“Thanks for coming. I’m Detective Frank Nagler and I’ve known Leonard a very long time. “I, um ...” Man, it’s hard to give a speech when you’re doing surveillance... “We’re here today to thank Leonard for his dedication and leadership for bringing this section of Ironton back to life. But we also want to thank you for supporting his efforts by visiting his bookstore. Without you, there’s nothing to save. So, I want to bring someone up here who you all know from his high school basketball days, and who is now a member of Leonard’s team. Delvin Williams.”
Nagler turned, applauding, and waved Del to the podium.
Del grabbed the sides of his chair and shook his head, no.
Nagler walked over.
“What you doin’ to me, Frank?”
Nagler leaned over. “Del, I got cop work to do here. Say a couple of nice things about Leonard and then call Lauren up to present the award.”
“Geez, Frank. Okay.”
They approached the podium and Nagler said, “Delvin Williams,” and stepped aside applauding.
“Update,” Nagler whispered into his radio.
“No sign.”
Shit. “Start a building sweep.”
“Ten-four.”
At the podium, Del rapped the mic with a knuckle and leaned too close to say, “Hi, you all,” and set off a scream of feedback. Then he stepped back and said at the fuzzy edge of the mic’s range, “Damn.”
He tried again. “Sorry, folks. Lenny is a pretty inspiring guy. You know he’s blind, but that never stopped him. He worked hard and had a vision, yeah, I know, a vision for a blind guy, but he stuck to it. Me and Lenny are a lot like Ironton. We both been down, struggling, me with my demons, the booze and the needles in my arm, and Lenny just because people treated him bad because they thought he was weak. He ain’t weak. He’s one of the strongest dudes I know. We been down, but no more. We been kicked around, given up on, told we no good. But we standin’, ain’t we? And Lenny’s friend Bobby. Man, he’s strong, holds this place together good or bad times. And those drumline kids, ain’t they something. Smartest kids. They listen and learn from Lenny and work hard. They the leaders of this city, just you see. So, in all, we got a bunch of folks up here who most you all wouldn’t give the time of day, cause we all junked up and old and handicapped. But we ain’t handicapped. We standin’. We doin’. Yeah, that’s it. So, Lenny deserves this honor. Clap for him. Hey, where’s Lauren Fox. Frank says you need to give out the award.”
The crowd rose and applauded and the drum line kids jumped up and threw up their hands leading a cheer. “Come on! Come on! Leonard’s the man!”
Lauren, at the edge of the gathering opposite Frank, shook her head and threw up her hands, grinning, as he smiled back.
“Update.”
“Officers on two roofs, One building clear.”
“Ten-four.”
“Hi, and thanks for coming today,” Lauren began.
Frank’s radio: “Hey, hat by green Chevy.”
“On it.”
Nagler stepped up to the corner of the stage and tried to pick up the officers’ actions. He saw three men moving swiftly at the far edge of the audience.
“Ironton is a city that needs heroes,” Lauren said. “It is a city that needs leaders. Look around at who is here today. Farmers and artists, musicians, chefs and crafters. Those are the leaders of the new city. “
The radio: “Right hat, wrong dude.”
Nagler: “Ten-four. Continue building sweep.” Exhaled.
“And you are the leaders, too.” Lauren said. “You never gave up. Who can forget that march on city hall armed with shovels? You’ve, pardon the pun, dug your way out of more messes than anyone thought possible.”
Radio: “Two buildings clear.”
Nagler: “Maintain roof presence.”
Why would they come to this event? Nagler wondered. Even though Rashad Jackson said Alton Garrett had one more thing, who here would be the target?
Radio: “It’s Ramirez. All buildings overlooking the square have been checked.”
Nagler: “Ten-four, Maria. Send a couple guys on a one-block radius sweep.”
Ramirez: “Underway.”
I hope this all for nothing, Nagler thought.
