Wrath in the Blood

by Ronald Watkins

  ~

  Swensen and Iverson had both showered and she was busy in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Swensen considered not answering since he was already late for the office and recently he had learned nothing but bad news from anyone coming to his door. But whoever it was kept pressing the button until finally he decided to confront them.

  Kosack stepped through the door even as Swensen pulled it open and positioned himself quickly behind him.

  “Jack Swensen,” Morrison said in an even voice, “you have been indicted for the murder of Leah Swensen and are under arrest. Please place your hands behind your back.”

  “Wait a minute! Where's my lawyer? You can't do this!” Swensen was trying to back up but having no luck with Kosack positioned behind him.

  “Put your hands behind your back, Jack,” Kosack told him.

  Swensen didn't comply. “I have a right to a lawyer! I want my lawyer!”

  Kosack took his left wrist and Swensen recoiled as if a snake had bit him. “No!!” he screamed, pulling away.

  Iverson ran from the kitchen, her loosely tied gown falling open. “What's going on?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.

  “Stay out of this,” Morrison cautioned, gesturing at the girlfriend with her pointed finger. “We are placing him under arrest. Jack! Jack!! Stop resisting. You're only making it worse.”

  But Swensen was having none of it. “Jodi!” he shouted. “Help me!! Help me!!!”

  “You just stay put,” Morrison ordered then checked to see that Iverson was staying in place before moving to assist her partner. Swensen had managed to drag Kosack closer to the wall but now with his back pressed against it there was nowhere for him to go. Morrison seized his right wrist as Kosack maneuvered Swensen's left arm behind him. Once there the two tripped him forward so that he landed face down on the carpet.

  But Swensen was determined not to be arrested. He twisted and turned, trying to squirm away as the detectives drove his arms up his back towards his neck. Swensen resisted then screamed.

  “Stop fighting, Jack!!” Morrison ordered but it had no effect.

  Kosack slipped a cuff around one wrist then the pair pushed Swensen's hands close together and Kosack snagged the other wrist on his first attempt. As was so often the case with forced arrests the moment Swensen realized he was hand cuffed all life abandoned him. He now lay limp so the detectives had to lift him to his feet as if he were a sack of potatoes.

  “Call Ed,” Swensen ordered Iverson who went immediately to use the kitchen telephone.

  “You'll get a call after the booking,” Morrison said, straightening her hair.

  “Go to hell!” Swensen snarled at her.

  “Nice talk, Jack,” Kosack said. “Just for that we'll skip the amenities. You don't need shoes after all. Let's go. Your squeeze can lock up.”

  After leaving a message for Perry, Iverson stepped outside to watch Kosack manhandle Swensen into the back seat of the unmarked car. She called out for Morrison to come over.

  “What happens now?” Iverson asked, her robe pulled tightly about her as if the day were suddenly cold.

  “Jack's been indicted for murder. He'll be in jail until he cops a plea or his trial starts.”

  “How long?”

  “If it goes to trial I'd say it will start in about six months, maybe a year if his lawyer decides to use stalling tactics.”

  “Can't he get out on bail or something?”

  “Not for capital murder, not in Arizona.”

  “What will happen to his business?”

  Morrison shrugged. “That's his problem. You'll be sure to lock up here?”

  “Of course.”

  “Shall I tell him you'll be down to see him?”

  “What?” Iverson seemed to consider the thought. “Of course.”

  Morrison walked back to the car. Swensen's face was pressed to the window his eyes fixed on Iverson. “I love you!” he shouted through the glass.

  “Everything's going to be fine, honey” Iverson shouted back. She was still standing in the driveway as the car drove off.

  ~

  Conchita was up first and made no attempt to leave. “What do you eat for breakfast?” she asked standing dressed in the kitchen staring into his nearly empty refrigerator.

  “Just coffee most days. If I want a big breakfast I walk over to Denny's.”

  “You've got bread somewhere, right?”

  “Sure. In the freezer.”

