Superbia (Book One of the Superbia Series) (22 page)

There were five
folded letters sitting on the desk in front of the body.
 
The first said
To My Beloved Children.
 
The
second said
To My Wife.
 
The third,
To Frank
and the fourth,
To Aprille
.
And finally,
To the Lying Sacks of Shit
that Run this Police Department and Everyone Else in It.

Frank picked up
the letter written to him and was about to read it when he crushed up the page
in his hands.
 
He grabbed the rest of the
letters and crumpled them up, trying to catch his breath enough to curse and
scream but all that came out of his mouth were muted bursts of anguish and
spittle.
 

“No,” he
whispered.
 
“God damn you.
 
Not like this.”
 
  

He stuffed all of
the letters into his pockets and picked up Vic’s gun.
 
There was a round in the chamber.
 
Frank dropped the magazine and racked the
slide, keeping it in the locked back position as he laid it down.
 
He grabbed Vic by the shoulders and rolled
him out of the chair, letting him fall on the ground, then he rolled him onto
his back and ripped open his shirt.
 

Frank spun around
the office, looking everywhere.
 
He
rummaged through the drawers of his desk until he found a gun cleaning
kit.
 
He unsnapped the lid and threw
pieces of dirty cloth across the desk and unscrewed the cap to a bottle of cleaning
solvent.
 
He splashed the fluid across
Vic’s computer keyboard and turned it sideways on the desk, watching the rest
of the bottle drip onto the floor.
 
  

He bent over
Vic’s body and scrubbed his hands in the clotted blood around the dark hole in
Vic’s chest.
 
He smeared the blood all
over his arms and face, then started pumping Vic’s chest several times until
fresh blood squirted out of the bullet hole.
 
Frank kept pumping until the blood stopped bubbling through the hole,
then lifted his head and screamed for help.
 

***

“I don’t really
remember,” Frank said.
 
He was sitting in
the interview room with his sleeves rolled up, his arms still covered in Vic’s
blood.
 

Two County
Detectives from the District Attorney’s Office sat across the table from
him.
 
An older man and a woman.
 
Frank had never seen them before.
 
“It’s okay,” the woman said.
 
“Just do your best.”

“I came
downstairs and saw him slumped over in his chair.
 
I must have panicked and tried to give him
CPR.
 
I remember pumping on his chest and
all this blood was coming out.”

“What about the
gun?” the male detective said.
 
“Where
was it?”

“I don’t even
remember seeing it.
 
I’m pretty sure I
didn’t see it or touch it.”
 

The two
detectives looked at one another.
 
The
woman scribbled something on her notepad and said, “What would you normally do
if you found a gun at a crime scene?”

Frank shrugged
and said, “Clear it, I guess.”

“Is there any
chance you reacted like you were trained when you saw Vic’s gun and cleared the
weapon?”

Frank squished
his eyes together and said, “I don’t know.
 
It’s all a blur.”
 
He turned on the
two detectives and said, “Did he kill himself?
 
Jesus, how could he do that?
 
He’s
got a wife and two kids, for Christ’s sakes.
 
What a selfish son of a bitch.”

The male
detective smiled gently and put his hand over Frank’s, “All indications are
that it was accidental, Frank.
 
Just a
horrible, horrible accident.”
 

Frank pulled his
hand back and said, “Did someone tell his wife and kids yet?”

“Your new Chief
sent someone to make the notification,” the woman said.
 
She looked over her shoulder at Erinnyes, who
was hunched over, speaking to the District Attorney.
 
The
bastard already looks ten years older,
Frank thought.
 
Where’s
your smug look now?
 
 

Frank leapt to his
feet and shouted, “I don’t care what you say, Vic Ajax shot himself because of
that fucking asshole!
 
He told me so
himself that he had been waiting five years to kick Vic out of detectives.
 
Congratulations, you fat fuck.
 
Nice first day of command.
 
You killed him!
 
YOU!”

The DA turned to Erinnyes,
who was shaking his head so rapidly his jowls flapped against his jaw.
 
The two County Detectives were on their feet
yelling at Frank to calm down, to take his seat, but Frank kept hollering,
“This police department lied to that man for five fucking years and your stupid
ass killed him.
 
Somebody get me a
reporter!
 
I want a fucking reporter
right now!”

WINTER

15.
 
It was January.

The sign marked
Lethe Rehabilitation Center was covered in snow and icicles hung from it like
stalactites.
 
He drove past the sign and
parked in the visitor’s area.
 
Nurses in
heavy coats smoked outside of the building, wearing thick white nylons and
sneakers.
  

He walked through
the front door and went up to the desk, reaching into his pocket.
 
“Can I help you?” the woman said.
 

He showed her his
gold badge and said, “I know you aren’t supposed to let anyone in, or even
confirm that someone is a patient here, but I need to speak with one of your
patients in reference to an investigation.
 
Her name is Aprille Macariah.”

The woman picked
up a phone and said, “And your name is?”

“Dez Dolos.”
 

The woman held up
her finger as the phone rang.
 
“I have a
visitor at the front desk.
 
He says he’s
here on official business.”
 
A pause.
 
“Dez Dolos.”
 
The woman hung up the phone and said, “You can go up after you sign the
visitor’s log, Mr. Dolos.”

Frank smiled at
her and thanked her as he bent to sign.
 

He waited for the
elevator to ding and as the doors opened, he found a hallway that was much like
a hotel floor.
 
