Playing With Fire

by Dirk Greyson

  “We think he might have a concussion, and we need to have him checked,” one of the EMTs said as Barty was whisked away.

  Captain Westin assigned Tag to follow him, then turned to Jim. “What happened?”

  “He was here, waiting. As soon as I deactivated the alarm and we were inside, Mason knocked Barty out and held me at gunpoint. He disarmed me, and I slid my weapon as best I could toward Barty and then slowly led Gardener away. I had no idea if Barty could hear what was going on or not. He didn’t show any signs of being conscious, but when Mason was about to shoot me, Barty sprang into action and shot Gardener first.” Jim was still shaking. “He’s a hero, Captain, without a doubt. I don’t know how much he heard, but he acted just in time to save me.”

  “Did the suspect say anything?”

  Jim nodded. “He confessed to the whole thing. He wanted to set the world to rights, in his own mind anyway. Barty was right on the entire time. Gardener was smart and thought everything should have gone his way. He intended to kill me, Barty, and then my sister and her family before probably taking his own life.”

  “But why shoot people on the street?”

  “It seems he blamed what he called Main Line people for holding him back. So I suspect that what started as a way to get even with the world narrowed to Barty and my sister. Barty because he could have caught him, and my sister because of their history.” Jim was getting antsy. He wanted to get to the hospital to see how Barty was doing, but he had a job to do here. “At least it’s over. I’m sure Barty will be able to break down the psychology much better than I can, but let’s just say the guy was off his nut.” To say the very least. “He thought he was smarter than everyone else, but it was that hubris that brought him down. If he’d have backed away, it would have been nearly impossible for us to catch him.”

  “Probably. But it isn’t likely his psychological state would ever have allowed that. As long as the source of the inequity existed, he couldn’t let it go.”

  Jim knew Captain Westin was right, but he, Deidre, and Barty, as well as his family, had almost paid a very dear price for his craziness.

  “Let’s get your statement and finish up here. Then you can go to see Barty.”

  Jim nodded and sat down with one of the other officers, explaining in detail what he’d seen and what had happened. “Is he dead?” Jim asked Captain Westin once he was done.

  “Yes. Barty got him square in the back, and it must have ripped him up good inside. It was a good shot, and it isn’t likely he suffered for very long. I know that’s little comfort, but it might be to Barty.”

  Jim remembered the first time he’d discharged his weapon at a suspect. He’d killed the man, and sometimes he still saw his face in his sleep. It didn’t matter that he’d been threatening him with a gun at the scene of the crime and had the money from the robbery on his person. Ending someone’s life was never to be taken lightly, and Barty had done just that to protect him.

  “When the time comes, I’ll tell him.” Jim waited until the entire kitchen area of his home had been processed, photographed, and reviewed. Finally, after several hours, he was able to leave and went right to the hospital.

  BARTY HAD been moved to a room and seemed asleep when Jim walked in. At least he only seemed asleep, as opposed to knocked out on the kitchen floor. For as long as Jim lived, he would never forget that sight. It was indelibly etched in his mind, and he was sure he’d see it in his dreams for some time to come. He didn’t want to wake Barty so he stood quietly in the doorway.

  “Jim,” Barty said after a while, opening his eyes and turning his head on the pillow. “I could feel you looking at me.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “If you hadn’t, I’m sure a nurse would have been in to make sure I was responsive. They check every twenty minutes, I swear. That’s the thing about hospitals. It’s for sick people, and sleep is the best medicine, but they never let you sleep. Or at least they won’t let me sleep.”

  “It’s the concussion thing.”

  “They said I’ll probably come home tomorrow. They want to monitor me overnight.” Barty closed his eyes, and Jim walked to the bed and took his hand, a feeling of rightness and contentment washing over him. “How did it go after they took me away?”

  “They gathered everything and will run ballistics to prove that the shooting was justified in case there are any questions, but it’s nothing to worry about. He had me at gunpoint, and you’re a hero.”

