Burying Ben (17 page)

Third is Mad Dog Patcher, which is how I
’
ve co
m
e to think of hi
m
. I
draw a picture of a snarling dog fo
a
m
ing at the
m
outh and bar
i
ng his teeth.

Baxter is fourth. I’ve done nothing but stir up trouble for hi
m
. By the t
i
m
e this is over, I
’
m going to owe hi
m
, big ti
m
e.

Frank is last on the list.
T
echnically
speaking, he doesn
’
t even belong here. I
’
m planning to call him
and apologize.
Ask him
out
for dinner.
H
e
’
s right—I had used him to go to the Festival, but that isn’t reason enough to go into a
m
ajor sulk. On the other hand, it
’
s refreshing to
m
eet a
m
an who can talk about hurt feelings i
n
stead of clam
m
i
ng up, getting angry and stor
m
i
ng off.
W
e
’
d had
a good ti
m
e together, both of us. He
’
s wo
r
t
h another shot. I take a pen and put a question
m
ark next to his na
m
e.

It’s a blue pen, sa
m
e as the c
o
lor of his eyes.

Chapter Ni
n
eteen

It’s
b
een a
b
usy week with a bad
s
t
art. So
m
ehow I’ve
m
anaged to avoid running into Eddie. By the ti
m
e I get ho
m
e on Friday, I’m
too tired to cook. I put on a bathrobe, fix
m
yself a bowl of popcorn, pour a large glass of red wine, and
turn on a cooking show.

The TV chef is
m
aking an impossibly co
m
plicated dinner for
o
ne, which s
h
e procee
d
s to eat at a di
n
i
ng table set with silver and crystal. Totally disingenuous. If
she was really single, she’d be eating over the sink. There is a knock on
m
y door, followed by triple rings on the doorbell. I ju
m
p, spilli
n
g popcorn
o
n the rug. I look through the peeph
o
le. Eddie is standing on the doorstep, by hi
m
self.

“Open up, it’s dark out here.” I brush s
a
lt off the front of
m
y
r
obe and open the door.

“Am
I interrupting so
m
ething, Doc?
H
eard you talking to so
m
ebody and I see you got your sexy lingerie on.”

He gives
m
e the once over. I’m
barefoot, wearing a long-sleeved floor-length robe that zips up under
m
y chin. He walks past
m
e into the living room
and looks around. “S
m
ells good. Got any
m
ore popcorn
?
”

He looks up the stairs, walks into the kitchen, opens a f
e
w cabinet doors and ranges through
m
y house like I’m
a suspect in a cri
m
e. “Nice house. Lived here long?” I don
’
t answer. “Kind of light on decorations. Not too
m
any plants, no knick-knacks.”

“
W
hat are you doing here?
I don’t see p
e
ople without an appoint
m
ent. And only in
m
y office. You need to call
m
e first.”

“I’m
having a crisis. I can’t wait.” He
takes a fistful of popcorn and plops down in a li
v
ing ro
o
m
chair.

“
W
hat’s happened to Manny
?
”

“Manny is it?
You
m
ust be on close ter
m
s. Swee
t
.”

“
W
here is
h
e?”

“Back at t
h
e
station writing
‘
I will not use the co
m
puter
f
or p
er
sonal use’ a thousand ti
m
es.”

“You need to leave, Eddie. This isn’t funny.”

“You’re not being very hospitable.”

I pick up the re
m
ote control and turn off the TV.
“
W
hat do you want?”

“A beer would go down nice with the popcorn.”

“You know what I
m
ean.”

He leans forward and starts counting
o
ff on his f
i
ngers. “I’ll
m
ake you a list.” He starts with his thu
m
b. “What I want is f
o
r you to quit snooping a
r
ound my life.
W
hat I want is for you not to inti
m
i
date the best
rookie we’ve had in years into doing so
m
ething that could get him
fired.
W
hat I want is for you to understand that I had nothing to do with Go
m
ez killing hi
m
self.
W
hat I want is
for you to quit playing Nancy Drew and get-the-fuck off my case.”

He shoves the re
m
aining popcorn in his
m
outh. “Let
m
e give you so
m
e advice. Don’t be a wannabe cop. You’ll
get hurt and you’ll hurt other people, like Manny.”

It was the same thing he had said about Ben.

“How
m
uch trouble is Manny in
?
”

“Thanks to you, he’ll probably get two days
on the beach – t
h
at’s two days with no pay – have his probation extended and have to
take so
m
e dipshit class in ethics.”

