by David Putnam
Shadows from the fire danced around, creating a strobe in their faces and reflected in their eyes, deepening the overall sadness. A path in the crowd opened up to reveal Lieutenant Robby Wicks and Sergeant Coffman standing together sharing a pint bottle of Jack.
I approached them, all eyes on me now. A vast emptiness filled my insides. Wicks offered the pint to me. I waved it off. Neither one said anything. Though, I knew exactly what Wicks would say. In a few days after the sharp edge of loss simmered to a bearable heat, he’d take me aside and say, “When you chase violence, sometimes it turns and bites back.” An adage he carried around his back pocket that he thought soothed all ills. In his life maybe.
I spoke first. “I just came home to get my car. Would you have these guys clear cars away from mine so I can get out? I just want to talk to my dad, kiss my daughter, then I’m going back out.”
Coffman said, “Just where the hell you think you’re going tonight?”
“After Gadd.”
Coffman looked to Wicks, waiting for him to tell me no. Wicks held my eyes and said nothing. He tilted back the pint and took on two large gulps. Coffman looked pale, washed out, like a cut rose left out in the sun. He said, “What the hell, Bruno? We’ve got the whole damn department out looking for that asshole. What do you think you’re going to do that they can’t? And you’re a direct participant in what happened. You’re emotionally involved. No way. Department regs says no chance.”
“What am I going to do? I’m going to find him and—and take him down.” In the yard behind me stood too many witnesses to say what I really intended to do to Gadd.
“No you’re not,” Coffman said. “You’re off for two weeks. That’s an order.” This time he didn’t look at Wicks for approval.
Had the ram that Coffman wielded against the door at 11431 Willowbrook not bounced off, Ned and I would’ve been through the window of death in time to brace D’Arcy before he raised the gun. And Ned would still be alive. Even Tiny Tina could’ve taken that flimsy door with the ram, taken it down in one whack.
I lowered my voice and said to Coffman, “Time for you to retire, old man.” Words I knew I’d regret later on. As I passed by him heading to the porch, he took the dead cigar from his mouth and grabbed my arm. The wet smack of the cigar slapped up against my skin. He got right up in my face, angry, his breath hot and musty with tobacco. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that. You’re nothing but a wet-nosed punk, and you will do what I order you to do. You will take the time off.” He lowered his voice. “That thing at Merchants Bank could go a different way. I could tell the truth, put in my report that I ordered you to stand down and you went against a direct order. And, son, that’s a terminating offense.”
I lowered my voice even further, moved in closer almost up to his ear, and whispered, “I heard what you said to Tina Mitchell at the back of the ambulance. Who do you think she’ll back if it comes down to it? Put your papers in, old man, you’re through.”
Coffman staggered back, his tan face going even paler in the firelight, his mouth sagging open. In the shadowy light, he looked cadaverous.
Wicks screwed the cap onto the Jack and tossed it over the top of the crowd of grieving deputies. Someone caught it, pulled it down out of the air. Wicks said to me, “I’m going with you. Just let me get a shotgun and some extra magazines. I’ll meet you by my car in five.”
I looked back at Coffman as he eased down into a sitting position in the grass. I felt bad for having taken him off at the knees, but God damn I loved Ned. And if Coffman stuck around, he’d only get someone else hurt or killed. Even so, the sorrow I felt for Coffman didn’t penetrate that vast emptiness inside me. Only one thing would: putting a bullet in Gadd. I’d give him all six.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I MOUNTED THE steps. People inside moved out of the way to let me enter. Dad stood in the kitchen, holding Olivia. I went to him, took her out of his arms, and buried my face in a hug. She smelled great, baby powder and little girl. She patted the side of my head with her tiny soft hand. “You ungry, Pop Pop? Is the monster ungry?” She wanted to play our game. I pulled her back and looked at her; the innocence and the truth she spoke took my breath away. “Yes, baby, Pop Pop is ungry.” I handed her back to Dad.
He took her. “I’m sorry about what happened to Ned, Son. That’s just awful. I am so sorry.” He reached out and put a warm hand on my arm. I turned away so I wouldn’t break down right there and cry—cry for days and days.
