by Gregory Ashe
Letitia promptly turned around and chomped down on her mother’s first two fingers. The mother did a lot of squealing and mouth-breathing before extricating herself and retreating to the far side of the room.
This was America’s future, Hazard thought.
Somers got the kids involved in some sort of organized game that, the more Hazard studied it, seemed like a juvenile training program for exactly the kind of capitalist failings that Marx critiqued. He was about to point this out to Somers when he noticed Somers shuffling through the presents, his lower lip caught between his teeth.
“What’s wrong?”
“My present, the one I picked out for Evie,” Somers said, giving the presents a final search. “It’s gone.”
III
SEPTEMBER 7
FRIDAY
4:41 PM
THEY WENT THROUGH THE presents again, together. Nothing. Most of the gifts were clearly marked, and when Hazard lifted the few that weren’t, Somers just shook his head. His eyes had darkened to a stormy blue by the time they finished.
“It doesn’t matter,” Somers said.
“I thought we got her the—” Hazard glanced over at the scrum of squealing children and lowered his voice. “—playhouse?”
“Yeah, we did. I just—it was just something little. Something I picked up the other day.” He shook his head again. “It’ll turn up.”
“You’re sure you wrapped it?”
Somers laughed. “Yes. And I’m sure I put it out here. I put both our names on it.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Sure I did. Anyway, it’s fine. She’ll be over the moon when we take her downstairs and show her the playhouse. And she’s having a great time; that’s what matters.”
“This is her birthday party,” Hazard said. “It’s supposed to be perfect.”
“It’s a toddler’s birthday party. It’s going to be a mad hell. But it’s also supposed to be pretty and pink and fun, and I think you did that part well enough.”
Hazard opened his mouth to ask another question—when was the last time you saw the present—but before he could, Grace Elaine caught Somers’s sleeve and said, “They’re getting quite loud, John-Henry.”
“They’re kids, Mom. They’re supposed to be loud.” But Somers patted her hand and waded into the sea of children, exclaiming, “Who wants to play Duck, Duck, Goose?”
Screams of joy followed him.
Hazard shifted uncomfortably near the presents, aware of Grace Elaine’s cool gaze.
“I suppose a banner was your idea,” Grace Elaine finally said, her eyes flicking up toward the length of paper. And then she drifted across the room to stand next to her husband.
Hazard clenched his fists hard enough that he felt a knuckle pop. He watched Somers herding the children into a circle, wrangling some of the wilder ones with impromptu wrestling and tickling. A few of the moms joined in, helping corral the kids and set up some semblance of order so they could start the game. The dads, for the most part, stood against the wall, drinking beers and sharing miserable looks. Then one of them, a compact guy with a flat-featured face, slid something out of his back pocket and showed it to the other men. A few of them laughed and slapped him on the shoulders. One guy turned away. The compact man slid the object back into pocket, grinning, and jerked a thumb at the door. Hazard wondered exactly how stupid the man had to be to bring a joint to a police officer’s home.
For a moment, Hazard considered confronting them. Then he snorted at his own attempt at self-deception and went back to the kitchen for another beer. He popped the bottle open, and the cap chimed against the counter before he swept it up with one hand. He took a drink. Somers would be able to lean up against the wall, Bud Light in one hand, and talk to the other dads. Somers would say some sort of bullshit, something about the Cardinals or about the Blues or about the Tigers. Somers would grin and laugh, and the other dads would grin and laugh. And Somers would find a way to get the asshole with the joint out of the house without causing a scene.
Hazard took a long pull of the Guinness, working the cap in his other hand, tracing the metal. Hazard, on the other hand, would lean up against the wall, say something, and somehow it’d be the wrong thing. And the other guys would go quiet and stare and drift away, one by one, until Hazard was leaning up against the wall alone. He pressed his thumb against the cap’s fluted sides. It wasn’t like he’d learned something new about himself; he’d been to enough social events in his life—in high school, in college, work events in St. Louis. And he knew himself, knew his nature. But something about this damn party was throwing him off balance, and he hated the feeling.
Laughter caught his ear. Giggling. The sound of small children. But not the wild, raucous play from the front room. No, this sound came from somewhere else in the house. And it had a different quality to it, a note that raised Hazard’s hackles. He had grown up surrounded by bullies, and he knew the sound of vicious laughter. What he was hearing now wasn’t exactly the same. But it was . . . a precursor, Hazard decided.
He followed the sound upstairs and stopped just outside the door to Evie’s room. He recognized the two boys who were sitting on the floor, surrounded by Evie’s toys. He had marked both of them as troublemakers earlier that day: the stout, dark-haired boy who liked taking things away; and the skinny, taller boy who ran around like a wrecking ball. They held one of Evie’s dolls between them, each boy gripping a leg, and then, laughing, they pulled. The doll’s legs popped off, her torso dropping to the floor, and the boys squealed with laughter.
“Hey,” Hazard barked.
The effect was instantaneous. Both boys started as though Hazard had slapped them. They dropped the severed legs they were holding. They looked at each other. And then they started to cry.
“Which one of you took the present?” Hazard said.
