by Corey Brown
Derek hesitates, he remembers Cody had a story, but isn’t sure of the details. “Why would he do that, why would he take your piece?”
“Hansen didn’t intend to keep it,” Cody says. “He found me unconscious, it was in my hand and…” Cody hesitates, not wanting to say more. But he knows he has to finish the story. “And it had been fired,” Cody says. “Hansen didn’t know what had happened so he took it. You know, for safety.” Cody rubs his jaw, pinches his lower lip. “I would’ve done the same thing.”
Derek frowns, he wants to talk about why Cody was out cold on a rural Louisiana road, he wants to know why Cody had fired the gun, but it doesn’t feel right. Instead, Derek just asks, “He didn’t give it back?”
“No. I was supposed to meet you guys and I was late, Hansen wanted to call for the EMT’s but I just took off. Neither one of us thought about the gun.”
Derek nods, takes a swallow of beer. “And your piece killed Hansen?”
There is a moment, it grows, stretches out and Cody hesitates, glances sideways at Derek. In that moment, Cody considers how to answer, isn’t sure who he can trust, decides he doesn’t care anymore. “Yeah,” Cody says. “Someone used my gun on Hansen and now Laroche is wondering if I was the triggerman.”
“Did you tell Russell why Hansen had your gun?” Derek says, running his fingers through his hair, wishing he didn’t know any of this. “And who would leave a weapon at the scene? Only an idiot would shoot someone and leave the piece behind.”
“I tried to tell him all that but he wasn’t listening.”
“Does Russell know what happened this morning out on J.P. Oil Road?”
“Oh yeah,” Cody says. “He knows. Hansen called him just after I left.”
“He doesn’t believe you?”
“It’s not that.” Cody sighs. “Look, there are other things I can’t talk about but, trust me, my captain is handcuffed. He has to do it this way. Frankly, right now, I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I just gotta solve this thing.”
Cody takes a sip of bourbon. He does not want to make Derek ask, so he just says it. “I didn’t do it, Derek. I didn’t kill either of those guys. I can’t alibi myself for Hank Mitchell’s death other than to say I don’t own a sword and wouldn’t know where to find one. And I was with you and Harris this morning—even Russell knows Hansen was alive at that point. Then I went to my in-laws house to see Jamie. I was there when Laroche called me and I went to the PD to see him. I have not fired a gun at another human being since that deal with the Skulls.”
Another silence.
Derek a takes long swallow of his beer. He thinks about the Skulls. A nasty street gang, malicious and violent, not a bunch for whom you would have much empathy. But Cody had systematically killed a handful of their members; five dead, head shots every one. Not a single bullet wasted. Mentally, Derek smiles at the irony: Skulls, head shots.
At the time, Cody’s actions had seemed justified. Over a period of three days those five gang members had sexually abused and tortured two decent kids, a teenage boy and his girlfriend. The pair had not been singled out for any particular reason, chosen only because they were in the wrong place at wrong time. If anyone deserved to pay, it was those shit-bags. But in light of what Cody is saying now, maybe the incident with the Skulls was not all it seemed.
According to Cody, Hansen took it in the head just like Julia Turano, and nobody knew exactly how Nick Wheaton died. All things considered, the Skulls execution-style shootings suddenly seemed to be quite the rage. Maybe Cody’s style?
And what about Cody’s little trick that night they had boarded the Cuban’s boat during the rescue of Derek’s brother? Sticking wad of C-4 to the hull of that boat? Was there a pattern of recklessness, is Cody out of control?
Derek blinks, does it hard, a reality check. What the hell is he thinking? Cody was with Hansen and Slater when Julia was killed. And he put his own life in jeopardy on the Cut Throat. Cody was in the Gulf for only one reason that night: to get Justin Simmons away from those goddamned, boot-legging Cubans. Would someone like that execute people? Derek shakes his head at the thought, it seems too Jekyll and Hyde. No way was Cody capable of outright murder.
