Vineyard Shadows (3 page)

“Hi,” I said.

“Mom's reading
The Cat,
” said Diana with a big smile. Zee smiled, too. “I guess I'm here for the duration,” she said.

“Just until tomorrow. It's just a precaution.”

“I'd rather go home with you, but it's okay. Did the police tell you what happened?”

“Yes. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry it happened. But you did the right thing.”

She gave Diana a little push. “Get down, sweetie.”

Diana and
The Cat
got off the bed and Zee put out her arms. I went over and got into them and she finally let herself cry and cry, cleaning the windows of her soul.

“I don't know if I'll ever get over this,” said Zee when she finished her cry and was wiping her nose and eyes with a tissue.

“You will,” I said. “It's a hell of a thing to have to kill somebody, but you didn't have any choice.”

“Maybe I did have a choice. I keep thinking that maybe I did and just didn't take it.” Her eyes were dark hollows in her battered face.

I felt anger. “Don't even think it! When men come after women with fists and guns, they deserve to be shot. You're not guilty of anything. You protected yourself and you protected Diana. That's what you're supposed to do, and you did it. I'm just glad that you were lucky enough to have the pistol handy and that you know how to use it. I owe Manny Fonseca more than I'll ever be able to pay him.”

She shook her head. “Killing is bad. It's always bad.”

“It may always be bad, but some killings are worse than others. It would have been worse if you'd let them kill you and Diana. You made a good kill!”

“What a terrible phrase: ‘a good kill.' That makes me a good killer.”

I was making things worse. “Look,” I said. “You're not a killer; you're a woman who shot two gunmen who had already beaten you, put a knife to our daughter's throat, and were about to do more of the same or worse.
If another woman had done what you did, you'd be telling her what I'm telling you. You'd be right, and I'm right.”

“I don't feel right.”

I could understand that well enough. “You won't for a while,” I said. “It took me a long time to get over killing that woman in Boston, but I finally did. It'll happen to you, too.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it.”

“But you were a cop and she was a thief and you didn't know it was a woman and you didn't shoot her until she shot you. I knew who I was shooting and I shot first.”

“And a damned good thing, too. Pat Logan nearly got one into you anyway. When I cornered that woman in the alley that night, I'd have shot first if I'd known what she was going to do. You knew what those two guys were going to do.”

“I thought I knew. Maybe I was wrong.”

“Tell me,” I said, angry at her for having such thoughts, “do you really think you were wrong? Now, here, do you think you were wrong? I sure as hell don't.”

She held my hand for what seemed a long time, then squeezed it. “I don't know, but I know I don't like it.”

“There's nothing to like about it,” I said, “but you did the right thing. Know that.” I kissed her. “I love you. And I thank you for saving yourself and Diana.”

She put her arms around me.

“Ma,” said Diana, who had been very patient. “We never finished
The Cat.
”

Zee wiped her eyes again and smiled at her kid. “No, we didn't. Let's do that before you go home with your dad.”

“I'll come up,” said Diana, and did that.

“Me, too,” said Joshua, who wasn't too old for another reading of
The Cat.
He climbed up the other side of the bed. It was a close fit for three, but they managed it.

“While you're finishing the story,” I said, “I'm going to tend to some other business. I'll be back.”

“Where are you going?” asked Zee.

“Out. What will I do? Nothing.”

Before she could say more, I left. I went back to the emergency room and found a nurse. There was a clipboard on the desk beside her. It had a ballpoint pen hooked to the board with a string.

“I need to talk with the officer who's watching over Howard Trucker,” I said. “The man they brought in with gunshot wounds.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, you can't talk with Mr. Trucker, if that's what you have in mind.”

“No, I just need to speak with the officer.”

“Well, I guess that's all right.” She told me where they had Howie. “They're going to fly Mr. Trucker up to Boston as soon as the helicopter gets here,” she added. “He may lose an arm.”

“A one-armed strong-arm man, eh?”

“That's not funny, J.W.! I heard what he did to Zee, but he's still a human being, after all!”

“Maybe.”

She turned away and I snagged the clipboard and walked back down the hall.

The room wasn't too far down the hall from Zee. There was a young Oak Bluffs cop seated on a chair beside the door. I didn't know him, which was good. With my clipboard in my hand, I walked up to him. I was in civvies, but that didn't make any difference in the M.V. hospital because half the doctors came to work in jeans and sandals. I looked at the clipboard and tried to form
my face into that expressionless mask that physicians apparently learn in doctor school.

“The helicopter is on its way,” I said, barely glancing at the cop. “I'll be in here a few minutes. If I'm still here when they land, let me know.” I offered him a thoughtful frown and went by him into the room. The young cop never said a word. I shut the door behind me.

I'd half-expected to find a nurse or someone else in the room, but Howie was alone. He was not in good shape. He had tubes feeding into him and some sort of cast or wrapping on his right arm and his leg. There were wires leading from him to monitoring devices of various kinds. His eyes were dull and his breathing was shallow. I figured they probably had him on painkillers, at least. I didn't think I had much time.

