“What’s up?” He yawned.
“This is Junior, and he’s interested in modeling. Could you tell him how you do it and what’s involved while I finish up with Alyson?”
“No problemo.” He looked me up and down, his expression said he was convinced I’d suck at such a difficult task. “Come on over to the throne, and I’ll show you some things.”
I followed him to the raised platform in the center of the room. The “throne” was a straight-backed wooden chair, typical school issue. He sat down with his legs together, hands on his knees.
“There are standard poses they always want.” He shifted through a few, arm on the chair back, legs crossed, Indian style. “Then there are poses that certain teachers want. They want to get creative. You have to know your own body limitations. Otherwise you’ll get wicked cramps, appendages that fall asleep. If they twist you into a pretzel or something, you say no or demand more money. Sometimes that works. Hardest thing is remembering exactly, to the smallest detail, the pose you were in before you took your break. If you screw up, the students and teacher pitch a royal fit. Any questions?”
“Sounds easy.” I threw him a bone. “But I know from experience whatever sounds easy is usually the hardest.”
“You got that right. Dude, I gotta bounce.”
“I appreciate your help.”
Before he left he said, “There are books you can study for poses and shit. Ask Momma Young to hook you up.”
“Thanks, man.”
“If you decide to do this, we’ll probably see each other again. These college artistes love gang posing. Like an orgy frozen in time. Twisted. Literally.” He laughed and headed out. “Have fun,” he called over his shoulder.
The old lady came up behind me. “Did Craig help?”
“He said you might have some books that explained posing.”
“I do. Why don’t you pose for Alyson and me right here?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just take off your shirt and get comfortable on the chair.”
Alyson got a new piece of paper, and Mrs. Young sat at another easel as I perched on the chair and peeled off my T-shirt. I glanced down at the fine weave of raised scar tissue where each church member used various pieces of dirty glass and needles to carve crosses above my right pec. My blessings on display. On my back, a generous crisscross of raised belt and whip lashes.
“Oh my,” the woman whispered.
“Awesome,” said the young girl.
Chapter Fourteen
Kailey
“Momma, where’s my phone?” I lifted the sweater off our old sable couch.
Momma laughed as she rolled her wheelchair toward me. It makes me happy to see her smile.
“When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” I fished my hand behind the cushion. “Here it is.” I held it up like I’d won a prize. “I wish I would remember to put this thing away, not that anyone calls.”
“You need to go out with someone besides Shinto, Kailey.”
“I’m swearing off men, Momma, remember? No room in my life and no time.”
“There are nice guys out there.”
“Neither of us have had much luck in that department.”
“Don’t you say that—”
“Daddy drank, Momma. A lot.” I turned to go back to my room.
“Don’t speak about your father that way, Kailey Jo Carmichael. Your father worked hard. He did the best he could. He loved us.” She sniffled. “In his own way.”
I knelt in front of her, gently took her arthritic hands in mine. “Momma, I’m sorry. I’m really thinking about me, all I’ve lost with Emma. I couldn’t go through that again. Besides, I’ve got you, Shinto, my department. That’s life enough for me at the moment.”
“All I’m saying, sweetheart, is be open to love.”
“Love is for little girls, Momma. I put away Barbie and Ken a long time ago.” I grabbed the phone and escaped to the kitchen. How can she be such a hopeless romantic after all Daddy put her through?
My phone vibrated. Message Waiting. I thumbed it and read as I scanned the room for my purse.
“Momma, gotta go back to work. One of the guys called in, and they need me to cover. Will you be okay?”
“The visiting nurse will be here shortly. Everything is under control. Kailey?” She shifted in her wheelchair. “You just worked eight hours. Be careful. I love you. I know the sacrifices you’re making for me. You’re a blessing and an amazing daughter.”
“Love you too. Gotta go.” I kissed her, smelled her lavender perfume. “Be real with the nurse, you hear? Tell her what hurts.”
Once in the car I sat still for a moment, baking. Dang air conditioner wouldn’t kick in until I got moving. My mom, always thinking about others first. She saw the good in everyone, even Daddy. After all those years of her heartache and his drinking? After he put her in that damn chair?
