The Reckless

by David Putnam

  “Ollie, you know where Gadd is layin’ his head?”

  She took another taquito, scooped up a large gob of guac, and put it in her mouth, then nodded in the affirmative.

  My heart raced. Of course she knew. This was Ollie. “You know where I can find Gadd? Really?” I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. I fought to stay calm.

  She chewed and shook her head this time. She swallowed. “No, I know where I kin find his sorry ass, and after I get done with this little snack I’m goin’ after him. I’m gonna pop a cap in his ass, you just wait and see if I don’t. Then you kin come take me ta jail, I don’t care. I’m gonna do it.”

  “Ollie—”

  She froze. Her eyes turned fierce. I held up my hands in surrender. She didn’t trust me anymore, and maybe it was something she thought she just had to do. That’s the way it was for me, and I liked her a little less for her not giving me the information on the man responsible for Ned. I’d just have to follow her.

  My pager went off. I checked it: Dad’s number along with a “911.” With all that had happened recently, I needed to call Dad right away. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Can we talk about this before you do something you’re going to regret? Please, Ollie?”

  She waved her big arm. “Get on wit’ ya. No way are you gonna talk me outta dis. Go on now. I’ll call after it’s done so you kin come pick up the body.”

  I stood. She stopped and watched me. I shot my hand out, grabbed a taquito, and dodged her as she swung at me chuckling. “You really somethin’ else, Bruno Johnson.”

  I didn’t want the taquito but couldn’t toss it to the ground to waste it either. I shoved the whole thing in my mouth as I ran to a pay phone a short way down Long Beach Boulevard. I dialed while I watched Chelsea’s car. Her window came down, but she leaned back in the darkness so I couldn’t see her.

  Dad picked up on the first ring.

  “Dad, it’s me.”

  “It’s awful, Son. It’s just awful.”

  “What? What’s going on?”

  “Here, talk to her.”

  “Who?”

   CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  HANNAH CAME ON the phone, breathless, sobbing. “Bruno! He’s got her. He’s got my baby. You have to do something. Please you have to help me.”

  “Who’s got Beth?”

  But I knew.

  “JB.”

  “Call the police.”

  “I did. They won’t do a thing. He’s got a court order. His family has a judge in their pocket. They have too much money.”

  She’d wanted the bigger life JB’s money had to offer, and now it was working against her.

  Dad came on the phone. “This isn’t right, Son. That man, he’s done harm to that little girl. How can the court give that child back to him? It’s not right.”

  “Dad, put Hannah back on.”

  He handed the phone back to Hannah. I said, “I thought JB went to jail for what he did to Beth.”

  “That’s right, but he bailed out. I’m scared, Bruno. JB’s angry, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. He’s going to take it out on Beth, hurt her for what I’ve done. And the police won’t do a thing about it until it’s already happened. Please, please you have to help.”

  “He’s got the law on his side.”

  Dad must’ve had his ear next to Hannah’s. His faraway voice came over the phone. “Son, if you won’t do something about it, I’m gonna take my ball bat and teach that man how the cow eats the cabbage.”

  I closed my eyes tight. To take any kind of action in this instance would go against what the law prescribed. But I promised Ned I’d take care of Beth. My body went totally calm, the answer obvious, the decision made. I stood up straight. “Hannah, where is he right now?”

  “He’s at their family’s house in Downey. Do you know it? It’s the one where he threw his retirement party.”

  I hadn’t attended but I knew it. “Yes. Listen, I promise you I will take care of this. Put my dad back on.”

  “Yes, Son.”

  “I’m on my way to take care of this, you understand? I don’t want you getting involved.”

  “What are you going to do? You don’t want to ruin your career. This guy’s got the law on his side, Bruno. If you do anything, he can have your job.”

  “It’s okay, I’m just going to talk to him, use a little reason and logic.”

  “That won’t work with this guy. You saw what he was like last night. Let me take a bat to him. It won’t matter if they put me in jail. I can’t lose my job over it, and that way it won’t ruin your career.”

