The Greatest Good

by Craig N Hooper

  The cop snatched the phone away. He used his fingers to zoom in on the picture, then handed the cell back. “You know what that is?”

  I did, but I blinked and looked again just to be sure. What was that doing there?

  “I asked if you know what that is.”

  I was afraid my hands might start shaking, so I sat in the chair and put the phone on the table. I looked at the zoomed-in shot. “You sure that’s my house?”

  He sighed. “You think I switched pictures or something? Zoom out.”

  My palms were sweaty, so I wiped my left hand on my pants, then fiddled with the screen until I learned how to zoom out. It was the same photo of my hallway and bedroom door.

  “I asked if you—”

  I cut him off. “I know what it is, Officer.” I sat back and smoothed my hands over my head.

  What the hell was going on? I closed my eyes. My heart started pounding. I tried to think about the intruder and what I’d missed this morning, but my son filled my thoughts. I pictured Simon’s face. I hadn’t seen him in a year, and I wondered how much he’d have changed. Then I had a horrid thought: that if things went wrong now, I may never know how much my son had changed. My heart paused for a moment.

  “Gary,” the cop said, snapping his fingers. “Now you understand why I think you’re lying?”

  I opened my eyes and looked at the cop.

  I certainly did.

  CHAPTER 2

  Somebody wanted me dead.

  Considering my past, that wasn’t too surprising. I had a decent-sized list of people who wanted me dead. Deep down I knew that, someday, I’d have to atone for my past. I just didn’t think that would be today; the worst possible day it could happen.

  I took a deep breath and looked at the photo for the third time. There was a quarter-sized piece of grey plastic explosive smeared over my bedroom door jamb. A tiny red detonating wire was looped into the middle of the explosive.

  The cop took a seat. “Do you know what type of plastic explosive that is?”

  “Looks like Semtex. And for the record, I didn’t know it was there. I haven’t been lying about that. I honestly thought it was an amateur who broke in this morning.”

  “It is Semtex. Clearly your intruder put that there. Unless, of course, you did. Perhaps you planned on burning down your house for the insurance money?”

  I shot him a look.

  “Fine. I had to ask. Anyway, Semtex isn’t something an average burglar or arsonist would have access to, certainly not a teenager. I’m sure you know that. Right?”

  I nodded. Semtex was expensive and hard to find. Only a professional would use Semtex. The intruder wasn’t a pro, however. He’d made all kinds of rookie mistakes. Plus, the explosive didn’t even detonate. Things weren’t adding up.

  The cop cleared his throat. “I think there’s more to this than you’re telling me.”

  “Give me a second to think.” I rubbed my temples.

  “You know what I think?” the cop asked, not giving me a second to think. “I think it was a professional who broke into your house this morning, and he had a remote detonator that malfunctioned. I think we weren’t supposed to be having this conversation right now. I think you were supposed to be a dead man with a burned-down house.”

  He paused, probably for dramatic effect. The cop was likely right about the malfunctioning detonator, and probably correct about it being a professional.

  “I think this all has to do with your past,” he continued, “and I’m not talking about your unflattering video from a year ago. I’m talking about your past past. And this is about payback.”

  I stopped rubbing my temples and looked at him. “And what do you know about my past, Officer?”

  “Enough.”

  “How would you know about my past anyway?”

  A sudden thought came to me. I had it all wrong. Totally backwards. The intruder was a pro, after all, but he didn’t want me dead. He wanted me alive.

  I rapped my knuckles on the table. “I was wrong about the intruder. Completely wrong. I get that now.”

  “How so?”

  “I think the intruder meant for me to hear him. Letting the latch click and stepping twice on the same squeaky board were deliberate. The mistakes were too obvious. I think the intruder wanted me to know he was there. He wanted me alive and out of the house before he razed it to the ground. So I agree with you, Officer. The intruder probably was a professional.”

  “Good, now—”

  “Now answer my questions,” I interrupted.

  “What questions?”

  “What you know about my past, and how you know it.”

  “Let’s talk about why a professional tried to blow up your house this morning.” He eyed me. “How about that?”

  “Probably because of my past, which is something you apparently know all about.” I paused and tried to read his eyes. The lighting was bad in the holding room and the cop’s eye were set an inch deeper than the average person’s. I couldn’t even tell his eye color from this distance.

  “I do know some things,” he said.

  “What do you know?”

  He leaned forward. “You trained at Pendleton, California in the Marine sniper program and topped out as a gunnery sergeant. After that, you spent nearly two decades doing classified missions without your unit, which tells me you were recruited out of the Marines to be a government operative. But you were still registered with the Marines for those twenty years, which means your operative work was clearly black ops. And—”

  “Wait.” I held out my hand. “How do you know all this? My past is classified.”

  He ignored me. “And three years ago you walked away from it all and entered the FBI academy. Left all those years and training behind to take a desk job, not to mention entry-level pay. You work, or I should say used to work, in Cyber Crimes. Cyber Crimes? Come on, nobody with your experience does that.”

