by William Cook
When the phone rang, Chiara answered. “Driftwood PD. How may I direct your call? He’s not in at the moment, but I can connect you with Officer Esperanza.” She paused as she listened to the response. “Hold for a moment, please.” She pointed at the policeman. “It’s Beachtown News. Wants to know if we have any comment about the allegations against Charley that just got reported on Channel 8.”
He frowned as he lifted the phone. “This is Officer Esperanza. How may I help you?”
“This is Devon Whitcomb from the Beachtown News. I’d like to get a statement from you about today’s allegations against Officer Whitehorse and the Driftwood Police.”
“I’m sorry. What allegations?”
“William Hartman, lawyer for Ms. Neveah Bowling, claims that Whitehorse assaulted her son.” He paused as though looking at some written notes. “Used unnecessary force when he threw him to the floor at Driftwood High School. Called him a racial slur and spoke a horrible cussword.” The man sounded out of breath as he began to talk faster and faster. “Attorney Hartman says the boy has a sprained shoulder. He’ll bring the case to the Grand Jury first, then file a civil suit against the Driftwood Police Department. Claims they’ve never treated Ms. Bowling’s son fairly because he’s black. What do you have to say about that?”
“I say we have no comment because it’s an ongoing investigation.” Before the newsman could react, Esperanza terminated the call. “Holy shit-on-a-shingle!” He turned to the receptionist. “Look up an attorney by the name of William Hartman. Not sure of the spelling.”
Chiara’s fingers flew over the keys. Several screens later, she announced, “Here he is. Hartman, Delaney, and Petronsky, out of Portland. Specializing in corporate law.”
“Corporate law? He’s not an ambulance chaser? No personal injury stuff?”
“Nope.”
“Then why the hell is a fancy-ass corporate lawyer from Portland taking on a personal injury lawsuit in podunk Driftwood?”
“Beats me, Tony.”
“Jesus H. Christ! Don’t we have enough on our plates?” He slammed his fist on the desk. “How am I supposed to tell Charley? Crap!”
The crumpled wreck of the small Nissan looked more like a squashed beetle than an automobile. Jaws of Life had extricated the young driver, who had been Life-Flighted to a trauma center in Portland. Volunteers from Driftwood were helping direct traffic around the debris. Whitehorse had just finished interviewing the driver of the eighteen-wheeler.
“Like I said, she swerved right into me. Don’t know if she was distracted or what, but there was nothin’ I could do.” Tears stained his grizzled face. “Never had an accident before. Never nothin’ like this. God, I hope she’s all right.” He turned away as he choked back another sob.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Madsen. Glad you weren’t hurt, but your truck’s in tough shape.”
“Our company has a contracted service. I’ve called ’em. Somebody should be here pretty quick.”
“Make sure you file an accident report with the DMV.”
“Sure thing.”
Whitehorse shook the man’s hand and got back into his vehicle. The victim was Kaitlynn’s age. The hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach had morphed into nausea as he imagined the worst. What would I do? he wondered. What if it had been Kaitlynn? How would Chloe—how would I—survive something like that?
Thinking of Chloe brought back the conversation they had had last night.
“Snap out of it, Charley. You’ve been moping around here for two days.”
“How do you think you’d feel if Count Dracula said you were doing a shitty job?”
“My boss at Coastal? I’d feel really pissed. I do fifty hours of work for that place and get paid for forty. Then I guess I’d feel hurt. Hurt that he didn’t see all I was doing for him and his company.”
“Well, that’s where I’m at. This mother thinks I assaulted her boy. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve gone out of my way to protect that kid, even not arresting him when I probably should’ve.”
“That video isn’t very flattering, to say the least.”
“Yeah. It doesn’t show the kid almost punching my lights out when I approached him. My jaw is still sore from the way he was flailing around and caught me a good one. That’s how we started our little dance. And the glitches in the audio make it even worse.”
“I can’t imagine your calling that kid a nigger.”