“I didn’t ask him
to do this. He did it on his own.”

“No encourage
m
ent from you, huh?”

“He knows I’m
concerned, that I want to understand what happened to Ben. He wants to understand, too.”

At least I hope that’s the case.

“In other words, you told him
that I drove the kid to off h
i
m
self.”

“I never said that to hi
m
. Never.”

“But you think it, don’t you
?
”

“I don’t know what to think.” There is a
m
o
m
ent
ar
y silence. “Look, I don’t think you forced Ben Go
m
ez to shoot himself in the head. No one can
m
ake another person do that.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“Ben see
m
e
d to think you had so
m
e kind of vendetta against hi
m
.”

“He was a wuss. Couldn’t take the heat.”

“If he was a wuss, why did you put so
m
uch pressure on hi
m
?
”

“So now w
e
’re back to the I-didn’t-p
u
ll
-
the
-
t
r
ig
g
er-but-
I-
hounded-hi
m
-to-death theory?
W
hy would I do that?
He needed to be
fired, not because I had a hard-on for hi
m
. He didn’t have the right stuff. All he wanted to do was run traffic stops and arrest people for overdue library books. There’s
m
ore to this
job than that.”

He pulls a cigar from
his pocket.

“Please don’t s
m
oke in here.”

“
W
hat? I
’
ll kill yo
u
r pl
a
nt
s
?” He
f
li
p
s the unlit
ci
gar between his
f
i
ngers. “So why do you think I had a vendetta against Go
m
ez
?
”

Here I a
m
, alone in
m
y house, at night, barefoot, and in
m
y bathrobe talking to an ar
m
ed
m
an. This is neit
h
er the ti
m
e nor the
p
lace to be
m
aking psycholo
g
ical interpretati
o
ns. “It
s
eemed plau
s
ible,
that
’
s all
.
”

“Really.
W
h
y?”

“Did you know his parents died when he was ten? That he was raised by his grandparents?”

Eddie raises his bushy eyebrows. There isn’t much light in the roo
m
, but I can see a small tic vibrating under his cheek. “
Y
eah, he told so
m
e people. They told
m
e.”

“Maybe, because you knew this, you convinced yourself that there was no way he could be psychologically stable enough to be a cop.”

“Don’t start with that psychobabble s
h
it. So, he had a crappy childhood. If it wasn’t for crappy childhoods, we wouldn’t have
no cops or firefigh
t
ers. I didn
’
t condemn him
f
or that.
It was a bad
f
it. This isn
’
t the job
f
or hi
m
.”

I take a deep breath. “Is it possible t
h
at you
m
ay have over i
d
entified with hi
m
? His bad childhood? The significant losses he experienced
?
”

“
W
hat the fuck does that
m
ean
?
”

“You had a difficult childhood yourself, didn’t
you?
And great losses as an adult. I know your wife was a heroin addict who
died of AIDS. And I know she lost your baby.”

His face
flushes red. A narr
o
w band of muscle in his
f
orehead starts pulsing rapidly.

“
W
ho told you this crap?”

“I ca
n
’t say
.
”

“You’d fucking better.” He sits up
and cla
m
ps his hand over his weapon.

“Or what? You’ll shoot
m
e
?
”

I
’
m teetering on the edge of the couch, hugging a throw cushion to my chest like a shield.
I can see the muzzle flash, hear the zing, feel the i
m
pact.

”It was Fran, wasn’t it?
So
m
e coppers t
o
ld
m
e you
’
ve been eating there. She never lets up. She’s like Mother Teresa, out to save
the world. Always on
m
y b
a
ck, telling
m
e I’m
killing myself
with grie
f
.”

I ed
g
e away
f
rom hi
m
, toward the end of
the couch, u
s
ing my bare feet to push
m
y
s
elf along.
T
he tile is cold. I need to buy a rug.

“Scared?
T
hink I’m
going to shoot you?
Ready to run for the phone
?
”

H
e exhales in a long
h
i
ss. His body goes flaccid and he sinks
back into t
h
e chair, his empty gun hand flopping on the ar
m
r
est. “The chief’s going to s
h
it bricks when he hears about this,” he says so softly he
m
ay be talking to hi
m
self. “Call hi
m
. I don’t give a fuck any
m
ore. I should shoot you, but I won’t. You’re not worth going to jail
f
or.”