Other Men's Sins

by Lawrence Falcetano

  When I opened my apartment door, Chestnut was leaning against the doorframe. He smiled when he saw me and gave me a big hug. I felt like a helpless rag doll in his arms. He was wearing flowered Bermuda shorts, sandals and a black muscle shirt, the sleeves tight against his rock-solid biceps. He smelled pleasantly of “bay rum” cologne.

  “My mon,” he said. “You call. I come.”

  It was his habit to call me, my mon.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I let him in and closed the door behind us.

  We walked instinctively to the kitchen table, which had become a ritual whenever Chestnut came to my apartment. He sat and waited while I took down the bottle of rum from the cabinet above the sink. I brought the bottle and two glasses to the table and poured. Chestnut could drink rum like water. He downed the glass without a breath. I poured him another. I sat opposite him and began to sip from my glass.

  “What kinda trouble you got, mon?” Chestnut said.

  “I think somebody might wanna do me harm,” I said.

  “Kill you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “That’s serious, mon,” he said. He took another swallow from his glass.

  “I didn’t take his threat seriously at first but now I think things are getting out of hand. I might have to bulldozer him before he does something really stupid.”

  “You wanna finish him?” Chestnut said.

  “No,” I said. “The guy’s got an ex-wife and a young son, although he’s not much good to either of them. I just wanna convince him to back off, for his own good…or mine.”

  “Why you need me?”

  “He’s got friends,” I said.

  “What kinda friends?”

  “The kind that’ll beat somebody up just because they’re asked to beat somebody up.”

  “In the name of friendship?”

  “In the name of friendship,” I said.

  “And maybe even kill somebody in the name of friendship,” Chestnut said.

  “Maybe, even that,” I said.

  “But you got me,” Chestnut said, “in the name of friendship.”

  “In the name of friendship,” I said, and smiled.

  He drained his glass again, then slid it across the table. I filled it again.

  “Why does he do this?” he said.

  I explained to him all the facts I thought he needed to know, so he’d understand why I wanted to do what I wanted to do. When I was through, he said, “You think he killed the priest?”

  “I can’t prove it,” I said.

  Chestnut said. “I’ll fix him good.”

  Chestnut had used the term; “fix him” in the past and it had resulted in fixing someone, permanently.

  “I don’t wanna fix him,” I said. “I just wanna teach him a lesson. And keep from getting my head bashed, or worse.”

  “Maybe I get him to confess,” Chestnut said. “Where do we find this guy?”

  “I wanna catch him in the open space of the construction site where he works,” I said.

  He finished his drink and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “You say when,” he said.

  “Today, before four when they get off work.”

  “Why that place?” he said.

  “He’ll probably have his friends with him.”

  “Two birds with a stone,” Chestnut said.

  “Something like that,” I said.

  “That’s why you got me,” he said.

  “That’s why I got you,” I said.

  There was a succession of hard raps on my door. When I opened it, Sandy was standing there looking radiant. I was surprised to see her so early in the afternoon. It was her custom to be tied up at her office or in court at that time.

  She pushed by me in a huff and made her way to my refrigerator without saying a word. She removed a chilled bottle of Chablis and grabbed a glass from the overhead cabinet and sat at the table. It was evident she was upset, and, or angry. I wasn’t sure which. She filled her glass with wine and downed half of it, without coming up for air. Chestnut grimaced at the Chablis and took a drink of his rum. After Sandy drained her glass, she looked across the table at Chestnut and said, “Hello, Chestnut.”

  Chestnut said, “Hello, Sandra.”

  Sandy and Chestnut had met previously on many occasions. She had grown to become as good a friend to him as I was. Chestnut, in return, had respected her “womanhood.” There primary connection to me was their mutual interest…my welfare.

  I closed the door and said, “Hello, Sandra.”

  “Hello, yourself,” she said and poured herself more wine.

  I sat down at the table with her and Chestnut. I knew she was both upset and angry.