  “Dad, I said I’d take care of it. Promise me you won’t leave the house.”

  Silence.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, I promise, I won’t leave the house.”

  “I’m on my way to handle this. Tell Hannah she’ll have Beth back within the hour. You got that? Stay right there.”

  “Fine, I won’t move.”

  “Thanks, Dad. See you soon.”

  I hung up, dropped another quarter, and dialed Wicks’ desk. He picked up. “Talk to me.”

  “It’s me. I need a surveillance team right now.”

  His tone changed to urgent. “Bruno, whatta you got? I’ll run the op myself. Just tell me what you need.”

  “You know Lucy’s on Long Beach.”

  “Yes, of course I do.”

  “Ollie Bell is there right now, and as soon as she finishes eating, she’s going to drive to where Gadd is staying. She’s driving an old turquoise Caddy; it’s parked out front at the curb.”

  He pulled the phone away from his mouth and yelled, “Gibbs, you and three others, in your cars in the parking lot, now.”

  Back on the phone, he said, “Bruno, why are you telling me this? How come you’re not handling it yourself with some gun smoke therapy?”

  “Something else more important has come up.”

  He paused. “Don’t do it, Bruno. There’s only one thing that would pull you off this asshole Gadd, and JB’s not worth it. Let the law handle it. The law works slow in a case like this, but it does work.”

  This coming from a man who gunned bad guys for a living—took out animals who preyed on victims who couldn’t defend themselves. Took them off the board without due process.

  “I’m telling you as a friend, let this go.”

  “JB bailed out and got Beth back with a court order.”

  Another pause. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just make sure there aren’t any witnesses. If they don’t have pictures, they don’t have shit.”

  “I’m only going to talk to him. Use logic and—”

  “Bruno, it’s me you’re talking to.”

  I said nothing.

  “Go with God, my friend. I’ll take care of Gadd for you. We’re twenty minutes out. We will be there though—you don’t worry about that.” He hung up.

  I ran across the street and got in the passenger side of Chelsea’s car.

  “What’s going on? Who did you call?”

  “Dad. JB took Beth. I have to go get her. I need to ask a big favor.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Bruno, I’m sorry about Beth, I am. But right now, honestly, I think you’re about to play me and I don’t like it.”

  “No, this is the truth. That second call was to Wicks; he’s coming with a full team. He’ll be here in twenty minutes. See that Caddy? In a few minutes my informant is going to leave here and go to where Gadd is hiding out.”

  “So you want me to stay with the car until they get here while you go take care of Beth?”

  “That’s right.”

  She looked into my eyes, then reached and gripped my hand. “All right.”

  I leaned over and kissed her. She put a hand at the back of my head and pulled me into the kiss. The world started to fall away before I realized it. I wanted to stay there. Instead I broke away, huffing, and looked her in the eyes. “Two weeks? The Grand Caymans, huh?”
/>
  “Yes.”

  “Can we talk about it later?”

  “Damn straight we can. Now get out of here and take care of Ned’s kid.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”

  I got out of Chelsea’s car, ran back across the street, and got into my truck.

   CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  I CAUGHT IMPERIAL, a direct route from Lucy’s into Downey. As I drove, I thought of what I’d say to a man like JB. He wasn’t into logical debate, nor one to be deterred from his self-righteous goal, or the way Dad would put it, “Don’t try and take a bone from the mouth of a vicious dog. You’ll get bit for sure.”

  This time, though, that bone happened to be an innocent and vulnerable little girl who didn’t know any better and by nature would only try to please no matter what the abuse. The story Ned told of the little five-year-old boy who put Band-Aids on his dead father returned and added fuel to my anger. Then the question, how to handle the vicious dog, and in JB’s case, a vicious and rabid dog? Only one way came to mind. I was about to get bit.

  I stopped for a red signal at Atlantic Avenue and waited, the anxiety rising with each second. What would I do? What could I do?

