Club Justice (15 page)

Lighting up a cigarette, Ginny sat down at the table and raked a hand through her hair as she gathered her thoughts.

“He was already here when I got here. The girls at the front desk said he’d been here for over an hour. Who the hell knows what they talked about! He said that I should be careful of secrets, that they have a bad habit of coming back and biting you in the ass when you least expect it. Then he asked me if you had told me the truth about my brother. What the hell is he talking about, Zeke?”

“How do I know what the rat bastard was babbling about?” Zeke snapped.

“He said to ask you, and something he said sent my mother off the deep end. Don’t you think I have the right to ask if there is some ‘what happens in the sandbox stays in the sandbox’ pact I don’t know about?”

Zeke reined in his temper at the raw hurt in his wife’s voice. It was a fair enough question. If there was anything he didn’t talk about, even with her, it was Kuwait. He shook his head, memories long buried tumbled over one another as he searched for Kramer’s latest knife in the back. They said war is hell. That didn’t even begin to cover the horror he had seen. There were secrets and skeletons he, Sambo, and Bowie would take to their graves. As close as he and Trent had been at home, not being in the same unit, they had seldom run into one another and the relationship had been different.

“Gin, I honestly don’t know what he thinks he has dug up,” he said squatting down in front of her with a sigh. “I know you miss Trent. So do I. If I knew anything I thought would help I would tell you, painful or not.”

Searching his face for a moment, Ginny crumbled. Her tears soaked his t-shirt as he held her close, stroking the back of her head like a child. 

“I’m sorry, baby.”

Pushing back from him, Ginny dug for a tissue. Her struggle to be strong tore at him. Ginny was a fixer, always wanting to make things right. The constant turmoil was taking a toll. He heard the whispers. Kramer was asking questions around town. It was only a matter of time before he asked the right question of the wrong person. The rat wormed doubt into hearts, Zeke saw it in the eyes of his neighbors. What the hell had he done to his family? The nicks from Kramer’s shots were adding up and he wasn’t the only one bleeding.  

Zeke pushed open the door at the terse, “Enter.”

Donovan finished signing the papers in front of him before looking up. Surprise was evident, but he recovered well. Standing to extend his hand, his smile was genuine.

“Good to see you, Zeke. Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks, Dave. It’s good to see you too. Who would’ve ever thought I’d miss this hell hole?”

“Your experience is missed. We are damn green out there,” Donovan said looking over the squad room. 

“I didn’t see McElroy when I came in.”

“He took some vacation time too. Truth be told, I don’t know if he will come back. He’s tired of daycare by day and attending funerals or retirement parties for his peers by night.” 

Zeke nodded, swirling the whiskey Donovan had poured him. Leaning back in his chair, he let his eyes wander to the men and women beyond the blinds. The kid sitting at Jimmy’s desk didn’t look old enough to drink.

“I doubt you came here to reminisce or discuss my problems. What’s on your mind?”

“I need your help, Dave,” Zeke admitted.

Knowing how seldom this man uttered those words, Donovan kept his mouth shut and waited.

“Kramer’s crossed the line. He’s gone beyond being a pain in the ass to harassing and hurting my family. That’s not healthy,” Zeke growled, the threat in his words not lost on someone who had known him as long as Donovan.

“Napoleon has been chafing more than your ass of late. He is finally wearing thin with some of the brass. How about we go grab lunch and you tell me what’s been going on?”

Dusting off her khaki capris, Ginny stood from weeding her flower garden to greet her husband. A smug smile curved her lips admiring his confident swagger. He still did it for her. The sun glinted off the badge at his waist and her stomach flip flopped in schoolgirl excitement before she could even process the fact that it shouldn’t be there. His face gave nothing away.

“You were right. This shit with Kramer has gone too far. I went to talk to Donovan.”

Arms crossed, Ginny waited for him to continue. 

“The shine is wearing off Internal Affair’s golden boy. The brass is starting to see through Kramer’s delusions.”

Her eyes narrowed. Zeke sighed.

“It seems I have to use all my vacation time before I’m eligible for retirement benefits,” he said with a little shrug. “Donovan never signed my retirement papers. It’s like I never left.”

“Is this even open for discussion?”

The tension in her voice and lean form warned of her displeasure. He went for humor.

