When We Were Married Ch. 06A

Thinking about jealous husbands, she kicked herself again mentally. It was as if some dark part of her unconscious kept pushing her to say the things that would hurt Bill the most. She really hadn't meant the crack about "big rods" but she'd known the minute it left her lips what it meant to him and she'd seen it on his face.

Why in the fuck didn't all men come with a one-size dick. It would make things so much more simple. Bill could have handled her falling for a taller, younger, flat-stomached stud more easily than the fact that Doug had a bigger dick. It was something that hit men where they lived, pun intended, and women had to walk gently around comparisons of dick size.

Of course she knew a lot of the damage she had inflicted, deliberately, in hot blood. It didn't make it any better because she was furious with him for known and unknown reasons. It still had left scars that she knew went back twenty years to when they had first met. He had always been insecure about his size, and like a miserable bitch, she had aimed her verbal blows at his Achilles heel.

But it didn't do any good to keep kicking herself for what was done. If she could just watch her mouth in the future for similar gaffes, they might one day get to the point where they were just a man and woman who were once married and were still co-parents.

At least, at least she thought with some satisfaction, he had gotten to the point where he could look at her lustfully again. She knew that look and he had been stripping her with his eyes. It had been six months since he could look at her just as a man and not a hurt husband. It was progress.

Leary stepped into her office, grinning like a little boy who had just gotten away with something. Despite herself she felt a tingle where she didn't want to feel a tingle. Damn, she had promised Johnny August to keep her legs together, and she knew he and Bill were friends, and she was getting regular sex from Clint, but still....

"Just wanted to pass on a little bit of knowledge, Ms. Bascomb."

Bill had just given her that look and the Irishman was stripping her with her eyes and her nipples were getting hard and scratchy and she suddenly hoped desperately that Clint was home and free tonight.

"And that would be, Mr. Leary?"

"A friend told me Bill is going to pow-wow with the top brass at the FOP tonight at their headquarters on Atlantic."

"He's going to go into the lair of the enemy? Is he going alone? Does he have a bodyguard with him?"

"I don't know. I don't think so, knowing Bill, because, these guys aren't crazy. Phil Howser, the FOP head, will be there and other top guys. I don't think Bill's in any danger."

"That's probably what Custer told his top lieutenants before the party at the Little Big Horn."

The grin faded and he said, "You really are worried about him, aren't you? Does he know you harbor feelings for him?"

"This whole damned office is nothing but a nest of frustrated romance writers. No, I don't harbor feelings for him. But he was my husband for nearly 20 years. He's the father of my children. Of course I'm worried about him. When is he supposed to go there?"

"I heard 7 or 8 p.m."

"Okay, thanks for the information. And..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Thanks."

He stared at her tits for a moment before leaving. She decided to let the matter with Annette ride. She'd get some information before getting into that.

She knew Leary was right and Bill's going to meet with the FOP was no big deal. Nothing would or could happen. Still....

She got out at 5 p.m., headed to her gym where she sweated for an hour and watched lithe young female bodies whose breasts hadn't started to droop and whose asses were still perfectly firm attract the envious gazes of young and no-so-young men.

She received more than her share of lustful glances, so it wasn't jealousy of those firm young bodies that hurt. They might be better on paper if you were scoring individual features, but she knew that one on one there wasn't a one of these young hardbodies she couldn't walk up to and steal a boyfriend from, without breaking a sweat. Her tits and ass still gave her the edge.

But still, it was depressing. Maybe she was more ripe, more desirable, but it was the ripeness of fruit almost ready to spoil. They had youth and she couldn't match that. The damned clock only ran in one direction, and for her it would always be downhill.

She couldn't shake the depression the gym visit left her with. She was alone. Both BJ and Kelly were out, BJ spending the weekend at her parents and Kelly living there full-time now. She had called and talked to Kelly the night before. It had taken time, but she was beginning to repair the breach between them. It would heal.

She grabbed a Lean Cuisine meal from the freezer and microwaved it, then ate it without tasting it. She thought about calling Clint, but for some reason even that didn't appeal to her now.