The taller boy got to his feet, wobbled, and then sprinted for the door. Hazard didn’t try to stop him; with some perps, it was better to let them run. He focused his gaze on the stockier boy.
“Tell me now,” Hazard said, “and it’ll go easier on you. We can talk to your parents. We can work out some kind of deal.”
The boy’s crying had changed. Tears ran down his cheeks, and his pudgy face was red and screwed up, but the emotion wasn’t fear. It was fury. He kicked the floor. He threw back his head. He screamed.
“Reggie?” The man’s voice had a whiny, nasal quality, and steps came up the stairs. “Reginald? Champ? Buddy? Where are you?”
“Are you Reginald?” Hazard asked the boy.
Howling, the boy kicked harder.
“You’re just making this worse for yourself,” Hazard said.
The boy threw himself backwards.
“Last chance to talk before things get messy,” Hazard warned.
“Reggie, my big buster.” A man emerged at the top of the stairs, a note of worry inflecting the words now. “Reggie, are you—oh, stud, what’s wrong?”
The man pushed past Hazard, moving into Evie’s room and picking up the stocky, dark-haired boy. Hazard saw the likeness immediately; the man was wide and built solidly, with the same dusky coloring. Hazard recognized him as the one with the joint. He had a face like a steam shovel, and right then, he was fixing Hazard with a furious look.
“What the hell is going on up here?”
“What’s going on,” Hazard said, “is that your son and his friend were committing trespass, vandalism, and destruction of property, just for a start. He’s also the primary suspect in another case, and I’ve got to tell you, I’m going to push for petty theft once I find what he took. That’s a class A misdemeanor.”
The dad stared at Hazard. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“Down,” Reggie screamed, flailing his legs. “Down!”
“You’re a fucking lunatic, talking about kids like that, talking about Reggie like that. Reggie’s a fucking champ, ok?”
&
nbsp; “Down!” Reggie screamed again, this time landing a kick that made his dad double over with a grunt. His dad released his hold, and Reggie shot toward the stairs.
The dad righted himself, massaging the spot where Reggie had gotten him. “Wait until I tell everyone what a nutjob you are.” He checked Hazard with his shoulder, pushing his way out of the room. “We’re out of here. And everybody else is out of here too once they hear about this.”
Catching the man’s wrist, Hazard twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him up against the wall. The man howled, sounding remarkably like Reggie, and struggled to get free. Hazard tightened his grip and forced the man’s wrist higher, toward the spot between his shoulder blades, and the man squealed.
“Feel that?” Hazard asked. “That pressure on your shoulder, that can do a lot of bad things if you keep struggling. Be quiet.”
The man drew in a shuddering breath and went still against the wall. “I’m going to sue the shit out of you, I’m going to—”
“What’s your name?”
“You won’t have anything left. Not a fucking thing. You and your fag boyfriend will be—”
Hazard tugged on the man’s wrist, and the man screamed.
“Quiet,” Hazard said. “Or everybody will come up here and see us messing around. You don’t want that, do you?”
The man’s breathing sounded almost like a sob.
“That was a question,” Hazard said.
“No.”
“What’s your name?”
“Dale.”
“Dale?”
“Dale Harwood.”
“Dale Harwood, here’s the thing. I know you’ve got a joint in your back pocket because I saw you showing it around. I bet you thought that was funny, right? In a police officer’s home, passing around weed, laughing at how stupid these fag cops were. That must have been a gag. Am I right?”
“I don’t—I wouldn’t—”
“So, I’m going to get rid of this.” Hazard pulled the joint from the back pocket. “And I’m going to tell you something, and then I’m going to let you go: this is my daughter’s birthday party. I’ve worked my ass off to make it as close to fucking perfect as possible. John would point out that perfect isn’t possible at a toddler’s party, but I’m not John. We see things a little differently. And I want this party to be pink and pretty and perfect. Do you understand me?”
Dale was crying now, his cheek mashed against the wall. “Yes. Yeah. Yes, I understand.”
“Do you know where the missing present is?”
“What missing present?” Dale let out a sharp cry as Hazard applied pressure again. “No, no, I swear to God.”
“Good. So you’re going to go wash your face. And you’re going to go back to the party. And you’re going to laugh and smile and have the best fucking time of your life. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I’m sorry, Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. We’ll buy her a new doll, we’ll replace whatever you say Reggie took, we’ll invite her over for playdates.”
Hazard released Dale’s wrist and shoved him away. Dale took two stumbling steps and then sprinted downstairs. Following after him, Hazard turned over the problem in his mind. Toddlers had a certain degree of perverse cunning, but Hazard didn’t think Reggie—or, for that matter, Dale—had the intellectual development to plan and carry out a theft. And Hazard guessed that Dale would have sold out any of his buddies in a heartbeat.
So where the hell was John’s present?
When Hazard got back to the party, Dale and the other men were leaning against the wall, although Dale’s pose had a newly-acquired degree of stiffness. The kids were dancing to some sort of electro-pop children’s music, and Somers was sitting on the arm of the sofa, his hand on Cora’s shoulder. Evie was shrieking with glee as she and another girl whirled in circles together.