  Being a father gave me a new appreciation of life, which was at odds with my chosen profession. I walked away from my government operative gig two days after holding Simon for the first time. Never looked back, never regretted it once. I wanted to be home to raise my son. I wanted to do everything differently from my father.

  I forced Simon from my mind and leaned forward until I could see the cop’s face clearly. His eyes had a thin, rust-colored band encircling his black pupils. “Seriously, how do you possibly know these things about me? Who are you?”

  “Actually, that’s all I know about you, and I want to know more.” He grabbed the file on the table, opened it, and pulled out a single piece of paper.

  “That file’s my jacket?” I held out my hands. “Are you kidding me? How do you have a file on me?”

  “I would hardly call this your jacket. It’s only one piece of paper.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re in a city-run police station. It’s not like they would have a classified file on me here. Where did you get that?”

  He put the file down and crossed his arms.

  My nostrils flared. “Are you IA? Is that what this is about?”

  “IA? Do I look IA?”

  “You do actually.”

  He laughed. “And you’d know Internal Affairs, wouldn’t you? You probably know some IA agents by their first names. Am I right? For the record, Gary, no, I’m not IA.”

  “Then who are you and what are you doing here?”

  He kept his arms crossed and stayed tight-lipped.

  “Fine then.” I looked at my watch and stood. I walked toward the one-way window. As I walked, my flip-flops snapped against the concrete floor. I suddenly became conscious of my outfit. The cops had cuffed me and hauled me into the cruiser before I could change. I was wearing a faded blue hooded sweatshirt, grey shorts, and black flip-flops. My lack of professional attire, however, was the least of my problems.

  “Frank’s called by now,” I said. “I’m sure of it.” I rapped on the window. “Let me out. The governor and his son are expect
ing me.”

  “Sit back down,” the cop said. “And give me some answers. I need answers.”

  I spun and walked back to the table. “Not a chance. Not until you tell me who you are and how you got that file.”

  “We’re not in a quid pro quo situation here, Gary.”

  I didn’t know which irritated me more: him avoiding my questions, or him calling me Gary. I wanted to add a few more marks to his face, but I held back. I walked to the door and pounded on it.

  “You realize how serious the situation is, right?” the cop said. “You’re the governor’s chosen protector for his son.”

  “So that’s it,” I said, turning. “That’s why you’re here. The governor sent you. You’re working for him.”

  “The governor didn’t send me. I don’t work for him.”

  “So now you’re lying.”

  He stood and stabbed his finger at me. “Don’t turn this around on me.”

  We glared at each other.

  About ten long seconds later the steel door opened, putting an end to our stalemate. Officer Kowalski, one of my arresting officers, stepped into the room.

  “Special Agent Frank Lemming called,” Kowalski announced. “He confirmed the identity of Agent Chase. Apparently Agent Lemming also knew about the guns at Chase’s house.”

  In anticipation of Simon moving back in, I had planned on disposing of all twenty-seven weapons. A month ago I let Frank know I was bringing in my father’s guns. I didn’t want him to go ballistic when I brought in the arsenal. Of course, I was an idiot for not bringing them in sooner.

  “I have a few more questions to ask,” the cop said to Kowalski. “I hope that’s alright.”

  “Suit yourself,” Kowalski said. “But Agent Chase is free to go. If he wants to stay, it’s up to him.”

  I followed Kowalski toward the door.

  “Just two more questions, Agent Chase,” the cop said.

  I stopped. “So now it’s Agent Chase and not Gary? Forget it. It’s too late for professional courtesy.”

  “Please.”

  I looked at my watch. “I have somewhere to be.”

  I followed Kowalski out the door.

  Once the door was closed, Kowalski turned and faced me. “Your boss sure was pissed. Man, does he have a temper. He wants you at work right away. If I were you, I’d avoid him today.”

  “Work? Why?”

  “All I know is the governor’s kid is waiting in your office.”

  “My office? How? Why?”

  “Like I said, that’s all I know, Agent Chase.”

  I looked Kowalski in the eye. The young officer was tender-faced, with cherry red cheeks. The rest of his face was bright pink. Everything about the man was puffy. It looked like he’d been hooked up too long on an IV of red food coloring.

  “Sorry, Officer Kowalski,” I said, patting him on his shoulder. “I understand. They were more rhetorical questions anyway.”

  He shrugged. “No biggie. Palmer and I will give you a ride. Your boss wants you at the agency like yesterday.”

  He led me to a side door and opened it. “We’ll meet you out front in a few minutes.”

  Before he shut the door, I said, “One question, Kowalski: who was that officer in the holding room? Is he your boss?”

  “He’s not. And he’s not an officer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s an agent.”

  I scratched my head. “An agent? An agent with whom?”

  Kowalski shrugged. “Don’t know. All I know is that about ten minutes after you arrived here my commanding officer got a call from somebody telling him a fed was coming to question you. Then we turned over the questioning to the fed when he arrived. They don’t tell me much, Chase. I’m just a beat cop.”

  I nodded. After the door closed behind me, I leaned against the side of the brick building. An agent? Who sent an agent and why? And what agency? Was another agency involved because I was protecting Stanley? Had the governor recruited some other federal agent to check up on me? Deep in thought, I ambled toward the front of the building and shook my head. That didn’t make sense, not at all.

