There's not much I can say about this chapter that won't be a spoiler, so I will say nothing. "Nothing." There you go.
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Wasted Life a Law Edwards Mystery by Sam Stefanik
13 The Angel Falls to Earth
Sunday, I simmered all day as I waited for the start of David's shift at Mitch's. At eight, I shoved through the door, dodged around Mitch, and jogged into the bar. David wasn't there, but Charlie was. I asked him where David was. Charlie lowered his eyes and told me to talk to Mitch.
I hurried back to the door. Mitch blanched at my question and drew me away from the crowd at the entrance before she answered. "He went out last night for cigarettes for a customer. The customer wanted a brand we don't stock. The bar wasn't very busy, and young David offered to go. An hour later he wasn't back. I sent one of the bouncers to find him. They didn't have to look very hard. He was a block over, beaten up, knocked-out in the gutter. He's at Methodist. They say he'll be fine, not even any broken bones. I'm keeping his job for him if he wants it."
I felt like someone had dropped an anvil on my chest. I tried to speak but the words wouldn't form. "Who?" I managed to choke around the lump in my throat.
Mitch threw her hands up and dropped them. She was fatalistic about the incident. "It's always the same people, and there will always be more of them. These things happen to us."
My hands balled into tight fists and my body shook with impotent rage. I found my voice in my anger. "Mitch," I whispered, "you have until this time tomorrow to tell me who did it. With your connections, I know you can find out. If you don't, I will have this place raided and wrecked. When it's empty, I'll burn it to the ground. And don't get any ideas of having your pretty boy bouncers keep me out of here. I'll kill them, then I'll set fire to this place with everyone inside it."
When I was certain my threats had been heard and understood, I left Mitch's at a run. I had to jog several blocks before I could find a taxi to take me to Methodist. I yelled at the driver for the whole ride to urge him on faster and faster. The driver refused to go any faster until I showed him my badge and threatened his life.
He thrashed his cab to a frantic pace until we roared into the hospital driveway. I threw money at him and left the cab before it had stopped all the way. I sprinted up the steps, flashed my detective's badge to a duty nurse, and demanded to see David. She led me to him and left us alone.
My insides cramped and lurched at the sight of his battered beauty. Hatred seethed inside me as I sat with him. I hated whoever beat him up. I hated Mitch for letting him go out. I hated the patron for insisting on his brand of cigarette. I hated the feds for being in town and keeping me from him. I hated the world for making homosexuality a crime punishable by brutality and death. I even hated David's father for disowning him and creating the situation that would drive him to the city and its violence. Last, and most of all, I hated myself for not being there when he needed me.
The memory of another time edged into my thoughts. My mind showed me the delicate lily that had been Peter, the unlikely soldier I'd known in the war. He was the first person I ever tried to protect; the first person I saw destroyed for being where he didn't belong.
I voiced the lesson of my memory to the quiet room and David's inert form. "Another flower trying to survive in a slaughterhouse. A cornflower this time." I wanted to weep for David, but I couldn't find the tears. Instead, I settled into the deeply upholstered chair, held my crawling guts with one hand and smoked with the other. I didn't plan to leave, or to sleep, until I'd heard David's voice and knew he was alright.
I waited for hours, most of the night. Around four in the morning, the time that would have normally been the end of David's shift at Mitch's, he stirred and opened the one eye that would open. He looked around, like he was trying to remember where he was. His gaze fell on me. "Law?" He rasped.
I'd been smoking steadily because I had nothing else to do. At some point, I'd opened the window to vent the pall I'd created in the small room. When David spoke my name, I rubbed my cigar out on the wall and got up to fill his water glass from a pitcher. He took it and gulped. When he spoke, he sounded more like himself. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to be your bartender for a while." I said and pretended nonchalance that I didn't feel. David's confusion remained. It showed as a grimace on what was left of his face. I tried to explain myself so he could understand. "I came because I was worried. I wanted to see if you were alright, if you needed anything. I wanted to apologize for not protecting you."
David didn't understand my concern. "Why?" He asked.
I didn't know what I could tell David that would make sense. I knew that I couldn't tell him that he was an angel of heaven. He would have thought I'd lost my mind. I tried to say something innocuous. "You've been very kind to me. You let me have so much of your time. You didn't mind me spending all those hours with you at the bar or keeping you up all night so you could tell me stories about Iowa. You've given me so much, and I haven't given you anything. I didn't even keep you from getting hurt."
David ignored what he still didn't understand and asked about me. "Why are you holding your stomach? Are you sick?"
"I forgot I was." I said. I dropped my hand and told a partial lie. "I was wounded in the war, shrapnel."
"Does it always hurt?"
"No, not always." I admitted in a whisper. As I did it, I realized the pain and the cramps were gone. I kept talking and said too much. "I don't hurt when I'm with you."
David shook his head and grimaced with whatever pain the rapid motion had caused him. "I don't get what you're saying. You're sorry I got beat up. You don't hurt when we're together. Why? What does that mean? I like you. You helped me with my job and gave me a nice gift, but I'm a bartender and you're a regular. What do you think we are?"