  “Is he dead?” Barty asked in a whisper.

  “Yes,” Jim answered.

  “So I killed someone.” Barty’s voice was barely audible. “How do you deal with something like that?”

  “You don’t.” Jim pulled up a chair and sat, then took Barty’s hand again. “It isn’t something you deal with—it’s something you accept. You were only protecting me… us. What you did was right. He was going to shoot me.”

  “I know. I acted without thinking. I couldn’t let you die. I didn’t know what I’d do if you weren’t around. Penelope likes you, and I think….” He trailed off, but then he picked up his thought. “I’ve lived alone for a long time and thought I would forever. I don’t want to do that again,” Barty said quietly. “I know that isn’t very romantic, but I don’t have good words for how I feel. This is all so new for me.”

  “You don’t need to be flowery. Simple words are sometimes the best. Like the fact that, when I saw you on the floor, knocked out, part of me wished he’d hurt me instead of you. I wanted to tear him apart for hitting you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love you.” That was the simplest and most direct answer to a question that Jim could ever remember giving. It was the truth, and hiding it or beating around the bush wasn’t right. He needed to say it, and Barty needed to know.

  “Good.” Barty closed his eyes once again. “I love you too. It’s hard to know how to say something like that to another person. I mean, is it okay to just say it, or do I need to say something more involved?”

  “What does your heart say?” Jim leaned closer, and Barty kissed him. The touch was light but with enough energy behind it that Jim fingered his tingling lips. “Does it need flowery words? Because I’ll give you anything and everything you want.”

  “Nope. Just you.”

  “Then you have me.” Jim stayed where he was, leaning over the bed, his face near Barty’s. He closed the distance, rubbing his cheek against Barty’s, sharing his warmth. “You just have to promise that you won’t run off to someplace like Boston if you get a better offer.”

  “Don’t want to go anywhere.” Barty reached up and patted Jim’s head. “I’m happy here, and there’s one less killer, so the city’s safer.”

  Jim closed his eyes and let himself be content. They had a long way to go after all the excitement that brought them together, but he was more than ready for some quiet time together.

  JIM WENT in early the next morning to deal with the mountain of paperwork. Barty called just before noon, and Jim took the rest of the day off. He picked Barty up from the hospital and brought him back to his home. At the house, Penelope talked to them as they came in, and followed Barty up the stairs. When Jim got him into bed, Penelope settled next to Barty and stayed there as if she knew he wasn’t feeling well.

  “I’m not an invalid,” Barty said, trying to stifle a yawn.

  “Right. You only got a few hours of sleep, so rest, and I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” Jim left and got Barty some water and juice. He set the glasses next to the bed in his room before leaving and closing the door most of the way. He went back down and met the cleaning service at the door, asking them to be quiet while they worked. “No vacuuming today.”

  “Of course,” they said, and Jim went to the family room to watch television.

  Barty joined him after less than an hour, carrying Penelope in his arms. He sat next to Jim, and within half an hour, he was asleep, resting his head on Jim’s shoulder. Barty hadn’t
said anything, but Jim had a feeling that sleeping alone wasn’t something Barty was going to be comfortable with for a while. He knew the dreams would come eventually; they did often enough for him.

  Jim settled Barty on the sofa and put the blanket over him. Penelope found a spot she liked, and Jim moved to the nearby chair and spent the afternoon watching the television and standing guard to keep the dreams away in case Barty needed him. Eventually Jim put his head back and closed his eyes, getting some of the rest he’d been denied for weeks.

  BARTY WOKE with a start, thrashing and covering his head.

  “It’s all right,” Jim said, lightly stroking Barty’s shoulder. “It’s just a dream.” Penelope jumped down and raced off while Jim did his best to calm Barty. “Barty, you need to wake up.”

  “What?” Barty asked. He was half off the sofa, and Jim helped him to get settled again so he wouldn’t fall. “He was here again…. He came back.”

  “It was only a dream. He’s gone and he isn’t coming back.”

  “I know.” Barty relaxed on the cushions.

