by TG Wolff
“In his defense, he wasn’t intending to maim him, he was intending to kill him. Circulation in his feet was probably the last thing the suspect was worried about.”
His tightened fingers into a claw as he fantasized about reaching through the phone and strangling the woman. “I’m not having this conversation.” And he ended the call.
Sure, the suspect could have identified with Kroc and, yes, there could be a way to use the connection to get the suspect to surface. But, damn it all, he hated thinking that way and hated more that Frankie Pelletier didn’t sound nearly as afraid of the suspect as she sounded intrigued.
Cruz watched the rally at Public Square from a corner affording him a view. The event should have been predictable. In the beginning, it was. Speaker after speaker denouncing the police and then entreating protection for the victims. No one questioned the oxymoronic statements. The small lunch-time crowd there for the speeches cheered. Three times as many people hustled back and forth, carrying Styrofoam that kept their lunches hot.
Someone started it. No one ever saw who. Someone yelled back “Let the bastard have the drug dealers.”
Then “Cleveland’s better off without them.”
The voice of reason bellowed over the microphone. “We are all God’s children, looking for safety in our community.”
To which “Maybe if you were better parents, our community would be safe,” was retorted.
The mothers in the crowd took the loudest exception to the accusations. Too many of them were single, working to put food on the table and a decent roof over the family’s head. They loved their children with the ferocity of a mother lion, parented with the same determination and pride. But determination and pride only went so far when the bills stacked up, when the school was out, when drugs and gangs and crime were the norm of the day, when addiction took root.
The ones who looked down their nose and scoffed didn’t come home dead tired after twelve hours for minimum wage and then have to fight the uphill battles against stereotypes, the system, and limited opportunities. There were no easy days.
Six people were arrested.
The long afternoon was punctuated by Yablonski falling heavily into the chair by Cruz’s desk. “Do you think this is a mistake?”
“Yeah. I’ve never thought rallies were a good idea. Too explosive.”
“Not that, Cruzie. Me and Erin. Getting engaged.” He sat up suddenly. “You didn’t lose the ring. Tell me you didn’t lose the ring.”
Cruz pulled the black box out of his zipped pocket. “I did not lose the ring. And no, you and Erin are not a mistake. You got nothing to be nervous about.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. But, still, I could put this off. You know, until the case is closed.”
Cruz shut off his computer and stood. “Let’s go. You got a girl to win.”
He shoved Yablonski into his car and chauffeured him to Becky’s. His buddy was sweating. If Yablonski hadn’t been so nervous it would be funny. It would be funny in an hour when she said yes. Assuming he got the chunk of frozen meat from the sidewalk inside the bar.
“Will you move.” He dropped his shoulder and shoved his friend to the door. “She adores your fat ass.”
“What am I going to say? I didn’t think about that.” Yablonski spun so fast Cruz kissed the front door. “I should have some poetry or something.”
“You don’t need poetry. You need to get in there, get down on your knees, and tell that beautiful woman you’re crazy about her.” Cruz yanked the door open and pointed. “Go.”
Yablonski swayed, looked ready to run for it. Cruz took a fistful of shirt and pulled him in.
They both stood still for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the dark. The bartender waived and got busy making their usuals. People called their names like a scene from a movie. Cruz changed his grip to Yablonski’s thick neck and walked the Tin Man down the aisle.
“There’s my guy.” Erin planted a kiss on Yablonski’s chin. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Yablonski’s voice broke. He looked at Cruz, panic in his eyes.
“Erin,” Cruz said. “Matt has something to ask you, right, big guy?”
Yablonski smiled suddenly, too wide with too many teeth.
“Oh. Okay, you’re scaring me,” she said.
Cruz hissed in Yablonski’s ear. “Get on your knees!” Yablonski dropped like a sack of potatoes. “Repeat after me. Erin.”
“Erin,” he said.
“You are everything to me.”
“You are everything to me.”
Erin gasped, pressing her fingers to her mouth.
Cruz shoved the velvet box into Yablonski’s hand. “Give it to her.”
Yablonski proffered the small box. Erin’s fingers trembled as she took it using both hands. Tears ran down her face as she opened it. She made a sound only girls can make. The word oh with ten Hs said on an undulating wave of tones.
Then she launched herself at Yablonski, tackling him to the floor.
“Does that mean yes?” he asked as she choked him.
“Yes!” She alternately kissed him and shouted her answer.
Cruz looked down at the couple, so damn happy for them he could burst. “A round on me!”
For the first time in days, he had lost track of time in a good way. A party had been just what he needed.
“I’m going to remember forever that look on his face,” Erin said, wiggling her fingers to watch the lights dance across the stone.
“Yeah. I wish I’d captured it on video. I could have blackmailed him for years.”
Erin laughed, dancing foot to foot. “Why didn’t Aurora come? I can’t wait to show her.”
The blood drain from Cruz’s face, the ice cold of guilt replacing it. She was at home, waiting to do something special with him. Cruz leaned in and gave Erin a kiss on the cheek. “Tell Yablonski I need to go. I’ll see him in the morning. Congratulations.”
Cruz cursed himself the entire twelve-minute drive home. He called himself every name in the book, cursed himself again, and then started praying.
