Wall of Silence

by Gabrielle Goldsby

  “You’re welcome. We’ll put new bandages on after you shower.”

  I nodded and started the painful process of getting to my feet. Every move I made resulted in a dull aching pain that shot from one side of my body to the other. She gently wrapped her arms around my waist instead of taking my hands as I thought she would, and then slowly raised me to my feet. Even with her help, I still had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes,” I said breathlessly. Why was I trying to put up a front? I hurt so much I wanted to whine.

  “Can you make it to the bathroom alone?”

  I nodded while thinking, Lady, I will hold it rather than let you see me sitting on the toilet.

  *

  I walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped under the soothing spray. I had no idea how grimy I felt until I actually started getting clean. I washed my hair with some of Riley’s shampoo, idly wondering what her hair looked like when it wasn’t in a braid. I closed my eyes and my mind began to wander. I imagined being in this confined space with Riley, my hands gliding over firm, water-slicked skin. The sensation in my loins was not an unfamiliar one. I wasn’t exactly a virgin, but I was never one to become aroused at the drop of a hat. In fact, it had been a long time since anyone had garnered a passing spark from me. But there was something about Riley, something so different that it aroused my curiosity, physically and mentally.

  God, don’t do it, Everett. Do not start thinking about Riley that way. She’s off-limits. Hell, she’ll probably be leaving soon—going to go and marry that boyfriend of hers, who probably looks like Mr. Charles Atlas himself. They’ll have 1.2 children and a white picket fence, with a dog named Lassie or Skip or some corny-ass shit like that.

  Surprisingly enough, none of that sounded bad—well, all except for the Mr. Atlas part. I leaned a flushed cheek against the tiled wall. I was behaving like an adolescent. Perhaps it was because she saved my life. Normally I wouldn’t be worried about an attraction to a woman. I was a lesbian, after all. But Riley was straight, and could probably kill me with one look.

  I stuck my head under the spray and rinsed the shampoo from my hair. I froze, my hand on the shower nozzle, as I realized where my thoughts had taken me. I was a self-proclaimed loner. I had never dated the same woman for more than six months. I was by no means a womanizer. I had never felt comfortable enough to share my life with anyone. It was almost an annoyance when a relationship went past the sex stage and progressed to the “let’s talk about our future together” stage. That’s usually when I started feeling trapped. So why would I suddenly think that settling down didn’t sound so bad? I must be getting old.

  Riley was waiting with a change of clothes when I came out of the bathroom. “I need a shower, too. That alley was filthy.”

  “All right.” I plastered a fake smile on my face.

  “Take it easy,” she said, gesturing toward my ribs. “I’ll bandage those when I’m clean.”

  As soon as she’d closed the bathroom door, I felt lonely so I went over to Bud’s pet condo. Riley had already fed him. Bud shot through his tunnel and hooked a right. I grinned at his explosion of activity and took it to mean he was happy to see me. I looked around the room, awestruck at Riley’s carpentry skills. She’d said something about doing most of the renovations to this apartment herself. I would have to ask her where she learned to do all this.

  Most detectives are inherently nosy people, and I was curious about Riley. The only information I had was from Stacy. I knew Riley was a bouncer, originally from northern California, that she was straight, and that she’d just graduated from college. Oh yeah, and she lived in an abandoned movie theater.

  I removed Bud from his condo and placed him on my shoulder. “You shit on me, and you’re going to be sitting in the oven next to the chicken, you got that, mister?”

  My mouse-escape alibi in hand, I started to explore. I figured I would hear Riley shut off the shower and have time to get back to the kitchen so I wouldn’t be caught snooping. But if I was, I would blame Bud for escaping.

  I pushed open the door and peered into the next room. It was extremely small with no windows. There was a large blue mat on the floor with a black padded bench and several round weights stacked neatly in piles. From what Riley had said, she didn’t have much money, so it stood to reason that she didn’t have a gym membership. Shit, she could have mine if she was gonna be staying here.

