Hidden Vices (19 page)

Thirty-Seven

Megan was walking up
the back steps to the house when Nappa rang her cell. “Hey, Nappa.”

“You sound out of breath.”

“I'm outside. Did you get any more information for me?” Megan and Nappa had a way of diving right into conversation, though it didn't stop him from making fun of it.

“I'm fine, thank you for asking. Had a small organ transplant this week, but I'm healing.”

Megan shook her head. “Great. Oh, wait, don't you want to fill me in on if you're still constipated?”

“Never constipated having you as my partner because you're always taking the shit out of me.”

They shared a short laugh over Nappa's coarse sense of humor, which undoubtedly he picked up from her.

“So, anything on Duane Baker's juvie record?”

“That's why I'm calling. Yes, he was in juvie for beating up some councilman when he was young. His name was Collins. When I say
beat up,
I mean the guy went into a coma and had multiple broken bones, including his jaw. You name it and Duane Baker did it.”

“Just to this guy?”

“I wouldn't say
just
. The guy never walked again, and he had minor brain damage from the assault.”

“In the file was there a reason he gave? Duane?”

“The only thing he said was, ‘he had it coming'.” Nappa paused. “Oh, and the marina owner guy, Norden? No rap sheet. He's clean.”

Megan stared over at the judge's house. Nappa continued to speak, but there was little seeping in as Megan again mentally replayed the video of the boys being attacked. Sexually mauled. Little doubt, perhaps, that Duane had been a victim and the councilman was one of the robed sons of bitches.

“Okay, thanks Nappa. Gotta go. I'll be in touch.”

Megan had long ago mastered the art of hanging up without a
goodbye
,
ciao
, or even her usual
bite me
. Callie had just pulled in the driveway and she was preoccupied.

He gave a small kiss on her cheek when he closed the front door. “You okay?”

Megan waved it off. “I'm good. I tested out the new cleats again and walked over to Vivian's.”

“Oh, okay. I sent her a text and said maybe we'd check in on her later. Tomorrow being Christmas Eve and all.”

The comment made Megan stop in her tracks. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve?” Her heart sank. She visualized Woodlawn Cemetery before leaving for New Jersey, saying goodbye to her parents. Everyone says the first year is the hardest when you lose someone, but after losing both parents within months, nothing felt like it would ever be right again. The sadness, the loss, was the only piece in her that was constant. She hated it, but it felt like her life now. It felt as though it had been her life for a long time.

“What are you doing for the holiday?” Callie asked.

“I already celebrated it.” She stared down at her boots. “It's just another day.”

Callie was rubbing his hands. “Can we go in? I'm freezing.”

They went in and Megan put a pot of coffee on. “I'm making a sandwich. Do you want anything?”

He nodded. “Sure. What were you doing at Vivian's?”

Megan didn't want to mention what Vivian had told her about the man and the motorcycle. Callie barely believed her about the guy on the snowmobile and she didn't feel the need to defend herself. It wasn't enough to disguise everything that was on her mind. She could feel Callie sizing her up, attempting to register her emotions. He didn't know how beautifully she masked them.

Megan's limited culinary expertise resulted a roast beef sandwich with tomato, cheese, and horseradish sauce. She would make one for herself and her dad when they watched a game or one of his favorite Spencer Tracy movies. It was a small memory from the past, but one that had stayed with her.

They sat in silence while eating their small meal when Callie suggested, “If you want, you can come to the restaurant tomorrow. I'll be really busy, but you shouldn't be home alone on a holiday.”

Megan wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I'm always alone on holidays. Like I said, it's just another day. You're open on Christmas Eve?”

“We're only closed on Christmas Day and New Year's. You wouldn't believe how many people don't want to cook and are willing to pay a damn high price for a holiday dinner.”

“I'm not surprised.” Megan paused and then asked, “Say, can you make me a full plate tomorrow? I'd like to take it over to Billie in the hospital. I'm sure whatever she'll have doesn't come close, given hospital food and all.”

He shrugged. “Of course. Just send me a text when you want to pick it up and I'll have everything ready.” Callie stopped to take another bite of roast beef. “You sure have taken a shine to that kid. I never would have pegged you for the sensitive type.”

Megan was only slightly offended because she knew in the past her heartstrings weren't exactly pulled easily. “You're making me sound as frozen as the lake out there.”

“I didn't mean to. It's just you with a dog and kind of mentoring this kid down the street … It's just not
you
.”

Megan got up and placed her plate in the dishwasher, leaning on the counter. “But helping out a friend of yours when I could lose my badge for it, and putting myself on the line is what?” She said it with the doggedness she used to interrogate perps.

