Pierced: Pierced Trilogy Boxed Set

by Lashell Collins

  “Well, yes and no,” I respond walking further into the room and coming to a stop near the end of the bed. “The prints we lifted off your car and purse don’t match any we have already on file. The hate mail from your family’s company didn’t turn up anything interesting, and the sweep we did of your apartment didn’t turn up anything either. I did show your sketch of the tattoo around the station hoping that maybe one of the guys might recognize it. My partner and I also canvased some of the local tattoo shops but, to no avail. No one seemed to know anything.”

  “But, how can that be?” she asks sort of mournfully. “I had another nightmare about the attack last night,” she says softly. “I’m more certain than ever that he had that tattoo.” Her voice is full of sadness and I am momentarily distracted by her pout.

  “It doesn’t mean that you were wrong about the tattoo, Miss Colby,” I try to reassure her. “It could just mean that our guy didn’t get the tat from one of the local shops. He could have gotten it anywhere,” I shrug. “Or it could mean that we just didn’t run across the right shop or the right person yesterday. There are a lot of tattoo parlors in this city and we’ve only hit a handful of them so far.”

  She nods at my explanations and then appears to be thinking something over. Her pout deepens and I have to stifle a groan when she gently bites down on her bottom lip, clearly deep in thought. And I am lost trying to figure out why that simple gesture was so freaking hot when I hear her softly say, “We may never know who did this.”

  I blink at her words and I suddenly feel so useless. And I realize in that moment, that I would do anything to make this all right for her. To find the asshole who hurt her and put him away in order to make her feel safe again. Hell, that’s why I got into this line of work in the first place, wasn’t it? To help protect those who weren’t big enough or strong enough to protect themselves. And out of nowhere, an image of my mother lying crumpled and bloodied on the living room floor flashes briefly and unbidden through my mind. That was the night he broke her jaw. I feel anger course throughout my body and my fists involuntarily clench at my sides. Calm down, Pierce. It’s just a memory. I take a couple of deep breaths and try to rein it in.

  “Miss Colby … I would love to promise you that I will find whoever did this to you,” I say quietly. “But I can’t make that promise. All I can promise is that I’ll do my job to the best of my ability.” I hold her gaze for what feels like an eternity and I think she is assessing my earnestness.

  She nods slowly. “Thank you, Detective,” she says softly.

  “You said that you had another nightmare last night. Did you remember anything else?” I ask her. “Some detail about his facial features, maybe?”

  She is quiet for several seconds and then says apologetically, “No, I’m sorry. I just keep seeing that tattoo on his neck and smelling the cigarette smoke.”

  “If you remembered anything more we could maybe have you work with a sketch artist,” I tell her. “But until we have something more to go on … I’m afraid there’s not much we can do.”

  She looks so sad and I watch as she silently wipes a few stray tears from her cheeks. I feel like a bastard for telling her this but, it’s the truth.

  “Do you still think this was done to me purposely?” she asks.

  I give her a shrug of my shoulders and a shake of my head. “Honestly, Miss Colby, I’m just not sure. But without more to go on, it is looking more like a random incident.” But even as I say the words I can feel that gnawing at my gut again. Something about her assault just doesn’t make any sense and I know that I’m not wrong, but I don’t want to give her any false hope or scare her needlessly. “This doesn’t mean we’re finished. I will continue to canvas the area tattoo parlors. And if you remember anything else … like maybe a make and model of the beat-up car the smoking man was in … or anything else, anything at all, no matter how unimportant you think it might be, please call me.”

  She looks up at me and smiles slightly. It’s a sad sort of smile that beckons to me somehow and again, I find myself fighting the urge to wrap my arms around her. Involuntarily, I take a step back away from the bed.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done, Detective,” she says softly.

  “You are most welcome, ma’am.” I stare at her for a beat too long and suddenly feel like an idiot. “I should go. You take care of yourself.” She nods but says nothing and I head for the door. I glance back and give her a small smile, then open the door and leave.

