Saving Room for Dessert (26 page)

“Yeah that scrawny old man. Boo grabbed up his old lady, put her on his shoulder, said he was goin’ carry ’em both home, and
he stuck him. That’s what Boo said anyway.”

They started between the houses. As they passed between the two back porches, Reseta’s right foot shot out from under him
and he went down hard on his right hip and holster.

“Shit!”

“What? What happened? You awright?”

“Aw man. Jesus Christ.”

“What, what?”

“Slipped … dog shit. Awwww, man.”

“What?”

“It’s all over my shoes, my pants, my hand, holster, Jesus—that’s it for these people. Everybody got a dog here’s goin’ to
jail tonight, if I gotta fill out UIRs till tomorrow. Gimme your hand.”

“Not the one with shit on it.”

“Gimme your hand! Where’s my flash? Dropped it. You see it?”

Rayford pulled Reseta up and shone his light around the grass. “There it is. C’mon, let’s go collar this old prick. And watch
your step, shit probably all over here.”

They made it the rest of the way across the backyards without falling and came to the stockadelike wooden fence surrounding
the Scavellis’ backyard.

“Prick turned out all the lights,” Rayford said. “You want the front or the back?”

“I’ll stay here—unless there’s no gate in this fence.”

“Never saw a gate here,” Rayford said, walking up and down the fence, sweeping his flash over it, finding no gate. “Course,
I never been back here before.”

“Hey, no gate, it’s all yours, I’ll take the front.”

“Bullshit too, I ain’t jumpin’ no fence in the dark, uh-uh.”

“So how’d he get inside then?”

“Who said he’s inside? Went alongside the fence probably. C’mon.” Rayford led the way to the end of the fence, then turned
down the narrow bricked walk alongside the Hlebecs’ house.

“These people have guns?” Rayford whispered. “You know?”

“If they do, they never showed ’em to me.”

“Okay,” Rayford said. “Here we go.”

The narrow walkway led to the sidewalk on Franklin Street. As soon as they got to the sidewalk, Reseta turned his flash back
along the other side of the wooden fence and whispered that he was going there to get to the back of Scavellis house.

But as soon as he started up that path, somebody started whimpering and groaning on the Scavellis’ front porch. Rayford turned
his flash up on the porch and saw Nick Scavelli huddled by the front door, looking at his left shin, which was scraped raw
and bleeding. Rayford shined the flash on his hands.

“It’s him, James. Hey! Put your hands out where I can see ’em! Hold your hands out! Not goin’ tell you again.”

“Where’s Rose? What’d you do with her?”

“Never mind about her, Mr. Scavelli, you’re in a lot more trouble than she is.”

“Lousy tuzone, go to hell.”

Reseta shone his flash on Scavelli, went up the steps, and said, “Mr. Scavelli, well look at you, huh? You’re under arrest,
sir.”

“Arrest,” he said, as though trying to decipher the meaning of the word. “You want fries with that?”

“Aw here we go with the fries shit.”

“I fell. Think I broke my leg. You saved room for dessert?”

“Saved room for what?”

“How ’bout a nice pecan ball? Piece a pie maybe, huh?”

“He know what he’s sayin’, you think? Or this just part of his act?”

“Right now I don’t care. Turn him around and I’ll cuff him. Listen to me, Mr. Scavelli. You listenin’? You make a wrong move
here, you’re gonna get hurt, you hear me? You stabbed a friend of mine. That makes me really angry. So you don’t wanna get
hurt, just turn around and put your hands behind you.”

“Don’t eat too much … save room for dessert … got all kindsa pie … banana cream, chocolate cream, apple, cherry, rhubarb.”

“He’s not gonna move, pull his ankles out and turn him around.”

Rayford reached down and pulled Scavelli’s ankles until the old man’s back slid down his storm door.

It sounded to Rayford as though every dog on two blocks was barking and howling. So was Scavelli. He was barking. Like a dog.

“Now listen to him, Jesus Christ.”

“Hey, Mr. Scavelli? Stop that and listen. You’re under arrest for assault, aggravated assault, assault with a prohibited offensive
weapon, assault on a police office, aggravated assault on a police officer, assault with a prohibited offensive weapon on
a police officer, attempted homicide on a police officer. You have the right to remain silent—”

Scavelli interrupted his barking to say, “I fell down. I, uh, broke my ankle. Needa go to the hospital.”

“If your ankles broke, how come you didn’t holler when I grabbed it just now?”

“Your ankle’s not broken, you just scraped your shin. Hope you fell in somebody’s dog shit.”

