Savage Rage (19 page)

Jenny gave Jack the heads-up. “The husband's taking off to stay with his mom while he cools down.”

“No assault?” From the ferocity of the screaming, Jack would have bet his mortgage someone had been hit.

“Nope, just a loud-ass argument.”

“It sounded like they were getting ready to kill each other. What the fuck were they arguing about?”

“Would you believe diapers?” Her mouth crooked in a sardonic grin at his perplexed expression. “Yup, hubby refuses to change the diapers and she called 911.”

“You're fucking kidding me.” Jack shook his head. “For fuck's sake.”

They stuck around while hubby packed a bag —
guess he's staying with mommy for more than the night
— then walked him out of the apartment. The wife slammed the door behind them and Manny had to hop to avoid getting smacked in the ass. They all took the stairs and it was a quiet trip.

Diapers. They were fighting over diapers.
Is that what Jack had waiting for him? Not that he thought he and Karen would ever fight over something as stupid as that, let alone call 911 about it, but what if she was pregnant? She said she wasn't, but how accurate was that test? And when had she used it?
Fuck, she could be pregnant from last night.

His mood, which had been sour all morning thanks to images of him dancing woodenly as his mother-in-law jerked strings attached to his limbs, dropped even further.
God, I want to hit someone.

When they reached the ground floor, hubby exited through the back door; the cops turned for the door that opened onto the hallway. Jack yanked the door open and almost walked into a crackhead stepping into the stairwell. That he was a crackhead was obvious, considering the crack pipe he had held to his mouth and the way his eyes widened in shock and fear over the flame of the lighter he was touching to the pipe.

“Hi there.” Jack snagged the guy by the front of his parka and hauled him into the stairwell. One good thing to say about the buildings in Regent Park: the stairways had enough room for four cops and one shit-out-of-luck crack addict.

Manny pulled on his search gloves and plucked the pipe and lighter from the man's unresisting hands. “Just a twenty piece,” he estimated, examining the rock resting on the aluminum foil wrapped over the short end of a copper-piping L joint.

“Keep your hands where I can see them. You got any more on you?” Jack asked as he tugged on his Kevlar-lined gloves.

“N-no,” the guy stammered. Old at a young age and burned skinny by the drug, he shivered in his heavy parka. His eyes darted nervously from face to face.

“Of course not.”

Jenny came into the stairwell. “No one else.” She had checked the hall to make sure buddy had been alone. She took up a position by the stairwell door, keeping an eye on the hall and the stairs. Where there was one crackhead, there could be more. Boris leaned against the railing, a bored look on his face.

Jack unzipped buddy's parka, grimacing at the stagnant body odour. “Fuck, buddy, don't you ever wash?”
Bloody fucking hell. First a couple of morons fighting over a shitty diaper and then some asshole who smells like one.

“Sorry,” the kid muttered.

“I'm sure,” Jack growled. He grabbed the crackhead by the jaw, forcing the bloodshot, fearful eyes to meet his.
Calm down, Jack. No need to lose your temper over some crackhead.
“You have anything on you that I'm going to cut myself on? Knives, razor blades, needles? Anything like that? Tell me now, 'cause if I cut myself I'll put you in the fucking hospital.”

“No . . . nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” Jack started with the coat pockets, patting down the outside before reaching in — no sense sticking his hand in blindly, Kevlar or no Kevlar — and when he smoothed the fabric of the second pocket he felt it, grabbed it from the outside as cold dread slid up his spine. “What the fuck is this?” he snarled.

The crackhead panicked, knowing he had fucked up. “Nothing! I'm sorry! I forgot!”

Holding the crackhead's jacket with one hand, Jack pulled the knife free of the pocket. It was a folding buck knife and he flicked it open with his thumb in front of the crackhead's terrified eyes. Against his sickly complexion, the blade's gleam was sinister. “Fuck!” Jack punched the crackhead in the ribs, knocking the wasted body across the landing.

Jenny jumped out of the way and the man crashed into the door. She darted to block Jack as he advanced on the crackhead, murder in his eyes. “Jack, that's enough. Enough!”

He bumped into her outstretched hand without seeing her.

“Stop, Jack. Please.”