  I wasn’t sure what to say. If I offered the right thing, it might calm her, if I said the wrong thing it could set her off even more.

  I tried to say the right thing. “Rough day?”

  “Rough is not the word,” she said. “You’ve never had a day like I had. That damned prosecutor made me look like a fool in court.”

  “Part of the game, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Not the way I play it,” she said. “In all my years I’ve never had a bitch treat me like that.”

  I looked at Chestnut with a “this girl is mad” expression. Chestnut raise his eyebrows and said, “When I get upset, I go to the gym and hit the bag.”

  “I don’t need a bag,” Sandy said. “When I get upset, I punch Max around the living room until I feel better.”

  She tried to conceal the smile that was forming on her lips but couldn’t hold back laughing at her own humor. Chestnut offered a big smile, showing her his perfectly place pearly white teeth.

  I smiled, too, and leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek. She kissed me back.

  “Kisses sweeter than wine,” I said.

  “It’s the Chablis,” she said.

  She got up and went to the fridge and opened it. “How about some lunch?” she said.

  She examined the contents and said, “A can of tuna, a jar of pickles and two six-packs of beer.”

  “Not what one would call appetizing,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll order from Karcher’s Deli. I can put away a pastrami on rye.”

  I didn’t answer.

  A dilemma was beginning to form. Chestnut and I needed to leave in time to make it to the construction site before four. I had always tried not to keep things from Sandy, but she knew inevitably, whenever I hooked up with Chestnut, the situation I was about to undertake could be less than healthy for me. So far, she hadn’t mentioned it, but I knew she knew.

  I understood her concern. It was the same thing I had gone through with Marlene when we were married; her incessant concern about my safety. Worrying whether her husband would come home injured or come home at all. It was something I tried not to put Sandy through, but it was a part of being a cop.

  Sandy closed the fridge and turned to look at Chestnut and me. She finally broke the silence and said, “Whatever it is you two are involved with, I don’t want to know.”

  “You know, Chestnut helps me sometimes with a case,” I said.

  “I wouldn’t want anyone else helping you, but him.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” I said.

  “I’ve heard that before,” she said.

  “Your man is safe with me,” Chestnut said.

  “I know,” Sandy said, “but it doesn’t make me feel much better.”

  “Chestnut’s got my back,” I said.

  “That’s why you got me,” Chestnut said.

  “That’s why I got you,” I said.

  “In the name of friendship,” he said.

  “In the name of friendship,” I said.

  Chestnut smiled.

  So did I.

  Sandy didn’t.

  Chapter 15

  The Chevy bounced and rattled over the rutted road, kicking up red dust as we drove into the construction
site where Regan was working. Chestnut held on to the dash with one hand and cranked up the side window with the other.

  “Mon, you need a new ride,” he said.

  “Can’t afford it. I pay out more than I keep.”

  The construction on the site had advanced noticeably since I’d been here. The skeleton of the two-story structure had been enclosed with corrugated metal and the roof had been completed. A foundation had been dug for a new building beside it, and most of the labor was concentrated there. The usual lineup of cars and trucks were parked where they had been before. I spotted Regan’s truck at the end of the row, partially shaded by the overhanging limbs of a half-dead Sycamore tree. I parked about a hundred feet away from the tree and killed the engine.

  “That’s his truck,” I said.

  Chestnut looked disinterestedly at Regan’s pickup truck, and said, “Where’s your man?”

  “They quit at four,” I said.

  My dash clock read 3 p.m. Chestnut looked to see if the dust had settled, then cranked down the side window. We sat quietly for a while, watching the clock, and listening to the roar of heavy equipment in the distance, until Chestnut said, “Should have brought some coffee and doughnuts with us.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I said.

  “Would have made the wait easier.”

  “It would,” I said.

  “Sandra makes great chocolate chip cookies,” he said.

  “She does,” I said.

  “Could have brought some cookies.”

  “Next time.”

  We sat in silence for almost a full minute, until Chestnut said, “Why we come so early?”

