The Innocents

by David Putnam

  THE INNOCENTS

  Also by David Putnam

  The Vanquished

  The Squandered

  The Replacements

  The Disposables

  THE INNOCENTS

  A BRUNO JOHNSON NOVEL

  THE EARLY YEARS: BOOK ONE

  DAVID PUTNAM

  Copyright © 2018 David Putnam

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-60809-257-4

  Published in the United States of America by Oceanview Publishing

  Longboat Key, Florida

  www.oceanviewpub.com

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  “Sometimes bad people help you do good things.”

  THE INNOCENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  EAST COMPTON 1988

  MILLICENT HESITATED, COCKED her head to the side.

  I turned the water off in the shower and listened. “Shh! I think I heard it, too.”

  “Was it the door?”

  The noise came again, a knock. Millie had been right: she’d heard it first. I’d been a little distracted.

  “I better see who that is.”

  “Ah, Bruno, can’t you let it go for now? I mean, really? I still need the conditioner or my hair is going to frizz.” She put her hand up on my chest. “You wouldn’t want a girl’s hair to frizz, would you, big guy? A real gentleman wouldn’t.”

  I didn’t want to leave the beautiful, wet redhead wanting. Her lovely skin was littered with freckles; her green eyes flashed with anger over the interruption. She whirled around, her back to me. “Damn you, Bruno Johnson, hurry, then.”

  I gave her a hug and kissed her on the neck. She turned and kissed me back.

  I started to step out. She shoved me aside and went first. “What kind of gentleman are you to leave a lady hanging like this? Now I can see where your priorities are and where I fit in.” She grabbed a towel and turned her back to me.

  I really couldn’t afford to make her angry. As the captain’s secretary, she had the absolute ability to influence him, whisper in his ear about a deputy who left a woman in the shower before the conditioner was applied. She faced the mirror and raised her arms to dry her hair with the towel. Her breasts bounced and jiggled. She watched my eyes in the mirror, knowing exactly what she did to me. I moved up behind and put my arms around her. “Just let me get the door. I’ll be right back and I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  Then I yelled to the person at the door, “Coming!”

  She turned in my arms and kissed me on the mouth. I groaned.

  I pulled away then leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I’ve just been assigned to a new team. This is the first day. It could be something important. I really need to answer the door, or believe me, I—”

  She giggled. “I believe you, sweetie. Hurry and answer it, then get that cute little black ass back in here before I cool down.”

  “I’m goin’. I’m goin’. You keep your engine runnin’. I’ll be right back.” I grabbed the second towel off the rack and hurried into the short hall, angry now at the intruder ruining a near-perfect morning. I tracked water as I wrapped the towel around my waist, my skin still slick from the exertion of the water sports. My feet thumped on the wood floor of my micro-small studio apartment that sat over the Anytime Dry Cleaners on Atlantic Avenue in East Compton.

  I kept the curtains closed for privacy, which made the living room dark as pitch.

  I jerked open the door. The bright sunlight blinded me. I brought my arm up to block the glare. My eyes gradually adjusted. A woman stood on the small landing at the top of the wooden stairs. She held something in her arms. At first I didn’t recognize her. Maybe my subconscious didn’t want to recognize her. No, that wasn’t it. When I knew her, she’d always been smiling, always had a smile for me. She didn’t smile now. She said nothing and tried to hand me the bundle she held in her arms.

  My mouth sagged open. I stepped back from her. “Sonja? What are you—?”

  She followed me into the small living room.

  The baby in her arms squirmed and gurgled. Sonja looked half-crazed, haggard, her hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes, her skin pasty. “Here, Bruno, take her. She’s yours. I can’t handle her anymore.” Her voice held an urgency that scared me.

  I staggered back. “Mine? That’s my child?” The room spun as I fought the dizziness from this new information, the sudden shock of it.

  Millie came out of the bathroom in a rush, tracking more water, not concerned enough about her nakedness, the towel held loosely to her chest and not covering everything. “You have a girlfriend? You have a baby?”

  Sonja looked at Millie and said, “I see you didn’t waste any time.”

  “Sonja, you can’t be serious. That’s my child?” She tried to hand her to me again. I still couldn’t acknowledge my paternity or accept her offering. I took another half-step back.

  Millie stooped and grabbed her dress off the floor, where we’d stripped it off her the night before. She turned her back and slipped it on over her head. The material clung to her wet skin. She grabbed up her black lace bra and panties, shoved them in her purse, and picked up her shoes. “You’re a real asshole, Bruno Johnson.” She moved around Sonja on her way to the door. She didn’t slow when she said, “I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t know. Good luck.”

  With Millie gone, the room still felt overcrowded by one.

  I backed up and sat on the couch. “I didn’t know you were pregnant. You never said anything about it. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She came over and stood next to me. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “You’re going to find you don’t know a lot of things, big guy.” She gently placed the child in my lap. “She’s all yours.”

