Angry Jonny

by Joaquin Emiliano

  “Interesting how that works out.”

  “Not really.”

  “What were you doing before you fell asleep?”

  “Checking my email,” Jessica said. “In case you didn’t get that the first time you asked.”

  “What time did you get home?”

  “About a quarter to twelve.”

  “Where were you before you came home?”

  “How about I just break it down for you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Want to wait?”

  “For?”

  Jessica motioned to the door behind her. “Your boyfriend.”

  “You think you’re the first to make that crack?”

  “Cutest, maybe.”

  “Maybe.”

  Jessica sighed, leaned forward in her seat. “I got off work around six. I saw Dinah just before I left. She was covering a shift for a few hours. I had myself a bite at Caliente Cantina. I went to On the Rail. I played a few games of pool. I had a few orange sodas. Dinah joined me ‘round ten. She went off to her party. I went home.”

  Randal came back in, carefully balancing three mugs between his hands. Before Jessica could even figure how he’d managed to work the knob, he kicked the door shut. Jessica had expected a resounding, dramatic slam. All she got was the sound of a latch clicking into place.

  Randal distributed the coffee.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You said you got off work at around six,” Donahue told her as Randal sat down. “You saw Dinah just before you left. She was covering someone’s shift for a few hours. You had a bite at The Caliente Cantina. Went to On The Rail. Dinah joined you there. Ten-ish. She went off to her party, and you went home…”

  Jessica reached for her coffee. “You get that, Detective Randal? All caught up with last week’s episode?”

  Randal glanced over at his partner, casually taking a sip of coffee. “Yeah, I’m all good.”

  “Good,” Donahue said. “Could anyone else corroborate where you were?”

  “Yes…” Jessica gave it a moment’s thought. Figured this wasn’t the time to play possum. “Eli Messner and Chaucer Braswell.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes.”

  “They were at the pool hall?”

  “Eli was having a drink at the Prescott. He drove me to the Cantina. Then we went and shot some stick. Chaucer was already there. Dinah joined us. There you have it.”

  Randal grinned. “The Angry Jonny All-Stars.”

  Donahue shot him a look.

  Jessica covered this observation with a sip of coffee. It appeared as though Randal had let his guard down. Then again, was it really like Donahue to give away that Randal had given it away?

  “You want me to leave you two alone?” Jessica asked.

  “Why didn’t you mention Eli and Chaucer earlier?”

  “Because you didn’t ask,” Jessica replied, growing annoyed. “Look, if you want me to stay, you’re going to have to give me something.”

  “We don’t have to give you anything,” Donahue told her. “Clarence Davenport was found in his home this morning. Eyes gone, tongue severed. Angry Jonny written on the wall.”

  Randal saved them all a few minutes: “We already know about your situation with Clarence Davenport.”

  “So let’s not get into that right now,” Donahue said. “You left the pool hall. With Dinah, Chaucer and Eli. The three of them were parked at the funeral home across the street. Once you got there, you were accosted by Davenport. He attacked you, then sped off in his car. And you have failed to mention this, why?”

  “Yeah.” Jessica smirked. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  “Sorry about that?” Randal leaned in. “Why wouldn’t you tell us? Come to think of it, why didn’t you file a complaint against him last night?”

  This didn’t look good. “You know all about Davenport and me?”

  “Yes,” Donahue affirmed.

  “Do you know about his friendship with Glen Roberts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know that Davenport was the reason I lost my internship?”

  “We do…” Donahue crossed his arms, face blank. “That’s what we frequently refer to as motive.”

  “You really mean that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about what happened outside On the Rail?”

  “Leverage,” Jessica said.

  “Please clarify?”

  “I didn’t want to report what he did. I told everyone I was planning to file in the morning, when I felt less… well, who cares what excuse I gave? Plain truth, it was what I’d been hoping he’d do: snap, eventually. I figured enough people had witnessed the altercation. My plan was to go to him on my own. Tell him that he had gone too far. I was going to tell Davenport that, unless he stopped screwing with my life, unless he got me my internship back, I would go to the cops… I really believed I had him this time.”

