Guardian Angel

by Adam Carpenter

  “You mentioned you had a rap sheet on Carlyle?”

  “Not so much for arrests, but there had been several complaints: sexual assault, violence against women. No one ever pressed charges, but that didn’t mean the paperwork went away. A guy like him had connections, a powerful family who the commissioner knows socially. Serena Carson was the first one who went so far as to go to court and get the order of protection, and even then she used her own high-powered connections to keep it from being public knowledge. We learned he did try to use his influence with the judge to have the order withdrawn. It came down to who was the more powerful socialite.”

  “Serena will always win that one.”

  “Henderson Carlyle won’t be winning anything anymore.”

  “Have you interviewed the other women who registered complaints against him?”

  “That’s our plan this week. My hope is with him dead, they will be open to talking.”

  “Unless one of them killed him,” Jimmy said.

  “Give us your gut instinct again, Jimmy,” Barone said. “You think a woman killed him?”

  “No,” he said, and this time there was strength of conviction behind his words.

  “Thanks for coming in. We appreciate it,” Barone said.

  “That’s it?”

  “You want to stay, have a donut with us?”

  Jimmy actually laughed. “Definitely not.” He stood up, slipping his black leather jacket on. It made him feel better, like he was already transitioning into his skin, his neighborhood. It served as a good reminder to him that he had business of his own here. He turned to the younger detective, hesitated, words forming on his tongue.

  “Something else, McSwain?”

  “Yeah, I got a question for you, Larry.”

  Not detective. This was personal.

  “Now what?”

  “What the fuck is up with your brother?”

  Dean shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He shot a look Barone’s way, who raised his hands, keeping his distance from the shift in direction. Larry was on his own, and he said, defensively, “Mickey’s not even in town, hasn’t been in months, and only then for a family visit. He doesn’t live in New York anymore.”

  “Well he’s back for an extended visit, it seems.”

  “I’d know.”

  “You wouldn’t know your own shit, Larry. Mickey beat the crap out of my cousin, Kellan, Sunday morning, early.”

  “Even if he’s in town, Mickey doesn’t operate that way.”

  “His goons do, at his command. You see him, tell him he doesn’t want to see me, but see me he will.”

  Jimmy didn’t wait for a reply, because whatever Larry Dean would have for him would be worth shit, like all the Deans. Larry…hell, their father, Lieutenant Lawrence Dean, Sr., they had been protecting Mickey his entire life. The same genes that had produced two dedicated cops also spawned a thug who seemed to lack any sort of conscience. Jimmy simply turned around and made his exit from the interrogation room and, seconds later, the precinct itself. It was only once he was outside and the cold air attacked him that he realized he’d escaped without seeing Captain Frisano. Enough confrontation this morning, enough raw emotion.

  Jimmy started uptown, avoiding the subway, avoiding the available cabs.

  This time he walked, his shoes smacking hard against the sidewalks of Manhattan, his steps determined. It felt good to embrace the cold. He could breathe after the suffocating warmth of the interrogation room, even as his mind churned over all that had happened. A nasty killer was out there, one with a vicious streak of vengeance. Then there was Mickey Dean, back in Hell’s Kitchen from wherever he’d been hiding out. Jimmy knew his caseload hadn’t diminished with the murder of Henderson Carlyle but had grown exponentially and way more dangerously.

  § § § §

  Jimmy arrived home just in time to see his cousin hanging up his coat. His mother, a wooden spoon in her hand, bussed her nephew’s bruised cheek.

  “Kellan, I’m glad you’re able to stay in town for a few more days. It’s nice to have family around.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Maggie. Never been to a Monday McSwain dinner. I’m honored.”

  “Yeah, these nights, they’re usually for immediate family only,” said Meaghan.

  From the entrance way, Jimmy tossed his sister a disapproving look. He crossed the room, picked up a piece of celery from the tray of snacks. He dipped it into some dressing, the crunch loud in the silence. Meaghan ignored him and rubbed her growing belly.

  “Hush now, Meaghan. That’s no way to talk to your cousin.”

  “It’s hard enough to look at him,” she said.

