Ten Times Guilty (7 page)

The baby. Leaving the light on over the sink, she took her tea to the crib and stood sipping while watching him sleep. Even though times were hard, she thanked God for the gift of his life. His love was the only thing of value she had, and she constantly marveled at that love. No matter her mood, no matter how other things in life were going, he was always there, always glad to see her, always loving her. And because of that love, she felt a fierce protective instinct she never knew she had.

So she had to shape up. Bemoaning the fates wasn’t going to do him any good. She could cry and tear at her chest all day long and it wouldn’t accomplish a thing. Ritchie couldn’t survive on could’ve-beens. She had to do something.

But what?

She couldn’t count on child support from her ex-husband since Richard seldom worked, certainly not enough to help her. Although a talented musician, he only worked for cash, moving on after a few weeks.

She had thought he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, with dark wavy hair to his shoulders and a gentle smile that touched her soul. And she had found his nomadic ways romantic.

Until she became pregnant and he disappeared.

Continuing to pace, she decided on a plan. First, she’d talk to Mr. Madden and find out when the museum was going to be torn down. With any luck, it wouldn’t be until she had an opportunity to get some money saved. She would tell him her plans and then she’d ask for more hours. She was a hard worker so he shouldn’t have any objections.

But could she do it? She still had to fight her lack of self-confidence when talking to figures of authority. And, her success still depended on whether or not he needed more help. She had so little control over anything in her life right now. Suddenly she felt like crying.

“Oh, Grandma, what would you have done?”

A soft knock sounded at the door and she heard Diana whisper, “It’s me.”

Tracy released the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding and opened the door. “What in the world are you doing up at this hour?”

“I heard you roaming around up here. What’s wrong?” In her terrycloth robe and slippers, Diana peeked at the baby then headed for the kitchen table.

Tracy followed her into the kitchen. “Sorry to keep you awake, but I’m glad you’re here. I need someone to talk to. Want some tea?”

“Might as well. Can’t sleep with you pacing back and forth.”

“I’m sorry.” Tracy refilled the kettle and put it back on the stove.

“So tell me what’s got you all upset.” Diana covered a yawn with her hand.

Tracy brought her up to date.

“Well, that’s easy to fix,” Diana said. “All you have to do is tell your boss he either has to help you or he’ll lose you.”

“Yeah, sure I will.”

“Oh don’t look like that. You can do it. I saw something like this on TV not too long ago. This girl was a hard-worker, did everything her boss asked her and more, but never got any raises. Finally, she used a strategy she’d heard about. You know, telling her boss if he didn’t give her a raise she’d have to go elsewhere…” Diana’s voice trailed off.

Tracy waited. “Well, did she get it?”

“Ummm, no, come to think of it, he called her bluff and she had to quit. I’d forgotten how the story went.”

“Well, gee, thanks a lot for your help. I really feel a lot better.”

“Oh, don’t be such a shit,” Diana told her. “Maybe the situation is different, but the strategy is good.”

Tracy stared at her. “You’re out of your mind. There’s no way I could take that kind of chance with my job. Especially now.”

“Sure you can. As good a worker as you are, you told me he said that, he won’t want to lose you. You just need to assert yourself a little. Talk to him. Say,  ‘Mr. Madden, I need more hours, more responsibility. If you can’t give them to me, I’ll have to go elsewhere.’  There. Simple.”

Later in bed, Tracy thought about what Diana had said. Would she have the nerve to actually do it? She said the words to herself a couple of times, then spoke them aloud. Hmmm. Felt good, actually. She could do it.

Couldn’t she?

Chapter Nine

After a quick breakfast at McDonald’s, Karr drove home to his two-story apartment complex. In the parking lot, five young boys were kicking a plastic ball back and forth across the cracked asphalt. Karr swung his four-year old Chevy van around to the back of the complex, searching for his neighbor’s Ford pickup, hoping the jerk had already left for work.

God, he hated that bastard. Son of a bitch laughed at him, called him rent-a-cop. Karr wished somebody would shove a fist down his throat and wipe that smirk off his face. Karr pictured taking him by the throat and squeezing, watching as he turned red, then purple, laughing when his eyes popped and his tongue hung out. Let him see how it felt to be laughed at.

When he didn’t see the pickup, he relaxed and swung around to the front lot, dodging the stand of kid’s bikes. He eased into one of the marked slots as close to the kids as he could get. They probably had the day off for some teacher’s conference or something.

He stepped out of his van, taking time to straighten his uniform, making a big show out of hitching up his gun belt. All the while, he kept an eye on the kids.

They stopped playing and were watching him. He hooked his thumbs on his wide belt and rocked back on his heels. He unsnapped his holster as if he was going to take out his forty-five. Sure enough, all five pairs of eyes watched.

“Hi, Mr. Wolfe,” the older boy said respectfully.

“Hello, there, young man. You being a good boy? ‘Cause if you’re not, I’ll haul you away!” He laughed to show the kids he was kidding. Sorta. Didn’t hurt to put the fear of God into the little snots. He held his hand over the tooled leather holster.

“Sure am,” the tow-headed kid said, eying the gun. “You gonna show us?”

Karr beamed.

“Naaa, got things to do. Maybe some other time,” he told them, swaggering to the building.

On the concrete step in front of the stairway leading to the second story, something crunched under his foot. He looked down and saw a half-eaten ice-cream drumstick.

“Damn kids,” he grumbled, wiping the heel of his shoe on the concrete step. Torn gum and candy wrappers littered the stairwell. A baby from the first floor cried, its shrieking getting louder and louder until Karr thought his ears would burst.