“Yes, it is. I have to go out.”
“When you comin’ back?”
I looked around at all the folks in our house, neighbors, friends, but mostly cops, who silently looked on. I needed more than anything to be alone, and these folks violated that solitude. I looked back at Dad. “I’ll be back when the job’s done.”
“You sure you shouldn’t have some rest first? You look terrible and on the verge of collapse.”
“No.”
“You be careful then.”
I didn’t expect that from him. I expected him to try and convince me to stay home with my daughter where I belonged. Insist upon it.
Then I remembered my promise to Ned. “Dad, where’s Beth?”
He looked away from me for just a second, before looking back. “This morning a deputy knocked on the door. He had a court order in his hand. I didn’t know what to do. I thought you said Child Protective Services was coming and they did, but not until later, about an hour later. They showed up too late. But before that I didn’t know what to do about the deputy standing in our living room with a piece of paper signed by a judge. I’m sorry, Son, I think they gave that poor child back to her mother.”
“It’s not your fault, you understand? You did the right thing. I’ll take care of it.” I turned and headed back out.
On the stoop, I hesitated. Off to the left and down the street at the corner, a silver BMW bumped the front tires over the curb and rolled slowly down the sidewalk headed to our house. The deputy with the shotgun stepped aside to let it pass. The BMW came right into the yard and stopped by the fifty-five-gallon drum with the ebbing fire. The crowd filled in back around the car. Shadows flickered and danced off the tinted windows. Everyone stayed silent, waiting to see what would happen next.
I’d never seen such pure, unmitigated arrogance in the way JB just drove into my yard, the yard of the house where Ned had been staying. I fought down the rage. JB had been the catalyst of Ned’s anger at me. He’d stolen Hannah away with money, turned her head away from Ned, broke them up as a couple.
The passenger door opened and out stepped Hannah, her eyes and face puffy from crying. She wore a plain white hundred-dollar tee shirt tucked into denim pants with black cowboy boots. Her wavy blond hair fell loose about her shoulders.
She stood by the open car door looking up at me, her blue eyes pleading to end her pain, her grief. She wouldn’t get that from me. I didn’t have it to offer. She didn’t move. “Bruno?”
I took the three steps down the stoop to the ground. She launched right at me. I took her in my arms and hugged her. Hugged her like I never hugged anyone before. She hugged back.
She finally whispered into my neck. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
I didn’t answer, couldn’t.
“Tell me, Bruno.” Her voice a whisper, barely audible. “Did he … did he die because of me? Was his mind somewhere it shouldn’t have been? Did he hesitate? Was it me, Bruno?”
Her words made me flash back for the thousandth time to the entry into that house, and in my mind’s eye, I witnessed again the flash and noise from Ned firing his gun.
He’d fired first.
I realized right then, Ned had fired first. He’d missed. Ned never missed.
A part of me wanted to tell her the truth, but at that moment whom would the truth benefit? It could only cause more grief and pain and solve nothing.
I pulled her away to look into her eyes. “No, it was just a bad set of
circumstances that all came together at the same time.”
She sobbed and gulped. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “But there is something you should know.”
I took her back into the hug and whispered. The crowd didn’t need to hear our personal business.
“Hannah … Hannah.” She nodded, waiting for me to tell her. “Ned asked me to look after Beth, to make sure—”
Hannah tried to pull away. “What? Wha—”
I held on and wouldn’t let her pull back.
“Listen to me. Just listen. Beth has been abused.”
Hannah let out a little scream and fought until I let her go. “What the hell are you talking about?” She stood with the firelight dancing on her blond hair, her fists clenched.
“JB used a cord and whipped the bottom of her feet.”
Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. On the other side of the BMW, the driver’s door opened. JB had heard what I’d said through Hannah’s open passenger door. His head popped up over the roof of the car.