  “Only that’s not how it worked out,” Donahue concluded. “Instead, Davenport ended up… well, how anyone who crosses you ends up these days.”

  “Which helps me how?” Jessica asked. “Instead of getting what I want, I’m sitting here in an interrogation room, talking to you two.”

  “Actually, this isn’t an interrogation room,” Randal informed her. He smiled and shook his head: “You don’t want to see our interrogation room.”

  Jessica cleared her throat.

  “Could you take a look at this, please?” Donahue asked. He opened the folder, removed a quart-sized Ziploc bag. Rather than a blunt instrument, or some blood-encrusted X-Acto knife, all it contained was a standard, eight-by-eleven sheet of paper. He placed the bag and its innocuous resident before her.

  It was a scrawled note. A little too scrawled; jet-black capital letters, thick and rough around the edges.

  Jessica leaned in close. Peered past the ripples and plastic eddies.

  THIS STORY BELONGS TO JESSICA. LET HER BACK IN, MR. HOLDER. OR INNOCENT PEOPLE WILL DIE – ANGRY JONNY.

  Each word jumped off the page, collective message leaving Jessica more confounded than cold.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” Randal said.

  “No.” Jessica gave the letter a second read. “No, I can’t tell you anything about this. What is this?”

  “This is a letter,” Donahue said. “Sent to the Verona Observer. Snail mail. The envelope was addressed to Al Holder. Arrived just this morning. Looks like Angry Jonny’s got a bit invested in your wellbeing, Jessica.”

  Jessica wanted to protest. Got so far as opening her mouth.

  Stopped. Drew her dry lips shut.

  “Well. Glad you don’t feel like arguing otherwise.” Donahue sounded relieved, though no less stern. “Angry Jonny’s first victim was just a passing inconvenience. Some jerk in a restaurant. His second, Clarence Davenport… A bit of a thorn in your paw. And now, it appears you’ve got yourself a bit of payback. Add to that, an anonymous letter demanding your reinstatement to the Observer… I’d say this is working out pretty well for you.”

  “Yeah, thems is the facts,” Jessica agreed, nodding.

  The two detectives exchanged a look.

  “Thems is the facts?” Donahue repeated, putting a finger to his earlobe. “That’s it? That’s all you got. Thems is the facts.”

  “Well, thems is.”

  “Do you even care about what he did to Clarence Davenport?”

  Jessica felt the indignation boil over. “When I say thems is the facts, it’s because there’s nothing left to say. I can’t deny them. That’s what makes them facts. And I’m not going to defend myself because that is what guilty people do. Explanations are your job.”

  “Helping us is your duty as a citizen,” Donahue reminded her, leaning forward with emerging menace. “That’s regardless of whether or not the constitution can or cannot enforce integrity or decency.”

  “And this is your master strategy to enlist
my help? Accusations, recrimination. Sanctimonious little speeches about the content of my character?”

  “You’re angry at us?”

  “Here’s the facts… For every piece of information incriminating me, there’s any number of factors that don’t add up. When the letter was postmarked. Why Angry Jonny refers to people dying, when it’s clear this asshole’s not a killer. If it’s occurred to me, then it’s occurred to you. I’ve been nothing but help so far, but instead of asking, you thought why not scare me with a story that’s got more holes than a sinking ship. The facts are, I’m pissed that you think I’m that stupid.”

  Jessica laid back in her seat, crossed her arms and legs.

  Sealed herself off good and tight as the room regained its previous dimensions. Walls receding, windows widening, once again letting in a good dose of summertime sheen.

  Randal raised his coffee cup. Absent sips, as though he had never been listening.

