© copyright 2008, Thomas McIntire.
It meant nothing without her. How could this have happened? He couldn't stop anything, and now nothing would stop for him. Life spat on him while the world kept on moving. He closed his eyes.
***
The air in the offices was heavy. Today, nobody wanted to do their job. Yet phones kept ringing, and people kept answering. Each time someone opened the door, everyone feared it would be Grimson. Tensions climaxed each time the bell chimed. Don't let it be him, put it off for a while. He shouldn't have to work today.
The bell chimed, the door opened. Everyone looked up from their desks, and moments later, simultaneously let out a sigh of bittersweet relief.
"What have you got for me, Anne?" said the detective as he moved towards the coffee pot.
"The two men are in separate holding, as you asked. You were right when you said it was probably a puppet case -- the big one won't do or say anything without first checking with the small guy."
"Good, good work," he confirmed as he filled his mug.
"Listen, Mac," Anne beckoned. "We think the big guy is the one who did it."
He sat against her desk as she explained what she knew. "The bigger one is Wallace Strickland, blue collar, nothing but parking tickets. The skinnier one is his brother Gene Strickland, recently out on parole for grand theft auto, four counts."
"I'm sure his P.O. will be delighted to hear that he's taken a trip to the Chicago pen."
"The third accomplice was killed in the capture, and has yet to be identified," she continued. "Mac, Grimson hasn't shown up yet. What do I do when he gets here?"
He took a sip from the mug. "As hard as it may be, we have to keep working. We can't give him any special treatment. He needs to come in and make his testimony." He checked his watch. "If he's not here on time, call him."
"I can't just pretend like,"
"You don't have to," he interrupted. "When he comes in, just tell him to wait in my office."
He picked up the folder from her desk and walked towards the second holding room. "And don't forget to keep the pot full."
"Keep the pot full.." she repeated. How could he think of coffee at a time like this? Melinda was gone, and no amount of coffee would ever bring her back. He shut the door.
Mac's eyes met the sight of a man who looked almost comfortable handcuffed to a table. Everything about Gene Strickland shouted, "scum." From the top of his ratty, unkempt hair to the worn soles of his tennis shoes, and the flimsy excuse for a man in the middle, "scum."
And then the four words to which Mac had painstakingly built up a facade of immunity. Before Mac even had a chance to relax,
"I want my lawyer."
"Oh, so soon?" replied Mac, fixing himself into the chair across from the bug. "I'm going to ask you a few questions about what happened last night, and I'm going to want some clean answers."
"I dont think you heard me," replied a mix of self-confidence and sarcasm. "I ain't playing no games until I have my lawyer."
"And what might be your attorney's name, Mr. Strickland?" he taunted. He set down his mug. "I'll need to contact your parole officer down in Miami and get his number."
"No games."
"Ball's in my court. What happened to the money?"
Gene smirked. "Let me spell it out for you, cop." He leaned in as close as he could, repeating, "I want. My lawyer."
In an instant, Mac had grabbed him and pulled him even closer, forcing Gene's handcuffs into his wrists. "Let me spell it out for you, you rat." Now, there were no games. "There is no good cop, bad cop going on right now. There's me, and then there's everyone else in this facility, and they all work for me. If you get the chance, ask any of them how I treat uncooperative scum like you."
And with that, he pushed Gene down into the desk, grabbed his mug, and left.
***
The cold shower water beat down on Grimson's back, slowing the pace of the world around him. He thought of nothing except Melinda. How could she be gone, when only yesterday she was here? It was amazingly difficult to accept such a simple explanation; the events of the previous night seemed almost surreal. He remained motionless for what seemed like an hour.
Guilt was the first to appear. He didn't do his job. He could have protected her, it wasn't supposed to be like this. Then came fear. I'm alone, he thought. What if something happens to me? Finally, he rested on anger.
