A woman of valor, p.25
A Woman of Valor, page 25
“They’ve been five dollars for two years now,” said the cashier, a rotund, middle-aged white man with a crown of salt-and-pepper hair. “Come on, you want ’em or not?” He picked up the pack as if to put them back.
“Damn, man,” Gunner said. He dug change out of his pocket and dropped it on the counter. Several coins rolled off the edge and onto the floor.
The cashier counted the remaining change. “You’re fifty cents short,” he said.
“No, man, two quarters dropped on your side,” Pip said.
“I didn’t see any quarters drop,” the cashier said. “Come on. Pay or get out.”
Val approached the counter with two coffees, waiting behind the youths.
“This dude’s ripping me off,” Gunner said to her. “You oughta arrest him.”
“Mr. Tanner?” Val said. “I thought I saw some coins drop. You want to check?”
Tanner growled at her and bent over for a moment. When he straightened, he held sixteen cents in his hand. “You’re still thirty-four cents short.”
“I’ll cover the difference.” Val slapped three one-dollar bills on the counter. “Have a good night, guys.”
The two youths stared at her, then at each other, then grabbed the cigarettes and ran out of the store.
Tanner leveled her with a long, hostile glare. “That was fucked up,” he said.
Val stared back at him. “What’s fucked up about it? Seems like everything came out even.”
Tanner fumed and rang up her purchase. “I called you guys to help me get rid of these kids, and—”
“And that’s what I’m doing.” Val pushed the money toward him. “Keep the change.” She allowed herself a smug smile and pushed her way outside—
Where she found Papadopoulos cuffing Gunner on the ground, his knee planted in the kid’s back.
“What the hell are you doing?” she yelled.
“Arresting this punk,” he said. “Didn’t you see him? He tried to steal a pack of cigarettes!” He held up the pack of Kools, then shoved them into his pocket.
“Dammit, Pops, he paid for those,” she said. “Let him go.”
Pops finished cuffing the kid and stood. “He what?”
She shook her head. “Go on inside, ask Tanner. He’ll tell you. He paid.”
Pops’s face darkened. “Yeah? Then why did he run?”
Val shrugged. “Who the hell knows? You can’t assume—”
Pops waved her off. “Doesn’t matter. I got him on possession.” He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a bag of weed. “Over an ounce, I bet. This kid’s a dealer.”
“What?” Gunner, still on the ground, twisted his neck to look at them, fear and alarm on his face. “I didn’t have no—”
“Tell it to your lawyer,” Pops said. “You’re under arrest.”
Val started to protest, then remembered Brenda’s and Shannon’s cautions about Pops throwing partners under the bus. She’d have to deal with this a different way.
Chapter Thirty
Val took her mid-shift meal break at the precinct station at 9:00 p.m. while she waited for Pops to book Gunner on the drug charge. She’d convinced him that the kid had paid for the cigarettes, but he insisted on booking him on the possession-with-intent-to-sell rap, despite her reservations. “The dope fell out of his pocket,” Pops said over and over again. Val hadn’t seen it, so she couldn’t say either way.
She’d just opened an email invitation from Beth to a dinner party when her phone rang, and Chad’s image popped up on Caller ID.
“Happy birthday!” Chad said in his ever-cheerful voice. “I hope you’re out doing something fun.”
“Working,” she said. “You know I haven’t celebrated my birthday in...ten years.” She groaned. Val preferred to avoid even oblique references to those unhappy days surrounding her thirteenth birthday. She’d refused to celebrate the day she “became a woman,” as Milt—and clueless Dad, copycatting Milt’s creepy phrase—had put it. Birthdays came with too many awful memories.
***
Ten Years Earlier: Valorie’s 13th Birthday
A knock came at the door. “Valorie, are you in there?” Her mother’s voice.
Valorie huddled under her blankets, curling into a fetal position. If she stayed quiet enough, maybe she’d go away.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Mom said. “Uncle Milt wants to see you. He has a present for you.” Impatience, bordering on annoyance, tinged the edges of Mom’s slurred speech.
Valorie’s insides lurched, bile rising in her throat. She took the covers off of her face so she could breathe better. Several silent seconds passed.