“Of course not. The ‘N-word’ was his name—Nathan. And I didn’t say ‘you motherfucker.’ I said ‘I’m calling your mother.’”
“So, you should be able to present your side of things and get all this straightened out.”
“Except I’m being judged already. I passed by a school bus this morning, and every kid gave me the finger. When I went into SaveLots for a cappuccino at The Coastal Coffee Cup, the barista wouldn’t look at me.”
“Well, I know you’re a good man, Charley Brown, even if they don’t.” She tried to embrace him, but he pushed her away. “Is that really called for?” she said.
He could hear the hurt in her voice. “I don’t want to be cheered up right now, OK? Please leave me alone.”
“Your wish is my command,” she snapped, as she turned away and stalked into the living room.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
As Whitehorse pulled in behind the police station, he wished he could have a do-over and make the whole incident go away. I just want to find that missing girl, he thought, and figure out what happened to the Johnny B. I don’t have time for this nonsense.
He was not prepared for the looks that greeted him when he walked in. “What’s going on?” he said, as he hung his coat and hat on the rack. “Looks like you’ve been to another funeral.”
“You better sit down, Charley.” Esperanza was shaking his head back and forth. By the time he had finished briefing his partner, Whitehorse’s face had turned an ashen white. Chiara looked as though she might vomit.
“You’ve called Legal?” Whitehorse’s voice was barely a whisper.
“No, we’ve been waiting for you. Wanted you brought up to speed first. I’ll do it if you like, or you can.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s a hatchet job, Charley. Somebody’s gunning for you. None of it’s true—it’s just smoke and mirrors. We need to find out who’s behind it.”
Whitehorse looked around the office, stopping to note pictures on the wall of Oregon policemen who had died in the line of duty. He ran his fingers over his desk, as though trying to reassure himself of its reality. “I heard they’re gonna reboot The Twilight Zone this spring.” When he got no response from Chiara or Esperanza, he added, “Maybe they’ll put us in it.” He walked toward the door and picked up his coat and hat. “Even Sisyphus had a break, you know. When he walked back down the hill without his rock to worry about.”
“But what if we haven’t even gotten our stone to the top of the hill yet?” Esperanza said. “What about the Mayor? What if she and the council decide to put you on administrative leave till this whole thing blows over? We can’t let them do that. We have to come out swinging—fight fire with fire. There’s too much at stake.”
“Thanks, Tony, but right now I feel like I’ve been kicked in the balls. I need some time.” Whitehorse became aware of his ragged breathing. “OK, I’m done. I’m going home.”
As he opened the door, Chiara ran to embrace him. Her cheeks were wet with tears. “We love you, Charley,” she managed in a voice choked with grief.
As he got to his car, the rain that had been threatening all day began to fall in great shoals from the dusky sky. It matched his melancholy mood perfectly.
He found it hard not to take the planned lawsuit personally. How many years had he devoted—and risked—his life for this little seaside community? Battling his way through grammar school and high school as a minority student, with the scars on his face to prove it, had sensitized him to racial inequalities of every stripe, so having his condu
ct with Nathan Bowling impugned was a stab at his heart. The grainy video of the incident, complete with all its mistaken innuendoes, had gone viral, and in an instant, the reputation he had built over twenty years had been sullied beyond recognition. Never before had he understood the volatility of social media, its power to do good and to do irreparable damage in the blink of an eye.
He started the car and turned off the radio, determined that the rain would be his only companion on the short drive home. The anger that had spoiled his earlier evening with Chloe was gone, replaced by the underlying hurt. His first order of business would be his apology to her. Then a hug.
The car found its way to the house as easily as a horse to its stable. As he closed the garage door behind him, he shook the rain off his coat and hat and entered the warm kitchen. He was greeted by fragrant aromas of elk stew that had been simmering all day in the crock pot. He saw an opened bottle of Cabernet on the counter, with a long-stemmed glass beside it.
“I’m in here,” called Chloe from the living room. “I just saw the news. Pour yourself a glass of wine and join me.”
