by Diana Orgain
Jim jumped out of the car and started running toward George. I struggled to put down my sandwich and also get out. Jim was way ahead of me.
When George saw Jim approaching, he stretched out his hand. “Buddy!”
“Cut the crap,” Jim said, walking straight up to George.
Jim stood a good four inches taller than George. George had a wiry frame compared to his brother’s solid stature.
“What’s up?” George asked, unruffled as I finally caught up with them. He nodded at me. “Hey, Kate.”
“Glad to see you’re functioning,” Jim said.
George’s head twitched to the side. “Not doing as good as you, man, but who can compare to you?”
“Last I heard you were on the streets,” Jim said, disgusted.
“Yeah?” George yanked the hood off and ran his fingers over his hair. “Well, not anymore. Like you care.”
Jim’s shoulders inched up a degree. “Same old George. Nobody cares about you, huh, buddy?”
George’s eyes flashed anger. “That’s right.”
Jim squinted. “What are you doing here anyway? This your new hangout? What’s in the bag?”
George tightened his grip on the duffel. “What’s it to you?”
Jim stepped forward, shortening the distance between them. “Who’s Brad Avery to you? Why is he dead?”
“You knew Brad?” George said through an oily little smile.
“I know he washed up dead right before Kate went into labor.”
George glanced at me, surprised. “You had a baby?”
“I know your bags were on this pier, right where his body was recovered. The same bags that are at my house right now, because no one could find you.” Jim continued, “I know I was worried sick, thinking it was you who washed up that night. You shithead!”
“Oh!” George covered his heart with one hand, his voice full of sarcasm. “My big brother was worried about me? You have your own family now. What do you care about me?”
“I know, always the victim,” Jim fired back.
“If you care so much, where were you six months ago when I needed a hand?”
“You mean a handout?” Jim said.
George rolled up his sleeves. “You’ve never done nothing for me!” he yelled into Jim’s face.
Jim loosened the top buttons of his shirt, then turned toward me and said in the most serious voice I’d ever heard him use, “Kate, can you go to the car now, please?”
“This is ridiculous!” I said. “Are you two really going to fight?”
They both stared at me, waiting for me to walk away.
“No fighting,” I said. “We’re in this together.”
George ignored me and turned toward Jim. “Did you know Brad was killed with one of Dad’s guns? One that you inherited? Since you inherited everything!”
Jim’s face flushed. “I never inherited jack!”
I felt my blood pressure skyrocket. “How do you know about the gun, George?” I demanded.
Jim’s hands flew to George’s neck, knocking him off balance and to the ground. Jim jumped on top of him, never releasing his grip.
Just then a police cruiser appeared. Two police officers exploded out of the car and charged toward us. By the time they reached us, George had thrown a punch squarely at Jim’s chest. Jim had stopped strangling George long enough to punch him in the face.
One officer brushed me aside and pulled Jim off George.
The other officer pulled George to his feet. “Are you all right, sir? Do you need any medical assistance?”
George shook his head, wiping blood from his nose. Jim continued to yell at George, even though the officer was restraining him.
“Wait! Wait!” I yelled to the officer holding Jim. “They’re brothers!”
The other officer asked George, “Would you like to press charges, sir?”
“You bet your ass I would,” George said.
“Charges?” I said. “They were both fighting!”
“He tried to strangle me,” George said. “And look at my face!”
The officer holding Jim proceeded to handcuff him.
“Would you like to follow us to the station, sir?” the other officer asked George.
“The station?” I repeated.
The officer holding Jim hustled him toward the patrol car. I ran after them in time for the cop to slam the door between us.
“I’ll follow you to the station, okay, honey?” I yelled to Jim through the closed window.
Jim nodded as the cruiser engine started up. He raised his shackled hands and pointed at me through the window, indicating for me to look down.
I glanced at my shirt. It was soaked.
Blood?
Nope. My milk had leaked all over me.
Great, just great.
<><><>
At the station, Jim was processed, George had yet to show up, and I sat on a hard orange chair trying to cover up my breasts by crossing my arms.
I had searched my car for a jacket, but had found nothing except baby paraphernalia. My trunk always has extra junk in it, but after it had been broken into, Jim had cleaned it out for me.
I called home in a panic, imagining Laurie starving to death.
Mom said Laurie was sleeping peacefully and hadn’t noticed my absence in the least. I tried to ignore my feelings of rejection. When I told Mom that Jim and I had found George, she surprised me by saying, “He’s here.”
“What?”
“George is here. He said Jim told him you had some of his things.”
Holy cow! Not home alone with my newborn and my mom.
Although George had always been kind to my mom and me, recent events made me nervous about him being at my house now.
“I’ll be right there,” I said to Mom.
I spoke with the arresting officer about releasing Jim, given the fact that George had obviously changed his mind about pressing charges.
“I can’t release your husband yet, ma’am.”
“Why not? No one’s pressing any charges against him.”
“He broke the law, ma’am. I have specific instructions not to release him just yet.”