“Valorie, you’re being rude.” Now the annoyance. She needed to defuse Mom’s anger before things got out of hand.
“I don’t feel good.” She moaned as loud as she could and held her stomach, which really did hurt.
The door handle turned. “Do you need me to—”
“No!” Louder than she’d intended. “I’m not dressed.” She’d changed into her pajamas right after school.
“Well, get dressed and come say hello. He came all this way.” More silence, then a heavy huff, then footsteps fading away down the hall and stairs.
When the sound ceased, Valorie climbed out of bed and set Mulligan, the stuffed bear with the little bell around his neck, against the bedroom door. Of course, she wouldn’t need the bear’s warnings if her parents had installed the lock she’d asked for ages ago. Oh, how many problems that would have solved!
For the past few weeks, she would lie awake in her bed for hours after turning out the light, not letting herself sleep until the house grew quiet. That morning her parents told her they‘d invited Milt over for her birthday dinner, over her protests. When they asked why, in their permanent state of clueless surprise, she couldn’t tell them. Not without TELLING them.
Which she couldn’t do. Milt had forced her to promise not to tell and warned her of what would happen to her if she ever broke that promise. Terrible, horrible things. Worse, even, than what he’d already done.
Uncle Val said he’d help her with that. He had to work until eight o’clock, but promised to stop by for dessert. By then, she’d feel better. Not until. And if he saw Milt there, maybe he’d arrest him this time.
She turned out the light and closed her eyes. She needed her strength for when Uncle Val arrived.
The sound of clinking plates, voices, and laughter told her they’d sat down to dinner. Later the television came on, and every so often, somebody laughed—most often, Dad or Uncle Milt. After another hour, the phone rang. A loud, dull thud of the front door closing sounded a few minutes later. Hope rose in her chest. Uncle Val had arrived early!
More footsteps, this time getting closer. Then Mulligan’s bell rang. Valorie’s eyes sprang open. The door swung wide—
“Are you feeling any better?” Mom sat on the end of the bed. The aroma of whiskey or something equally foul wafted over her.
“My stomach still hurts.” She held her breath. Mom wore so much perfume these days to cover the stench of the whiskey, but it didn’t work. It all just smelled stronger and more terrible. “Is Uncle Val here?”
“No, dear. He got held up at work. There’s some sort of problem at a shopping center. But he promised to swing by soon.”
Valorie sat up onto her elbows. “I thought I heard the front door.”
“Uncle Milt had to leave. He was very disappointed that you didn’t come downstairs.” Mom swayed from her perch on the bed. “He asked that you wait to open his present until he could be here.”
“Pfft.” Valorie lay back down, shutting her eyes again. Hell would freeze over first.
“Now, Valorie.” Mom sighed, and the scent of whiskey filled the air again. She lay a heavy hand on Valorie’s side, as if steadying herself rather than trying to comfort Valorie. “You’ve been so quiet lately.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Mom’s hand stroked her back. Valorie wiggled away. Mom gave her shoulder a little shake. “If something’s bothering you, we need to talk about it.”
Valorie rolled over, facing away from her mother. No. She would not talk about it. Not alone. Maybe not ever. Even thinking about it made her sick to her stomach. Made her insides hurt, and made everything else hurt, too. It was all so confusing. Made her ashamed of herself. What “we’d” done, he said, as if she’d been part of it. She’d let him do it, he said. Pain seared her stomach, and her body heaved, the bile surging up her throat again.
“Valorie, are you going to—”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She huffed into her pillow to stifle the ugly boiling in her gut and absorb the hot tears flowing onto her cheeks.
Mom sighed, her eyes unfocused. She burped, and her body convulsed enough to shake the bed.
“Mom, are you okay?”
Mom jumped up, hand covering her mouth, and rushed out the door. A door slammed. The muted sounds of puking drifted in.
She rolled over, hoping tonight she‘d sleep. With Milt gone, it might be possible.
But not until Uncle Val arrived.
***
Several hours later
Valorie woke up to loud knocking on the bedroom door, her room still pitched in blackness. “Valorie!” Chad shouted. “Let me in. Please!”