  On the sidewalk up ahead, just this side of Duncan Avenue, there lay a crumpled and abandoned kid’s Stingray bike, run over by a car. The signal changed; I hesitated. There really wasn’t time. To hell with it. I pulled to the curb by the bike, and got out. The chain hung loose with one link broken. I untangled it and wrapped the cold steel around my fist. Rabid dogs responded well to chains. The irony that the weapon came from a child’s bike wasn’t lost on me.

  I got in and took off. I wanted to get it over with. I just hoped JB hadn’t hurt Beth any more than he already had.

  I drove faster.

  A couple minutes later I made a left onto Garfield, and all of a sudden slowed and pulled to the side. My mind had started to wander after making the decision to physically take on JB, to make him believe that Beth going with me would be the wisest choice he’d ever make.

  Dad’s words from the phone conversation finally had time to settle in and process. He’d given in far too easily for someone so stubborn. Until that moment I hadn’t heard it in his words. Had I really been listening, his tone would’ve given him away. He’d promised to stay home, said it several times. And I’d missed it.

  I whipped the truck around, the tires screeching. I slammed the gearshift into first and burned rubber. No way would I get there in time.

  Dad would’ve had Hannah call JB and coax him to come over, coached her to tell him she wanted to make up and to come pick her up. Tell him how much she loved him. Oh, and be sure to bring Beth because she missed her so.

  I punched the steering wheel and pushed the truck faster, blowing through red signals once the other cars cleared the intersections.

  Dad had protected Noble and me from gang members while we grew up. I always thought of Dad as the strongest, most capable man in the entire world. Until I became a cop and saw the kind of violence that broke men like him with the flick of a finger. Three pounds of pressure on a trigger was all it took.

  I turned down Nord. JB’s Silver BMW was parked the wrong way at the curb in front of our house. I skidded up and stopped, laying down a white cloud of burnt rubber.

  The only illumination for the front yard came from the naked bulb over the front door. JB, the ball bat in his hand, pulled back to hit Dad again and stopped. Dad lay on the ground at JB’s feet. Dad had his arm up to fend off the spun aluminum that had rained down pain and damaged flesh and bone. Dad wore his blue-gray postal pants and a slingshot tee shirt, spotted with his blood from injuries to his head and face.

  JB looked up and smiled. I turned cold inside. I grabbed the bike chain off the seat and wrapped it around my hand as I got out. JB stepped away from Dad and brought the bat back over his shoulder, ready for the home run ball to be pitched. I roared and charged. I came straight in. He swung. I stutter-stepped, leaned all the way back, and barely kept my balance. The bat whisked by, inches from my face. I recovered just as he brought the bat to his shoulder for another try.

  I stepped in close so he couldn’t use it. With the chain wrapped around my fist, I hit him square in the face. He dropped with a grunt and floundered on the ground, his legs kicking in spasms. I jumped on top of him and hit him again.

  And again.

  I didn’t know how many times I’d hit him when someone put a hand on my shoulder. “Bruno, don’t. No more, he’s had enough. You’re going to kill him.”

  I came out of my blind rage and looked over my shoulder. Dad stood on shaky knees, his face a bumpy mess like a swarm of giant bumblebees had attacked him. He put his hand back on his obviously broken arm and gently propped it up. His expression, what there was of it, looked peaceful and calm. How could that be after what had just happened?

  Sirens. Lots of them.

  “Bruno?” Dad said.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Of course I am. I’ve been hurt worse from old man Levine’s Rottweiler over on Western Avenue.” His bloated lips made his words come out a bit slurred.

  “You’re a rotten liar, Dad. Come over here and sit down.”

  Hannah appeared, took my wrist, and unwound the bike chain from my hand. She took two steps back and tossed it up onto the roof. It clattered and slid but stopped before it came down. She’d been married to Ned long enough to know the rules of the game.

  Two black-and-white patrol cars slid to the curb. Four uniform deputies from Lynwood station jumped out. I didn’t know them personally but recognized one from the wake the night before.

  I held up my badge. “This man attacked my father.”

  One of the deputies jumped on JB, flipped him over, and started to cuff him. His partner said, “No problem, he won’t be bothering you anymore, Detective Johnson.”

