Promises Kept
The Story of Number Two
Giacomo Giammatteo
Inferno Publishing Company
Contents
Introduction
1. Graduation Day
2. First Memories
3. The Park
4. On The Job
5. Something Is Wrong
6. A Shiny New Badge
7. Something Was Wrong
8. Premonitions
9. A Night At Home
10. On The Run
11. Life on the Streets
12. A Death in the City
13. Where Is Rosanna?
14. An Off-the-Books Sting
15. Cleaning Up the Mess
16. Acknowledgments
17. About the Author
18. Also by Giacomo
Inferno Publishing Company
* * *
For more information about this book, visit, http://giacomogiammatteo.com
ISBN: 978-1-940313-17-7 (ebook)
Copyright © 2016 by Giacomo Giammatteo
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-940313-17-7
Created with Vellum
I dedicated this book to Clayci. She has been a tremendous help on my road to recovery.
Introduction
Our mother said that sisters should never be separated. That sisters were like twins that weren’t born on the same day. When I was little I believed that—that, and a lot more.
* * *
She said that she’d never let us be hurt. That no matter what happened, we’d be together. She lied.
Graduation Day
They say rookie cops have the best chance of getting killed the first year on the job. They say rookie cops are afraid to take a hit. They say rookie cops make all the mistakes. I heard all the talk, but no matter what they say, I say bullshit. No way this rookie cop was letting any of that happen.
Margie was voted most likely to make captain. Rodrigo got all the votes for desk sergeant and Jason for Rookie of the Year award. Me? I got voted most likely to kill someone in the first year. I had a gut feeling they were right.
I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with men and women I'd spent the past six months with. Six grueling months that transformed us from pure rookies into “official rookies.” It was already ninety-two degrees, unusually hot for San Francisco, but I didn’t move or let it bother me. The guy next to me didn’t have the control; he wiped sweat from his brow for the third time.
Sergeant Baker glared at him from his spot at the side of the stage, where he stood guard and monitored who climbed the steps that led to the podium. Technically, he was there to congratulate us as we climbed the steps to accept our badges; I figured he was there to bust our ass one last time.
Captain Gerard Healy called out the names. Healy was a skinny little guy, no more than a hundred forty pounds, but his booming voice carried across the crowd without the help of a microphone. He also had a habit of butchering all but the most common names. The first name was easy, probably one of the reasons he chose it.
“Margie Jones.”
Margie stood in the front row. She moved forward crisply, just like we practiced, and did a perfect “left face turn,” marching until she reached Sergeant Baker, where she repeated her perfection with a “right face.” Margie stood rigid as a statue; she appeared to be auditioning for the captain role already
Baker smiled and patted her back. She moved up the steps as if she were a robot, her lips pressed tightly together, refusing the smile that I knew was inside her. A gloating smile, at that.
She had graduated number one in the class and, as of this morning, she hadn’t quit reminding us of that fact. It pissed off a lot of my classmates, but not me. Margie was so rigid, I figured she’d be the first one to get shot or die on the job.
Margie was book smart, but that wouldn’t count. If there was one thing I knew beyond all else, cops without street smarts didn’t survive, not in San Francisco.
Next, he called Rodrigo. He had put on ten pounds in the past few weeks. Looked like desk sergeant was a good option.
Next, Healy shouted for Jason, who damn near bounced up the steps, with more energy than a Duracell battery. He just might make rookie of the year, if he didn’t jump off a cliff first.
Healy called out another name, a Japanese guy who had given Margie a run for the title of “most likely to make captain.” A few more people got badges as the day grew hotter. I stared off into a beautiful blue sky and lost track of things.
“Lisa Benz,” Healy called.
No one stepped forward, so he called again. “Lisa Benz.”
Suddenly it hit me. Christ, that's me. I came alert with a jerk and moved out of line, making my way to the front. Baker wore a scowl, same as the one he greeted us with every morning during training.
“Sleeping, Benz?”
I smiled at him, the last thing he expected, but I didn’t dare do anything else. There were two people ahead of me, waiting on the steps, eager to walk across the stage and get their badges. And that meant I was stuck beside Baker until they moved. I expected more shit from the sergeant, but he leaned close and whispered.
“Despite what you think, Benz. I like you. Stay safe out there, and call if you need anything.”
I cocked my head to see if he was messing with me. He wasn’t. This was real. “Thanks, Sarge. I just might do that.”
“Lisa Benz,” Healy called.
When I didn’t budge, the sarge said, “In case you’re wondering, that’s you.”
I flushed, but smiled and stepped onto the stage. People must have thought I was an idiot, not recognizing my name, but if they knew I'd stolen the ID from a dead girl not too long ago, then they'd understand.
