I crossed the room, and tossed myself on the couch, inviting him to join me.
“I need to know just how serious you are about this side business you want to start?” He sat in the chair Claire had claimed as her favorite.
“Very, you know this.”
He nodded his head, “Then I have something to discuss with you.” He tossed the remainder of his beer down his throat.
“You recall the couple who lives across the street, the Bensons?” Carson’s eyes were cold; reminding me of the time he found several children abandoned in an old car parked in an alley.
“Yes, he’s a banker, right?”
Carson nodded his head, “Uh huh, same guy.” He confirmed. “Georgia called me right before the end of my shift. Apparently, Francine came over pounding on the door, claiming she was tired of the abuse Franklin was inflicting on her.”
This was certainly news to me as I couldn’t recall ever hearing about any response calls to the residence. “So what’s the deal? Did you file a report?”
Carson face hardened, as he looked at me with disbelief. “No, Dylan. She’s sick of the bureaucratic bullshit and her husband’s ability to buy his way out of trouble.” His admission resounded in my ears.
“She’s willing to meet you at Mickey’s and Millie’s tonight and tell you her story, see if you can help her put an end to this.”
I wanted to help her, but in order to do this, really do this, I would have to lie to Claire. If something happened, I stood a rather large chance of going to prison. If Claire knew, she could be charged as an accessory. I cared for her too much to put her in that position. Yet, there was no way in hell I could ever let her go, allow another man to love her.
“If Claire questions…” I trailed off.
“Claire will be fine for now, tell her what ever you have to. If this goes south, she only knows what you tell her,” he instructed. “But if you choose to continue,” his finger pointed at me, “you tell her everything. If she is the girl I know her to be, she’ll be your biggest supporter.”
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding at the realization of what my thoughts held. “And if she doesn’t agree with what we’re doing?” I tossed out there.
“Come on, Dylan. Her family is a bunch of criminals, but she never once went to the law about them and she didn’t even care for them.”
Austin pulled all the financials on Mr. Franklin Benson; credit cards and bank accounts in three other countries. He and his wife had three children, the eldest had married last year and lives in Connecticut. Middle child, the black sheep of the family, had bounced from job to job and had been arrested several times for bullshit stuff. The youngest, was a sixteen year old girl.
Mickey’s and Millie’s was one of the new trendy restaurants just off Grand Boulevard. A few years ago, a few investors bought up several properties in the area, and offered some pretty good deals on rent. Even with all of the improvements, it’s still not a safe area. But for a meeting such as this one, this is most likely the best location.
Francine Benson, a fifty two year old woman, sat in a corner booth, with a tall, stemmed glass of what I suspected was wine, untouched just beyond her finger tips. By her choice in clothing alone, she would have fit right in with my Momma’s book club.
In all my years being a cop, I’ve seen plenty of abused spouses. Carson had been instrumental in schooling me in reading the face of a victim who was ready to make a change. Francine had ‘done’ written all over her.
I slid into the chair across from her, but she never flinched as my hands come to rest on the table. Years of being punched and cursed at will shut off the body’s auto responses. Her eyes remained downcast, another trait which told her story
“Mrs. Benson?” I began, my voice low and monotone.
“Franny,” she corrected. “Frank hates it when people call me Franny.”
Oh yes, she is so very done.
“Franny,” I repeated, ignoring the proper address. She doesn’t expect it, no doubt she is thinking she has to earn the title once again.
“My name is…”
“I know who you are. Frank hates you,” she responded matter of a factly. “He thinks you and your father take the fun out of this “piss ant town”.”
Frank Benson must have been a member of one of the underground gambling organizations. Right after I graduated college, several departments banded together to infiltrate the organization. My Dad worked his ass off to prosecute the accused. All these years later, he still had some lingering fans.
“Franny, what can I do to help you?”
She closed her eyes tightly, filling her lungs with as much air as she could, and then exhaling slowly as she opened her eyes.
“When I first married Frank, it was at the insistence of my father. I wanted to open my own catering business, but he wouldn’t hear of it.” She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, and then held the position for a few minutes. “Frank did everything my father told him, until the day he passed away, just months after my oldest was born. Once he became the president of the bank, everything changed.”
A tall waiter interrupted her story, taking my drink order and sizing the two of us up. I know what he thought; we looked nothing alike to be related so she must be a cougar.
“Anyway, the moment I brought the baby home from the hospital, Frank became violent. If the house wasn’t the way he wanted it, he would hit me. When I didn’t fit into the clothes I’d worn before I’d become pregnant, he slapped me.” Not a single sign of emotion; no fear, hate or terror came across her face. This beautiful woman was completely broken, but she wasn’t defeated.
“I stayed with him, because my family expected it. A divorce would have ruined the family name. He never struck the children, only me, and for years I accepted it.”
Pulling something from her leather handbag, a photograph of a beautiful young girl. “This is my youngest, Suzanne.” She slid the photo across the table in my direction.
“She is a beautiful girl,” I responded as I held the picture in my hands.