I went to the bed and slapped his face. His bleary eyes came into focus. I leaned down.

“Can you hear me, Howie?”

A pause, then a nod. “Yeah.”

“There's a helicopter coming to take you to a bigger hospital in Boston.”

“Yeah. Good.”

“But you won't be on it, Howie, unless you talk to me.”

“Wha . . . whatta you mean?”

I leaned closer. “I'm Jackson. I'm the husband.”

Sudden fear widened his eyes.

I held the ballpoint pen in front of those wide eyes. “You know what this is, Howie?”

“Yeah. It's a pen. Whatta you want, for God's sake?”

“I want to know who hired you to do this job. You tell me, and I walk out that door, and you fly up to Boston. You don't tell me, I'm going to jam this pen up your nose and into your brain. Now, who hired you?”

Howie opened his mouth too wide. He had yelling
instead of talking in mind. I covered his mouth with my hand and his eyes bulged.

With my other hand, I put the point of the pen up his left nostril. “If you don't tell me, I'll find out some other way,” I said. I wiggled the pen and his nose began to bleed. “This is your last chance.” I took my hand away from his mouth and he gasped weakly for breath.

“Sonny Whelen,” he said. “Sonny sent us. Don't kill me.”

“Why is he after Tom Rimini?”

“I don't know. He never said.”

I wiggled the pen some more, and Howie's voice rose. “I swear it. He never said why! He just wanted Rimini!”

“Why did you come to my house?”

I didn't think Howie's eyes could get any bigger. “The woman, Rimini's wife, she told 'em! She said Rimini was here. She gave 'em the address. They roughed her up and she talked. Jesus, take that pen away. Don't kill me! Please!”

I took the pen out of his nose. “If you're lying to me, I'll find you again,” I said.

“I'm telling you the truth,” moaned Howie. “I swear to God!”

I wondered what Howie's God thought of that oath. Not much more than I did, I guessed. I patted Howie's cheek, straigtened and walked out, shutting the door behind me.

“How's he doing?” asked the young cop.

“As well as can be expected. The helicopter should be here soon.” I walked away.

Around a corner in the hall I leaned the clipboard against a wall where someone would find it, and went on to Zee's room, arriving just as she was closing the book that told the tale of
The Cat in the Hat.

“Perfect timing.” Zee smiled a beautiful battered smile.

“We should leave you alone so you can get some rest,” I said.

“I'm fine,” said Zee.

“We'll give the docs twenty-four hours to make sure you're right about that,” I said. “We'll be back in the morning.”

“Bring me some clean clothes.”

“Only if you promise to take them off later.”

“Deal.”

I kissed her, collected the kids, and went home. On the way, Diana gave us her version of what had happened:

The bad men had come and one of them had grabbed her and scared her and hurt her with a knife. It wasn't really a bad hurt, though, because it didn't even take a stitch. But one of the bad men had hurt Ma a lot, and Diana was more scared than ever. The bad man hit Ma, and knocked her down. Diana had kicked and tried to get away, but the bad man with the knife was too strong. Then Ma got her pistol and shot the bad men and Diana got away and Ma had put a Band-Aid on her boo-boo, and the police came and then the ambulance had taken them to the hospital with the siren blowing.

“I hope you're not scared anymore,” I said. “It's all over. The bad guys lost and they won't be back.”

“I know,” said Diana. “One of them is dead and the other one is almost dead, and Ma and I are good.” She nodded her little head. Things had worked out as they were supposed to. I remembered Chesterton's observation that children, being innocent, prefer justice, while, adults, being sinful, prefer mercy.

I felt a tug on my elbow. It was Joshua. “Pa,” he said. “I'm hungry.”

I looked at my wristwatch. Holy smoke! It was noon. A lot had happened that morning.

“What do you say we go down to the Dock Street Coffee Shop for lunch?” I asked. “You can have whatever you want.”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Can we have ice cream afterward?”

“Sure.”

So we drove down into Edgartown and found a parking place on Summer Street. The dreaded summer meter maids were not hard at work yet, so we stood a good chance of not getting a ticket. We walked over to Main Street, took a left toward the harbor, and another left on Dock Street. At the far end of the Coffee Shop counter there were three stools in a row, and we took them. The waitress came and we ordered and then watched the cook at work. He was a thing of beauty, never wasting a motion. The food came and it was good. Afterward, up on North Water Street, we got ice cream. It was a lovely June day, and the streets and shops were full of tourists who knew nothing of the bloody business that had taken place at my house only hours before.

“That was good, Pa.” The kids licked their fingers.

We went back up Main Street. At the corner of Summer and Main, the Chief of the Edgartown Police was teaching a young summer cop how to direct traffic. I waved and the Chief gave me a sour look as he lifted a hand in reply. His student was not a fast learner, apparently.

At home, the children played in the yard while I worked to wash away the last signs of the blood on the grass. When it was as gone as I could get it, I did some weeding in the garden.