In moments, he was standing beside her chair. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’ve been an ass. Forgive me.”
She used the remote to turn off the TV. “No need to apologize. I wasn’t very understanding. I can only imagine how this must be affecting you.” She made room for him on the couch. “Come sit by me.”
He put his glass down on the coffee table. As he took his seat, he reached over and embraced her, burying his face in her shoulder. His chest heaved, the tears he had been holding back finally overcoming his defenses. “Now I’m getting your blouse all wet,” he said, a note of shame in his voice.
“It’ll dry,” was all she responded.
He released her and took her hand. They sat like that for several minutes, neither speaking a word, the whispered conversation of the rain on the skylight overhead the only sound in the room.
“We’ll get through this,” she said.
“This town hates me.” He frowned and exhaled. “I’ll be talking to our lawyer on Monday. We’re hoping the Mayor doesn’t want me put on Administrative leave.
“If the town hates you, and I’m not sure they do, it’s because they don’t understand. They don’t have the facts. They’ve been led down a rabbit hole. And putting you on leave won’t solve anything.”
“Tony thinks it’s a setup—that somebody is after me.”
“If that’s true, do you have any idea who it could be?”
“Not a clue. Haven’t stepped on anybody’s toes in a long time. It’s the kind of thing our dear Professor Friese would do, but he’s locked up.”
“Any chance he could’ve hired somebody on the outside?”
“I don’t know. I just want to work on our two most pressing cases without all this distraction.”
“The Johnny B. and the missing girl? What’s new with them?”
“Nothing on the boat. No suspects. No motive. Maybe it’s all in my head.” He took a sip of his wine and shook his head back and forth. “We’ve subpoenaed all of Patricia Carmody’s records and we’re going through them line by line. Now we’re looking for someone using a variation of the name Myxzptlk to open a Facebook account and post a phony ad for movie auditions.” He took another sip. “Pretty good Cab, by the way. Anyway, we did find her boyfriend. A real stoner. Tony talked to him, but he was no help at all.”
“Mxyzptlk?”
“Yeah. Chiara says it’s the name of Superman’s most famous nemesis. She also has her own theories about Carmody. Thinks human trafficking may be involved. She discovered that kids have been disappearing up and down the coast at the rate of one every three months.”
“Holy crap! That’s so weird! I haven’t heard about that before.”
“That’s what I told her, but the disappearances have been spread out in time and place and no one has connected the dots. She may be on to something.”
“You really like her, don’t you?”
“She’s a great kid. And smart as a whip. It’ll be such a pleasure to walk her down the aisle.”
Chloe smiled. “Let’s think happy thoughts for the rest of the night, OK?”
He raised his glass and clinked it against hers. “Amen to that, darling.”
“And I think you need to do some serious unwinding. Why don’t you call your friends and schedule a Poker Night for tomorrow?”
“You never cease to amaze! Can I marry you?”
“I was hoping you’d make an honest woman out of me.”
11. Poker Night
Tony was first to arrive, carrying bags of snacks and his aluminum case of poker chips. He was followed closely by Peter Bristol and Chris Harper, who brought several packages of jumbo hot dogs and rolls. Chris had extended an invitation to Henry Webber, and he walked in ten minutes later with two cases of IPA.
Charley smiled. “Looks like we’ve got quite a haul. Thanks for coming, guys. I’ll get some of those dogs started while we set up. Ten dollar buy-in sound about right?”
“Friendly but rewarding,” said Tony. “Where’s Chloe?”
“Out to dinner and a movie with Kaitlynn. And this was all her idea.”
Chris was nodding in appreciation. “You’ve got a keeper there. Don’t let her get away.”
“That’s the same advice I keep getting from Tony.”
“Oh, yeah? He’s smarter than he looks.” That remark earned him a playful punch in the arm.
Peter looked at the faces around him. “You guys are going to have to remind me how to play Texas Hold ’em. It’s been years. Kind of out of my element.”