“Instructions? From whom?”
“My commanding officer, ma’am.”
“Let me talk to him.”
“Her, ma’am, and she’s not available at the moment.”
I buried my face in my hands. “Look, isn’t there someone I can talk to about—”
“Ma’am, your husband’s case will be reviewed by the DA within seventy-two hours, or he may be released on his own recognizance earlier, but not right now. That’s all I can tell you.”
Seventy-two hours!
“Can I speak with my husband?”
The officer gave me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s probably best if you go home. He’ll be able to call you later.”
<><><>
I pulled into the garage and heard Laurie wailing. I ran up the stairs and saw Mom and George hovering over the bassinet in the living room.
I picked up Laurie and examined her while glaring at George. Mother and George looked at me curiously. How could I explain to them that I had been afraid that George might hurt Laurie?
“She’s hungry,” Mom said.
I evaluated George. He absently rubbed his eye, where a bruise was starting to form.
Laurie wailed at me. George slumped onto the couch looking exhausted. Since he appeared nonthreatening at the moment and Mom seemed unafraid, I decided I’d better feed Laurie.
“Give me a minute,” I said, over my shoulder, as I walked down the hallway.
Mom and George continued their small talk.
I tried to eavesdrop on Mom and George as I breastfed, but I couldn’t hear much. Our house was old San Francisco construction, made with three-by-six wood beams instead of two-by-fours. The result was great sound-proofing.
I finished nursing Laurie, burped her, then set her down in the bassinet to sleep.
When I e
merged, Mom said good-bye and left.
George and I sat in silence for a moment.
“You want ice for your face?” I asked.
“Nah, I think I’ll be okay. Where’s Jim?”
“Still at the station. They haven’t released him yet.”
George looked surprised. “I thought if I didn’t press charges, they’d release him right away.”
The weight of leaving Jim alone at the station was starting to get to me. I suddenly felt ridiculously tired and in over my head, but if I wanted answers, now was my opportunity to grill George. “Why did you change your mind about pressing charges?”
He shrugged. “I was so pissed off I wanted to get back at him, but by the time I got to the car—”
“You realized how much you love your brother and decided not to, right?”
George smiled. “Yeah. That’s right.”
I exhaled loudly, letting my impatience show. “Come on, George, be straight with me. You’re avoiding the cops.”
“I’m not avoiding them . . . I . . .” We stared at each other; George closed his eyes in defeat. “I know they’ve been asking around for me.”
“So why not talk to them? Tell them what you know.”
George stood up and shrugged. “I don’t know anything! You got my bags?”
I remained seated. “Yeah. I do.”
He tapped his foot impatiently. “ ’Kay, where are they? You want me to get them? You stay on the couch. You look tired.”
Part of me wanted George to get the bags and leave. The part that was afraid and wanted nothing more to do with any of this. But the other part, the stubborn part of me that can’t ever shut up, said, “Did you break into our cars, trying to get your bags?”
George flinched as if I’d hit him. “What? No. I didn’t even know you had them until today.”
“Someone did. Both our cars were broken into after I picked up your bags from the ME’s office. Once outside Michelle’s house, the other outside El Paraiso.”
George’s eyes darted around the room.
“Do you work at El Paraiso?” I asked.
George nodded.
“What do you do there?” I pressed, wondering how far I could push him.
He looked momentarily confused. I had almost gotten his guard down. “Oh, you know . . .” He waved his hands around, trying to distract me.
“Is it legal?”
“What?” George stared at me, his mouth agape.
I matched his stare. At this point all the runaround was making me angry, and with Laurie tucked away safely in the back bedroom, I felt brave enough to challenge him a bit.
“Whatever they have you do. Is it legal?”
“God, Kate, what are you asking me? I mean, I do . . . I do restaurant stuff.”
“Like what? Bus tables?” I probed.
“Yeah, like that.”
“George, I was there. I know you don’t bus the tables. None of the staff even know you exist.”
He paced around the room. “Sure they do. Like who? Who did you talk to?”
“What were you doing on the pier today, George?”
“Pfft, you know,” He waved his hand around and gave me his famous, charming smile, trying to disarm me. “Hanging out.”
“I don’t buy that, George. Your bags were found there a few weeks ago when they recovered Brad. I saw you there yesterday.”
“You were there yesterday?”
“Yeah. I called your name. You took off running. And you left your bag there!”
He shook his head back and forth. “Sorry. I thought I saw . . . I thought you were someone else.”
“Who?”
He shrugged. “I thought I was being followed.”
“Why would you be followed? And why did you leave your bag? How’d you get it back?”
“It’s not important.”
“How come you’ve been so hard to get a hold of?” I pressed.
“What do you mean?”
“When the police found your bags, they called here. We didn’t know where to find you. What’s up with all the secrets?”
“No secrets.”
“Where are you staying? Do you have a phone number or anything?”
“Yeah,” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and jotted something down, then handed it to me. “Here’s my cell phone.”
“We tried this number before. No service.”