Callie sighed. “Megan, stop. You and I both know how you can be. Or, maybe how you
were
. Don't pretend you weren't that way.”

Megan shook her head and proceeded to do what every man so adores in a woman: she slammed her index finger into his chest, “Let me tell you what I had to be to get where I am. Independent. Strong. No one had my back! My dad being a detective meant I had to work twice as hard to prove myself. So if I lose a little of that hard edge along the way to help the victims and their families? It's worth it. Christ, I'm just taking food over to a neighbor. It's hardly sainthood.” Megan's phone interrupted her verbal tongue lashing. “What!” She reeled her emotion back in. “Sorry. Yes, this is Megan. So he's okay? For sure? I'll be right over.”

Megan looked up at Callie, who was surprisingly unaffected by her rant. “Clyde can come home. I'm going to go pick him up now.”

Callie placed his plate in the sink. “I'll drive, and I think I blocked you in. By the way, do you do finger push-ups? My chest hurts from you poking me.”

His smart-ass comment broke her mood. “Shut up.” It was not God's plan to have Megan write sentimental Hallmark cards.

Callie parked in front of the clinic and kept the engine running. “You go in. I'll stay and keep the truck warm and help you get him in.”

Megan jumped out of the truck, more excited than she anticipated on being. “I'm here for Clyde.” The receptionist took her credit card faster than a greyhound chasing a rabbit in a dog race. Megan signed every slip and experienced momentary chest pains when she saw the final balance, but when Clyde strutted down the hallway, it was worth every penny. “Come here, boy!” She would deny it until her last breath, but Megan did well up with tears of joy to see the big guy. “How are you?” She scratched his ears and rubbed any areas where there weren't bandages or shaven spots with stitches. The veterinarian handed her ointment for the wounds and gave Clyde an otherwise clean bill of health. He jumped in the back of Callie's truck as if he had just been out for a jaunt at the dog park.

“Well, he's in good spirits,” Callie commented.

Then Megan's Irish side came out. “Yes, he is. Now I'm going to find the bastard who did this to him.”

“Megan,” Callie sighed, “this is hunting season for everything. It was probably just some kids messing around trying to be cool. Adolescent bullshit that went wrong. Something like that.”

Megan stroked Clyde's head. “With a fucking BB gun? I don't think so. Drive.” Megan wasn't sure, but she could have sworn Callie whispered, “Pain in my fucking ass.”

Not the first time
, she thought to herself.

Thirty-Eight

Megan felt as close
as she ever would to bringing home a newborn: Clyde. She allowed him on the couch and fed him, as promised, his favorite pizza. She basically spoiled the hell out of him. Callie told Megan to pick up the Christmas dinners at noon and there would be no charge, given her kind demeanor throughout the night. The sarcasm was duly noted. She sat thinking of the following day and could not quell the feelings of guilt and shame for not acknowledging the impending holiday. She wanted to go back
to a time when her
parents were alive and smiling. Now, she felt she was dead inside. Clyde must have picked up on her mood; he barked at her and proceeded to maul her with dog kisses.

“Clyde, you are a mush aren't you? I'm going to leave you for a few minutes to go to the mini-mart down the street. I need to get a few things. They're probably going to be closed tomorrow. Be good.” Megan climbed up into Arnold, fired up the ignition, and started down Howard Boulevard, gassing it toward the small-town store. It wasn't until she hit the brakes that she knew something was wrong. She wasn't going fast, but the brakes failed to slow her down one bit. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of an elderly man walking across the lot. Megan started honking the horn repeatedly. He jumped out of the way just in time. Vehicular manslaughter was not a part of her evening agenda. She swerved into a parking lot, tugging at the parking brake handle. Nothing was working.

“Son of a bitch!” She needed to stop the truck, no matter what. Still moving almost thirty miles an hour, Megan turned the steering wheel toward a Dumpster at the far end of the lot. She slammed into it with so much force that Arnold truly became a terminator. Death toll: one Dumpster.

Megan jumped out of the truck and first ran back to the elderly gentleman. He had no injuries, which was a complete relief to Megan. A store owner called the police and within minutes the flashing red and blue lights filled the streets.

How many cops work in a town that is three miles long?
Megan caught herself thinking.

At first they accused her of being under the influence, until Megan explained her brakes had failed and she couldn't stop the truck. A beefy, chesty officer went under the Range Rover with a flashlight. “No need for a breathalyzer. The brake line has been cut.”

“What?” Megan was dumbfounded. “I just drove this a day or so ago. Let me see.” She scooted underneath Arnold and the officer put the light on the brake line. “How does this happen?”