  While Maggie waved her childish comment away, returning to the kitchen to stir a pot on the stove, Jimmy grabbed two bottles of Bass Ale from the fridge, one for himself, one for Kellan. He popped the tops and walked back into the living room and handed one to his bruised cousin. The swelling had gone down, but the purple glow around his eyes recalled a summer’s dusk. Kellan also confessed he was also still feeling the ache; apparently they’d pounded his ribs a few times, too, or maybe it was from the toss down the stairs. Kellan gratefully took the beer, took a pull.

  “Gee, Meaghan, you’re going to be such a sensitive mother,” Jimmy said. “Can’t wait for that first scraped knee.”

  Meaghan offered him the finger, which didn’t go unnoticed by Maggie, who just now came from the kitchen with a tray of cheese and crackers to complement the veggies.

  “I don’t care what mood you’re in, Meaghan, you watch your tone and your manners.”

  Meaghan went into pout mode, concentrating on the television and blowing a bubble from the gum she was endlessly chewing. It popped and splattered all over her face. Jimmy had a comment or two for that but didn’t want to add to the tension or hear his mother’s rebuke. Not that this banter was anything new, the McSwains were a loving family at heart that never shied away from a cutting barb or a back-and-forth bicker. Who was missing was the great mediator, his oldest sister Mallory, who would be coming from work and had texted she was delayed. She was the only one who got out of the neighborhood, living and working as a lawyer on the East Side.

  “What’s for dinner, Ma?” Jimmy asked.

  “Pot roast, steamed potatoes, carrots, fresh gravy.”

  “Traditional,” Kellan said. “My mom does take-out a lot.”

  Maggie harrumphed. “Your mother did a lot of take-out in her life, otherwise she might still be with your dad.”

  Darcy Byrne wasn’t the nicest of people by any stretch, and Maggie’s dislike for her had never been a secret. She’d divorced Paddy when the boys were teenagers, taking them with her to Florida, despite his protests. But for the sake of the boys’ mental health, he let it happen, and thankfully his bond with his sons remained strong over the years, stronger now that they were adults and fully realizing who they had for a mother. Still it was one thing to know it and another to hear it. Jimmy noticed his cousin offered up only a silent defense of his mother’s actions. Maggie didn’t push it either, and the moment was interrupted by the front door opening and Mallory arriving just in time. The time was six twenty-two.

  “Sorry I’m late, Ma,” Mallory said. “I had to walk across town. The traffic through Times Square is a nightmare.”

  “And it will be that way ’til January. Too many tourists,” Meaghan said.

  Maggie harrumphed. “What do you know about that? You’ve haven’t been east of 9th Avenue in a month. Kevin’s been filling in nicely for you. I may just replace you. Oh speaking of, he can’t work Wednesday night. Jimmy, can you pick up a shift for me? I’m strapped for subs.”

  Jimmy never liked to say “No” to his mother, not when she was in a bind, but he had plans. “Wednesday doesn’t work, sorry,” he said, not offering a reason.

  The three women—his mother, two sisters—stopped what they were doing, all of them staring at Jimmy.

  “Plans?”

  “A date?”

 
; “A case?”

  Maggie, Meaghan, Mallory, iIn that order Jimmy gave his cousin a grateful look. “Glad to have you as back-up tonight, Kellan.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Mallory said, dropping her briefcase and kissing Jimmy’s scruffy cheek.

  “And it’s as good an answer as you’re going to get.”

  “Jimmy’s got a new boyfriend,” Meaghan said in an immature chant.

  “See what I have to deal with?” Jimmy said, raising his beer bottle toward Kellan.

  “Never had sisters, just a lughead of a brother.”

  “Hush all of you, dinner’s ready.”

  When Maggie McSwain speaks, you listen. Jimmy took up the rear as his two sisters and his cousin got up and settled at the kitchen table, and it was only then that Jimmy realized that their ordinary order of things had been upset by the arrival of someone else at their tradition. Other than the usual chair occupied by his mother, only one other seat remained, that one always kept empty. The chair was occupied years ago by Joseph McSwain, and since his death remained a memorial to him for all his leadership meant to the family. Kellan had taken up Jimmy’s usual seat. Maggie spun around, gravy boat in her hand, and she suddenly stopped.

