Tough Love (20 page)

“"Silent night, holy night …...”"

Her voice was sweet and child-like. It was nowhere near Christmas, but the sentiment was timeless. Rhetta warmed a little, admitting to herself how afraid she had been, now that she was home safe and sound. Jeannie was calming down, and Rhetta hoped she could reason with her.

“"Here,”" Rhetta said, handing her the clothes.

“"Thanks.”" Jeannie hesitated, and Rhetta looked away. “"I’'m ne’'er be warm again …...”" She fumbled with the clothes, taking so long to dress Rhetta was afraid the coffee would get cold.

“"Okay,”" Jeannie announced.

Rhetta held out the cup. “"I didn’'t know if you took cream or sugar, so I gave you both.”"

“"Yeah. Thanks.”" Jeannie gazed into the milky coffee as if she could read her fortune there. “"Thanks, Miz Rodriguez.”"

Rhetta sat down beside her in the straw. Jeannie smelled horrible. Her hands shook as she wrapped them around the cup. Her tattoos had tattoos. Rhetta had almost gotten a tattoo the night they’'d busted that serial rapist, but cooler heads—--and the sight of that needle-had prevailed.

“"I don’'t know why y’'all are being so nice to me,”" Jeannie whispered. Then she started to cry again. “"My tooth is loose. He hit me so hard.”"

“"He’'ll never hit you again,”" Rhetta swore.

“"He’'s not a bad man. He jus’' gets stressed out.”"

Rhetta closed her eyes against the stench and embraced the poor, lost woman. Lost soul.

“"Jeannie, listen to me. Men like that, men who hit, that’'s not love. That’'s not someone who is sharing anything but pain with you.”"

“"But …... but pain’'s something. ’'S something.”" Jeannie seemed to hear herself. She pulled back her head and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

“"Once you’'re sobered up, we’'ll find you a safe haven. There are places he won’'t be able to find you.”" Maybe they could put her in protective custody. Hardly anyone got that kind of treatment—--it was too expensive for the department—--but Jeannie might prove to be a material witness. Maybe a shelter was the best idea anyway—--it was, by definition, a safe house.

“"They’'re full,”" Jeannie said. “"And—--and I don’' like women. Try a steal your man. Ever’'body wanted Hunter. Always tryin’' …... some of them got what they wanted …... bitches.”"

She sniffled. “"He said I’'m too fat. If I lost weight …...”"

Rhetta stroked her hair and adjusted the blanket. “"He’'s lying to you. If you lose the weight, he’'ll find something else that’'s wrong with you. Some other reason that he can be unfaithful.”"

Jeannie drank her coffee. Rhetta wondered when the last time was that she’'d eaten. Fat? She was rail-thin.

“"He don’'t need a reason. He can …... the Sons have a heavy burden to bear and sometimes they need …...”" Her shoulders slumped; she imploded. “"He gimme …...”"

“"What?”" Rhetta took the empty coffee cup from her and wiped a drop of coffee from the corner of her mouth.

“"I’'s runaway,”" Jeannie murmured. “"No food. I was sick. He took me in.”" She covered her mouth. “"Married me.”" She was trembling. “"I’'m gonna barf again.”"

Jeannie covered her mouth and leaned over into the straw. Rhetta reached over and held her head, the way she’'d held her kids’' when they were sick; or Grace, when she was just too drunk to function. Jeannie cried and threw up; cried and threw up.

Rhetta started singing to her: “"Silent night, holy night …...”"

    In Grace’'s house, Earl paced. Gus watched, whimpering. He hadn’'t touched his supper.

“"I’'m worried about her, too,”" Earl told Gus. “"Her chosen profession is just so dangerous. You’'d think that the martyrs would be the easy ones, but God can call them in the blink of an eye and then where are you? Up the creek without a paddle.”"

Gus moaned. Earl bent over and gave him a head rub, which became a belly rub.

“"No, I don’'t think God will call her home tonight,”" he said. But after the fact, he realized that that was a kind lie. He was plenty worried about her, out there in the line of fire. As Leon Cooley’'s last-chance angel, Earl had been prepared—--he’'d watched all Leon’'s legal appeals run out; his request for clemency was denied; then Leon made peace with his god, who was Allah. Leon Cooley went to meet his Maker in the literal sense of the word. With a full heart, too. A good death.

But Grace? She hadn’'t made her peace. And he wasn’'t sure she ever would.

