The Violet Crow (18 page)

“Can I hold her?” Bruno whispered.

Judy handed him the sleeping child. She struggled to get comfortable in Bruno's arms, but didn't wake up. He guessed she weighed about 20 pounds. “How old is she?” he whispered.

“Forty-nine weeks,” answered Judy, glowing with pride. Bruno wrestled with the math, then realized she was just shy of her first birthday. Why did parents have to be so precise?

“She's an angel,” Bruno cooed. “Does she have a name?”

“Of course she has a name. Ernestine,” said Judy proudly. “We named her after our favorite singer, Ernestine Anderson.”

“Ernestine Cohen-McRae,” sang Bruno, bouncing the child slightly in time with the refrain. “Sort of a mouthful.” Bruno chuckled. “I'm gonna call you Ernie. Beautiful little Ernie. Ernie the Angel.”

It's hard to get too upset when someone is calling your daughter a beautiful angel, but Judy tartly informed Bruno that no one was ever going to call her child “Ernie” and live to tell about it. It was Ernestine, plain and simple.

“Beautiful little Ernestine,” Bruno acquiesced, handing the baby back to her mother, humming,
“Look out, baby, you might'a made your move too soon …”

“Bill wanted a boy,” Judy explained vaguely. “He still does. But it's not going to be Ernestine and I'm never getting pregnant again, so he'll just have to …” She noticed Bruno's expectant look and realized she didn't have to finish the thought. “I'll go get Mimi,” said Judy. “She's downstairs watching TV.”

A moment later, an excited eight-year-old in flannel pajamas decorated with Dalmatians wearing fire helmets bounded up the stairs and threw herself in Bruno's arms. She was followed by a lanky creature the size of a small giraffe, which turned out to be the Cohen-McRaes' Russian wolfhound.

Bruno was amazed to receive such a wonderful hug from his niece, whom he had not seen in more than three years. Was it the Hanukkah presents? Or just one of life's little mysteries? Nothing to do but enjoy it. For a minute or two. They were quickly running out of time.

“Mimi, it's so wonderful to see you.” Bruno returned the hug. He had to be careful. His eyes were tearing up. “Did your mama tell you why I'm here? I wish it were more of a fun visit, but I have to talk to you about the day you found that girl in the meeting house.”

“Oh that? That's no big deal. Ask me anything you want.”

What a relief. Somebody was actually cooperating. He led Mimi to a soft leather armchair and knelt in front of her so he could take her hands in his upraised palms.

The wolfhound took advantage of this to come over and sniff Bruno's rear. Then he tried to lick his face. “What's your puppy's name, honey?”

Mimi giggled. “Trotsky.”

“Ah, of course. If I were a dog psychic I would have known. Why'd you name him Trotsky?”

“Because the McRaes stick up for the underdog.”

“What about the Cohens?”

“I dunno.”

“Mimi, would you mind if we send Trotsky into exile? Just for a minute or two while we're trying to do this?”

Judy stepped forward. She still was holding Ernestine in her arms. “I'll lock him in the TV room,” she offered. “But don't do anything till I get back. I need to watch every move you make.”

“That's fine, Judy. I just need quiet.”

He looked at Mimi in the big leather chair. She had dark hair like her mother's and eyes that were almost black. Her skin was olive-hued, but the excitement had brought a rosy glow to her lips and cheeks. There was no trace of McRae in Mimi's looks, which gave Bruno a sense of satisfaction.

Judy returned and Bruno again held Mimi's hands. He told her to close her eyes and try to remember exactly what she saw that morning in the meeting house. He closed his as well and tried to concentrate.

Nothing was coming, so he tried another approach. He told Mimi to fold her hands in her lap. He stood in front of her with his hands about a half inch from her temples. To Judy, it looked as though he was using her daughter's head as a crystal ball. Whether that was accurate or not, it worked. Incredibly well.

There was a loud zapping noise like lightning and contact was made. At that moment, Bruno had a clear view of the murdered girl, just as Mimi had seen her, disheveled and slumped over on the bench. The suddenness and clarity caused him to cry out. And Mimi cried out too; it didn't hurt, she reported later, it was just the surprise of something so totally unfamiliar.

