Red Leather

            by Maya Tippett

 

It’s 9:30 pm on Sunday night. Some tacky girl band hollers in the background, but other than that, the diner is quiet. I’ve been sitting in the two-seated booth, third row from the door for over an hour. I finished my coffee and apple pie long ago. Jenny keeps the re-fills coming.

            He’s sitting at the end of the bar. He barely fits in the red leather seat he’s so god damn fat. I check the clock on the wall conveniently placed above him. He’s still there. He hasn’t even tried to leave out the back. I know he’s seen me. I sip my coffee and I wait. I let that son of a bitch know I’m there, and I wait. I’m practically on the opposite side of the diner, and I can see the sweat drip down the side of his neck.

            10:15 pm, Jenny’s counting the money in the register so fast I can hardly see the bills. It’s closing time. Besides my buddy Sweats and me, there’s only one other customer. He flicks a five-dollar bill on the counter behind Jenny. He takes one last sip of his Burgermeister, pops the collar on his trench, and heads out the front door.

            Now it’s just me and Sweats. I’m staring straight at him, and he looks at me out the corner of his dirty beady eyes. He knows Jenny’s closing. I can see him trying to figure out the right time to slip out the back. I put my coffee down and flip the page on my Newspaper. He starts to get up. I watch his struggle for a good two minuets. My god this fucker’s fat.  The leather on the chair is all sweaty and his skin’s stuck to the sides of it.  He finally gets out of that chair and scratches his balls with the same hand he decides to put down Jenny’s tip money with. I keep my eyes on my paper as he approaches the front of the diner.  He passes me and hands the bill to Jenny. He stinks. He stinks real badly. His hair’s all plastered to the sides of his slimy face, and his thick glasses are fogged from his own perspiration. He’s only a few feet from me. I could take him. I could take him down right here. If only I had the proof.

            Jenny gives him the change and he’s out. Right out the front door. I watch as he lights his cigarette outside my window, he crosses the street. He takes his sweet time getting in his car outside the gas station. He knows he’s safe. He knows I can’t touch him.

                                                            ~

            Alice stands looking out the window of my apartment. The light coming in makes her look like the angel she is. She looks so damn good in that silk nightgown. I think to myself, How’s a woman get to be so beautiful? And she turns to me like she knows what I’m thinking then and there. The light fades from her face. And then the slashes on her cheeks appear, and the blood runs down her nose. A record scratches in the background, the light escapes the room, taking Alice with it. I’m left in pitch black. My heartbeats so loud I can’t even call out her name. Alice.

            It’s the same goddamn nightmare every night. Every night since that motherfucker did those things to her. She was so beautiful. I heard last week that she’ll never recover, she’ll be locked up in Napa for the rest of her miserable life. I loved her.

                                                                        ~

Down at the station “buddies” pat my back as I walk to my office at the end of the hall. Bastards. As if they could even imagine the kind of pain I’m in.

            When I enter my office, Chief’s leaning back in my chair with his feet up on my desk. He’s holding the picture of Alice I keep by the window close to his face. He looks up at me after a few seconds. A few seconds that feel too long for him to be looking at that picture.

            “She sure was a looker, that Alice of yours… what a shame.” Chief lights a cigarette, and I want one so bad I can hardly stand it. “I heard you’ve been hanging around Claremont diner every now and again. Try every Sunday night. Am I on the right track?” He blows smoke out his nostrils and the fumes hit the picture of Alice. I wish he’d put it down.

            “Is that so?” I sit in the chair to the right of my desk, and take a toothpick out of my chest pocket. “Where might you be getting this information chief? I don’t recall seeing you there.”

            “Doesn’t matter, a little bird told me” A grin surfaces itself on his face. No matter how long I’ve known Chief, he’s always looked like a creep to me. He’s taller then hell and skinnier then shit.