CHAPTER          FIFTEEN

There were more bullets—--a huge damn hailstorm of them—--but it was over quickly. No reason to wonder why: There were more cops on the street than people who lived in the Sixty-Sixes’' neighborhood. Once they were clear, Tac’'s van pulled up and they hustled Grace, Butch, and their three evacuees inside. Soon they were joined by half a dozen cops in body armor, including Ham. He sat down next to Grace as the van trundled away from the carnage: three officers wounded, none critically; two Sixty-Sixes off to the hospital, and seven arrested.

Jamal was not among the gangbangers in the sweep. Either he’'d gotten away during the chaos, or he’'d never been there in the first place.

“"Where were you going?”" Ham asked her, flashing Butch a sour look that spoke volumes: And why were you with him?

“"I was worried about Jamal,”" she said. “"Was this thing planned?”"

“"If it was, I wasn’'t in on it, until I heard you two had been shot at. Through Dispatch.”" He took off his helmet and ran his hand through his hair. “"Why didn’'t you call me? I’'m your partner.”" Not Butch.

“"I ran into Butch at Tacoville,”" she said. “"I couldn’'t sleep.”"

“"Well, I wasn’'t asleep,”" Ham groused. “"I was home watching the game.”"

Butch looked on impassively. There was a time the two men would have butted heads over Grace-literally—--but Butch had moved on. Thank God.

“"I wanted to give you the night off,”" she shot back evenly. Okay, maybe it had been kind of thoughtless of her to take a drive with Butch but shit, they were on the same squad and it wasn’'t like she and Ham were married. Much as Ham wished that were the case …...

“"Did anyone find my phone?”" she asked. To cops, losing a cell phone was third on the list of important things: The badge was first, and then the gun. She’'d called Jamal’'s former employer on that phone. Jamal’'s disconnected cell phone number. Connect enough dots and he was easily outted as a CI if that phone fell into the wrong hands.

“"Not so far,”" Ham told her.

“"I have to poop,”" Grace’'s rescued homeless lady announced.

“"I want some string cheese,”" Butch’'s old guy added. He smiled brightly at Butch. “"Can we have string cheese?”"

Ham was looking at his phone. “"Rhetta called me.”"

Grace held out her hand. “"I need to reach her, man.”"

He handed her the phone. It was damn clear that she wasn’'t yet forgiven. Hell with him.

“"Yes, Ham,”" Rhetta said softly.

“"Where the hell are you?”" Grace demanded.

“"I’'m in my barn,”" she said. “"Jeannie Johnson’'s here. She’'s asleep. Or unconscious.”"

“"Damn it, Rhetta,”" Grace said.

“"She called me. I called you but I couldn’'t reach you. So I picked her up. I know. I know. I did try to call you.”"

“"I’'m coming out there,”" Grace said.

“"She doesn’'t like you.”"

“"I don’'t care.”" Grace yawned. She was exhausted. And she had to file a mountain of paperwork and do something with her homeless people.

“"Give her a few hours,”" Rhetta requested. “"He beat her up. She was drunk and high and soaking wet, Grace.”"

“"Sounds to me like you’'ve adopted a new puppy.”" Grace squinted at her own puppies. That old lady was beginning to strain …...

“"No,”" Rhetta assured her. “"Maybe a little.”"

“"She shacked up with a racist bigot who might have murdered three people.”"

“"She had no choice.”"

“"There’'s always a choice,”" Grace said. “"Rhetta …... you’'re just too soft.”" She smiled a little, remembering the awesome prank they’'d pulled on Butch. She couldn’'t even remember the origin of the prank, just that it was good. “"You should take Viagra.”"

“"No, Ronnie should,”" Rhetta said. She sucked in her breath. “"You didn’'t hear me say that.”"

“"You’'re right. I didn’'t. Okay, let her sleep it off and I’'ll come by in a little while.”"

“"I’'ll make you a great breakfast,”" Rhetta promised.

“"And lots of strong coffee.”"

“"Promise. I love you, Grace.”"

“"Love you too, Rhetta. Watch her. She might be belligerent when she wakes up.”"

“"I will. See you soon.”"

    “"See, that’'s where you lose me,”" Earl said to Grace, after she came out of the bathroom in her pajamas and bathrobe. It was three a.m., and she was finally coming down off her rush. He handed her some mint tea. She scoffed at him …... and then she took it.

He looked around at her messy living room and picked up one of her many empty bottles of Jack. “"No one’'s forcing you to live like this. You choose to.”"

“"Yeah, so?”" She lit a cigarette.

“"You humans deliberately do things that are harmful to you. And you know it. And you do them anyway. Why is that?”"

She blew out some smoke. “"I don’'t know, Earl. You tell me.”"

“"We’'re all confused. The other last-chance angels and me.”"

