Superbia (Book One of the Superbia Series) (4 page)

“The story I heard
was Aprille went on maternity leave and never came back.
 
You saying he’s gonna knock me up too?
 
My wife’s on the pill.
 
Maybe I can go on it with her.”

Erinnyes sneered,
“Is
that
what you heard happened?”

Frank started for
the hallway, keeping both coffees in front of himself.
 
He managed to make it as far as the staircase
before spilling any on his new shirt.
 

***

Vic took the
coffee from Frank’s hand and said, “You feeling all right?
 
Your knee bugging you?”

“I just saw the Staff
Infection.
 
I actually forgot how much I
hated this place until I saw him.”
 

Vic grimaced like
he had the taste of something rotten in his mouth.
 
“I got into it one day with him about a burglary
investigation. He insisted I do it his way, and when I asked him how many burglaries
he’d ever worked, he said, ‘More than you!’
 
So I went and looked it up.
 
I
looked up all of the stats for his thirty year career here.
 
Know what I found?”

“A sterling career
of excitement and danger?”

“Twelve
arrests.
 
Six DUI’s.
 
Three domestic violence arrests.
 
Two for retail theft.
 
One for simple assault.”
 
Vic pointed to the case folders stacked on
his desk, “I made twelve arrests this year already.
 
All felonies.
 
I’ve made over one hundred felony arrests in my ten years here.”
 

“Wow,” Frank
said.
 
“You must be some sort of
hero.
 
Do they sing folk songs about you
in your native country?”

Vic’s eyes
narrowed, “I looked you up too, smart ass.
 
Do you know how many arrests you’ve made?
 
You’ve made seven.”

“That’s not
true.
 
I’ve made more than that.”

“Felonies,
Frank.
 
I don’t count the other
crap.
 
We don’t write parking tickets down
here.
 
It’s real police work.”

Frank slumped
into the chair at the small desk near the door and said, “You mean in between
naps, right?”

Vic reached for
an envelope that was on his desk and removed the folded letter inside of
it.
 
“I just got this in the mail from
upstate.
 
It was written by a thirteen
year old girl and left for her foster mother to find.”
 
He held up the page and started to read:

Dear Mama Rose,

Thank you for all you done for me.
 
I am so sorry about the mess.
 
I am also sorry if you get in trouble for
this.
 
It was not your fault.

When I was seven years old my brother
started coming into my room and forcing his thing into my mouth when I was
sleep.
 
I’d wake up not bein able to
breathe.
 
When I cried and tried to fight
him off he told me to roll over an put his thing in my butt.
 
I had trouble walking for days after, and
just when it got better it would happen again.

He told his friend Sal, and Sal made me do
the same things for him.
 
I begged and
begged for them to leave me alone, but they never did.

When I told my Mom she called me crazy and
sent me to the doctor.
 
I told the doctor
I wanted to hurt myself and they put me in the hospital.
 
When the bills became too much at the
hospital, my Mom signed me over to the state and that’s how I wound up
here.
 

I liked it here and wish I got to know you
better.
 
Thank you for being nice to me.

Love Always, Lyssa

Vic showed him
the letter, pointing to the dark red stains splattered across the page’s
surface.
 
“Lyssa’s brother already
confessed.
 
He’s in a psychiatric
hospital upstate.
 
This kid Sal lives in
our town.
 
You got any little ones,
Frank?”

Frank nodded,
“Two little girls.”

“Imagine if one
of them wrote this,” Vic said.
 
He could
see the pain in Frank’s face and lowered his voice, soothing him, saying, “What
we do down here is deadly serious, and if you’re going to work with me, you’d
better understand it.
 
I don’t give a
rat’s ass what the bosses or patrol thinks.”
 
He held out the envelope to Frank and said, “You asked me what I
do.
 
I go after people who ruin innocent
lives.”
 

Frank took the
envelope and said, “So what are we going to do with this?
 
The victim’s dead, right?
 
How can we arrest somebody if there’s no
evidence but a dead girl’s statement?”

“We’re not going
to arrest Sal.
 
I just want to have a
little chat.”
 

3. The young man
sat in the station lobby, texting on his cellphone.
 
His baseball cap was cocked sideways and
pulled down over the tops of his ears.
 
The silver logo sticker was still on the brim.
 
Next to him was a large, dark-skinned woman,
her fake dragon-lady fingernails nervously tapping on her designer
handbag.
 
Frank looked at it again.
 
It was an imitation.
 

“Sal Mormo?”
Frank said.
 
“Who’s this?”

“My mom.”

“
Really?
 
The two of you can come with me.”

They followed him
to a meeting room to see Vic
 
across the
table from them, the pages of Lyssa’s letter spread out in front of him.
 
Vic kept his eyes on the table, ignoring
their greetings, telling them to “Sit down.
 
We have to take care of something first.”

Frank picked up a
juvenile rights form and read it out loud, “You don’t have to be here.
 
You can leave at any time.
 
You and your mom can talk in private.
 
If you agree, sign the bottom.”
 
He held out the pen to Sal’s mother who
looked at him and then down at the form in confusion.

“She don’t
understand English too good,” Sal said.

“What does she
understand?” Vic said.

“Spanish and
Polish.”

Vic’s eyebrows
raised.
 
“How does that happen?”

“My dad’s from
Poland.
 
She picked it up from him.”

“You speak
both?”
 
Vic said.
 