She sat up, alarm bells ringing. Chad’s voice sounded raspy, like he’d been crying. But he was sixteen. He hadn’t cried in years. Not even when he’d broken his arm a few weeks back.
“It’s open,” she said and checked to make sure her PJ’s covered everything. To be safe, she pulled the covers up to her chin.
Chad burst through the door and flicked on the overhead light. Tears flooded his red, puffy cheeks. He collapsed at the side of the bed, but flung an arm over her. “Oh, my God, Valorie,” he said. “It’s horrible, horrible!”
“What’s horrible? Chad, what’s happened?” Tears welled up in her eyes. She’d never seen her brother like this.
“It’s Uncle Val,” he said between sobs. “He was at the shopping mall—there was a shooter—he tried to—and then they—oh, shit, it’s horrible!” He broke into sobs again, and he clutched her in a tight hug.
Her heart pounded and fear gripped her. “What, Chad? What happened? Was he hurt?” Tears splashed her cheeks. Movement over his shoulder drew her attention. Dad stood in the doorway of her room, his face as white as Mulligan’s belly. Tears lined his stubbly face.
“Did Chad tell you?” Dad asked in a raspy voice.
“He hasn’t been able to,” Valorie said, holding her brother‘s shaking body. “What is it?”
“Your Uncle’s been shot,” Dad said. “A mass shooting at the mall.”
Valorie burst into sobs, matching Chad’s intensity. Her heart ripped in half, her chest heaving, and dizziness enveloped her. Not Uncle Val. Please God, no. “Is...will he be all right?”
Fresh tears flowed over Dad‘s face, and his body collapsed against the door frame. His gaze dropped to his feet, and he wagged his head. “No, honey,” he said in a whisper. “He’s...he’s gone.”
***
Chad’s voice jarred Val back to the present. “So, happy ten-year suck-a-versary.” He’d coined the phrase on her fourteenth birthday in solidarity with her not-celebrating and reprised the term every year. “How’s life at 23?”
He laughed, and she tried to chuckle along, but as always, no humor would come. Not about that. Still, Chad meant well.
Val cleared her throat. “Beats being dead, I guess. Anyway, I only have a few minutes left on my break, so...”
“I’m sorry about your partner getting shot,” he said after a brief pause. “Is he going to be okay?”
She drew in a slow breath. It hadn’t occurred to her that Gil had gotten shot on the ten-year anniversary of Uncle Val’s death, almost to the day. Her heart grew even heavier, her voice tight. “We think so,” she said. “If by okay you mean not being able to walk and having to eat and breathe through tubes. Yeah, he’s rocking this getting shot thing.”
“Okay, Miss Grumpy.” Chad’s heavy sigh sounded in her ear. “So, Val, are you okay?” he asked. “The papers didn’t mention any other injuries, and nobody called, so—”
“A few cuts and bruises, and deeply hurt feelings,” she said. “He got shot trying to protect me, so, I guess I also have some guilt over it.” What an understatement. Val shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut to force back tears. “How are Kendra and Ali?”
“That’s the other reason I called. Ali insists that we invite you for Christmas. Kendra and I would love it too,” he said, his words rushed. “Can you make it?”
She thought about it. Seeing Ali would lift her spirits, as would seeing Chad and Kendra. But there was something else she had to ask, somehow, without coming across as an ungrateful jerk. Maybe he’d just volunteer the information, if she waited...
After ten seconds of silence, she sighed and summoned her courage. “Will Dad be there?” she asked, her voice weak.
“He...hasn’t answered my invitation,” Chad said. “He no-showed the past few years. I’m not sure he’s been sober enough to drive, or even realize Christmas is coming.”
“That’s kind of important to know,” she said.
“I know. I just don’t have an answer for you.”
Val tapped her pen on the desk, thinking. “I’ll make it to your house at some point,” she said. “When he’s not there.”
“Fine.” Chad sounded frustrated, but too bad.
“So. What do you want in your stockings? And by you, I mean Dar and Ali.” She laughed. “You get coal, as always.”
