Captain Fin

by Amanda M. Thrasher

  “We were scared. Scared to death, more like it!” Tears filled his eyes but never toppled the lids. “Me and Lewis were grabbed from the street corner, beat, beat damn near unconscious with sacks over our heads before we were thrown into the back of a truck. I can’t speak for Lewis, but I think I must have passed out because I can’t remember anything but hitting the truck bed. I woke up to find myself in an empty warehouse with Lewis laying at my side.” He took a hit of oxygen. “I didn’t know if he was dead or alive since he wasn’t moving and I couldn’t hardly move myself to check on him. I know now that warehouse was one that no one used on the very docks where we all worked.”

  Sharon put a hand over her mouth, sat down on his hospital bed, and held in her cries. The room grew deathly quiet, and every time James moved, the sheets crunching beneath his mattress sounded ten times louder than they were. Placing his hand in hers, she squeezed it, giving him the encouragement to go on.

  “A cold, steel pistol was held to our heads.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. It sounded like something movie scripts are made up of—kidnapping, beatings, and guns. No one said a word; all eyes and ears were on James.

  “Tom’s allies—thugs—wanted him to be the one that the ILWU leaders confided in, and were grooming him to be that person. Really they were anti-union and wanted inside information to use against them to sway the men. Hank, being well liked by everyone, was the ILWU and the men’s go-to guy. He helped with negotiations for both sides; peacemaker, they called him. Tom’s people had a deal, under the table of course, with dirty leaders. They needed their people influencing both sides. Being anti-union, they were only going to appear to work with them.”

  Coughing broke out, and Sharon insisted that they all let him take a few minutes to breathe. Fearing he’d forget where he was in the story, Michael begged her to let him finish.

  “If he’s up to it, may we continue? Will you ask him?”

  Hesitantly she agreed, and the interview went on.

  Shaking, James took another sip of water, spilling it down his chest. Embarrassed, he tried to wipe it up, but his hands were too weak.

  “I got it. No biggie.” Nigel dabbed the wet spot, acting as if he hadn’t even noticed it at all.

  James closed his eyes, and the others in the room feared he was drifting off to sleep or worse, but he was forcing himself to go back to the warehouse again. The memory still burned in his mind, haunting him to this day. It was the day he destroyed an innocent man’s life, and shame consumed him. Remembering the look on Hank’s face as James lied in the witness box shattered him. Unable to control the guilt and shame he felt, the tears in his eyes now flowed nonstop down his face. All he could do was apologize over and over again.

  “I’m sorry. Sorry. So sorry.”

  Nigel spoke carefully and softly.

  “We’re going to fix it. Fix this. Hank has a daughter, just like you. And you and Sharon want Hank to have his family back. It can’t make up for lost time, but you can help mend a wrong.” Wrapping his hands around James’, Nigel added, “James, you can help reunite them for good. You can fix this wrongdoing.”

  Watching her father so distressed broke Sharon’s heart. She wanted them to take a break, but she fought through, hid her tears and, wanting to hear the truth just like everyone else, she sweetly asked him to continue.

  “It’s okay, Daddy, tell us what happened.”

  “After the fight, everyone scattered. The police took accounts from a few that were on site, but they all said the same thing.”

  “What did they say?” Michael asked.

  “Most said that Hank had pushed Tom over the bridge during the fight, but others weren’t clear what had happened, and I think at that point no one knew exactly what had happened, except that it was a terrible accident.”

  He hesitated. “Until Tom’s people got involved, got a hold of Lewis and me, and then not only did they have enough witnesses, they had star witnesses, eyewitnesses.”

  “Okay. Let’s back up for just a second. Okay. Where were you?” Nigel asked.

  “We left, like everyone, ran. Got out of there as fast as possible. We were headed to another pub, local, near the Shamrock, and that’s when we were grabbed.”

  He stopped. But everyone could tell he was back in his head, digging for details, wondering if he was retelling the story exactly how it had happened.

  “I do remember one of the guys in the warehouse used to go by the name, nickname, Chance.”

  “How long after you scattered was it before they grabbed you and Lewis?” Michael asked.

  “Not long. An hour maybe, two at the most, the police had accounts from several people who had already done what Tom’s thugs had asked, pointed to the person that they’d been told to identify as the one who pushed Tom over the bridge.”

  “And for the record, Mr. Stoddard, James, who did they force you and the others to identify as the person who had pushed Tom O’Halloron over the bridge, that night of the fight, that caused him to drown?”

  James never batted an eye. “It was simple, and I’ll never forget those four words because each one came with a smack upside the head with that pistol I was telling you about.” He put the oxygen mask over his mouth and took in three large breaths.

  “Four words. Hank Gunner did it. Hank Gunner did it! They hit us. Hank. Hit us. Gunner. Hit us. Did. Hit us. It. Hit us. I think we passed out. And if that wasn’t enough, for a final emphasis, they pulled back the hammer of the pistol and released it four times. We had no idea if the barrel was empty. Hank. Click. Gunner. Click. Did. Click. It. Click. But on the fourth click, they grazed our heads one last time for good measure.”

