After the Evil – A Jake Roberts Novel (Book 1) (24 page)

For some strange, mystical, illogical reason, I pull
up in front of Chipper’s place, alone. I remember Chipper’s
warning, and I must be out of my mind. I guess that happens when
you just don’t care anymore. My feet completely disregard the
warnings from my brain, and I resolutely march toward the front
door. Beneath Chipper’s sign, I come face to face with several of
the brothers who are understandably irritated, and in shock.

“You got a death wish?” one says.

I must have, because I’m outnumbered and outgunned.
An Uzi is brought up under my chin. I’m forced into a stare down
with the brother holding the weapon, until I hear a familiar
voice.

“You gots to be one dumb muthafucker!”

The words provide a temporary reprieve from an early
demise, because the triggerman looks at Chipper. The big man
prevents my impending death, not out of respect for the badge, or
love for me, but because of his curiosity. He wants the answer
before I’m executed. I look at the muzzle first then at the man
behind the weapon.

“You have the right to remain silent.”

Roaring with laughter, Chipper rotates his
three-hundred-pound-plus frame. He starts banging the wall hard
with his meaty fist as he gasps for air to replace the
laughter.

“You are one crazy sonabitch. Come here.”

My right hand rises up and nudges the Uzi away. The
disappointed look on the brother’s face says that in another place,
and at another time, I can plan on a rematch. Like Moses parting
the Red Sea, I make my way to Chipper. He throws an arm around me,
and leads all of us inside. At his table, he kicks out a chair
indicating I should sit. I accept his invitation and do exactly as
I’m told. As he wipes tears of laughter from his eyes, Chipper gets
back to business.

“Whatchu doin’ back here, man? I told you the last
time not to come back. Either you’re deaf, or jus’ stupid, I don’t
know which.”

He sizes me up. He shifts his massive frame in his
chair. He raises his empty glass. A full glass replaced it. The
woman who sits to his right wipes his brow and strokes his
baldhead. It occurs to me, I would pay money to see Chipper and
Harmon in a wrestling match.

“But I jus’ gots to know, crazy man, what the hell
are you doin’ here?”

My head bobs. I smirk. After a few shakes of my
empty cranium, I respond.

“A woman.”

“Getouttahere, I knew it! You ain’t jivin’ me are
you?”

“No jive.”

“Damn, how many times that story been told,” he
says.

I force a grin. I don’t understand why I’m speaking
to him like we’re best friends. Then again, he is the only one
interested in my sad story.

“I need to fall into a deep, deep hole...and
drown.”

The intensity in my eyes backs me up.

“I know dat’s right,” he says.

He looks around the interior of the bar at his
contemporaries who are stunned by his taking me under his wing. The
look is enough to convince them to go back to what they were doing,
which they do with disregard for the fact I’m an officer of the
law. Illicit business transactions take place. The jukebox cranks
back up, and booms base lines against the interior walls as some
nasty rap lyrics talk about killing white folks. The air is heavy
with smoke. Chipper signals and a stiffer drink is placed in front
of me. I can tell it’s strong by the smell. A few of these and I’ll
be stiff, which is what I’m here for. It also happens to be the
best money could buy. To my surprise, it’s on the house. I knock it
back and as the alcohol slithers into my blood stream, I go into a
form of temporary cardiac arrest. It feels as if my eyes are
rolling back. I try to stay sitting up.

“So, what is your story, crazy man? I like sad,
sentimental stories, they make me cry,” he says.

Chipper laughs so loud, I can’t hear the music any
longer then he settles back into his chair, hands tented, and waits
patiently for my answer. My glass has been replaced with a full
one, again. I don’t even notice how, or when it arrived. Just as I
open my mouth to answer, Chipper has a major revelation.

“Hey, you’re the cop I saw on the news, you and that
serial killer guy!”

He snaps his fingers. He also says it as if he
doesn’t have a list of his own victims to claim. I don’t understand
why I’m friendly with Chipper the serial killer, and not with Gates
the serial killer. It’s probably because Chipper didn’t murder my
friend.

“Blew the mutha away, and you’ve got lady problems,
too? Hey bro, your life sucks.”