  Even Donahue took a more relaxed pose. Leaned into his chair, abandoning bad cop for something a little more easygoing. He glanced up to the ceiling, as though trying to get a look at his own thoughts, hovering just above his head. The glimmer of a smile touched his lips. Leveling his gaze, he gave Jessica a slow nod before speaking:

  “I think you enjoy being treated like an adult,” Donahue told her. He spoke with a slow, confident stride, perfectly at ease with the time it was taking to gather his thoughts. “Scratch that, Jessica. Every teenager wants to be treated like an adult. I think maybe the difference is, you appreciate being treated like an adult…”

  Jessica felt her anger melting away, serpent shedding its skin.

  “Then again…” Donahue continued, smile receding from his eyes. “It could just be that you have a real fucking problem being treated like a child.”

  Jessica’s abdominals tightened.

  “Talked down to,” Donahue clarified. “Condescended to. Nothing wrong with that. Being an adult’s got its own fringe benefits. But here’s the thing…” His smile had now completely vanished. Replaced with a dead, uncompromising look. “The older you get, the less you get to know. About everything. The less there is to know about everything. If being a kid means the world is one large, open book, then being an adult means all you ever get is a shitty little pamphlet reminding you why you’re going to hell.”

  Donahue sighed, taking no pleasure in what he was about to say.

  “I like you. Randal likes you… But we’re not your friends, Jessica. Randal’s not your friend. I’m not your friend. Matter of fact, there’s not a soul in this building who is. We don’t care about friendship. Fuck friendship. There’s someone out there. Someone more ruthless, more driven, and, yes, possibly more dangerous to the safety of this city than anyone we’ve ever tried to track down. Someone that absolutely must be stopped. And as of this moment, you are officially standing in our way.”

  Donahue crossed his arms. “You want to be treated like an adult, be prepared to get tried as one.”

  Jessica didn’t bat an eye. “Can I go now?”

  “Yeah.” Donahue reached over, stopped the recording. “Could’ve gone whenever you wanted. Thank you for your time.”

  “Thank you for my ride home,” Jessica said, standing up and straightening her shirt, jeans. Doing all she could to brush Donahue’s declaration of war from her clothes. “Or is this one of those dates where if a girl don’t put out, she’s hoofing it home?”

  “We are here to serve and protect,” Donahue said curtly. “Detective Randal will escort you to your apartment. After which, he will gladly take you to your next destination.”

  “Oh?”

  “As of this morning, you are officially back on staff with the Verona Observer. Report immediately to Al Holder. He’ll fill you in on the rest.” Without taking his eyes off Jessica’s, he pointed to Randal. “Get her out of my sight, Detective.”

  Randal escorted Jessica past security. Bundled her into his car and drove her home. Told her to get changed, the only words he had spoken to her since leaving the station.

  Jessica went to do the detective’s bidding.

  Taking the steps one at a time.

  With his assault on Clarence Davenport, Angry Jonny had rid her of another enemy and graced her with two more.

  On the bright side, the sale of Camelot Apartments was no longer the foremost problem in her life.

  Chapter 14: The New Guy.

  Al Holder sat at his desk, digits intertwined beneath his mouth, save for two index fingers forming a steeple against his mustache. He looked tired, pale. Haggard expression an extension of his wrinkled shirt, skewed tie, and unbuttoned cuffs.

  Jessica sat, waiting. The door was shut, effectively sealing off all sounds from the office. She sensed any number of people hovering outside, dancing on one leg, impatiently waiting for their leader to move on the story.

  For the time being, it was just the two of them.

  “I imagine you’ve heard of the Pentagon Papers,” Al said.

  “New York Times published them in1971. Basically, the classified plans to keep the Vietnam war going, including secret bombings of Cambodia, Laos and coastal raids on Vietnam.”

  “When what I should have said is I imagine you’ve heard of Wikipedia… It was one of the first and greatest debates concerning what newspapers must print and what they simply cannot.”

  “I think I see where you’re going with this.”

  “It’s more for my benefit than for yours,” Al assured her. “I’m thrilled to have you back with us, Jessica… I mean that. But I wish to God it didn’t have to be this way. The only people who know about the letter are in this room. Ethan doesn’t know. President of the Observer, the board, none of them…” Al closed his eyes, face contorting like the seconds before admitting infidelity. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

  Jessica gave him a thankful smile.

