by Jayne Blue
I brought my hands up. I cupped my father’s face. I loved him. He drove me crazy. Oh yes, he was just like Ben. “Daddy, that’s not your choice to make. I’m angry for what you did to Mom. I’m angry at her for covering for you. But we’re all still family. Even polyester-shirt-wearing Randy.”
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know. And I’m going to need some time with all of this. I’m going to have a lot of questions you won’t want to answer. But you will. Just, not today. Now, let me go put on a pot of coffee. You’re soaked to the bone. You’re white as a ghost and you’re shivering. Let me start a fire and get some hot liquid into you. You’re going to catch a cold.”
As I pulled away, he gripped my arm tighter than before. His eyes went wide and he started to cough. God, he was worse off than I thought. I patted his shoulder and went over to the fireplace. I turned it on. He coughed into his fist, doubling over from it.
“Jesus, Dad. Are you okay?” He lifted a hand and nodded through his coughing fit.
“I’ll take that coffee,” he said. “Black.”
“Got it,” I said. I turned one last time as I headed into the kitchen. He leaned back on the couch and breathed deep. I didn’t like his color one bit. Grabbing the coffee pot from the machine I filled it with water. My father’s coughing started up again.
Then he stopped. The world slowed. My limbs felt submerged in thick tar as I lifted the coffee pot out of the sink. The back door burst open and glass exploded from the frame. My father’s voice reached me. He shouted.
“Charlotte! Baby! My heart. Call 911!”
I took a step back. Two men dressed all in black muscled their way through my back door. Their cold eyes stared at me through the slits in their ski masks. I used the only weapon I had, throwing the coffee pot at them. I turned and ran toward the living room. I reared back as one of them caught my hair in his fist. Tripping forward, I saw my father in the living room. He took two steps forward then fell to the ground, clutching his chest.
Chapter Twenty
Ben
“You sure?” Jimmy Flannigan Jr. leaned over the bar, resting his weight on his elbows. He pushed a bottle of Jim Beam toward me and grabbed a shot glass from beneath the counter.
I fingered the label on the bottle. “The trouble is, I might like it too much.”
I would have too. That would have been easy and that was the problem. The liquid would burn going down and settle into a smooth warmth that fuzzed the hard edges of my mind. I needed it too much. But that was my father’s path and I wouldn’t take it. Not today.
“I’ll stick with a cold draft, Jimmy. For now anyway.”
Jimmy knocked his knuckles against the bar and took the bottle away. He poured me my second beer and turned to another customer My phone buzzed in my pocket again. I reached in and clicked the ringer off. Janet would try to bust my ass later for ignoring her, but for now, this is how I wanted it.
Of course, my luck being what it was, two minutes later I didn’t get my way. A sharp whistle call behind me and the guys on either stool next to me shrugged and moved off. Tim Bates and Brett Davis took over their seats and Bates pushed his shoulder against mine.
“Figured I’d find you here,” he said. “Is there a point to me asking how you’re doing?”
Jimmy came back over holding a draft pitcher but Bates waved him off. He was on duty for another hour just like I was supposed to be.
“Swell,” I said, taking a long draught from my frosted mug. It wasn’t enough. The Jim Beam looked better and better and I knew the longer I stayed here, the harder it would be to say no. My father’s Irish blood flowed strong inside of me. Lucky for me though, my mother’s did too.
“Have you called the union yet?” Bates asked. Brett reached over the counter and poured himself a Diet Pop from the beverage gun.
I ran my finger through the condensation on the outside of my mug. “Bates, if you don’t mind, I’m not really in the mood to talk about any of this.”
Brett laughed. “Cool story.”
I flipped him off.
“Come on, man,” he said. “We all know this is bullshit. Give the chief a day or two to cool off and he’ll come around. But Tim’s right. You shouldn’t handle this shit on your own. Have a steward come with you and set up a meeting. The guy can’t suspend you for fucking his daughter and you know it.”
