by Corey Brown
“There’s nothing to work out,” Cody says. “He needs to ask Jamie.”
Lucas keeps his distance, remaining near the door. “Cody, I understand this is difficult. And I’m sorry Todd is being so churlish, but the fact remains he can see me pretty much whenever he wants to. You and Jamie, not to mention the courts, approved it.”
“I didn’t approve it,” Cody says, an index finger tapping his own chest. “But I didn’t want to hurt Todd. And he still needs to ask his mother. That was stipulated in the judge’s order.”
“I’m not going down this path again,” Lucas says, with a dismissive wave and shake of his head. “Every time we meet, it’s the same old argument. I know you don’t like the situation, I know you don’t like me. But it is what it is. My son and I can see each other, so get over it.”
Cody stiffens, drawing his hands into fists. “You ran out on your wife,” Cody says. “You want me to get over that?”
“Oh Christ, I’ve apologized for that so many times I’ve lost count. When will it be enough?”
“It’s not about you leaving. That was your business. What really pisses me off is after Jamie and I struggled, years of trying to make ends meet, you show up and buy Todd back into your life. Twelve years, Lucas, you disappeared for more than twelve years without a single phone call or letter or anything. Then one day you’re standing on our doorstep with a pocketful of money. Todd doesn’t know what you’re up to, but I do. And he’s not for sale.”
“That’s crap and you know it,” Lucas says, jabbing a finger toward Cody. “If this is about money, then you need to take a step back and see the big picture. Look, I’m not proud of what I did. It was wrong, I screwed up, but I was a kid for godsakes, and now I’m trying to make up for that mistake. Yes, I know, I left Jamie in a bad way and I wish I could undo that choice. But I can’t. So, I became financially successful because I wanted to help take care of Todd. I didn’t want you and Jamie to bear that responsibility alone. I have tried to pay for summer camp, clothes, anything he needed. I have offered child support more times than I can remember. But you’ve never even considered it.”
“I don’t care if you make more money than me. I----”
“Then what?” Lucas says, interrupting. “What is it? Okay, I make a lot of money and want to share that wealth with my son. Is that so bad?”
“Screw you. That shit works on Todd, maybe even on Jamie but not me. We both know this has nothing to do with righting wrongs or sharing your wealth. You were a self-centered little prick when you knocked up Jamie, and you’re no different now. You’re just a self-centered, rich prick. You don’t care about Todd, you just want to feel better about yourself.”
Lucas’s eyes dart toward the back of the house. Instantly, Cody knows what or rather, who, Lucas is looking at. Cody turns to face his teenage son. Todd has heard everything and Cody knows it. In his peripheral vision, Cody thinks he sees Lucas smirk. This is not what Cody wanted, not what he intended. Cody has never tried to hide his feelings about Lucas, but he has always been careful not to talk about them in front of Todd.
“Todd,” Cody says. “I’m sorry.”
Todd brushes passed Cody.
The doorbell rings.
“Todd, wait,” Cody says, almost pleading.
Lucas pulls the front door open to find two men looking back at him. Hansen and Slater are standing on the stoop.
“Detective Briggs,” Slater says, his eyes shifting from Lucas to Cody. “Got a few minutes?”
Before Cody can answer, Lucas puts an arm around Todd, draws him close, ushering him out the door. “I’ll get a hold of Jamie,” Lucas calls over his shoulder. “We’ll work it out.”
“Lucas, hold on,” Cody says. “Goddamn you.”
“Hey, man,” Hansen says. “Everything alright?’
Cody scowls at the two detectives, looks Hansen in the eye. “No, everything is not all right.” Then he shoves past them. Stepping onto the porch Cody says, “Todd, wait a minute.”
Cody has the sense of déjà vu, remembering the terse exchange with Todd just the day before. Only now it is different, now it is worse. This is not a simple argument with Todd. This isn’t Todd simply storming off in anger, this time Lucas is taking him away. This time Todd doesn’t look angry, he is smiling. Conflicting emotions boil up inside of Cody. Frustration mixed with sadness and, perhaps, jealousy. He stares at his son.
