood of my car. My carcass remains there until Harmon arrives. Everything stays blurry, until I hear Harmon’s voice, which startles me halfway back to reality.

  “JAKE!”

  There is no mistaking the disappointment on his face, in his eyes, or flying out of his mouth. Before, he would have taken it in stride. Now, as Chief Inspector he has a very different viewpoint. Harmon’s voice sounds as if it’s coming from somewhere inside a very long tunnel. He tells the detective he brought with him.

  “Help me get him in my car. You drive his. We’ll drop him back at his apartment.”

  His arms wave in several directions, stopping long enough to look at Chipper who offers up a taunting salute. The two of them exchange a cold glare. I’m not the only one who wants to see them go at it. The next thing I hear is a car engine start.

  It takes me awhile to get my coordinates. The fog isn’t lifting fast. I squint and press my fingers hard into my temples. It’s hard to raise my head for some reason.

  “Harmon, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Let me drive.”

  I start laughing my butt off. I can’t stop. The brothers watch the pathetic scene, until they can’t watch any longer. Walking away, they wave us off with middle fingers raised. Harmon grabs the nape of my neck and shakes me hard. There is no doubt about it He is in one of moods.

  “What was in those drinks?’

  “Are you as out of your mind as you want me to believe?”

  “HEY, who asked you to come get me, wasn’t me.”

  “No Jake, it wasn’t you, it was your new friend Chipper. What is wrong with you? What in God’s name are you doing there in the middle of the night––alone? Dammit, Jake.”

  “Investri...grating.”

  Harmon is livid. He had finally found a quiet moment, in a quiet room, to sit and decompress, when he got the call from one of Chipper’s homies.

  “Investigating? Investigating what, how fast a bullet can travel though your thick skull?”

  Too caught up in my own misery and too wasted, I don’t even realize how much he is hurting. I haven’t been a very good partner, or a very good friend. Still, he’s here for me. His tone softens as he props me up inside the car.