“No!” Hannah yelled. “That’s not true. I don’t believe you.” She hurried the few steps back to the BMW and flung open the back door. Beth was sleeping in a car seat, her head cocked to one side. Hannah, in her rush, yanked off Beth’s little shoes and woke Beth, who let out a yelp. Hannah’s back went stiff as she screeched, “Oh my God. Oh my God.” She pulled out of the car and looked at JB, who now walked around, taking off his black leather designer jacket. He tossed it on the trunk deck of his car. He wore a red silk shirt open in a vee at the top, revealing his chest hair and a thick gold chain around his neck. His black denim pants covered most of his rattlesnake-skin cowboy boots.
“What have you done?” Hannah yelled. “What have you done to my baby?”
“Of course, that isn’t true, babe. It’s a lie. Think about it. Beth has been with Ned and—”
I went at him. He would not disparage Ned’s name, especially with a false accusation. Coffman and Gibbs grabbed me, tried to hold me back and couldn’t. Several more deputies jumped on and stopped the ass-kicking JB so richly deserved.
Hannah came over to JB. “Did you hit my baby?”
“No. He’s lying. Honey, who are you going to believe?”
She looked at me. “Bruno?”
I relaxed, and so did the grip from all the guys restraining me. “Hannah, have I ever lied to you?”
She gulped hard and slowly shook her head, no.
“Now,” I said. “Has this piece of shit ever lied to you? The injuries on Beth’s feet are scarred. Ned couldn’t have done it.”
She spun on JB. “You son of a bitch.” She went at him, clawing and slapping and kicking.
JB put his hand on her face and shoved her down. He turned and faced me and the group of men holding me. “You’ve meddled in my life once too often. Let him go.” He started rolling up his sleeves.
Coffman yelled, “Get the hell outta here, Johnny. You got two minutes or I’ll tell these boys to take you down and book you for felony child abuse. See how you’ll like that in prison as an ex-cop and a child abuser. They’ll eat your lunch the minute you get there.”
“You got no evidence. Let him go. This has been a long time coming.”
Wicks shoved his way through the crowd and into the circle that had opened up around us. The fire in the barrel had started to die down even more as no one paid attention to it. Now someone stoked it with pieces of broken wood pallet. Darkness crept in fighting back the orange from the shortened flames licking at the emptiness contained in the evening. Even in the low light, anyone could see JB had spent his time in the gym working out since his medical retirement from the Sheriff’s Department. He’d put on twenty-five pounds of muscle. He’d be hard to take. Not that I cared.
Off to the right, the crowd of deputies surged to reveal an apparition. Ned stood there with a bullet hole under his eye. “Partner, you’re gonna need a BFR, a big fuckin’ rock, like the kind we used on ol’ Willis Simpkins.” He shot me that smile of his. Fatigue and grief made strange bedfellows. I rubbed my eyes and he disappeared.
Wicks said, “Let Bruno go.”
Coffman said, “No.”
Wicks said, “On my responsibility, let him go. You boys back off and give them some room. JB’s been needing his ass kicked for a long time now.”
JB scoffed at Wicks. “You so sure Bruno can kick my ass?”
“Bruno?” Dad stood just inside the front door with his head sticking out, holding Olivia on the other side so she couldn’t see the foolish folly of her pop.
The group of men let me go. I looked at JB and said, “Dad, please go back inside. I know you don’t—”
“Bruno!”
I turned to look at Dad. His arm came out the door in a blur. The ball bat flew through air. I caught it. Dad said, “Just do it right, Son. No one hurts a helpless child. No one.”
His words stunned me.
JB said, “Go ahead, use the bat—it won’t do you any good.”
I threw the bat to the side. “I won’t need a bat.” I suddenly found a place to vent my anger and grief, a violent place of quiet calm.
We moved toward each other, fists raised.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
THE FIRELIGHT ROSE, brightened as the new fuel found the heat in the drum. When he unbuttoned his red silk shirt and shrugged out of it, JB’s shoulder muscles looked more like brown softballs protruding from his slingshot tee shirt. His eye sockets flickered in and out of shadow. The crowd yelled and surged, slopping the cheap beer out of their red plastic cups. The air filled with a cloud of dirt that carried the scent of wet hops, wood smoke, and burnt oil.
