Piece Keeper (6 page)

“I can’t believe you did this, Love!” Witherspoon
called out.

Waeltz guided the chief out of his office and
towards the exit. “He didn’t. I called I.A. I also called your
union rep. Don’t say another word Chief.”

Black followed behind as the officers were led to
awaiting vehicles parked in front of the station. After they were
all in and the cars pulled away from the curb only Waeltz and Love
stood outside.

“I’m surprised that the D.A. wanted to place them
under arrest so quickly,” Waeltz said, not giving Love any eye
contact as he scrolled through his phone.

“She hasn’t been very popular in the polls. If it’s
a chance to show the public she’s on top of police corruption it’ll
look all the better come election time.”

“Look, I have to go. Keep me in the loop,” Waeltz
said as he hopped in his car and pulled off just as news vans
pulled up. Reporters and cameramen began piling out and moving
towards Black.

“A.D.A. Love, is it true the chief and two of his
officers are accused of the rape of a woman that was working here
as an intern?” a reporter asked wasting no time.

“No comment,” Black said as he made the trek towards
his truck.

“Aren’t you the District Attorney for Cook County?
Is there any special reason you were assigned to this case?”

“No comment!” he yelled again as they continued
following him. As he reached his truck with a bevy of news
reporters on his heels he stood in awe. His truck had been
vandalized. The windows were all shattered. Glass lay scattered on
the ground and in the front seats. All four tires were slashed and
the words “She’s a liar!” were keyed onto the hood. He looked
around anxiously as if he would spot the perpetrator at any moment.
He angrily kicked a dent into the driver’s door as the gaggle of
reporters kept shouting out questions at him. He began walking in
the other direction as officers stood by; some glaring angrily,
others laughing. He walked and walked until he found himself back
at the bar. It was a poor choice seeing as though it was a local
hangout for off duty cops. Sitting in the same spot he’d sat at
only hours ago the once friendly bartender turned a cold shoulder
to him. Black removed a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and
placed it on the bar top. “Jack and coke.”

The bartender stared at Love then at the twenty
dollar bill for several seconds before picking it up and placing it
in the cash register. Then he picked up the remote control, pointed
it at the plasma TV hanging from the ceiling behind the bar and
turned the volume up. Black hadn’t paid much attention to the TV
before but when he heard his voice yelling no comment he looked up
just in time to see himself kicking a dent in the rental. He
grunted.

The bartender grimaced as he poured the drink and
slid it in front of him. “You have that drink and you get on out of
here and head back home. Don’t need no trouble round here.”

“Not looking for any, won’t be any.” Black downed
his drink and slammed the empty glass on the counter. “Another,” he
demanded never wavering eye contact.

The bartender poured the drink returning a stare
just as hard and cold as Black’s.

“Not saying you are, counselor, but can’t say the
same for them,” the bartender said nodding at the group of men
playing pool behind Black.

He didn’t turn to look. He knew they were there and
he knew it might get ugly once the men got a few drinks in them.
Yet he wouldn’t leave. Running was not an option even when he knew
it was a losing battle. It wasn’t that he was trying to be tough.
Growing up in Chicago he’d learned that you have to face the school
bully or neighborhood gangbangers sooner or later. There was no
getting around that. Fight back or get your ass kicked every day.
He learned that the hard way growing up and now he applied it to
everything in life. He wasn’t too old to get his ass kicked but he
was definitely too old to run from bullies.

He downed the drink in silence as he blocked out the
rumblings of the men behind him. Staring intently at the news
footage of him attacking his car that was playing every fifteen
minutes, he sat silent as he felt the warmness in his chest. The
effects of the alcohol were zeroing in. Ignoring the feeling, he
ordered drink after drink until his vision was blurred and speech
was slurred.

“You know she probably asked for it,” a voice from
one of the men shooting pool behind him blurted out.

“Damn slut,” another chimed in.