The man said a mouthful. After telling the amused
Chipper the highlights, or rather the lowlights of my life, my day
ends face down on the table in an alcohol-induced, deep sleep.

* * *

She held the frame with the picture of her beautiful
Emily smiling back at her frozen in her sixteenth year. The
photograph was taken the day before the suicide. It was the last
happy moment they had together. It was the last happy memory Lori
had. She hoped that would have changed with Jake.

I’m glad you made him leave, mommy.

Lori shrugged then the other voice broke into their
conversation.

He’s trouble, just like all of the rest. They hurt
and beat, and you suffer. They all have to die.

She answered aloud because there was no one left to
hear.

“But I really think he’s different than the others.
He’s caring, gentle and passionate. He would be good for me. He
would take care of me.”

He’ll abuse you. He doesn’t care about your pain. He
wants filthy sex and to control you.

Emily spoke from the photo.

It’s just us, mommy, if it wasn’t for daddy I’d
still be with you.

Tears welled up in Lori’s eyes. The scene of Emily’s
suicide, the note she left, and the funeral all played in her mind.
Watching the mourners throw the dirt on the casket was too much to
bear. Maybe the voices were right, but he
was
different. She
wanted him.

What if he discovers you’re dark secret?

She needed time to think. She had to find a way to
make it work, and a way to silence the voices.

“I love you Emily, but I still need to live my
life.”

Lori picked up the phone and dialed.

“Crew scheduling, Monica.”

“Hi, this is Lori Powers, employee number
zero-zero-three-zero-one. I thought you might have a trip you
needed covered, I’m available.”

“You must be psychic, because I was just trying to
fill an overnight to Boston, interested? It leaves at eleven in the
morning, and will be back by midmorning the next day. Oh wait, I
show you in the computer as out sick.”

“That was earlier, something I ate, but I’m okay
now. I can take that overnight.”

“Great, I’ll show you on the trip.”

Lori listened. The voices were gone. She wandered
out into the living room and listened closely, but she didn’t hear
them anymore. After repositioning the flowers on the table, she saw
the CD Jake had found. She picked it up and replaced it on the
shelf. In her bedroom, where she thought she would be sharing the
night with Jake, she instead gathered her things for the flight.
She had just enough time to pack and get a little sleep.

Boston was a favorite layover of hers. She loved
walking around the city and knew exactly what to pack for. She
could go to the real “Cheers” bar regardless of the fact it didn’t
resemble the set of the famous television show. Another option, if
the temperature were right, would be to get some sun in the park
with the swan boats. She also thought she might stop by one of the
many palm readers to have her fortune told.

Maybe her future still included Jake.

* * *

“Man deserves to get wasted.”

Chipper gave specific orders, like a commander in
the field.

“Call up his partner. You tell the man where he is,
and to come get him now, I can’t have no white, red, or whatever
the hell trash he is, sleeping on my pool table.

He leans over to see if I’m still alive.

“Should have gone into a life of crime, dawg, its
easier. I mean it this time, don’t come back here again.”

After he pats my head, two more brothers hoist me up
and carry me outside. An irreverent toss of my limp body lands me
on the hood of my car. My carcass remains there until Harmon
arrives. Everything stays blurry, until I hear Harmon’s voice,
which startles me halfway back to reality.

“JAKE!”

There is no mistaking the disappointment on his
face, in his eyes, or flying out of his mouth. Before, he would
have taken it in stride. Now, as Chief Inspector he has a very
different viewpoint. Harmon’s voice sounds as if it’s coming from
somewhere inside a very long tunnel. He tells the detective he
brought with him.

“Help me get him in my car. You drive his. We’ll
drop him back at his apartment.”

His arms wave in several directions, stopping long
enough to look at Chipper who offers up a taunting salute. The two
of them exchange a cold glare. I’m not the only one who wants to
see them go at it. The next thing I hear is a car engine start.

It takes me awhile to get my coordinates. The fog
isn’t lifting fast. I squint and press my fingers hard into my
temples. It’s hard to raise my head for some reason.

“Harmon, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Let me drive.”