  “I know you know about things like this, but I can have you come in and talk to someone in the department. We deal with the aftermath of shootings all the time. It might do you some good.”

  “You have a department psychologist?”

  “Of course, and he’s helped a lot of us after shootings. It’s natural to be upset about it, and just because you’re a psychologist yourself doesn’t mean you don’t need someone to talk to.”

  “But what is he going to tell me that I don’t already know? The dreams will fade in time, and I shouldn’t hold in my feelings and try to be strong. I should talk about what happened and let it process. Nothing can change the fact that I was shot at, attacked, and that he was going to kill you, so I shot the bastard first. And if I had to, I’d do it again.” Barty pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Does that make me bad? Like him?”

  Oh God. “No. Of course not.”

  “But I could be him if things had been different. So what if this changes me?”

  “Do you want it to change you?” Jim asked, but Barty shook his head. “You are one of the most self-aware people I’ve ever met. You know what makes you different and why. Sometimes I think that self-awareness creeps you out, but I think it’s what’s saved you all this time. You were aware of who and what you are. So instead of going down Mason’s path, you chose your own.”

  Barty nodded. “You should have been a psychologist.”

  “I like being a police officer, and I think one psychologist in the family is quite enough.” Jim waited for Barty’s reaction and got a bright smile. “See, you already know your own answers. You just have to think about it a little. Besides, I think once you’ve had a little distance and you have a chance to look into things, because I know you will, you’ll see that you and Mason don’t have as much in common as you think.”

  Barty rolled his eyes. “Okay, enlighten me.”

  “I can’t because I don’t have the facts, but he was consumed by hate and jealousy. I don’t see those things in you. You’re a gentle, caring man who needs to learn how to have a little fun.” Jim looked up at the blank television.

  “I don’t think I can play right now, but after my head stops aching, I’ll kick your butt at that driving game.” Barty closed his eyes.

  “You will?”

  “I’m a good driver… when there aren’t a whole bunch of other cars on the road.”

  Penelope meowed as she jumped back on the sofa and began kneading herself a bed near Barty’s feet. Then she lay down, blinking at Jim like he needed to go back to his place because it was nap time. Barty seemed tired once again, and Jim left the room to let him rest.

  His phone rang as he entered the kitchen. “Is it true?” Deidre asked breathlessly when he answered. “It was Mason after all?”

  “Yes. He attacked Barty and me here at the house, and Barty shot him.”

  “I knew I never really liked him. So it’s safe and I don’t have to have the security any longer?”

  “No. But he was obsessed with you and rattled off a list of grievances that centered on you. I’m not saying you did anything wrong, because Mason was clearly not thinking right. But I know you can drive and strive for what you want.”

  “Ambition isn’t a bad thing.”

  “No. Just think about bringing the others along with you.”

  “So this was my fault?” Deidre snapped.

  “No. It was all his fault. Mason is to blame for everything he did. He took everyday events and blew them into huge deals that threatened his self-image and ego. I doubt anything could have changed what happened. If it hadn’t been you as the trigger, it would have been someone else. As you said, he was smart but not willing to do the work. That wasn’t going to get him anywhere in the long run. So either you would have stood in his way, like you did, or it would have been someone else.”

  Deidre was quiet as Jim went upstairs and got the empty glasses from beside the bed and brought them back down to the kitchen. “So what do I do?”

  “Go on with your life as best you can. It’s over now. Be grateful and happy.”

  “So it was definitely Mason. It’s unsettling to know I worked with someone capable of doing those kinds of things.” She sounded much more subdued now.

  Jim wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t sound trite or cliché. “The best thing to do is to face it head-on and truthfully. Be honest and let people form their own opinions. If anyone needs help because of what happened, get it for them. Were there any people particularly close to him in the department?”

  “Not really. He was a loner and didn’t work well with his colleagues.”

