In the Nick of Time

by Laveen, Tiana

  “After a really good day of doing my bullshit, I’d go home with a big smile on my face, like God himself told me, ‘Job well done’. Mom would ask how my day was and what I did when I’d come back in the house. To the first part of her question I’d tell the truth. For the last part, I’d lie. If I went to school that day, I’d let her know. If I didn’t, she’d get the same answer anyway. There was this big Ecuadorian girl that lived on the corner…hold on a sec.” He reached into a black mesh bag on the table and plucked out a bottle of water.

  He unscrewed the cap, took a deep swallow, then placed the bottle back down. “So, where was I? Oh yeah, Pilar. Anyway, she was a little older than us and we’d pay her a couple of dollars once a week to call in sick for us sometimes, ’cause she sounded like a mother even though she was only like fifteen. She developed fast, had a low voice and big breasts. Jonathan and I had fucked her a couple of times. He and I were only like thirteen at the time.

  “It was no big deal though to us at the time; that’s just how we were. Anyway, I’d go home eventually. When I’d go to my room, I’d immediately get hunger pangs because my apartment would fill up with the scents of my mother’s cooking. She never made anything fast.” He smiled sadly. “I could smell Mom’s dinner cooking like…everywhere.” He waved his hand like a damn shield to stop a wave of fresh pain. Those memories still lived close to his heart. “We’d have beans and rice almost every night though. Like, she’d have some salads, vegetables, fruit, and things like that. Sometimes, there would be some chicken with it. I couldn’t give her extra food, because then she’d know I’d stolen it.” His smile slowly faded.

  “She wasn’t stupid. I’d tried that before, and she snatched me up by my ear and made me tell her where I got the food. I remember how my ear burned, probably turned bloody red as her long nails twisted and turned it back and forth…and the look on her damn face. You know…” He swallowed, leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “It wasn’t so much anger… I think she was just sad, you know? At the time, I just figured she was pissed. That wasn’t the end though. She humiliated me, screamed at me in that high pitched Minnie Mouse voice of hers, and marched me down to the store.

  “Once we got in there, she had me tell the store manager what I did. But I didn’t learn to stop stealing. No.” His shook his head and focused on the floor, disgusted at himself. “What I learned, Taryn, was to do it better. I learned to be more discreet about it. I’d eat her food and not complain after that incident. I never offered anything to her again.” He sniffed and leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes for a spell. He could hear the soft murmurs of people speaking nearby in the aisles of the small library, groups walking past, the click clacking against computer keys, and the drone of copy machines. He could hear the rehabilitation world of Firststone going on as usual, while he travelled the past. Perhaps, they were one and the same…

  “No, no, you get no argument from me about that. Not at all. I’m glad he’s progressing but I understand your concerns.” Captain O’Sullivan clutched his phone as he bit into his turkey sub sandwich, chomping down, giving it his all.

  “And the last assignment was overdue. I also spoke to his therapist and he has had a few dreams about a friend of his named…hold on a moment… Jonathan. Yes, his therapist wrote down here the name Jonathan. Anyway, he refuses to go into further detail about what these dreams are in reference to. All I know is that it was a friend of his. The boy died I believe, but I’m not sure of the circumstances.”

  “Hmmm, do you by chance have a last name for this Jonathan kid? I think Nick actually told me about that before. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he did.” He patted the side of his mouth with a napkin. “I believe they were very close, like brothers. It was a guy he grew up with. I didn’t know that it was still bothering him this way though, that he was actually having nightmares about it….hmmmm.” He grabbed his diet coke, took a loud slurp, and set it back down on his desk.

  “Since Nick stated that you were entitled to his records, updates and progress verbally and in written format, I will see if he told the therapist a last name, and then send it to you.”

  “Yeah, do that. It’s for my own curiosity is all… He never told me all that happened, either. Not like any big details, only that he’d died. So what else is going on? Anything else I should know?”

  “He is stubborn, but getting better and quite popular with the ladies…” Frieda said with a light laugh.

  “Mmmm hmmmm, yeah,” he guffawed. “That sounds like him.” He popped a couple of fingers into his mouth and sucked the tangy mustard off them, swallowed the spicy flavor. “Look, Frieda, get that information over to me if you can, but thanks for keeping me abreast of everything. All this will do is make it easier to get him back on board when the time comes. Hell, he may not even want to come back… you never know about things like this.”

  “That’s quite true but as much as he talks about his job, I think I can safely say he loved it with you all.”

  “I believe he did, too… I miss him, you know? I think I’m just tryna prepare myself for the worst. That’s how I operate. I even got ex-convicts asking me about him, wondering where he is!” He burst out laughing, and Frieda soon joined in. “Now you know when you have a jerk that you arrested asking where is so and so, that man is definitely well liked. Boy… it’s just not the same around here without his loud voice and smart ass comments… It’s just not the same.” He swung around leisurely in his chair, gripping the napkin tighter. “But I need him to get well… He’s got to get well…”

  …Come on Nick, don’t let us down. You gotta get well and come back…

  We need you, son…

  “I couldn’t escape who I was as a child anymore, and I couldn’t face who I was as an adult. I’d worked so hard to leave the ugliness inside of me behind, Taryn, the beast, but he kept chasing behind me, pulling my coat tails, reminding me that I was no good, a thief, a bastard child. He let me know that no one but my mother wanted me and I’m sure I gave her second thoughts on occasion, too. I’d never be good enough. I’d never be truly wanted. Who the fuck cared that I now was a police officer? That I’d made it through the academy with flying colors and was deemed one of the most promising to graduate?