***
When Mac entered the room, Wallace Strickland's eyes were fixed to the table as firmly as his hands were. Mac took a seat across from him, opened the empty file, and began to read. Well groomed, well dressed. No calluses on his hands, cuticles down the the core. Roughly six and a half feet, two hundred fifty pounds. Even with such a large build, he sure as hell didn't share his brother's sick sense of pride.
"Whats a guy like you need half a million dollars for, anyways?" Mac began, looking up from his folder.
Immediately off guard, Wallace stumbled for an answer. "Well, how do you know I did it. Innocent until proven guilty, right?"
Mac's dejected sigh masked his anticipation. This was going somewhere.
"Come on now, just because we're the police doesn't mean we're stupid."
Wallace stared, agape.
Mac snapped his fingers. "Come on, man. People aren't raised thinking that robbing a bank is a wise decision. I'm going to assume your brother talked you into this?"
"No!" responded Wallace, rather loudly. "Well, no."
Mac eyed him with suspect. Closing the folder, he set it down and picked up his mug. "Tell me then, from the beginning. How did this happen?"
Wallace took a deep breath, sitting up in his chair.
"This is how it happened. Gene, Jimmy, and I..." he paused, undoubtedly remembering that his Jimmy wasn't ever going have the pleasure of being interrogated. "Gene and I walked into the building, while Jimmy stayed in the Explorer. I had the shotgun tucked under my coat, and Gene had some bags. I waited near the security guard while Gene went up and waited in line for the teller. When it was his turn, I waited for him to put the bags on the counter before I hit the guard over the head with the gun."
Mac interrupted, certain that Wallace would continue.
"The guard, do you know who he was?"
"No, not really. Gene said that -- I mean, we knew that he was always there, and that he was the only one. He's pretty big, so I told Gene that I would be the one to take him out."
"That was nice of you," Mac mocked. "Okay, go ahead. You hit Officer Grimson in the head, and then?"
"Well, then everything went out of control, not like we planned. The teller left all the money at her station and ran towards me, screaming. She was running right at me, shouting for the guard I hit, so..." Wallace hesitated. "So, I shot her."
"Yeah?" Mac finished his mug.
"Well, yeah. So then Gene yelled at everyone to get on the ground, and most of them did. Some of them just stood there. When Gene grabbed all the money, we left and got into the van and Jimmy drove us away. I thought we had made it, but then Jimmy hit a nailstrip in the ground that was part of a road block, and the car went out of control. When I came to, I was in the ambulance."
"Who is Jimmy? Another brother of yours?"
"No, Jimmy is a coworker. Well... Jimmy was a coworker of Gene's. They were in prison together, and they came to live with me a few weeks ago."
Mac slid out his chair and stood up. "Wallace, you're smart to cooperate. We'll have everything settled soon, and your help will be taken into consideration when in court." With that, he left the room.
***
Stepping out of the shower, he faced himself in the mirror. Unshaven, bloodshot, worn. He told himself that it didn't matter, that none of it mattered. He had come to terms with what happened last night, when he had been semi-conscious. The man that had hit him, he killed Melinda.
Melinda was gone, and now he had to go and tell everyone how it happened. How it happened, not how it was all supposed to happen. Not their future, the house and the kids, the life together. How it happened, how she had been murdered.
No, it wasn't going to happen like this. The world wasn't going to continue moving on, turning a blind eye to his ruined future... her ruined future. He could stop everything.
***
Mac returned to the first holding room, full mug in hand. He sat down across from Gene, whose attitude had been slightly subdued from their previous encounter. Though, before Gene could say any string of four words, Mac held up his hand and interrupted him.
"Do you even know what happened to the money?" he mused.
"The what?"
"Oh, well, you do remember why you're here, don't you? You robbed a bank. Or at least you tried. You took some money, do you know what happened to it?"
"Look, if you're here for a reason, then tell me. Otherwise, I'm not going to say anything to you."
"Your brother told me everything that happened at the scene, so you might as well fess up as well. It will bode better for you in the long run."