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought….”

  Joseph McSwain’s beer glass was there, chilled, the beer still with foam at the top.

  “Did I do something wrong, Aunt Maggie?”

  “Not at all, you sit right where you are. Jimmy, I think it’s time…take your place.”

  “Your place.” Two simple words but loaded with history, with deep emotion. Jimmy’s eyes hit the chair like a missile hitting its target. The impact was profound, heart-shaking. He felt sweat form on his forehead. A thumping hit his heart. The cooling beer on the table called out to him like a spark shot out from the bottle in his hands, a connection felt through the years. At last father and son could share a beer, raise a glass to their bond. Jimmy blinked and realized everyone was staring at him. He swallowed, hard, and then he gently sat in the seat they’d always saved for his father. Jimmy had never sat there before, not even in a fit of fantasy. It was a seat of respect, the head of the table, the leader of the household. He stared back at everyone, seeing Kellan in his seat, feeling both empty and full at the same time like life had shifted, the world had altered, Joseph was alive, and Jimmy was his embodiment.

  Maggie didn’t let the effect linger. She said a prayer for the meal, their hands gathered.

  Then the meal began, food served, silverware scraping against plates. Genial talk ensued.

  “Sting and Trudy Styler came to the show Saturday night. Stephanie was busy with a patron, so I got to escort them backstage,” Maggie said. “They were so kind.”

  “Taylor and I are heading to Savannah for the weekend…finally not a case. Just…fun.”

  Maggie paused. “I don’t like that word, ‘fun.’”

  “Ma, it means ‘sex,’” Meaghan said.

  Maggie gave her youngest daughter a fierce look, blue eyes downward to her belly. “I’m well aware of the words you young kids use, young lady, as are you.”

  Jimmy noticed Kellan digging into his pot roast with abandon, eyes down. “Don’t worry, Cuz. It’s just the usual dinner talk. No one takes it seriously, and no one walks away from the table angry. It’s just our way of getting things off our chest.”

  “Speaking of, Jimmy, who is this mystery man?” Mallory offered a teasing smile.

  “The hot cop?” Meaghan asked. “He’s sexy. Shame he’s gay.”

  “Girls, would you leave your brother alone? When he’s ready, he’ll tell us.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  She patted his arm “You’ll tell me later.”

  Jimmy switched the conversation. “Kellan, how long you gonna stick around?”

  “’Til I don’t look like a trauma victim. Don’t want any trouble at the airport.”

  “That all?”

  Kellan drank his beer. “We’ll see. Perspective has a way of making things clearer.”

  “Don’t go looking for trouble, not with Mickey.”

  “Mickey Dean?” Maggie asked. “I haven’t heard his name in years. Awful boy. Is that who did that to you? I should call Maureen and give her a piece of my mind.”

  “Ma, forget about Mickey. Kellan, you’d best forget him too.” Jimmy paused. “He wasn’t after you, anyway.”

  Maggie’s fork paused before her mouth. “Which means what?”

  “Nothing to get into here, Ma,” Jimmy said, feeling a sudden sense of pride consume him, sounding like the man who once sat at the head of the table. Maggie didn’t look pleased at being shut down, but she also liked to keep the peace around her dinner table. The conversation shifted again with talk of Mallory’s trip taking them full circle. Jimmy half-listened, his eyes continually shifting to his cousin and wondering just what he was planning. He hoped Kellan wasn’t going to do anything stupid. He’d seen the result of vengeance the other night. It wasn’t pretty.

  Finally dinner plates were cleared, and Maggie brought out a pound cake with vanilla ice cream, and the family indulged their dessert. Jimmy sat there, feeling restless. He’d spent most of the day at his office, catching up on paperwork for a couple of his recent cases, all harmless ones, none of which amounted to much in the way of cash flow, which is what made Serena Carson’s case appealing to him. He deposited her check into his account too. He had also considered calling her but ultimately decided to leave the Carlyle case to the cops, as he’d been advised. Whoever killed him was none of his business and would only complicate his life further. Jimmy offered to do the dishes, inviting Kellan to help him.

  “Nonsense, he’s a guest,” Maggie said.

  “It’s okay, Aunt Maggie. It’s my pleasure to help out.”