  Trembling hands placed the mask over his face again, and he hung his head in shame.

  Nigel patted the top of James’ hand.

  “You did good! We’ve just got a few gaps to fill. Okay. Can you go on?”

  Nodding, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

  Michael walked over and stood by James’s bed. Leaning over, he spoke softly.

  “Nigel’s right. You’re doing great and we’re almost done here, but we have to get to the rest of that night. We know why you didn’t tell, understandably, and that Hank was framed. But James, for the record, can you tell us what it is that you haven’t told the court or anyone else since that night?”

  James nodded.

  “Okay, good. We’re working backward but don’t worry, we’ll still build a case. Okay.” Michael sounded as if he were speaking in code to Nigel.

  Nigel knew what he meant and would put things in chronological order when he wrote up his report.

  “James, I’m to ask you a question now for the court. Could you please, for the record, tell us who pushed Tom O’Halloron over the bridge or Hank for that matter, the night during the fight?” Michael asked.

  Nigel knew the answer. Sharon did not, and Michael had heard it from Nigel. But hearing the truth out of the mouth of someone who was actually there that night was absolutely chilling.

  “I did. It was me.”

  Sharon gasped.

  “It was an accident, but the last hands that touched Tom O’Halloron were mine, and I was the man who pushed him off my body when he fell on me, into Hank, and they both went flying through the cracked top rail of the bridge.”

  “We should stop. Take a break.” Sharon insisted, but her father shook his head.

  “Finish. Finish it.”

  Michael continued working backward.

  “For the record, one last time. You were in the Shamrock, Hank was at the bar, and Tom O’Halloron came in with his friends. What started the actual fight? Can you tell me why they threw down in the first place?”

  James knew exactly why the fight went down. Tom wouldn’t leave Hank alone. He just kept pick, pick, picking at him, determined to get on his last nerve. Insulting his friendship with his best friend, whom he’d just lost. Questioning his loyalty to Nathan, but the final straw had put Hank over the edge.


  “What, for the record, was the final statement that put Hank over the edge and started the fight?” Michael asked.

  “It was after the toast that Tom had made in honor of Nathan. Hank didn’t raise his glass.”

  “What happened next?” Michael asked.

  “Tom delivered a low blow. Stating Nathan would be alive today if it wasn’t for Hank. That Hank had cost his best friend his life.”

  “And, again, for the record, what happened next?”

  “Hank got up. Tom got up. They were kinda face-to-face in the middle of the bar. Pete, the owner, was begging them to sit down or go outside.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Hank walked toward the door, but they started fighting. Bodies into bodies at first, and then fists flying.”

  “Please state for the record who threw the first punch.”

  James hesitated. “That I don’t know. I really don’t know. I think I had taken a drink of my pint at that exact time.”

  “Okay. No problem. What happened next?” Michael forged ahead.

  “They ended up outside. Pete shuffled them toward the doors, and they burst out into the street.”

  “Is it true that a large crowd had gathered around them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where did the fight end up next?”

  James pointed to his water, took a sip, and continued.

  “The bridge to the left of the Shamrock. It was cold. And the street was icy. I remember because Hank slid into several of us during the fight.”

  “How did they end up over the bridge?”

  “People were gathered around them, like you said. They would push them back and forth into the circle as they were fighting if they wandered out. At some point, they landed on me. I pushed Tom, who grabbed hold of Hank; they were holding on to each other. When I pushed Tom off my body so I could breathe, the two fell onto the railing, which was damaged, and it gave way. It was then that they both fell over the bridge.”

  Nigel pumped his fist in the air. They had everything they needed. He’d even managed to obtain a signed statement from Lewis, who was in a nursing home due to a debilitating injury but was still of sound mind. Michael congratulated James.

  “Congrats, man! You’ve certainly given us the best shot to clear an innocent man’s name. Hopefully, because of time already served, he’ll be out sooner rather than later.”

  A feeling of relief swept over James. Knowing that the burden he’d been carrying around with him for all of those years had been lifted, the truth finally out in the open made him feel as if he was the one who had been set free. It was almost too much; sobs overtook him.

  “I’m going to die; I know that, but at least now I can die with a clear conscious. Please, please, please, for me, tell Hank and his family that I’m sorry.”

  It had taken over five and half hours, in between oxygen breaks, coughing, water breaks, medication being administered, and a few sessions of James dozing off, but they had finally obtained a recorded video account and a signed sworn affidavit. Put that with the signed statement received from Lewis, and Michael believed that anyone would consider overturning Hank’s conviction and releasing him for time already served. A quick text to his colleague, and Michael secured a criminal attorney for their team. Didn’t hurt to have a circle of friends that happened to be lawyers.

  As they said their goodbyes, the men knew they would never see James Stockton again. By the time the official filing had been made, the case read, and it actually went before the judge for the hearing, they knew he would be deceased. Never in his life had Nigel felt such a sense of urgency; without James Stockton’s testimony, Hank would have spent several more years in jail. The best years of his life already come and gone, but at least now Hannah had resurfaced. Maybe he couldn’t ever get that time back, but he could start a new life with her from right here and now.