“Hop in,” Lucas says to Todd, lifting the handle of the driver’s door.
Todd is smiling, looking back at Cody. Todd is smiling, but Cody sees something else. Lucas glances at Cody and gives a quick see-you-later-asshole nod. But Cody hardly notices the gesture. He is looking at Todd, there is something wrong.
The car doors slam shut and the black Mercedes sedan comes to life. It rolls backward into the street. Todd is smiling, but it is dispirited, almost mournful.
A turn signal, a flash of brake lights and the Mercedes disappears from sight. Cody stands, staring, trying to comprehend what he has just seen. A sad smile? But a sad smile isn’t quite it, either. The smile was more like a cover up, like a mask. It was a smile to hide behind.
What is Todd hiding or hiding from? Then it comes to him, Cody feels his senses go on high alert. The look was a sign, a clue. But what kind of sign, what does Todd want, what does the look mean? Cody realizes he has seen that expression often in the last several months, but has always dismissed it.
How many times? How many times had Todd looked at him, pleaded with his eyes? How many times had Cody ignored the plea?
This time will be different, Cody thinks. His boy had looked at him, given him a sign and, this time, he will do something about it.
Instinctively, Cody reaches for his cell phone. He has to call Jamie, tell her about Todd. But what will he say? That Todd had a sad smile, what the hell would that mean? Cody reconsiders. Maybe he should just keep quiet.
Still, Jamie will know what to so. She will know why Todd is hiding behind that smile, Jamie always knows. But the phone is not clipped to his jeans. It is still on the coffee table, in the living room among the litter of medical files.
“Okay, Briggs,” Slater says, jarring Cody’s thoughts. “Done now?”
Cody turns to look at Slater, his mind still on the call to Jamie. “What the hell do you guys want?” He says. “Why are you following me?”
“Easy,” Hansen says, raising his hands. “We’re just working our case. We’ve got some more questions.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Cody said. “Not now. I’ve got other things to deal with.”
“I don’t get you, Briggs,” Slater said, folding his arms across his chest, the speed having long since worn off. He feels irritable, tense. “I know you’re pissed about losing the case, but we’re all on the same team, here. I thought you wanted to work with us. What gives?”
“Look,” Hansen begins, patiently. Cody expects to get an earful, expects to hear about how he coached Jamie, about how he’d told her to lie. “Whether you’re in or out,” Hansen says, “doesn’t really matter. We have Nick Wheaton’s death to investigate. Even though we’ve turned Ms. Turano’s case over to District Eight homicide, we’re working with them on it. There’s no doubt it’s connected to our case. Since she was murdered there’s a distinct possibility that Nick Wheaton was murdered. And if that’s true, we might be looking at a larger situation.”
Hansen inhales, fills his lungs, lets his breath out slowly and looks at Cody. “Strong arm isn’t our style,” he says. “But we need some answers. So, we don’t care if you have other things to do. We don’t give a shit if you want to work with us or not. We have questions, you have answers. It’s time to pony up.”
Cody can scarcely believe it. Complaints about obstruction and witness tampering never materialize. Is Hansen holding back, waiting for a time when things will be more convenient, when Cody will be more vulnerable? Maybe, but Cody doesn’t think so.
And what about the man in Nick’s apartment buildin
g, the guy who chased out Ramirez? Didn’t Hansen know about him? Surely Ramirez talked about it.
Cody still wants to call Jamie. He still needs to talk about Todd. Jamie has to know that something is wrong, but it will have to wait. Cody needs to get rid of these two cops and he can’t just send them packing. He studies the pair for a long moment and decides on a different approach.
“It’s not that I don’t want to help,” Cody says, sounding resigned. “This is just a bad time, that’s all. My son and I are on the outs.” Cody jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “That was his natural father, Lucas Kelly. The guy’s a real prick and he’s making things worse for my kid. I’m just frustrated, that’s all.”