I cranked the radio to drown the voices in my head. The first few notes of George Strait’s “All My Exes Live in Texas” came on, and I stabbed a finger at the radio to turn it off. Not soon enough. Images of Emma bouncing in her car seat, chubby little arms and legs waving, flooded me. She loved that stupid song. Every time it came on she’d laugh and dance her silly sitting dance. I swiped at the tears streaming down my face and yanked the car into reverse.
I need to work. I need my days to drone on and on.
Thank goodness the police station was close. At least there I can put a world of hurt on someone, anyone. Best way to stop the pain is inflict it on someone else, any poor fool unlucky enough to get in my way.
I stood on the brakes and slid into a parking space. Took the stairs two at a time.
Chuck Dempsey, a big, well-built tall blond guy, leaned on a desk when I clocked in. “You taking Paul’s shift?”
“Looks like it,” I said as I rushed by him for the locker room.
Ten minutes later I rode shotgun with Chuck as we pulled away from the station. Paul was Chuck’s partner.
“What’s up with Paul?“ I asked.
“His friggin’ feet.”
“What?”
“Doctor cut a bunion off his foot. You’d think he suffered an amputation the way he’s carrying’ on. Sorry to call you in. I know you just put in a full eight.”
“No problem. I’d rather work than sit around at home.”
“We may have some fun. It’s a full moon tonight. Curtain call for the crazies.”
***
Our radio squawked within minutes of leaving the station. “Gang fight on Garfield.” I flipped on the lights and sirens, and we spun tires.
“Hope we get there before it’s over,” I said.
Chuck raised his eyebrows.
I cracked my knuckles. “I need the diversion.”
He steered us through the next red light and yelled, “I’m betting we drive up, find a few banged up kids, everyone clams up, and we go about our business. Unless you feel like writing a report.”
I laughed. “Not until they add writer’s cramp to Worker’s Comp.”
“So tell me. How’d you like Dallas?” He took a hard right at the next corner.
“I liked it.” I flashed mentally on my last night with Derek and felt heat rise past my collar. To cover, I rushed on. “Turns out I have a knack for forensics.”
“No shit.”
“I know, right? Something about piecing together a crime scene after the fact, the puzzle of it.” I scratched my head. “I like using science to collar assholes who think they’ve gotten away with something.”
We flew past cars and stop signs, the buildings a blur.
“Better you than me,” he said. He slammed on the brakes.
I felt my seatbelt tighten.
“We’re here. Lock and load.”
We unsnapped, flung open the doors, and stepped out.
Six or eight people turned and ran. Chuck laughed. “That’ll save on paperwork.”
The few that remained s
eemed determined to represent, whatever the shit it is that they represent. The gang leaned their backs against a brick storefront, arms crossed. In their early twenties, posing, acting all hard. They’d soften up soon enough with a baton cracked across their shins.
We posed, too. Put on stern cop faces and approached like we were tired of cleaning up crap. It’s all crap, either way. I checked our perimeters as we walked. Chuck thumbed the radio on his shoulder and reported our location.
“Okay, everyone. Party’s over. Let’s move on.” Chuck smiled.
“We ain’t doing nothing. Why we gotta move?” A big kid with Fuck You tattooed across his forehead spit on the sidewalk.
I bet his mama’s proud. “What’s your name?” I pulled out my notepad and pretended to write.
“Don’t have to give you my name,” he said. “I know my rights.”
“That so? Watch a lot of TV, do you?”
He scowled.
“See,” I said, “Hollywood almost never gets it right. It’s the darnedest thing. Besides, Mr. Fuck You, is it? Fuck You, this is Midland Texas.” I turned to Chuck. “Officer? How far would you say we are from Hollywood?”
“Three thousand, four hundred and sixty-nine miles.,” he said. “A long way.”
“You’re fucking with us,” Fuck You said.
“You think? Now tell me your name, or we take you in and you’ll wish you were in Hollywood.”
