by Thomas Scott
No more than four or five seconds later two city cops ran down the hall, stopped at the entrance to the kitchen and leveled their guns directly at Virgil and Murton. “Nobody move. Show us your hands, show us your hands!”
“We can’t show you our hands unless you want this cop to die,” Murton said. “Stop pointing your guns at us and get the medics in here right now.”
32
The medics didn’t want to risk Murton letting go of the artery so he held the wound all the way to the hospital and right into emergency surgery. The doctor walked up, placed his hand on top of Murton’s and said, “On three now, nice and slow. You’re going to open your fingers and let me guide your hand back. Okay? Good. Here we go. One, two, three…”
Virgil called Sandy, told her what happened and asked her to get Donatti’s wife, Pam, and their son, Jonas to the hospital as quickly and safely as they could. He also told her he was okay and that he loved her and after they hung up he went and checked on Becky.
Sandy ran down to the willow tree where the governor and Cora were still speaking with each other. She gave them both the short version of what had happened and the governor took it from there.
Three minutes later, Pam Donatti and her son, the governor, Cora, Rosencrantz, and Sandy piled into the limo and made it to the hospital in less than twenty minutes, which will happen when you don’t have to stop for a single red light. The twelve state police motorcycle cops made sure of that.
Becky would be okay. She had two very large and swollen black eyes, a split lip and she’d lost two of her bottom teeth, right in front. They had her sedated and when Virgil and Sandy found him, Murton was right there by her side, listening to the doctor. “She’ll recover completely,” the doc said. “The x-rays came back clean and the teeth shouldn’t be a problem either. They can do things with implants now that are absolutely amazing. Going to be sore for a few weeks though.” He made a few notes on a clipboard, nodded to everyone and stepped out of the room. Two seconds later he stepped back in and said something else to Murton. “From what I hear that was pretty amazing…what you did to try to save that police officer’s life. Not too many people would have done that. You should be proud.”
Virgil thought, try to?
Down the hall he heard a woman scream. Sandy said, “Oh, no,” then ran from the room. Virgil looked across Becky’s hospital bed and watched as Murton closed his eyes and put his head face-down on the mattress.
Indiana State Police Major Crimes Unit Detective First Class Edward James Donatti was buried the following Wednesday. It rained all day. When the service was complete and everyone had gone except Pam and Jonas, Sandy walked to the car to wait for Virgil, who had moved around to the front of the tent. He sat down next to Pam.
“I did this,” she said. “I sent my husband to his death.”
“You’ve done no such thing. He was a brave and decent man who never backed down from anything or anyone.” Virgil didn’t want to be harsh with her, but he did want her to hear the truth. “Don’t disrespect his memory or the good he did by thinking otherwise.”
“I killed him.”
“That’s simply not true.”
“Virgil…I can’t talk to you right now. Maybe not ever. Please go away. I’m sorry.”
Virgil didn’t know what to say. He started to stand but Jonas came over and crawled into his lap. “It’s okay Mr. Virgil,” he said. “My daddy loved you, so I do too.” Then he threw his arms around Virgil’s neck and began to cry. When Virgil looked past Ed’s casket he saw Sandy standing next to her car, her face buried in her hands.
The rain came harder still.
It fell so fast and the wind blew so hard that even though they were only a mile or so from home, Virgil had to pull the car over to the side of the road. The clouds had turned coal-black and the early afternoon sky was as dark as night. Lightning flashed all around them and the thunder clapped so hard Virgil thought the windshield might shatter. The wind gusts were so strong Sandy’s car rocked on its springs. Visibility had been reduced to the point that they could barely make out the front end of the vehicle. “Are we okay here?” Sandy said.
“I think so. Storms like this…they blow over pretty fast.” Just as he said that, the rain stopped and the visibility improved. Not much, but enough that they could continue driving. “See? No worries,” Virgil said as he reached for the gear lever.
“Tornado.” Sandy said.
“Nah. Just a strong summer—”
She pointed. “No, Virgil. Tornado!”
Virgil looked in the direction she was pointing and saw the funnel. It spun out of the cloud base less than half a mile away. “Ah shit. Come on, out of the car.”
They scrambled out the driver’s side door, crossed the road and lay down in a culvert that was barely big enough to hold them both.
Thirty seconds later it was over. They inched their way out of the culvert, stood up and brushed themselves off, though the effort itself was futile. They were both covered in mud and bits of debris. Sandy had a small cut on her forehead. “Here, hold still, you’re bleeding a little bit,” Virgil said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“What about the…the…”
She actually laughed at him. “The baby? Boy, I’m going to have to get you a book. The baby is a little clump of cells that you might be able to see with a microscope. The baby is fine. So am I. Let’s go home.”
Virgil looked behind her. “Hope you don’t mind walking. Take a look at your car. That right there is exactly why you never want to try to ride out a tornado in your vehicle.”
