by King, Jayna
Max
April 7, 2013
"Okay, the recorder's on. Tell us again what happened after Tombley got to Moses' house. Take as much time as you need."
I looked around the room. My ASAC, Celeste, Denver's Chief of Police, Mark Billings, and the DA, Amy Weiland, faced me at the table. My attorney, who I'd known for all of three hours, Jerry Walker, sat beside me.
I sighed, exhausted, shell-shocked, and devastated. "Moses had figured out that Tombley had been taking kickbacks from the Vandals in exchange for clearing the Savage Sons out of the Wyoming meth territory. It was a win-win for Jeff: he built his cases with solid, inside information, and he got rich under the radar.
"I fucked up. I accidentally mentioned the fact that Moses had been in Fountain earlier that day. Tombley either knew that Moses had spotted him at the federal prison, or he just wasn't willing to take the chance. He shot Moses twice in the chest. I drew my gun and ran for the safe room. I didn't make it in time, Tombley entered the room, gun drawn, and I shot him."
"How many times did you shoot him?" Billings asked.
"I wasn't counting, but I emptied the clip. The clip held thirteen rounds, so I shot him thirteen times."
"Max, why didn't you stop shooting?"
"He fired as soon as he came through the door. It was me or him."
Weiland made some notes. "Max, could you have chosen to wound him, perhaps, rather than killing him?"
I shook my head. "Maybe, but my impression at the time was that it was kill or be killed. He'd just shot and killed Moses, and I believe that he was going to kill me."
Billings spoke up again. "Did you know that Moses was dead?"
"No, not for certain, but he had been shot twice at close range in the chest. If Tombley hadn't killed him, he sure as shit meant to."
Celeste leaned forward. "Go ahead, Max. What happened after you shot Tombley?"
"I took his gun out of his hand and went to the dining room table to check on Moses. He was dead. I looked outside, checked the perimeter of the house to make sure no one else had come with Tombley, and I called 911 from my cell phone. I washed my hands -- they were covered in Moses' blood, and I sat down in the living room to wait for the police."
Billings looked over his notes. "Is there anything else we need to know?"
I couldn't even begin to articulate everything that I wanted to say, so I simply shook my head. "No." I'd given them everything they needed to know.
The DA looked at Billings and at Celeste before she addressed me and my lawyer. "Maxwell, you've been through a terrible ordeal, and I believe that we'll be able to clear you, but we'll need to complete an investigation before we do. Two men are dead, and we have to make sure that we've done everything we can to ensure that we've taken appropriate action.
"I don't see that we have reason to charge you with a crime at this point, so we're going to release you, with the condition that you not leave the state until we've completed the investigation. I'm sorry that we can't just let you go free, but I'm sure you understand our predicament."
Jerry spoke for me. "Ms. Fisher will agree to remain in the state of Colorado during the investigation, and she'll cooperate fully with the investigation." He turned to Celeste. "Now as to the matter of her continued employment with the FBI?"
Celeste shook her head and reluctantly made eye contact with me. "Maxwell, you're going to be placed on administrative leave, pending the outcome of the investigation. We'll require that you surrender your service weapon and your credentials. We expect that you'll be reinstated just as soon as the investigation shows that you're been completely truthful. I'm sorry, but I hope you understand."
"Of course. My weapon's in my apartment, along with my credentials."
"We'll send someone by to pick them up. No need for you to stop by the office." Celeste reached out and put her hand over mine. "Max, I'm so sorry things went so wrong. Tombley had everyone fooled. If we'd looked at him a little more carefully, you wouldn't have been put in such a dangerous position. You have our apologies, and we're willing, of course, to cover any counseling you may need."
"Understood."
More than anything, right at that moment, I wanted to get the hell out of the Denver police station. I wanted to crawl into bed, cry my eyes out, and sleep for days. I wanted to wake up and find that it had all been a terrible dream -- wanted to wake up next to Moses and run my hands over his muscled, tattooed chest.
I would never have that chance again.
Under my attorney's watchful eye, I signed my statement and a police officer gave me a ride back to Moses' house to collect my things. As I walked through the house, looking at the shattered wine glass in the dining room, the blankets and pillows in front of the fireplace, and the shower where I'd known such ecstasy, it was all I could do to hold my emotions in check. I was grateful for the cop who waited for me to pack my stuff and lug my bags out to the car I'd been using. If I'd been alone, I think I'd have collapsed in a pool of tears.
Instead, I forced my sorrow down, resolving to deal with it later. I took the crappy cover car back to the safe house, and loaded my things into my Mini. It felt strange to get into a car that still retained its new car smell, and I drove myself back to my apartment.
I took a shower and went to bed. Tears ran onto my pillow as I slipped into an uneasy sleep, interrupted with dreams of blood and sex and bikes.