As I walked across the stage toward Captain Healy, my mind raced. The day was finally here. In a few minutes, I was going to be a cop. A real cop. I hadn't planned on being a cop. Hadn't decided that until a few years ago, and even after I made up my mind, it was still iffy.
I had no idea how I'd get into the academy. I knew I could pass the physical part of the test, and I knew enough about cops from my time on the streets to pass the bullshit parts, but I had no idea how I'd pass the rest of the testing. I felt sure the questions were above an eighth-grade education. Worst of all, I had no idea how I’d get admitted without an ID. But that was before the dead girl.
Mick said God would give me a sign if he wanted me to go this route. I figured the dead girl was a “yes.”
I listened as the captain went on and on about the proud tradition of the SFPA and how excited he was that the top two graduates in each segment of the academy were women. With each bullshit sentence, I tried to imagine the next phase of my life.
I pictured myself riding shotgun in patrol cars, walking beats in the Mission District, or writing up countless tickets by Chinatown or North Beach. But most of all I imagined what it was going to feel like when I caught him. All I needed was a dark, lonely alley on a moonless night with a heavy layer of fog. That wasn’t too much to ask for, not in SF. God and good fortune brought me this far. If He could give me that much, I'd take care of the rest.
As I thought more about it, I realized I intended to fulfill that prediction the class made when they voted me most likely to kill someone in the first year.
First Memories
19 years ago, San Francisco.
* * *
I�
�ve heard it said that people who have strong memories from childhood are either blessed or cursed. I remember everything about my childhood, all the way back to when I was three years old.
I was running down the sidewalk wearing only my panties when I heard Mom’s voice.
“Morgan, time to come in.”
“Not yet.”
“It’s bath time,” she said.
I stopped running and raced for the door to the apartment complex. “Hold that open,” I hollered to one of the kids on our floor. I ran in and started up the stairs, letting out an “ouch” when a splinter jabbed my foot.
Bath time was my favorite time of day, at least on the days I got baths. Mom didn’t always have time to help, and Rachel wasn’t old enough, so whenever Mom did have time, I made sure not to miss it.
I banged on the front door of the apartment, stepping in place until Rachel opened it. “Hurry up,” she said. “Mom’s got the tub filled.”
I tore off my panties as I went into the bathroom.
Mom looked at me with a sideways glance. “I see you were out playing without clothes again, young miss.”
“Not for long,” I said. “Maybe a minute.”
“One minute is ‘long,’ and I’m sure it was more than that.”
“One minute might be long to you,” I said, “but not to me.”
“Regardless, until Mr. Right comes along and provides a nice house in the suburbs, you dress before you go out and play.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I said, “Okay, Mom.”
One of the first memories I recall is of Mom bathing me in the tub, scrubbing me with a sponge and squeezing it to drip water on my back. I laughed, and then I begged her to do it again. After that, Mom would swish the water around real hard and make a whirlpool, and I’d drop a little floating frog in the water and watch it go round and round.
When we finished, Mom would pluck me out of the tub, wrap a fluffy towel around me and scoop me into her arms. Then she’d hug me real tight and spin me around, kissing my cheeks and laughing.
I don’t know how much cleaning got done during those bath times, but I know I felt clean afterward. Clean and happy.
* * *
But the things I remember most about the baths were how Mom smiled at me, and how pretty her eyes were. She had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. I remember standing in front of the mirror, staring at mine and wishing they’d get pretty.
Those are the fondest memories I have.
I climbed on the counter and stared into the mirror, looking at my eyes, wishing they’d turn blue, and pretty, like Mom’s. My sister, Rachel, walked in.
“Hurry up, Sis. We’ll be leaving in a minute.”
“Where are we going?”
“To work with Mom. Like we do every day.”
“I thought we were starting school.”
“Not today,” Rachel said. “Maybe next week. Besides, you’re too young for school.”
“Am not. Mom said I could go. Besides, I’m not staying with somebody again. Not ever.”
“You’ll stay wherever Mom tells you to stay. You’re too little to argue.”
“She said I’m going to school.”
“She only said that because she’s got nowhere else to put you. Why do you think she told you to lie about your birthday?”
“Just because you’re in third grade doesn’t make you smarter than me.”
Rachel hugged me. “I didn’t say I was smarter than you, but I’ve been around long enough to know about Mom, and why she does things.” She rubbed my back. “You will, too. Pretty soon you will.”
“What should I wear?”
“Jeans and sneakers. And don’t forget a top. Mom will get pissed if you come out without a top.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be dressed,” I said, and reached for a pair of jeans.
On the way to work, Mom said she would be stopping at the store on the way home. “Anything special you girls want?” she asked.
“Bananas!” we both hollered at once. We loved bananas.