  I was about to leave the room when the detective in me decided to look behind the door. Two pictures were taped to the painted wood. I leaned forward to read the names. Lou Ferrigno and Cory Everson. Both pictures looked pretty old, so my guess was that she had had them for a few years.

  I had never heard of Everson, but Lou Ferrigno had played the Incredible Hulk on television back in the seventies. My father and I would watch that all the time when I was a kid and he was trying to make up for missing out on some aspect of my life. Remembering Riley’s Incredible Hulk comic, I figured she must have a thing for the big guys. I shook my head in disappointment.

  I left the room, making sure to leave the door as I had found it, and listened briefly as I passed the bathroom. Riley took long showers like I did. I pulled Bud off my shoulder, where he had been still for a little too long for my taste, and held him in my hand as I entered another small room.

  This one was more interesting. A laptop and printer sat on a battered and scarred wooden desk. Interesting. Riley has no money, yet she has a laptop and a printer. On either side of the desk, boxes were piled high around the walls. After assuring myself that the shower was still running, I made a beeline for one of the boxes and lifted the lid. My God, the woman had hundreds and hundreds of comic books. I opened a few more boxes. Each held at least a hundred comic books, every one enclosed in a plastic bag with white cardboard. Riley was becoming more interesting by the moment.

  With a twinge of guilt, I closed the boxes and sat down in front of the computer. The woman had saved my ass and brought me back to her place to nurse me back to health. Was it right of me to go through her shit, just to appease my curiosity?

  “Definitely,” I whispered. I only wished I’d looked in her medicine cabinet while I was in the bathroom.

  I hit the power button on the side of her computer and hissed in disgust as a “request for password” window appeared. “Damn it, Riley, you live alone. Why would you need a password on your computer?” Of course, the fact that I was now trying to snoop through her stuff did occur to me, but that was different.

  I halfheartedly tried Lou Ferrigno, The Hulk, and Cory Everson, to no avail. It occurred to me that I didn’t know Riley’s last name, or I could try that, too. Keeping one ear trained on the bathroom, I dug around in desk drawers, hoping to find a piece of mail that would tell me Riley’s last name. I pulled out an unopened cell phone bill. I wasn’t surprised that it was addressed to a PO box in town.

  “Riley Medeiros, huh? Very nice, it suits you.” I always talk to myself. It comes from being an only child. I put the phone bill back and was just about to close the drawer when I spotted a picture sitting on top of a stack of mail. “Son of a bitch.”

  I set Bud down on the desk and pulled the drawer all the way out. I would have recognized that picture anywhere. It was the one of me taken my first day on the force. I looked young and slightly dazed, but exceedingly happy. How did Riley get my picture? I didn’t even have this one myself, aside from on my police ID, and I’d given that to the captain when I turned in my gun and badge. This picture was not the same size as the one on my badge. It was bigger. How did Riley get it and why did she have it?

  It dawned on me then that I could be in danger. Riley might have some agenda in bringing me here and gaining my trust. She had a good fifty pounds on me, and with my injuries and her height, she would be able to handle me quite easily. I scooped Bud up, not bothering to turn off the laptop or close the drawers, or sweep off the little deposits he’d left
on the desk.

  It took me several painful minutes to get out of the theater and into the only vehicle in the parking lot, using keys on the chain I’d swiped from the kitchen counter. By now, Riley was probably out of the shower and aware that I’d gone through her stuff. I almost sobbed in relief when one of the keys turned in the ignition and the engine sputtered to life.

  I turned on the headlights and gasped as the door to the theater flung open.

  Riley came running out. “Foster?”

  I threw the car into reverse and, in a spray of smoke, backed up the road. To my great shock, Riley managed to stay just in front of my headlights.

  “Foster, let me explain,” she yelled.

