Saving Room for Dessert (30 page)

“Hey!” Carlucci shouted. “Stop that kinda talk right now! Don’t you ever say anything like that again, you hear me! Eat your
piece— I’ll smack you in the mouth you say that again! Put your brain in gear and stop feelin’ sorry for yourself, we got
problems to solve here, we don’t have time for any of that eat-your-piece bullshit— you hear me?”

“Hey Rugs, coulda died in here, man. Doc told me it was touch and go for a while, with that infection, from that dog shit.
All through me, man—”

“Yeah and it’s over now, you’re on your way back. No more coulda-died shit either, okay? I don’t wanna hear none of that,
you hear me?”

“You don’t wanna hear somethin’?” Nowicki said, coming in with paper bags in both hands. “Tell you what nobody should hear,
okay? You two shoutin’ about what you been shoutin’ about. Fuck’s wrong with you two? Thought you’d have this thing wrapped
up, I come down the hall, what am I hearin’? Two jaboneys shoutin’ at each other about stuff no civilian should hear. There’s
nurses out there tryin’ to pretend they’re deaf, Jesus Christ. Oughta take you across the street to Mental Health, have a
competency hearing for both you jaboneys.

“Here, Boo-boy, you wanted food, here’s food. And don’t thank me either.”

“What is it?” Canoza said.

“What, if it’s not on your diet you’re gonna send it back? It’s four cheeseburgers and two chocolate shakes. Think you can
talk and eat at the same time so we can wrap this up? You did explain the problems, right, Rugs?”

“Yeah. But not only didn’t he see either shot, he didn’t hear the second one.”

“Is that right? You didn’t see either one?”

Canoza mumbled something while devouring the first of four burgers.

“Swallow. Then say it.”

“I’m gonna turn this on now, you hear me? Both of you hear me?”

“Yeah yeah—you hear him, Boo?”

Canoza held up a finger and swallowed. “Don’t call me that. Not on tape, okay? Especially not on tape.”

Nowicki sighed and rolled his eyes, “Yes, Officer Canoza. I hear ya talkin’. Now can we get on with it, please?”

“Okay, Robert, here we go. Start with the dispatcher call.”

“I don’t care what the coroner says, I didn’t hurt that woman. All I did was pick her up, and I started to turn around, I
was gonna pick him up and he stuck me—”

“Officer Canoza, will you please pay attention to the questions as they are asked? And will you please restrict yourself to
the specific answers to the specific questions—can you do that?”

“Yes sir, Chief Nowicki sir. I will do that. What’s the question again?”

Nowicki groaned and said, “I gotta go to the John. Detective, please, I’m askin’ ya, try to have this interview completed
by the time I return, do you think that might be possible?”

Carlucci splayed his hands at Canoza. “Robert? You with me here or not?”

Canoza was nearly finished with the second burger. He was practically inhaling them. He nodded.

“Okay,” Nowicki said, pausing at the door to look back. “Look at it this way, Officer Canoza. If you think of this as an infection
it’s as serious as your previous. Only there’s no drugs for this one. So you have to serious up now, understand?”

Canoza finished the second burger and unwrapped the third. He nodded, held up the third burger, and saluted his chief with
it. And took another bite.

C
ARLUCCI TURNED
on his tape recorder and said, “Third interview with Joseph Walter Buczyk, of 216 Jefferson Street, Rocksburg, PA, in re
case number ninety-nine dash four sixteen. Time is 2016 hours, Friday, April 23rd, 1999. Interview conducted in room A, Rocksburg
PD Station, Rocksburg City Hall. Present are Mr, Buczyk, his attorney from the Public Defender’s Office, uh, would you state
your name again, please, sir?”

“Minarcin. Theodore R.”

“Uh, Mr. Buczyk’s attorney is Assistant PD Theodore R. Minarcin. Also present is Patrolman James Reseta, Rocksburg PD, and
I’m Detective Sergeant Ruggiero Carlucci, Rocksburg PD.”

“Uh, excuse me,” Assistant PD Minarcin said, clearing his throat, “but, uh, that’s not the number of the case I was assigned.”

“Huh? It isn’t? What number you have?”

“Uh, ninety-nine dash four zero two.”

“Oh, right right, I’m sorry,” said Carlucci, “I said that other number so many times in the last coupla days, I got it on
the brain. Sorry, you’re right. Ninety-nine dash four zero two. Okay, now that we got that squared away, uh, well, see that
other case, the number I just referred to—erroneously—that’s what I wanna talk about now—in regard to Mr. Buczyk’s case.”

“I don’t follow,” said Minarcin.