“Where’d you go?” Somers said.
“Just had to round up a couple of kids.”
“You’re missing all the fun.” Somers dropped his hand from Cora’s shoulder and slid an arm around Hazard’s waist, tugging him close and resting his head against Hazard’s side. “We just found our prima ballerina.”
“You’re not missing all that much,” Cora said with a smile. “And if you want an encore performance, Evie will be happy to oblige.” She glanced around the room. “John-Henry, where are your parents? I need to ask your mom about watching Evie next weekend.”
“They just left,” Somers said. “Not really their scene.”
The electro-pop song shifted into another, almost identical tune. Something about the music made Hazard think of a drill going through his teeth.
“Did you find your present?” Hazard asked.
Somers, still pressed to Hazard’s side, shook his head and kept watching the dance party.
“What present?” Cora asked. “I thought you guys got her—”
“We did,” Somers said. “This was just something small. We’ll find it.”
“What was it?” Hazard said; the question prickled inside him, and he wondered why he hadn’t asked before.
“A book.”
“What kind of book?”
Somers peeled away from Hazard and looked up at him. “Don’t do that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re using your detective voice. It’s a party, Ree. Just enjoy it.”
“What kind of book?”
Shrugging, Somers said, “One of those women-can-be-anything books. Scientists. Astronauts. Engineers. I can’t remember the title.”
Hazard disentangled himself from Somers and headed for the door. “I’ll be right back.”
IV
SEPTEMBER 7
FRIDAY
5:06 PM
GRACE ELAINE WAS STANDING at the end of the driveway, which was packed with cars. The September day had turned hot, the sun soaking Hazard’s shirt and warming skin underneath; as a concession, Grace Elaine stood in the shade of an old maple tree, a massive handbag dangling from her wrist. She must have heard his steps because she turned. Her surgically-smooth face gave nothing away.
“I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye,” Hazard said.
“Glennworth has gone to get the car; we had to park at the end of the block.” Her tone filled in the rest: I suppose that’s to be expected in a neighborhood like this. I suppose that’s to be expected, now that you’ve dragged my son down to your level.
“Did you get a chance to tell Evie happy birthday?”
“She’s just turned three. I don’t think she even understands what a birthday is.”
“So, you didn’t tell her happy birthday?”
“I mentioned this to John-Henry, but I imagine with your current . . . situation, you’ll want to know too. Glennworth and I gave her a princess costume she can wear for Halloween. She’s going to be darling. I’ve already booked a haircut; we can’t have her looking homeless. Frankly, I’d appreciate it if you could at least run a comb through her curls once in a while. It’s a small town, you know. People do talk.”
Hazard’s grin felt like an icepick. “I guess that’s a no. You didn’t say happy birthday to your granddaughter.”
“For heaven’s sake. It’s not like she’ll even remember.”
“No. Of course not.”
The air held a charge that made Hazard’s skin prickle, and he just stood there, letting it build. Grace Elaine glanced at him once or twice. She fiddled with the handbag. She patted her hair. She shifted her weight.
“Well?” she said. “Was there something else?”
“If I could have a look inside your bag.”
Her face transformed into a series of shocked Os: her mouth, her eyes. Then the shock closed into something hard and mean. “Detective Hazard,” she said in the kitty-cat voice she liked to use with him when Somers wasn’t around. “You really are something else, aren’t you?”
“Probably,” Hazard said. “Let’s see the bag.”
“But you aren’t a detective anymore, are you?”
“If you happen to have something in there, I’m sure it was just an oversight. An accident. A misunderstanding.”
“You’re not a detective. You’re not a police officer. You’re a cripple,” she said with a small, triumphant smile as she glanced at his arm. “And you’re a pariah. And you’re an albatross around my son’s neck. You’re determined to ruin his life, is that it? You’re determined to drag him down with you.”
“It’s interesting,” Hazard said, distantly pleased at how rage smoothed out his voice, made it softer, deeper. “It’s interesting that you won’t open your bag.”
“I have absolutely no reason to open my bag. And I have absolutely no reason to spend another moment talking to you. What you’ve done to John-Henry—”
“I’m going to make a few guesses now,” Hazard said, still slightly thrilled with how his fury went through him like a glacier, flattening everything else. “You must have seen John buy the book. Or he must have told you about it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t know what was under the wrapping paper. I imagine it was the first one; John loves you, thanks to the fucking ridiculousness of biology and oxytocin, but he doesn’t call you up just to chat. So you bumped into him at the bookstore. And you saw the book in his hand. Did he tell you it was for Evie? Or did you ask?”
An ugly, feverish red worked its way up Grace Elaine’s neck.
“He told you,” Hazard said. “That’s what I think. He was excited. We bought her the fucking playhouse, of course, but the book, that was something John was excited about, something important to him. Something he wanted to share with our daughter.”
“His daughter,” Grace Elaine snapped.
“So it was casual. Like I said: an accident. Chance. You bumped into him, and he was holding the book, and he started talking. And when you got here, all of the sudden, you saw your opportunity.”
