by Gary Sapp
Prince.”
Things were getting worse with each passing minute.
Chris exhaled long and deep. “I’m sorry, boss.” Chris tried to keep his top lip from trembling. “I’ve got a lot going on over here.”
“Of course you do.” Sheridan’s tone softened some. “That’s why I called you, however reluctantly, with this ounce of bad news myself.” Chris bit back bile knowing what was coming next. “I’ve come to conclusion that it is time to take you off any case affiliated with 411.”
Chris could have guessed that this day would come. He appreciated the fact that Nicholas Sheridan was man enough to tell him personally.
It didn’t soften the effects of the blow one Goddamn bit.
“What?” Chris asked in an exasperated voice. “What in the hell are you talking about, Sheridan? Don’t do this to me, man, not now.”
“At times like this I have to look out for the integrity and the best interest of the bureau, Prince, you know that.” Sheridan explained to Chris as he spun around and switched the cell from one ear to the next. “No man is bigger than this organization is, especially now. If our positions were reversed I would expect you to do the same.”
“This is about that report that just went down on television isn’t it?” Chris asked the question that he already knew the answer to. “Sheridan, you people know the truth about all that shit that went down. Internal Affairs cleared me of any wrong doing.”
“I know that better than most, Prince, or have you forgotten that I was with Internal Affairs at that time. I led the investigation.” Sheridan said and before Chris could reply he added: “I didn’t know you at a personal level or particularly liked you then, Mister. But I didn’t believe what that kid or your ex-wife were saying about you. I didn’t believe it because that’s what the evidence, or lack thereof, told me to believe.”
“Then why are you—“
“You should know why you are no longer fit to wear that shield, Prince.” Sheridan said in a gruff voice. “I will say this one last time and you will stop hearing me and Goddamned listen this time: This is bigger than you or me as far as I am concerned. We have a potential crisis in streets of Atlanta and many other metropolitan areas staring us in the face. Did you listen to Thomas Pepper’s speech or did you just hear it? Somewhere well above our pay grade Americans are asking for the resignations, if not the arrest of people in this organization that you and I both know, for covering up what truly was the cause of President Sweet’s death.”
“I heard it, Sheridan. I listened to what Pepper had to say.”
Sheridan continued as if Chris had not spoken at all. “And as much as that tees me off, the fact that the emergence of this information…this evidence soils our reputation further. At this moment no one even knows where Deputy Director Rice is. Two or three people that I trust with my life have told me that they disagree with Thomas Pepper on one point: They believe that the Caretaker is still alive. They believe that Raymond Rice and the founder of Pandora are one and the fucking same. ” Sheridan must have stopped long enough to calm himself and breathe again. “For what it’s worth, I have temporarily been put in charge of the bureau until I am dead or this crisis has passed. And I have decided that my first action is to save what’s left of our name and reputation. Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Chris. You know that this has evolved well past all of that. If the people that we still serve with stand any chance of survival in the coming days and weeks, we can’t allow the slightest shadow of doubt to be raised over our agency…or any agent investigating our cases.”
Chris hesitated one second before he said: “Damn, Nick, can’t you see that I want to help.”
“You will help. You are helping, Chris.” Sheridan cleared his throat. “Special Agent, Christopher Prince of the Atlanta Field Office, you are officially off of the 411 case and any associated matters. Have I made myself clear, Mister?”
“Yes, sir, Agent Sheridan, you have.”
Sheridan gave him a few lines of scripted company speak thereafter concerning his right to hearing with union representation at the earliest convenience of both sides for the business of having him reinstated. He was being suspended without pay and would also be subject to having his health insurance being paid by the company for 60 days as well. Finally, he was instructed to turn in his two bureaus issued handguns and shield to the field office—that he used to run.
Chris threw his cell phone across the room and it broke the mirror below a cabinet. He kicked over his sofa and shattered three photos of him in various stages of his career in law enforcement. He broke the glass of several of his paintings and tore several more to shreds—until he reached Hoshi’s portrait.