“Well, uh, lemme see if I can explain it,” Carlucci said, giving the young, anxious, weary assistant public defender the once-over.
Minarcin didn’t look old enough to have a driver’s license, never mind to have graduated from high school, college, law school,
and passed the bar exam. He looked like he was still buying his clothes in the boys’ department.

“Your client here, Mr. Buczyk, was a witness to case number ninety-nine dash four sixteen.”

“He was?” Minarcin turned to Buczyk and said, “You were?”

“Yeah. If it’s what I think he’s talkin’ about. When my neighbor got shot? Remember? I told you about that.”

“Oh yes, I remember now.”

“Right, exactly,” Carlucci said. “But every other time I’ve discussed this case with you, Mr. Buczyk—both previous interviews—
I can give you the exact dates and times if you want—”

“Nah, I don’t need the dates. I remember.”

“Well you’re gonna have to refresh my memory,” Minarcin said.

“Right. Okay, Well in both interviews, Mr. Buczyk, you said you didn’t know what Patrolman Rayford said before or between
the shots he fired. I’m tryin’ to remember now, did you say you didn’t know, or you couldn’t remember, or you didn’t hear,
which? I know I could get the tapes and play ’em again, but why don’t you just say, okay?”

“I said I didn’t hear him.”

“Ah. Right. You didn’t hear him. Uh-huh. Okay.”

“Why’re you sayin’ it like that?” Minarcin said.

“Sayin’ it like what?”

“Well I think, uh, I think I heard a little sarcasm.”

“Sarcasm? Me? Oh no, uh-uh, I don’t get sarcastic with people I’m interviewin’. Not when it’s this serious, no way. I think
you mistook my tone maybe—you think?”

“No,” Minarcin said. “Maybe I did, but I don’t think so.”

“Okay so Jet me say it another way—you didn’t hear him, right?”

“Right,” Buczyk said.

“But you heard the two shots?”

“Right.”

“Well was the first shot maybe fired right over your head, is that what interfered with your hearing there? A nine-millimeter
goes off by your head, say within a couple yards, that could certainly mess with your hearing. I’m sorry—did you say somethin’
interfered with your hearing? Or you just didn’t hear? ’Cause if somethin’ interfered with your hearing, then maybe I could
understand why you didn’t hear somebody who was standin’, uh, less than two yards away from you, three at the most, why you
wouldn’t be able to hear him giving commands in a loud voice to somebody who was standin’ maybe four yards from him.”

“Maybe that was it.”

“Maybe what was it?”

“Maybe the gun went off, uh, you know, real close to my ears.”

“And so now you’re sayin’ that’s why you didn’t hear anything Officer Rayford said?”

“Could’ve been.”

“Could’ve been?” Carlucci said. He turned the recorder off and said, “Okay, I’m turnin’ the recorder off temporarily at this
time, okay?”

“Why?” Minarcin said.

“Because I wanna give you both another possibility, another could’ve-been, okay? Or rather a could-be, huh? Could be if Mr.
Buczyk’s hearing comes back—and I’ve known several cases where people’s hearing improved when they found out they weren’t
gonna have to do what they thought they were gonna have to do, huh?”

“What’re you saying?” Minarcin said.

“I’m sayin’ that if his hearing returns about what was said and who said it and how loud they said it in regards to, uh, case
number ninety-nine dash four sixteen, I think some arrangements can be made in his regard concerning case number ninety-nine
dash four zero two.”

“Wait a second,” Minarcin said. “Are you, uh, have you been authorized by anybody in the DA’s Office? I mean, who said it
was okay for you to be talking like this? Because it sounds to me like you’re trying to make a deal here, and if that’s true,
uh, I’m not going to allow Mr. Buczyk to say anything until I see somebody from the DA’s Office here—or somewhere, I don’t
care where— with a plea agreement. In writing.”

“This is just preliminary conversation, okay?”

“Preliminary conversation? Is this a legal term now? Which you can show me from the
Rules of Criminal Procedure?
”

“No no, of course not,” Carlucci said. “I just wanted to get together with you—”

“Is that thing still off?” Minarcin said, nodding toward Carlucci’s tape recorder. “You didn’t just accidentally turn it back
on, did you?”

Kid’s a lot tougher than he looks, Carlucci thought. I don’t start duckin’ and coverin’ here, I’m gonna blow this, big-time.

“Look, Mr. Minarcin, I’m not gonna try to tell you I talked to anybody in the DA’s Office, because one call from you—”

“That’s right, one call, right.”

“And I’m not playin’ the fool here with that, uh, I mean that preliminary conversation stuff, that was insulting and I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Apology accepted, Detective. Now what’s going on?”

