A Smudge of Gray (5 page)
Bees carrying bags consumed a hive made
of stores. Many men meandered through the magnificent mall as their wives
window-shopped. A couple walked from Bath & Body Works carrying a sack full
of watermelon lotions; a group of old veterans swallowed stale coffee and
watched; a cute Asian woman at a purse kiosk gave her sales pitch to a passing
shopper. Chaos filled the mall, yet everyone seemed to know exactly where he or
she wanted to go.
A large indoor play area was in the
middle of the east wing. Kids glided down the slide and jumped into a ball pit.
In the crowd, Katie chased Kevin around the monkey bars.
“You can’t catch me!” Kevin yelled.
“Yes, I can!” Katie shouted back.
Kevin ran behind Trevor and giggled as Katie
tried to reach around and tag him. Trevor smiled as he watched his kids play.
He wore a casual Chaps long sleeve shirt tucked into a pair of navy Dockers. Trevor
spun around as Katie reached between his legs. Kevin jumped back. The happy
father burst out laughing and tried to hold Kevin in order to help Katie win
her tag.
“She’s gonna get you!” Trevor teased.
“Those kids are just filled with energy
today,” Laura said as they all turned to her.
A low-cut tunic and a fitting pair of
jeans, the kind that most mothers shouldn’t wear, covered her figure as she
carried a shopping bag. “Who wants ice cream?” she asked.
“I do! I do!” Katie and Kevin shouted as
they darted toward their mom.
Laura’s eyes widened as she shook her
head with a smirk. Trevor shrugged as he looked at his spoiled kids.
“Do you need to do any more shopping,
honey?” he asked.
“Yeah, I need to get some new bedding
for the kids. They always seem to stain the comforters from jumping with their
soiled feet.” Laura looked at the culprits peering inside her bag. “Isn’t that
right?”
“Ice cream! Ice cream!” they ignorantly
replied.
“I’ll take them for ice cream. Did you
need anything?” Laura asked.
“I’d like to browse some of the new fall
fashions in Saks,” Trevor replied.
“Okay. We’ll meet up with you.” Laura
put her arms around the twins and walked them to the food court.
Trevor turned toward the department
store behind him—Saks Fifth Avenue. He strolled with his hands behind his back
as he passed through the bustle of shoppers. He sauntered by a bookstore where a
bookstand displaying a narrative about a psychopath made him chuckle. The
chatter swirling under the hundred-foot ceiling quickly faded to a muffled hum
as he entered the store. Gone were the parents with the word “GAP” scribbled on
the tag of their shirts; the single crowd wearing Gucci and D&G roamed the
store.
The men’s section caught Trevor’s attention
as he cut through the cosmetics. Trevor patted a cashmere sweater, searching for
his favorite designer. As he passed the shirts embroidered with alligators, he
found the familiar pattern that he craved. Trevor eyed a tan-colored windbreaker
with the Burberry print lining its collar. He removed it from its hook and let
the light yet protective fabric envelop him.
“Every man looks great in
Burberry,” a slippery female voice said.
Trevor turned and saw the cleavage of a
saleswoman smiling at him. The tall college-aged woman slinked his way and
fixed the back of his collar.
“Well, the tradition never changes,” he
said.
“Why don’t you put it on your Saks card?”
“I like it, but I already have a
Burberry trench coat,” Trevor countered as he nodded at himself in the mirror.
He saw several strands of hair lying opposite his part. Trevor fixed himself.
“This would be great for those cool fall
mornings on the way to the gym. You obviously must work out.”
“You’re a good saleswoman, but I don’t
think I’ll go for it,” Trevor replied as he removed the jacket and placed it
back on its hanger. “Now, if you have some loafers, I may go for that.”
“Oh, we actually do. Right over here.”
The saleswoman trekked toward a display
table as Trevor eagerly followed. As he passed a collection of scarves, the
saleswoman gestured toward a choice of shoes. “Here we are.”
He passed over a black dress shoe as the
woman grabbed a tan leather loafer with her French-manicured nails. Trevor
licked his lips as he held the crafted footwear in his hands. He studied the
gripping sole, delicate stitching, and Burberry-patterned lining.
“Now this I like.”
“We just got those in. They are new in
the fall collection. One hundred percent calfskin leather.”
“Excellent, the very best a shoe can be
made from,” Trevor said as he stroked the supple leather.
“But too bad they have to kill a baby
calf,” the woman said with an exaggerated frown.
“Technically, you don’t need the word
baby
.
Calf already implies it.”
“It’s just so sad.”
“Hey, everything in this world must die
sooner or later. That’s just the business of life,” Trevor preached. He looked
at the shoe again and nodded. “I’d like to try this on. Size eleven.”
“You’re a big man,” she said, winking.
“I’ll be right back.”
The saleswoman trotted away. Trevor
returned the shoe to its spot on the display stand. He crept through the aisle
and studied the more ostentatious line of apparel—tartan-patterned hats, ties,
and even sunglasses. As Trevor inspected the area like a detective at a crime
scene, a burly man walked his way. Trevor tried to avoid eye contact, but it
was too late; the man had already sighted him.