            “Which one of your little birds? Was it Marty or Reno?”  The grin on chief’s face only gets wider. The toothpick hanging out of my mouth starts to get soggy. “One of these days you’re gunna have to teach those kids how to keep a low profile. I saw one of them last night, drinking a Burgermiester. Trying to act real tough…Drinking a Burgermiester, dumb kid.” We both start to laugh what seems like a friendly chuckle, but neither one of us is trying to be nice. Chief takes a long drag on his cigarette. Damn the smoke smells good.

            “Enough with the sweet talk bullshit McClure. What the hell are you doing hanging around there? You know damn well that’s Pim Minotis’s spot.”  Chief isn’t grinning anymore. I haven’t heard anyone call Sweats by his real name for years. Almost forgot it was Pim Minotis…

            “Big deal. Two guys can’t hang around the same spot anymore? Just trying - ”

“No. Not when one of them is an ex convict child molester, and the other’s a crazed old detective who’s convinced the other one raped and mutilated his girlfriend. He isn’t your guy McClure! And he sure as shit isn’t the guy connected to this Little Ruthy Roberts’s case, so stop going there. All right? And that’s a goddamn order. If I hear from anymore birds that you’re even so much as having a late night drink at the Graduate down the street, you’ll find yourself in such deep shit you won’t know where to start flushing.”

            “Get the fuck out of my office.” My face is on fire, and I have to practically hold my arm down, so as not to go awol. Chief gets out of my chair and walks over to me. He takes another hit from his cigarette.

            “Oh, I’ll get the fuck outta your office, and you better get the fuck out of that diner.” He exhales and the smoke surrounds me, he walks out of my office like he’s doing me some goddamn big favor… he’s the one doing himself a favor. I was close. I was real close.

            I move to my chair, and get started. No time to think about that prick. I have a deadline. “Little Ruthy Roberts” is what the boys have been calling the case… amateurs. Ruth Roberts went missing three days ago. Her mother sent her out for a carton of milk at 7:30, but little Ruthy never came home. 

            We got our first call at the station 24 hours after Ruthy got swooped. This asshole isn’t wasting any time. We traced the call to a pay phone on Broadway, downtown. And my gut tells me this might be a Dirty Harry… 

            I start to look through the pile of useless evidence and interviews with witnesses who say they saw her only hours before it happened. Bullshit. None of it makes a difference. It’s been three days and all I can think about is Sweats. Somehow in someway that bastard’s connected to this one. I could see it in his eyes at the diner Sunday night. I’ve been around too long not to know what a look like that means. I felt it then and I feel it now. He got off the hook for what he did to Alice, but not this time. This fucker’s paying his dues.

            I spoke with the mother yesterday; she was sputtering and muttering so hard and fast there wasn’t any point in convincing her. Little Ruthy’s only nine years old, and after three days with a monster like Sweats it’s enough to make me wish she was dead. Poor kid. I pick up a picture of her and I’m still looking at it when Marty walks in. She’s all smiling and happy in the picture- maybe it was taken at a birthday party, when everything was sweet and good to her in the world, before she knew about men like Sweats. Her brown hair’s got a red clip sweeping it to the side. I think about how her mother must have put it there, kissed her on her forehead, and then sent her on her merry way to get a carton of milk.

            Marty’s sitting in the chair opposite my desk, all lazy just looking around at things in my office. I put the picture down.

            “Cute kid.” Marty glances at the photo for only a moment and starts to pick at his fingernail.

            “Yeah. You aren’t the only one that thinks so.” Marty looks at me over his glasses.

            “Napping?”

            “Yep.”

            “Fuck em.”

Marty’s been at the station for almost as long as I have. We both know what this case means.  There’s not enough justice in the world that can save this case. Sure we can bust our asses and get the girl, but the damage has already been done.

“Working on anything good?” Marty’s the only person I care to make cheap conversation with around here. Everyone else is still fucking twelve. Goddamn amateurs.

“Nah, same old shit. Except now I’m the crabby old fart who’s stuck with all the bright-eyed juveniles who’re looking to get in on any piece of action.”