Cody takes Derek’s silence to mean that he has doubts. Cody can’t really blame him----- who wouldn’t have doubts? But now, the question is can he trust Derek? Should he continue to confide in Derek or is it time to shut up and get a lawyer?
Even though he is not completely sure of Cody’s innocence, tentatively Derek says, “Okay, look, I believe you. I mean, I more or less believe you, but you’re on really thin ice.”
“No shit, you think? News flash, it’s hotter than hell and you wonder if the ice is melting. Tell me something I don’t know. Look, thin ice or not, what you’re really saying is that you don’t believe me. Not really.”
Derek sighs, the sound acknowledging Cody’s sentiment. Then Derek looks at Cody, holds his eyes, and says. “As long as I’ve known you, I’ve trusted you. None of that has really changed, but I just can’t get my mind around all of this. And part of the reason is that you won’t come clean and tell me everything. Even now, you’re saying there are things you can’t discuss but I should take your word that you didn’t kill those men. What is that all about? What would you think if the tables were turned?”
“I’d think whatever you’re thinking,” Cody says, with a rueful smile. “I’d think you’d lost your mind.”
“Exactly. So, how about it? You gonna tell me what the hell is going on?”
“It’s all connected, man,” Cody says. “Nick’s murder, Julia’s, the attempt on me. Even Hank Mitchell and Eric Hansen, the drugs, the guns, David Carlson, it’s all connected, somehow.”
“Don’t forget the pregnant women,” Derek says.
“Yeah, them too.” Cody’s voice drops to just above a whisper. “It is all connected and somehow I’m taking it in the tailpipe. I don’t know how or why, but I am. I’m getting fucked and I can’t figure it out.”
Another few moments of silence and Cody’s thoughts shift to how the two of them had first met. This surprises Cody. He does not think of that chance meeting very often and here is that very same memory a second time in the same day. He takes another mouthful of bourbon and wipes his mouth.
“Do you remember,” Cody says. He pauses, stares down at the bar, not sure what to say. Cody wants to let the words come on their own. “Do you remember the day we met, that Sunday?”
Derek glances sideways at Cody. “Of course. I still cannot believe Walter, what an idiot. He goes down for reckless homicide over baseball cards.”
“Well, okay” Cody shrugs. “There is that, but….”
“But what?”
“Anything else about that day, about how we met, anything bother you?”
“Come on,” Derek sighs, pushes off his barstool. “Can’t this wait? We need to go.”
Cody doesn’t answer, doesn’t move.
“All right, all right,” Derek says, taking his seat again. “What about that day? Tell me.”
Cody looks up from his drink. “Remember how I asked if you’d been standing there for thirty minutes, because that’s how long it’d been since I’d come out?”
Derek frowns. “Not really, but if you say so.”
“That was Walter’s rationale,” Cody says. “His claim to the cards. I said I dropped them half an hour earlier and Walter said they couldn’t be mine because they wouldn’t have lasted that long, someone would’ve picked them up.”
Derek smiles, drains his beer then says, “Oh yeah, I remember now. Got to give the old prick credit for that, he really wanted those cards. So, what about it?”
Cody turns to face Derek, grabbing his arm. “Don’t you see?” Cody says. “You had just arrived. You hadn’t been there for anything like a half an hour, one minute, tops. But you bumped into me on your way out. I said it was my fault and took off. You said you saw the baseball cards fall out of my pocket as I ran dow
n the street.”
Derek thinks about it, his recollection of that day something less than crystalline. He weighs what they are currently discussing against what they should be talking about. They should be talking about Marion, they should be going to the hospital.
“I don’t remember it that way,” Derek says. “I was picking up some stuff, cold medicine I think, for Sarah. We collided, you took off and Walter showed up. But then you came right back.”
“See?” Cody says. “That’s what I’m talking about. I believe you had just arrived, I believe that Walter had just gotten there but that’s not what happened to me. For me, we bumped into each other half an hour before I came back. You were there at the same time I was. But for me, I left long before Walter arrived. It’s like we….like we were supposed to meet. Like we had to meet.”