It was Bill, she realized. Walking into a building filled with armed cops without a second glance backward. Why the hell would he do something like that when he could have met with them in his office or on neutral ground. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. For a smart man, he could be so stupid.

She looked at the clock. It was 7 p.m. He was already there or soon would be. She walked into the den and turned on the Television from Hell. She had thought about getting rid of it because every time she watched it memories of her old life would come flooding back. Bill had been like a kid at Christmas when he came home one day to find that she had purchased it and had it delivered without telling him.

They had been walking through the Orange Park Mall one day when he'd come across a display for the largest television in the world, with the most gadgets and whistles in the world of electronic entertainment. He had been entranced. Of course, he'd already turned into the world's Number One couch potato.

Their marriage had been dying, but there were times when flashes of the old feeling she'd had for him hit her hard, and it had that day. Maybe it was a way of atoning for the things she had already done to betray him, but she had loved the look on his face when he walked into the den.

Thinking about those days, she watched the television without watching it and at 7:30 she suddenly turned it off with the remote, grabbed her purse and keys and walked into the garage. She got into her 2004 Nissan 350Z, opened the garage door, and pulled out.

She'd just sit outside the FOP Union Hall and listen to her PD police scanner with channels the public didn't have access to - just sit outside and never even let Bill know she had been there. It made no sense, but she couldn't sit at home tonight.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2005 - 7 P.M.

I pulled up to the one story building that was the Fraternal Order of Police union hall. The sprinklers had just shut off and I had to step through puddles on the sidewalk walking up. I opened the door and walked in. There was a hallway with a door leading to a large hall where meetings of the membership were held.

I spotted a big bald guy in uniform in the doorway and he waved to me.

I thought his name was Smith or Jones, something like that. He was a Zone Sergeant, the head man for one of four zones the city was divided into for police coverage.

He didn't offer to shake hands, but he didn't spit on me so I supposed that was progress.

"Smith? Jones?"

"Delwin," he said. "Steve Delwin."

"Never forget a name," I said, smiling. He just shrugged. As I walked into the hall I saw about ten men in uniform sitting around a table hitting a coffee pot and three boxes of Ronnie's Wings. I recognized most of them, having met or worked with them over the years.

Phil Howser was a tall, thin guy who hadn't put on two extra ounces since I'd met him nearly ten years before. He got up and came around the table to shake my hand, then introduced me to the guys I knew and a few I didn't.

"Thanks for coming by," he said, then glanced at me again. I was wearing a light jacket because it was getting cool in the evenings.

"You're carrying. Did you get armed because of what I said?"

"You and a few other people," I said.

"You wouldn't have to be carrying if you weren't being such an asshole about Shawn," said a big blonde who I recognized as a Narcotics Task Force Lieutenant named Martin.

"Buddy," Howser said, but I waved him off.

"He has a right to his opinion. I know I'm not popular with a lot of you guys right now. That's why I accepted Phil's invite to come out and talk to you tonight. Could I get a cup of coffee before we start talking?"

We talked for an hour and I went through three cups of coffee. Four of the eleven cops were black but they didn't seem any more irate than the white cops. Maybe it's true they all bleed blue blood.

"I'm doing what I think is right," I told one of one of my harshest critics, a SWAT commander named Meyers. "I know you think I don't have the right to sit in judgment on the actions a fellow cop took in a moment of crisis that I have never gone through. I know you feel a bond for him. But...I understand what you're saying and you have to understand where I'm coming from. When you're on the street, when you're in a crisis situation, you can't wait around for guidance on what to do, for a consensus to form that will guide your actions. You have to take the action you think is right and hope it works out."

"That's where I am. There is no one to tell me what to do. Austin Edwards is the boss, but I'm the guy that has to make the ultimate decision because he's delegated that authority to me and I've been doing it for five years. No matter what happens, I have to live with the result, the fall-out, and I have to be able to look in the mirror when it's all over and live with myself."

I looked over at Lieutenant Martin.

"I know everybody seems to think I have it in for Smith. I have to ask myself, why? They don't give me a bonus every time I send a cop to prison. I don't need any more headlines. I can probably coast on the "Angel of Death" crap until I retire. I didn't know Smith before all this started. We've never crossed paths."

