Exacting Justice

by TG Wolff

  “Yeah. Get him out of here.” The server howled and railed as he was dragged out of the building. Cruz saw was his life flash before his eyes. Because that’s what it meant when a cop was personally sued for five million dollars. Five with six zeros. The world he lived in thought it was a lot of money when there were three zeros. Six? That was an altered reality.

  Who was suing him? Faith Ernwell, the grieving grandmother of D’Andre Lattimore, on behalf of her grandson’s estate. Wrongful death.

  Then he was in his car, but he didn’t remember walking. His hands shook as he turned on the engine. The car left the parking garage. He didn’t know where it was going. Up one street, down another, onto a narrower one. The car stopped in front of the home where the Gertzes died.

  The two windows on the second floor had the shades drawn, two large eyes, closed. Summer didn’t touch the house in mourning. No flowers bloomed. No grass grew. It laid in waiting, waiting for him to solve the damn case. He pounded on the steering wheel, each blow punishing bone. He needed…he needed…clarity. He needed to get all of the shit out of the way. He needed a place to think.

  Ten blocks away was a joint called The Ugly Broad. It took a minute for his body to adjust. The light was too dark. The sound too loud. The scent too sharp. The bottles reflected the lights like a disco ball. An invitation to party. Just sit, let your hair down, relax. It was Friday night. The regulars gave him a look over but nodded as he sat. They recognized one of their own.

  “What can I get you, buddy?”

  June 16

  The news reported that signs are being posted around the all city. I jumped in my car and found ten. It’s hard to write in words. I felt like I won the lottery, found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and was named king for a day.

  I went down to Lake Erie, to the park where we would go on a hot day. It doesn’t feel like this lifetime. I just sat there and enjoyed the amazing colors of the sunset.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Saturday, June 20

  Palms pressed flat against the wall in front of him, the water pounded the back of his head. Cruz stood under the punishing stream, water so hot it scalded. Steam billowed from the shower. He couldn’t see across the bathroom to the opposite wall.

  He wanted to leave. Be somewhere else. Someone else. Leave the Drug Head Killer and internal affairs and the division painting him as a filthy monster. Just leave.

  There was a quick rap on the door followed by Oscar Bollier’s voice. “Aurora is here.”

  The door closed and for the first time since he’d become a man, he cried.

  Aurora stood in the picture window, wearing painted-on faded blue jeans and a mossy green cotton shirt matching her eyes. She had high-heeled wedge sandals, the top of which matched her eyes also. Her hair was wild, natural. Curls rioted in all directions.

  Cruz stood on the stairway, drinking in the sight of her, committing her to memory so he could keep her for always. He stepped down, and the stair creaked, giving him away.

  She looked over her shoulder and then came to the bottom of the stairs. Her face was lined and her eyes red, a harsh setting for those emeralds. There were dark circles beneath them. Her lips were chapped, swollen.

  “Are you hurt?” Aurora’s voice was rough, as though it were the first time she tried using it. She met him on the landing, her hands pressing quickly to his chest, running down his sides, his arms.

  Where he hurt couldn’t be seen or touched so he simply said, “No.”

  “Good,” she said. Then fast as a lightning strike, her hand slapped his face.

  He took the hit. He deserved so much more. She retreated into the living room, and he followed her, a man marching to the gallows.

  This was the end. This was their end.

  She was the best thing he’d ever had in his life. He would miss her burnt toast, microwaved sandwiches, and off-pitch singing. His throat closed at the thought of never seeing her paint again, never hearing her call his name over a crowded room and having every turn to see who she loved, never making love…

  “I…I’m sorry.” His voice broke, matching the rest of him. It was a pitiful offering, he knew, but it was all he had to give her.

  She spun on her stacked heels. “For what. Exactly.”

  He let out a deep breath. “Everything.”

  “Not nearly good enough, Jesus.”

  He winced at his name. He wasn’t her Zeus anymore.

  “For not being a better man.” His voice was a whisper, weighted down by shame. “For letting you down.”