April 8, 2013
I woke in the morning feeling hollow and still tired, but I forced myself out of bed and made coffee. As I drank the coffee on my balcony, I made my plan for the day. I had no idea what my future would hold, but I had one thing to accomplish, and I needed to do it right away.
I showered, threw on jeans and a t-shirt, and I looked in the mirror. I knew that I needed to have my hair cut and re-colored, but I didn't even really care if I had shitty grown-out roots and uneven layers. What did it even matter?
An FBI agent I hadn't met knocked at my door, and I handed over my credentials and my gun, waving off his apologies. I was surprised to discover that I didn't really care. I knew I might feel differently in a few days, but at that moment, I didn't care if I got booted out of the FBI altogether. It would never be the same for me.
I got in my car, headed south through Denver, and didn't exit until I got to Castle Rock. I hoped that all of the police officers would be finished collecting evidence from Moses' house, but if they weren't, I'd just bide my time. I had one piece of unfinished business to take care of. I turned into Moses' drive and wished that I could see the house from the main road. I really didn't want to have to answer questions about why I had come back. I figured I could play distraught if necessary, but I really wanted to do what I'd come to do and get out.
The place was deserted. I pulled up in front of the garage and took a deep breath before I got out. I wanted to scream and cry and mourn Moses, but there would be plenty of time for that in the days ahead. I walked around behind the house, hoping that I'd find what I was looking for. I crossed the deck, walked down the two steps to the scrubby grass, looked between the air conditioning unit, and there it was. I pulled my backpack out from the place I'd wedged it last night just before I'd called the cops, and I reached in again to yank out the duffel bag behind it.
Both bags safely stowed in my trunk, I pulled away from the house, refusing to look back, knowing that I'd never see the place again, and gritting my teeth while I fought the tears that threatened to cloud my vision. There'd be plenty of time for tears. On my way out of Castle Rock, I pulled into the Waffle House on an impulse. I didn't stay long -- just long enough to drink a cup of coffee, shove the mug in my purse, and leave a fifty dollar tip for Lily. She didn't make small talk, didn't ask me where Moses was, and I was grateful for her silence. I pulled away, turned north, and left Castle Rock behind for good.
Epilogue
Max
December 12, 2013
I looked around my apartment as I prepared to leave. The cab should be pulling up outsi
de any minute, and when I came back, everything would be different.
I ran my hands over my swollen belly as I felt the muscles tighten in another contraction. I checked my watch -- about fifteen minutes apart now.
"Hold on, Aaron," I said, looking forward to the moment when I'd finally hold Moses' son in my arms.
The last few months had been better ones for me. When I'd first moved to Salt Lake City after the investigation had been wrapped up, I felt hollow and utterly without direction. I'd resigned from the FBI when I'd left town, knowing that I had to get out to avoid the possibility of ever running across any of the Savage Sons. I didn't go to Moses' funeral, but I had saved the obituary from the Denver Post , and I'd spent hours looking at his high school photograph that Joker and Sable had selected to run with the brief writeup of his life.
In all of the craziness -- Moses' death, my questioning, and the investigation, I never did get around to seeing a doctor for the morning after pill. I could have terminated the pregnancy, but I never really considered it. The tiny life that had begun inside me was the only connection I would ever have with Moses, and I had wanted the baby from the very second I found out that I was pregnant.
Before I'd left Denver, I'd talked to a career counselor and to a couple of agents, and we'd assessed the risk of the Sons tracking me down as very low. They didn't know my last name, didn't know my history, and didn't know anything true about my past. Since I felt relatively safe, I'd chosen to sit for the Utah bar exam, and I'd been licensed to practice law there.
Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth as I tried to relax through the contraction, I realized that I'd built a new life that was surprisingly satisfying. I had taken a position as an associate in a small civil firm, and I'd done a little pro bono work at one of the women's shelters in town. Seeing the devastation that meth and prostitution had wrought in the lives of the women I'd met at the Savage Sons' clubhouse had made me want to find a way to help women find healthier, happier alternatives than those broken women had found.
I'd made it through the darkest days of my life -- days when I hadn't showered, days when I hadn't eaten, and nights when I sobbed, awakening from dreams of Moses. I had only emerged from those hopeless days when I'd learned of the new life I carried. Aaron had been my salvation, and my work had become my hope.
I heard the cab pull up on the street in front of my apartment -- freshly painted and ready for my return home with Aaron. I picked up the bag I'd had packed for weeks and looked around, making sure everything was turned off and that the safe in the corner of Aaron's room was locked tight. Though Moses had never known that he would be a father, he had provided for his son. I smiled when I thought about the day, years from now, when Aaron would leave for college, the day when he'd be able to put a down payment on his first house -- all with the money that his father had saved and given to me.
Moses had been far from perfect, and his life had been troubled, but his legacy -- his son's future -- was brighter than he ever could have imagined.
"Let's go, Aaron," I said as I locked the front door and headed out to the cab. "Time for you to meet your mama."
Prodigal Son
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