He unlocked the door to his apartment. Inside, the drapes were closed against the morning sun and it was quiet. Looked like Rosa had made it to her job at the Mexican restaurant off Pecos Avenue and 38th. Keeping the drapes closed, he turned on the floor fan next to his chair.

In the small living room, a fringed throw made a feeble attempt to cover the worn cushions of the couch against the wall. His brown recliner faced the TV. A water-stained wood coffee table held empty beer cans, a ceramic ashtray overflowing with butts, a limp ivy plant and a well-worn stack of men’s magazines.

He could go for another cup of coffee, but he didn’t feel like wading through all the dirty dishes in the kitchen. After Rosa’s bout with her stash of tequila last night, her defense against lonely nights, he wasn’t surprised she hadn’t cleaned up. But looking at all his empty beer cans, he didn’t have room to complain. He guessed they deserved each other.

Living with Rosa wasn’t no picnic, but it was sure better than being wi
th his ex-old lady and that mope
y kid. That shrew had nagged him from the time he got up until he went to bed. “Pick up your clothes.” “Pick up your cans.” “Aren’t you going to work today?” Always something, nag, nag, nag, until he finally busted her a good one and took off almost ten years ago.

Karr went into the bedroom to take off his uniform. He unloaded his gun belt, carefully placing his nightstick, handcuffs and finally his gun, on the pressed wood dresser. Then he emptied his pockets and lit a cigarette.

Taking off his boots and uniform, he hung his shirt and pants in the bathroom, ready to put back on in a couple of hours. He had to turn in his time sheets, and when he had a choice between his uniform and street clothes, he always wore the uniform.

In his underwear, carrying his smokes and Bic lighter, he padded to the kitchen for a beer, settled down in the recliner, and picked up his latest nudie magazine, his black eyes fixing on the centerfold. After awhile, he flipped through the pages, stopping to study different pictures. But no matter who he looked at, he kept seeing Tracy’s face superimposed over the nude women. She was so pretty, looked just like...

He rose and walked to the bedroom for his wallet. Back in the recliner, he dug through the tattered plastic and took out a folded, worn black and white snapshot. He ran his fingers over the folds, carefully smoothing down the edges. A young woman smiled back at him, her dark hair crimped and wild from twenty years ago. Karr stared at the picture a long time, until he felt his eyes tear. Then he tore the picture, taking pains to tear around the pretty face looking at the camera. With one last look at the woman, he ripped her into shreds, making sure there was nothing left. He placed the pieces into the ashtray and with his lighter, set fire to it.

When the ashtray held nothing but ashes, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Chapter Ten

At nine Tracy called Mr. Madden.

“You’re not calling in sick, are you?” he asked her.

“No, sir, I’m calling because, um...are you going to be there for awhile? I need to talk to you.”

“The books will take, oh, another half hour or so, then I’m leaving for a couple of days. A sort of mini-vacation. If you want to come in now, I could see you.”

Tracy checked the mirror one last time before she left the apartment. The charcoal colored pantsuit from the second-hand store hung loose, but it was better than anything else in her meager wardrobe.

She had to look nice today. And efficient. If she convinced Mr. Madden to trust her with more hours or more responsibility, it meant starting school in three weeks. No matter how difficult it was for her, she would do it. The important thing was the chance to make the extra money she needed.

“Wow!” Diana said, letting herself into the apartment. She appraised Tracy and smiled. “You look like an executive. Now go do your thing. Just remember, he needs you.”

On her way to work, Tracy practiced what she was going to say. Still, her stomach lurched with each step. God, she was such a wimp.

The sky clouded over and the breeze picked up, sending wispy puffs of white cottonwood seeds to float in the air. Tracy listened to the wind, loving the sound of rustling leaves. Better than a tranquilizer.

She entered the museum by the back employee’s entrance. The dining room was unoccupied, but from the parlor, Tracy could hear the shuffle of several feet and Carrie talking about Denver’s colorful history.

“…and when the news of the strike became known, over one-hundred thousand hopefuls flocked to the area between 1858 and 1860. One of the prospectors, William Larimer, established Denver City. Today, Larimer Square is a section of downtown rich in Victorian charm and old-time restaurants.

“With the miners came the entertainments. Not all of them struck it rich, but the locals did very well catering to the miners. Gambling was a favorite pastime. And they did it big, wagering mining stock and real estate. Legend tells us that town fathers won and lost entire city blocks during the long winter months.”

Tracy knew from listening that the group included children. If it were all adults, the guides told stories about the famous madams, many of whom became very notorious and wealthy from their particular form of entertainment.

Downstairs, Mr. Madden’s door stood partially open and she heard the soft click of computer keys. She knocked softly.

“Yes?”

As Tracy entered the office, Mr. Madden looked up from the computer keyboard. In his fifties, he was a pudgy little man, but what Tracy always noticed most was how he parted his thinning black hair a few inches above his left ear and combed the strands over a bald spot on the top of his head. No matter how many times she saw him, her eyes always went to the top of his head.

But he had always been nice to her, and from what Rita had said, decent and fair to all the employees.

“Glad you’re here, Tracy. Come on in and sit down. Just give me a moment.”

He keyed a few more strokes before shutting down the computer. “I asked Rita to show you how to fill out the deposit slip and put the day’s receipts into the safe. But since you’re here, we might as well go through it.” A green sofa rested against the wall opposite the desk. “Getting the deposit ready was the big reason I okayed your shift change. I knew I could trust you.”

Tracy felt a sense of relief. This might not be so difficult after all.

The next half-hour, he went through the procedure, demonstrating how he wanted the money counted, how to fill out the deposit, and most importantly, where he kept the combination to the old-fashioned black safe that stood in the corner.

When they were seated again, he leaned back in his chair.