Hansen nods. “I understand,” he says. “Sorry, we didn’t know who they were.”
“And you guys are following me,” Cody said, interrupting. “That pisses me off, too. If you want to talk to me, just do it. I mean, do you really think I don’t know you’re out there?”
Hansen and Slater exchange a look then Hansen says, “Okay. So how about it, you got a minute?”
Todd is still foremost on his mind and Cody really wants to tell these guys to take a flying leap, but he can’t.
“Yeah,” Cody says. “Come on in.”
Cody leads them into the kitchen, deliberately staying away from the living room, away from his now stale bowl of cereal and, most especially, away from the pile of papers Harris had given him. In the kitchen, Cody pulls three cups from a cabinet.
“Coffee?” Cody says, then glances at the clock in the microwave, confirming the time with a quick check of his watch: two-fifteen PM. Looking back over his shoulder he says, “Beer?”
“We’re on duty,” Slater says. “No beer.”
“Yeah, John’s right,” Hansen agrees. “And I’ll pass on the coffee, too. Thanks anyway.”
“Okay by me,” Cody said, replacing the cups. “But you can cut the crap about being on duty.” He looks at Slater and says, “John, you gotta be ten years my senior. I’ll bet you’ve been walking the blue line for close to thirty, I have to believe you’ve stepped over it a time or two. I can see it in your face. You’re like me. You do what it takes even if it’s not exactly allowed. Sometimes you close the cuffs a little too hard, sometimes you stretch the truth, and sometimes you drink a beer while you’re working.”
Cody glances at Hansen. “Eric,” he says. “You’re a little harder to read but that just tells me you’re still green. I’m not sure if you’ve seen enough shit to make you cross the line but I know you believe in the brotherhood. You might not have threatened a pimp to get information, maybe you haven’t bent his whore to make sure he told you the truth, but you’ll never tell who has. I seem to recall a couple of other Hansen’s over the years. Unless I miss my guess, you’re at least second generation cop, maybe third. So, let’s just skip the pretense and admit that we all want a goddamned beer, okay?”
The room falls silent. Slater narrows his eyes, his body becoming visibly tense. Hansen shifts his gaze between Cody and Slater. Hansen knows his partner did not just step over the blue line, he jumped it. He also knows Slater likes very few people and trusts even fewer. Slater is a loner, twice divorced, never visits his son; he is the guy sitting alone in some neighborhood bar nursing three fingers of cheap bourbon on a Friday night. Slater avoids department functions, he eats, sleeps, and sometimes goes bowling but he is always a cop. Slater has nothing else, doesn’t seem to want anything else.
And now Cody is trying to be Slater’s buddy, his pal. Hansen knows it isn’t going to work.
“I’m working,” Slater says. “No beer.”
“No problem,” Cody says. “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Slater says, pressing. “I’m thirty-three years on the job and I can see right through your little snowstorm. I don’t trust you, and I don’t plan to start any time soon, so give it up.”
“Be cool, John,” Hansen says. “”He’s just trying to be friendly.”
Keeping his eyes on Slater, Cody nods at Hansen and says, “That’s all, man. I’m just trying to break the ice. The last twenty-four hours have been a little crazy and I know I’ve been difficult. I just want to get back to square one, you know, start over.”
“I’m tired of your bullshit,” Slater says. “When you’re in the driver’s seat, its Katie bar the fucking door here I come. But when you lose control, you want to kiss and make up and be everybody’s friend. Which makes you a first-class asshole in my book.”
Cody crosses his arms, leans against the refrigerator, kind of nods as if agreeing. “John,” he says. “I have an unrivaled solve rate. Every cop in this town knows my name, they may not know me but they know who I am. Think what you want, but I get the job done better and faster than guys like you.”
A wicked smile plays across Slater’s face. “It’s not your solve rate, Briggs. It’s your kill rate. That’s why everyone knows your name.” The smile fades away. “They may have been Skulls,” Slater says. “But they were just kids, you executed five teenagers.”