I came straight in. Fists up, too hungry for him for me to think strategy and foot position as Dad had taught me. I swung and caught air. JB scoffed, “Hah,” and easily sidestepped out of the way. He swung. His answering fist caught me behind the ear. The night’s darkness lit up with a thousand specks of light brighter than the sun. I pivoted on my feet as he followed in and caught me on the jaw. The thousand specks flickered just that quickly and went out. For a second everything turned black. Then the world came back on. Energy left my knees, and I wilted to the ground. He came in quick and kicked me in the side. I went over onto hands in the dirt, gasping.
Wicks stepped in and shoved JB away mid-kick when he came at me for another. “Not while he’s down. Step back. Get back, you asshole.” He shoved JB again, then came over and tried to help me to my feet. With his mouth close to my ear, his breath sweet with Jack Daniels, he said, “You want me to call it? I’m going to call it. You’re in no condition—” I shoved him away and turned to face JB.
JB grinned, the orange firelight dancing on his overly tanned face. “I hoped you weren’t going to be this easy. I’m havin’ too much fun for it to end so soon.”
Like a fool I came in again, instead of letting him come at me and circling like I should’ve. I let out a yell so filled with grief it came up from the bottoms of my feet and sounded alien even to me. I swung a long sweeping roundhouse. JB giggled like a little girl, stepped inside the swing, and caught me in the ribs with a sledgehammer blow that knocked the wind out of me. I continued on into the crowd of deputies, who propped me up and offered their support—“You can do it. Don’t let him on the inside like that. Come on, kick his ass,” and other useless suggestions. I’d been up for two days without food or sleep and could hardly see straight, let alone fight someone of JB’s size and experience.
Wicks stepped in front of me as I tried to reengage JB. With one hand on my shoulder, he tried to put a roll of quarters in my hand. I let them drop to the ground. His words came out urgent. “Don’t be a fool, he’s going to mop the dirt with you. Go for his knee. He went out on a medical for his knee. Kick his knee out from under him.”
I shoved Wicks and got clear of him. The way I felt, I welcomed the pain. I preferred the physical pain over the gut-wrenching grief of losing my best friend. Ned.
Ned.
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I went at JB again just like the first two attempts, only this time I focused on my footing. When he sidestepped like before and chuckled, I stopped short and rabbit-punched him in the throat. Caught him solid. The crowd cheered.
His eyes went large. Both hands flew to his throat as he made a noise of a steam engine going up a steep grade. I circled behind him, came in, and gave him a shot to the kidneys. And then a second one in the same place that sent him to his knees. He’d be pissing blood for a week, and each time he’d see pink in the bowl he’d remember this.
Dizziness suddenly shook my world and took over all else. It tilted the ground this way and that. I staggered to keep my balance. JB fell back, sat on his butt, still gasping and holding his throat. He sat back further on his butt, his legs going straight out in front of him like a disheartened kid on the playground. I continued to stagger backward and sat on the porch steps, my head and eyes and ribs throbbing from the blows I’d taken. Fatigue had me by the throat, had me on the ropes with all the emotions of the day piling on.
I blinked several times to right the world. JB suddenly turned into the little girl trapped under her father’s station wagon in the parking lot of the Mayfair Market. She—I mean—JB keened just as the little girl had while she clawed at the tire. I shook my head and the world shifted back into high gear. The keening had really come from Hannah, who, off to the side, cuddled and soothed little Beth. She held her the same way Dad had held the girl from under the station wagon with one arm under her legs as he tried to hand her off to me.
I looked into the crowd one more time searching for Ned, hoping he’d reappear so I could tell him how sorry I was about what happened. He didn’t show. Of course he wouldn’t. I leaned over and put my cheek on the coolness of the wooden step, closed my eyes, and tried to conjure Ned’s smile. I really needed to see that smile.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I WOKE IN a bedroom, one unfamiliar and strange. I didn’t really care. My face throbbed along with my ribs. Ned yelling “Go get ’em, partner, you can take ’em. Kick their asses” echoed in my head and made me smile. Ned was really something else.