We carry on like this, making jokes that make us feel like our old men, which soon wears us down, making us even less happy and more depressed.

                                                            ~

Before too long it’s 11:00. Time to pack it in. I start to put my shit way, and I’ve almost got all the interviews and photos in my box to take home, when Marty pops his head in my office.

“You finished?” Marty always looks so frazzled by the end of the day it’s hard not to chuckle.

“Yeah, just taking some work home.” I place my hat on my head and swipe the brim.

“I’m heading over to The Graduate. It’s been a long time since I got you drunk buddy – and you look like you could use it tonight.” He puts his jacket on but the front button won’t clasp over his gut, Christ, when’d we get so old? I start to think about what chief said – fuck him.

“Sure Marty. It’s been a while.”

The Graduate never changes. It’s the only thing I’ve got that’s steady these days. It’s full of the same old losers. I look around me and realize- I’m one of them.  Marty’s sipping on a whisky, and I’ve got my usual gin. Shit, I have a usual at The Graduate. This couldn’t get anymore depressing.

“Hey, you know what chief’s first name is?” Marty’s got the biggest smile on his face, he’s already drunker than a skunk.

“No, come to think of it I don’t.”

“Ira,” Marty starts laughing, I mean he’s really laughing hard, his belly’s shaking up and down, and he spills some of his drink over. “Ira! His goddamn name is Ira! No wonder he never told nobody at the station! Fucking pansy.” The door opens and in walks Chief with his sidekicks Reno and Claude. They look like a group of real big assholes.

“I mean Ira? What kind of a shit guy’s name is that?” Marty’s so drunk and he’s laughing so hard he’s wheezing now. “ Ira! Ira! No wonder he’s always with those two brown nosers-“

“Marty. Can it.” I say this calm as I can, but I know Chief’s heard every goddamn word. We’re fucked. We are so fucked.

“Gentlemen.” Chief walks up real close behind Marty and whispers in his ear “Now what you’re saying about my name isn’t very nice. My mother gave me that name after my Granddaddy. And I don’t appreciate it when people, especially fat, ugly, over- the-hill jackasses like yourself, make fun of it.”

That night Marty got the beating of his life behind a Dumpster by two goddamn rookies. Poor guy was so embarrassed he called in sick on Monday. Bad move.

I punched one of those shits out, and broke my goddamn finger. Christ, I’ve never felt so old.

I’m just sitting in my office looking through my box of Little Ruthy’s evidence when I get the call. It’s the front desk. There’s an emergency up front. I run down the hall and all the rookies are running past me. Goddamn it, keep up old guy. I’m running but they keep passing me up. I run up the stairs behind everyone else, I can barely breath. I’m the head of this case, and I’m the last one to the scene.

People are being blocked off, and when I finally get past the crowds I see it. It’s a black shoebox in the middle of the great hall. I know what this mean – whoever’s got Little Ruthy wants something and here’s our next clue.

“Alright guys, back off, he’s here. Nothing to see.” A policeman blocks the hordes of rookies as I kneel next to the box. I put my latex gloves on and get ready for a little girl’s finger, or worst.

I slide the top off. Christ. It’s all there. Little Ruthy’s pretty brown locks are held together by a child’s red clip. I almost lose it then and there. This son of a bitch is trying to make it personal. Now I know, I know for sure its Sweats. He did the same goddamn thing to Alice… He cuts all their hair off before he gets started.  He makes what was once beautiful, ugly. Ruthy’s sitting alone in the corner of some damp basement, with her hair butchered and bald patches on her scalp bleeding.

            I start crying, right in the fucking hall. I hear a rookie say “The old man’s gone soft… I knew it.” A few of his buddies laugh. And now I’m real pissed off. I’m practically sobbing, all I can think about is Alice and how Sweats is gunna do the same thing to Little Ruthy.