“Speakin’ of which, one of y’all’s really stinkin’, man.”

Reseta blew out a sigh as he pulled Scavelli around, cuffed him, and continued advising him of his rights. “You have the right
to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. You understand what I just said to you?”

“Gonna have any dessert today? Piece a pie maybe?”

“This ol’ fart ain’t goin’ do a day, is he?”

“He will waitin’ for his trial. After that, who knows? You stay with him, I’ll go get my car.”

“Hey, you got any plastic cuffs on you?”

“What for? Where’s yours?”

“I didn’t cuff the one I shot, he’s—”

“Wait wait!
You shot somebody?
Who? When?”

“Hornyak. He was comin’ at me—”

“You shot him?!”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with you? Told you twice already, you didn’t hear him moanin’ and groanin’ back there?”

“You shot him? Where?”

“On the sidewalk between his house and Buczyk’s.”

“No I mean where’d you shoot him, where on his body?”

“Hey! My ankle hurts. It’s busted. I needa go—”

“Shuddup! Nothin’ wrong with your ankle—where’d you shoot him?”

“In the knee. He was comin’ at me. Wouldn’t get on the ground.”

“Oh man, why’d you do that—you just walked into a shit storm.”

“Huh? Walked into what? Whatchu talkin’ about?”

“Better pray he doesn’t die. Get back there and make sure he’s still alive. And get a wagon.”

“I requested three already. Probably there now. Think I heard one right before I heard him moanin’. I know I did.”

“Get back there, man, go on. I’ll stay here. Go on, get goin’.”

“Why you soundin’ like that, man, you scarin’ me.”

“Rayf, I shot a guy in Nam. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

“Thought you shot lotsa people over there.”

“Uh-uh. This one was on our side. Get goin’, man, show some concern.”

“What? Show concern?! Fucker’da got up, next one was goin’ in his heart. He started for me right after Boo got stabbed.”

“Go show some concern, I’m tellin’ you! It’ll go a long way, believe me, EMTs see you. Don’t argue with me, Rayf, just do
it.”

“I don’t b’lieve this,” Rayford said, but he didn’t argue any more. He took off trotting on the sidewalk around the Scavellis’
house, on Bryan Avenue. He wasn’t going to risk slipping and failing in dog crap by going through the Buczyks’ backyard.

When he got around to the front of the Buczyks’ house, Bucyzk’s wife and dogs were out on the sidewalk hovering over him.
The dogs were licking his face and whimpering and whining. Rayford went out into the street to avoid them.

Another ambulance, its light bar going, was in the middle of the street, its back doors open. This crew of EMTs was preparing
to lift Hornyak onto a gurney. Hornyak was hissing, moaning, and cursing Buczyk, his wife, the EMTs, and Rayford.

Rayford hurried to the foot of the gurney and asked how Hornyak was doing.

“That’s the one shot me, the sonofabitch. Just standin’ there, front of my own house, mindin’ my own business, he shoots me.
No reason, nothin’. No warnin’, no nothin’. Just shoots me.”

“How’s he doin’?”

“Oh like you care?”

“I’m not talkin’ to you, Mr. Hornyak, okay?”

“Oh listen to him now, now its
Mis
-ter Hornyak. ’Fore he shoots me, it’s hey, hunky, shuddup. Then he shoots me. I wasn’t sayin’ nothin’. Only one on the force,
you ain’t gonna be hard to find. And my lawyer’s gonna find you, bet your ass on that!”

“Who’s the crew chief here?”

“I am.”

“You wanna step over here and tell me how he is?” Rayford stepped out into the street just as a minivan was pulling up. A
teenage girl got out and ran to Joe Buczyks side, calling out, “OhmyGod, ohmyGod, what’s goin’ on? What happened? Daddy?!”

The two dogs who’d been hovering around Joe Buczyk left him and ran to her, jumping on their hind legs, barking, wagging their
tails. She stumbled over them and almost fell. “What’s goin’ on? What’s happening? Mom? Daddy? Why you—why you got handcuffs
on?

“It’s alright, everything’s alright, don’t get excited,” Joe Buczyk said.

“You too, Buczyk,” Pete Hornyak called out as he was being lifted into the wagon. “Lawyers gonna find you too. Real easy!”

“Soon as we get him in, Officer, I’ll tell you,” the crew chief said to Rayford.

A city-owned unmarked Chevy tried to pull around the minivan, backed up, and then pulled onto the Bryan Avenue side of the
Buczyk house. A moment later, Detective Sergeant Ruggiero Carlucci came walking around the corner and up to Rayford.

“Whatta we got here, William?”