  “Thank you. You might want to wait and have med aide take a look at him first.”

  “He can wait. We’ll take him straight to LCMC downtown.”

  “That’s a long way. St. Francis or MLK are closer.”

  “Naw, it’ll give him time to think about what he’s done and give us a chance to talk to him. Make sure he understands.”

  “Understands?”

  “Yeah, that as long as you and your father live in our area, he better not drive within ten miles of this reporting district.”

  “Thank you. Really, thanks. Can you call med aide for my father?”

  “It’s on the way. The new guy here is going to take the paper on this.” The deputy helped his partner drag the moaning JB to the patrol car and shove him in the back seat. They got in and took off.

  Just like that, it was over.

  The fresh-faced rookie stepped up with his notebook open. His training officer said, “Put that away. I already know what happened here. I’ll write it up. We got this, Bruno.” He turned to his trainee. “Call for an 1185 for that BMW, tow it, and list it as ‘driver arrested.’”

  “Thanks again.” I didn’t know how to fully describe my gratitude.

  They turned and walked to the street just as the fire department and ambulance pulled up.

  I looked around. “Where’s Beth?”

  Hannah said, “In the house with Olivia. They didn’t see any of this. I made sure of it. I’m real sorry you got hurt, Xander. I never meant—”

  “Stop it,” he said. “I told you I’m not hurt.”

  He looked like he’d been run over by a truck and spit out the back. It made me want to climb in the back of that patrol car and take that bike chain to JB all over again.

  The paramedics came in close, set their gear down next to Dad, and went to work. One of them came over and took my wrist; that’s when I realized blood was dripping down to the tips of my fingers and to the ground. I’d cut the web of my hand with the bike chain wrapped around it.

  I stood there as he cleaned and bandaged my hand. I watched Dad try not to flinch in pain when they splinted his
broken arm and placed it into a sling.

  In my rage I had not realized, not stopped long enough to think, that to take JB on at his home would have put me in the jackpot. Not to mention that his house was in another jurisdiction, that cops who didn’t know the score would have been handling it. I’d have been in jail for sure pending an assault with a deadly weapon charge, or worse. Dad knew that and knew if he took on JB in front of our home, even if Dad lost the fight, JB would lose more. I said to Dad, “I still have a lot to learn from you, old man.”

  He smiled. “I’m not old. Not yet. And I was about to take him if you hadn’t shown up and interfered.”

   CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  I STAYED WITH Dad in the ER, drove him home, got him comfortable on the couch with the TV controller, and checked on Hannah. She had a handle on our two little girls, who both seemed unaffected by everything that had happened and were already asleep. Hannah and Beth would stay with us for a few days to help out with Dad. Hannah would take my bed and I’d take the couch. The same place where Ned had slept.

  Three hours had passed, making it two o’clock in the morning. Oddly, my pager remained silent. Not a good sign. They should’ve had Gadd all grappled up by now, or the way Coffman would’ve put it, “On a slab.” But if the takedown had gone to guns, they would still be busy with the interviews with the shooting team. Telling me about it would drop way down their priority list. I was worried that I had not heard from Chelsea. She could take care of herself—I’d seen her in action. But Gadd wasn’t your normal violent criminal. I’d never come across a sociopath so devoid of empathy that he’d wind up young boys like tin soldiers and send them into harm’s way. I pushed out the image of Chelsea lying in the gutter somewhere, hurt and alone.

  And the fact that I’d been the one to put her on Gadd.

  I decided to drive to the violent crimes office. Pulling into the defunct grocery store, I saw the parking lot filled with far too many cars. Something was not right.

  When I walked in, I saw thirty or forty cops milling around, waiting for something to break. Drinking coffee, eating cold tacos and stale donuts. All looked haggard and tired from too many hours in the saddle without a break. Gibbs hurried over, took me by the arm, and tried to hurry me out of the office. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here right now. Wicks is on a tirade. Come on. Come back in the morning after he cools off.”