  “Yeah, I know…” Al chuffed, held up a meaty palm. “Whatever. It kills me to do it, but the alternative is much worse. I don’t want the public knowing about this, not just yet. If I did, you’d basically have a sign around your neck. Donahue and Randal have informed me that they will take similar steps to assure your secrecy.”

  “How long do you suppose that will last?” Jessica asked.

  “I don’t know. We take it one cycle at a time. Time being, here’s what’s what. You left on personal business. That business is now taken care of. As long as you continue to work here, I’m hoping we won’t receive any more complaints from our psycho-at-large. If we do, we will deal with them as they come.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’ve got maybe two minutes to bring you up to speed…” Al reached for his coffee, took a sip. “After you left, I felt it was my duty to fill your position.”

  “You’ve been interning for yourself?”

  “Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Point is, you know I did all I could to prove Davenport wrong.” He paused. The vice-principal’s name had now taken on a very different meaning, and they both knew it. “Point is, it didn’t look like I was going to be clearing your name anytime soon, so I went down the list and tried to find a runner-up to fill the position. We got a new guy now, and to keep things on the down-low, he’s going to stick around, so I hope you don’t mind a little competition.”

  “There’s no I in team, sir.”

  “Depends on the typo.”

  “What about Ethan?”

  “Huh?”

  “Ethan Prince, your second-in-command?” Jessica reminded him. “Mr. Metro? He knows Davenport got me booted.”

  “Yeah…” Al straightened his tie. “Soon as we heard about Davenport, I told him I was calling you back in. He asked me, and what’s Davenport going to say about that?”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “I told him it doesn’t look like Davenport’s going to be saying much of anything for a while.”

  “That’s real dark, si
r.”

  “I ain’t the one cut out the son of a bitch’s tongue. And if you hadn’t already gathered, these are dark times. You ready to get to work?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Al rose from his seat, rounded his desk and made for the door.

  Jessica cleared her throat. “Sir?”

  Al turned.

  “I am… also unhappy with how I ended up back here.”

  “I know.”

  “Really. I really am.”

  “Jessica…” Al pointed to his face and traced a sad outline with two swift circles. “Not a therapist… OK?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s get moving.”

  Next door, Ethan Prince was perched on the edge of his desk. A single, bony butt cheek resting on his day planner, phone to his ear. Off to one side stood Celia, dressed in her usual Klondike regalia. Rosy cheeks encompassing a tiny smile as she leaned in and gave Jessica’s arm a compassionate squeeze. Sympathy for whatever fabricated emergency had called Jessica from duty.

  Ethan hung up and furiously rubbed his pen against a worn legal pad. “All right, here’s the rundown…”

  “Where’s the new guy?” Al asked.

  “Doing what new guys do: getting me a box of pens. In other news, I just got off the phone with Jim. Apparently, this all started with a call to the VFD. Neighbor was walking his dog, round about three-thirty in the morning. He thought he heard a smoke alarm from inside the house. He called the men with the red suspenders, and they’re the ones that found Davenport in his living room. Tied to a chair. Eyes, tongue, the whole ball of wax.”

  “Does our neighbor have a name?”

  “Jeffry Cates.”

  “And did Jim manage to talk to him?”

  “On the phone, yes. Not much of an eye witness, the man’s a less than respectable eighty-three. Didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary as far as our boy Angry Jonny. However…” Ethan raised a finger. “One of the firemen told him the alarm was set off by a burning coffeemaker.”

  Al nodded. “Do any of the stations have this?”

  “Cops aren’t talking to anyone. Fire department’s been asked to keep mum as well. Jim found out about Mr. Cates from one of the neighbors standing by the barricades, so unless Mr. Cates is a some kind of aging media whore, everyone else is one step behind.”

  “Let’s get this online.” Al turned to Celia. “Get Lloyd to call Jim, get the ball rolling.”