Gene covered a smirk, but it didn't get past Mac. The leaning back, the sense of relief in the face -- telling signs that it wasn't just a smile. Criminals aren't supposed to be happy when their partners comply with the cops.
"So he told you everything, huh?" he responded. "Then why do you need to hear it from me?"
"I'm asking the questions."
"Alright, let me start. We were gonna rob the bank. Jimmy sat in the car while my brother and I went into the building and did all the work. I told Wally to stand by the guard because he was bigger, and I walked up to the teller. The woman offered me some kind of free checking plan. I looked her right in the eyes, so she would know that it was for real, put the bags on the counter, and told her to fill them."
"And thats when everything slipped out of your hands."
"You wanna tell me how it happened, or should I tell you?"
Mac sipped some coffee.
"So then Wally hit the guard with the gun and knocked him down, but the teller noticed. She wasn't supposed to notice, see? She seemed so caught up with him that she totally forgot that I was there. She ran at Wally, and I guess Wally got spooked, and he shot her. So we left with the money, but Jimmy hit a roadblock and the van flipped."
Mac closed the folder and looked at his watch.
"Tell me, do you know anything about the guard your brother attacked?"
"Yeah, he's the rent-a-cop for the bank. He gets there real early and stays until it closes."
"Right."
Mac prepared to leave, but hesitated.
"You bought the gun?"
"What? Yeah, the shotgun Wally used was mine."
"Right." He left the room.
Moving into the central room, Mac noticed Anne's gaze wasn't at her computer screen, but at the picture frame on her desk.
He moved to the coffee pot. "Getting some work done?", he asked.
She hadn't noticed that he was there. "Yeah..." The picture was of Anne, her husband, and the Grimsons.
"You guys were close?" he asked, hoping to break the tension.
"Melinda and I knew each other in high school, but we never really hit it off until John and I moved into their apartment complex. They were so nice to us, took us out for a dinner and explained the ins-and-outs of the neighborhood. Thats when we took this picture."
She paused, wiping a stray tear from her face.
"You know, Grim really shouldn't have to come in today. You should let him stay home and gather himself together. I know I didn't want to come in today. I could file a report for him from here," she offered.
"You know he has to come in today. This investigation has to continue. Maybe his testimony will solve something."
"It must be so hard on Grim," she frowned.
He didn't hear her. "Slim seemed pleased that his rookie brother cracked. This doesn't seem to add up."
"What do you mean, Mac?"
"Their story."
***
Shaved and in his uniform, he got into the car. He would stop all this nonsense. Melinda was dead, she had been shot. But that doesn't mean it had to be all for nothing.
He wasn't anxious. This was the only way to go, he thought. Revenge would settle his mind, and revenge would be his alibi. He would walk in, walk straight past the detective's office, and shoot the man.
***
The defense attorney had arrived and demanded that the brothers be put into the same holding room. After some deliberation, Mac agreed to move them.
"Well, you're free to go," he teased, walking into Gene's holding cell.
Gene's eyes widened. "You... you're serious?"
"Yeah, and they'll give you the money you stole on your way out."
Mac took out the keys to the handcuffs. "Were going to move you to your brother's holding cell, per your attorney's request," he clarified.
Mac removed the cuffs from the table and re-attached them behind Gene's back. As he grabbed both arms and directed him towards the door, the criminal flinched.
Mac stopped.
The detective pressed on Gene's shoulders again, this time extracting quite the agony. Immediately, Mac had him re-cuffed to the chair. Only when he had removed the bug's shirt had he found the bruise that he was looking for.
Mac burst out of the holding room and into the first, surprising Wallace.
"You lied to me?" he demanded.
"What? No!" the criminal exclaimed. "I told you everything I know!"
Mac glared at the man. "Have you ever shot a gun before in your life?"
"Yeah, yesterday. I shot the teller during the chaos at the bank."
"Oh you did, did you?" Mac responded. He moved directly in front of Wallace, slamming his hands onto the table.
"Did you shoot that woman?"
"Yes!"
"Did you shoot that woman?"
"Yes, I shot her with the shotgun!"