“So today we want to honor a very special man, a humble man, and one of the most giving and thoughtful men I have ever known,” Lauren said. She motioned to Del, Bobby, and Dominique to help Leonard move to the front of the podium. “We will rename this square in his honor and a plaque noting his accomplishments will be permanently attached to his book shop. Please welcome Leonard Hampton.”
With Bobby at his elbow, Leonard stepped slowly to the podium. Lauren reached over and hugged him as the gathering applauded and shouted his name. The drumline fired off cracking riff after riff. Nagler, at the edge of the crowd, closed his eyes as tears formed. Finally, he thought, my friend.
Lauren waved for him to join them on the stage, but he held up his radio and shook his head once. When he saw her face crumble into a worried question, he mouthed, “It’s okay.”
Leonard’s voice was soft and wet and he choked up, “Thank you. Thank you all.” Then he paused and wiped his face with a handkerchief. “I’m not one for speeches, so I just want to say thanks to you all, but thanks most of all to what the boys call my army, Bobby and Del, Rafe, Dominque, Lauren, and a special thanks to the man who took me off the streets and gave me shelter and hope when there was none, gave me a reason to live when I had none, Frank Nagler.”
Leonard waved his hand generally in the air before him, and Lauren with wide eyes and stern face, waved Nagler to the edge of the stage to rising applause.
Then he walked to the center of the stage and hugged Leonard and said, “This is my friend, Leonard Hampton. The bravest man I know.”
Back on the ground at the end of the stage, into his radio: “Anything?”
Ramirez: “Ten-four. Nothing.”
Nagler scanned the crowd right to left, waiting as Leonard prepared to pull the rope to unveil the sign. No tweed hat, no leather coat and ball cap. No Tank.
A person in a gray hoodie caught Nagler’s eye, moving quickly from the center of the crowd to the stage near Lauren.
He started to signal Del to move Leonard when the hood was dropped to reveal Calista Knox. She reached Lauren and said something to her. Lauren glanced at Nagler with a mix of panic and wonder, and he nodded slightly in approval.
Calista climbed the stage and Del leaned over to Leonard and whispered.
Leonard’s face brightened and his lower lip quivered “Where?” he asked, and Del turned him to the left as Calista reached his side. “Right there, man,” Del said as the couple embraced.
A happy cacophony rose from the crowd and the drumline rattled its approval. “How Sweet,” and “Beautiful” floated to the mic, followed by a rising cheer; Lauren was weeping and Nagler’s knees weakened as he watched the joy on Leonard’s face return.
A radio call: “Gun!”
The first shot shattered the podium and three more tore into the banner at the front of the stage. Nagler yelled, “Get off!” and he started to climb on, when a round of shots — four, six, ten — exploded into the stage and ground.
Nagler rolled to the ground, waiting. A pause, filled with the screams of the crowd, which ducked, and then scattered in all directions.
Nagler did a quick survey: Lauren, Dawson, Leonard, Del, the drumline, the rest of the crew on stage.
Radio: “Third floor.”
He rolled to his feet and began a limping, aching trot through the center of the park. He glanced back and saw an ambulance, on scene for the fair, roll up to the stage.
Radio: “Go! Go! Go!”
Nagler scanned the roof tops. Most were blocked by trees, but one building sitting at the diagonal corner from the stage ... he glanced back ... a perfectly clear sightline.
Radio: “Shooter down. Repeat. Shooter down.”
Ramirez greeted Nagler outsid
e the building.
“Any wounded?”
“Dunno.” He nodded to the building. “Who?”
“Let’s find out.”
“....You’re sure you saw no one during the sweep ...” The voice bounced off the hard walls of the narrow staircase.
“No, sir. This room was empty...”
Weary reply: “Okay, Ten-four. Check all the rooms downstairs again.”
Nagler and Ramirez were met by a grim-faced tactical squad captain. “Wait until you see,” he said.
Dead on the floor with an entry wound at the base of his skull was Police Commissioner Jerrold McCann. A long-barreled rifle and a semi-automatic lay on the floor next to McCann, and his tweed fedora, with a tear on the back rim where it attached to the crown, possibly made by a bullet, was still on his head.
