The Way Things Are (8 page)

And what a welcome the kid had received into the country. Escaping the nightmare of being trapped with the dead just to be attacked by three strangers on the docks.

Patrick leaned forward, his adrenaline spiking all over again as he saw Detective Kowalski shoving a uniformed police officer, whose hands were cuffed behind his back, toward a waiting patrol car. He recognized the man’s sharp features, even though Patrick hadn’t seen him well in the dark. “Least they caught him,” Patrick muttered. “A fucking cop.”

“What?” Jay leaned forward.

Patrick snapped his head toward Jay. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“So who were the ‘lying motherfuckers,’ then?”

“Jay, watch your mouth.”

“Sure, Pop. Who were they?”

“The officers who arrested me for stopping the fight.”

“They arrested you? So that’s why you didn’t show up? You were in jail? They arrested you for helping somebody?”

“They’ve got to sort out who’s actually responsible for things when people get hurt. I was the only one they could question because the kid didn’t speak English, and the other two were in the hospital. I figured it would happen. It doesn’t change the fact that it was the right thing to do. Is that clear?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jay sat back and stared at the emergency vehicles, his eyes wide. “But you won, right?”

“Kiddo, if you’ve got to fight, you fight to win. You don’t knock the other guy down and hope he runs away, you knock the other guy down so hard he can’t get back up. And sometimes, finishing a fight the right way once will mean you never have to actually fight again. If everybody else who hears about it knows that if they fuck with you, they’ll lose, they won’t bother. It’s that simple.”

“Does that mean you won?”

Patrick groaned. “Yes, I won.”

“So it’s okay to get arrested for beating somebody up, but not for painting a picture?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. It’s okay to get arrested for beating someone up if they’re hurting someone else right then and there. It’s not okay to get arrested for painting a picture on someone else’s property. Not to mention the paint. Where the fuck did you get the money for those cans of spray paint?”

“I….” Jay stuttered. “I just kind of found them.”

“You know you can get arrested for ‘just kind of finding’ things too, right?”

“I know,” Jay whispered.

“Don’t forget it. I expect you to do the right thing, kid. But sometimes doing the right thing will mean you’ve got to explain yourself to the cops afterward. Sometimes they aren’t going to like your explanation, and you deal with it. It doesn’t matter what kind of trouble you get in, you man up and own it. If that means you go to jail, you go. If it means you pay a fine, you pay. But if you don’t walk out of a fight alive, it don’t really matter if you can justify what you’ve done. Win first. If you’ve got to kill the other guy, win first.”

Ken leaned into the car. “Do you realize what you’re encouraging, Mr. Connelly?”

Patrick nodded, glaring at the man. “Survival.” He looked pointedly at the detective who had arrested him. He was so tired, so caught up trying to ignore the way his body had reacted to his son’s new probation officer, he hadn’t even noticed Ken looked a lot like the younger of the two detectives he’d spent the morning with. “Can I get my truck?” he asked.

“There are alternatives to killing somebody to survive a fight,” Ken insisted. “Especially as a teenager. Jay could ask for help. He could draw attention to the situation if there are authority figures around. Even if his cell phone is disconnected, he could use it to videotape what’s happening. He could tell them they’re on camera so they know they’ll be identified. He could even run away. There’s nothing wrong with running away.”

“I have very specific expectations for my boy. I expect that when he runs into gay-bashing assholes in school, he won’t be one of those cowards who stands around, looking at everyone else and wondering what they hell
they’re
going to do to stop it. I expect that he’ll be able to tell when he needs to act, and I expect when he does, he’ll be smart enough not to hold back. If he is attacked, I expect him to fight back so hard that whoever attacks him will never be physically capable of doing it again! And if he gets in trouble for that, not only will I bail him out, I will shake his fucking hand.”

“Mr. Connelly, there are other ways of dealing with a high school bully. Advocating murder seems a bit….”

“What would you know about it?” Patrick snapped.