“Fred,” he said. He puffed out his chest.
“Fred?” my pen hovered.
“Medina.” He spit again.
“Ah. Nice name. Freddie Medina. By the way, spit on the sidewalk one more time, and you’ll lick it up or spend a week in jail. Seems there’s a law against it, Mr. Medina.”
Chuck took a turn. “Thank you, Fred. Soon’s we get your buddies’ names, you can move along. Oh.” He slapped his forehead. “Almost forgot. We’ve had complaints. Loud music, fighting, folks hollering. Know anything about that?”
“Nope, officers.” Freddie grinned at his merry band who all nodded in agreement.
“Quiet as a cemetery around here,” said another vato in his baggy pants and wife-beater uniform.
“Clever,” Chuck said, “you must be the poet of the group. What’s your name?”
As he talked, I noticed a young girl peeking around the corner of the building, a pre-teen. Thick mascara ran in black streaks from her eyes.
“You okay?” I walked over and crouched in front of her. “What’s wrong, honey? Something I can help you with?”
Her eyes shifted to Fuck You Freddie like a frightened deer. “Nada, señora. Please go away.”
She turned to go, and I noticed mud on the back of her blouse. “Stop. What happened to you?” I put a hand on her arm.
“I fell.” She looked again at Freddie and shivered. Midland’s hot, even in the evening.
“What’s your name, and how old are you?”
“Please, ma’am, I’ll go straight home.” She eased away from me.
I looked over, tried to read Chuck’s thoughts. He shook his head ever so slightly.
“You do that.” I clapped my hands. “Run. NOW.”
She whirled and scooted, her tennis shoes slapping pavement.
I rose and rounded on Freddie and his gang. “Looks like you cholos get a pass today. ’Cause it’s too nice a day to ruin it dealing with you, frankly.” I tucked my notebook back in my belt. “For your sakes, you should all know, cut-off age for statutory rape in Texas is sixteen.”
“We never touched that girl.” Freddie grinned at his boys. “Did we?”
The other two shook their heads, without Fuck You’s bravado.
“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Because the way it works is if one guy rapes her, you all get charged with raping her.”
“Hey, that’s bullshit, man.” One of Freddie’s boys kicked at the pavement.
“I know. So unfair. Now get out of here.”
Freddie’s two friends ran off. He followed at a slow walk. Saving face.
Back in the cruiser, Chuck said, “I forgot what a badass you are, Kailey.”
“How could I not be? What sort of mental deficient idiot tattoos Fuck You on his forehead?”
“That mental deficient idiot, apparently.” He cranked the ignition and pulled away from the curb.
About an hour later the car radio squawked to life and we got a domestic violence call.
“Here we go.” he said and yanked us into a quick U-turn.
We pulled up to a white two-story home with columns on either side of a red front door. The manicured green lawn and red roses in bloom were accented by subtle lighting pointed at the roses and trees. We heard chamber music as we approached. A man and woman in the house shouted in the background.
Chuck knocked on the door and yelled, “Police.”
He knocked again and yelled louder. “POLICE. Open the door or we break it down.”
“Hold on. I’m coming,” an angry male voice called out.
A guy in a suit opened the door a crack. “What seems to be the matter, officers?”
“You tell us,” I said. “We’re hearing complaints. Mind opening the door?”
He narrowed his eyes and widened the opening as far as his arm could reach. “There. Happy?”
“Happier,” Chuck said. “Mind if we come in? We can all be happy together.”
“Do you have a warrant?”
Chuck shook his head and said to me,” Can you believe it? Second TV lawyer of the night.”
“Here’s how it works,” I said. “Despite what you learned from the University of LA Law. For domestic complaints we are required to interview all parties, determine what happened, and make an arrest, if it’s actionable.”
“Technically, we’re not searching for a thing,” Chuck said. “No search warrant required. I suggest you do the smart thing and invite us in.”
“Fine. Whatever,” he opened the door all the way and stepped aside. “She’s uh, she fell, and I was about to call the paramedics when you got here.”