She walked into the kitchen. She was starving. “"Then maybe you’'re in the wrong line of work.”" She opened the fridge and looked in. No one had magically gone to the grocery store.

“"You want to play truth or dare?”" she asked him. “"Loser goes to Johnnie’'s to get some Thetas and onion rings?”"

“"I think there’'s a covered dish on the second shelf,”" he ventured.

She looked. There was indeed, a white ceramic dish with an opaque green lid. She gave him a look and took it out of the fridge. “"Did you make something for me?”" She cocked her head. “"Just now?”"

“"No, it’'s some nacho cheese dip you made the other night, remember?”"

“"Oh, God, right.”" She pulled it out, took off the lid, stirred the contents, and stuck it in the microwave. Then she pulled a fresh bag of chips out of the pantry and tore them open.

“"So Jamal’'s still safe,”" he said.

“"I wouldn’'t know.”" She grabbed a handful of chips. “"Would you, Earl?”"

“"Well, he didn’'t die at the OK Corral, anyways. What was that all about?”"

“"Not a damn clue,”" she groused. “"I think the mayor is possessed by Satan. What about you?”"

“"I’'m not possessed by Satan.”" He ducked as she mugged throwing a chip at him. “"He does seem to have some issues. The mayor, I mean.”"

“"If this doesn’'t get him impeached, it sure as hell won’'t get him reelected.”"

The microwave dinged. She grabbed the cheese dip and the bag of chips and sat down on the couch. Earl joined her. She set the dish on the coffee table. She hated not having her phone. Sighing, she got back up and checked the messages on her landline. There were a lot—--a couple from Rhetta, looking for her earlier in the evening; then one from each Hanadarko, including her mother, checking in with her after they’'d heard about the rumble. Paige added that she was serious about getting a gun. Three messages from Ham, sounding worried and angry; and the last one was from Clay, who wanted to know if she’'d made any progress in her search for Forrest.

She flopped back down and opened Malcolm’'s case file. “"I should have gotten a beer while I was up.”"

“"I’'ll get you one.”" Earl went into the kitchen. “"I was watching the news. There’'s a prayer vigil for that little boy.”"

“"What is it with you, Earl?”" she asked him. “"Is this like some kind of religious game show or something? I say the word prayer or I pray, and you get some kind of prize? Or I get slimed?”"

“"You’'ve already got the prize, Grace,”" he said, handing her a beer. “"You just need to see it.”"

“"The only prize I want is the name of the shithead who killed this little boy.”" She crammed a dripping nacho in her mouth and chased it with beer. “"And Haleem, and Ajax.”"

“"Ajax is Chris Jones.”" Earl scooped up cheese sauce and closed his eyes as he savored the taste.

“"Whatever, man.”"

“"I prefer to call him by his Christian name.”"

“"Why? Did you know him? Was he a Christian?”" Grace stared at a video grab of the van with Syndee Barlett’'s sign on it. Studying every pixel, she tried to find something that would set it apart from any other white van. She got up and grabbed her sewing glasses, put them on, kept staring. Was that some kind of decoration on the dashboard?

She read through the forensics reports. There was no mention of anything on the dash. Squinting, she stared harder; then she reached under a pile of magazines and found a magnifying glass. It was a white blob. No, shit, it was a rosary, hanging from the rearview mirror.

She paged through the file. Yeah, there it was on the report, described as dangling cross. But hell, she was a Catholic, even if she was a lapsed one: That sucker was a rosary, with all the beads.

Earl was looking over her shoulder. “"Wonder if anybody in that van copped to murder during confession with their spiritual counselor,”" she said.

“"Might be a lead.”" He took another chip. She had learned long ago that he wasn’'t trying to hint, or throw out some kind of mystical clue about her case. He was very consistent with separating his business from hers—--she was about justice and he was about keeping her from going to hell.

“"Ham and me, we’'re going to talk to Father Alan and the rest of the staff tomorrow.”"

“"He must be dancing a jig.”"

“"Who, Father Alan?”" Grace asked.

“"No. God.”"

She frowned. “"You said I never had to set foot in a Catholic church again.”"

“"Guess I was wrong.”" He grinned at her.

She was miffed. “"You said I could go to a mosque or a temple, or the desert—--”"

“"And all that’'s true. But tomorrow, you got to go to a Catholic church.”"

She eyed him. “"So I can solve my case?”"

“"So you can do the next right thing.”"

“"There’'s a list?”"

“"You tell me.”" He listened. “"Gotta go to Montreal.”"

“"Montreal? That’'s new.”"

“"Only to you.”"