Close Encounters

by Kitt, Sandra

  Barbara grimaced and shook her head. “Order if you want.”

  Mario signaled to the woman behind the counter. She came, took his order, and left. Mario slipped his arms out of his coat. Elbows on the table, he clasped his hands and blew on them to warm them up. He peered at Barbara over the dome of his knuckles as she sipped at a half-finished cola.

  “So what went wrong?” he asked. “I heard they made your man and then everybody broke to get clear of you cops. But you got your dead presidents back.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Here and there. Word gets around. It’s a tight community.” He cackled softly. “And some bitch and her dog got shot by the cops?” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Dumbass motherfuckers.”

  Barbara looked down at her fingernails. “The papers are saying one of Willey’s men shot her.” The smirk abruptly cleared from his face. “Didn’t anyone from your tight community clue you in?” she asked snidely.

  “Willey ain’t had no cause to pop her.”

  “Which means one of his men did it on his own. Could have been an accident. It could have been you.”

  “You can’t blame me for…” He stopped.

  “What? You know something about it, Mario? You know, you’re walking around today because you made a deal. You are out free on a pass that just expired. We have orders to bring you in.”

  Mario let her talk, pretending a lack of concern. “You won’t. Now that you don’t have nobody undercover, you’re going to need me.”

  Barbara’s mouth tightened. She was angry and frustrated and made no attempt to hide it. “You came to me with a plan because you had no choice. You were in deep shit. Well, you still have no choice. It could have been a clean operation. In and out and nobody gets hurt. You tell us what we want to know to bring down Earl, and you walk on lesser charges. When everything went wrong, my supervisor figured you played both us and Willey. Only now, you’re the one who has to be careful, right? If Willey finds out you’re an informant… or if you’re placed at the scene where you say you weren’t…”

  He called her bluff. “I don’t know how Willey got tipped ’bout your play. And you ain’t gonna bring me in. Know why? You want me to say it?”

  Barbara’s attention shifted as the door opened and two patrolmen came in, going right to the takeout counter to order coffee and sandwiches. She knew them. Her stomach tightened with fear. One of the men saw her and waved, shouting out a greeting. He looked for a moment at the man seated with her, but he and his partner just took their purchases and left.

  Mario glanced over his shoulder. There was a gleam in his eye. He smiled slowly at her, crossing his arms, his voice dropped to an intimate drawl.

  “What’s going to happen to you when it gets out that the woman detective on the case was giving it up to one of the suspects? You’re standing in the same shit I am.”

  “Exactly nothing will happen. I go up against you, a con who’s got a record dealing in drugs, and you lose.”

  “You been sleeping with the enemy, mija.” He leaned in close. “You give good head… for a cop.”

  “I’m not worried,” Barbara said evenly, although her skin was flushed. “You’re the one with the problem. Two men ran from the scene of the shooting that night. There’s at least two people who can put you on the scene. The other guy you were with and the woman who got shot. Willey hears you were there, he’ll figure you lied to him too. Your ass won’t be worth shit.”

  For the first time Mario looked uncertain. “None of my guys would never roll over on me,” he said.

  “So you were there!”

  He took a deep breath, regained his cockiness. “You can’t prove it.”

  “I don’t have to.”

  Mario pointed a finger at her. “Puta! You better back off. You owe me,” he ground out menacingly.

  Barbara slipped into her coat and buttoned it up. “So take me to court,” she said sarcastically. She stood up just as the waitress returned with a plate laden with food and set it before Mario. The waitress quickly walked away. Barbara took several bills from her wallet and put them under the edge of Mario’s plate.

  “Tonight was off the record, Mario. Tomorrow you better get your ass into the station and explain to my superior what happened. You betrayed me, but that’s okay. I got the best protection in the world. You’re the perfect fall guy, and the department will sacrifice you in a heartbeat.”

  Her face changed, suddenly became infused with anger. She leaned close to whisper in his ear.

  “And just so you know… you are a lousy fuck.” She held up a pinky and used her thumbnail to mark off the first joint. “Chapita,” she said scornfully.

  Barbara walked out, leaving Mario at the table. For a moment he calmly ate french fries and carefully arranged the condiments on his burger. He stared thoughtfully at the plate of food for a few minutes, then he suddenly flipped the plate off the table. Food flew through the air and the plate shattered on the floor. Mario grabbed his coat and stalked angrily out the door.

  Chapter Six

  CAROL STOOD IN FRONT of the mirror and stared at the permanent reminder of the fragility of her life. It was an ugly mark just above her left breast. It was going to be there forever, although the doctor had assured her that in time there might not be much of a scar.

  She tentatively touched the healing wound. It was beginning to form a protective scab, but it was still tender, and sometimes it itched. Each day the soreness lessened, but with each day Carol grew more angry. She was stiff and unable to wear certain clothes because their weight irritated her skin. Certain movements sent unexpected pain shooting across her torso. She’d lost weight that she could ill afford to lose. And the scar would always be a reminder of what had happened.

  Yesterday Matt had helped her change the dressing, and she’d seen the look on his face as her breasts were bared. He had stood back, shaking his head.