Her car was in front of his house. His house was dark except for the kitchen. Aurora was in his bed. He ran into the house, took the steps to the main floor in a single leap, and then froze. What was he going to say?
He climbed the stairs to the second floor one at a time. In the bedroom, he softly called her name. When she didn’t stir, he stripped and slid in next to her.
She inhaled deeply, snuggling into the curve of his body. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know. Eleven maybe.”
She sighed heavily, cuddling his arm. “You can’t work this late. You’ll run yourself into the ground.”
He closed his eyes, wanting to lie and let her believe he was working, but that would be covering his own ass, and he didn’t deserve it. “I, uh, wasn’t working the whole time. I went to Becky’s. Yablonski and Erin got engaged. I should have called you, baby. I’m sorry.”
“Matt and Erin?”
“Yeah. Hard to believe, right?” Cruz chuckled. “He was so nervous. First, he made me hold onto the ring, so he wouldn’t lose it. Then he couldn’t even ask her. I had to help him out a little.”
“You helped him out.” She dropped his hand, and her body stiffened.
“I should have called. I just didn’t think. Yablonski was a fucking mess, and he messed me up. I don’t have a big enough word to tell you how sorry I am.”
“It’s okay.” Her voice was a thin string on the verge of breaking. She swiftly slid out of bed. “I’m not feeling well.” She ran out of the room and locked herself in the bathroom.
Worry shoved Cruz’s guilt to the backseat. “Can I get you something? I think we have some Tums.”
“No. I’ll be fine.” Her voice, muffled by the door, did not sound fine. “Just go to bed. You need the rest.”
“Are you sure? I’ll wait—”
“No! Just…just go to bed. I’m going to be in here a while.
”
Cruz jumped back when she snapped. It wasn’t like her. Maybe she was sick, but more likely she was angry. He would be. Crowding her wouldn’t help. He did as she asked and went to bed, intending to wait for her, but he was asleep before he knew he was tired.
Wednesday, May 16
Morning light sliced across Cruz’s face, waking him. It was six-forty-five, and he was alone. The energy that followed Aurora was missing.
It wasn’t normal. She always woke him when she left. It was part of their routine. He pulled on a pair of shorts and searched the house, just to make sure she wasn’t somewhere else. Maybe sick on the couch. Or in the bathroom again.
But she wasn’t.
There was a note on the table.
Detective,
I didn’t know if you had time to eat so I ordered a pizza. Most of it is in the refrigerator. You didn’t call today. I hope it doesn’t mean you had too bad of a day. Wake me when you get home. I love you. ~A.
Last night’s note. “Shit.” He would call today. Hell, he would call right now. He ran up the stairs, picked up his phone and called her.
It rolled to voicemail.
He brought up the messaging app. What to write?
Missing you this morning. U ok? SEND.
No response. That’s okay, he thought. She’s driving. She’s not supposed to be texting or reading texts for that matter. He decided he would be mad if she texted him back.
Don’t read this or text me if you’re driving. SEND.
He had a bad feeling, and nothing good ever came from a bad feeling. He had no choice, but to begin his day. The coffeemaker did its thing while he showered. No text back. He dressed, braided his hair. Still no text. He drank his coffee and stared at the page with the meditation. He didn’t read the words, he was listening for a text. She should be at school by now.
His phone rang, and he fumbled it, adrenaline jolting his system. “Aurora?”
“Montoya,” his commander said. “Chief’s office. Twenty minutes.”
Put it aside, he told himself. But he couldn’t. This was Aurora. So, he went, taking her with him. He walked into the chief’s office on time, finding the usual suspects grouped around the television. “Chief,” he said to announce his arrival.
“Take a look at this.” It was a local news program, and in the studio was Pastor Michael Ashford.
“What is Pastor Mike doing on there?”
Ramsey huffed like a ram about to charge. “Taking up the arms the suspect challenged him to.”
“No,” Cruz said. “Mike is more level-headed than that.”
Ramsey raised the volume.
“I felt called by those words, Renee. ‘The time has come for the righteous to come forward. Protect the weak among us. Stand with those who cannot stand alone. Send Satan on his way. Be not afraid.’ It speaks to all of us to take control and responsibility for our city, for our fellow citizens. I am organizing a candle-light walk for tomorrow night at seven-thirty. We will walk through our streets, showing those who would rather us hide that there is safety and strength in being righteous. We will not be afraid.”
The made-up woman with the microphone and permanent smile turned into the camera. “Thank you, Pastor Mike. We’ll be right back after this break.”
Ramsey killed it, setting the remote down with deliberate care and then making a large, tight fist.
“I’ll talk to him,” Cruz said hurriedly. He left the room before finding out the actual reason for the meeting. Getting to Pastor Mike and calling this thing off was priority number one. Using his lights and parking in a loading zone, Cruz was waiting on the street when Pastor Mike left the studio.
“Jesus. This is a surprise.”
Cruz stalked to the pastor. “It shouldn’t be. You go on television announcing you’re going to take on the world, it tends to get police attention.”
Pastor Mike’s face paled. “You make it sound like I’m starting a war.”