Then, just as the noise of Bruno and Mimi's outburst subsided, there came a furious banging on Judy's front door.

“Must be that
furshlugginer
Biff,” Bruno muttered with frustration. He could have used a few more minutes and he tried to reestablish contact with Mimi.

A moment later there was a heavy thud and the explosive sound of splintered wood. In burst McRae. He'd just broken down the door of his own house with a sledgehammer.

Chapter 37

No one could have predicted the outcome of the epic battle between Joey Kaplan, aka Bruno X, Psychic Detective, and William “Mad Dog” McRae. Least of all Bruno himself.

In handicapping the contest, most would have given the advantage to McRae. He was bigger, stronger, meaner. And he was fighting on his home turf. But the reality of street fighting, bar fighting, domestic brawls and other disputes of the non-choreographed or cinematic variety is that they are so physically demanding that all parties—unless they happen to be trained fighters—are exhausted after the first minute. Physical exhaustion leads to mental fatigue, if not downright incapacity. Accidents start happening with increasing frequency, which means that if the bout lasts more than a minute or two, it's more likely to be decided by luck than skill.

In this case, McRae squandered his home court advantage, right off the bat, by breaking down the door of his own house. Why would anyone do such a thing? Didn't he have a key?

Of course he did. But it was in his briefcase, which he'd left in the office. It was all Biff's fault. Back at the 24-plex, Biff hadn't come to his senses until all the fighting was over. The sage was all over K-Mart, like tourists in Yosemite in August. Biff tried to elbow Bruno to see if he was diggin' it, too, and then he realized. Bruno had given him the slip.

Biff rushed out to his cruiser and radioed for help. They patched him through to the Chief, who told him to pick him up at the station. On his way to get the Chief, Biff ran into McRae, who asked him what was going on. Biff told him what happened and, before he could do anything about it, McRae hopped into Biff's Crown Vic and headed home at a recklessly high rate of speed. But without his keys.

The sight of Bruno's car in his driveway had thrown McRae into a rage, compounded by the realization that he'd left his keys at work. His immediate thought was to look for a weapon. The weapon that came to mind was a sledgehammer, which he knew was leaning against the wall of the garage.

In a matter of moments, McRae had smashed down the door and charged Bruno, screaming, “I told you to stay away from my daughter.” This entrance certainly packed a lot of drama. What McRae didn't realize was that his adversary had just been watching
Flying Panda, Rolling Doughnut 3
, which had put him in a very martial-artsy frame of mind. Bruno could imagine himself waiting like a matador until the last instant, then elevating straight into the air, delivering vicious kicks in all directions. No one in their right mind would have thought it possible to actually execute those moves. But just the thought of it kept Bruno loose, which was a tactical advantage in a contest like this. If McRae actually connected with one of his roundhouse blows, it might enable Bruno to avoid serious injury.

By the time McRae burst in, his arm muscles were starting to feel the strain from swinging the heavy sledgehammer around above his head. He charged Bruno, screaming, “I'm gonna squash you like a bug!” As he swung, the head of the sledgehammer got tangled with the handmade chandelier that Judy had spotted in a boutique in Milan, shipped back to the U.S. at considerable expense, and then adapted for U.S. household current at even more expense. All that was destroyed in an instant; in addition, the blow was deflected from Bruno, who was trying to whirl away like a panda shimmying up a bamboo stalk. McRae lost control of the sledgehammer, which slipped out of his hand and flew into the living room, where it smashed the Steinway baby grand.

This delighted Mimi, who was sick of taking lessons, although the noise and destruction were obviously frightening. Judy was furious about the chandelier, apoplectic about the piano, which had been a gift from her parents, and boiling with fury over the front door.

Now she went looking for a weapon and she found the chardonnay bottle. The only problem was, she still had Ernie in her arms. Somehow she found a way to crack her husband over the head, while still sheltering the baby. This momentarily brought McRae to his senses. “I told you not to let him in here,” he stated in an almost conversational tone.

“Shut up, you moron, look what you've done to the house. And all this noise is going to wake up the baby.”

Judy's tone rekindled the rage in McRae. A wounded predator, the adrenalin was spurring him to attack. It might have been Judy, except Bruno made the first move. He was trying to sneak out the hole in the front door when McRae caught him and told him he was going to rip him apart with his bare hands.