My back stiffened and I gripped my beer mug tighter. “Brett, I’m going to kindly ask that you not talk about Charlotte anymore. I kind of came here to cool off on my own. What’re the chances either one of you might give me the space to do that?”
Tim reached over and grabbed a fistful of peanuts on the other side of Brett. “Nil, my brother.” He unclipped his Motorola radio from his waistband and set it on the bar. It squawked commands from dispatch and he twisted the volume down.
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. Well, I’m thinking maybe I’m just going to sit here and get good and shitfaced.”
“No, you’re not,” Brett said. “Nice try though. Look, it’s Monday. Why don’t you let me set something up for you at the union office for first thing in the morning? I’ve got the day off. I’ll go with you. The longer you sit and pout and don’t file a formal grievance, the worse this is going to get. Guys are talking their heads off as it is.”
“I don’t actually give a fuck,” I said. I wanted to smash something. Hard.
“Yes, you do,” Tim said. “And even if you don’t, I do. This is the kind of thing that could ruin your career long term if you don’t handle it fast.”
“Tim,” I turned to him. Any hope I had of keeping the edge out of my voice went straight out the window. “When are you going to get it through your head I don’t care about my long-term career? Not as much as you do, apparently. What the chief did was bullshit. But here’s the thing. Charlotte matters to me, okay? I don’t give a flying fuck what the rest of you assholes want to say about that behind my back. I do care what you say about her behind my back. And like it or not, Chief Marek is her father. So for right now I’m going to sit here and pout in my goddamn beer about it. I’m in a no-win situation.”
“Have you talked to her?” Brett asked. “Does Charlotte even know what he pulled today?”
I blew a hard breath out of my nose and gritted my teeth. “She hasn’t called. She was on her way back from visiting her mom in Florida. I need to cool off before I talk to her too. This is a rock and a hard place. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“She matters to you, huh?” Tim asked. He had a shit-eating grin on his face.
Aw, hell. Now he’d be like a junkyard dog with a bone. “Yeah, asshole. She does. That’s the bitch of it. I’ve got to file a damn grievance against her dad if I want my badge back, it looks like. So, you tell me. How is that not going to end up in the newspaper in this tiny-ass town we live in? It’s a mess for her. It’s a mess for me. You wanna know the real kick in the ass of this? He’s hanging this shit on account of the fact I tuned up Charlotte’s ex. He got rough with her right in front of me. If her old man is worth anything, he’d have done the same thing.”
“Jesus Christ, Ben, did you tell him that?” Tim slammed a fist against the bar.
“He wasn’t really in the listening mood. The man was more in the career-ruining mood.”
Tim’s radio squawked again. He reached for the volume knob again. Then Brett’s went off. The two-toned alarm went off indicating an all-unit call. Tim held the radio to his ear and pressed his finger to his other ear.
“All units. Home invasion in progress. 800 block of Kingston Boulevard. The call came through on COP’s cell number. Repeat, all units respond. Suspects are armed.”
My vision seemed to narrow to a pinpoint. Tim and Brett shouted something. Tim’s phone blew up at the same time.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, sliding off the stool. COP meant Chief of Police. Marek had made the damn 911 call from his private phone!
“I’m going
with you,” I said, grabbing my jacket. “That’s Charlotte’s address, goddammit.”
Tim’s face turned white. “Ben, you can’t. You can’t be anywhere near this.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. I peeled it off and shoved him hard. “You planning on stopping me?”
“Ben.”
Brett got between us, putting a hand on Tim’s arm. I didn’t want to test him to see whose side he was on. My heart thundered up to my throat. Adrenaline coursed through me, making my vision blur and my ears ring. Charlotte. I had to get to Charlotte.
“Ben, even if I could bend the rules, you’ve been sitting in a bar.”
“I’ve had a beer and a half,” I shouted. The truth was, even if I’d done three shots, it wouldn’t have mattered. Hearing Charlotte’s address over on the radio call would have sobered me with one breath.
“That’s all I’ve served him, Tim,” Jimmy shouted over the noise in the bar.
“Come on, man.” I searched Tim’s face.