“She's right, man. He's learned his lesson.” Manny was at his side, firmly pushing down the hand that clasped the knife. “Right, bud? You won't lie to the police again, will you?”

The crackhead shook his head and clutched his chest. “No, boss.”

Jack shook his head to throw off the red haze that had saturated his vision. He looked at the man sprawled on the floor.
Did I do that?
He didn't remember hitting him or pulling out the knife, but he must have, because there it was in his hand. Numbly, he handed the knife to Manny.

“Thanks, man.” Manny closed the knife, then studied it. Grinning, he snapped it open with a flick of his wrist. He pointed the blade at the crackhead, still grinning. “Flick knife, bud. That's prohibited and you're going to jail, dude.”

“Where to, man? Allan Gardens?”

Jack thought about it for a second. “Nah, too many people. Somewhere a little more secluded.”

“You got it, dude.” Drinks from the Second Cup at Church and Wellesley on board, hot chocolate for Manny, tea for Jack, Manny headed south on Jarvis Street. Traffic was light for a Sunday afternoon and in minutes they were deep in the division's south end, away from well-travelled roads. There was less chance someone would walk up to them with a problem down here.

Processing the crackhead on the weapon and drug charges had been a cinch with the three of them helping on the paperwork — Jack the arrest, Manny the drugs and Jenny the knife, court cards for all — and they had been back on the road in no time. Boris had declined to join in on the arrest and potential court card, saying it was their pinch and they didn't need to feel obligated to include him. It wasn't like him to turn down a free court card and as he had left the stairwell he had given Jack a peculiar look. If Jack had to label it, he would say the fat copper had looked devious and rather pleased with himself.

Manny turned off Cherry Street into a deserted dirt parking lot just north of the raised CN train tracks. Old wood loading docks, relics from a bygone era, abandoned and choked with weeds and garbage, framed the V-shaped lot. Much of the southeast corner of the division was like that: abandoned and forgotten. Like the Waterfall parking lot, this area was popular for film and TV shoots because of the neglected buildings and vacant lots.

Manny swung the scout car in a hard U-turn, churning up a lethargic dust cloud and then reversed into the lot's far end and tucked the car next to the loading dock, concealing the white car with its distinctive red and blue striping. Out of sight, out of mind.

He killed the engine and they both got out and leaned on the hood. No clouds barred the sun and beneath its mild touch the air smelled of spring. Jack popped the top on his tea and inhaled deeply. Warm sunlight, hot tea and no radio calls. If only it could stay that way for a few minutes. . . .

The work station beeped in the car and Manny went to check on it. A minute or two of tapping on the keyboard and he was back.

“That was Jenny. She's on her way.”

Jack nodded and sipped his tea. “Warm weather, hot tea, no calls and a beautiful woman. Things are getting better all the time.”

They stood in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth and solitude. Across from them on the west side of Cherry Street stood the old Gooderham and Worts distillery. The aged red brick buildings sat empty and forlorn, waiting to see what the future held. The surroundings weren't cheery, but they fit Jack's mood perfectly.

“You okay, man?”

Manny's question broke Jack's dark thoughts of a wife who betrayed him and a mother-in-law who wanted to control him. “Yeah. Why?”

“I dunno.” Manny shrugged beefy shoulders and squinted at Jack. The sunlight gleamed off his shaven scalp. “You seem kind of tense today. Angry, maybe.”

Jack shook his head, his lips pursed as if his tea had suddenly turned bitter. “Just a bit of trouble at home. Nothing major, really. No need for me to ruin the fantasy of domestic bliss for you.”

A lot of people, supervisors especially, mistook Manny's childlike exuberance and cheerfulness as stupidity and were constantly underestimating Manny. Just like Jack had done, hoping to blow him off with a bullshit, lame answer.

“C'mon, dude. We're partners, right? No offence, but the way you reacted in the stairwell . . . I mean, it was cool when you knocked him like ten feet through the air with one punch and all and I bet he won't lie to the police again, but, dude, we're lucky you didn't stab him when you hit him. And the way you went after him with the knife still in your hand.” Manny chuckled. “Dude, it looked like you were getting ready to carve a J into his forehead.”