  “I don’t wanna miss, Regan,” I said.

  “I miss Sandra’s chocolate chip cookies,” he said.

  It was 3:50 when the hum and rumble of the heavy equipment came to a grinding halt. The silence echoed in my ears as I watched the usual drove of workers hurry to their vehicles and start their engine for the ride home. I didn’t see Regan. Chestnut and I got out and walked behind the Sycamore and waited. Car and truck engines came to life as we watched vehicle after vehicle parade down the dirt road. Through the dissipating dust, I spotted Regan coming out of the building carrying his lunchbox under his right arm. He was walking with two co-workers in the direction of his pickup. One was taller than Regan and had the body of a weightlifter. He wore jeans, work boots and a sleeveless red-checkered flannel shirt. His hair was rust red and cut short. The second was smaller, with a wiry body. His arms were thin but muscular and tattooed from wrists to biceps. When he walked, he swung his arms loosely at his side as if they were too much of a burden to carry. He wore dirty overalls and no shirt. His dark hair was cut into a crew cut.

  I waited till they got close to Regan’s truck, then stepped out from behind the tree. Chestnut stayed where he was. Regan’s eyes widened when he saw me.

  “Whatta you doin’ here, Graham?” he said. “I thought you and me were through.”

  “Not quite,” I said as I walked closer to him.

  Regan tossed his lunchbox through the open window of the driver’s door and reached for the door handle. When he pulled the door open a few inches, I slammed it shut with my hip.

  “You’re history to me,” he said. “I got nothin’ to say to you.”

  “You’ll have a lot to say to me before we’re through,” I said.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw big red step closer to me. When I turned my head to face him, he brought his face close to mine and looked threateningly into my eyes. “Who is this guy, Arnie?” he said.

  “A pimple on my ass,” Arnie said.

  “I smell cop,” big red said.

  Crew cut moved in closer and stepped behind me. I turned my body so all three of them were in my view.

  “Are these the guys you hired to work me over?” I said to Regan.

  “You’re talkin’ shit again, Graham.”

  “Why would you do that, Arnie, to get me to lay off the Conlon case? What’s your connection to that?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Yes, you do,” I said.

  Big red put his hand on my shoulder.

  I said, “Take your hand off my shoulder.”

  Big red said, “Make me.”

  I made him.

  I reached up and grabbed his forearm and bent my body forward, causing his wrist to bend backward. He let out a cry of pain. I grabbed his wrist and bent it back even further. He went down on his knees in agony. While he was down there, I slammed my knee into his chest. He grabbed his chest and fell over on his side.

  Crew cut took a step forward. “You’re in no position to be tough,” he said. “Three of us an’ just one o’ you.”

  Chestnut’s timing was impeccable. He stepped out from behind the tree, looking like the Colossus of Rhodes; his hands on his hips, his legs spread shoulder width.

  The three of them shot a look in his direction, surprised by his unexpected appearance. Chestnut gave them his big smile and said, “One and one make two, two against three, easy odds.”

  That’s when crew cut got brave and sucker punched me in the gut, knocking me against the cab. Chestnut sprang over the truck bed in warp speed and hit Regan and crew cut with his full body weight, knocking them to the ground. Big red was attempting to get back on his feet until I hit him with an uppercut to his mid-section. When he dropped his hands, I finished him with a right to his jaw and left to his nose. I heard his nose crack as blood spurted onto his chin.

  “Man, you broke my nose,” he said.

  He melted to the ground and stayed there. When I looked up, Chestnut was tangled between Regan, and crew cut. Crew cut reached into Regan’s truck bed and grab a lug wrench. He came at Chestnut swinging. Chestnut ducked the first swing and dodged the next, then let loose with a roundhouse kick that almost sent crew cut into the ionosphere.