  *****

  I can hear the music playing from the street as I get out of my car. Sly and the Family Stone singing about the skin they’re in. Not loud enough to call the cops but, loud enough to know that the party is in full swing. It’s early evening and it’s nice out, not a cloud in the sky so, I give an affectionate pat to the hood of my Charger and head toward the front yard. Usually, whenever I take her anywhere where she’s going to be out of my sight for a few hours, I would lock her up and cover her before walking away. But tonight, I don’t plan to be out long. I promised Turner that I would stop by tonight so, I’m here just to make an appearance. Plus, he barbeques a mean rib so, it won’t be too bad.

  Actually, I don’t mind coming to these things, these old timers’ gatherings. Back in the day, they used to refer to them as ‘choir practice,’ or maybe ‘poker night.’ Idly, I wonder if they still call them that. It’s nothing formal. Just every so often, all the older cops pick someone’s house and bring a bunch of booze and some food, and they hang out telling tall tales and reliving the exciting cases and generally blowing off some steam. Sometimes they can get pretty wild. People get drunk and say all sorts of shit you may or may not want your spouse, girlfriend, or significant other to hear so, there are never any spouses, girlfriends, or significant others in attendance. Just the guys – or girls, as long as that girl is also on the job. Choir practice is an equal opportunity event; as long as everyone there is a cop, what gender you are doesn’t matter. In the last few years though, they have become sort of ‘invitation only.’

  I’ll never forget the first time I came to one of these things. It was at Detective Lee Parson’s place and he had asked me himself. Came right up to me in the locker room. I had only been on the job maybe four or five months, and in that time only a few of the old timers had even acknowledged my presence. I was just another rookie to them. I was more than a little nervous, wondering if any of them knew who I was or if they would even remember me. When Parson came up to me and invited me to his place later that night, I was still left wondering. But when I got there, all the questions soon got answered…

  ~~~~~~~~

  The first thing I notice when I step into Parson’s backyard and take a look around is that I seem to be the only rookie here. And then the more I look around, it quickly dawns on me that not only am I the only rookie, but I’m the only young guy here too. Everyone else is older, not even any of the seasoned younger guys from the station seem to be here. Nervously, I run a hand through my hair and walk a little further into the yard feeling extremely self-conscious.

  There are a few old patio tables in the yard and guys sitting around drinking and shooting the breeze. A few of them look up when they see me and some of them nod in greeting. Others just stare like they’re waiting for my first act to begin. Yeah, I guess you could say that I feel like I’m on display.

  “Hey, kid, want a beer?” someone asks me and I glance over to where one of the guys is standing by a big cooler.

  “Yeah, sure,” I mumble gratefully and walk over to examine the contents of the cooler. It’s full to the brim with just about every brand you can think of. “Nice variety,” I mumble with raised eyebrows.

  “That’s because it’s all confiscated,” he says with a smirk. “Why pay for beer for a party when we can just collect it?”

  I chuckle as I grab a Corona and open it up, wishing I had a slice of lime. “Thanks,” I say to the guy that offered. As I take a swig, I realize that I recognize this guy as one of the
cops that used to come to my house a lot when I was a kid. The thought is a little sobering and I take a few moments to look around the yard, examining the faces in attendance. And as I do, I realize that there are many faces here that I remember. They’re all a little older now but, so am I. And I find myself wondering again for about the hundredth time if any of these guys remember all the shit that went down in my house when I was a kid.

  I notice that there’s an empty table off to the side so I saunter over and take a seat. I’m looking around and wondering what the hell I’m doing here when suddenly Parson and Marcos both take a seat at the table.

  “So, how have you been, Guy?” Parson looks me right in the eye and uses a name I have not heard in several years. The name they all used to call me when I was a kid. And all of a sudden my heart is pounding in my chest and I start to sweat. I look from one man to the other and they both return my nervous gaze just as calm as you please, and I think I see a smile playing at the corners of Parson’s mouth.

  “Um … I’ve … I’ve been okay,” I mumble. I swallow nervously, and I realize that I’m clutching my bottle of Corona like my life depends on it. Marcos smiles at my response and Parson watches me closely.

  “How’s it feel being cut loose?” he asks. “Think you can handle the job?”

  I blink at his unexpected question, then nod wordlessly. I finished third in my class at the police academy and I sailed through my 90-day training period once I was hired. And I just helped diffuse a tense situation on a family trouble call a couple of days ago. I kept my head and talked down a kid with a gun aimed at his brother’s chest. Yeah, I think maybe I can handle the job. I hope so anyway. “Yeah,” I respond a little shyly to Parson’s question, “I think I can.”

  He nods slowly at me. “We think you can too, Guy. Some of us were a little surprised when you hired on, and I don’t mean that in a bad way, kid. Although we did wonder what the hell possessed you to pursue this line of work. But we’ve been watching you, and we’re impressed with what we’ve seen.”

  I don’t know what to say. I stare back at him in silence and disbelief and I’m not sure why exactly, but his words mean a lot to me.

  “We wanted you to come tonight because it’s important to us that you understand that the past is the past.” He speaks to me in that same levelheaded tone that he always used with me as a kid and his eyes are burning with sincerity. I get the feeling he’s waiting on a response from me so I nod at him.

  “Yes, sir,” I say quietly.

  He chuckles. “Don’t start calling me sir; you’ll make me feel ancient.” Then he falls serious again and says, “Just remember what I’ve said.”

  I nod again and take a deep breath as I glance around the yard. And as I do, I notice that most of the guys are looking over at us. Some of them smile at me, others raise their beers to me. I return the gesture and take a swig. Yeah … I guess they do remember me after all.

  “So, you still into cars, Guy?” Marcos asks with a smile.

  I turn back to him and smile. We talk then about much less intense matters for a while, and by the time I’m ready to leave a couple of hours later, I feel much more at ease. I feel accepted. And I feel relieved to know that these guys all remember the gory details of my shitty past but they don’t care. And suddenly I know why their acceptance means so much to me. Before I get up to leave, I look at Parson and Marcos.

  “You guys wondered what possessed me to become a cop,” I say quietly. I glance around the yard again and then back at them. “It’s a real simple answer,” I shrug. “You guys were my heroes back then. You still are.” Then I stand and leave.