  The smell of burning rubber alerted me to the fact that I had left the emergency brake on. I disengaged it with a lurch that sent me careening up the path and away from her. When I had put a significant distance between us, I whipped the car around and got my bearings. The movie theater was in an old part of Century City, where few people went because there wasn’t much of a business district there anymore. In the sparse traffic, I made it to the Secrets parking lot in twenty minutes.

  I didn’t relish the walk home with my unbandaged ribs, but I didn’t want to give her any reason to contact me again so I had to leave the car behind. Once I was safely locked in my apartment, I reached under my bed, pulled out my strongbox, and unlocked it. My father had given me a Glock 9 millimeter right before I joined the force. I had never really had a need to use it, though I preferred this gun to my service weapon. Riley, if that was even her real name, would have a surprise waiting if she ever tried to mess with Foster Everett again.

  Chapter Seven

  The day of Smitty’s funeral dawned clear and bright, belying the fact that it was truly one of the worst days of my life. Sleep had evaded me the night before. I think I was half fearing, half hoping that I would hear from Riley. I didn’t.

  I made my way to the cemetery as if in a fog. Monica rushed to me and enveloped me in her arms. This time, however, instead of the sweet kiss or the playful teasing about my clothes, she clung to me, her hands balled into fists and pressing into my back. I closed my eyes and tried to stem the flow of tears that was coming down my face.

  Bougainvillea graced the lattice at each end of the path we walked to Smitty’s final place of rest. The lovely blooms perfumed the air and I gripped Monica’s hand in one of mine and held on to a white rose with the other. I didn’t listen to any of the words that were said by Smitty’s friends and family. I couldn’t. Pain wrenched at my heart as I realized so little of him had been removed from the molten heap of his car that Smitty’s remains would not even fill half of the coffin.

  When it came time, I dropped the rose into the hole that served as a receptacle for the sorrows of the living. I wished Smitty good-bye, made the mandatory small talk with Chief James, then held Monica and kissed her cheek. “If you need me, you know where I am.”

  With a final look at Smitty’s gravesite, I walked slowly away, my ribs protesting every calming breath I took. I would not return. There was nothing of my partner here, just remnants of a body. I would hold him close to my heart and in my memory. I climbed into the backseat of a cab and looked out the window. As we drove, I waited for the beautiful, sunny day to thaw my overcast heart with its spiteful warmth.

  *

  “Well, Everett, I see you put one over on the shrink again.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Captain.”

  I could tell that she wanted to say more, but in deference to the fact that I had just lost my partner, she forced herself to let it go. I watched with interest as a small vein pounded in her temple. To think that I’d once grudgingly conceded that she might be attractive. There was nothing vaguely attractive about this woman. Even the clothes she wore seemed contrived to make people think she was powerful.

  She pushed a sheet of paper toward me, a malicious glint in her eye. “Your new assignment.”

  I told myself not to flip, but when I saw the department head listed, I almost lost control. In general, civilians staffed the Records Department for our division. Occasionally, if someone on the force got hurt or, for whatever reason, could not perform on the street, they were allowed to work in departments like Records. In other words, it’s a boring-ass desk job.

  I asked coolly, “What is this, Captain?”

  “The psychologist felt that in your emotional state it isn’t a good idea for you to not be at work. But he can’t make me reinstate you in your normal capacity.”

  “I’m a detective, not a goddamn file clerk!” Okay, my voice was raised a little, but I still felt I was in control.

  “You’re a loose cannon, is what you are. You think anyone wants to partner with you? They know they’d not only have to watch their own back, but yours, too. Poor Smitty—”

  “Poor Smitty killed himself, lady.”

  I stopped myself from continuing because my anger wasn’t really directed at her, it was directed at Smitty. I felt betrayed that he’d left me here to handle this shit on my own. His suicide made me realize I didn’t know him at all. It’s one thing to lose your partner in the line of duty. It’s another if he takes his own life. It’s almost like you failed in some way. Like you didn’t have his back when you should have.

