The sergeant looked back at me. “Nice catch. Now, who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Like I said before, Sergeant, my name is Carl Buckman. I’m with the guy over there, and we just came in for some pie and coffee.”
“And you’re the guy who took him out?”
I nodded. “That would be me.”
“Stick around.”
He headed towards Fletcher, and I decided to follow. Fletcher was still yammering on the phone to his editor, probably working on his Pulitzer Prize speech. The sergeant asked, “Who are you and who are you talking to?”
“Fletcher Donaldson, Baltimore Sun. Who are you, officer?”
“A reporter!? How the hell did you get in here already?”
“I was already here. I’m with him,” Fletcher said, pointing at me.
“Yeah, well call’s over. Hang it up.”
“But I’m talking to my editor.”
The sergeant was nowhere near as impressed with Fletcher’s ongoing use of his First Amendment rights as Fletcher was. “Hang it up, or I’ll hang it up for you,” he growled.
“Got to go,” Fletcher said into the phone, and then he flipped it closed.
“Thank you. I’ll hold onto that,” I said, and took it away from him and stuffed it in my pocket.
By now a plainclothes cop had arrived, and the cook had brought out a couple of pots of coffee and a plate full of doughnuts. None of us were going anywhere until this got sorted out. Amy and the young girl at the center of all of this were hustled off to Carroll Hospital in the same ambulance. The rest of us started making statements.
Donaldson was writing things down as fast as the cops! I just ignored him as best I could. This was undoubtedly the end of my political career. A fight in a diner, and with a reporter present. The only way this could possibly have been worse was with video.
Guess what? It got worse! We had video!
Nick had a couple of video cameras in the diner, and one of them was aimed right at the front of the diner, where the cash register was, along with the first few booths. The sergeant and the plainclothes guy found it and started watching, and then called me over. Fletcher tagged along like an eager puppy. There was no sound, so they asked me to provide a running dialog.
“You handled yourself pretty good there. You want to explain that?” asked the plainclothes cop.
“Sure. What’s your name?”
“I’m Lieutenant Hughes. So, what gives?”
“Real simple, Lieutenant. I have a couple of black belts, aikido and tae kwan do. And I used to be in the service. I was a paratrooper. This guy, whoever he was, didn’t worry me. Who was he, anyway?”
The lieutenant looked mystified at that; it was the sergeant who answered. “That is a wonderful fellow named Haywood Collins. She’s his wife. They have a dump apartment north of town, and we go out there about once a month on a domestic. He likes to use her for a punching bag, and she won’t leave him, and we can’t make her.”
I shook my head. “Crap! Do you know how many of these things end up with dead wives? Any way we can get her into a shelter or something?”
“We’ve tried, but she always goes back.”
“Maybe if he’s in jail she can break free from him,” I said. “I’ll charge him with attempted assault on me, if I have to.”
Lieutenant Hughes shrugged. “Fine by me, but this guy really screwed up this time. We have him dead to rights on assault and battery on Nick and the waitress, and even when he grabbed his wife. You’ll just be icing on the cake. This guy’s going to be spending a few years in Hagerstown. Maybe we can get her loose from him by then.”
“She has got to be terrified of him. Any chance we can get her in a shelter before then? What if he gets out on bail?” I asked.
“Who the fuck is going to bail this loser out!? Nah, he’s got a few priors. The judge is not about to let him loose, and the ACLU ain’t going to make a Federal case over this guy,” said the sergeant. “We can get in touch with a shelter. Maybe they can help. Maybe there’s something the hospital can help with.” He shrugged.
“What’s it to you?” asked the lieutenant. “Besides, where the hell have I heard of you from? For some reason I’ve heard of you.”
I rolled my eyes at that. “Great. Two hundred grand in television ads, and all I get is you might have heard my name. I’m running for Congress!”
It clicked, and his eyes opened wide. “Holy shit! It is you! That’s where I’ve seen you!” Several of the cops came over at that point and shook my hand, and even Nick came over.
Well, I suppose it was nice to be recognized, but a month from now, I’d be ancient history. If Marilyn didn’t kill me, Andy Stewart was going to beat my brains in about my fighting in a diner.
“Hey, any chance I can get out of here? My wife is going to kill me,” I said.
“Sure, just give us a number to reach you at. The DA might want to hear from you, too.”
I gave him a couple of my business cards. “Listen, give one of those to the shelter when you find one. I’m a pretty easy touch for charities, and that might tip the balance about getting that girl some help.”
“Sure.”
“And keep this guy here. Throw him in jail! Give him the rubber hose treatment! Reporters are a pain in the ass!” I said. I turned to Fletcher. “You need a lift back to your car?”
He smiled. “No. I’ll get a lift with the cops, unless they want me to spell their names wrong.”
Hughes and I just rolled our eyes at that. He said, “I’m really liking the rubber hose idea.”
I shook a few hands and headed home. It was late when I got home, a bit after eleven. Marilyn was sleeping in her recliner. I momentarily debated leaving her there, but she’d get pissed at me. I simply made enough noise that she struggled awake. Dum-Dum wandered sleepily out of Charlie’s room, yawned, and then went over to the patio door to be let out. I put her out on her tie-out while Marilyn got out of her chair. “You’re home late! Big night?”
“Sort of. You’ll read about it in the papers for sure tomorrow.”
“Oh?” That woke her up.
“Oh!” I needed a drink, but it was too late, and I didn’t want to open a bottle or get too involved. I settled on some iced tea.
“What happened?”
Marilyn waited until I was sitting in my recliner, and then crawled onto my lap after letting Dum-Dum back in, and laid her head against my shoulder. She cuddled there while I told her about my latest adventure in the wonderful world of campaign politics. Afterwards, she said, “And you think this is going to hurt your campaign?”
“I think it’s going to kill it! Fighting in a diner? With a reporter watching? I might as just well hang it up now, and save everybody the trouble of the election,” I told her.
“Well, I think you’re wrong, and I’m proud of you,” she told me.
“Huh?” I was obviously too tired to think. “I figured you’d be really pissed at me.”
Marilyn sighed. “Well, I’d probably be happier if you were a really quiet salesman and home every night at five, but that’s just not who I married. I married a hero, whether I like it or not. You weren’t going to let those girls get beat up, and if you lose the election, so be it. I’d rather you be an unelected hero than an elected coward.”
“Huh!”
“You know what Andy Stewart would have done, don’t you?” she asked, teasingly.
“No, what?”