“Lady, this didn't just happen. Look at the evenness of the slice. This was done on purpose.”

Son of a bitch.

Megan called Callie, who then called Megan's favorite new friend, Duane Baker, to tow Arnold the short distance to his shop. It was by far not the most social three-minute drive she'd ever taken.

“The Dumpster is history, but they really make those Range Rovers tough. Your truck seems to be fine—except for the fluid lines. They even clipped your parking brake cable. You're really liked, huh?”

Megan stared out the window. “Looks that way.”

“Heard someone threw you in the lake. Bag over your head and all. A pretty woman like you needs to be more careful, wouldn't you say? I know about you. City cop. Tough. I watched you on the news. Do you want to know what I see when I look in your eyes?” He didn't wait for a response. “I see a little girl, a little girl who needs to watch her back if she's as smart as she thinks she is.”

Megan knew the tone of a thug and did not retreat. “The forty-five I carry around in my shoulder holster is pretty careful, always loaded, and I have eyes in the back of my head.”

Douche bag.

Duane had an arrogant smirk as they pulled into his garage. “C'mon in. Callie said he's on his way to take you home and I need to give you some paperwork.”

Megan went inside, more to take a look around than to get paperwork or make glorious small talk. Duane lit a cigarette while he fumbled through a file cabinet for forms. “You'll need a copy of the police report for your insurance company.” Duane crouched down, the back of his jeans slipping a bit too far, exposing his tattooed back.

Megan stared at the round burn mark on Duane's lower back. No tattoo could hide it, though it looked as though he tried hard enough given how much ink was over his body. For a brief moment Megan felt like she was going to vomit.

I wonder if one of those young boys I saw in the videos was him.

Duane turned to hand Megan the papers “Here. Fill these out.” She stared blankly at him. “Um, are you okay?”

She took the papers without answering.

Callie pulled up moments later. Duane said, “Your ride is here. I can get the truck back to you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is a holiday. No rush.”

“I don't celebrate Christmas.”

Megan whispered, “Why?”

“Not much to be merry about, I guess. You should know how that feels.”

They stared at one another. It was not a romantic stare, not even close. Megan felt frozen. She looked into his eyes, trying to think if there was anything from the videos that would ID him, but the burn mark was enough, and the bastards were smart enough not to film the victims' faces directly. But she knew, and there was a place in Duane that knew as well.

Megan walked out to Callie's car. He had a very concerned look on his face. “Are you okay? How is your arm?”

Megan had such an adrenaline rush that she'd forgotten she still had stitches in her arm. At this point she was impervious to physical pain; it was the emotional heartache that overpowered her when she allowed it to. “I'm fine. Very happy no one was hurt.”

“What did Duane say?” Callie began the drive back to McGregor Avenue to drop Megan off. It was a busy night at the restaurant and he said he couldn't stay, though he very much would have liked to.

“He said the truck would be fixed by tomorrow. The brake line was cut, zero brake fluid in the reservoir. Parking brake cable snipped too. Do you know anything about brake lines?”

Callie raised his eyebrows. “Only that they shouldn't be cut, Trouble.”

“That's what I was thinking.” She paused before getting out of Callie's car. “Something is about to go down. There is a lot I'm
unsure of at the moment, but I do know this: something is going down and soon.”

Callie stared at her, holding her face in his hands as he kissed her. “Make sure it's not you.”

Megan woke the next morning on the tip of a dream. She was walking down a path through a park. The trees were green, the sky clear. There was a large picnic table in the grassy field at the end of the path. The table was filled with people eating, laughing, and toasting one another. They welcomed Megan with smiles, motioning for her to sit at the head of the table. Many of the faces were familiar to her, but some of them seemed different: younger, happier than the last time she'd seen them. A woman put a hand on her shoulder. When Megan turned, it was a face she'd recognized immediately. It was her grandmother on her father's side. Megan looked up curiously at her, wondering what the purpose was for all of this. She pointed for Megan to turn around. Pat McGinn stood a few feet behind Megan, doing what he always did at family picnics, manning the grill and smoking his cherry-scented pipe. He looked peaceful and younger than the man she'd buried earlier that year. He smiled at her. Megan walked over, wrapping her arms around him, holding him so very tight. She heard his voice as clear as if he were standing right in the room. “It's time to buck up, baby girl.” He turned Megan around and the only person now seated at the picnic table was Rose. Her voice couldn't be heard, but she held up the deaf sign for
I love you
. Megan had learned the sign only one day earlier. In that moment, she felt buoyant. She was being pulled away, as if a bungee cord was tugging her back into her reality and into her loss.

The smell of her father's cherry-scented tobacco filled the bedroom.