  “The freezer. O.K. So I make coffee and toast. You do have a toaster?”

  “Under the counter. Conchita, I...”

  “Yes?” Her green eyes, nearly emerald in the morning light, were clear and bright.

  “Maybe this was a mistake.”

  “Is that what you think? Or is it you don't like the way I look in daylight.”

  “No, no. You're a very handsome woman. I...”

  “Handsome?” She was facing him with her hands on her hips. “I'm handsome?”

  “It's just an expression. You're very beautiful, but...”

  Conchita smiled then crossed over to him. “I'm not looking for compliments, John. Last night was no mistake. You don't think that, and neither do I. We should have done this a long time ago and not wasted so many years.” She kissed him lightly. “Now take your stinky cigar outdoors while I make breakfast. You want to eat on the patio?”

  Outside Goodnight glanced at the newspaper. Another drive-by shooting. He wondered why hoods no longer had the guts for a stand up fight. He remembered to feed Morris then scratched his ears, the tips of his fingers rubbing the old scar tissue under the fur. Flo approved, he knew. The last words she had spoken to him from her hospital bed were to make him promise not to spend his final years alone. He thought for a long time that had been a false promise.

  He sat on the chair at the patio table and lit his first cigar of the day. It was always the best. Breathing in the heavy smoke he listened to the sounds coming from his kitchen. It was good to hear a woman in the house again. It had been too long.

  ~

  Shortly before five o'clock that Friday, Iverson left her desk by the front doors and stepped back to talk with Mike Cushing in his office. Kaufman, looking upset and preoccupied, had taken advantage of the lack of a boss to leave for the day at three.

  The office staff had spent yesterday and all of today reassuring clients that the firm would honor their contracts and that, despite the troubles, Swensen Steel Company was alive and well. None of them believed it to be true and from the sounds of many of their clients, neither did they.

  Iverson slid herself onto Cushing's desk top. “Got a light?”

  “What do you want?” he said lifting his face from the printout he had been examining. Cushing was 26 years old and was one of two estimators. He was of average height, with gold metal framed glasses. His reddish brown hair remained thick and for many years he had lifted weights. He reached into his desk and pulled out a black book of matches with “Ponderosa Bar and Grill” written in white. He lit her cigarette and she cupped his hand as he did.

  Iverson inhaled then said, “I thought we might have a drink.”

  Cushing laughed. “You're unbelievable, Jodi. Jack's been in jail, what?, less than 48 hours and you're already working on me. Quit wasting your time. I don't own the company and I've got nothing you want. I never did, except a way to get the job you've got.”

  “That was business, Mike. Now things have changed. It was never that I didn't like you, or that I didn't have a good time with you. Come on. Let's have a drink. I think we should talk. I think we need to talk.”

  “What about?” Cushing removed his glasses to wipe the bridge of his nose.

  Iverson smiled. “You have to stop being so angry with me. Let's unwind a little first. Then we can have a chat. It's in both our interests. You still like steak? I'm staying at Jack's for now. He's got a great barbecue we should try out. I'll see you later, all right?”

  As Iverson returned to her desk Cushing's
eyes never left her. Dinelli was standing at her office. She closed the door quietly.

  ~

  The Jacuzzi was lit from below and bubbled like a witches’ cauldron. Jack Swensen had installed a lavish barbecue on his vast patio which overlooked a manicured expanse of yard and the kidney shaped swimming pool. Iverson had pulled two steaks from the refrigerator Swensen had bought the night before his arrest and Cushing grilled them to his satisfaction. She located a prized bottle of Swensen's favorite wine, a Merlot, and the two had shared it over dinner.

  Now their clothes were piled to the side and, naked, Cushing and Iverson stepped into the Jacuzzi. Cushing, his anger gone but still uncertain after the earlier drinks and dinner, took a place further from Iverson than he wanted but she had seen his erection. She moved closer to him so the bubbles boiled across their skin. “You've got a nice body, don't you?” she said.