“That’s what you made it sound like.”
He took a step backward. “No. No, no, no. My message is non-violence. Complete non-violence.”
“You just picked up a gauntlet thrown down by a killer.”
“Exactly. Once it’s picked up, he’ll have no reason to continue with these crimes.”
“Pastor Mike, you’re only seeing this from one angle. Our suspect is mentally ill. He’s not going to interpret your actions as an invitation to retire. He’s going to see them as beefing up his team.”
Pastor Mike looked at Cruz for a moment, then shook his head. “You may be right about your suspect’s mental state, but the point is still valid that our streets need to be reclaimed by the people who live on them in a peaceful manner.” He emphasized the last four words. “I have to go. I’m meeting with the leaders of other churches to organize this walk.”
“This conversation isn’t over, Mike.”
“I know.”
There was no end to the day. There were so many loose ends his case resembled a pom-pom. There were two good points. First, Yablonski was flying around the station on Cloud Nine, wearing a goofy grin. It was hard to feel down when the guy was flying so freaking high.
Then, Cruz brought Kroc an early dinner. Roast beef this time. Kroc had started therapy and was upbeat about the prognosis if not the additional time in the hospital. He on his own now, able to walk to the toilet. A point of pride and progress.
Cruz went for a hat trick, stopping in the hospital gift shop and buying a small bouquet of flowers that were as colorful as Aurora.
But when he pulled in his driveway, his house was dark, and her little car wasn’t anywhere to be found.
He dialed her, warning heaven and hell that if she didn’t answer he was going to—
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” He barked out the question, pissed she wasn’t home.
“My apartment.” She sounded tired, sad.
He softened his tone. “Why aren’t you home?”
“I am home.”
Bullshit. “My home. Our home.”
“I don’t know. I just…” She sighed heavily.
His worry increased. She sounded so ephemeral, as if she would just float away from him. He needed a tether. “Did you eat yet?”
“No. I don’t have anything to heat up.” The happiness and sunshine that was his lady was gone. She sounded like he felt. Drained. Empty. Weary.
“Aurora, is something wrong?”
She didn’t answer right away. Cruz thought she wouldn’t she waited so long. “I just, I have some things I need to work out.”
And his heart stopped. “Come home, baby.” Bribery wasn’t beneath him. “I’ll have dinner ready by the time you get here.” She reluctantly agreed, and he got busy. His refrigerator was crammed with plastic bowls of every shape and color, holding the remnants of Mother’s Day, topped with a pizza box wedged in. He reinvented left overs into a savory one pot dish. While it simmered, he set the table with the plates Aurora had bought. They were mustard yellow and pumpkin orange and the other weird colors that popped on the dark wood table he’d acquired. He took the chunky candle from their bedroom and set it in the center of the table. He stuck a plate under it. Then he put some of the pebbly things she had in a bowl around it and lit the candle.
“Music.” He thumbed through what he owned. Aurora liked soulful music as she painted. His tastes ran more to Run the Jewels. He did have one album that might work: Marvin Gaye.
A car pulled in. He heard the back door open and close, followed by the soft ruffling of cloth and bags.
“Welcome home, baby.”
Aurora turned her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her pretty eyes weren’t shining. The mouth he loved to kiss wasn’t smiling. “I thought you’d work later.”
He shrugged it off, taking her in his arms. He buried his nose in her hair, relieved when she held him back. “Dinner’s ready.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
Cruz took her han
d, pulling her with him. “After I slaved over a hot stove for you? At least try it.” He sat her at the dining room table, then scooped a helping of the concocted dinner onto her plate.
Aurora poked at her dinner. “What is it?”
“A dish of my own creation. I call it littlebitofeverything.” Cruz’s teasing smile faded when she gave him only the faintest of grins. He scooped twice as much on his own plate, set the pan on a hot pad, and then sat. “So, what do you think?”
“About what?”
He couldn’t read her expression. Not a good thing. “The littlebitofeverything.”
“Oh. Not bad. Is that a chicken wing?”
He played with his food, watching her more than he ate. Her vibe was off. “How was school?”
“Fine. The kids can tell it’s getting close to the end. Everybody’s restless. Your little friend Jace led a revolt on the playground that earned everybody five minutes of quiet time. How was your day?”
“Same old. Come here,” he said, taking her hand. “Come dance with me.”
“What?”
Cruz pulled her into his arms. She was stiff at first but melted into him as he danced her around their home. “I missed you this morning.”
“I missed you, too.” Her breath hitched.
“Are you crying?” He leaned away, trying to see her face but, shaking her head, she tightened her arms and held on. “If this is about last night, I’m—”
“It’s not.” She rested her forehead on his shoulder, her breath hitching. “I just…have to work through something.”
“Without me?” When she didn’t answer, he held on tighter.
May 17
My life has changed so much since that first day. I read the entries from those early days and realized just how close I was to the end. It wasn’t my time. I still had a purpose in this world. I don’t know if I was called to this job because of the hell I lived through or if I went through hell because I was called to this job. Before that day, I didn’t understand the ugly, incestuous, disgusting, merciless nature of evil.
I am not in instrument of mercy. I exact justice.