  “You did let me down. Last night was a big night for me. How am I supposed to feel when the man who means everything to me doesn’t show?”

  “Like you can do better.” At some point, as he wallowed in self-pity, he remembered the art show he’d forgotten. He knew how much it meant to her. He owned it because he didn’t deserve a pass. “I didn’t mean to not show. I just—” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “—I needed some space to think, to work some stuff out.”

  “Without me? When I made the mistake over the ring, you made a point of invading my space, saying we had to work it through together. Now you have a problem and you close me out?”

  Being accused of the most vile act wasn’t in the same universe as being jealous over a ring. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Fire lit her eyes, tinted her cheeks. “Is this some kind of Latino he-man bullshit?” Her hands flailed as she ranted, nearly striking him again. “Because I’m telling you now, I’m not having it. ‘I am the man, so I stoically endure the hardships of life, protecting the frail little woman from the ugly world.’”

  “It is an ugly world. What’s wrong with wanting to protect you from it?”

  “Number one: I live and work in the real world. You not talking to me does nothing to shelter me. Number two: I’m a grown woman, competent, talented, and resourceful. I do not need a lover who doesn’t think I’m capable of standing on my own two feet. Number three: It doesn’t fucking work. You keep secrets from me, and all it does is build a wall between us. It doesn’t protect me. It shuts me out!”

  He tried again to make her understand. “You don’t see what I see.”

  “And thank God for that. But you don’t see what I see, and what I see is a good man being eaten alive in front of my eyes by the things he sees. It’s going to kill you, and it pisses me off that you’re going to let it.”

  “It’s not like that—”

  “It’s exactly like that.” She stomped her foot on the floor. “God…sometimes I just…want to take a two-by-four and hit you upside that thick skull of yours. I don’t know what to do with you! Being patient hasn’t worked. Being supportive hasn’t worked.” She growled deep in her throat as she looked to the ceiling. “Don’t I mean anything to you?”

  He stood there, taking the tongue lashing, knowing when it ended, he would be alone. He would let her walk, because it was the best thing for her, but he couldn’t let her go thinking he didn’t care. “You’re everything to me. I need you just to breathe.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “It’s not enough, Zeus. Needing me on a shelf where you take me down whenever it’s convenient for you does not work for me. I need you to trust me, to share your life with me. Your whole life.”

  “It’s…ugly,” he said, having no better word.

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Her voice hitched, climbing an octave. “I’m not afraid.”

  “I am.”

  “So, that’s it? We’re done? You’re letting me go?”

  He looked into her angry face and didn’t see resignation. He saw determination, and dedication and more love than he knew existed in the world. Like a drowning man tossed a life buoy, he threw his arms around her to stay afloat. “I’m not letting go. Not ever.”

  “Are you going to give me all of you?”

  He squeezed tighter, unbelieving this was real. “If it’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I need, Zeus.”
Her hands were in his wet hair, her mouth against his ear.

  Tears came again as it sunk in there was more burnt toast and breakfast sandwiches and bad singing and art and sex in his future. He lifted his head, finding her lips with his, sharing the emotions he couldn’t name. This was his promise, to give her all he was. In a kiss that was more about heart than body, he understood it was her promise to accept him.

  She broke the kiss, then pressed her lips to his twice more “Let’s go home. Everyone is waiting.”

  “Okay. Wait…what?” He stumbled stiffly along as Aurora pulled.

  “You are coming, right, Oscar?”

  “Definitely. I love a good intervention. Cruz may need a doctor with the mood Detective Yablonski was in when I talked to him.”

  Aurora chuckled. “I’d worry about Mari and his mother.”

  “My mother?” Cruz looked between the two.

  “I better get my bag,” Bollier said as he ran to his office.

  Monday, June 18

  “Why can’t I go in?” Aurora stood in the hallway of the homicide department, hands on her hips, glaring at her mother. “I’m involved.”