“Someone’s got to put food on the table.”

And fell flat.

“I’m getting mighty tired of people suggesting I can’t feed my damn family. I swear if you say that in front of the boys…” she left her sentence unfinished, but the threat was plain.

“Baby, the idea of retirement is for you and I to do all the shit that we’ve always wanted to do. We can’t do that until we get the boys raised and out the door. It just makes sense for me to go back to work and sock away as much as I can for our time.”

He could see the wheels turning as she mulled over his attempt at sweet-talking.

“They will close the investigation and let you get back to doing your job instead of playing desk jockey?”

“Donovan said I’d be back on the street and even gave me a little input into who my new partner will be. Not that there’s a lot to choose from. The squad is pretty green. They need my experience.”

“Your sons and I need you alive.”

“I have good life insurance and batteries don’t snore,” Zeke cracked, turning his shoulder into the smack he knew was coming.

“There are a lot of things a plastic toy can’t do that a flesh and blood man can.”

“Do tell,” Zeke rumbled, stepping forward to rest his hands on her hips.

“Hey, Ma, what’s for dinner?” Garrett yelled from the front door, interrupting their play.

Zeke’s look of disgust said it all.

“Go start the grill, stud. The heathens are getting restless,” Ginny said with a smirk.

Ginny fussed around her mother’s bed, plumping pillows and straightening the chenille throw draped over the foot. 

“Talk to me. What did Officer Kramer say that upset you so badly? The man is a pathological liar, mama. He lies to hurt people and see what reaction he can wring from them.”

“He was asking questions about the fire when your father died, Virginia. He knows something,” Lillian said, her voice cracking with emotion.

“What’d you tell him, Mom?”

“Can I have some tea?”

“Of course. What did you tell him when he asked about the fire?”

“I told him the story same as always, but now I’m not sure.”

Ginny’s hands shook a little as she poured the tea.

“Why would you say that, Mom?”  

“It’s his fault, Virginia. He killed your father and as good as killed my Trent. Zeke Brawer’s brought nothing but pain and death to this family.”

Icy claws of fear and pain wrapped around her heart and Ginny fought to speak. 

“Don’t say that.”

“If he’d done his job your brother would still be with us,” Lillian screeched, fresh tears flooding her lined cheeks.

Shaking her head mutely, Ginny covered her mouth. Raw anguish tore at the inside of her throat as she fought the grief that welled at her mother’s words. It wasn’t possible. It was Kramer probing for a soft spot, the weak link. He was trying to turn them against one another with his lies and half-truths.

“Officer Kramer had no reason to lie to me, no way of knowing we didn’t already know. If Zeke’s team would have done their job and cleared the road,” Lillian screamed, clutching at Ginny’s sleeve. “Why couldn’t it have been Zeke?”

The sharp smack of flesh on flesh sounded like a gunshot. Fury radiated from Ginny as she loomed over her mother. Her voice was low, but the words cut through her mother’s hysteria with icy precision.

“If it weren’t for Zeke, we would’ve spent the last twenty years beaten and living in fear; that’s if daddy hadn’t killed us both. He tried to molest me that night. You saw it same as you saw every other time he smacked me around while you cowered in a corner just glad it wasn’t you!” Ginny gripped Lillian’s face as she tried to turn away from the venom in her voice. “No! You look at me and you listen good. A mother is supposed to protect her children. I would die for mine. You were a piss poor role model, but so help me God I love you. Before that same God I am telling you now, if you
ever
open your mouth and slander my husband again…I will kill you myself.” Releasing her with a final squeeze of her cheeks, Ginny glared down at her mother, disgust feeding her anger. Memories of that night flashed in her head and she closed her eyes against the fear they still inspired.

A low, animalistic moan of pain and fury bubbled from deep within her as the heavy boot thudded off her ribs. Blood dribbled down her chin, pooling on the worn linoleum. Ginny flinched under the searing leather strap. Pressing her forehead to the cool floor, she allowed her father’s litany of filth and accusations to wash over her. Another kick grazed off the side of her head, leaving her dazed. Her nails scrabbled futilely against his weathered skin as he hauled her up by her hair and smashed her back against the doorframe. A flash of light exploded behind her eyelids as the back of her head bounced off the stout oak. Only his fist full of chestnut hair kept her upright.