Black removed a hundred dollar bill from his wallet
and slammed it on the bar. He stood from his seat and headed for
the door.

“It’s not safe out here after dark, Counselor. You
might want to be careful what the whore claimed happened to her
don’t happen to you.”

Black stopped in his tracks. Red flashed in his mind
as he turned and faced the men with his hands balled into fists. He
counted three; all cops from what he could tell. They weren’t
wearing uniforms but after years of dealing with law enforcement,
some while growing up in the streets of Chicago and being harassed
and the rest prepping them on cases he had to try, with or without
a uniform he could spot them without even trying.

“What? Huh?” The ringleader spat out walking around
the pool table towards Black with the pool stick still in hand.
“What the hell are you gonna do?”

“Not in here Billy,” the bartender yelled out
calling the off duty officer by his first name.

“Quiet you! We got this!”

The old man retrieved a bat from underneath the
counter. “The hell you do. Not in my place. Now out of here! All of
you!”

Black stood his ground as the bartender came from
behind the bar and stood side by side with Black. “I don’t care one
way or the other how you fools settle this. It just won’t happen
here. Not in my place.”

“I think it’s about time we see what the counselor
here is made of,” the ringleader said as he rushed towards Black
full speed with the pool stick raised over his head ready to bring
it down across Black’s face.

Black didn’t hesitate or pause. He rushed towards
his attacker and hunched low instead of dodging the pool stick. He
threw himself into the blow at the same time throwing his shoulder
into the cop like a defensive tackle. He lifted the man into the
air and brought him down hard onto the pool table. The crunch of
his back coming into contact with the pool balls rang out into the
packed bar. As if on cue from a movie director, the bar became
eerily silent. Black threw blow after blow into his opponent’s
chest and rib cage until he was rushed by two others. Each slid
their arms under his to scoop him off of their fellow officer and
then slam him against the wall.

The bartender, coming to the rescue, swung the bat
striking one of the men across the back. The assailant dropped to
his knees in front of Black who then kicked him in the face. The
other man, still holding Black against the wall, gripped his neck
keeping him pinned to the wall. Stepping over the man on the floor,
the bartender swung again going for the second perpetrator. The cop
was no fool. He let go of Black seconds before impact. Black
hunched over ready to vomit as the deadly swing hit him in the
stomach. The bartender was embarrassed that he missed his target
and had accidently hit Black. He dropped the bat and slowly eased
back as the cop approached him with hate in his eyes. The bartender
shook his head no nervously as he unknowingly backed into the guy
that had started the fight who was now back on his feet.

“I told you to stay out of this,” the ringleader
said as he shoved the old man to the ground. He looked around the
bar as his cronies began getting back to their feet.

The other patrons stood quietly watching. They knew
it was wrong. They knew that they should do something to intercept.
But what could they do? Who could they call? The police? They were
the police so they just watched as the wayward officers drug Black
from the bar and out into the parking lot. Some laughed, some
turned their heads from Black’s glance too ashamed to make eye
contact, and others removed their cell phones and recorded the
scene. A guy in the back of the bar recording with his cellphone
could be heard yelling, “World Star, World Star!” He was referring
to the content aggregating video blog where recorded content could
be freely uploaded and was known mostly for regularly featuring
public fighting caught on tape.

Black felt his insides shifting around as his legs
went limp. Out in the parking lot two men held his arms as the
third hit him with blow after blow to his face and abdomen. He felt
the stickiness from the blood pouring from his mouth and face.
Suddenly he felt the left side of his body being released as one of
his attackers quickly let go. Black took that as an opportunity and
quickly wrapped his free arm around the guy that was still holding
him. He pulled him close and kneed him in the stomach. As the guy
hunched over in pain Black brought another hard punch down onto his
shoulder bone. He could hear the bone split as the man yelled out
in agony. The man fell to his knees and squirmed in pain. Black
kneed him in the face and he fell onto his back confused about
whether to hold his bloody nose or his throbbing shoulder.