  “Man, they really messed you up. If I was you, I’d sue.”

  That wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. There was another concern that outweighed any motives for retribution. As a man, Matt’s reaction touched on the core of her sense of femininity. With Matt’s words she’d felt the last of her resolve melt away. She’d felt damaged beyond repair. It was quite enough that in her head she still heard the shots being fired. That she relived the impact of the bullet tearing into her body.

  Now she carefully applied a fresh dressing to the injury. It would have been easier to wait for Matt to help, but she was determined to manage alone, especially after the way he had reacted the day before.

  Carol sat on the side of her bed and gingerly pulled on a pair of black leggings. She decided to forgo a bra and slipped on a loose sweatshirt. Then she wiggled her feet into a pair of duck-shaped slippers that Gladys, a neighbor, had given her as a welcome home gift.

  Carol observed that she’d reached an anniversary. Yesterday had marked a full week since she’d been shot. Not exactly a call to celebration, but time had a different meaning now. So did life and death.

  The phone suddenly rang and she answered.

  “Hi, Carol. This is Nancy Houseman.”

  “Hi, Nancy.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Better, thanks. Glad to be home.”

  “Well, you get the prize for most exciting adventure of the year,” Nancy chuckled. “It sure beats having the flu or a broken leg.”

  “I guess.”

  “I don’t mean to make light of it, but it’s not every day, thank God, that we get to say we know someone who’s been shot.”

  “You should talk to the students around campus sometime. You’d be surprised at what some of them have seen.”

  “I’m not surprised, actually. Are you in a lot of pain?”

  Carol thought about that for a moment. The physical pain was diminishing, but there were other kinds. “It’s not so bad,” she responded.

  “Did they give you anything to take for it? I’m awful
about pain.”

  “I can handle it. I’ve been meaning to call,” Carol began. “I wanted to thank everyone for the beautiful flowers and the many good wishes.”

  “Well, we all miss you. Not a day has gone by that someone hasn’t asked how you’re doing. The students have been especially concerned.”

  “I’d like to have everyone over some day to thank folks for their concern.”

  “Yes, we know you’re famous for those weekend lunches you give,” Nancy said. “We’re wondering if that’s why your class attendance is among the highest in the department. Feed them and they will follow. In any case, I wouldn’t worry about entertaining anyone for a while. Just concentrate on getting better. Is someone there to help you out? Maybe I can—”

  “I’m fine. My ex-husband is here with me for a few days.”

  “Your ex-husband? You mean you didn’t kill him when you divorced?”

  Carol smiled. “He’s a good man in his own way. We just couldn’t make it together. We’re like apples and oranges.”

  “Well, it sounds very civilized. Look, I’m going to keep checking in on you, just in case, and don’t hesitate to call on me if you need anything.”

  “Actually I need something to do. It’s not like I’m in bed sick. I just have to move slowly, not lift anything heavy, and try not to laugh. Do you think you can get my students to turn in some of their class work and send it to me to review? I want to feel useful again.”

  “Sure, I can do that. Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it.”

  Carol had no sooner gotten off the phone than her doorbell rang. She took her time walking through the apartment to the door. She still had a tendency to hold her left arm close to her body when she was in motion because it cut down on the jostling of her wound.

  “I’m coming,” she called out.

  She reached the door and opened it to a tiny woman no more than five feet tall. Her white hair was gathered into a messy knot on top of her small head. Her pale face was wrinkled and lined, her white skin even paler against the slash of red lipstick boldly applied to her thin lips. Her glasses, one arm held on by tape, magnified her gray eyes so that she looked perpetually surprised.

  “Here, take this,” Gladys Edelman croaked, shoving a round foil-covered dish at Carol.

  Carol carefully took the offering, balancing the weight of the Pyrex dish in her right hand. “Hi, Gladys. What is it?”

  “Just a little something. I made some extra for you so you’d eat. You’re too skinny, you know. Men don’t like skinny women. No point in letting good food go to waste.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Gladys,” Carol murmured, peeling back the foil to peek underneath. It smelled good, but she couldn’t tell what it was. “Want to come in for a visit?”

  “No, no.” Gladys waved her gnarled hand. “My stories are coming on. You wouldn’t believe what happened yesterday! You know Kevin is trying to win Melissa back now that she had his brother’s baby, and Derrick doesn’t want to give her up. And that Kathy, the one that tried to steal Kevin in the first place, is plotting and scheming. Things are heating up. How are you feeling, dear?”

  “Doing well, thanks to wonderful people like you.” Carol looked at her feet and wiggled her toes. “I love my slippers. Everyone has been so kind.”

  “Well, of course. You’re a lovely girl. But you know you should get married. If you’d had a good man in bed with you that night, you’d never have been out in the streets to get shot, for heaven’s sake. You’d have been too busy doing the other thing.” She cackled at her own racy observation. “Well, dear, I gotta run.” She shuffled back to her apartment and slammed the door.

  Carol sighed in relief as she headed to the kitchen with the covered dish. It was somewhat galling that Gladys, who was eighty if she was a day, was so spry while Carol herself could be knocked over with a feather. After placing the dish in the refrigerator, she wandered back to the living room.