Cody shrugs. “Like I said, I get the job done. Unlike----”
“Okay ladies,” Hansen says, cutting in. “Give it a rest. You sound like you’re in first grade, my dad can beat up your dad. Jesus, what is it with you two?”
Before either man can answer, Hansen fixes Cody with a serious look. “John’s right about your bullshit,” he says. “You think we don’t know what you’re up to? And what’s the point? So you have a great solve rate, big deal. You still have to answer our questions. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. You choose. But my patience is wearing thin.”
Hansen turns his attention to Slater and says, “And why do you have to be such an ass? It’s not like the guy hasn’t seen some action lately. His partner’s dead, his partner’s fiancée is dead, they almost got his wife, almost got him.” Hansen jabs a thumb toward the front door. “And sure looks to me like his kid’s father is a piece of work. So lighten up, already.”
Now, instead of looking at each other, Cody and Slater are glaring at Hansen, who throws it right back at them.
“What? “Hansen says. He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Wait, which one of you is gonna tell me how much more time on the street you have or how many arrests you’ve made, or how big your dick is?”
More silence, more glaring. Hansen folds his arms across his chest. Cody shifts his weight. Exasperated, Hansen blows his breath out and says, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, gimme a beer. Now I need it.”
Cody looks at Hansen a few seconds longer then his eyes soften and the corner of his mouth lifts in a faint smile. Turning away, Cody opens the refrigerator, pulls out two beers and gives one to Hansen, the second bottle he leaves on the kitchen counter. Getting a third beer, Cody twists the cap off and takes a long swallow.
“Okay,” Cody says, wiping his mouth. “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with this morning,” Slater says. “Who’d you meet at Rhodes?”
“I met a friend for coffee.”
“Give me a break, your friend gave you a package of some sort. You’re telling me that meeting was not related to any of these cases?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you,” Cody says. “Look, my captain put me on leave this morning. I’m not only off this case, I’m off the job.”
Slater and Hansen exchange a look. This, Cody thinks, is a good thing. It is obvious these two do not know about the District One administrative action, the story has not materialized. These cops do not know what happened between him and his captain.
“Who,” Slater says, now a bit unsure. “Did you meet?”
“Nobody you would know.” But Cody’s response is too quick. Even he knows the answer sounds made to order, preheated and patent.
Slater narrows his eyes, repeats his question. “Who did you meet?”
“A buddy of mine,” Cody says, relieved Slater is not pursuing the implication of his speedy r
eply. Cody continues, “He found some information about an unsolved that I’ve been working. It’s an old bank job that happened in DeKalb, Illinois, back in my college days at NIU. It’s sort of a hobby.”
“You’re on leave?” Hansen says. “Why?”
Cody shrugs, plays it off, saying, “Laroche thinks I’ve had too much fun for one day. He wants me to take a break, let my shoulder heal up, let things settle down.”
“How long?”
“A few days, maybe a week. I don’t know for sure.”
Slater shifts his weight, an unintended signal, he wants that beer. “Unsolved cases?” Slater says. “An old bank job? You’re kidding, right?”
Cody shakes his head, at the same time noticing Slater’s tell, so he has to think fast. Too many details about the fictitious robbery and his story will be easy to check, to few and the lie will be obvious.
“No joke,” Cody says. “It happened my junior year. I’ve been working it for years.”
“What about your shooter yesterday?” Hansen says, bringing the conversation back to matters at hand. “Get a look at him? Think he did Turano?”
Cody takes another swallow of beer. Slater looks at the lone bottle on the counter. He had been emphatic in his refusal. Still, he wants it. To make matters worse, not only is the speed out of his system but he had taken the last tab. There will be no more until he gets home. The speed is gone and the beer smells so good.
Cody catches Slater eyeing the beer. “You don’t have to trust me to drink a beer, John. How about it?”
Slater visibly relaxes. “What the hell,” he says, reaching for the bottle. “I don’t want to be the odd man out.”