"Maybe it's because you identify with those redneck crackers and especially that wife-beating sub-human who was married to my fiancee before I rescued her."

I looked up and saw Smith standing behind Delwin. The two of them had walked into the back of the meeting quietly. As Delwin moved aside I saw the Glocks in each hand. Delwin threw his hands up.

"He caught me by surprise, Phil. I never expected him to show up here."

Phil put his hand down to his Glock which he carried in a holster at his side. Smith trained one Glock on him, letting the other one wave back and forth.

"Don't do it, Phil. We've been friends for a long time, but if you pull a gun on me to save this piece of shit I'll kill you."

"Shawn, put the guns down. You blow me away and one of these guys will take you down. Look at the odds here. Use your head.

Smith bounced from one foot to the other, moving the pistols in his hands back and forth rapidly. He was either drunk or high, or both.

"You really think so, Phil? You sure one or more of them isn't on my side. How'd I know about this little meet 'n greet where my brothers are plotting with the asshole that's trying to railroad me into prison. Maybe a few of them are with me, and when you guys start firing, the guy next to you you're counting on you to have your back is going to blow your brains out. You willing to take that chance."

The cops sitting around me began to look at each other warily. I could see they were starting to worry.

"Now, Phil, all of you, take your Glocks out of your holsters, with your left hands except for Martinez. You use your right. And lay them down on the table.

Howser shook his head, but didn't move his hand.

"I don't give up my gun, Shawn. Not for you or anybody else. If you want to, you open fire and I'll do my best to kill you before I die."

"Looks like a Mexican standoff. Okay, keep your guns but keep your hands away from them and in plain sight. Everybody just stay cool. Anybody moves for a gun, and we all start dying."

Smith turned his attention to me. His eyes were glazed, fiery, the pupils dilated. He had to be on something strong.

"Now you, Mr. Prosecutor. I hear you're armed. Open that coat and reach up with your left hand and take it out with just the tips of your fingers."

I did it, moving very slowly.

"Okay, good. I'm glad to see we're communicating. It's too bad it had to come to this, but you just kept coming after me."

"Shawn, stop," Howser said. "You're having a breakdown. With any luck, you'll get a suspended sentence and have to go into a hospital. It's not the end of the world. There are other jobs out there. You'd be a good private security guy and it might wind up being a better world for you. It's not worth being laid in your grave."

"I'm not going to be laid in my grave. This son of a bitch is. I'm going to walk away from this nightmare and you guys are going to help me."

"You're crazy," Martin said. "Look Shawn, I've been fighting for you. But no way are you going to shoot Maitland in cold blood and have the rest of us back you."

Smith looked at him and said, "In a few seconds, with no warning, I'm going to put a bullet in his head. He'll be dead before any of you can do anything, assuming you want to. Once he's dead, what reason do you have to open fire on me?

"You, Martin? You remember five years ago, when we moved in on that Coke dealer in Avondale. You were first in the door when he leveled that sawed-off shotgun at you. It jammed, but I pushed you out of the way before we knew it was going to jam. I'd have taken the blast. I would have died for you, you son of a bitch. Because you're my brother and we have each other's back.

"Once this cocksucker is gone, you're going to forget that and kill me for this scum? He'll be dead and killing me won't bring him back.

"Every one of you, I've had your back. Martinez, that pretty wife of yours would have divorced your ass and taken your two kids if she'd ever found out about that bitch you kept up in that apartment on 20th Street. But I took the bullet for that and said she was mine and it cost me my girlfriend at the time. But I did it."

Delwin just shook his head.

"I've been on your side, but it's just crazy, man. No way can you get away with it."

The police radio Howser carried crackled and voices came out of it at the same time that the radios carried by Martin and Meyers did.

"Howser, come back. Answer please."

Smith looked around the room.

"Turn the radios off."

Nobody did.

"Why not," Smith continued, answering Delwin's comment, "There are 11 cops here, 12 counting me. You're the leaders. If we stick together and give the same story, how are they ever going to break it? Is any jury in the world going to believe 12 cops lied?