“A J? What are you babbling about?”

“You know, that Kayne guy, carving the letter K into people's heads.”

Jack pulled a face at his partner. “I don't think it was that bad.”

Manny drained the last of his hot chocolate and set the cup on the car hood. He shielded his eyes from the sun and looked at Jack. “You sure?” he asked simply.

Jack paused with his tea halfway to his mouth. “Put on your sunglasses, moron.” He drank his tea.

“Did that thing yesterday bother you?”

Something in Manny's voice, more than the question itself, told Jack his partner wasn't making small talk. “It was messy,” he replied cautiously, knowing which thing Manny was referring to. “I don't think I'll be able to look at a Christmas tree the same way ever again. You okay with it?”

“I guess so,” he said quietly but didn't meet Jack's eyes.

It was Jack's turn to say, “You sure?”

Manny heaved a deep breath, slowly shaking his head. “The guy's head was gone, man. One minute he was tying his shoe, the next he was dead. It sucks. It really sucks.”

Manny had joined the TPS at twenty-one, coming straight to 51 out of the police college. Despite more than three years on the job, he was a young guy, still a kid in many ways. Jack had only five years on Manny, but he felt much older. He had aged a lifetime in the past six months.

“Yeah, it sucks and it's a really fucking stupid way to die. But shit happens and we have a job to do. We all see things that upset us, and it's different for everyone. Some guys can scrape bodies up off the road without a thought, but they may have problems with anything involving animals or kids. I'd be worried about you if yesterday hadn't bothered you.”

“Thanks, man.” Manny sighed, looking like the weight was suddenly lighter. “You won't tell anyone, will you? I mean, I don't want the guys thinking I'm weak or anything.”

“Of course not.” Jack grinned. “For a price.”

Manny groaned. Then Jenny's scout car rolled into the lot. Jenny pulled up close and got out.

“Hey, beautiful. Glad you could join us.”

“But not glad enough to buy me a coffee,” she complained, pointing at Jack's cup.

“If I'd known you were . . . available, I would have grabbed you one,” Jack said defensively, flashing her a smile.

She smiled back and some of the darkness encasing Jack's heart melted away. “For you, I'm always available.”

“Did you guys want to use the back seat of the car?” Manny opened the door for them.

Jenny wrinkled her nose at the suggestion. “The back seat? Yuck. You know the type of people we put in there. No thanks.”

Manny shrugged apologetically. To Jack, he said, “Sorry, dude. I tried.”

“I just said no to the back seat,” Jenny corrected. “We could always use the hood.”

“You seem in an awfully good mood,” Jack noted, hoping to distract her from the blush he felt creeping up his neck. It was amazing how she could make him feel, even when she was joking. And he was pretty sure she was joking, unfortunately.

That was one of the things he liked and admired about Jenny. She could give as well as, or better than, she got when it came to sexual innuendo and ribbing. Coppers who tried to embarrass her often found themselves the ones being laughed at. But the two-way teasing sometimes backfired on her.

Cops, primarily the dinosaurs but also a good number of impressionable young guys, viewed policewomen as bitches, dykes or party girls. A PW who dated cops was usually known as a party girl who'd fuck anyone in uniform. If she didn't date guys on the job, she was a bitch. Or a dyke. Maybe a bit of both.

Jenny's rep was bitchy party girl. She had dated a couple of cops early in her career. Neither of the relationships had ended well. In general, cop-cop relationships had a tendency to self-destruct. Gossip had it that Jenny had dated several dozen cops. Guys at the station claimed to have dated her, or at least slept with her, but Jack figured those guys had been shot down quickly and decisively. Hence the bitchy part of her reputation.

Cops could be such assholes.

Jack knew Karen had heard of Jenny's supposed exploits through her friend in 32. He was always careful when he mentioned Jenny to his wife. Karen could be jealous, and it didn't help when she pictured Jenny spreading her legs for anything with a badge. If Karen and Jenny met, it could make the divisional Christmas party this year rather interesting.

“Maybe now that you're here, Jack will tell us why he tried to punch a hole through a guy's chest this morning.” Manny smiled smugly. “Thought I'd forgotten you didn't answer the question, huh?”