"With the shotgun that you bought, you shot her?"
"Yes! I shot her with the gun I bought for the heist!"
Mac sat back, downing the entire mug.
***
The bell chimed as Grimson stepped foot through the door. He passed through the hallway, dodging pairs of staring eyes, ignoring concerned greetings, his eyes fixed on the holding cell. He threw open the first door, only to find it empty. He was about halfway to the second door when he was stopped.
Gentle arms wrapped themselves around his waist.
"Slow down," begged a familiar voice. "Please, slow down. Talk to me, everything will be alright."
He turned to see Anne's eyes brimming with tears. He stopped and returned her embrace, standing motionless together against the constant world.
"You don't have to explain how you feel, Grim."
The door opened as two armed guards ushered the criminals out of holding. Grimson let go of Anne, pointing to Gene.
"Thats the man,"
"...who killed your wife," Mac interrupted. "I know, Grimson. Take a seat, and I'll be right with you."
Grimson pushed himself away from Anne. "No, no thats not good enough."
Anne's screams were drowned out by the sound of the gunfire. Grimson had put two shots into Gene before anyone could move. As Gene fell to the floor, the armed guards tackled Grimson. Wrestling the weapon from his hands, they pushed him onto his chest.
"The bastard killed Melinda! You don't understand!"
Mac regained focus and checked Gene's wounds -- they would be his end. With his last action, Gene faced his killer.
"A true rent-a-cop..."
***
The blood had been cleaned off of the floor, and most of the workers had been evacuated. Mac sat in his office, going over everything that had happened. Wallace was being watched in his room by the armed guards, but the tragedy that was Officer Grimson was two doors down in his own holding room.
Two familiar knocks on the door reminded Mac to pick up his mug.
"I can't," Anne stuttered as she entered the office. "I can't believe what has happened today."
Mac sipped his coffee in silence.
"They can't throw Grim in prison, can they?"
"You know we have to," he responded. "What he did wasn't self defense."
"But that man killed his wife!" she pleaded. "That man killed Matilda and then he had his own brother take the blame."
"Yeah," he acknowledged, lost in thought. Wallace, the average Joe, took the rap for a murder. "But Wallace was part of the bank heist, we can't forget. He might seem like a normal guy, but he's a criminal."
"His brother was the damn criminal," she pleaded. "You can prosecute Wallace all you want, but you have to think of Grim."
Mac finished his mug. "Yeah."
"Theres a new pot outside," she reminded him.
He thanked her as he walked into the central room. Filling his mug, he took a glance at the situation spread out before him. Crime scene investigators were questioning those few workers who had stayed back to file witness reports. Anne was still sitting in his office. She was almost to tears, but when Mac glanced at the next room, he noticed that she wasn't the only one.
Stepping into Wallace's holding room, Mac dismissed the guard.
"Time for questioning," he explained.
The silence remained stagnant even after the door had been shut. Wallace's eyes, ever fixed to the table in front of him, welled up with tears.
Mac broke the silence. "Your whole story was a lie. Not a smart move, Wally."
The moniker forced the grown man into tears.
Mac raised his voice. "You lied to an investigator. You might as well have shot the woman yourself; it doesn't matter anymore. Why would you do that?"
Wallace shook his head, weeping.
"You threw everything out the window, Wally. You lied to us... to protect your brother? Was that it? So he wouldn't take the blame for the murder? Get a clue, man. You robbed a bank -- you were both going to prison."
Their eyes met, those of fury and those of fear. The silence resumed. Questioning the brother wouldn't solve anything. Mac lifted his mug, recounting everything that had happened. Every detail was important, anything could be helpful.
And then it hit him.
"A true rent-a-cop," he muttered.
Mac met his eyes again, but the change was obvious. The fear in these eyes put those previous to shame. Mac stood and left the room, forgetting his mug. He paced to the holding cell of Officer Grimson and opened the door.
"Prison's free, Grimson. Don't have to rob a bank for the slow life."