“Anything else?” she asked. “It can’t be much, but something little is okay.”
“We’re good,” I said. “At least I am.”
“Me too,” my sister said, and we went back to playing “I Spy.”
We played outside most of the day—and I dreamed of bananas—and when it was time to go home, Mom called from the street.
“Girls! Time to go.”
We ran to the car and climbed in the back. “How did work go?” Rachel said.
“Just another day,” Mom said. “Another day waiting for Mr. Right.”
“Who is Mr. Right?” I asked, drawing a swift kick from Rachel.
Mom laughed. “He’s the one who’s going to take us away from all this,” she said. “Give us a house and a home.”
I grew excited. “When is this going to happen?”
She sighed. “As soon as I find him,” Mom said, and then almost whispered, “As soon as I find him.”
I reached into the bag of groceries on the back seat, looking for the bananas. When I didn’t find them, panic set in. “Where are they?” I yelled. “Where are my bananas?”
I saw the expression on Mom’s face in the mirror. “Oh God, dear. I forgot. I’m sorry. I’ll get you some next time.”
“Sure,” I said, and curled my lip.
“Is that okay, honey? I just forgot.”
“Sure, Mom,” I said. But I noticed she hadn’t forgotten his beer. It was in the bag. She wouldn’t dare forget that.
Two weeks after that, Mom got a new job. “I got a raise,” she said. They’re paying me two-hundred dollars more per month.”
“That’s great,” Rachel said. “Now you can get that new dress you saw at the mall.”
Mom sighed, then looked at us through the rearview mirror. “Who wants pizza?”
At first, I didn’t believe what she asked. “Me,” I yelled, and I figured she must have been telling the truth about the raise because we did get pizza that night. We never had money for pizza.
After pizza, we went home and played a few card games, and then we talked for a long time. Mom must have been happy because we never stayed up just to talk, at least not about nothing.
We talked for hours. It was late when we finally went to bed, but I couldn't sleep. I waited until Rachel's eyes were closed, and then I covered my head with the pillow and cried. Pretty soon, I felt Rachel move.
“What’s wrong, Sis?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“People don’t cry over nothing.”
“I’m just worried.”
Rachel took the pillow off my head and turned me toward her.
“Why? Everything’s going great.”
I looked at Rachel and said, “I know, but that’s what bothers me. Mom always says that whenever things are going too good, something bad is bound to happen.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“You can’t say words like that.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“But you shouldn’t. Mom said so.”
“Go to sleep,” Rachel said. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
I put the pillow over my head and scooted toward the edge of the bed. No matter what Rachel said, I knew something bad was going to happen. Knew it.
The Park
The next day, we met Mom in the park after school. It was Wednesday, and she took off early from work to play with us—with us!
I was so excited. We went down the slide a million times, and we rode on a spinning platform, like a merry-go-round, and we played on the bars. We did everything.
I don’t know how long we played that day, but it seemed like forever. I had so much fun, I didn’t even mind the walk home or the fact that I had homework to do.
At dinner that night, I told Mom that I loved her, and I’d never be bad again. She laughed and just said, “We’ll see.”
When Mom tucked us in that night, we both told her
how much fun we had with her. She smiled and said, “I’ll make you a deal. If you are both good girls, and do your chores, I’ll meet you every week after school, and we’ll play, and that’s a promise.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. Mom promised us, and she said promises were forever. She said that if you made someone a promise you had to keep it.
I knew I’d heard her right, but I wanted to make sure. I looked at Mom, staring at her beautiful smile. “Do you promise?” I asked.
Mom smiled, then she kissed me on the forehead, then she did the best thing ever—she crossed her heart and whispered, “I promise.”
She kept that promise for three weeks. Then one day she didn't show up. After half an hour my sister said, “Let's go home.”
But I said, “No way. She’ll be here. She promised us.”
“That doesn’t matter,” my sister said. “And we can’t stay here all night.”
“Just a little while,” I said. “If she doesn’t come in a little while, I’ll go.”
“All right,” my sister said. “But only a little while.”
I smiled. Mom would be here soon. She’d see. Mom made us a promise.
An hour later, we started walking home. Mom never showed.
Later that night, when I asked her about it, she said she got tied up at work and couldn't get away. She said it like it was nothing, and I didn't believe her.
It was like Rachel said: she just forgot us—like forgetting the bananas at the store.
Nothing was ever the same after that day. Don’t get me wrong, we had some good days, but there were plenty of bad days, too. I didn’t keep track, but if I had to guess, the bad days outnumbered the good.
Looking back on it, I guess the worst part about all this was the promise. Mom promised us she’d meet in the park, and she didn’t. Just like the bananas.
Promises Kept, The Story of Number Two Page 1