  It was a mess. Matt’s things were all over the place. The sofa bed had been put back together, but the sheets and blankets were piled in a corner. His duffel bag was open on the coffee table, a shirt hanging out. A clothes bag hung just inside the closet near the front door. Carol wasn’t sure if the help Matt provided was worth the trouble of picking up after him.

  Feeling not exactly blue but definitely nostalgic, Carol chose a CD of a group with whom Matt had once played. The music was haunting and soulful. Matt’s saxophone blew hot with melodies about loss, love, and sadness, like wails from the heart. Jazz had always spoken to her.

  Carol didn’t pay attention to the buzzer that sounded an hour later. It was the middle of the afternoon, and sometimes friends of the teens living in her building would randomly ring bells to see if someone would let them in. When the buzzer sounded a second time, she got up and spoke through the intercom.

  “Who is it?”

  “Carol Taggart?”

  “Yes, this is Carol.”

  “It’s Lieutenant Grafton. I introduced myself at the hospital several days ago.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Do you mind if I come up for a moment?”

  “Well, I…” She hesitated.

  “I won’t stay long.”

  “Okay. Come on up,” Carol instructed him, pushing the button to release the lobby door. She remained standing by the door, then realized she was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, and even getting dressed had taken a lot out of her. The bell rang and she opened the door.

  The lieutenant looked the same as when she’d last seen him, tall and unsmiling, staring at her intently. But unlike the officers who’d come to interview her at the hospital, Lee Grafton’s gaze was not distant or suspicious.

  To Lee, Carol in her own environment looked taller than he recalled from his hospital visits. In a sweatshirt and leggings, she also appeared younger than the thirty-two years listed on her hospital records. Her hair surrounded her head in a loose halo, softening the angles of her face. Lee had no doubt that men found her attractive and were drawn to her. He was trying not to be.

  “Come in,” Carol invited him, then turned away to let him follow her inside. “Will you please close the door? I … I have to sit down.”

  Lee did as he was told, holding in one hand a large envelope that had been folded in half. “Are you okay?” he asked, entering the living room behind her and watching as she carefully seated herself in a club chair. She held her bowed head in her hands.

  He noticed the duck-shaped bedroom slippers she wore, and was both surprised and charmed. The sight of them made him relax and feel a little less tense.

  “I just got a little dizzy. I’m fine,” Carol whispered.

  “Do you need anything? A glass of water or something?” Lee absentmindedly placed the envelope on a chair.

  Eyes closed, Carol tilted her head back against the cushion. “No… I…” She heard his retreating footsteps and glimpsed his back as he disappeared into the kitchen. She sighed, trusting whatever he was doing. He returned and leaned over her, touching her shoulder lightly.

  “Here,” he said.

  Carol was annoyed at the slight trembling of her hand as she took the glass. She drank the cold water gratefully and immediately felt better.

  Lee removed the duffel from the coffee table and sat on the end, leaning toward her.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, lowering her gaze in embarrassment.

  “You probably moved too fast, got light-headed.” He looked around. “You here alone?”

  “For the moment,” Carol said. “Matt… my ex-husband… is staying with me for a few days. He’s out right now. He works nights and rehearses during the day.”

  “Then he should have gotten someone else to cover for him. What if you’d fainted?”

  Carol smiled in surprise at his concern. “I can’t blame him for not thinking of that. I didn’t either.”

  Lee unzipped his winter coat. “What does he do?”r />
  “He’s a musician. Saxophone. He played on the CD you hear.” She finished the rest of the water.

  Lee listened closely for a moment, while he let his gaze wander. He had time to really see her surroundings, to note the abundance of framed art on the walls, wood carvings and baskets and ceramic pots on bookshelves and the floor. On one wall were a few framed pencil studies of children. Lee noted the similarities in style and execution between these portraits and the sketches he’d seen Carol working on in the hospital. She had an incredible eye for detail. The apartment was filled with interesting objets d’art, while not seeming cluttered or crowded. He would have liked to look at everything.

  “This is Crossover,” he suddenly observed.

  “That’s right,” she said in some surprise.

  “Great group. I have this on cassette. Their second one, too. This was probably their best work. I don’t like some of the newer stuff. They should have stayed with the original band members. They were all fantastic.” He turned his attention to her again. “Your ex-husband played with Crossover? What’s his name?”

  “Matt Norman. He’s not with the group anymore.”

  Lee nodded.

  Carol looked at his hands. They were strong, with hair on the back of the knuckles. She raised her attention to Lee’s face, feeling suddenly as if she knew him. He had a handsome face, hard and alert. Very masculine. Lived in. He caught her staring, and they openly appraised each other without a hint of self-consciousness.

  “You wanted to see me, Lieutenant?”

  Facing her once more, he put his hands into the pockets of his coat. The way she had worded her question had caught him off guard, and he found he didn’t know how to begin.

  “What is it?” Carol prompted, when he didn’t immediately respond.

  He was stalling, he realized, because, suddenly, what Carol believed mattered. And the outcome of this visit could be ugly. He felt like he had the first time he’d found himself in her hospital room. He could admit to himself now what he hadn’t been willing to admit then. He was scared.