Bruno imagined he could spin away from McRae with a magical pirouette. In fact, McRae's haymaker merely struck him in the forehead, instead of the chin where he'd aimed it.

The blow dazed Bruno and opened a gash that oozed blood. A dull pain filled Bruno's skull, struggling to get out. But apparently McRae was hurting even more than Bruno. He must have crushed a knuckle from the force of the blow. He was hopping in agony, bent over, holding his injured fist between his knees. “Mimi, get me some ice,” he moaned.

“Don't bother,” Judy countermanded the order. “Get a bucket of ice water to throw on these animals.”

Realizing his movie magic wasn't working, Bruno tried to slither away. But McRae caught him and put him in a headlock. He fell over and they were both wriggling around on the tile floor of the foyer, amid the shards from the broken chandelier and sharp splinters from the door, trying to deliver and fend off a variety of body blows, sucker punches, knees to the groin, and other low blows.

Trotsky joined in, pouncing, growling—no doubt trying to figure out who the underdog was—and generally adding to the confusion. The baby finally woke up and was crying and Judy continued screaming, “Out of here! I want all of you out of here!”

Bruno had a lucid thought: Where was Biff? How long had it been since he'd left the 24-plex? Surely more than 45 minutes. Biff should have called the cops by now. Surely help was on its way.

But it wasn't. McRae improvised a move that enabled him to climb on top of Bruno and grip him firmly by the shirtfront. He commenced banging Bruno, head and shoulders, against the floor. Repeatedly. And all the while he was taunting, “How d'you like this, Joey? Let's see you do something psychic now.”

Now Bruno was praying Biff would show up before it was too late. Poor stupid Biff whom he'd so cleverly left behind at the theater. Where was he now that he needed him to come and
biff
McRae's skull with his nightstick? Bruno tried to reach up and get his hands around McRae's neck to strangle him, but couldn't get any leverage.

Judy and Mimi were both screaming, the baby was crying, and Trotsky got so worked up he moved in and bit the nearest thing that was moving. It happened to be McRae's hand. McRae reacted violently. He whipped around to fend off this new threat, and somehow Bruno's pinky got caught up in his earring. McRae was moving so quickly he ripped the lobe of his ear in half. Distracted with pain, all McRae could think of was he needed to punish Trotsky immediately so the dog would get the proper message. This allowed Bruno to wriggle free.

That's when the police arrived. Bruno's prayers were answered. In fact, it was even better than he'd hoped, because it wasn't just Biff. Chief Black was there too. Biff waded into the fray without hesitation. He collared McRae and immobilized him in a wrestling hold. The Chief stood by Bruno, who was still lying on the floor.

“You get out of here, Black,” screamed McRae. “This is a personal matter.”

“Give us a break, McRae,” said the Chief, smacking the palm of his hand with his nightstick. “You're disturbing the peace.”

“This man invaded my home when I told him he wasn't welcome.”

“That's not true,” Bruno protested. “My sister-in-law invited me in. I needed to see my nieces.”

“Is that right, Judy?” asked the Chief.

She nodded her head with a half-smirk that meant, “Well, I guess you could put it that way.”

The Chief spoke slowly and calmly. “Biff, I think we should book Mr. McRae for breaking and entering. One of the neighbors called to complain and positively identified him as the one knocking down the door with a sledgehammer.”

“Chief, can we really arrest a guy for breaking into his own house?”

“Sure we can. Cuff him.”

McRae sputtered with fury. “Try it, Black, and I'll sue your ass.”

“Now I'm scared,” said the Chief, getting in his face.

Judy came to life. “Bill, look what you did to our house.” Then louder, “Look what you did to the house.” And even louder, pounding him on the chest, “
Shmucko
, look what you did to my house!!”

The Chief must have felt sorry for McRae. Or maybe he decided that leaving him here with Judy was the greater punishment. He made discreet gestures to Biff, indicating that he could take the handcuffs off, saying, “On second thought, there's a big mess here that needs to get cleaned up. Biff, why don't you watch Bill and make sure he doesn't get hurt. I'll take Bruno, er … Mr. X down to the station and deal with him myself.”