Small Crimes (16 page)

You
could probably point to any person alive, take enough stuff out of context,
twist it around, and use it to prove they had any personality disorder you
wanted to. I guess with my dad he couldn't accept the fact that there was no
real reason why I did the things I did. He needed an explanation, he needed
some underlying disease or mental defect to point to, so he found one.

It
didn't matter whether it made any sense or not. The alcohol and cocaine use was
an easy match. And he probably worked out in his mind that my motivation for
being a cop had something to do with power. He was right about my not having
any close friendships, but there were reasons for that. Back when I was in
eighth grade I started spending a lot of time with Elaine. Probably the only
time I wasn't with her was when I was in class or playing sports. That went on
all through high school. I didn't have any time left over to develop close
friendships. And I guess it wasn't important enough to me to care about it.

As
far as wanting to be a cop, well, there were a lot of reasons for that also,
and none of them had to do with me seeking out some form of power over those
around me. Yeah, the idea of it attracted me as a kid, especially the way the
cops were shown on TV, but there were other reasons. I didn't want to leave
Bradley after high school. I was comfortable there, and besides, Elaine
couldn't leave since she had to take care of her sick mother. I didn't have a
lot of choices. I wasn't going to be cooped up in an office making minimum
wage, and I didn't want to work in a garage or do construction. Yeah, I
could've worked an assembly line, either building military aircraft in Bradley
or computer equipment in Chesterville, but I didn't think I could deal with the
drudgery of that. And maybe I wanted something with some respectability, but
that didn't make me a narcissistic personality.

The
thing is, none of the major characteristics matched. I certainly didn't have
any great love for myself, I couldn't care less whether anyone admired me, and
as far as a sense of entitlement, well, I'd have to think the opposite was
true. I started taking the payoffs because I didn't want to make waves. I never
wanted the money, I didn't feel entitled to it, but it was easier to just take
the payoffs and keep my mouth shut. The money, though, made me feel rotten, and
at some subconscious level I must have wanted to get rid of it as quickly as I
got it. That had to be why I started with the gambling and cocaine. It had
nothing to do with a narcissistic personality. But there was more to it. Loving
myself? Shit, no, I had to have been trying pretty damn hard to hurt myself,
and the reason had to have been because in fact I hated myself. Hated myself
for just going along and taking money I didn't want. For doing things I didn't
want to do. For once again just taking the easy way out.

As
for lack of empathy, I had to believe I felt bad about what I did to Phil. At
least I think I did. It's hard to say exactly. I know I felt uneasy about it,
but it could be because he was walking around so that everyone in Bradley could
look at him and remind themselves about what I did. If he had died that night
and I had gotten away with his murder, maybe I'd feel differently now. It's
hard to say. Of course, what I did to him was in some ways worse than murder.
Making him into a freak, driving his wife away, and leaving him as nothing more
than a bitter shell of what he used to be. How could I not feel guilty about
that?

The
one thing my dad said that stuck in my craw was how he had almost been
expecting the things that I had done. The hell with him. If he wanted to invent
personality disorders for me that was his business. If he wanted to write me
off, fine, let him. As far as my daughters went, he could read himself
psychiatry books from now till doomsday for all I cared. He had no idea what
was in my heart. He never did and he never would. I wasn't going to waste any
more time worrying about what he thought.

As
I mentioned before, it was five in the morning. It had been days since I'd had
any real sleep and my head was feeling kind of fuzzy. I went into the kitchen
and made myself some coffee. I decided none of what was going to happen was
worth worrying about. I would do what I had to and then move on. Just like
anyone else in the world would.

Chapter 11

I
made sure I was out of the house before my parents woke up. I had my suit on.
It was loose on me, especially around the stomach and thighs, but it looked
okay. I got in my car and sat motionless for a few minutes. All I could think
about was getting my hands on some cocaine and doing a few lines. I almost
drove to Earl's house, but I stopped myself. I had slipped the night before and
I knew I couldn't slip again, at least not if I wanted any chance of keeping
the promise I made for my girls. As bad as the craving was, as fuzzy as my head
felt, I knew I had to fight it. I checked the time and saw it was six thirty. I
needed something so I drove to a twenty-four-hour convenience store and bought
a box of powdered doughnuts and a large black coffee. The doughnuts and the
coffee helped somewhat. At least they made my head feel a little less fuzzy.

While
I sat in my car, I checked the scratches along my cheek in the rearview mirror.
The swelling had gone down. They were still noticeable, but they didn't look as
bad as they had.

It
was almost seven. Still an hour before church. It had been years since I had
been to services, the last time probably being right after Courtney was born. I
couldn't say exactly why I had decided to go today. It was just something that
I felt I needed to do. Something that was driving me at a gut level.

I
finished off the powdered doughnuts. I still had fifty minutes to kill. My
shoes were looking scuffed, so I went back into the convenience store and found
a shoeshine kit. After I had worked on them for a while, they looked better. I
still had twenty minutes to kill. I went back into the store, bought a paper,
and read it until it was time to leave. Then I drove over to the church and
found a spot in the parking lot.

The
attendance was better than at Kelley's the night before, the church about
three-quarters filled. Minister Charles Thayer was standing behind the pulpit
announcing news about different members of the congregation. I took an empty
seat in the last pew. One of his eyebrows rose as he recognized me.