We pushed inside and saw a woman cradling a young child weeping in her arms. Chuck pushed the man to one side of the room while I ministered to the woman. She wore a set of green satin pajamas. The top button on her front dangled by a thread, her upper lip puffed out on one side and trickled blood. Her right eye would soon be completely swollen shut. I knelt in front of the two. “Hi, ma’am. I’m Officer Carmichael. What’s your name?”
“Mrs. Quigley. Amanda Quigley. That’s my husband, Ronald.”
“Who is this little beauty?” I tugged on the little girl’s sleeve. “Hm? What’s your name, honey?” Three, maybe four years old. She turned toward me, and my heart clenched. Curly blond hair and blue eyes. Emma reincarnated.
“Lisa,” she said, her voice muffled by her mother’s shoulder.
I couldn’t help myself and reached forward to stroke a curl on the delicate little head. “Well, Lisa. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to talk with your mommy a minute. Would that be all right?”
She sniffed and nodded, wiping her nose on her mother’s top while her mother continued rocking her.
“Ma’am, can you tell me what happened?”
Amanda glanced over to her husband. “My husband’s a lunatic.” She shuddered. “And an ass. Lisa was up watching TV. He stormed in. I could tell he’d been drinking. He slapped her, grabbed her by the arm, and slammed her against the wall. He yelled at her to go to her room then kicked her for not moving fast enough. Lisa ran to me, and I comforted her. He came over, yelled something a child should never hear, and hit me too. He’s a maniac.” She glared at her husband. “YOU’RE A MANIAC! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.”
“You mean my house, bitch,” he yelled from across the room.
“Settle down, Mr. Quigley,” I heard Chuck say.
Amanda shrieked, “I want him out. I want a restraining order. I want him in jail.”
Little Lisa sobbed in earnest. “Mommy, my arm hurts.”
I heard the click of handcuffs and glanced over at Chuck.
“You don’t have to do this. Why are you doing this? Amanda, tell them you’re fine. AMANDA.”
“I’m calling the wagon,” I said. I keyed my mic and put in a call for dispatch to send paramedics. I turned back to Amanda. “Ma’am, please, calm down. It’s not doing you or your daughter any good. I’ve called for medical. We’ll get you squared away in no time.”
“Is he going to jail?”
“That is our plan for the moment, yes.”
“Lock him in with the biggest, angriest gay man you can find. Then lose the key.”
I squelched a smile. “I’ll see what I can do. If you ladies will excuse me?”
I stood and consciously kept my hands from balling into fists. When I got to Chuck, he steered a handcuffed and defiant man toward the door.
“May I?” I said to Chuck. “You’ll want to check with Mrs. Quigley and Lisa for our report. I’d be more than happy to escort Mr. Quigley to the squad car and secure him safely in the backseat.”
“Excellent idea, officer.” Chuck grinned. “Be careful with him. Don’t hurt him.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.
I grabbed the guy’s arm and squeezed his bicep.
“OWW.”
“You’re with me, Mr. Quigley.” I guided him toward the front door. “In case you’re interested, we’ve called the paramedics for your wife and daughter.”
I marched Mr. Quigley out the oak front doors and down the brick staircase outside. We rounded a bunch of rose bushes and I stuck my boot out. Dear Mr. Quigley stumbled face first into the thorny patch.
“Get up.” I stood over him as he lay bleating like a sheep.
“You did that on purpose,” he sputtered. “Do you know who I am?”
I studied him while he struggled, his arms secured behind his back as his legs kept snagging on the bushes. I grabbed his shirt and pulled until he almost righted himself before he struggled and fell back into the bushes.
“OW. YOUR CAREER IS OVER, OFFICER. I KNOW EVERY JUDGE IN THIS CITY.”
“What a coincidence,” I said. “Me too.”
I grabbed his handcuffed hands and yanked him to his feet as the paramedics pulled up. The lead lieutenant came up to me. Thank god I knew him. “Battered mother and daughter inside that need attention.”
West Texas Dead: A Kailey and Shinto Mystery Page 5