Derek pulls a face. “What does that mean?”
Cody shakes his head slowly. “I have absolutely no idea. It’s like our personal experience of the present happened at different times, but they over-lapped or something.”
The bartender arrives with the bill. “Seventeen-fifty,” he says. “That’s for both of you.”
“Right,” Derek says, handing him a twenty. “Keep it.”
The bartender takes the bill, holds it up to the light, checks for the cotton security ribbon then walks away. Derek looks at Cody, says, “How am I supposed to take that? What the fuck does that mean, over-lapping personal experiences?”
Cody shakes his head. “All I know is something like that happened. We were in the same place at different times and somehow we saw each other.” Cody picks up his glass, stares down at the dry bottom and says, “Time and space did something Einstein never counted on, I’m sure of it.”
Derek stands and tugs on Cody’s elbow. “Cody, I don’t know about any of that shit. I don’t know about Einstein or over-lapping experiences, but we have to go, I have bad news.”
Cody looks at him, a tight expression forming on his face. “What happened?”
“It’s Marion. Somebody shot her. Jamie and Gus are with her at the hospital. Come on, let’s go. I’ll drive.”
Now, Cody is on his feet, moving past Derek, walking toward the door.
“Someone shot her?” Cody says, over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is she all right? Why didn’t Jamie call me?”
“I don’t know any details,” Derek says. “I just know Marion’s in trouble and it doesn’t look good. Jamie couldn’t reach you on your cell, so she called Sarah who called me. Since this is our favorite place, I figured I look here.”
They are on the street now, walking north.
“Why didn’t you tell me right away?” Cody says.
“I was going to, but I knew something was bothering you. I----”
“That’s no good,” Cody interrupts. “This was more important.”
Derek takes Cody by the shoulder, stops and faces him. “Look,” he says. “We only lost a few minutes, and you seem to have some pretty big problems of your own. It occurs to me that Marion may have been shot because she is related to you. Think about that. Is it unreasonable to assume her shooting is connected to whatever you think is going on? Now, we’re going to the hospital and you are going be with your family. But when things get settled there, you and I are going to talk. You are going to tell me everything. No more secrets, no more bullshit. You are going to bare your soul.” Derek pauses, glances around then says, “And so am I.”
Chapter 26
“Hi.”
Gus Dubois looks up, worry and tension etched into his face, his hand clamped tightly around Jamie’s. Suzanne Carlson hesitates, wondering if she should be doing this. It has been almost an hour since these two arrived, forty-five minutes since they had sat down in the ER waiting room.
“I couldn’t help noticing,” Suzanne says. “You seem upset.” She motions toward the emergency room doors. “I saw you come in. Is there anything I can do?”
“We’re fine,” Gus says, a tight smile on his pale face. “Thanks just the same.”
“Do you work here?” Jamie says.
Suzanne shakes her head. “No, I just thought maybe I could help.”
“You’re very kind. Thank you.”
Suddenly unsure of what to do now, Suzanne nods, acknowledging Jamie’s gratitude and turns away. But Jamie reaches out, touching Suzanne’s hand. As her fingers brush Suzanne’s skin, Jamie’s thoughts seem to empty. What Jamie was about to say vanishes from her mind and is replaced with a mental image of Cody: he is in the center of a storm, a swirling mass of darkness with bits and pieces of things spinning around, cutting, slicing him. But before Jamie can even begin to think about what she had just imagined, the picture in her head melts away.
Jamie frowns and simultaneously, uncontrollably, blurts, “Why are you here?” A look of confusion forms on her face and she looks at her fingertips.
‘Why are you here’? The question is what Jamie had intended to ask but somehow the words seem foreign. It feels like time has just skipped a beat, as if something happened and Jamie missed it.
“I mean,” Jamie says, still frowning, still feeling out of step with the present. “Why are you here if you don’t work for the hospital?”
Suzanne pauses. She doesn’t really have an answer, not a good one anyway.