“Bates, come on,” Brett said, picking his side. I put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He looked at me then back at Bates. “Joan probably hasn’t even had a chance to put the paperwork through.”
“You need me, Bates,” I said. “You’re short a man without me. We’re wasting time.”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, but I could see the look in his eye. He wouldn’t stand in my way. “You better be right about Joan. You can radio the team on the way. You need your gear and a weapon, goddammit. And you do exactly what I tell you. We do this one by the book.”
Swallowing hard, I slapped Tim Bates on the shoulder.
We ran toward the exit together. Cold air blasted my face as we made it outside. Climbing into Bates’s vehicle, he got on the radio and shouted commands to the Strike Team. They’d meet us a block away from Charlotte’s.
I gripped the seat back as Tim took a sharp turn and his radio squawked again. My heart disintegrated when we heard the call from the first unit on the scene.
“Shots fired. Repeat. Shots fired. Stand by.”
My stomach flipped and my vision darkened. God, please don’t let it be too late.
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlotte
I got to my knees just as the cold barrel of a gun pressed between my shoulder blades. My heart couldn’t beat. I couldn’t draw breath. I could only look in my father’s eyes. He lay on the ground on his side, struggling to draw breath of his own. Fear didn’t keep his chest from rising and falling the way it should. He clutched his chest and mouthed something to me, drawing my focus to his blue lips.
“He’s having a heart attack,” I gasped. “You have to let me help him.”
The barrel of the gun pushed even deeper against my skin. I don’t know what fear of death is like for other people. For me, it didn’t seem real. He can’t shoot me. I can’t die because of this. My father’s pale skin and sweat-covered brow seemed real. I was losing him. I’d said every awful thing I could think of to him just a few minutes before. Of course it would end this way. I got him back, then pushed him away, and now he’d leave me for good.
“Don’t move, old man.” The other intruder stepped around my father. Dad squeezed his eyes shut. My eyes traveled upward. The man was tall and skinny. He wore black jeans faded to gray at the knees. He had on a black t-shirt exposing well-muscled arms with tribal tattoos snaking across them. I could see his dark brown eyes through the slits in his mask and tobacco-stained teeth as he grimaced. He leaned down and pressed his gun against my father’s cheek. Dad gasped for breath and gritted his teeth.
“Bathroom,” he sputtered. “Right off the kitchen. Lock her in it. Take what you came for. Computer in the upstairs bedroom. Jewelry on the dresser.”
The effort of talking cost him. Sweat trickled down the bridge of my father’s nose. Wheezing, he tried to reach for me.
The skinny intruder grabbed a lock of my father’s hair and lifted his head cruelly off the ground. “You don’t give orders. You follow them. And I say shut your mouth.”
“Hurry up!” The other man, the one with the gun to my back, shouted to his companion. He had a deep, gravelly voice. He was bigger than the other man, taller. He wore the same clothes but had beefier arms. Skinny Man and Deep Voice.
A siren pierced the air and my heart flipped. My home security system bleeped. Exactly two minutes after they smashed the window in, the thing went off. Deep Voice yanked me to my feet, twisting my arm backward.
“Bitch, you’ve got five seconds to shut that thing off.”
My father groaned. I shot a look his way. He shook his head as though he were trying to tell me something, but Deep Voice shoved me back toward the kitchen.
“He’s having a heart attack,” I pleaded.
“I don’t give a shit,” Deep Voice said. “Shut off that racket or your old man gets a bullet in his head. Which do you suppose will kill him faster?”
My fingers went stiff as I tried to punch in the code. I hesitated for a fraction of a second. Which was better? Should I shut off the code or input a different one, sending a signal to the company?
“I see anything other than ‘disarmed’ flash on that keypad, I cave your old man’s jaw in. Do we understand each other, bitch?”
I nodded then punched in the disarm code. The siren stopped. My ears throbbed in the silence. Deep Voice shoved me back into the living room. I skidded to my knees and pulled my father’s head into my lap. His hacking cough sent spears of panic through me. He couldn’t survive another heart attack.