Ken smirked. “More than you. I’ve had to deal with bullies my entire life. I’ve been the kid you rescued last night. I’ve been the scrawny little queer everyone wanted to take a shot at in high school. It sucked. But you know what sucks more?” Ken’s glare was hard and cold. “Finding out the kids who do this shit are copying what their own parents have done to them. You know what’ll happen if Jay deals with a bully by beating him up? That kid will grow up and he’ll spend the rest of his life finding weaker targets, just so he can feel like he’s in control of something. Even if that target is his own toddler! Violence just breeds more violence, Mr. Connelly.”

“Forgive me if I don’t weigh the safety of some kid who might exist thirty years from now higher than the life of a kid who’s about to get killed right in front of me. If I see someone get hurt, I’m going to do something about it.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t,” Ken backpedaled. “I’m just saying there are other ways. Safer ways too—no injuries or felony charges. You might be confident you can handle anyone you run into, but you were a split second away from getting shot last night. Pretending you can handle anything isn’t going to change the fact that a bullet will drop you in an instant. And what about Jay? If he tried to charge into an assault like you did last night, what do you think would have happened to him?”

“Can I get my truck or not?”

“It’ll be a minute. My brother has to get his suspect secure before you can get out of the car. In case you try to kill each other. Then he wants to talk to you again.”

Patrick gaped at him. “Your brother?”

“My name is Ken Atkins,” Ken said simply. “My brother was the detective who questioned you this morning. The younger one, I mean.”

“Jesus,” Patrick whispered. “I already told the police everything. It’s almost six o’clock. I’ve got a kid to feed and I have to get to work. I don’t know what else your
brother
thinks there is to get out of me, but he could have picked up the goddamned phone. You didn’t have to pull this shit.” Patrick gestured to the bustling crime scene in front of them. “Who do I have to file a complaint with to get Jay assigned to new JPC?”

“There’s no reason to—”

“There was no reason for him”—Patrick pointed at Detective Atkins—“to set this up. You expect me to cooperate knowing he’s willing to use my kid as a pawn for his job?”

“I would never—”

“Yeah, right. You were randomly assigned to my son’s case? After I spent the morning being interrogated by that asshole? He even mentioned Jay! If something’s important, you can just ask about it. You don’t have to try and manipulate me through my kid.” Patrick took a deep breath and loosened his fingers from where they were digging into the car’s upholstery. Ken Atkins was hanging in the open driver’s side door, his expression confused and angry.

Patrick wanted to laugh at the look on his face, but he was too pissed. “Can I get my truck or not?”

“As soon as my brother says it’s all right, you can get your truck. But, Mr. Connelly, I was assigned to your son’s case last night before you were ever arrested. I admit the fact that my brother is the one who arrested you is a really weird coincidence, but I would never use any child on my caseload—”

Patrick glanced at the patrol car the man in the Port Authority uniform had been shoved into. The door was closed, and Patrick was pretty sure there was no way for the guy to get out. “Jay, get your bag. I’d rather take the bus and get the truck on Monday than put up with this bullshit.”

“K
ENNY
?”

There was no mistaking Malcolm’s smile for a sign he was happy. “How, and why, did you fuck things up with my witness?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Ken insisted, watching Patrick Connelly and his son trudge along the gray two-lane road. “Apparently the man isn’t a big believer in coincidence.”

“He thought this”—Malcolm gestured between Ken and himself—“was some kind of setup?”

“Sounded that way. As if anybody in youth probation would use a kid on their caseload like that.”

Malcolm shrugged. “I would.”

“That’s why you’d never, ever, make it in my job.”

“You’re just too nice. You know, the department’s doing another physical exam at the end of the month. If you make it this time, we can cure you of that whole ‘nice’ thing before you’ve finished your first year.”

Ken didn’t want to explain, for the hundredth time, that he couldn’t pass the physical test. “Even if I can get my knee in good enough shape to manage the run for the exam, I’d never be able to finish the police academy.”

“I just think you shouldn’t give up.” Malcolm’s smile faded as he listened to something over the radio attached to his collar. “Whatever happened with my witness, fix it. I doubt I have anything on this scene that hasn’t been compromised because the suspect was one of the officers the Port called in to help deal with it, so I need Connelly.”

Ken leaned around Malcolm and glanced at the coroner vans. The crime scene units hadn’t finished collecting evidence. The bodies were tucked into body bags, but they were still on the scene. “They had their own guys in? Before the bodies were even removed?”