“Yeah,” the captain said. “Shot from behind.”
Nagler and Ramirez shared a glance. “Garrett,” he said. “Bulletin.”
“On it,” Ramirez said and stepped into the hallway.
“What’s your best guess, captain?” Nagler asked.
“Cops. They knew our procedures. Waited out the search. We only had so many officers.”
“Makes sense,” Nagler said. He leaned over to follow the view back to the stage. “Who was the target?”
“Hey, captain.” A call from a floor below. “Need to see this.”
Piled into the corner of one room was a full set of tactical gear, including a helmet with a dark visor, exactly what search teams would have worn.
“Shit, he was there all the time,” Nagler muttered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
You don’t get to hurt in private
He had this move, and he’d wink at me before he made it. A little head fake to the right, a step back, two cross-overs, then a pause to lure over another defender for a double team, and then BOOM! a low dribble, a step, and he would blow past both players like a breeze through an open door. And he’d roll his eyes at me when he scored. And we’d run through the woods, whooping, picking up rocks and chucking them at anything we could; stand by the railroad tracks and jump on the last car and hang off the ladder yelling our fool heads off, ride for a mile until the train picked up speed after that last Wharton turn, then jump, the landing sometimes hard because we’d miss the grass and roll through the gravel and rocks. And laugh. Then sitting in the back yard watching the worry fill his young face because the mill had just let his father go and the old man was roaring through the house with a bottle of rotgut whiskey and they were behind on the rent anyway and maybe the landlord was gonna put them out on the street; the old man screaming about thirty-two years! “Thirty-two years I put in and you tossed me out the back like scrap metal.” And then the white uniform on the Phoebe Snow, shining in the sun, the brass buttons and knife-sharp creases just glorious. A man never looked finer or prouder, smiling, shaking the hands of passengers, joking with the kids, shuffling that luggage into a cab and thanking them mightily no matter what the tip. Then the lost years, eyes hooded and dark, life a nod away, the ups and downs of this existence sometimes harder than any man could bear, and then back and smiling with Leonard and teaching the community center kids. All the past lives, diluted, discarded, pooled in some dark hollow, just passing away, flowing down river like water; cast away the horrors and let the world shine; and it’s all so empty like...
“No!” Nagler yelled into the dark swamp. “No, no, no, no!”
He spun around and kicked some of the tall grass at the end of the clearing sending a shooting pain through his stationary left foot.
Del, Bobby, Dominique.
He leaned over the hood of the car on his elbows and squeezed his head. God damn it. Damn it! What, you needed more rap-spouting drummer kids? More hardworking, straight talking guys?
Needed more friends?
“Why did you have to take mine?”
How deep is the water? he wondered. How far out could I walk?... and then, No. I’m too pissed for that.
Too pissed for that.
“I can’t even cry,” he said into his hands. “What has happened to me?”
“You could come to me, you know.”
He hadn’t heard Lauren walk down the road into the cutout at the Old Iron Bog.
“I didn’t find you at the hospital...” she whispered, “So...”
His chin collapsed into his chest, airless. He stared past her into the wet gloomy swamp beyond.
“I was there. For a while. The docs were working hard to stabilize Leonard, so I had to sit in the hallway. Drove me nuts.” He closed his eyes. “Tired of hospitals, kid. Too many times. Too many taken. Father and Mother, Martha, Del and Bobby and Dom, maybe Leonard. Too many times standing in those green-walled rooms with beeping machines and cold, sterile air ... too many calming hands, too many soft pointless voices, when I wanted to pound the walls. I watched Martha lay there, watched the breath leave her body, the beauty of her face finally calm as the pain ended, sat there torn with grief but relieved that her pain had ended... and I had no place to turn with the world running away. I didn’t want to be at that point again. So I came here, just me and the old bog, we can yell at each other, scream into the pointless blackness.”
She took his hand and kissed it. Her eyes were red and sunken, her face, always so open and bright, was dark with pain.