  ~~~~~~~~

  I smile to myself at the memory now. The nickname, Guy, just sort of stuck. All the old timers took to calling me that around the station and before I knew it, everyone else had joined in. I don’t really care though. It’s just a name. As long as it’s only me and the old timers who know where it came from, it makes me no difference.

  And I’ve been coming to these things ever since. Whenever the old timers get together, I always get an invite. There are a handful of other younger guys who are invited now too, a few of the ones I hired on with, but not many. The old guys say it’s because most of the younger generation of cops don’t really adhere to the age-old belief that your fellow cops are your family and instead they just see it as a nine-to-five job. I guess I agree with them to a point. The days of everyone knowing each other’s spouse and the names of all your kids is quickly fading. Although some of us younger guys do get together every now and then. We go to a bar and have a couple of drinks, usually after a particularly bad or intense day. But it’s nothing like the choir practice of old.

  I’m finishing up a plate of ribs and potato salad when Parson brings his plate over and sits across from me. “You look deep in thought,” he says before digging into his ribs.

  I smile at him. “I was just thinking about the first time I came to one of these things.”

  He nods with a smile and takes a moment to swallow his mouthful. “I think about that night often,” he says.

  “You do?” I look at him with a puzzled expression.

  He nods slowly and then looks me in the eye. “It’s not every day you find out that you been some kid’s hero all his life,” he says quietly, a hint of pride in his voice. I’m taken aback by his words and I say nothing as he takes another bite of his ribs. I smile slightly and drink my beer.

  “You know,” he says, chewing his barbeque, “there’s a Sergeant’s exam coming up soon, kid. You should really think about taking it.”

  I frown at him. “What the hell for?”