“My brother----” her voice catches, she swallows, clears her throat. “My brother was brought here last night.” Suzanne shakes her head dismissively. “Look,” she says. “I’m sorry I bothered you. If you need anything, if you want coffee or something, I can show you where it is.”
“Is your brother all right? Jamie says.
Suzanne hesitates, wondering what she should say. This is not how she had expected things to go. “No, he’s not,” she says, looking at the floor. “He died early this morning.”
There is a moment of awkward silence and no one speaks, not Jamie or Gus; not Suzanne. And in that moment, Suzanne’s skin begins to tingle where Jamie had touched her. Instantly, like gunfire, the sensation flashes into a mental image, or the idea of an image or some kind of vision. It is something both indistinguishable and comprehensible.
Regardless, Suzanne feels a resonance between herself and Jamie. It is some kind of a connection, a link. But something is wrong. The feeling is hollow, like a slice of her life is gone.
What Suzanne does not realize is that she saw the same image as Jamie: other-worldly things, a cyclone of swirling material—bits and pieces spinning wild—and a glimpse of Cody in pain. Only her vision was of David saving Cody’s life.
“Your brother is dead?” Jamie says, getting to her feet. “That’s terrible.” She glances at Gus. “And here you are offering to help us. What can we do for you?”
“Yeah,” Gus agrees, pushing up from his chair. “Don’t be worrying about us, no. You got your own troubles.”
Suzanne adjusts her purse strap. “Thank you,” she says. “But David is dead, nothing can be done for him now.” Suzanne looks Gus in the eye. “Your wife,” she says, then shifts her focus to Jamie, “And your mother is still alive, fighting for her life. We need to be thinking about her. We need to be praying for her.”
Jamie takes Suzanne’s measure, wondering if this stranger is a plant, a proselytizer of some new religious order. The rhetoric seems bold and overly candid. The magnanimous shift from her brother’s death to prayer feels suspicious.
Suzanne glances around, unsure about saying anything more. She fidgets for a moment and says, “It’s just that I feel like…” Suzanne hesitates. The words are on her lips but saying them seems impossible.
“It’s like I know you,” Jamie says, finishing Suzanne’s sentence. “Like we know each other.”
Astonished, Suzanne stares at Jamie. “You feel that way, too?”
Jamie looks away, surprised by the verbalization of her own impromptu thoughts. “Not until this very moment.” She says. “But, yes, I do.” Jamie makes a face. “Isn’t that odd?”
“Uh
,” Gus says, his voice almost an intrusion into the moment. “Do you really know each other?”
Jamie shifts her weight then thrusts her hand forward.
“Jamie Briggs. This is my father, Gus Dubois.”
Suzanne takes Jamie’s hand and says, “Suzanne Carlson, I’m pleased to meet you.”
Each woman half expects something fantastic to happen at the moment they shake hands.
“Now we know each other,” Jamie says, with a fleeting smile. “I’m so sorry about your brother. What was his name?”
“David.”
“Can I ask, what happened?”
“We don’t….the doctors aren’t really sure. They’re saying it was a heart attack, but I think they just don’t know. I think they’re wrong.”
“You’re not much older than Jamie, here,” Gus says, instinctively draping an arm over Jamie’s shoulder. “Your brother must’ve been a young man. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Then someone is calling out.
“Hey Jamie, Gus.”
The trio turns to see Cody and Derek coming toward them, the sliding ER doors closing behind. Jamie gasps, the sound is low and hardly noticeable, but Suzanne hears it, she recognizes genuine relief; Jamie’s husband is here.
Cody rushes to her and Jamie meets him, thrusting herself into Cody’s arms.
“Oh honey,” Cody says, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”
Jamie presses her cheek to his face, tears breaking lose. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “You’re here now.”
Still holding Jamie with his left arm, Cody puts his right hand on Gus’s shoulder, pulls him close and says, “How’re you holding up?”
Gus bites his lower lip, turns his face away. “Good as can be expected.”