  Catherine Williams, dressed in killer heels and a black suit designed to send her opponent to their grave, neatly side-stepped her daughter. “Of course, you’re involved, Aurora, but this interview isn’t a place for girlfriends.”

  Catherine was Caucasian with an attitude that matched her wardrobe. Her long, thick blonde hair was tied into a severe bun, adding to the lethal look. She was the polar opposite of her husband, Aurora’s father, Ansel. The soft-spoken African-American accountant loved numbers nearly as much as his family. Ansel was the family’s sturdy ship, navigating safely between ports. Catherine was the cannon looking for a target.

  “Your mother knows what she’d doing, Aurora. I’ll stay with you,” her father said.

  “Sit.” Catherine used just her index finger to return Aurora to the chair. “Stay. Jesus, we need to talk before this interview. Is there a room we can use?”

  An hour later, Detective Moss walked into Montoya’s office brimming with confidence. He acknowledged Montoya, regarded Cruz as one might a cockroach, and then stopped at the power suit. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he said, extending his hand.

  Catherine took a card from her pocket and put it in Moss’s hand. “Catherine Williams, attorney for Detective De La Cruz.”

  “Catherine…Williams?” The smile fell from Moss’s face as the name sunk in. He cleared his throat and returned to character. “I’m surprised a detective could afford a firm like yours, Ms. Williams. Pro bono?”

  “Pro ass kicker, but if you’re concerned about my finances, you can validate my parking.” Catherine smiled, a snake preparing to strike.

  Cruz looked to his commander, who smothered a grin.

  Moss cleared his throat. “Shall we begin?”

  In ten minutes, Cruz learned to not open his mouth until Catherine nodded. Damn, he was glad she was on his side. He swallowed a lot of pride when he agreed to let Aurora’s mother lead his defense for the internal affairs investigation and the lawsuit. Funny, he never put it together that Aurora’s mother was the Catherine Williams who was reputed to floss her teeth with unprepared prosecuting attorneys. She knew her law and had learned police procedure in a weekend. She backed Moss into corners, required him to re-word questions, and completely undermined the testimony of the drug-dealing, child-abusing father.

  Two hours in, Moss looked like the one under the spotlight. His hair was pointing this way and that. He’d taken off his coat, and the pits of his dress white were stained.

  Catherine leaned forward, speaking softly, almost motherly. “Detective Moss, your job is to investigate the allegations against my client. Child abuse is a serious crime and one that no one, least of all the Cleveland Division of Police, should take lightly. However, the testimony of Detective De La Cruz as well as that of Detective Yablonski and Ms. Williams has accounted for all of the time my client has spent with the minor. Crimes were committed by the boy’s father, which is why he is in custody. It is beneath you to continue under the guise of an investigation to create a crime where one has not been committed.”

  Moss shook his head. “I assure you, Ms. Williams—”

  The door opened.

  “Excuse me? Is this the right place?” Hayley Parker saw Cruz and walked in the door, holding Jace by his unbroken hand. Aurora and her father followed.

  Montoya came to his feet, annoyance pressed down his brows. “I’m sorry, Miss. This is a private meeting.”

  “I know. I’m Hayley Parker. This is Jace.”

  The boy’s face lit up. “Cruz! Do you have any candy?”

  Cruz stared at the boy, figuring out why he and his mother were there. “Not on me, buddy.”

  “How about your desk? Did Detective Yablonski take it all?”

  He was a sucker for the kid. “Not yet. Don’t tell him, but there are candies in my upper right drawer.”

  Jace looked up at his mother. “Can I? I know where his desk is.”

  Hayley Parker looked around the room. No one said no. “Sure, Jace. Come right back.”

  Hayley Parker looked good. Her face was fuller and healthier. Her eyes bright. Though still thin, she’d put on enough weight to fill out her clothes. Most notably, she smiled.

  Montoya took the lead. “Mrs. Parker, what are you doing here?”