  “No one cared that in my junior and senior year in high school I got myself together after I realized life was bigger than the shit I was doing! All this horsing around and getting into trouble! It got worse after I graduated. Some of my friends turned on me after I became a cop, accused me of selling out… That hurt, it really did, Taryn. They believed I’d turn them in, report their crimes…the things they did to survive and have a good time. They no longer wanted me around. I’d lost what I had, everything I’d worked for. It became a double-edged sword, a burden resting on my chest. I started to suffocate. I gasped for air…couldn’t breathe. Everything I did to better myself turned on me, made me sorry I ever thought I could accomplish anything in the first damn place.” He took a few more swigs of water and turned slowly towards her. “Do you have to be somewhere?” He looked down at his wristwatch.

  “Yeah, I do,” she said. “Right here with you…”

  Captain O’Sullivan snatched his glasses off his face, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a pounding headache coming on. He released an exasperated sigh. Reading the old news reports online and digging into the confidential criminal records made his damn gut turn and rumble. The piece of paper was still warm from being freshly printed, but the man’s body had run cold a long time ago. He looked at the fucker’s mug shot, held it carefully in his hand and studied it. He started from the guy’s jet-black, long, greasy hair down to his pointy chin dented with a deep, diagonal scar. Santiago Ramirez was the seventeen-year-old boy accused of murdering a sixteen-year-old boy in Brownsville over fifteen years earlier. The victim’s name was Jonathan Mendoza, and the prey had been with his friend, a grief stricken kid who’d given a statement to the police, while his pain soaked in the dead c
omrade’s blood… Nicholas Vitale.

  He sighed once more and all he could do was shake his head as he slowly rocked in his seat. After reading the account, he had no idea if it would help Nick or not to know what the hell happened, make a damn bit of difference. Hell, maybe he already knew? He sure hadn’t provided much detail about the matter… but of course, that was Nick’s way—a stormy human crypt passing through the place like a blaze. Would declaring his findings make the guy more skittish than he already was? He wasn’t quite sure what would set him off, so he couldn’t fully sell himself on the idea of taking such a chance.

  Santiago had fled the area soon after he’d dropped those bricks from atop that building, purposefully and brutally killing the young man who stood below. The guy was apprehended for a different crime while living in New Jersey about three years later. The police department there knew nothing of his prior crimes, nor that he was on the run. It seemed as though he’d slipped through the damn cracks, having never faced a court of law for killing Jonathan. But, karma caught up with him; oh yes, she did—for Santiago was brutally murdered in prison by his cellmate during a heated argument. How ironic that the fatal blow had been administered by a blunt object to his skull, cracking his head open like a damn walnut.

  I looked a bit deeper, Nick, found out some things the public doesn’t know…

  Not only that, Santiago was HIV positive, perhaps contracted the disease due to a heavy heroin addiction, and his life had gone from rock bottom to the lowest level of Hell. It’s not something you’d necessarily wish on a guy, but the bad luck wagon had stopped right outside his door, demanded he come aboard, then handled that motherfucker in a rather obscene way.

  John tapped his fingers against his desk as he got sucked into a whirlwind of thought, and mulled his concerns and wishes for his unofficially adopted son.

  Nick, you’ve been upset about this all this time, haven’t you? I can see that. You’ve got a big heart… I’ve been getting your updates and information about your progress. Had a few setbacks, but you’re making a good effort… I knew you didn’t have it easy, but this… this is pretty bad, son… You said he was your best friend. That had to be tough to see; you were just a kid yourself… Jesus Christ…

  He ran his hand slowly over his face and came to a decision. Picking up the phone, he dialed and waited for the ring tone. He huffed, pissed, when he got the damn voice mail.

  “Hi Frieda, yeah… it’s John, Captain Sullivan, Nick Vitale’s boss. Say, look… please give me a call at the station when you get a chance. I looked up that name you gave me, and I have some information Nick might need to hear…”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I want to kiss you right now…” He offered a lopsided smile.

  “I want a bit more than that,” she said in a sassy tone. “Don’t stop…I know there’s more. Keep going, baby.”

  Sliding a bit closer, he placed his hand on her upper thigh as he stared down between his knees. He needed something to hold onto. Needed someone to love.

  “I was doing real well, and I was proud of myself but then, Mom got sick. She uh…she wasn’t feeling right. I made her go to the doctor one morning when I found her covered in sweat, just kinda lying in the bed. She’d missed work… That woman never missed work.”