“Not this time, Frank. Not alone. Give me some of that. I’ll sit in the gloomy green hallways with you. Don’t you know that?”
He stoked her cheek and then kissed her forehead. “No. I can’t let you carry this. What am I supposed to do? This is mine.”
“No. It’s ours. If you fall, we fall. You’re supposed to make us all safe. You’re the great Frank Nagler. Isn’t that what you told Tommy Miller in that stand-off? I am The Hunter. No one beats The Hunter.”
“That was different. You all were in danger? I had —”
“And we’re not in danger now? That bastard Tank is still out there. He killed three of your friends, and put Leonard in the hospital fighting for his life. And threatened your city and threatened me and you. What if you were the target, Frank? How many chances is he going to get?”
“I hurt so much I can barely walk,” he said.
Nagler brushed her hair from her cheek and grabbed her gaze, firm now, but uncertain with questions. There wasn’t anything for him to say, so he said nothing; he brushed her lips with a fingertip and smiled.
Then: “What makes you so brave?”
“It’s not me,” she said with a kiss of his cheek. “I saw all the drumline kids rush over and hold Dom and Del, talk to Bobby and Leonard while EMTs called for help. I saw the crowd offer coats and form a shield around the stage. Ordinary people became brave because of what you and the others said.”
She kissed his finger and then placed her hands on either side of his face and forced him to look at her.
“I know you hurt. We all do. I... do,” her voice cracking. “But I can hurt in the privacy of my room where no one will see it. But we need you, Frank. It’s not fair, but you don’t get to hurt in private. You have to hurt in front of all of us.” Lauren sighed deeply and closed her eyes tightly. “This is a hurting place, and we need Frank Nagler to stand up for us. And I know you feel isolated and lonely. That big heart is filled with pain because suddenly there are three holes where friends used to be. You stop hurting, stop feeling lonely by giving. So give that pain to us. We’ll carry it for you.”
“I got nothing left to give, Lauren. When I heard what had happened ... I saw the bullets strike the stage area. I knew... I knew.... It feels hollow and empty and I want to... I haven’t felt this bad since Martha died...I’m so sorry, kid... you have...should have better.”
She kissed his forehead.
“No, no, no, no,” she said softly. “This is a world of noise and rattling things that hurt us. But that first day I met you, the noise ceased, all the rattling stopped. The silence built and every time I looked into your eyes, it grew s
tronger and stronger until I knew. That was what you gave to me, Frank, and I don’t think you even knew it; a place I could crawl inside, not so much safe, but I could slip out of the façade like a raincoat, stop the act and just be, whatever that means. That’s what this city feels when it sees you, Frank. It sees Charlie Adams in jail and Gabe Richman and Chris Foley and Tom Miller, all gone. It sees you and finds the strength to go on. I think that was what Martha felt when she was with you. You always said she was the attention-getter, while you followed along. I understand that. She felt secure when she was with you. That she could be all she wanted to be and she’d still have you. And you didn’t even need to say anything, Frank, just be there. That’s powerful stuff.”
“I live...”
“I know — you live in a shell. It’s time to break it open. The city needs you, I need you.”
She lifted his chin with a finger and then took his hands.
“So here,” she said, “This is yours. Take what you need.”
She placed both of his hands on her face.
“This is my face. I give it to you. This is my brain.” She placed his hands on her hair and mussed it up. “Use it. This is my shoulder,” and she slid his right hand to her left shoulder.
“These are my breasts and my heart.”
She waited for him to touch her, and when he didn’t, she nodded her head and gently placed his hand on herself.
“I want you to have it.”
“This is my belly. These are my knees and my thighs. This is my,” and she hesitated, and then placed his hands between her legs.
“This is me.”
She breathed in deeply. “This is us together, sweet Frank. Us.”
Nagler found he had no words to offer. Instead, there was the silence between them, the endless falling; falling together.
She slipped into his arms.
“You give it back by being who you are, the smartest guy in town. You give it back by taking Tank off the streets and putting an end to this madness.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Shows how optimistic we were
The Weight of Living Page 27