  By the time I reached the front of police headquarters, I realized I had more questions than answers. I also realized I had to figure out those answers, and fast. First, though, I needed to smooth things over with Stanley.

  I turned left toward the front of the building, then stopped dead in my tracks on my third step. Shocked at the sight of her, I put my left hand against the building and braced myself so I wouldn’t fall over.

  What was my ex-wife doing here?

  Gina had parked in front of police headquarters and was feeding a parking meter next to a car I didn’t recognize. I quickly looked around, hoping to see a grocery store or a women’s store nearby, some place Gina would be headed; but I didn’t see anything like that.

  A sickening feeling came over me. I breathed a deep breath of ocean air and watched her. It had been almost a year since I’d last seen her. She’d chopped off her long auburn hair and was now sporting a short, stylish haircut. It was intentionally messy, especially the back of her hair. I hardly recognized her.

  Once she finished feeding the meter, she turned in my direction, but she didn’t spot me. I hoped she’d cross the street and get far away from the police station. Maybe she had a hair appointment somewhere down the street. However, she looked up at the front of police headquarters. It was clear she was headed there.

  Damn. I rushed toward my ex-wife.

  “What are you doing here, Gina?” I asked as I approached her.

  She looked up, not surprised to see me at all. Shoot. This was bad. I swallowed.

  “You’re not going to ask about my car?” she said. “It’s nice. Isn’t it?”

  Gina stood beside a brand-new black Infiniti Q45. “I can see it’s nice. A five-hundred-dollar car payment isn’t part of our alimony agreement.”

  “My new boyfriend bought me this. You know him, by the way.”

  I didn’t bite. “I asked what you’re doing here?”

  “You’re out already I see.”

  “Seriously, Gina, what are you doing here?”

  She sighed, then resumed chewing on her gum. For as long as I’d known Gina, she always had a stick of gum in her mouth. Whenever I smelled spearmint, I instantly thought of her.

  “You’re not going to like this, Garrison.”

  “Just tell me what you’re doing here, please.”

  “Stuart Feldman was the person who saw you chasing after the intruder. He called the police.”

  I looked away. This was beyond bad. Gina was pals with Stuart. I grabbed at my stomach, as if that would lessen the sick feeling.

  “He didn’t know it was you,” Gina continued, “not at first. But when he saw you being put into the back of the cruiser, he figured you were involved somehow. Remember Stuart and I are buds? He called me right away.”

  I looked at Gina and tried to remain composed. “What are you doing here at the station exactly?”

  “I talked to my lawyer a half hour ago. He told me to come to the station and confirm you were arrested. And...”

  “And what Gina?”

  She cleared her throat. “And then he said we should file a restraining order if you were arrested.”

  “A what?”

  “A restraining order.”

  “I heard you. Why on earth?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Do I really have to explain why?”

  I stepped back and turned around. My face went hot and my head felt like it was about to explode.

  “I can’t have my son staying at a place where intruders break in,” Gina said. “Where you have guns in your house and you chase after bad people. No way.”

  “But seriously, Gina,” I said, turning around. “A restraining order? You can’t.”

  “I can. And I feel I have to. I didn’t want you to have Simon back even before this morning’s incident. Not a chance. But my
lawyer said you had a right to see him, especially since you’ve been out of trouble for the past year. So I gave up on trying to fight against weekend custody. I was preparing for the judge to rule that way. Not after this morning, however. I’m sorry, Garrison.”

  “You have no idea what went down this morning. I don’t even know what it was all about quite yet. You can’t do this to me.”

  She shrugged. “You were running after an intruder in your bathrobe holding a gun. Are you kidding me?”

  “Please, Gina.”

  “I know you love Simon, but you can’t be with him. I can’t let you. I’m not sure if I ever can. What if he had been in your house this morning? You think about that, Garrison? I’m sorry, but you’re not getting our boy back. You’re a risk and a danger. Clearly you still have issues and a past to deal with. The restraining order may be harsh, but it’s what’s needed to protect Simon.”

  I turned away so I didn’t say or do something stupid.

  A moment later, Gina placed her hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t,” I said. “Don’t do that.”

  “I’ll let you say ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ to him.”

  I turned around. “What? What do you mean?”

  “Simon’s in the back seat. I was just about to get him out before you arrived.”

  “What? He’s in the back seat?”

  “He is. Do you want to see him or not?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Gina pushed a button on her key fob and the back passenger tinted window rolled down. She stepped back a few steps.

  I hurried over. As soon as I saw Simon, I beamed. “How are you, pal?”

  My son didn’t respond. Not a trace of recognition on his face. Simon sat in his car seat and stared at me like I was a stranger.

  My heart sank, but I kept beaming anyway. “Pal, it’s me, Dad.”

  Nothing, no response at all.

  I ignored the hurt and stared at Simon. The last time I saw him was just after his second birthday. His hair had really filled in over the past year. It was brown, tightly-curled, messy, and just plain cool looking. His eyes were steel blue. He looked like I did when I was three.