  He gives me his serious, fatherly expression, looking me in the eye. “Because you’d make a great supervisor, son. And you’d be a damn fine example and mentor to all of these young snots coming up that don’t know their own asses from a hole in the wall. That’s ‘what the hell for.’ Not to mention the fact that it’s a slightly higher pay grade. Don’t dismiss the idea without thinking about it.”

  I blink at his words, still frowning slightly. Sergeant Pierce? Yeah, right, I’ll think about it. Not!

  “So,” he says, changing the subject, “when are you gonna find a nice girl and settle down, Guy?”

  Jeez, what am I wearing a fucking neon sign today that says “Hassle me about women”? First Conner and now Parson. “Uh … that would be never,” I reply wiping the sauce from my hands with a paper towel.

  “Never,” he responds with a surprised look on his face. “Well, I know you don’t play for the other team. Your ability to pick up the best looking girl in any bar in under a minute is all but legendary,” he says with a chuckle. “So what’s with the reluctance?”

  “Did Conner put you up to this?” I say with an annoyed scowl.

  “Put me up to what?” he answers. And now he’s looking at me suspiciously.

  I roll my eyes and give him a look that says I don’t want to have this conversation but, I know that I can’t shake him. Detective Lee Parson has been like a mentor to me my entire career, the closest thing I’ve had to a father figure since…

  I halt that unwelcome thought in its tracks and sigh as I glance around to make sure no one else is in earshot. Then I look at Parson and say, “Come on, Lee. You know all the shit that went down in my house growing up. You, of all people, should understand that I don’t want to repeat that shit. You guys were at our fucking house nearly every night!”

  He looks at me as if he’s surprised by my words. “Is that what you think, Guy?” His voice is low and I can tell that he’s shocked by what I’ve just said. “That if you fall in love, you’ll automatically become your old man?”

  His words make me immediately angry and I can feel my jaw tighten and my hands fist on either side of my empty plate. “It’s not exactly a secret that I’ve got his temper,” I say through clenched teeth.

  It’s something I’ve been actively working on all of my adult life. There were some flare ups during the early d
ays of my career, a few rows in the locker room with other cops. Not something I’m proud of. Not like the scrapes on the street when I was still in uniform and we’d go on a call where some dirtbag was roughing up his wife or his girlfriend. I fucking hate that shit. So, I’d give him a small taste of his own medicine. Those run-ins, I am kinda proud of.

  “Yeah, maybe so,” Lee responds with a nod. “But you’ve also got your mother’s sensibility and all those years’ worth of memories that you’re so haunted by. Not to mention ten stellar years on the job to help guide your way.”

  I say nothing as I stare at him, unseeing, and slowly shake my head. “I can’t risk it, Lee.”

  He looks at me long and hard, and when he speaks again, his voice is full of sadness. “Then I feel sorry for you, son.” I gasp quietly. I’m shocked at his words and he continues. “I thought, after all this time, that you had really put the past and what happened to your old man behind you but, I guess I was wrong.”

  “How can I ever put it behind me, Lee?” I ask incredulously. “Do you honestly think a day goes by that I don’t remember what happened? What I did?”

  “You did what you had to do, kid!”

  I say nothing and take a long swig of my beer. I know he’s right, but the memories suddenly bombarding my mind make me sick. I am fighting them back when he says to me, “That son of a bitch made your life a living hell when you were a kid, Guy. Don’t let him have that same power over your future too. You. Are. Not. Him.”

  “I gotta go,” I say quietly and he just looks at me. “Tell Turner I said thanks for the ribs.”

  “You think about what I said, Guy.” His voice is stern. Like a father’s would be.

  I nod silently, looking down at my empty plate once again. “I will,” I promise. Then I get up and walk through the house, breathing a silent sigh of relief the moment I step outside. I have never been so happy to get away from choir practice before. I slide behind the wheel of my Charger and slowly pull into traffic, my head swimming with the dueling images of my parents fighting and Samantha Colby’s smile.