  “You weren’t kidding,” Michael stated.

  “What’s that?” Nigel asked.

  “We were on borrowed time.”

  Michael cracked his window, allowing the fresh air to blow over them as he drove. The air in the house had seemed so stale; a reminder of life slipping away. Taking deep breaths, the chilled air burned his lungs. It was a feeling that had a different meaning after that day. Watching James struggle to breathe was an image he couldn’t erase from his mind for quite some time.

  “Thanks for making me do this, trusting me enough to bring it to me, and making me see it through. I do believe it’s the right thing to do. And I think your brother would be proud of you.”

  Nigel hung his head, grateful for his boss’s words. He thought of his brother, Nathan, and how much he knew that he loved Hank. Nathan was a good man; loved his family, loved Hank, but Hank was a good man too, and Nathan had known that. Nigel thought Michael was right; he would have been pleased.

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate that!”

  “You know what to do with those, right?”

  Michael pointed to Nigel’s satchel on the floor.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Great. Let’s get it wrapped up and filed. We’ll start preparing first thing in the morning.”

  “I’m on it!”

  Chapter 41

  Hannah

  Yellow paint

  Warms my heart

  Lifts my spirits

  And fills the void

  Hear her voice

  Inside my head

  Missing link because she’s…

  And I still won’t say it unless you force me…

  ~ Hannah Gunner ~

  Covered in overalls, an old shirt, and wearing a ball cap, Hannah stood with a paintbrush in her hand, prepared to tackle her new bedroom walls. Lindsey, wearing a large shirt, old jeans, and a ball cap, pried the lids off the cans of paint with a screwdriver and began pouring the paint into trays that Hannah had set in front of her. Cash, standing on a ladder, proceeded to apply painter’s tape between the ceiling and the wall.

  “I’ll get the baseboards next.”

  “Do you want me to start those?” Hannah asked him as he carefully smoothed out the tape above his head.

  “Nah. I’ve got it.”

  Cash flashed her a smile, blew her a kiss, and continued his task.

  Kathy tapped on the door and popped her head in the room.

  “Looks like you guys know what you’re doing. Do you need anything before I head out?” she asked.

  Hannah couldn’t count over the years how many rooms she’d painted with her mom. Every time they moved, if the place wasn’t as nice as Gloria had hoped, she’d insist that they put a fresh coat of paint on the walls. Fixes just about everything, her mom would say. Moving into Kathy’s had been an adjustment for both Hannah and Kathy, but when Hannah asked if she could decorate and paint her new room, Kathy didn’t object.

  She chose a soft yellow, not quite lemon, not as light as vanilla, but a lovely pale yellow. Trimmed with the typical white, the room wasn’t going to look the way Kathy had envisioned Hannah would decorate her room. Needless to say, Kathy had been pleasantly surprised by Hannah’s color pallet.

  “I’ll send over a pizza delivery at noon, and I’ve left the money for a tip on the countertop. I’ll pay when I order.”

  Kathy’s head motioned toward the kitchen.

  “Ah, Kathy. You don’t have to do that… I could whip up peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for all of us.”

  Pointing toward Cash, she called him out. “Cash.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Money’s on the counter.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  Lindsey applied the paint first as Hannah stepped back and watched it roll across the wall. She couldn’t hide her big beaming smile. Her mom would’ve approved of this color. Delicate. Soft. Not the usual bold colors that she’d typically pick. The girls rolled, and Cash followed behind, filling in the corners and the edges with a paintbrush.

  “One coat or two?” Lindsey ask
ed.

  Cash grabbed Hannah, knocked her hat off, and pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her waist and spinning her around to face the walls.

  “So, Chief, what do you think, one coat or two?”

  The can stated that only one coat was needed, but as she inspected the walls, every now and then the white paint underneath had bled through. Pointing to the whiter spots, she wondered if it would dry unevenly if they went back and applied paint on the thinner areas.

  “It shouldn’t matter,” Cash assured her. “And if necessary, we’ll repaint the whole room again. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Well, let’s just hit the thinner areas, then. Touch them up with what we have left. When it dries, if we need to repaint the entire room, I’ll just buy more paint.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Cash kissed the back of her neck, picked up his brush, and started painting right out of the can.

  They painted a while, music turned up, before a knock on the door alerted them that the pizza had arrived. Cash, still holding his brush and can, told the girls to go on. Hannah answered the door covered in yellow paint splatter, took the pizzas, tipped the guy, and followed Lindsey toward the kitchen.

  By the time Cash had washed up and joined them, the girls were already deep in conversation about Hank.

  “Do you think the awkwardness has been addressed, getting that first meeting over with and all?”

  Hannah finished chewing the pepperoni pizza, swallowed, and washed it down with a swig of water. She nodded. Surely her next visit couldn’t be that bad. Hank pretending he didn’t know her, calling her mom names, getting ticked off that she wouldn’t leave, and asking her not to come back. She declined to share any of that information with a soul. Cautiously, Cash asked her when she was going back to visit or if she wanted to go back at all. Hannah looked at him, shocked.

  “Why would you ask me that?”