“Temporary thing. I threw some money at it last week, so it should be fine now.”
“What about the murder weapon?”
“What about it?” George asked.
“How did you know Brad was killed with one of your dad’s guns?” I asked.
“I don’t really know that. All I know is that it was the same type of gun.”
“How?” I pressed.
“I talked to an investigator, a PI. He said he was hired by Brad’s mother. To look into things. He told me Brad was killed by a nine-millimeter. Dad had a nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson.”
“Okay, so how did one of your dad’s guns, or one like it, come to kill Brad?”
I was treading on thin ice here. I knew George was jealous about Jim’s relationship with their dad. George had always thought that we had bought our home with inheritance money.
The truth was, we had worked hard and saved for a long time. George hated that scenario because it involved working.
Everything their father had owned, including hunting rifles or guns, had remained at Uncle Roger’s, where George had lived for a long time. As far as I knew, Jim hadn’t even seen those guns since he was seventeen years old.
George looked trapped. He appeared to be having a conversation in his head about whether or not to come clean with me. He settled on saying, “I had the gun.”
“What?”
“When my uncle kicked me out, I took the gun. I was on the streets for a while. You don’t know what that’s like. I had to find a place to crash every night. I needed it with me, you know, just in case.”
Our eyes locked. George studied me a moment, debating whether or not to continue. I waved my hand, indicating that he should spit it out.
He did a nervous little jig. “When I met Brad, he was putting together El Paraiso. You should have seen it when we started. The place was a dump. He hired me, as casual labor, you know, to paint and stuff. He let me crash in the basement.”
“What happened to the gun?”
“I don’t know. I always kept it with me. In my bag. Only sometimes I left my bags in the basement at El Paraiso, where I slept. No one messed with my stuff. No one really wants to go near a homeless guy’s bag.”
George paused before continuing.
“Well, I got a place now. I’m not sleeping at El Paraiso anymore, but then I was, you know, in June. Anyway, near as I can tell, someone must have taken my gun and killed Brad. I noticed it missing sometime in July. I was going through my stuff. I didn’t think anything about it, except that it sucked to be ripped off. I didn’t think anybody had been killed with it.”
“Jesus Christ, George! Did you report it?”
“Report it to who?”
“To the police!”
“Are you kidding? The gun was never registered to me. Besides, the police aren’t sympathetic to homeless people. I’m only telling you because . . .” He collapsed onto the couch next to me. “I don’t know why I’m telling you.”
“I’m sorry. Tell me. Go ahead and tell me. I won’t lecture you.”
George nodded. “When I heard they found Brad dead, I tried to remember, you know, remember anything unusual about that night. But hell, it was months ago. The only thing I really recall is that Michelle was upset when I brought over the cash. We talked for a while. She told me Brad had left her. We drank some, but that was pretty much it.”
“What cash?”
“Uh . . . you know, deposits from the . . . the restaurant.”
“Doesn’t the manager usually handle the cash?”
George
scratched his head. “What?”
“Most restaurant managers make a night deposit at the bank, right? Why were you bringing the money to Michelle’s house?”
George jiggled his knee up and down so quickly it shook the couch. For a second I thought we were having an earthquake. He stood. “I’ve really got to run.”
I jumped up. “C’mon, George, were you having an affair with Michelle?”
“No. Of course not.”
“What about Monday?” I pressed. “The morning Michelle was killed.”
George looked around the room. “Can you get my bags?”
“Do you know who would want to kill Brad and Michelle? Who could have taken your gun? Who knew you had a gun?”
“I don’t know, Kate, geez. And I don’t want to know. Don’t tell anyone what I told you . . . the less you know about this, the better. I don’t want you to be involved.”
“I’m already involved!” I exploded. “And you’re up to your ears in ‘involved,’ George. What were your bags doing at the pier?”
“I forgot them there, is all. Stupid. Anyway, I’m taking care of everything. I went to see someone today who can help me.”
“An attorney?”
“No, no. Never mind. I’ve got to get back to the shop.”
“What shop?”
George’s eyes flicked back and forth. “I mean . . . you know, the restaurant, El Paraiso.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve really got to run, Kate. Jim will probably be home soon and he’ll be frosted.”
<><><>
After he left, I collapsed onto the couch, suddenly realizing how drained I was. I closed my eyes for what seemed a second, okay maybe five seconds, before Laurie let out a howl.
I took a deep breath, pried one eye open, and went to pick her up from her bassinet. She immediately nestled into me and quieted down.
I stared into her lovely face and tried to quell all the voices in my head. I sat and inhaled her scent and studied the curve of her cheek.
When would Jim be released? Were they really going to present a case to the DA? Should Jim have called me by now?
I decided I needed food to fuel my worry. I put on the baby carrier and shifted Laurie into it so I could rummage through our refrigerator. When was the last time I had gone grocery shopping? I spotted a container of leftovers and greedily pulled it out. One whiff and I could safely say there was nothing edible remaining in it. I dumped the container and continued to rummage. I found an apple.