“Please,” I begged. “He’s got nitroglycerin in his jacket pocket. At least let me get it for him.”
Skinny Man blinked. He looked toward Deep Voice. I think he would have acquiesced, but Deep Voice stepped in between us.
“He gets nothing and neither one of you moves. Got me? You want your old man to get help, you sit tight. Now, get him up. Sit back to back right there in the middle of the floor.”
“He can’t! Can’t you see what’s happening?”
Skinny Man stepped forward and grabbed my father by the arm. He pulled him up. Dad sputtered and grunted, but he managed to sit upright. I pressed my back hard against his, trying desperately to give him support. Deep Voice came forward. He pulled a rope from his backpack and looped it around us. He tied it so tight around my chest, I couldn’t fully inhale. It would make it that much harder for my dad to breathe.
I found his hand near my left hip. Clasping it hard, I ran my thumb over my dad’s palm. He squeezed back. Then I searched for his other hand. He held it curled up near the small of his back. When my fingers grazed his, I realized why. He held his smartphone halfway up his sleeve. He gave me two quick squeezes with his other hand, a signal of some kind. Had he managed to call for help before they’d shoved me back into the living room?
Skinny Man slid the backpack off his own shoulders and ran toward the stairs. God, if they’d hurry. If they’d just take what they wanted and leave, I could get my father the help he needed.
Dad squeezed my hand once. I squeezed it back. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do. His skin felt so cold, his breathing became more labored. I felt him sag to one side, dragging me with him. I pushed my heels and tried to brace him better. He righted himself, but paid for it in a fresh round of racking coughs.
“You got a safe?” Deep Voice stood over me.
“What? No. It’s just like he said. I have a jewelry box on my bedroom dresser. My laptop is on a chair. My purse is hanging off the doorknob. I’ve got about fifty dollars in there. Are you going to kill me or let my father die for fifty dollars?”
Deep Voice hauled off and slapped me. My flesh stung and my teeth rattled. The force of it made me lurch sideways, bringing my father with me. Dad grunted.
“You son of a bitch,” he gasped. “I’m going to fucking kill you, mother fucker. Don’t touch her.”
Deep Voice started to laugh. He hunched over us and peered in my father’s face. “What are you going to do about
it? Huh?”
When Dad started to cough, Deep Voice mocked him, coughing right along with him. I heard him cock his gun. The back of Dad’s head pressed against mine and I knew Deep Voice held his gun against his forehead.
“So, if I pull the trigger, you think your thick head’ll be enough to keep her brains from spilling out too? I doubt it. Wanna try? Might be fun to see. Two for the price of one.”
“No!” I screamed, panic making me shiver. “You can’t kill him. You have no idea what’ll happen to you if you do.”
Dad squeezed my hand twice. His grip had weakened so much I could barely feel it. It was a warning. Once for yes, twice for no. I squeezed his hand back once. They needed to know who he was. If they knew he was the Chief of Police, maybe they’d think twice about letting him die or hurting me. Dad squeezed my hand twice again.
“Son of a bitch!” The shout came from upstairs. Skinny Man came flying down. He had my purse over his shoulder and shoved my wooden jewelry box into his backpack. There wasn’t much in there. I had my grandmother’s two-carat engagement ring, the one my mother had worn from my father. I had a string of pearls my dad gave me when I turned eighteen. It was nothing. Trivial. Certainly not worth his life or mine. But Skinny Man’s eyes were wide and I could see his cruel smile through the crooked slit in his ski mask.
“Jackpot, Dale,” he said. So Deep Voice had a name. Dale.
Dale sucked air through his teeth. Stupid. So stupid. It meant we knew things we weren’t supposed to know. I closed my eyes, wishing I could unhear it all.
Skinny Man waved an envelope in the air. Dale grabbed it from him and my heart sank. He opened it and pulled out the 5X10 photograph the mayor had sent me from my father’s swearing-in. It was of the two of us standing in front of the city seal with my father in his full dress uniform as the newly minted Chief of Police.
Dad squeezed my hand once. I squeezed it back.