Shaking her head slowly, she fought the tempting pull of unconsciousness. Her mother’s sobs sounded distant now. Genuine fear knotted her stomach at the full press of her father’s body against her own. His hips thrust obscenely. Reeking of whisky and the rot of decaying teeth, his breath fanned her face in harsh pants.

“You want to keep lying to me, little girl? You’ve been out whoring around. You think I don’t know when the library closes? I’ll show you how men treat whores,” he grunted, pawing at the front of her tank top.

“Get…off…me!” She ground out between clenched teeth, shoving at the larger man with all her strength. The feel of her father’s erection prodding her belly button cleared the last of the cobwebs and leant desperation to her struggles. Creating a bit of separation between them, she brought her knee up hard. His eyes flared in surprise. Slowly, he slid down the front of her, fingers clutching weakly, a strangled gurgle rising from his throat.

Stumbling over her father’s prone form, Ginny hit her knees hard. He retched, somewhere finding the breath to curse her. Fear fueled her battered body. Scrambling to her feet, long legs took the stairs three at a time. Reaching her bedroom, she slammed and locked the door. Struggling to catch her breath, she leaned back against the solid wood. Trembling fingers raked through her hair as she tried to gather her thoughts. She needed to buy some time. Putting her back to the dresser she inched the massive antique in front of the door.

Mind whirling, she snatched her brother’s sturdy rucksack from the bottom of the closet and emptied the laundry basket on the bed into it. Shoes and various items of clothing from the closet and dresser were stuffed haphazardly into the bag. Cursing herself for leaving both purse and books down stairs, she dove under the bed. Running fingers over the flooring she located the loose board and pried it up. Retrieving her wooden keepsake box, she slithered free and crammed it into the top of the bulging bag. Her jewelry box and incense stash joined the jumbled contents and she headed for the window.

The wind whipped her hair around her face, blinding her as she slid out onto the roof. Inching her way down the steep incline, Ginny held her breath. Slate came loose, tinkling down the sharp grade to disappear over the edge. She prayed the storm would mask her departure. A muffled yelp broke the darkness as she started to slide. Shooting off the edge of the roof, she franticly rotated her arms in an effort to land on her feet.  A sigh of relief escaped her as she hit the spongy earth, falling forward onto her hands and knees. Snatching up the rucksack she ran. 

She had ended up on Zeke’s doorstep that night, and never left. He had taken care of things then the way he had since. Pressed back into her pillows, Lillian’s face was pale and trembles wracked her thin frame. The fear aged her and yet brought back the woman she had been twenty years ago. Ginny squashed the tiny stab of remorse. Unlike Lillian, she would do whatever it took to protect her family.

Chapter Seventeen

The trashcan skittered across the men’s room, bouncing off a stall door and dislodging the top. Crumpled paper towel littered the floor as the barrel rolled in a crazy circle. Kicking the teetering lid, a snarl of frustration and fury escaped Kramer’s clenched teeth. Swinging wildly, his fist smashed into the towel dispenser leaving it hanging haphazardly from one bracket while he hunched over his throbbing fist.  Cradling the broken appendage to his chest he seethed. The Chief of Police had called him on the carpet like a common miscreant. The moron had criticized his handling of the Brawer case, as good as calling his investigation a personal witch hunt.

The doddering fool couldn’t see beyond the end of his red, bulbous nose. Just another member of the good ol’ boys club, all Chief Shaughnessy wanted was the case closed and Brawer
exonerated!
One of the good guys, a decorated officer and a hard working cop, he had called Brawer. Oh yes, a cop. Brawer was back behind the blue line. It seemed the swaggering anti-hero had caved to departmental pleas, returning to rescue a division decimated by death and retirement. Shaughnessy had lauded Brawer’s years of experience as invaluable with all the fresh blood. 

What was it about Brawer that commanded such trust and respect from those around him? Between his colleagues, fellow soldiers, and even the local town’s people, Kramer had been hard pressed to find anyone willing to say a bad word about him. The general consensus implied he was a blue collar hero; a loyal friend, a good cop, and a devoted family man. None of that meshed with the cold-blooded killer that had gunned down Randall Porter and likely ended Bill Kennedy’s life. Official investigation be damned, he would find a way to prove that.