  “Sounds like male bonding,” Meaghan said. “I’m going to watch Jeopardy!.”

  The ladies retired to the living room, and Jimmy began to clean up after dinner. Kellan grabbed a dish towel.

  “I assume you wanted to talk to me in private?”

  “I’m serious, Kellan. Mickey Dean is no one to mess with. Last time he was in town, he’d gotten into some bad stuff. He was upping his game.”

  “Like what?”

  “Drugs, guns, money laundering.” He paused. “Beating the crap out of people for the fun of it was just for sport.”

  “So what do you think he’s up to this time? I mean, why the warning?”

  “I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “Doesn’t mean I won’t know soon enough.”

  “So I’m not to mess with him, but you can?”

  “I’m a trained professional.”

  “You’re the weirdest gay guy I know, such a tough guy.”

  Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you have gay friends? You telling me something?”

  “Uh, remember Sally from the other night? I think she’d put a crimp in your suggestion.”

  “I’m serious, Kellan. Stay away from him.”

  “It’s not like he’s ever killed someone, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy thought about that. He didn’t like where his mind went, down a dark path.

  “Nobody can be sure of that.”

  Kellan dried a dish and went to put it away in the nearby cabinet, when it slipped from his grip. The ceramic plate crashed to the kitchen floor, shattering into numerous sharp-edged pieces. Jimmy assured him it was okay, calmed his mother too who poked her head in. He said he’d clean it up then suggested that maybe they head out for a couple beers at Paddy’s.

  “Your dad will be glad to see you,” Jimmy said.

  Kellan grabbed his coat and thanked his aunt, while Jimmy picked up the shards of the broken plate. One of them sliced into his left thumb, and he watched as the blood bubbled out from the cut. Silently he hoped it wasn’t an omen of things to come. He felt a sudden chill wash over him, like someone had walked over a grave, and he stole a look back at his father’s chair, once again empty.

  Empty forever.

  Jim
my could sit there. He could never fill it.

  Chapter Five

  Paddy’s Pub was its typically busy night on Monday. As a neighborhood bar, it catered to a lot of actors, stagehands, and others who made their livelihoods in the nearby theatres, so with most shows dark on the first day of the week, the intimate space tended to draw those who considered this day their weekend. Jimmy and Kellan took two empty seats at the far edge of the bar, facing the front entrance, while Paddy quickly served up two pints of Guinness without either of them having ordered. It took a moment for the drafts to settle before they could enjoy the first sip.

  “Perfect,” Jimmy said.

  “Thanks, Pa,” Kellan said.

  Jimmy took a second sip, savoring the bitter taste. It felt appropriate. His thumb wrapped in a Band-Aid, his wound from earlier covered but not forgotten like so much of his life.

  Looking around, Jimmy saw mostly familiar faces, a few newbies. Watching TV, playing pool or darts, or just laughing over some off-color joke or rude comment, it was the playground of the relaxed, and Jimmy wished he could partake in the frivolity. He was on edge, but then again he lived his life that way, almost like premonitions hid inside him, peeking out occasionally to warn him of something soon to happen. His instincts were dead-on, as not ten minutes after they had sat down, the door to the pub opened, a wisp of wind sweeping in, or, perhaps more accurately, swept out of some natural instinct. The air seemed to be sucked out of the narrow bar with almost fierce determination, like it knew not to stick around for the upcoming drama. Jimmy didn’t see the man at first. Kellan did, and it was only after his cousin gripped his forearm did Jimmy look up and see what had caught his attention. Immediately the hair on Jimmy’s neck tingled, hackles raised in defense. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe he wasn’t.

  Mickey Dean was as easy to pick out here as he was in a police line-up. It might have been a few years since Jimmy had seen him, but you never forgot a guy like this. He didn’t let you. His physical stance said it all. If he wasn’t in control, he was looking for it. He’d aged a bit. A tough life will do that.

  He cut an intimidating figure, filling up the doorway. He was flanked by two smaller men. All of them looked like they spent a lot of time at the gym, too much time. Jimmy thought a prison gym would offer them the ideal membership deal. None of them would qualify as boy scouts, but he had no doubt they were prepared for anything.