  “Jack lives pretty good.” Cushing looked the house over as if he hadn't seen it earlier.

  “It's nice. Hard to believe the police think he sliced his wife up here not quite two weeks ago.”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “Frankly, I don't know. I just thought he was smarter than to do it like he did.”

  They sat in the water for several minutes then Cushing asked, “Did you help him out?”

  Iverson smiled. “What you must think of me, Mike. Of course not. I wouldn't hurt a fly. Anyway, I told him it was a dumb idea.”

  Cushing eased further down into the water until it just touched his chin. Iverson placed her hand lightly onto his thigh. The drinks, the meal, the wine, now this, were nearly overwhelming him. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head.

  “What do you think is going to happen to the company?” she asked.

  “I don't know. Paula says there's a pretty good accounts receivable so we're O.K. for a while unless everybody suddenly stops paying. I'm thinking I should start looking around though. I doubt the company's got a future.”

  “How's the firm structured?” Iverson asked. “Is it a sole proprietorship, regular partnership, limited partnership, corporation, what?”

  “Ask Paula.”

  “You know she wouldn't tell me.”

  “Is that what this is about? You want to know how the firm is structured?”

  “Tell me.”

  He laughed without humor. “Why not? It's a corporation. Jack and Leah own the stock, all but four shares. I'm vice president with one share, Pete's the treasurer with one share, and Paula's the secretary. She's got two shares for some reason no one ever told me.”

  “Who controls the company now?”

  “Jack, of course. He's not dead, just in jail.”

  “I mean day to day. Who will make the decisions?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Shouldn't you? I mean as vice president. Aren't you authorized to act for the firm?”

  Cushing looked at Iverson with candor. “You already knew I was VP, didn't you? That's what this is about?”

  “You've got me wrong, Mike. I just want to help Jack. I think Paula is planning to steal the company.”

  “Come on! She'd walk across hot coals for Jack.”

  “Maybe at one time. But not any longer. Swensen Steel is there for the pickings right now. It's vulnerable. I just think you and I need to be a team, that's all.”

  Iverson moved her hand up to his erection and stroked him. Without a word she moved so she was facing him, her legs spread. She guided his penis to her, then eased down. Cushing's eyes were closed again and as he entered her he emitted a prolonged hiss.

  FOURTEEN

  The following Tuesday, Jodi Iverson went to see Jack Swensen at the downtown Madison Street jail. In the waiting room dirty, buck toothed children ran about screaming. Overweight mothers in tattered T-shirts with heavy, dimpled thighs exposed beneath shorts slumped in dirty plastic chairs with distant, vacant looks in their eyes. The few men had tattoos on their arm and gaps in their teeth. Worse, it was a “no smoking” zone. She felt like killing for a cigarette. Finally, Iverson was passed through the electronically locked door to go to the visitors' area.

  The small room contained a row of fixed metal stools along three walls. They stood before thick Plexiglas partitions and on the small lip below the glass was a soiled telephone. Swensen was already waiting, standing in front of one of the windows. He picked up the telephone on his side as soon as he spotted her, holding it expectantly in his hand as he attempted a smile.

  His usually well combed hair was unkempt and he had not shaved. He wore pea green pajamas that wouldn't button closed with the word “Inmate” across his chest. Iverson had spent the night in jail on two occasions and shuddered momentarily at the sight. Her first night in jail the black hookers had taunted her endlessly about being expensive “white meat” until an overweight guard told the women to can it. The second night she had been in the holding tank all night, her feet resting in vomit, drug addicts and drunks passing in and out until Willie posted bond. That had been the night Mickey Swartz knew she had to change her life.

  Iverson asked how Swensen was and his voice came back tinny and remote even though he stood not two feet in front of her. A small plastic sign that had been traced repeatedly by someone with a ballpoint pen cautioned that all telephone calls were monitored and/or recorded.

  They talked about his situation for several minutes then Swensen asked, “How's the office?”