“Last year, I found out Frank fathered a child by another woman, I asked for a divorce and at first he agreed. Apparently the mother of his child wanted the lifestyle I live.”
“You can dress up a pile of shit with a pink bow and sprinkles, but it’s still a pile of shit”
Granddaddy’s proverbs, told a story with so few words, yet made the situation so much clearer.
“But when Frank’s attorney looked over the paperwork he signed with my father, he called off the divorce, since he would walk away with nothing.”
I pushed the photo back across the table.
“Suzanne was given permission to start dating this year, a boy in her class caught her eye.” She placed the photo back in her handbag, her voice cracking. Now we were at the crux of what brought her here.
“She came home a week ago with a swollen lip. He had pressured her to have sex with him and she’d refused.” Her hands shook, pools of unshed tears building in her eyes.
“When I…” she stopped to catch her breath. “When I told her this was not acceptable behavior, she threw back at me this was what her Daddy did to me.” She pointed her index finger at herself, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
“I thought I was protecting them by taking all the beatings, but that was a mistake. Now my baby thinks it’s okay for a man to lay his hands on her.” The latter part of her words were spoken through clenched teeth and fists balled up.
“All I managed to do was teach her what to expect.”
She was right, by allowing this to go on in her home and let her children learn from what they saw, she had managed to send a very strong and powerful message. One I wanted to help her change.
Sitting up straight, her resolve was back in place. “Carson said you could help me.” She used the napkin to dry her eyes. “Your fellow officers are so underpaid, he has been able to wave a chunk of money under their noses every time things got out of hand. C
arson tells me you can’t be bought.”
I took a drink of the beer the nosey as fuck waiter had placed on the table. “He’s right, I don’t do this kind of thing for money.”
She held her hand up to stop me. “Please don’t confuse what I need your help with, I don’t want Frank dead.” Her eyes were large, her voice strong and determined. If she didn’t want him dead, then why was I here?
“Death is too quick, too final.” She says with conviction. “I’ve suffered for over twenty years, it’s his turn.” She reached behind her, pulling out what looked to be a journal. The leather bound book, was wrapped with a thick strap and fastened with a silver lock. “This is a record of every time he laid a hand on me, every time he cheated on me.” She tapped her index finger against the soft surface of the book. “You take what is in here and you remind him of every bruise, every black eye and every visit I had to make to the doctor to get medicine to correct the disease he brought home.” Reaching to slide the book toward me, she placed her hand over mine. “And you give it back to him ten fold.”
By the time I’d tossed some cash on the table, a plan had already formulated in my head. Franny had parked just outside the front entrance. Walking her around to her door, the seriousness of our business was complete, time for me to act like a gentleman.
As she was about to climb into her car, she turned her head, “Oh and when you’re finished with him, you tell him…” she bit back a sob, her lower lip trembling. She had cried too many times over this sack of shit, she deserved to have a touch of compassion and not of hate. I grasped her face in my palms, wiping the returning tears from under her eye.
“When this is done, he will sign those papers and never darken your doorstep ever again.”
I watched the taillights of her car fade into the darkness, my heart heavy with her pain. I needed to see Claire, to hold her close, and remind myself to be the man she deserved.
Morning dawned, bringing with it the dread, which had started two nights ago. My need to speak with Claire had carried me to the ER where Miss Kitty shared with me her sudden illness and being sent home. Claire’s windows were dark and her phone went unanswered. I reasoned she must have taken some medication, which placed her in a deep sleep.
After giving her, in my mind, plenty of time to rest, I called for the majority of the day and even went by her house to find her apartment silent as a grave. Something felt off, but until she called me, I had nothing to go on.
Momma phoned me bright and early, chastising me for not letting her know Claire was under the weather. I assured her she was doing better and I would have her back out to the house for another meal, minus the infamous Harmony.
“Did your silver pieces manage to crawl back home yet?” I tried to deflect from more talk of how great Claire was and how much Momma loved her.
“No, they haven’t. And I know they were there when I took out Grannie’s dishes.” Something deep inside me knew where they had vanished. It would take me a little digging, but I had to try.
I gave Claire one more call before I contacted Carson. The last thing I wanted was to get him stirred up if she was just working too hard or taking some time to herself. With the last ring sending my call to voicemail, I pocketed my phone. Once I finished my investigation, I would give Carson a call.
My first three pawn shops came up empty, with each owner denying he had anyone come in with any silver whatsoever. The fourth, a shop which was owned by two sisters, normally dealt with music and electronics.
After flashing my badge to the lady behind the counter, at least I think she was a lady, she asked me to wait just a moment while she got someone to help me. A few minutes later, a man with a jewelers loop around his neck and magnifying glasses on his head, came to the front counter. “What can I do for ya?” After giving him a description of the silver set, he smiled slightly. “Yes, Sir. A woman came in here two days ago, wanting to sell something like what you’re talkin’ about.” After he described the woman who came in, my stomach drops.