I shook my head at David. I couldn't explain. There was nothing I could say that would make any sense. "Can I just be someone worried about you, and we'll leave it at that?"
David relented from exhaustion rather than understanding. "Sure." He agreed.
"Who did it?" I asked.
"I didn't see them. They had black hoods over their faces. There were four of them. That's all I know. I tried to get away. I ran, but they caught me. I couldn't do anything."
It's just like before.' I thought as a wave of bitter anxiety sliced through my psyche. He's going to be destroyed if he stays in this city.'
I knew that David had to leave. He had to get away from the city if he was going to live. He had to go where he belonged. I racked my brain for a way that I could help him escape. I thought of the safe deposit box that I'd had for a couple years.
The need for it arose from my relationship with Madam Mitchell. She'd taken me on as her protector, her Hero of Law and Order, and paid me lavishly for my services. I didn't ask for the money, but she insisted, and she set the rate. Soon I had so much cash around my place, I couldn't cross the floor without slipping on greenbacks. I got the box to have someplace to keep the money.
I wasn't sure how much was in that box, but I knew it was more than twenty grand. I thought that money might be my opportunity to help David. I took a wild chance and asked him a leading question. "If you could go anywhere with enough money to have the life you want, where would it be?"
David answered immediately. "Montana. Lots of land, good soil, good growing season. They raise wheat there. My father used to talk about Montana like it was heaven. He said that Iowa was getting too crowded. He said Montana would be a place to start-over."
I was temporarily distracted by the idea that someone considered Iowa `crowded,' but that wasn't the point of the discussion. The point was to find out how much money it would cost to get David out of Philadelphia. "What would you need to get something started out there? How much money?"
"A lot. The land doesn't cost much, but you either have to buy a place that's already going or build one from nothing. I'd rather start from scratch like my grandfather did in Iowa. Then whatever I built would be mine. Dad used to say three thousand, maybe thirty-five hundred. It'd take me a hundred years to save that."
"What if you didn't have to save it?" I asked and dared to hope that David would accept my help. "Would you go if you had the money? If thirty-five hundred dollars fell from the sky, would you take it and go to Montana?"
David didn't understand me, but he tried to keep up with his end of the discussion. He answered what he thought was a hypothetical question. "I guess I would."
I celebrated his answer inside my head. I kept my speech even when I announced my plan for his future. "Then you'll go. I'll give you five thousand to go. As soon as you're better, I'll give you the money and you'll go."
David was incredulous. I don't think he believed me. "You'll give me five thousand dollars to start a wheat farm in Montana?" He shouted as much as a man in his condition can shout. "Why? You don't even know me. Why would you give me all that money?"
"Don't you understand?" I demanded. I jumped from my chair to pace the room. "You can't survive here." I pointed at him frantically. "Look what happened to you! You were meant to make things grow. Everything here is dead, not even dead, lifeless. Concrete and brick and stone, even the people are lifeless inside. If you stay, you'll die, or worse, you'll change. Please, David! Please take the money and go. Please, I can't watch it happen again."
"Happen again?" David asked the obvious question.
I tried to explain without detail. "I had a friend, during the war. He didn't belong, and he died." I felt my stomach spasm at the memory. I held my guts and tried to finish the little bit of explanation I planned to offer David. "I watched him die. The war was too big, and I was too small. I couldn't help him.
"Please let me help you. David, I'm begging you, take the money and go. Leave this place and go where you belong. Don't make me have to live it again. I can't watch it happen again." I pleaded with David. I needed him to accept. If I had to watch my angel crash to Earth and die, if I had to see another flower cut down, it would kill me.
"Tell me why." David said cautiously. The caution in his voice hinted that the next few questions and answers would be crucial. "Where did the money come from? You're a policeman, right? Is it stolen?"
I was honest about the source of the money. "I got it from Mitch. She pays me to look out for her business, to let her know when the cops or city hall or the feds are planning a raid. It's a simple business arrangement. It may seem like graft to you, and I guess it is, but it's not like protection money paid to gangsters. I don't demand it. I'd gladly do what I do for nothing.
"Mitch pays me to make her feel like she's in charge. My needs are simple, so a lot of money piled up in the last few years. David, the money is meaningless to me. I'd give it all to you if you wanted it. There's twenty-grand, maybe more. Do you want it? You could buy half the state for that."
"No, I don't want any." David shook his head and winced again. "I miss the farm though. I haven't liked living here, working nights, not seeing the sun, not getting outside. It makes me feel strange, trapped. If you're willing to give me a LOAN, I'll accept a LOAN. I won't take it as a gift. Once I get started, I'll send it back to you with interest."
I celebrated what I saw as a win. "Thank you, David! Take it any way you like. I don't care as long as it gets you away from this place."
I felt like a physical weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The worry was over. When David was well enough to travel, he would go. I wouldn't have to watch it happen again. This flower would live. The cornflower would escape from the slaughterhouse and thrive in the lifegiving earth of Montana.
"That's settled then." David yawned and rested his head on the pillow. In the next moment, he was asleep. I sat down and leaned into the chair, suddenly very weary. I sank into sleep.