I
noticed Phil sitting in the front with Clara, and his younger daughter, Megan.
Clara had makeup caked on, but even so, dark purple bruises stood out along the
side of her face. Somehow Phil sensed that I was there. He glanced back at me
quickly, his expression completely blank. Other members of the congregation
started to look back at me, some of them glaring openly. I guess Thayer decided
to address the situation. He made an announcement welcoming me, stating that while
I had committed a terrible crime I had confessed freely in open court, and if
God could forgive and love a repentant sinner, so could my neighbors. There was
some mumbling after that, but there was also head-nodding. Phil Coakley sat
stone faced.
I
could see Clara
squeezing his hand. I could see Megan fighting back tears. After that I only
half heard what Thayer had to say. I was too busy watching Phil, trying to make
up my mind about something.

When
Toni had leaked out her secret about Phil it got me thinking about how I could
use it. Now I had an idea worked out. Nobody would end up dead from it, nobody
would even get badly hurt. It wouldn't solve my current problem, but it would
buy me some time, maybe a week, maybe longer. And maybe given the extra time my
problem would resolve itself. Who knows how much longer Manny really had? Maybe
he had a month or two like the doctors were telling him, but with some luck
maybe he only had a week or less. If I could keep finding ways to buy myself
time I had a chance of getting out of this mess without having to kill anyone.

What
troubled me about my idea was that while no one would get physically hurt, it
would end up humiliating Phil, and would also damage and possibly even destroy
his career. From the hints Toni had dropped I had a pretty good idea who Phil
was seeing. Better than even money it was the redhead, Susie. I didn't know for
sure, but I had a pretty good feeling that's who it was. With Muscle-shirt
strutting about there was no way she could entertain anyone in one of the back
rooms at Kelley's. She'd have to meet Phil in a motel. Also, I know it's kind
of a cliche saying this about a stripper (and more times than not it turns out
to be the exact opposite), but she seemed like a genuinely sweet girl. I could
see her looking on it as an act of mercy. But still, if Phil and she were
caught in a motel room and a morals charge was brought against him, it would
sideline him, and maybe for a good deal longer than a week. I was still trying
to make up my mind when Thayer's sermon ended. People started to mill out of
the church, a few of them nodding to me as they went by.

As
I got up to leave, I heard Thayer call my name. He was walking briskly to catch
up to me, a broad smile on his round red face.

'I
was glad to see you here today, Joe,' he said as he took my hand with both of
his. 'Thank you, Reverend.'

'I
hope this is going to be a weekly occurrence?'

'I
hope so.'

'Good,
good.' His eyes moistened as he gave my hand a couple of friendly pats. 'I am
so glad for this change of heart in you, Joe. Remember, in the eyes of God,
we're all sinners. But for the truly repentant, it's never too late for
redemption. Remember that. I'll be looking for you here next week. And
hopefully your parents also. If you could, tell them for me, we've missed them
here.'

He
let go of my hand and gave me a warm pat on the back before turning to talk to
one of the other members of his flock. I knew I wouldn't be seeing him again.
At least not in church.

When
I got to my car I found Phil leaning against it. The way the sunlight hit his
face made it look like some crazy grotesque quilt that had been stitched
together with red and blue thread. As I approached him, he showed me a little
smile.

'I
can't help wondering what con you're trying to pull, Joe,' he said.

'What
do you mean?'

'Why
you would bother showing up at church? Because, Joe, you're about as repentant
as a rabid dog.’

'And
why's that?'

He shook his head sadly, still smiling. 'If you
were truly repentant you'd confess to all your crimes, not just the one you
were caught red handed in.'

'I
don't know what you're talking about.'

'Of
course you do. Before you set fire to the documents that I had collected, I was
building a case against you for money you had stolen from the evidence room.
There were a number of thefts and burglaries along the way, weren't there, Joe?
And maybe worse crimes than that?'

He
stopped, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. I saw a brightness flash in his
eyes and then a crazy smile twisting his lips. Before I realized what was
happening, he jumped forward and grabbed me, trying to pin my arms behind me. A
few of the churchgoers stopped to gawk at us. More started to come over. Thayer
wandered over, a look of bewilderment spoiling his round red face.

The
last thing I wanted to do was scuffle with Phil in the church parking lot. I
let him pin my arms back. 'Let go of me,' I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

He
ignored me. 'Call the police,' he demanded to the crowd that had formed. I
heard someone calling with a cell phone.

Thayer
stepped forward. 'Phil, what in the world is going on?'

"This
repentant sinner of yours was snorting cocaine before services. You can see the
residue on his nose, chin and suit jacket. I'm holding him until the police
come.'

I
started laughing. Normally I would have just stood still until the police
arrived, but I didn't want to risk a drug test and have cocaine from last night
show up. 'Reverend,' I said, 'whatever powder is on me is from powdered
doughnuts. You'll find an empty box in my car.'

Thayer
walked over to my car, peeked in, and then walked back to me. He dabbed his
finger against my chin and tasted it.

'Phil,
let go of Joe immediately,' he said. I saw an empty box with my own eyes and
this is nothing but powdered sugar.'

Phil
didn't move, at least not at first, and then he reluctantly let go of me. I
took a step away from him, making a show of grimacing and rubbing my arms. As I
turned to face him I could see nothing but loathing in his eyes.

'I'm
sorry,' he said, without much feeling.

I
held out my hand to him. He had no choice, he had to accept it.