            I know I’m right. But I can’t fucking prove it. How’d a jackass like Sweats get smart enough not to leave evidence behind? It doesn’t make sense…

            I look out the glass doors at people looking in as they walk by. Everybody wants to see what’s behind the police tape outside. There’s a couple walking past with a dog, a grandma stops her granddaughter from looking in, a fat man in a trench coat with thick glasses passes… but he stops. He stops and stares. He’s looking right at me. And then I realize. His glasses are fogged from steamy sweat, and his hair’s plastered to his face. Pim Minotis. Pim Minotis is looking me right in the eye, and I’m crying with a box of Ruthy’s hair next to me… a box of hair that he chopped off. And then I do loose it. I mean I go fucking ballistic, and Pim must have seen the look in my eye change, because her turns and starts to walk away real quickly.

            I run after him and it doesn’t take me long to catch up and grab the fucker by the back of his neck. I take him down easy as hell. He’s on the ground looking up at me, scared as a kid, and I just start wailing on him.  I can feel bone crunching behind my blows, and blood starts spouting from his nose.

            “Where is she?!” I scream in his broken face. He’s crying all over himself and snot runs out with the blood from his nose onto the arm of my jacket. I get up and start kicking the shit outta him. “Where is she you mother fucker!”

            The world starts to fade, and sound mutes in my ears. I’m still kicking him when everything cuts to black.

            I wake up in a jail cell. Marty’s on the other side of the bars, and he tells me how many years I’m facing… A lot.  I almost killed Sweats is what he tells me. All I know is that he’s still in the hospital, days later, his face is broken in too many places to count, and he’s pissing blood. We talk about how fucked I am for a few minutes, but then I tell him all want to do is sleep.

            I wake up and my cell door’s wide open. Chief’s sitting next to me looking down at his shoes.

            “Get up.”

            I don’t ask questions. I get up and we walk right out of that cell. We walk out of that building without saying a word.

            “Meet me in my office. Five minutes.” Chief stares at me blankly.  Like he’s disappointed in me, I don’t give a shit. I wonder why he got me out? We haven’t been friendly since… well, we’ve never been friendly. Suppose he’s just trying to cover his reputation.

            Chief goes across the street and I watch him walk back into the station. It’s only going to take him a minute to get back to his office. I buy my first pack a Marlboros in three years. After my first cigarette, I follow his lead.

            When I open the door to his office he’s sitting back in his chair. I know he’s just been on the phone. I heard him hang up before I entered.

            Chief starts to laugh. “That was a big goddamn mistake McClure.”

            “Why’d you get me out? You don’t owe me anything, and I know it’s not in your nature to hand out favors.”

            He lights a match and watches it burn out.  “Lets just say you owe me your life…”

            I can’t think what he’s leading up to. Where’s this going?

            We sit there in silence for a few minutes.  I slowly realize the position I’m in and I start to get nervous. He’s got me.  Under any circumstance, I’ve got nothing against him.  Like he said, I owe him my life.

            He turns his chair so he’s looking out his big office window. It’s raining outside, I hadn’t noticed. I get up and pause for a moment, I think I’m about to say something, but realize there’s nothing to say. I turn and walk towards the door. I place my hand on the doorknob, and right before I start to turn it, he says something.
            “Her hair-“  

            I freeze, a lump rises to my throat, and my mouth is suddenly dryer then the Sahara desert.

            “Her hair, was so soft. And she didn’t even struggle, she was such a good girl-I thought you should know that.”

            My fist tightens around the doorknob and my knuckles start to turn white. I turn the handle, and I’m about to open the door.

            “And I’m not talking about Ruthy. Her skin was like silk, I can see why you loved her so much. What a looker… I never figured out why an angel like that would settle for a guy like you.” He starts laughing his goddamn laugh. The blood’s rushing to my face and my heartbeat’s pounding in my ears. Chief keeps talking – but I don’t hear anything more.

            Outside it’s still raining. I light up a Marlboro and take a long drag. I walk away from the station. I walk away and I don’t look back.