  The warm bundle smelled of baby powder and squirmed as if trying to escape her cotton cocoon. “Sonja, I can’t. Let’s talk about this, okay? Please?”

  Sonja turned her back, her hands going to her face. Her body gently shook as she sobbed. “I can’t, Bruno. I can’t take her anymore. It’s too much. She cries all the time. She never sleeps. I haven’t slept in two weeks, not since she was born. I’m going out of my mind. I’m afraid of what I’ll do—”

  She headed for the door.

  “Sonja, wait.”

  She froze, but didn’t turn around.

  “Bruno, I killed a man. You were there. You warned me. You told me to be careful. I hit him too hard with that blackjack and I killed him. I don’t deserve a beautiful little girl like her. I’m having a hard enough time living with myself. There just isn’t any room for her in my screwed-up brain. Not right now.”

  She started for the door again.

  “How can I reach you?”

  “You can’t.”

  Sonja passed through the door onto the landing. A thousand words clogged my tongue, and I could only push out the less significant ones: “What’s her name? What’s the child’s name?”

  Sonja’s voice came in through the door as she descended the stairs. “I didn’t give her a name. The County Hall of Records has her as Baby Girl Johnson. Go ahead and give her a name, Bruno. She’s all yours now.”

  And Sonja was gone.

  CHAPTER TWO

 
; I STOOD ON the landing, outside in the brightness of the early morning with a towel wrapped around my waist, dripping water and holding . . . and holding a baby girl.

  My baby girl.

  The thin blue cotton blanket covered most of her pink little face, her forehead, eyes, and nose. Only her mouth peeked out.

  My entire world had turned on its ear just that quick. It had only taken seconds. It had only taken a simple little knock at the door.

  What the hell just happened? What was I going to do? I had one hour to get to work, my first day on a new team. One hour. Every detective in the Sheriff’s Department wanted one of the four slots on this team, and I’d been lucky enough to be chosen.

  I didn’t know how to care for a child let alone an infant barely two weeks old. I couldn’t move, though I knew I should get inside. I just stood there unable to twitch. I never felt so conflicted, so confused, and at the same time smothered in guilt and shame.

  Dad.

  Dad would know what to do. I hurried inside and tripped on the doorsill. I stumbled and almost fell. I juggled Baby Girl Johnson, who didn’t know how close she came to a tumble on the floor. My heart jumped into my throat at the thought of hurting her. I needed to be more careful. Far more careful.

  I turned around and found I’d tripped on the strap to a diaper bag Sonja had left on the landing. I pulled it into the apartment and closed the door.

  I went to the phone on the wall and stuck the receiver between my shoulder and ear as I held the baby in my other arm and dialed.

  “Good morning. This is the Johnson residence. Xander Johnson speaking.”

  “Dad. Dad, its me.”

  “Bruno? What’s the matter, Son? What’s happened?”

  “I’m in trouble, Dad, and I . . . I don’t know what to do.” I didn’t want to tell him. The guilt and shame rose up and choked my words. Dad didn’t deserve this. He’d raised my brother, Noble, and me to live with honor and to always do the right thing. Having a child like this in no way fit into his principles of life. What a God-awful mess.

  “Take it easy, Son. It can’t be that bad. Calm down and tell me what’s happened.”

  As always, his controlled demeanor had a calming effect. But I still couldn’t tell him, couldn’t say the words. Those four simple words: Dad, I’m a father.

  Reality struck. I’m a father. I’m . . . I’m a father. My knees shook.

  In a half-whisper, I said into the phone, “Dad, can I come over?”

  “Of course you can, Son. But why can’t you tell me over the phone? What’s happened?”

  “I can’t, I just—”

  Little Baby Girl Johnson chose that moment to make herself known. She cried out.

  On the other end of the phone my dad said, “Oh, my Lord.”

  A lump rose in my throat and tears burned my eyes. The coward in me took over. I gently hung up the phone. I held on to it in the cradle and whispered, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  My baby squirmed in my arms and continued to fuss, reminding me that no matter how I felt, the world continued to spin. I hurried into the bedroom and laid her gently on the bed as if she were made of fragile porcelain. Would she stay there? Would she roll off and fall on the floor if I didn’t watch her every second? I picked up two pillows and put one on each side of her. There, that was better.

  I dressed in denim pants, a blue long-sleeve shirt, and black combat boots. I put on a wide belt and laced in a pancake holster on my hip. I picked up the .38 off the dresser, the blue steel cold in my hand. I looked from the gun to the innocent child on the bed. The contrast made me freeze and reevaluate the world I’d chosen. A father for less than ten minutes and everything had changed, even the way I looked at my career.

  I strapped my backup gun to my ankle as more wild thoughts roared through my brain. What did babies eat? I didn’t have any food she could eat, did I? I had some oatmeal, maybe. What kind of diapers did I need to buy? What kind of bed? I set my foot back on the floor and realized that once she got older and began to crawl, I wouldn’t be able to wear an ankle holster. She’d have access to it. Wait, how ludicrous was that? And I’d need a gun safe to keep both my guns secure.