“Awesome. I bought energy stocks.” Chad laughed again. Good. “Let’s see. Kendra, as always, asks for donations to the homeless shelter in lieu of gifts, which I will again ignore. Dar’s too young to care, but Ali’s in full Auntie-Val-worship mode, so anything cop-related for her. She has a uniform and toy gun, all that crap, already. She’d love something ‘authentic’. Like a police radio, or a remote-control cop car.”
The hairs on Val’s neck bristled. “Kendra’s okay with that?” she said. “Last time I was there, she made it clear she’d hoped Ali would grow out of this cop fantasy.”
Chad sighed. “Me, too. But it would break Ali’s little heart if we didn’t let you do something ‘coppy’. But no guns, okay?”
“In light of recent events,” Val said, “I’m not a big fan of guns, either.”
Unless the weapon was aimed at Richard Harkins. Especially if she was the one holding it.
Chapter Thirty-One
Val stewed in a cubicle for the next hour, taking phone calls and searching the database for any updates on Harkins. She looked up when a broad figure cast a faint shadow over her desk, expecting to see Pops. Instead, Travis Blake took the guest seat in the cube.
“Talk to me about Gunner,” he said. “That kid a dealer?”
Val searched the vicinity for signs of eavesdropping ears, found none. “I don’t know him well,” she said, “but I’ve never known that to be true. Why do you ask?” She kept her eyes low, not wanting to give her suspicions away.
“He’s got a short rap sheet,” Blake said. “A few petty larcenies, a car break-in, an unregistered gun possession. No drugs. Not even a public intoxication charge. Weird, huh?”
“Yeah, that is weird,” Val said, her heart racing. Her first day with a new partner and already she didn’t trust him.
“And,” Blake said, “nothing in the last six months. Kid was a week away from getting off probation. Now he’s looking at two-to-five for what, a bag of weed? That add up to you?”
She shrugged. “None of what these perps do makes sense.” Her face burned. She realized what Travis was after. Could she do it? Bust her own partner?
“Did you see Pops find the evidence?” Blake asked.
“I was still inside,” Val said, shaking her head.
“That’s right,” Blake said. “You saw the kid pay for the butts. Weird, huh? He’s nearly broke, had four buddies with him, and could have overpowered the old man in two seconds. Yet he counts out exact change to buy smokes for the whole group.”
She opened her mouth to speak, had nothing.
“And guess what? His attorney finds it strange, too. Did you know that The Disciples keep a lawyer on retainer? She didn’t get four feet inside the building before claiming the evidence was planted.”
Val met Blake’s eyes, saw the anger there. The disgust. The hope. Or was that her, projecting onto him? “Have you checked the baggie for prints?”
“It’s in the lab,” Blake said. “What do you expect we’ll find?”
“Not much,” she said, still meeting Blake’s gaze. “You might ask them to weigh it, too. It looked small—less than an ounce. Maybe we shouldn’t charge him for intent. Maybe simple possession.”
“Now you sound like his lawyer,” Blake said with a half-smile. He leaned closer. “Keep an eye on Pops, would you? Give me a heads-up if anything else strikes you as, ah, funny.” He nodded once and patted her arm.
She steeled herself at his touch, fought hard not to pull away. “I will.”
“And, Dawes? We never talked.” He stood, turned—
And nearly bumped into Alex Papadopoulos, walking into her cubicle.
“What’s up?” Pops glanced from Blake to Val. “What are you guys talking about in such low voices? You two making out in here?” He guffawed and slapped Blake on the back. “You dog.”
Blake glowered at Pops, then said to Val, “Give my best to Gil next time you visit.” Blake strolled off, rounding the corner without so much as a glance back.
“Let’s roll,” Pops said. “Lots of criminals to go catch.”
“Let‘s walk for a while,” Val said as they approached the car. “I can introduce you to some people.”
“Nah, too cold out.” Pops shivered, zipped up his jacket, and got in on the driver’s side.
“Mind if I drive, then?” she said, but Pops closed the door as if he hadn’t heard.
Val climbed in the passenger‘s side. “What was that crack about back there about me and Travis?” she said with an edge to her voice.