"I've got a throwdown that can't be traced back to us. He came here to talk to you guys and when I showed up to try to talk sense to him he suddenly snapped and pulled it out and was going to shoot me. People will believe it. They know he's crazy. Everybody at the courthouse knows about how he broke down. They know he's been out of control since that slut wife of his dumped him.

"That's why he tried to kill me. He told me in front of all of you that I was just another guy like the one who stole his wife. Only I stole the wife of a white man. That's why he hated me, because I was another wife stealer. I tell you, people will believe it."

Howser just shook his head and looked like he'd swallowed something sour.

"No, Shawn. You've gone so far around the bend you don't know how crazy you are. It won't work. Even if you kill Maitland and throw your gun down, none of us are going to let you walk or perjure ourselves to save your ass."

The radios continued to crackle with messages ordering the holders of the radios to check in. No one moved to touch any of the radios.

Smith smiled. It was so confident it raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

"You'll lie for me. Otherwise I'll tell them that you let me walk in and shoot him and didn't raise a hand to stop me. You can deny it, but there are 11 of you and one of me. Everyone is going to be asking, how could 11 armed cops not stop ONE man. You may not serve time, but you're not going to be cops for that much longer and you may wind up serving time."

He grinned again.

"Besides, you said it yourself. I'm crazy. At worst I'll go to some nice mental hospital and after a few years I'll be cured and get out. I might even meet some cute nurse while I'm being cured."

"A good plan."

Smith and everyone else looked at me.

"But it has a few...just....a few flaws the size of the Grand Canyon in it."

Smith's smile was frozen on his face.

"Tell us, Maitland, what are the flaws. You going to strike me down with your Angel of Death powers?"

"No, nothing like that, more down to earth. You mind if I take something out of my jacket pocket? I'll do it slowly."

"Why not. You're about to die. The rest of you, keep your fucking hands away from your guns. I might only get a couple of you, but two of you at least are going to die. Get it out, Maitland."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a device the size of a cigarette lighter. I held it up very slowly, and as Smith watched I pressed a button. After a few seconds I hit another button.

"....I've got a throwdown that can't be traced back to us. He came here to talk to you guys and when I showed up to try to talk sense to him he suddenly snapped and pulled it out and was going to shoot me. People will believe it. They know he's crazy...."

I stopped the recording and watched his face, then looked around at the others. Howser and a few others who were smart enough looked ahead, like a chess master planning out moves three or four steps in advance. They knew. Even if Smith had planted friends, they'd know.

"I hope you guys won't take offense, but I always tape conversations like this. No one will ever hear it, unless they need to."

"So fucking what? You're going to give it to me or I'll take it off your dead body and destroy it. No one will ever hear it."

Moving very slowly and deliberately, holding the recorder in my left hand, I touched two small prongs on the end.

"This is the latest model, Shawn. Maybe you haven't seen them. They're great. It records but it also transmits. There's a relay link in my car which boosts the message and sends it to a record in my office, in a locked desk.

"You can destroy this, but Monday morning there will be people listening to this conversation. It's digital so it's recorded everything since I walked in here. Unless you guys plan on raiding my office, and good luck with doing that without leaving so much evidence behind that my office won't need the recording."

The tone on the police radios had turned to desperation before the calls suddenly stopped. The place was very quiet all of a sudden.

I looked at Shawn directly and made myself smile.

"Oh, and by the way, I'm not giving you this. Shoot me and take it."

Before he could react I turned so my back was to him.

"Shoot me in the back, Shawn. You've had experience doing that so it should come easy. Try explaining to your fellow officers, and the guys from my office, how you happened to shoot me in the back as I was attacking you."

"Turn around, goddammit. I will shoot you in the back if you don't."

"But that's not the only flaw in your plan. Just the biggest. There are others."

"Maitland, turn around."

"Shawn, dammit, don't, don't," Howser shouted.

"Your finger gets one inch closer to that gun and I'm killing you, Howser. Don't make me. Delwin, Belmont, keep your fucking hands clear of your guns."