He walked past the rooms
until he found the one he was looking for and rapped gently on the door.
 

Aprille was
smiling as she opened the door, still young, still pretty, but with bags under
her eyes.
 
The smile faded when she saw
Frank.
 
“You lying son of a bitch,” she
said.
 

“Sorry,” Frank
said.
 
“I didn’t think you’d let me in.”

She walked back
into her apartment, leaving the door open.
 
“Probably not.
 
It’s O’Ryan,
right?” she said.
 

“That’s
right.”
 
He closed the door behind him
and followed her into a small living room with a worn couch and sitting
chair.
 
“This place looks pretty good,”
he said.
 
“I thought it would be a
hospital.”

“It is, when you
first get here.
 
People who graduate from
the first floor get moved up here in an effort to re-acclimate them to living
on their own.”

“I guess I should
say congratulations, then.”

Aprille laughed
harshly, “Yeah.
 
Big whoop.
 
I am almost able to make it a few days on my
own without snorting up a dozen bags of heroin.
 
I can’t believe how excited I got when I thought you were Dez.
 
That probably set me back another six months,
you asshole.”
 

Frank scratched
his head and said, “I’ve met the guy a few times.
 
Forgive me for saying it, but I just don’t
see it.
 
To each their own, I guess.”

“Actually, I
thought he was here to talk about Vic.
 
Not one person came to see me, not one letter, not one single
communication.
 
If I hadn’t read it in
the newspaper, I’d never have known.”

“No offense, but
you kind of put yourself off the radar,” Frank said.
 
“I had a hell of a time tracking you down.”

“So what are you
doing here, anyway?” she said.
 
She
smiled suddenly and said, “I get it. You are Erinnyes’s new bitch now that he’s
Chief and Vic is out of the way.
 
You
came to officially notify me that I am fired, right?
 
Is that right, delivery boy?”

Frank smiled back
at her and said, “You got the delivery boy part right.”
 
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a
folded letter bearing her name.
 
“This is
for you.
 
I’m going to let you read it one
time, and then I’m going to take it back and destroy it.
 
If anyone asks you about the letter, or if I
was even here, you are to deny it.
 
Are
my terms clear?”

Aprille folded
her arms over her lap, unfolded them, and then crossed her legs as she tried to
work up a response.
 
“Excuse me?
 
Who the fuck are you, again?”

He had the letter
pinched between his two fingers.
 
“Yes or
no?
 
I’m leaving in five minutes either
way.”

She reached out
for the letter and said, “Okay, tough guy.
 
Anything you say.”

Frank handed it
to her and sat back, folding his hands in his lap as she opened the pages and pressed
her hand against her face.
 
He already
knew what her letter said.
 
He’d committed
it to memory.
 
Tears spilled down her
face and she looked away several times, unable to go on until she wiped her
eyes and was able to compose herself enough to continue.
 

Aprille folded
the letter up carefully, taking a moment to look at the writing on the first
page that spelled out her name.
 
She
handed Frank the pages and said, “Thank you for letting me see this.
 
I knew it wasn’t an accident.
 
There was no way.”
 

Frank stuck the
letter in his pocket and stood up.
 
“When
you are ready, if you are ever ready, give me a call.
 
I could use a hand from someone I can trust.”

Aprille laughed
harshly.
 
“And what makes you think you
can trust me?”

“Because he
did.”
 

She stopped
laughing and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
 
“I can’t think of one good reason for me to
ever go back there.
 
Especially now.”
 

“What about for revenge?”
 
He reached into his coat’s inner pocket and
removed the photograph of her and Vic, kneeling over the stack of cocaine
kilos.
 
“I thought you might want this.
 
It’s the only photograph of Vic I have.
 
If you think it belongs in the station, come
back and put it up yourself.
 
Once that
happens, I’ll tell you my plan.”

***

Frank left the
rehab and got into his unmarked police car.
 
He turned his cellphone back on and saw that there were two missed messages.
 
The first, sent from the patrol supervisor’s
cellphone: C
omplainant on station asking
to speak to a Detective.
 
Advise your ETA.
 
Chief E. is freaking out.
 

The second was
from Dez:
Yo, Frankie!
 
Surveillance detail tonight. Meet up at the
Yard.

It was
winter.
 

Fresh snow
covered up the cars and streets and buildings and ground in blankets of
white.
 
Covering up the grime.
 
Making everything temporarily pure.
 

Frank pulled out
the letter bearing his name and opened it one final time.
 

Dear Frank:

I am sorry.
 
There, I said it.

Vic

He pulled out his
phone and dialed a number, listening to it ring.
 

“Hello?”

“Dad.
 
It’s me.”

“Hey, Frank.
 
Everything okay?”

“Yeah.
 
I wanted to come over tonight.
 
We need to talk.”

“What about?”

“A few
things.
 
Mainly, the Truth Rabbit.”

There was a nervous
laugh on the other end of the line, and Frank’s father said, “Bring a six-pack
for that conversation.
 
Actually, bring two.”

Frank hung up the
phone and drove onto the highway, turning his windshield wipers up as high as
they would go.
 
The sun was melting
everything on the street into a soup of dirty slush.
 
The phone buzzed again with another message
from the station and Frank tossed it into the backseat without looking.
 
He drove slow.
 
No need to rush.
 
I’m
going to walk down this hill and screw you all
.