Before Black could re-act to the third attacker he
was grabbed and lifted off of his feet only to be thrown head first
into a car. He grunted and looking up from the ground blurrily as
blood oozed into his eyes. He saw a familiar figure place his
attacker in a choke hold. Black made his way to his feet as both
men eased down to the ground. Black’s newfound savior gently laid
the now sleeping man’s head onto the asphalt, stood to his feet,
and eyed Black venomously.

Black stared back confused. He didn’t know if the
fight was over or if it was just a continuation. He didn’t know if
he had it in him to go another round. Neither spoke. The stare down
lasted for several seconds before James turned and walked towards
his car. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home,” he said.

Black was hesitant at first, but figured if he came
to his rescue in this fight he could at the very least trust the
man to give him a ride home. He just didn’t know why he was helping
him. Black knew it wouldn’t be long before he found out and he
probably wouldn’t like the answer.

***

Black led the way into his temporary home. James
silently followed closing the door behind him. Black walked over to
the sink and turned on the cold water. He ran his hands underneath
the steady stream and splashed the icy water onto his face. Once
done he dried his face with a nearby dish towel used for drying
dishes.

“I told you it wasn’t necessary that I come in,”
James said with his arms folded across his chest.

Black opened the refrigerator and removed two
bottles of beer handing one to James.

“We need to talk.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

Black smirked as he popped the cap off of his beer.
“Why did you help me back there?”

James popped his cap and took a swallow before
responding. “It was the right thing to do.”

“You always do the right thing?”

James paused. He dropped his head and shifted his
view from Black’s. “I used to. Not so much anymore.”

“Then why the change of heart? Why help me?”

James turned and faced Black. “Forget about it
alright?”

“Forget about it? I’m just curious given our track
record together hasn’t been on the friendliest of terms.”

“I thought you’d be more appreciative. Should I have
let those guys just kill you back there?”

Black didn’t respond. He guzzled his beer. James
remained silent as well. Morena and Teresa both entered the kitchen
from the living room wearing robes.

“Cariño!” Morena said in shock seeing Black’s
bruised and bloody face.

Teresa froze in her tracks with her mouth agape,
shocked to find both Black and James in the kitchen together.
“James, what are you doing here?”

Morena looked to James. “You did this to him?” she
spat out angrily moving towards him.

Black grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to
him. “Simmer down, Champ. We didn’t fight.”

Teresa placed her hands on her hips angrily. “You
didn’t fight? What happened to your face then, Black?”

“Correction, we didn’t fight each other. It’s a long
story. I just want to shower and go to bed. We’ll talk about this
in the morning.”

“Black I—” Morena began to protest as Black cut her
short kissing her sternly.

“In the morning,” he said.

She huffed and sighed. “A primera hora de la mañana
su no conseguir lejos con no hablar de esto.”

“I know, I know,” Black said as he followed her
towards the bedroom.

“With your black ass,” she said in an attempt to get
the last word.

James and Teresa stood in the kitchen with neither
saying a word. She looked at her feet, then up at his hands seeing
the blood on them. Walking over she grabbed his hands and pulled
him over to the sink. “You’re bleeding.” She turned the water
on.

“No, it’s not my blood.”

She pulled his hands underneath the running water.
“What happened with you two tonight?”

“Didn’t Black say he’ll tell you in the
morning?”

Once his hands were free of the blood she turned the
water off and handed him a towel. “Black is not my father and he’s
not my man. I’m asking you, James. What happened tonight?”

“I’m not sure. He’ll have to tell you the specifics.
I was just in the right place at the right time, saw an unfair
fight, and stepped in to help.”

“Hmm…” she responded as she busied herself in the
kitchen searching through cabinets until she found a plastic zip
lock bag. She filled it with ice, closed it up, and then handed it
to James.

He placed it on his swollen knuckles. “Thank
you.”