  I heard a low moan at my feet and looked down. Big red was coming around. I pressed my foot down on the side of his head and kept it there. Wisely, he chose not to resist, although, I don’t think he was able. Crew cut raised himself onto one elbow, looking like he didn’t know what day it was, and tried to focus on Regan. That’s when Regan decided to play the hero. He charged Chestnut, wrapped his arms around Chestnut’s waist and slammed him against the truck body. Chestnut grabbed Regan by the back of his shirt and the seat of his pants and lifted him into the air above his head. He held him there for a few seconds, then spun him around and dropped him into the truck bed. The truck bounced and rattled when Regan’s body slammed onto the bed floor.

  “Quick and easy,” Chestnut said. “That’s why you got me.”

  “That’s why I got you,” I said.

  I took my foot off big red’s head. He wasn’t going anywhere. He looked like he was in la-la land. I walked to the tailgate of the truck and opened it. I grabbed Regan’s ankles and dragged him over the tailgate and pulled him up into a sitting position.

  “Are these the guys that jumped me?” I said.

  When he didn’t answer, I pulled him off the tailgate and stood him on the ground in front of me. Chestnut reached out and grabbed a handful of Regan’s shirtfront and moved in close to him. I stepped back and let Chestnut do what I knew he would. He slapped the left side of Regan’s face hard with his open hand and then slapped the right side with the back of his hand. “Are these the guys?” he said. Regan didn’t answer, so Chestnut repeated his slap dance a second time. Regan’s cheeks began to swell and his eyeballs rolled around like they were loose in their sockets.

  “Better tell him, Regan, before he gets mad,” I said.

  “Okay, Okay,” Regan said. “I paid ‘em.”

  “You paid these guys, to work me over?”

  Regan didn’t answer.

  “Don’t clam up, Regan,” I said. “You’re trying his patience.”

  “It was a chance for me to make easy money.”

  “Somebody gave you money to hire these thugs?”


  “Three hundred bucks,” he said. “But I’d a done it without the money if I had the balls.”

  “So you paid these monkeys to do it for you.”

  “Yeah, I got the satisfaction and the money.”

  “One time wasn’t enough?”

  “Whattaya talkin’ about?”

  “I was jumped outside my apartment,” I said.

  “Don’t know nothin’ about that.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Regan,” I said. “I don’t like to be lied to.”

  “I swear, it was a onetime thing.”

  “Your boys were the ones that worked me over in the park?” I said.

  “That’s all I know,” he said.

  “Who hired you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Who hired you?’ I repeated, louder this time.

  When he wouldn’t talk, I took hold of his hair and yanked his head back. I felt the anger well inside me. I had had enough of this guy and didn’t care what I had to do to get answers.

  “I’ll ask you one more time,” I said, “then I’m gonna hurt you.”

  I pulled his head back hard until the skin on the front of his neck went taut. Chestnut released his hold on Regan’s shirt and stepped back.

  “Give me a name,” I said.

  Regan squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his head in a futile attempt to free himself.

  “A name,” I said again. I yanked his head back even further. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable watching the skin on the front of Regan’s neck stretch smooth. His veins looked like rubber bands about to snap as I applied more pressure.

  He was having a tough time breathing. His face changed from a mottled pink to a shade of crimson. He was trying to say something, so I let up on the pressure a bit. He gasped a few times, and then through quivering lips, tried to speak. We waited until he let out a burst of breath and followed it with the whispered name…“Crockett.”

  Chapter 16

  I was on my way to the Church, mulling over all that Regan had told me and wondering why Crockett would want to have someone work me over. I had gotten everything I could from Regan. He’d said he knew Crockett from having worked with him on several construction jobs, and they had become drinking buddies and garnered a modest friendship. He claimed Crockett offered him three hundred dollars to rough me up, no questions asked. He swore he didn’t know Crockett’s motive and didn’t care since it was easy money and he’d feel good, he said, knowing he’d gotten somebody to “kick my ass.” When it came down to it, Regan was a loudmouth weasel with no guts. I should have busted his nose before I let him go, so he’d remember me for a long time.