In the Nick of Time (40 page)

“You know, about the smoking thing.” He winced and shrugged. “It just didn’t interest me, not because I had morals or anything like that. It just wasn’t my thing and even my cigarettes, I didn’t smoke those all day, like maybe one or two, and nowadays, not at all. It wasn’t hard to stop for me; I didn’t go through any crazy withdrawals. It was the alcohol, Taryn. That was my preference from early on. So anyway, I saw, as I got older and older, that I was up against a disadvantage. I had to make a name for myself and keep it.

“After a really good day of doing my bullshit, I’d go home with a big smile on my face, like God himself told me, ‘Job well done’. Mom would ask how my day was and what I did when I’d come back in the house. To the first part of her question I’d tell the truth. For the last part, I’d lie. If I went to school that day, I’d let her know. If I didn’t, she’d get the same answer anyway. There was this big Ecuadorian girl that lived on the corner…hold on a sec.” He reached into a black mesh bag on the table and plucked out a bottle of water.

He unscrewed the cap, took a deep swallow, then placed the bottle back down. “So, where was I? Oh yeah, Pilar. Anyway, she was a little older than us and we’d pay her a couple of dollars once a week to call in sick for us sometimes, ’cause she sounded like a mother even though she was only like fifteen. She developed fast, had a low voice and big breasts. Jonathan and I had fucked her a couple of times. He and I were only like thirteen at the time.

“It was no big deal though to us at the time; that’s just how we were. Anyway, I’d go home eventually. When I’d go to my room, I’d immediately get hunger pangs because my apartment would fill up with the scents of my mother’s cooking. She never made anything fast.” He smiled sadly. “I could smell Mom’s dinner cooking like…everywhere.” He waved his hand like a damn shield to stop a wave of fresh pain. Those memories still lived close to his heart. “We’d have beans and rice almost every night though. Like, she’d have some salads, vegetables, fruit, and things like that. Sometimes, there would be some chicken with it. I couldn’t give her extra food, because then she’d know I’d stolen it.” His smile slowly faded.

“She wasn’t stupid. I’d tried that before, and she snatched me up by my ear and made me tell her where I got the food. I remember how my ear burned, probably turned bloody red as her long nails twisted and turned it back and forth…and the look on her damn face. You know…” He swallowed, leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “It wasn’t so much anger… I think she was just sad, you know? At the time, I just figured she was pissed. That wasn’t the end though. She humiliated me, screamed at me in that high pitched Minnie Mouse voice of hers, and marched me down to the store.

“Once we got in there, she had me tell the store manager what I did. But I didn’t learn to stop stealing. No.” His shook his head and focused on the floor, disgusted at himself. “What I learned, Taryn, was to do it
better
. I learned to be more discreet about it. I’d eat her food and not complain after that incident. I never offered anything to her again.” He sniffed and leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes for a spell. He could hear the soft murmurs of people speaking nearby in the aisles of the small library, groups walking past, the click clacking against computer keys, and the drone of copy machines. He could hear the rehabilitation world of Firststone going on as usual, while he travelled the past. Perhaps, they were one and the same…

“No, no, you
get no argument from me about that. Not at all. I’m glad he’s progressing but I understand your concerns.” Captain O’Sullivan clutched his phone as he bit into his turkey sub sandwich, chomping down, giving it his all.

“And the last assignment was overdue. I also spoke to his therapist and he has had a few dreams about a friend of his named…hold on a moment… Jonathan. Yes, his therapist wrote down here the name Jonathan. Anyway, he refuses to go into further detail about what these dreams are in reference to. All I know is that it was a friend of his. The boy died I believe, but I’m not sure of the circumstances.”

“Hmmm, do you by chance have a last name for this Jonathan kid? I think Nick actually told me about that before. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he did.” He patted the side of his mouth with a napkin. “I believe they were very close, like brothers. It was a guy he grew up with. I didn’t know that it was still bothering him this way though, that he was actually having nightmares about it….hmmmm.” He grabbed his diet coke, took a loud slurp, and set it back down on his desk.

“Since Nick stated that you were entitled to his records, updates and progress verbally and in written format, I will see if he told the therapist a last name, and then send it to you.”

“Yeah, do that. It’s for my own curiosity is all… He never told me all that happened, either. Not like any big details, only that he’d died. So what else is going on? Anything else I should know?”

“He is stubborn, but getting better and quite popular with the ladies…” Frieda said with a light laugh.

“Mmmm hmmmm, yeah,” he guffawed. “That sounds like him.” He popped a couple of fingers into his mouth and sucked the tangy mustard off them, swallowed the spicy flavor. “Look, Frieda, get that information over to me if you can, but thanks for keeping me abreast of everything. All this will do is make it easier to get him back on board when the time comes. Hell, he may not even want to come back… you never know about things like this.”

“That’s quite true but as much as he talks about his job, I think I can safely say he loved it with you all.”