“I had no clue I’d be looking for one of their so-called cops, so I didn’t say anything. And when I pointed out that it wasn’t exactly helpful, they started bitching about getting back on schedule. You know, before you showed up at the jail this morning, Connelly was talking about the terminal schedule like it was sacred, and I thought it was just bullshit, but every guy out here is acting like we orchestrated this entire thing just to fuck them out of a couple of hours of work.”

“No shock and horror, then?”

“None. Not from anyone who didn’t just storm away because of you.”

“That was just a misunderstanding,” Ken insisted. “Hell, I was assigned to his son’s case at two this morning, so if anything, I beat you to it.”

“Fix it, Kenny. Appeal to the man’s better nature, if he’s got one, but fix it.”

“Like I’ve got a choice. You only have to work with him for this case. I’m responsible for his son’s supervision. It’s only six weeks at the moment, but if this kid’s file from New York is anything to go by, he’s never going to stop reoffending and I’ll be stuck with him until he turns eighteen and I hand his case off to an adult probation officer.”

Malcolm just rolled his eyes. “People aren’t going to die if the kid gets his hands on another can of spray paint. If this guy walks because Connelly won’t testify, someone might.”

“Yeah, yeah. Your job’s more important than mine.” Ken climbed back into the car and shifted into reverse. “Thank you for reminding me.” He shut the door and rolled the window down. “Again.”

One good thing about the docks was that, aside from the stacks of shipping containers and the towering cranes, there were no buildings the father and son could easily duck between. Ken turned around and drove slowly down the road until he came along side Patrick. He rolled down the passenger window again.

“Pat,” Ken began, carefully using his first name, “you’re free to get your truck. The crime scene unit already cleared it. The only holdup was keeping you and the suspect separate.”

Patrick chuckled. “Really? I can just head on back there, walk past the police cars, start my truck, and drive away? Without another set of handcuffs and more questions?”

“I’d suggest you let them move the barricades first, but it’s your truck,” said Ken. “Your address is three miles away, Pat. I’ve got no doubt that you can manage that, but Jay looks like he’s ready to fall over.”

“Don’t act as if you actually give a damn.”

“My boss, Mary Anne, was on call last night. She assigned him to my caseload before my brother ever got to work. It’s a weird coincidence, but it is just a coincidence.” Ken pulled forward a bit to keep pace with them. A car behind him honked. Ken glanced in the review mirror, saw the TV station logo on the hood of the van, and glared. The van honked again, and Ken turned on the emergency flashers on the top of the car. It wasn’t a police car, but the flashy blue lights had the same effect.

Ken caught a glimpse of Patrick as the man glanced backward, trying not to laugh at the creative hand gestures the driver was making. The sight of that half smile was all it took to make Ken’s head spin for the hundredth time since he’d offered Patrick and his son a ride. When he’d first seen Patrick through the mirrored glass of the interview room, he’d thought the man was hot, but up close, he was amazing. Ken had always assumed calling someone “breathtaking” was just a figure of speech, but when Ken caught sight of that real, amused smile, it hurt to breathe.

“Come on,” Ken muttered, trying to keep his tone even. “You can’t file a complaint about me from out here.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and waved his phone. “If I can do it on the web, I can do it on my phone. I think I’ll manage.”

“Pop,” Jay whispered. “If you were arrested this morning, then he’s telling the truth. The lady I talked to last night told me his name, and that he’d come talk to me in the morning. Of course, he never showed up.”

Patrick sighed and shoved his phone, and his hands, into his jacket pockets.

“I meant to talk to you this morning, Jay, and I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance,” Ken said quickly. “I was trying to track down your dad first. That took a while.”

A police patrol car with lights flashing crossed over from the oncoming lane and pulled to a stop in front of Ken’s car.

Patrick glared at him again. “I suppose this is your cousin and you’re going to try and convince me it’s a coincidence too?”

Ken wanted to curse. “We’re in the downtown precinct, it’s a Friday, and it’s still technically the day shift, so there’s a small chance that the officer in that car is related to me. My brothers are both cops. My stepdad is a cop, his brothers are cops, and their kids are cops. And they all like to remind me that I’m not a cop….”