Sal nodded.
 

“Tell her
everything I just said.
 
If she agrees,
ask her to sign the form.
 
You can pick
the language.”
 

After a flurry of
conversation between the mother and son, Mrs. Mormo picked up the pen and scribbled
on the form.
 
Sal took the pen from her
but did not sign.
 
“What’s this all about?”

“Sign the form
first,” Vic said.

Sal had thick
Mick Jagger lips and when he sneered it looked like two rubbery window shades
smacking together.
 
“What if I want an
attorney to look it over?”

“Go hire one.
 
It should only cost a thousand dollars.
 
You’ve got that, right?
 
He can come see you in prison.”

The two of them
stared at one another tensely until Frank leaned forward, “Listen, Sal.
 
It’s just a form that spells out your
rights.
 
All we’re asking you to do is
listen.
 
You don’t have to say a single
word.
 
I promise.”

Sal pulled the
form in front of him and bent down over it until he was inches above the table,
moving his lips to form each word.
 
Frank
leaned close to Vic and said, “My five year old can read without moving his
lips.”

Vic looked back
at him but said nothing.
 
Frank reached
into his pocket and pulled out his cell-phone to check his text messages.
 
He looked up to see if Sal had finished
reading yet, but the kid’s mouth was trying to wrap itself around the word
custodial.
 
He smirked and started to type on his phone
when he realized Vic was glaring at him.
 
“Put that away,” Vic whispered.
 
  

Frank sighed and dropped
the phone back in his pocket, sitting up as Sal slid the signed form back
across the desk.
 
Vic picked up Lyssa’s
suicide note,
 
clearing his throat to
read it aloud.
 
Sal’s mother leaned forward,
listening intently to every word Vic said, squinting like it would help her
better understand.
 
Vic came to the part
concerning Sal very slowly, giving her a chance to hear every syllable.
 
Sal did not flinch.
 

When Sal finished
reading the letter, Vic held it up to show them where the blood stains
were.
 
“That’s from her, where she blew
her brains out in the bathroom of the foster home she was living in.
 
A thirteen year old little girl, Sal.
 
How’s that make you feel?”
 

Mrs. Mormo looked
at the letter in horror and spoke rapidly in Spanish to her son.
 
He shrugged and answered back, “I don’t
know.”

Vic put the
letter back in its envelope and folded his hands on the table.
 
“Anything you want to tell me?”

“About what?”

“About Lyssa!”
 

Sal shrugged and
said, “Who’s Lyssa?”

Vic leaned across
the table and shouted, “The little girl you raped and forced into suicide.
 
How many people have you done this to that this
isn’t ringing a bell, genius?”

“I don’t know any
Lyssa.”

“Lyssa?” his
mother said.
 
The two of them shook their
head no.

Vic checked the
envelope and saw it was addressed to Mrs. Rose from “Li-Li.”
 
He showed them the envelope and said, “How
about
Li-Li?
 
You know a Li-Li, Sal?
 
Her brother is currently locked up in a
sanitarium upstate because he at least he had the decency to admit what he
did.”

“Li-Li,” Sal
said, nodding with recognition.
 
“I know
her.
 
She got my boy put away.
 
She a lying bitch—”

Vic’s hand shot
across and snatched Sal by the collar, yanking the boy halfway across the table
and slamming Lyssa’s letter against his forehead like he was tacking it to a
wall.
 
“So help me God I will beat you
like a dog if you finish that sentence, young man.”

Sal’s mother took
him by the shoulders and drew him back into his seat.
 
Vic leaned on the table, looming over them, “I
just wanted you to know that this investigation is just getting started.
 
I will arrest you for rape and see you tried
as an adult.
 
I will put you in a state
prison with a thousand angry, lonely, bored men who can’t wait for fresh meat.
 
I will make a phone call to my good friend
who works at the prison and make sure you get the right cell-mate.”

Sal held up both
hands and shouted, “I swear to God I don’t know what you are talking
about!
 
Please, listen!
 
I don’t even know this girl.
 
She thought she was my girlfriend!”

“Get out.”
 
    

Sal moaned and
buried his face against his mother’s shoulder, sobbing until snot bubbles
popped out of his nostrils.
 
His mother looked
at the three of them in confusion but still wrapped her arms around her son and
patted him on the back as he wailed.
 

Vic pointed at
the door and said, “The two of you, get out of my police station.”

Sal clutched his
chest and gasped, “I can’t…I can’t breathe…I can’t walk.”

Vic jumped out of
his seat and raced around the table, snatching the back of Sal’s chair and
shaking it until he fell on the floor.
 
“You
have ten seconds to leave here on your own two feet or I’m dragging you out by
your ears.”

Mrs. Mormo lifted
her son from the chair and started pulling him away from Vic, who stalked
behind them with both fists clenched, closing on them.
 
Every time Sal stopped walking, Vic made like
he was going to kick him.
 
“I’m still
counting.
 
You’d better move.”

Vic pushed the
station’s front door open to let the mother and son stumble into the parking
lot.
 
The boy collapsed on the walkway
and vomited on his mother’s toeless shoes.

Frank wedged past
Vic in the lobby to hurry back to the lunchroom for a handful of wet paper
towels and a cup of water.
 
Vic stared at
him as he carried the items outside to where Sal was sitting in the
walkway.
 
“Here you go.
 
Clean yourself up.
 
You okay?”