I start laughing my butt off. I can’t stop. The
brothers watch the pathetic scene, until they can’t watch any
longer. Walking away, they wave us off with middle fingers raised.
Harmon grabs the nape of my neck and shakes me hard. There is no
doubt about it He is in one of moods.

“What was in those drinks?’

“Are you as out of your mind as you want me to
believe?”

“HEY, who asked you to come get me, wasn’t me.”

“No Jake, it wasn’t you, it was your new friend
Chipper. What is wrong with you? What in God’s name are you doing
there in the middle of the night––alone? Dammit, Jake.”

“Investri...grating.”

Harmon is livid. He had finally found a quiet
moment, in a quiet room, to sit and decompress, when he got the
call from one of Chipper’s homies.

“Investigating? Investigating what, how fast a
bullet can travel though your thick skull?”

Too caught up in my own misery and too wasted, I
don’t even realize how much he is hurting. I haven’t been a very
good partner, or a very good friend. Still, he’s here for me. His
tone softens as he props me up inside the car.

“You’ll be okay,” he says.

He patiently listens to my drunken ramblings.

“None of it worked out, man.
None
of it’s
ever going to work. My life is nothing but a waste of carbon and
water.”

My head falls back against the seat then snaps
upright.

“WE’RE ALONE! Do you get that? You, me, EVERYBODY!
Sure, we all share the same space, but inside that space we’re just
ALONE.”

I have an urgent need I haven’t had in many
years.

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the car, I’m going to hurl.”

“Oh no you ain’t, you hold it in. We only have a few
blocks to go.”

“I can’t.”

I reach for the door handle. Harmon stands on the
brakes and swings into the curb. Shoving the door open, I wretch
the contents of my stomach on the pavement. The putrid taste is,
putrid, and encourages another involuntary release. The heaving
helps to reduce the side effects of the alcohol. After I toss the
last of it, my head starts to clear, and I can hold a conversation.
With nothing else available, I wipe my chin on my sleeve.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know, sorry again.”

“No I mean it, I’m sorry. I thought it was going to
work out with Lori.”

“It didn’t work out?”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Sorry man.”

He grabs my arm.

“Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong place, did
you ever think of that?”

“I’ve used them all up my friend, there’s no place
left to look in. I’m telling you man, it’s not out there for
me.”

“Sure it is, the right one has been under your nose
all along. You just don’t see it.”

He’s losing me. I’m having trouble with which way is
up, and he wants me to think? I insist he is wrong.

Harmon parks in front of my apartment. It’s after
3:00 a.m. and I smell bad from my night out at Chipper’s. As I
climb out of the passenger side, my peripheral vision sees my car
pull up behind us, and the headlights go out. I hear a door slam
and footsteps approach. Harmon leans out his window and shouts.

“Give me a minute.”

The footsteps walk away, and in the shadows, a
cigarette is lit. Harmon looks at me from the driver’s seat as I
bend down to say goodnight.

“Jake, I dropped Mika off here hours ago. She’s
inside, and she’s hurting. She needs you.”

He stares straight out the windshield.

“And you my friend, need her.”

I feel stupid. He’s right. What would I do without
Harmon? He waves me on and starts the car. The shadow returns,
smiles, and slips past me into the passenger seat. I acknowledge
his efforts to return my car. They drive off, my partner, and
what’s-his-name. I watch the taillights disappear. It’s time to go
home. The lights are off inside the apartment. She is either
asleep, or waiting in the dark to blind-side me with a blunt
object. God knows I deserve it. I go with asleep, so I try to be as
quiet as I can. I close and lock the front door. I need to clean up
my body, and my act. As I walk through the apartment, I see a trail
of clothing––blouse, bra, pants, panties, stockings, and heels. At
the end of the trail, in my bed, is Mika, out cold.

Who’s been sleeping in my bed?

I know what that is like. It was the same for me
after shooting the girl.

* * *

It happens in steps. The first was staring at the
bottle of barbiturates. Step two required a decision. The third
step involved ingesting them, followed by a down wash of a fifth of
alcohol. Of course, it should be one’s preferred alcohol, since it
would be the last thing you enjoy before step four. The last step,
also known as the final step, was falling asleep and not coming
back to this life, not ever.