  Over the week since Smitty’s funeral, I’d racked my brain for a reason. I looked at his dire decision from every direction, and I still couldn’t see why he would do such a thing. Every time we talked, he was the strong one and I was the one who couldn’t handle the heat. Even if he was afraid I would come clean, he had to know I would never implicate him. What could be so bad that he would give up on his life and family?

  I had gone back to the psychologist because it was either that or waste away in my apartment. I told him what he wanted to hear so that I could get back to work. By the time I left his office, the psychologist was chastising the captain for having removed me from the “only stable thing in her life right now.” It was a short-lived high.

  The captain started tapping her pen on a yellow legal pad. “You’re of no use to me right now, Detective. I can’t put you back on the streets, not in the state you’re in, and that’s final.”

  Anger fought to be let loose on this pompous, self-confident bitch, but I controlled myself and sighed. “For how long?”

  “For as long as it takes you to get control of yourself.”

  “Come on. You need to give me something better than that.”

  “You have a follow-up appointment with the doctor in a month. If he clears you to return to your usual duties, we can talk then.” She leaned back in her chair and waited. I could tell she expected me to fly off the deep end, and indeed, I almost did.

  “Okay, Captain. Thank you for your time.”

  I stood up. The look of shock on her face was almost enough to make my demotion, however temporary, seem worth it. Who was I kidding? I was furious. All I wanted to do was quit this damn job and move to the deep backwoods for twenty years. But I would not give her the satisfaction of scaring me off, not yet anyway. I walked out of her office, deliberately avoiding the eyes of the traitors who had buttered me up with their concern just moments before but who had not wanted to partner with me. Cops are a superstitious bunch, detectives even more so. The fact that Smitty had killed himself left a stigma on me worse than the stink from a corpse.

  *

  The Records Department was located in the basement. For all that it didn’t have any windows to the outside, it was actually a rather cheerful place, thanks to the head of the department—Marcus Vansant. As I walked up to the bulletproof glass, I frowned. Why would anyone want to shoot up a records room? The need for security, definitely, but bulletproof glass was just plain overkill. I would have to ask Marcus about that.

  “Hey, is Marcus here?” I asked the woman sitting at the desk, popping gum.

  “No.” A bright, fake smile spread across her face, which disappeared as she returned to her computer. In o
ther words, go away, annoying bitch, I thought.

  Her smart-ass response pissed me off so I asked, “Do I have a ‘fuck with me’ sign plastered on my face or something?”

  “Hey, Maaaarcus?” she yelled, without looking up from her computer screen.

  Aside from the constant working of her jaw, she was attractive. Her short hair had a slight tinge of pink to it. Made me think of some of the girls from my neighborhood back when I was a kid in New York. Many of them would get a similar effect with raspberry Kool-Aid. I wanted to do it, but my father forbade me. He said I would look like a homegirl.

  Heavyset Marcus emerged from somewhere and walked up to the window. His attractive brown face lit up as he realized who was standing on the other side of the bulletproof glass. “Oh my gawd, Foster, where you been, girl? I haven’t seen you since the drag show over at Stacy’s.”

  Marcus and I went way back. I didn’t get to talk to him much, but I really liked him. Partly because he was the only openly gay person in the building, and partly because he was just a personable kind of guy. Marcus was also a drag queen. He wore these six-inch heels that made me wince just thinking about them. They probably accounted for his ability to walk like he was balancing a book on top of his head.

  “Hey, Marcus.” Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Captain told me I had to come down here and work with you for a while until I can get myself ‘emotionally together.’”

  “Well, shit.” Marcus pursed his lips and looked me up and down. “Maybe you should have your own office, then, ’cause you’re going to be here for a while.”

  The henna-haired chick at the computer cackled, and they high-fived while I just glowered. “All right, you two, that’s just wonderful. Make fun of the traumatized white chick over here.”