  “Look, I’m going to let you go. I need to watch Barty for a few more hours to make sure he’s going to be okay. Tell the girls that I love them and give them each a hug for me.” Jim hung up and found the cleaning ladies, who were finishing up the upstairs bathrooms. He gave them a few instructions and returned to where Barty was sleeping.

  Jim ended up spending much of the rest of the afternoon reading, and he took a nap as well. He hadn’t realized how tired he was or how hard he’d been working these past few weeks until he’d taken a few minutes to slow down.

  “Jim…,” Barty said, jerking Jim from the doze he’d been in. “I should go back to my apartment. I’ve been staying here because of the case, but Penelope and I should go back.”

  Disappointment stabbed through him. Jim had known all along that Barty would go home eventually, but now that the threat had passed, it was time for that to happen and Jim wasn’t sure he wanted Barty to leave. The house was huge, and living there alone was like rattling around in a maze sometimes.

  “You can do whatever you like, Barty. Is that what you want?”

  “It’s what I have to do. I can’t keep staying here and living off you. That’s not right.” Barty lowered his head back onto the pillow. “I’ll pack up my things and go home tomorrow morning. I don’t have that much here, and I can take the train while you’re at work. I need to return to my classes anyway. It’s not fair to have someone else doing my work for me.”

  Jim didn’t argue with him. He liked having Barty staying there. Not only was he less lonely, but Barty filled his time with light and made the house feel alive, something it hadn’t in quite some time. There was no use fighting it, and what Barty said was logical, but it didn’t necessarily make him happy.

  After a while, Jim left the room to make something to eat. He needed something to do. The refrigerator was stocked, so he made some pasta and sauce for dinner, brought a plate to Barty, and turned on the television. They ate and spent much of the evening watching whatever was on until it was time for bed.

  Barty had been injured, and there was no way they could do anything, but Jim was pleased when Barty joined him in his bedroom, and they both climbed under the covers. Barty settled close to him, and Jim cradled him in one arm. He should have been tired. It was late enough, and phy
sically he was still tired, but his mind refused to shut down, so Jim spent much of the night lying awake, listening to Barty and Penelope’s soft snores.

  “I want you to stay here,” Jim said at one point, but Barty was sound asleep. He only wished he’d had the guts to say those words when Barty had been awake to hear them. He wondered why he hadn’t, and it came down to fear. His own and the fact that Barty might not be ready for a step like that. So Jim finally fell asleep, but he didn’t get very much of the rest he needed.

  “WHY ARE you as grumpy as a lion this morning?” Tag asked after the case follow-up meeting.

  Jim wanted to make sure that all reports and statements had been gathered before they closed the case and officially put it to bed. It should have been a happy time, in a way. The threat to the community was removed and people were safe once again, but Jim had been nitpicky about more than one thing, and the others hadn’t been happy about it.

  “I just want this to be right,” Jim answered.

  “Did you and Barty have a fight or something?” Tag asked. “The whole station knows the two of you have a thing for each other. To most of us, it’s no big deal. Did you think we’d be angry or something?”

  “It was mixing work and my private life, so I tried to keep them separate.” It wasn’t like he’d hidden who he was; he just didn’t talk about it.

  “So I take it there is something going on.” Tag pulled up a chair.

  “Why the Gossipy Gertie all of a sudden? Is there some sort of pool started?”

  Tag looked up to where some of the other officers were standing.

  “There is. So what’s the deal?”

  “That’s what I have to find out,” Tag said. “To know who wins.”

  Jim stood and walked to where everyone was grouped and held out his hand. Robbins placed the sheet in it, and Jim looked it over. “Hand me the money,” Jim said flatly, and Robbins reached into his pocket and passed him two twenties. “This is it?” Jim asked and slipped the bills into his own pocket. “You’re all wrong, so I’ll put it in the coffee fund.” He glared at each one. “No, I did not ask Barty to marry me and he turned me down, and no, we did not have a fight… and neither of us is pregnant. God, who was that stupid? Forget it. Don’t answer, you smartasses.” Jim turned and walked away to grumbles from behind him.