“What’s goin’ on is ninety-nine dash four sixteen is an officer-involved shooting with, uh, as you can imagine, conflicting
and contradictory statements made by the civilian who was shot and the officer who did the shooting, and Mr. Buczyk here,
uh, he was arrested by the same officer who did the shooting, Officer Rayford, two weeks prior to the shooting incident. For
this case, which you were assigned. I didn’t say that very clear, so do you understand?”

“I understand better than I did a couple minutes ago. What you’re saying is you think his hearing has been impaired by the
fact of his arrest on these charges of assault and aggravated assault, correct? By the same officer?”

“Correct, yes.”

“So just for my hearing,” Minarcin said, “you have not discussed any possible reduction in charges with anybody in the DA’s
Office, is that correct?”

“Correct.”

“Before addressing this subject with Mr. Buczyk or me, correct?”

“Correct again.”

“And you’re trying to find out whether Mr. Buczyk is open to the possibility of a reduction in charges before you go to anybody
in the DA’s Office, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. I need some time with my client, please.”

“You got it, sir,” Carlucci said, picking up his recorder and leading Reseta out of the room.

Outside, on the way to the coffeepot in the duty room, Carlucci whispered, “Little fucker’s a lot tougher than he looks.”

“And you’re a lot better at backin’ up and coverin’ your ass than you look.”

After reaching the coffeepot and pouring his own and filling Re-seta’s mug, Carlucci said, “Hey. Nothin’ says you know you’re
screwed better than sayin’ you’re sorry. Ever see this kid before?”

“No. Course, fast as they turn ’em over in that office, hey. What amazed me is how he looked, you know? Yeah. He first walked
in, I thought angel food cake. But then he was lookin’ at you like he was a mongoose and you were a cobra. An old one with
a busted fang.”

“You noticed that, huh?”

“Yeah. And a leak in your venom sack.’

“Okay, you made your fuckin’ point, I ain’t that decrepit.”

“On the opposite side of the table from him, you are.”

“Okay, alright, forget that. I hear you’re puttin’ in for the gold watch. True?”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t know who. Coupla guys. True? Or not?”

“I think. Maybe.” Reseta grimaced after he took his first swallow of coffee. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Who made this? Bet Stramsky did. You couldn’t throw this down the drain, it wouldn’t go. You’d have to take it to some garage,
let ’em recycle it with the oil.”

“So you’re really thinkin’ about it, huh? Retirin’? Any particular reason? Or just all of “em?”

“All of ’em. Time to move on. Plus, uh, I guess, I don’t know. Boo in the back of the wagon. You know. With that rake stickin’
out of him. I mean if that skinny old guy could cause that much damage, Jesus. I don’t know. You know?”

“Hey, it was touch and go with him for a while. That thing had dog shit all over it. Coulda been history for him. People with
their dogs. Don’t get me wrong, I like dogs much as anybody. But lettin’ ’em run loose like that? Lettin’ ’em shit everywhere,
not cleanin’ it up. Oughta be a fuckin’ misdemeanor at least, you know? Nobody pays attention to that fuckin’ ordinance. How
many tickets you ever write for that?”

“Not enough. Should’ve written Hornyak and Buczyk about a hundred. Maybe then they would’ve built a fence. Course listen to
me. When Rayford and I went to grab up Scavelli? I stepped in some. Right between their houses. Went on my ass, spent more
than an hour the next mornin’ cleanin’ my shoes and my holster. Finally just had to pitch the holster, couldn’t get the stink
out. Cost me ninety-nine plus tax. So all the while I’m tryin’ to clean it, I’m thinkin’, would it’ve made any difference
if it was nylon?”

“You had leather?”

“Yeah. Basket weave. Got in all those crannies. Couldn’t get it out with a toothbrush and saddle soap, so like a genius I
had this old suede brush. You know, with the bristles made of brass? So without thinkin’, I made like two passes with that,
put these big scars in it, man, just ruined it. I was so pissed. I wanted to go write those two idiots up—like it’s their
fault I ruined my holster.”

“Who? Hornyak and Buczyk?”

“Yeah. Those fuckin’ idiots. With their dogs.”

“Whatta you got on now?”

“Holster? My original, can you believe that? It’s fallin’ apart. Split in three places. I was gonna go pick up a new one this
morning, got stuck in a prelim, this jagoff’s tryin’ to defend himself on a hit-and-run DUI. I don’t know where these people
come from sometimes. That’s why I bought the basket weave—’cause this one was fallin’ apart. So instead of pissin’ and moanin’
about ruinin’ my holster—which I’m responsible for, you know, wasn’t anybody but me did that—I should’ve gone down there and
written ’em both up. But I didn’t. No. So I’m as bad as anybody about that. Tell you what, bet Nowicki starts a campaign about
it.”