“Gotcha covered, Professor.” Tony led him to the table, announcing to his friends, “Let’s do a dummy round to bring him up to speed.”
“Or to get the chicken ready for plucking?” Chris countered.
When Peter blanched, Tony reassured him. “No plucking here. Strictly a friendly game.”
Once they finished the hand, Peter said, “OK. Small Blind, Big Blind, the Flop, the Turn, the River. I think I got it. I’m ready to try.”
Charley stood with a flourish and addressed the group. “How about we grab a dog while they’re hot and open some beers before we officially launch? We can always get seconds and thirds as the night goes on.” He didn’t have to ask them twice. As he stood at the fridge and handed out beers, he let Tony pour potato chips into a large bowl and set catsup, relish, mustard, chopped onions, and sauerkraut on the counter.
With everyone happily munching away, Chris turned to Charley and broke the silence. “I saw the news, man. What a kick in the balls.”
“You got that right. But let’s not go there. I need to get away from all that tonight.”
“Understood. Just want you to know, I’m behind you a hundred percent.”
“We all are, Charley,” Peter said. “If there’s anything we can do, just let us know.”
“Thanks, guys. That’s much appreciated.” He smiled warmly at his friends as he opened another beer. “Well, tonight I’m feeling lucky. Let’s get to it.”
On the first hand, Peter wound up with a Full House, and Chris let out a wail.
“Aces full of Kings! I think we’re being hustled, guys. What gives, Prof?”
“Hey, it’s just beginner’s luck. What can I say?” The man chuckled as he drew the chips toward him. “Keep ’em coming, gentlemen.” As the game wore on, he played pocket pairs pre-Flop well enough, but learning how best to play after the Flop was a steep learning curve. Utilizing his position at the table, especially when he played immediately after the Big Blind, called for a greater understanding of poker strategy than he had at his command. His stack of chips began to dwindle at an alarming rate.
Chris and Tony jumped full-bore into the fray and soon were vying for the biggest stack. Charley and Peter did another buy-in, while Henry’s fortunes rose and fell several times, leaving him at break-even.
At last, Charley pulled back from the table. “I need a l
ittle time-out. I’ll put more dogs on the fire and get another round for anybody who’d like one.” Four hands went up in a flash, and Charley walked to the refrigerator to retrieve their drinks.
Everyone decided a break was in order. As the bottles were passed around, Henry said, “That engine from the Johnny B. Goode is cleaning up nicely. I think I’ll be able to get top dollar for it.”
Charley shared a knowing glance with Chris, but neither made any comment.
“After expenses, I’ll have a nice chunk of cash I can donate to Holly and Heidi.”
Charley looked at him and nodded. “Good for you. I think about them and their kids every day.”
When everyone was refreshed, they sat back down and renewed the game. This time, fortune favored Charley. He went all-in on the River and scored a big pot, much to the chagrin of his friends. “’Bout time,” was his only comment as he raked in the chips.
Hope Chloe and Kaitlynn are having as much fun as I am, he thought. This is just what the doctor ordered.
Kaitlynn looked at her mother over a glass of wine as they awaited their dinners. Her expression was sober and thoughtful. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you worrying about me with all that’s going on with Charley.”
“I understand. It’s OK.” She lifted her glass and took a sip. “You’re in therapy now?”
“Yeah. She seems real good. I like her.”
“What happened? What made you decide to start seeing her?”
“The only thing I can connect it to is that I overheard you and Charley talking about that girl who disappeared.”
“Patricia Carmody.”
Kaitlynn nodded. “Mm, hm. Anyway, I started having trouble sleeping. Nightmares. Felt like there was somebody in my bedroom. I had flashbacks of being locked in that closet when Raven kidnapped me.” She took another drink. “The worst? I heard a car backfire and this image popped into my head—me shooting that guy through his windshield. And I can’t drive over the Yaquina Bay Bridge in Newport anymore. I can’t breathe. My heart starts pounding.”