  “I think you're in serious trouble.”

  “I take it this is about Paula.”

  Iverson nodded. “Let me start at the beginning. All the accounts, and I mean all of them, have called. I told them everything is fine, but they didn't take that very well. Most are with us because of you. You're the one they expect to see in charge. If you aren't there to hold their hand or to drop in on a job site they get nervous. I think we're going to lose a lot of business as long as you are in jail.”

  “Shit!”

  “It's worse. The county says it's going to back out of our new contract.”

  “They can't do that! Call Ed, he'll set them straight.”

  “I already have. There's a clause that lets the county back out 'for extraordinary circumstances' within 90 days of signing the contract, just as long as one of the other bidders under bids your offer. Two already have.”

  “We have a contract! What's the point of signing one if it means nothing?”

  “It's the government, Jack. They've got their own way of doing things. I talked to Ed and he says it’s legal. Before you start yelling there's more you need to hear. Pete and Paula spend a lot of time huddled together. He's sending telephone calls to her direct line, bypassing me.”

  “What about the accounts?”

  “You know how they're set up. She and Pete can co-sign any check in your absence. I think she's moving funds into new accounts that are off our books but I don't know about these things. I talked to Mike the other night.”

  “I don't want you having anything to do with him!”

  “This is no time for jealousy. You've got to have someone in that office on our side in this.”

  “And what did you have to do to win him over? Fuck him? Yeah, you did. So what does he think when he isn't staring at your ass?”

  “He said he's willing to exercise day to day control of the firm as vice president of the corporation, but he doesn't think he can control Paula. You need to fire her, Jack.”

  “I just can't believe this. Three days ago when I wanted to fire her you tell me to go cool, to kiss her ass! Now, when I'm in jail and can't do a goddamn thing you want me to fire her! Why don't you make up your fucking mind?”

  “The situation has changed.”

  “You don't have to tell me that!” Swensen ran his hand through his hair, drew a deep breath then let it out slowly. “I've got a cell mate. Says his name is Chuey. Yesterday I asked Chuey what he's doing in jail. He blinks as he thinking then he says, 'Well mostly I sleeps.'” Swensen closed his eyes. “O.K. I
need to think about this, not that I don't trust you. Without Paula I'm not sure the company can even keep running. Mike's O.K., but he's just an estimator. There's no one I can turn to with any experience.”

  “Well, honey, you better hurry up and do your thinking because I doubt you’re going to have a company left if you leave her there much longer. She's called a board meeting for tomorrow night. She and Pete are up to something.”

  “A board meeting? Tell Paula I don't want any board meeting I can't attend.”

  “That's what I'm trying to tell you, Jack. Paula is doing what Paula wants. I can't tell her anything.”

  “Can they do that? Hold a meeting without me?”

  “Ed says they can. She's got Leah's proxy.”

  “But Leah's dead! What I mean is, why am I in jail if everybody doesn't think she's dead?”

  “Ed wasn't sure what you should do. He's says it's an ambiguous situation.”

  “He's the lawyer for God's sake! This is crazy. Tell him to put a stop to this. I'll want you there to represent me if he can't.”

  Iverson pulled a single sheet of paper from her purse then slipped it through the narrow slot at the bottom of the window. “I need for you to sign this proxy then.”

  Swensen looked down at the paper then slowly up at Iverson. “You've got this all figured out, haven't you.”

  That afternoon Conchita poked her head into Goodnight's office. “I'm going to work now. Will I see you later?” She looked radiant.

  “I'll drop by to bring you home.”

  “O.K., Ranger. See you then.” She bounced from the house singing to herself.

  It was a week since their first night. Technically they weren't living together but she had slept over every night and he had fallen into the habit of picking her up from work. In the morning she prepared breakfast for both of them, now expanded from mere toast and coffee. Those first days she had returned to her own place during the middle of the day, but for the last two days she had stayed with him without interruption. Some of her clothes were now in a closet.