  He swallowed, hating himself for writing this part in the letter. He’d written it so he’d have to talk about it now…just as he’d promised. A moment of silence led to another, and then another. He overdosed on the procrastination; hungry for it, but never satisfied. Then, he felt a soft hand touch his shoulder, the same one that had caressed him along the side of his face while he made love to her all through the night. The same hand that had held his as they walked through the falling snow, and their worlds collided, becoming one. The same warm hand he’d explored and memorized to the point that he’d fallen in love… She held his world in her hands, and his heart, too…

  “Got her to the doctor… He had me take her to the emergency room immediately. They…they ran some tests, and I knew as soon as the doctor came out and grabbed me that…it was real bad news. He said she had non-Hodgkin lymphoma and it was stage 4. It was in her bone marrow, her spinal cord.” He looked up at the ceiling and slowly closed his eyes as the tears tried to escape. There it was—her other hand, touching him…

  “It had spread everywhere! The doctors were in shock that she was still alive, walking around, working just the day before. My mother said she was always in pain, and didn’t know any different. Taryn, I couldn’t talk to her in the end!” A tear streamed his face. “They had her on so much goddamn medication, she had gone away somewhere. She was gone before she was gone, if you know what I mean. She died before we knew what hit us. I never got to say goodbye… but, she died holding my hand and the last thing she did say to me, was, ‘Nicky”… He punched his leg over and over, choked on a breath, and fought the tears. “Nicky, I love you.’” He pushed forward, swallowing his pain. “I was left trying to grieve, but I couldn’t; it hurt too much. I can’t even explain to you the kind of shit I was feeling.” He shook his head. “I’m trying, but there just are no words… no words for a pain like that.”

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking his shoulder.

  “I planned her funeral, went through the motions like some damn robot and then, the following month, someone shot and killed Frederic.” His eyes watered once more. “Damn it! I can’t do this, Taryn!!! I can’t do this!” He shook in his seat, and once again, he felt her embrace.

  “Yes you can! Come on, Nick!” She grabbed him by both arms, turned him towards her, and laid a kiss on his cheek. They no longer cared. People walked past the room, undoubtedly seeing them locked in their embrace, but he grabbed her arms, made her keep holding on to him, refused to let her go.

  “Damn it!” The tears came, stung his eyes. His heart hurt so deeply, for he’d never said these words, explained this pain to anyone else, especially not in this way. He sniffed, quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and gently removed himself from her hug, loath to get her in trouble.

  “So, uh,” he said with a sniff. “The guy that shot him was in a gang. They were trying to get someone else. He was at the wrong place, at the wrong time. He was out and about, just walking down the damn street on his way somewhere and the bullets rang out. It happened; they took his damn life. He was such a good person! I’d just spoken to him that morning. He and I were going to meet up and chill the next day. Taryn, Jesus! The little bit of innocence I may have had left was gone at that point. How could these things keep happening?!

  “He deserved so much better than that. He, my mother, and Jonathan were the only people that genuinely wanted me around and wished the best for me …and now, they all were gone!” The tears flowed now, and he didn’t stop them. “I was all alone! I didn’t have anybody… I didn’t fit in anywhere anymore. I was in a real bad spot, Taryn, real bad… back-to-back deaths like that. First Jonathan, some years prior… several other friends after that. Then my mother, then my mentor, but I struggled on, forged ahead somehow. I’m not sure how, but I am pretty certain I just turned everything inside of me off. I never fully dealt with it. I refused. I got all messed up inside, started having real bad, dark thoughts. In that same timeframe, my boss drew even closer to me, told me I was his son and I had a family—to never think I didn’t have one. It’s like he saw I needed to hear that…but he wasn’t my father, he wasn’t my mother… he wasn’t Jonathan and he wasn’t Frederic.

  “I was breaking down, Taryn. I was a walking war…cracking on the inside. I was about to blow, and didn’t realize it. I believed I let my mother down, because I wasted so much time playing and being foolish that she never got to see my full potential. That motivated me even more, made me want to be really good at my job. Plus, it was a good distraction. I listened to the citizens, tried to be fair, you know? In their faces, in their lives, I saw myself, Jonathan, Frederic, and my mother. I liked talking to the teenage
rs and young adults, too, and would explain to them that not everyone thinks they are destined for a life of bullshit. I wanted to see them grow up and get jobs and be happy, have families of their own.

  “I was happy-go-lucky for a while, but it was all an act. Like I said, I had never really grieved the loss of my mother; I’d just tucked the situation away. Everything that was painful for me, I’d just push aside.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Things began to mount. Because I was collecting trouble, as Frieda tells us, I had no idea I was about to be crushed by own state of denial. The summer rolled around that year, and crime soared through the damn roof. I was a rookie, but making a name for myself. I liked that, but I was being tested to the limit.

  “Every hour it seemed, I was looking at a dead body or calling for back up or for an ambulance because someone had been shot or stabbed or beaten beyond recognition. Me and Tomas, that’s my partner, were constantly doing vertical patrols, because these assholes would work in packs, like wolves, and it was like we had to close the whole damn block down. It happened over and over again with no breaks in between—worse than when I was little and that is because it seemed even more people were on drugs. Whenever you have an impoverished area, and you add alcoholism, joblessness, depression, mental illness and drugs, you will have more violence and crimes of all nature including rape, domestic disputes, drug dealing, prostitution, manslaughter, homicides, and armed robberies.”