“Big mess is what we got.”

“Okay,” the crew chief said, after his crew had loaded Hornyak. “I can give you about thirty seconds.”

“How’s he doin’, that’s all I wanna know.”

“Well, barring unforeseen complications, he’s not gonna die, if that’s what you’re worried about. Course he’s not gonna be
walkin’ real good from now on either. Went right through his kneecap, the patella.”

“No artery bleedin’?” Carlucci said.

“Not that I could see, no. Guess it just missed the femoral. Gotta go, okay?”

“Yeah, get goin’,” Rayford said.

“You shot him, right?” Carlucci said.

Rayford nodded.

“Any witnesses besides you?”

“Haven’t asked anybody yet.”

“What’s his story?” Carlucci said, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder at Joe Buczyk. One of Buczyk’s dogs came bounding
out to where they were standing and jumped against Carlucci’s leg, pushing him slightly off balance.

Carlucci bent down and gave the dog a scratch behind the ears and a rub on the chest. “What’s up, doggie? Didn’t happen to
see the good officer shoot the bad man, did ya?”

Carlucci looked back at Rayford. “Canoza got stabbed, is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“He alright? You know?”

“He was awake and alert when he left here, I haven’t heard otherwise.”

“So what’s his story again?” Carlucci nodded toward Joe Buczyk.

“He was part of the original beef. Him and Hornyak, the guy next door—”

“I know ’em both,” Carlucci said.

“Well they were beefin’—I still don’t know what it was about this time. Then Boo showed up. Then the Scavellis stuck their
noses into it. I told Boo stay on the sidewalk, watch these two, Hornyak and Buczyk there, and I go try to get the Scavellis
to go home. Next thing I know Boo’s standin’ beside me, I ran back out here, and Hornyak’s windin’ up to kick him in the ass,
Buczyk there. Gets him in one leg, then kicks him in the other one. He goes down, I’m tellin’ Hornyak to back off, and then
I hear Boo screamin’ and cussin’.”

“Wait wait, don’t get ahead of yourself here. Why you got him cuffed? You gonna arrest him? Buczyk?”

“That’s what I wanna know,” said the teenage girl, obvious now to Rayford that she was Buczyk’s daughter, though he’d never
seen her before. She was pulling anxiously on the cuffs of her sweatshirt. “Why did you do that? If Pete kicked him, why did
you put those on my dad?”

“At the time I had other problems, young lady.”

“What’s your name, miss?” Carlucci said, holding up his ID case for her to see.

“Janet. You gonna arrest him? My dad?”

“Not sure yet. How long’ve you been here, Janet?” Carlucci said.

“Just got here. Coupla minutes ago. Two maybe.”

“People in that van there,” Carlucci said, looking back at the minivan, “they friends of yours?”

“Yes.”

“Do they live on this street?”

“No.”

“Well how ’bout you tell ’em you’re alright and there’s nothin’ to see here and they should go home, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, and went across the street to talk to the driver. When she stepped away from the van, it started backing
out onto Bryan Avenue and then turned and drove north away from the intersection.

Carlucci tapped Rayford on the arm, crooked his finger at him to follow, then walked across the intersection until they were
well out of the hearing of the Buczyks.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” Carlucci said, “so pay attention. I don’t care what you did or why. But when I ask you a question
about what you did or why you did it, don’t lie to me. If it happened, don’t leave it out, and if it didn’t happen, don’t
put it in. Don’t minimize anything, don’t exaggerate anything, you got me? And don’t think I won’t find out what happened.
’Cause that’s what I’m good at.”

“Okay,” Rayford said. “Uh, is this the beginning of the shit storm?”

“The what?”

“Reseta, uh, that’s what he said.”

“Well, you could put it that way, I guess. But here’s the facts, just so you know what’s comin’ and why. And the only reason
I’m tellin’ you this is ’cause I know you’re a smart guy. I know you passed the sergeant’s test, and I know Nowicki’s seriously
been thinkin’ of makin’ you a detective ’cause he talked to me about it. He asked me what I think about ya. And I told him.”

Rayford said nothing.

“You don’t wanna know what I said?”

“Not right now, no. Right now I wanna know about these facts you said you were goin’ tell me so I can know what’s comin’.”

“Okay. Right now what you gotta understand is, soon as you turn in your UIR, Nowicki’s gonna have to turn it over to the Safety
Committee on council. Twenty, twenty-one years ago, approximately, there was an officer-involved shooting, and everybody on
City Council found out at that time there was no procedure for them to go through to investigate it, so they hada set up this
ad hoc committee. You know what that means?”