Sandy turned around and discovered her car had been rolled about a hundred yards into the field on the opposite side of the road. It was upside down, the windows were smashed out and the hood was missing.
Sandy shook her head and said, “Motherfucker.”
Virgil raised his eyebrows at her. “What?” she said. “I’m a little hormonal.”
No matter the circumstances of the past week, or even the past few hours, Virgil and Sandy had what could only be described as a pleasant walk home. They held hands, talked about their future and in many ways, Virgil thought, made peace with the damage and drama that had found its way into their lives. He was mildly concerned that their house may have been damaged by the tornado, but when they walked up the drive and saw the house, they discovered it wasn’t too bad. Quite a few shingles had been torn off…maybe as many as half. The porch swing had cracked one of the front windows before being torn from its support. The gutters hung askew and the downspouts were completely gone. But structurally the house seemed fine. “Looks like I’ve got some projects for the weekend.”
“Maybe a few weekends,” Sandy said.
“Let’s check the back.” They walked around the side of the house and when they got to the back corner Sandy saw it before Virgil did. He heard her sharp intake of breath and when he followed her gaze, he felt his knees weaken. Virgil sat down on the wet grass, his back against the side of the house and let his head hang down. Sandy sat down next to him and neither one of them spoke. What was there to be said?
Mason’s willow tree had been snapped in half about three feet above ground level.
After a few minutes Virgil gathered himself together and they walked down and looked at the tree. He pulled a few of the feathery leaves from the branches and held them in his hand before dropping them on the ground. Then he turned and began walking toward the shed. He came back with a pair of work gloves, goggles, ear protectors and his chainsaw.
“You don’t have to do this now, Virgil.”
“Yeah, I think I do.”
“Don’t you want to change your clothes first? You’ll ruin your suit.”
“A lot of things have been ruined lately, Sandy. What’s one more?”
She stood on her toes and kissed him hard on the lips. “You want to be alone?”
“I think I do.”
She nodded, turned away and moved toward the h
ouse.
“Sandy?”
She stopped and turned back. “This was the best thing anyone ever did for me, when you guys planted this tree. The absolute best.”
“I know, Baby. Do what you’ve got to do.”
Virgil had his back to the fallen tree as he checked the condition of the saw. He made sure the gas and bar oil tanks were full and that the throttle and choke were adjusted properly. He set the saw in the grass and put on his goggles and work gloves. Just before he pulled the starter cord, Virgil said, “Sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t be,” Mason said.
Virgil spun around and saw his father sitting on the trunk of the tree, right next to where it had snapped. He patted the trunk with his hand. “This was a good thing. Nothing will ever change that. But things happen, Son. Life goes on.”
“Does it?”
“What a ridiculous question. Of course it does.”
“You saved my life.”
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I believe I told you that there are people in your life who are going to need you, did I not?”
“Yeah, Dad, you did.”
“You should check the tension on that chain.”
“I will.”
“I came here to tell you four things, Virg. The first is this: I’m proud of you, Son. We all are. You got off those pills and now we don’t have to worry about that anymore, do we?”
“No, you don’t.”
“Good. Here’s the second thing. Don’t plant me any more trees. Plant one for the child you’re about to have.”
“I will.” The tears were beginning to roll down Virgil’s cheeks and he couldn’t have stopped them if he wanted to.
“You said there was something else you needed to know.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Virgil said.
“That first day we spoke. Right at the end of our conversation, you said there was something else you needed to know. What was it? I’ll answer you if I can.”
“I wanted to ask what it was that you were trying to say to me when you passed. You were choking on your own blood and I don’t know what you were trying to tell me.”
“I wasn’t choking on the blood, Son. I was choking on the words. That’s why I never said them. I didn’t want to seem selfish.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I had a hold of your hand and I knew my body was dying. I wanted to ask you not to leave me even though I knew I was about to leave you. What kind of man does that make me? Who does that?”
Virgil smiled through his tears. “Humans, I guess.”
Mason smiled back.
“What’s the fourth thing?” Virgil said.
“You have to ask?”
“No…but I do want to hear it just one more time, even if I never hear it again.”
“Never say never,” Mason said as he stood from the trunk and waded out into the pond.
“What are you doing?” Virgil said.
“I’m going for a swim. See you around, Son.” And then he said it. “Dad loves you.”
Virgil closed his eyes. “Dad loves you too.”
When he opened his eyes and looked at the water, his father was gone.
Virgil wiped the tears from his eyes and fired up the saw.