  “Miss Williams called me. She said my asshat of a soon-to-be ex-husband accused Detective De La Cruz of abusing my Jace. It’s not true. It simply isn’t. The only person who ever put a hand on my son is his father.” Hayley faced Cruz. “I hated you the day you arrested Christopher. I called you many names. I didn’t think I could manage without my husband. But I have a job, helping women who have been abused. I just do the cooking, but they let me bring Jace, and they are all really supportive. I realized I belong there. With the help of the counselors, I’ve started the divorce proceedings. Thank you.”

  Cruz could not believe the sharp right his day just took. He looked to Aurora, overwhelmed that she thought to call Hayley and convince her to testify. Emotion clouded his voice. “This might sound odd, Mrs. Parker, but I’m proud of you.”

  “Call me Hayley.” She stood a little taller. “Now. Who’s in charge of asking the questions?”

  “I am.” Moss and Catherine said together.

  Fifteen minutes into delicate questioning, Montoya’s door flew open again, and Jace raced in, laughing hysterically. He ran to Cruz, climbing awkwardly onto his lap, one hand in a cast, the other filled with candy “Save me, Cruz. He’s going to tickle torture me.”

  Yablonski appeared in the doorway, bearing his lower teeth like an old school werewolf. “Candy!”

  Jace squealed and climbed to Cruz’s shoulders, stuffing his mouth as he went. “Idon’t havit. Nothing,” he mumbled around a mouthful of candy.

  “Yablonski,” Montoya said, coming to his feet.

  “Sorry, Commander.” Yablonski stood tall and then backed out the door. “Excuse me, uh, us. Come on, Jace.”

  Cruz lifted Jace from his shoulders. Rainbow-colored drool smeared on the white sleeve of his shirt as the now first grader raced off.

  “Well,” Catherine said, standing. “I think we’re done here.”

  “Agreed,” Montoya said.

  Moss sighed. “Agreed.”

  Friday, June 29

  The coolness of the early morning did nothing to abate the heat. Cruz rolled, taking Aurora with him. He had made love to her the evening before and woke her in the middle of the night. Then she had woken him in a way that would steam the pages of Penthouse.

  He found a rhythm that made her coo and was sure he could keep it up for a day or two. Easily. With her.

  Fingernails dug into his back.

  “Zeus,” she cried in three syllables. “Now. Now. Now.”

  He put her legs over his shoulders and took them both over the edge. She locked her arms ar
ound his shoulders, holding him as he let her legs go. They tossed aside the sheets and laid locked together.

  The alarm went off.

  Aurora stilled Cruz’s out stretched arm. “Just a few more minutes.”

  He kissed her temple. “Just a few,” he said, hitting snooze.

  The alarm eventually rang again. He turned the alarm off and slid out of bed into silence. He showered, dried his long hair without braiding it. He shaved his thickened beard into the artistic patches he’d seen on a rapper. He added morning toiletries to the small bag he had packed the night before and went down to his office. The daily inspirations sat on his desk. Opening it to the day’s message, he read it. It talked to him about home and family and what he held precious.

  He took a deep breath and put the book aside. Everything he was doing was for what he held precious. So, every man and woman could walk down a street without fearing a vigilante would judge them unworthy. He was doing it for his love, for his family. So, they could see what kind of man—

  No. If the last week had showed him anything, it was that his family and friends accepted him as he was.

  He was doing this for himself, to finish reclaiming his life. He needed to return undercover, finish the job, and go out on his terms.

  “I have something for you.” Aurora stood in the doorway, wrapped in a short pink robe. “I know you said you can’t take anything, you know, from this life. But…” She held out a leather string with a green cat’s eye bound between two knots.

  The polished stone matched Aurora’s eyes. “Put it on me.” He turned, lifting his black mane.

  Aurora’s fingers brushed the back of his neck as she connected the clasp of the leather. “There. Let me see.”

  Cruz turned around. The stone pressed against the base of his throat.

  “You look…tough, Zeus. The hair and the goatee and my stone.” Aurora choked up. “I love you.”