  I put my flat badge wallet in my back pocket. With a child to care for, would I be able to continue working as a deputy? Working as a detective on a violent crimes team with irregular hours and no home life? If something happened to me, what would happen to the child? Should I go in this morning and ask for a hardship transfer to court services, a job with regular working hours? A nasty little go-nowhere job working inside all day with chained-up prisoners?

  My God, what a horrible mess.

  No, no, I had to stop thinking of this as a mess, not with a child involved. What would Dad call it?

  A blessing.

  Yes, that’s exactly what he’d call this unexpected package left at my doorstep.

  I gently scooped up my baby and froze. For the first time, the blanket had fallen entirely away from her face. I sat down on the bed, absolutely flabbergasted. Baby Girl Johnson was the most beautiful baby in the world, maybe even in the entire universe. The way she looked at me with those huge eyes, I would do anything for her.

  Anything.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I CARRIED MY child down the steps to the dry cleaners’ parking lot, which was now filled with early, go-to-work folks who stopped in to get their clothes before their coffee and donut next door at The Big O donut shop. I didn’t normally hold on to the stairs handrail, but I did this day, with the diaper bag hanging off my shoulder.

  The wonderful aroma of fried dough and cinnamon wafted on the air. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday noon. Millie hadn’t wanted dinner; she’d only wanted to come back to my place for “dessert” and a little “slap and tickle.” Last night, life had been so simple, full of adventure. Now, even the thought of “a little dessert” would have to change.

  I unlocked the door to my Ford Ranger pickup and got in. I went to set Baby Girl Johnson on the bench seat next to me and froze. What the hell? I couldn’t leave her unsecured on the seat. I put on my seat belt and started the truck, a four-speed stick. No way would it be safe to drive with a child in one arm and shifting and steering with the other. What choice did I have? Dad only lived a few miles away. I’d take side streets and, at the first opportunity, get a child’s car seat.

  I drove slow in and out of two different neighborhoods, crossed Compton Avenue into Fruit Town and on up into the Corner Pocket in the county area of Los Angeles where I’d grown up. My mind remained numb to all the serious ramifications this small child’s presence implied—hundreds of them. I just needed to get to Dad. He’d know what to do.

  I pulled up and stopped in front of our house on Nord Avenue. In all my daydreams as a kid, with my ideas of what life had in store, never did I think about being a father. That was just too much responsibility and far too difficult a job. I only wanted to play cops and robbers, chase the bad guys and make the neighborhood a safer place to live. Had all that just changed?

  Dad came out of the small house and stood on the wooden porch. He wore his blue-gray postal carrier pants and a sleeveless white t-shirt. He wrung his hands and stared, his eyes full of concern. All I had thought about for the last fifteen minutes was getting to Dad’s. Now I fought the urge to just drive off and keep driving for hundreds of miles rather than face him.

  I took a deep breath and got out. I walked slowly up to the porch with my child in my arms.

  Dad shifted his gaze to the blanketed bundle and came down the three steps. He held out his hands and said, “Ah, Bruno.”

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath and let it out when he didn’t scold me. Of course, he wouldn’t scold me. What was I thinking? This was my dad.

  Dad took her from my arms, cooed to her, and gently moved her up and down. He looked so damn natural at it. He looked up and smiled hugely at me. My knees went weak. I moved around him and sat on the stoop.

  “Wh
at’s her name?”

  Of all the things I thought he’d say—Who’s the mother? How could you let this happen? And the worst one: I raised you better than this—he’d simply accepted the situation for what it was and asked her name.

  Still not entirely able to talk just yet, I merely shrugged.

  “What? This child doesn’t have a name?”

  “Not yet, Dad.” My voice came out a croak. “When a child is born and the parents don’t have a name ready, what goes on the temporary birth certificate . . . well, for right now she’s called Baby Girl Johnson.”

  He’d gone back to cooing to the baby and again looked up at me. “Baby Girl Johnson? It does have kind of a ring to it, doesn’t it, Son?”

  “Yeah, I guess it kinda does.”

  He spoke to the baby. “Don’t be silly, we’ll think of a proper name for you soon enough, little girl. Come on, Son, let’s take her inside.”

  “Dad, what am I going to do?”

  “What are you talking about? You’re going to raise your daughter.” He walked up the steps and went into the house.

  The simplest answer was always the best, I guess. Only this answer couldn’t make it past my mental defenses.

  I came in right behind him. Dad sat in the rocking chair, rocking the baby. Somehow the scene looked so incongruous: Dad caring for a child of mine in the house I grew up in.

  I resigned myself to my fate and went to the phone to call in sick. I picked up the receiver.

  Dad said, “What are you doing?”

  “Calling in sick.”

  “You will not. I never called in sick a day in my life. I thought I taught you better than that.”

  “What are you talking about? How can I go to work?”

  Someone knocked at the door. My stomach sank. I’d probably get that same feeling for the rest of my life anytime someone knocked.