“Do you need any help, sir?” the man
asked.
“I’ve already been serviced, thank you.”
The man recoiled as the saleswoman
returned holding a box.
“I can help you over here,” she
instructed.
Trevor moved toward a chair with a
shoehorn resting on the floor. He sat down as the woman dropped to the floor,
opened the box, and caressed Trevor’s legs removing his oxblood boat shoes.
Then, she guided his appendage into the hole.
“Thank you, dear.” Trevor stood up testing
the shoes. He walked a few steps, and then bent his knees as the soles bounced
back. The shoes felt firm yet soft, snug at the heels for support and loose at
the toes for comfort.
“What do you think?” the saleswoman
asked.
“I like them. Very comfortable and soft.
What do
you
think?” Trevor asked.
“I think they make you look sexy.”
“Who looks sexy?” a voice asked, the
voice of Mrs. Trevor Malloy.
“You like ’em, honey?” Trevor turned to
his wife and saw Katie and Kevin by her side holding ice cream dishes.
“They’re perfect for you,” she replied genuinely.
“They’re pretty, Dad,” Katie chimed in.
“I’ll take them. I think I’ll wear them
out,” Trevor said as he turned to his helper.
The saleswoman, the once lioness, seemed
to turn into a house cat, because Laura had arrived to claim her pack leader.
The woman dropped to her knees once again, this time a little lower, as she put
Trevor’s older shoes into the box.
“I’ll take you over here when you’re
ready,” she said with a nod.
Trevor flexed his new shoes and admired them
in the mirror as Katie and Kevin sat on the chairs and gorged themselves with their
ice cream.
“I caught you,” Laura whispered to her
husband.
“Caught me?” Trevor replied, a part of
him feeling guilty.
He watched her nod her head and reply
with her eyes. He could tell that an ounce of distrust and jealousy had floated
to the top of her mind. He knew it was his duty to soothe his wife’s envy, to
make her feel like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, which she was
to him. Some men used jealousy to massage their egos, but a man who didn’t
usually had a woman massage it for him.
“Oh, honey. These kids working here are
just trying to make a buck. I don’t fall for their silly flirting.”
“So she
was
flirting?”
As a spark filled Laura’s face, Trevor
scooped her up and stole the breath from her lungs, a feeling that lasted for
only a moment—a moment that removed her focus from all the worries in the world
and placed it on the man she loved.
“I love you, Laura. You’re the mother of
my offspring,” Trevor murmured into her ear. Then, he kissed her softly.
“Just remember, a wife sees everything,”
she whispered.
Trevor pulled back with his hands still
around Laura’s waist, a feeling that he could never forget no matter what had
come his way. He focused on his kids smiling with ice cream mustaches, and then
he looked at his wife. An expression of contentment painted her face. No matter
what secrets lay in his closet, he knew that he loved this family and would
kill to keep them smiling.
Chapter 10
The menacing moon glared through a
clouded window. A janitor sloshed a murky mop on the floor as a cigarette hung
from his harelip. Brian sat at his desk and took a sip of stale coffee as a
skeleton crew shifted around him. He looked grubby as stubble masked his
handsome face and a stench originated from his sweaty armpits. It looked as if
he had been confined to his desk, not by choice, but by sentence. However, the
reason he sat under the dim lights surrounded by his own grime was because he knew
he had to sit there for the priority in his life, his career, just as he
figured the captain, now several pay grades above him, did.
“Attorney,” Brian mumbled.
The detective looked down at his desk
and brushed a granola bar wrapper off a manila folder. Inside, a standard form
stamped with the word “Confidential” was positioned on top of the stack. “Police
Report – Dante Lopez – Murder – Status: Unsolved” was scribbled on the form.
Brian looked underneath at the same picture that Lt. Foster had shown him at
the crime scene—the image of the Hispanic man with a hole in his head. Brian
thumbed behind it and looked at a picture of a middle-aged Hispanic man with a
Hollywood smile. The man appeared happy as he smiled with a contagious
expression. At first glance, the two pictures were a stark contrast of each
other and appeared to be two completely different men. But at further
inspection, the thick eyebrows, chiseled chin, and plump lips of the departed
man resembled the same man who seemed not to have a care in the world. The
difference, of course, was the dried blood that seeped from the hole in his
head, the hole that transformed the man from bright into dark.
Brian checked another sheet handwritten
with black ink. “Age: 47, Height: 73”, Weight: 195 lbs.” filled the boxes. He
studied the “Occupation” field and brushed aside a piece of granola. Black ink
squiggled inside the box, but it remained illegible as if a doctor had marked
it the same way he would prescribe a supply of Viagra.
“Come on,” Brian barked.
He looked around his desk, contemplating
his next move. A Post-it note fell from the top of his monitor and caught his
attention. “Call wife” was scribbled in red ink. Brian remembered that he loved
that red pen he once had, now lost in the bowels of the police station. Then
something hit him. He flipped the pages in the manila folder back together and
searched the front form. Written on the bottom was “Report prepared by Officer
Ray White.”
