He took his gun out of the holster, rested it on his leg. How many cops had taken their.38s and just left all their troubles behind? One of the first things he'd heard as a rookie were the stories about cops "eating their guns." Mostly big-city cops, but occasionally a country cop would stick the barrel in his mouth and pull the trigger. Hallock shut his eyes. The image was terrible. No matter how bad things got he couldn't imagine doing that. He returned the gun to its holster.
Lifting his butt, he pulled his Sam Browne around his waist and buckled it in front. Technically he wasn't supposed to wear the gun any longer, but he didn't want his mother to know what had happened. More than likely she wouldn't even notice, but sometimes she was surprisingly lucid. He picked up his cap, set it on his head, checked his rearview and caught a good look at his face. Christ almighty, he thought, who the hell is that? Quickly he got out of the car.
As always when he first entered the nursing home, his sense of smell was assaulted, but by the time he left he had become used to it. As nursing homes went this one was pretty good, he was told. Still, there was no way to avoid the institutional feeling of the place, light green walls, tile floors, the hollow sound as you walked to your destination.
"Hi, Chief," June Lynch, the head nurse, called.
He hadn't the heart to tell her he was no longer the chief. "Hey there, June. How you doing?"
From under her cap yellow curls, like dandelions, framed her face. "Okay. You?"
What was she going to think when she heard? That he was a damn liar, that's what. "Doing fine. How's my mom?"
June came out from behind the desk, stuck a skinny arm through his and walked down the hall with him. "Well, Chief, she's in and out today, know what I mean?"
"Uh-huh."
"But she's been a good girl. Ate all her lunch."
"That's good."
Marion Hallock was tied in her wheel chair, staring straight ahead.
June shouted, "Look who's here, Mrs. Hallock!"
Hallock knew his mother wasn't deaf, guessed June was just in the habit of shouting at her patients.
"Your best beau," June added.
The left side of Marion's face drooped. When she spoke she looked like she was sneering. "Not my beau," she said with contempt, "he's my son. My beau's dead."
June knew Marion's husband was very much alive. "Isn't she something?" she said to Hallock, trying to make a joke out of it. "She's our Peck's bad girl sometimes."
Marion looked disgusted and turned away.
"Well, have a nice visit. See you later."
Hallock kissed his mother on the forehead. She looked up at him, pale blue eyes like bleached denim. "Woman's a horse's ass."
Hallock smiled. "Ah, Mom, she's just trying to be friendly."
"What for? Got all the friends I need. Saying you're my beau. Stupid. My beau's dead."
"Why are you saying that, Mom? Dad's not dead." He sat on the edge of the bed.
"Oh, him," she said contemptuously.
"Who else?"
The right side of her face smiled. "Never mind. Just forget it."
Hallock remembered some garbled story about his mother and Ben Davis, the Chrysler dealer in Bay View, about forty years ago. He couldn't recall the details now, the whole thing had been hazy then. "You talking about Ben Davis, Mom?" He took her good hand in his.
"He's dead," she said, not looking at him. "Died in that fire."
"What fire?"
"That damn club."
"Oh, yeah." Hallock remembered that most people had gotten out but ten or twelve had died. He'd forgotten Ben Davis was one of them. Who else? It was twenty, twenty-five years ago, he couldn't remember. "Was Ben Davis your beau?"
Marion Hallock touched a wisp of white hair that had fallen loose from her bun, then tucked it back in place. "Don't go playing chief of police with me, Waldo. I don't go for it."
"I'll never do it again," he said. "I promise." And he never would, not with her, not with anyone. Suddenly the reality of his dismissal was shattering. He wished he were small enough to sit in his mother's lap, have her stroke his hair, kiss his cheeks, tell him not to worry, it would all work out.
Marion broke through his thoughts. "Who are you?" she asked, pulling her hand from his. "Just who the hell are you?"
"Mom," he whispered.
"I'm going to ring for the nurse if you don't get yourself out of here. Policeman or no policeman."
"No policeman," he said.
"What's that?"
He bent to kiss her. She pulled back.
"Get," she commanded.
"So long, Mom. See you tomorrow."
"Don't come back here, I'll get the real police." Hallock said, "Yeah, you do that." He hurried down the hall, ducked past the front desk and got outside before anyone could see the tears streaking his face.
– -
Colin stared at the hill of fried rice on his plate, the moo shu pork, its pancake slowly unwrapping. He'd been stunned by Babe's parting shot, and dutifully followed her to the Peking Palace.
"You're not eating," Babe said.
"I told you I wasn't hungry. What do you want, Babe?" He pushed the plate to one side, lit a cigarette.
"Are you going to smoke while I eat?"
"Yes."
"That's rude, Colin."
"Tough. What do you want?" She'd been playing a game, refusing to talk until the food came. Now it was here, and she still wasn't talking. "Either you tell me what you have up your sleeve or I'm leaving."
"I don't think so," she said, a piece of rice stuck on her lower lip.
She was right, of course, she had him by the short hairs. Colin stared at the grain of rice clinging to her mouth. "I came to this goddamn place with you, so what are you waiting for? Tell me what you want, for Christ's sake."
She picked up her roll of moo shu pork. Colin grabbed her wrist, squeezed. "You're hurting me," she said.
"That's the idea." He tightened his grip and her hand opened, the filling dropping from the unfurled pancake.
"Stop it," she hissed, looking frantically around the room, fearful they'd be seen.
"Then tell me what you want."
"All right, let go."
He did. The pancake clung to her palm for a moment, then dropped with a splat onto the plate.
"You're a bastard," she said, rubbing her wrist. "You could have broken it."
"I'm waiting," he said.
"It's simple. I know about your wife and children."
"Know what?"
"I know they were murdered."
"So?"
"I know you were a suspect."
"So?"
"I know they never found the killer."
"So?"
"It's an unsolved case."
"I'm not getting your drift, Babe."
"No? That's funny, I thought you were kind of bright. I guess you can't ever tell by appearances, can you?" She sat back in her chair, continuing to rub her wrist.
"You're not telling me anything I don't know."
"Well, how about this then: Other people in this town who don't know about it might find it very interesting, like your boss maybe?"
Colin smiled, blew a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. "He already knows."
Her face fell like a bad soufflé. "I don't believe it."
"Ask him."
She leaned toward him, her hands clutching the edge of the table. "Do the police know, too?"
"No, the police don't know. I take it you mean Schufeldt."
"Any police."
"So what's your point, Babe? Are you blackmailing me?"
She laughed like the sound of squealing tires. "Oh, I love it. I just love it. Blackmail!" she snorted.
"What then?"
She lit a cigarette, let the smoke curl out from her mouth and drift upwards while she looked at Colin from under heavy lids. And then she began to blink, eyes watering.