“I believe he did, too… I miss him, you know? I think I’m just tryna prepare myself for the worst. That’s how I operate. I even got ex-convicts asking me about him, wondering where he is!” He burst out laughing, and Frieda soon joined in. “Now you know when you have a jerk that you arrested asking where is so and so, that man is definitely well liked. Boy… it’s just not the same around here without his loud voice and smart ass comments… It’s just not the same.” He swung around leisurely in his chair, gripping the napkin tighter. “But I need him to get well… He’s
got
to get well…”

…Come on Nick, don’t let us down. You gotta get well and come back…

We need you, son…

“I couldn’t escape
who I was as a child anymore, and I couldn’t face who I was as an adult. I’d worked so hard to leave the ugliness inside of me behind, Taryn, the beast, but he kept chasing behind me, pulling my coat tails, reminding me that I was no good, a thief, a bastard child. He let me know that no one but my mother wanted me and I’m sure I gave her second thoughts on occasion, too. I’d never be good enough. I’d never be truly wanted. Who the fuck cared that I now was a police officer? That I’d made it through the academy with flying colors and was deemed one of the most promising to graduate?

“No one cared that in my junior and senior year in high school I got myself together after I realized life was bigger than the shit I was doing! All this horsing around and getting into trouble! It got worse after I graduated. Some of my friends turned on me after I became a cop, accused me of selling out… That hurt, it really did, Taryn. They believed I’d turn them in, report their crimes…the things they did to survive and have a good time. They no longer wanted me around. I’d lost what I had, everything I’d worked for. It became a double-edged sword, a burden resting on my chest. I started to suffocate. I gasped for air…couldn’t breathe. Everything I did to better myself turned on me, made me sorry I ever thought I could accomplish anything in the first damn place.” He took a few more swigs of water and turned slowly towards her. “Do you have to be somewhere?” He looked down at his wristwatch.

“Yeah, I do,” she said. “Right here with you…”

Captain O’Sullivan snatched
his glasses off his face, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a pounding headache coming on. He released an exasperated sigh. Reading the old news reports online and digging into the confidential criminal records made his damn gut turn and rumble. The piece of paper was still warm from being freshly printed, but the man’s body had run cold a long time ago. He looked at the fucker’s mug shot, held it carefully in his hand and studied it. He started from the guy’s jet-black, long, greasy hair down to his pointy chin dented with a deep, diagonal scar. Santiago Ramirez was the seventeen-year-old boy accused of murdering a sixteen-year-old boy in Brownsville over fifteen years earlier. The victim’s name was Jonathan Mendoza, and the prey had been with his friend, a grief stricken kid who’d given a statement to the police, while his pain soaked in the dead comrade’s blood… Nicholas Vitale.

He sighed once more and all he could do was shake his head as he slowly rocked in his seat. After reading the account, he had no idea if it would help Nick or not to know what the hell happened, make a damn bit of difference. Hell, maybe he already knew? He sure hadn’t provided much detail about the matter… but of course, that was Nick’s way—a stormy human crypt passing through the place like a blaze. Would declaring his findings make the guy more skittish than he already was? He wasn’t quite sure what would set him off, so he couldn’t fully sell himself on the idea of taking such a chance.

Santiago had fled the area soon after he’d dropped those bricks from atop that building, purposefully and brutally killing the young man who stood below. The guy was apprehended for a different crime while living in New Jersey about three years later. The police department there knew nothing of his prior crimes, nor that he was on the run. It seemed as though he’d slipped through the damn cracks, having never faced a court of law for killing Jonathan. But, karma caught up with him; oh yes, she did—for Santiago was brutally murdered in prison by his cellmate during a heated argument. How ironic that the fatal blow had been administered by a blunt object to his skull, cracking his head open like a damn walnut.

I looked a bit deeper, Nick, found out some things the public doesn’t know…

Not only that, Santiago was HIV positive, perhaps contracted the disease due to a heavy heroin addiction, and his life had gone from rock bottom to the lowest level of Hell. It’s not something you’d necessarily wish on a guy, but the bad luck wagon had stopped right outside his door, demanded he come aboard, then handled that motherfucker in a rather obscene way.

John tapped his fingers against his desk as he got sucked into a whirlwind of thought, and mulled his concerns and wishes for his unofficially adopted son.

Nick, you’ve been upset about this all this time, haven’t you? I can see that. You’ve got a big heart… I’ve been getting your updates and information about your progress. Had a few setbacks, but you’re making a good effort… I knew you didn’t have it easy, but this… this is pretty bad, son… You said he was your best friend. That had to be tough to see; you were just a kid yourself… Jesus Christ…

He ran his hand slowly over his face and came to a decision. Picking up the phone, he dialed and waited for the ring tone. He huffed, pissed, when he got the damn voice mail.

“Hi Frieda, yeah… it’s John, Captain Sullivan, Nick Vitale’s boss. Say, look… please give me a call at the station when you get a chance. I looked up that name you gave me, and I have some information Nick might need to hear…”