Brian punched in the officer’s name and
badge number into his computer. The database stuttered, but then the screen
read “Officer Ray White” followed by his desk and cell phone numbers, all
perfectly legible in Courier font.
The janitor dropped the mop sending a burst
of sound waves Brian’s way. He flinched. Brian knew what he had to do. He
picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number.
The signal screamed across the city and
entered the concrete building of a hopping downtown restaurant. It reached its
intended target, the muscular Officer Ray White who sat next to his wife and their
double date partners.
“…and you should have seen her when she
got back from the orthodontist. She kept doing this little thing with her gums,”
Officer White joked.
“It was so cute,” his wife added.
Officer White’s cell phone buzzed on his
belt. He looked at it, and then at his wife, who shook her head. “Excuse me,”
he finally said.
His wife continued telling the story to
the couple across from her, as the officer shifted his eyes around the room at
the lively crowd. He answered the phone.
“This is Officer White.”
“Officer White, this is Detective Boise.
I need to ask about a police file you updated last week.”
“I can’t hear you. Can you repeat that?”
“This is Detective Boise from your
precinct. I need to ask you a question,” Brian repeated a little louder.
“Oh, okay. Is this something important?
I’m out with my wife,” Officer White rebutted as he glanced at his wife sipping
some wine.
“It’s about a report you filled out—”
“Hold on. I can’t hear you.” The officer
stood up and moved toward the back of the restaurant. He passed tables filled
with people whose minds had suppressed the thoughts of work. Officer White
ducked into a hall as the chatter dulled to a drone. “Sorry, I’m out with my
girl on a date.”
“This is Detective Boise. I need to ask
you something from a police file you created,” Brian said again as the janitor
looked at him from across the room.
“Which one is that?”
“Do you remember the Dante Lopez murder?”
“Uh, hmm, I’m not sure.”
The thirty-five-year-old officer massaged
his brow as his brain rattled. Fine wine and his wife’s cleavage had been on
his mind and now his phone wanted him to open the box labeled “officer,” the
box that he locked every time he put his badge away.
“Two nine millimeter shots. One between
the eyes. On the north side of town,” Brian added.
Then, the box flung open. “Okay. Yeah, I
remember that file.”
“Do you remember his occupation?”
Brian felt his hip bone crack as he
digested Officer White’s response. Then, the image of Anne Marie and Jonathan entered
his mind. “You’re right. Sorry to bother you. This can probably wait until the
day,” Brian responded as he placed the receiver back down.
The detective took a mouthful of the
coffee on his desk and winced from its bitterness. As he stood up, his bones
creaked. He shuffled toward the office window. Brian stared at the city through
the residue of foul air caked on the window. He watched as the Friday night
crowd roamed the roads destined to the city’s nightlife. Two valet drivers
stood guard at a lounge bar across the street. As Brian hid behind the grimy
window, a black SUV pulled in front of the establishment, prompting to action
one of the valet drivers. The young man opened the passenger side door and
assisted the lady. She stepped out exposing her mink coat to the brisk air.
Then, the valet driver sprang to the driver’s side and helped the polished man
wearing a black suit. Brian thought about his wife. He couldn’t even recall the
last Friday night date he had taken her on. He realized he needed to see her
more, to pamper her, to take her to the mall shopping while he and Jonathan
laughed in the play land. As his family filled Brian’s mind, a buzz startled
him. It was his desk phone. Before Brian could even open his mouth after
picking up the receiver, the voice on the other end burst from the speaker.
“An attorney. Dante Lopez was a
prosecutor on a big mob case.”
Brian took a moment to digest the
outburst, but then he realized that the twelve words answered his question.
“Thank you very much. You enjoy your
date,” Brian replied as he pressed the receiver button with his finger.
A grin formed on Brian’s face as his
case just got more interesting, but then he thought about his wife, the love of
his life, the woman who was home on a Friday night without her husband. He
removed his finger. A dial tone resonated. Then, he pressed the seven keys to
call home.
Across the city, Anne Marie lay awake on
her bed reading the current issue of
Taste of Home
. She reclined with
only the light from her table lamp illuminated and the muffled sound of the
city underneath her bed. As she turned the page highlighting the dessert
recipes, the phone on the nightstand rang.
“Hello?” she said even though she knew
who it was.
“Hi. Are you sleeping?”
His voice massaged Anne Marie’s eardrum
and provoked a smile on her face.
“I just laid down. What are you doing?”
she asked as she rested the magazine on her chest.
“Just working on some leads. I wanted to
see how you and Jonathan were.”
“Is that really why you called?”
“It is, honey. How are you?”
Brian grinned. “That sounds nice. He
loves playing with that thing.”
“When will you be home?”
“I don’t know. I just need to finish up
a few things. You don’t need to stay up.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.” Anne Marie
removed the phone from her ear.
“I love you,” Brian responded, but only
the sound of a click replied.
Brian returned the receiver to its
cradle and combed his eyebrow with his finger. He felt nothing, a void in his
mind, but then the ache from a migraine loomed. As he scratched his temple, the
manila folder in front of him consumed his focus.