He sat down on his tiled floor with her painting in his hands. How could I have failed so miserably, Hoshi? He asked the woman in the picture. Was there anything that I could have done differently? He had been alone so long…even through his married years with Denise. He’d lost his childhood to a monster named Louis Keaton. He’d lost his teenage years when his father, who he had adored, was taken from him in an automobile accident. And then all the joy that a young man could know was stricken from him when his dearest Hoshi had wrapped her car around that telephone phone after the infamous parent-teacher conference she’d attended.
Tears came to his eyes…and Chris Prince let them come. They weren’t tears of frustration for losing his job. They were the latest in a long line of tears that had been shed for losing the precious woman in this portrait. If he had ever needed proof that Hoshi Givens was the only one that he’d ever truly loved up until now then the evidence, as Agent Sheridan had stated it so clearly to him, was rolling down his face while he sat on this floor.
He had finalized both the large and small details of Denise and Erica’s funerals without shedding a tear.
He had viewed Denise’s body, or what the morticians could piece back together again, and didn’t cry once.
He had attended his ex-wife’s funeral. He’d listened to the pastor give a powerful sermon about Jesus’ death and resurrection…and a final commanding prayer for her at the graveyard…
And Chris Prince never offered up even a snivel.
And yet, the mere thought of Hoshi had driven him to emotion.
And then thirty or so minutes after that, he thought about Roxanne Sanchez.
What am I ever to do about you, Roxanne? She was a beautiful woman who had perhaps an overabundance of fire burning in her. Just as my dearest Hoshi did; sure, she was wild and untamed around the edges. And yet, he knew that there was an attraction between them. He had first felt it when she was in the FBI Training Program years ago. Chris had wisely kept business…and any potentially personal affairs separate.
He was pleasantly surprised when the fire quickly had rekindled itself when he saw her again for the first time in years at Centennial Park.
And then she showed up before the funerals and the heat between them had turned up considerably—
Chris doorbell rang.
He got to his feet and slapped the safety off of his weapon. He hoped he didn’t have to empty the bullet chambers of his gun before he turned it in to Alex who ran inventory over there.
Whoever in the hell was on the other side of that door was had better be more than friendly tonight after what he had been through already.
Chris opened the front door to his house with his gun down near his side.
Benjamin Scott:
He was long and in wondrous shape for a man nearing 65 years old. He still bothered to shave every day, still colored his hair and wore a suit most every place he went and liked to date 30 year olds.
“Good evening to you too, Christopher,” He said with eyes trained on the barrel of Chris’ firearm in his face. The younger man knew that his father’s lifelong friend carried at least two guns on his person at all times as well.
“Damn, Scotty,” Chris put his gun away, gave his normally quiet neighborhood a once over and followed his guest inside. “What are y
ou doing here?”
Scotty had stopped after he broke the threshold…failing to find an adequate place to rest his weary dogs. He finally gave it up, pushed his hands down into his pockets and grinned at his host. “Oh, I guess I was in the neighborhood.” Chris flipped the couch back over and both men sat down on it. “I hope you don’t mind me coming by without calling. You never answer that damned cell of yours anyway.”
Chris shifted his eyes…what he always did when he tried to lie. “Uh, I was just going out for a bit.” I hadn’t got any better at it. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
Scotty gave the room a once over. “I see, Old Man, we are all in such a hurry these days. Oh, I miss the olden times.”
“Look, Scotty—“
Scotty’s gaze turned serious and focused. “I had the feeling that you could probably use some moral support right now.”
“Yea,” Chris finally admitted after a moment. “Yea, you’re probably right. You should excuse my manners. My father taught me better than this.”
“Yes, he did,” Scotty’s smile was as warm as a summer’s day. “And we won’t mention anything else about it, Old Man. And I always thought this place could use some redecorating anyhow. It looks that you took my advice quite literary.”
Chris leaned back on the couch, settling in. “Since I was little boy, I’ve never known you to ever do anything at random. You don’t live nearby,