He tells me he didn’t get much call for collectable like this, so he referred her to a shop two blocks over. “Thank you, Sir. If you can or if this young girl ever comes back in, will you give me a call?” After he agreed to call me, saying he would never forget the girl who came in, he gave me the name of the shop owner down the street.
Bentley Collectables was scrolled in white letters against a bright blue canvas awning. The front display windows were full of what my Dad would call dust catchers. A glass door opened to a room full of more porcelain than a doll factory and crystal charms hung from the ceiling like thousands of raindrops.
“Good morning.” Greeting me is a man with a long pointed face, his jet black hair combed back, and round pinnacle glasses teetered on the end of his nose.
“Mornin’.” I returned back. Judging by his clothes alone, this man was not from around here. “Gordon over at the Silver Dollar pawn shop gave me your information, said he sent a pretty girl this way two days ago.”
He closed the ledger he had open, an old fashioned quill pen in his bony hands. “Oh yes, the silver grooming set.” He assumed, dollar signs flashing in his eyes. “I’m sorry if you’ve traveled a long way, but the auction for the set is well under way.” He tipped his head back to examine me through his tiny glasses.
I immediately pulled out my badge. “Well, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you need to suspend the auction.”
Vincent Olander, the unfortunate gentleman who fell for a pretty face with an honest smile, handed me the silver set. It gave him little resolve to be assured when the girl was located, she would be charged. Now to deal with the pretty girl and her smile.
I had barely left an overly excited Priscilla Morgan, her treasure tucked securely back into the cabinet, when a call came in I had been dreading all day. Claire still had not called me, forcing me to alert Carson.
“Hey, old man.” I did so not want to have this conversation.
“Dylan, you busy?” I didn’t like his tone, hurried and anxious. He is a big guy, a seasoned cop and not much affected him.
“No. Actually, I need to talk to you…about Claire.” I added just as nervously. Fearing deep inside she no longer feels for me as I do for her.
“I need to discuss her as well…something I just learned.”
My heart skipped a beat, “Is she okay?” My voice cracked.“She’s fine, physically.”
I didn’t like how this was turning. He was being too cryptic, completely out of character. What does that mean, physically?
“Listen, we’re just a few blocks from your shop, you able to talk?”
It didn’t matter if I had God himself waiting for me, this was about Claire, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” I ended the call and stepped on the gas.
Even though I promised myself I would risk the chance of getting hurt again for some reason, when I’m with you. It seems worth the risk.
~Anonymous
The first time I’d walked into this room, my body shook from the dampness of my clothes. I had been seeking help from whom I’d assumed would be a stranger; I took a chance in knocking on that front door.
Carson paced the floor after ending the call with Dylan. He kept apologizing over and over for the mess he’d caused. “Honey, I can’t tell you the whole story, that is up to Dylan. But believe me, what you saw on the street the other night isn’t what it appears.”
What was taking him so long to get here? Traffic could not be heavy this time of day.
“Claire, just breathe, sweetheart.” Carson tried to reassure me as the bay door suddenly opened, sending my heart into my throat.
I spun around, the bright sunlight creating a halo around the man coming through the door, making it impossible for me to tell who it was. My heart quickened as he stepped through the door, reaching up and sliding the door back down. As the door closed, the rays from the sun were blocked, identifying the man as Austin.
“Oh, hey,” he cheerfull
y greeted, a plastic bag in his left hand. “Didn’t expect to see y’all.” He crossed the room, his dark hair rumpled from the slight breeze today.
“Hey Austin, how are ya?” Carson crossed the room as if nothing was going on. Like an Oscar winning actor, his entire disposition changed.
“I guess we are all here to see Dylan, huh?” He laughed. I don’t know him well, but from the little I do, something is off.
My nerves were so rattled; I could feel my chest getting that tightening feeling of impending doom. I’ve no personal experience with panic attacks; my only knowledge was with helping patients through theirs. If this is what they felt like, then I’ll pass on any in the future.
“Unfortunately, I have something unpleasant I need to discuss with him.” He held up the bag, which contained some type of glass bottle. “Hopefully, this will lessen the blow.”
The tightness in my chest has turned into nausea, in my opinion, the top five worst feelings in the world. I have no Dr. Forrest to stick a shot in my ass to make the feeling go away.
The screeching tires outside did a quicker job of ridding me of the nausea, yet did nothing for my racing heart. I didn’t want to have a confrontation here with his brother present. If he has moved on, I wanted him to tell me in a place where I was free to react the way I chose.
“Claire!” Dylan shouted in a panic as he forcefully opened the door. There wasn’t time to blink or breathe as he had me wrapped in his arms, his face buried in my hair.
“Baby, oh my God,” he whispered and I wasn’t sure if he was thanking God or me with his audible prayer. He has to feel my shaking; I can see my fingers move as if I haven’t eaten in days. “Are you okay?” He pulled me back, holding me by my upper arms, searching my face and upper body.
“We…we need to talk Dylan.” My voice was shaky and I’m struggling not to cry all over again. The hurt is real and his face seems so lost and confused.
Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 Page 30