He cut the main part of the tree away from the three-foot high stump and then began to trim the branches back. Three of the branches were particularly long and straight and he set those aside without cutting them down to size. He spent the next hour cutting the rest of the tree and stacking the wood. When he was finished he moved to put the saw away, but then, as an afterthought he pulled the starter cord and fired it back up. He cut four vertical strips from the stump to turn it into a thick square post. Then he made two vertical cuts from the top down, equal distance from the center. Then four horizontal cuts, then finally two more vertical cuts from the bottom section down to the ground. When he was finished, he was left with a flawed, yet somehow completely perfect cross. He carried the saw back to the shed, grabbed his hammer and a chisel and went back down to the tree. He carved the name ‘Mason’ on the front of the cross and Jones on the side that faced the water.
After a few minutes he walked up to the house, got undressed and threw his suit in the trash.
33
Over a week had passed since Donatti died. Becky was on the mend and Virgil and Murton worked the bar with Delroy and Robert, thankful to get back to the business and regularity of their lives. It was Saturday afternoon, well before the evening rush and Virgil was sitting alone at the bar when Nichole Pope walked in and sat down next to him. They stared at each other in the bar mirror for a few moments. “You want to know something?” Virgil said.
“Sure.”
“I’m wondering whether I should laugh or scream.”
“Maybe the answer is somewhere in the middle.”
Virgil took a sip of juice. “You’ve got brass, I’ll give you that.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“What are you going to do with all the money?”
“Who says I have any money?”
“I do.”
“And you’re the final say, are you?”
When Virgil didn’t answer, she reached into her purse and pulled out a thumb drive and set it on the bar. “This is every scrap of evidence we ever gathered on Bradley Pearson. There’s some interesting stuff on Pate in there as well. Do whatever you want with it.”
“There’s nothing to do. They’re all dead.”
“Then burn it, crush it, or erase it. I don’t really care.”
They sat quietly for a few moments. “Let’s say I believe you, that you don’t have the money, even though I don’t. What do you get out of all of this?”
She thought about the question. “I get my life back. So does Nicky.”
“At what cost?”
“I’ll be able to sleep at night, Jonesy, I assure you.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Spare me the philosophical psycho-babble. Everyone got what they deserved.”
“I think you lost more than your father that day, Nichole. I think you lost your soul.”
“Mmm, you may be right. Perhaps that gives us something in common.”
“I don’t think so. The problem with people like you is that you think no one else suffers, no one else has problems or fears or loss or heartache in their life. But here’s the thing, Nichole: everyone does. I know I sure as hell do. Even after everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve done that’s ever hurt anyone, I know I’ve turned out okay.”
She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “Have you, Jonesy? Have you really?”
Virgil pulled away from her as if he’d been slapped. “Get out, Nichole. I better not ever see you again.”
“Or what? You’ll take another Pope off the board?”
“I shot him to save someone’s life.”
“And that turned out just swell, didn’t it?”
“I’ve got a dead cop who had a wife and a young son. Now that boy will never get to know his father, a man who was as good and kind and as decent of a man the likes of which I don’t believe you’ll ever know or recognize if you did.”
Nichole laughed, but Virgil wasn’t having it. “What’s so funny?”
“You’d rather have me as a friend, Jonesy. I guarantee it. It’s all on the thumb drive. Things you can’t imagine.”
They both let a moment pass before Nichole said, “And what about James Pope?”
“What about him?”
“He was my father, you miserable prick.”
When Virgil refused to acknowledge her insult, she stood and turned to walk out of the bar. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back onto the stool. “Wait here.” Virgil went upstairs to the office and came back with a copy of the picture of her and Pearson outside the mini mart.
�
�So what? It’s a picture of two people sharing a moment. It proves absolutely nothing.”
“You’re right. But it’s not about proof, and that’s the part you don’t understand. Bradley Pearson was a snake. He manipulated, maneuvered and used people to get whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. But as far as I know, he never killed anyone, Nichole.”
“Neither have I. Too bad you can’t say the same thing.” She stood from the stool again and walked away. After a few steps she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “And it’s not Nichole anymore, Jonesy. Thanks to you, all the Pope’s are gone.”
Virgil thought she was going to say something else, but she never did. Instead, she simply walked out the door and in every way imaginable, Virgil considered that a blessing.
Nicky Pope—who would for the rest of his natural born life be known as Brian Addison—sat in a chaise lounge on the beach, his sister, Nichole Pope, a.k.a. Chloe Addison, sat next to him. “It was a hell of a risk,” he told her, sort of pissed. “The longest two days of my life.”
“There was some risk, there’s no question there. But a lot of people are dead and even though we’ve covered our bases, I still felt like it was something that had to be done. If not, I had the feeling we’d be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives…or worse, we wouldn’t be looking at all and that’s when they get you, Bro, when you’re sitting in your chair watching the waves break and sipping a margarita. You’ll have four or five federal agents walk up and say something like, “Excuse me, sir, is your name Nicholas Pope?”
“Ah, that’s TV drama,” Brian said.
“Maybe, maybe not. But I can tell you this: We’re golden now.”
He turned in his chair and looked past his sister. “Speaking of gold, here comes the money.”