Читать книгу The Fall and Rise of Cain - Greg T. Nelson - Страница 5

The pilot took my canvas bag and stood patiently as I used my cane to lever myself up the narrow stairs one at a time. I ducked into the cabin to see an already seated Clifford Childs on a cell phone. I turned my back on him and took the seat nearest the door. I didn’t particularly like having him behind me but this was closer to the bar. I heard him speak over the roar of the twin engines. “We’re taking off now sir, should be at the house by noon.”

I don’t like to fly. I dated a dancer slash psych student once who said I had control issues stemming from a persecution complex developed in childhood. Her name was Carmen something and I never liked that analytical side of her. Her other sides were ok, though. As I helped myself to a shot of Canadian whiskey and the pilots began flipping switches and going down their checklist, I tried not to talk myself into getting off and taking a cab back to Barnaby’s. Instead, I gazed out at the now passing cement and thought back to Philly Granger and his last words to me at the cemetery three years ago. “I know it wasn’t your fault really Cain. But you’re the only one left to blame so just stay away from me, ok?” I didn’t like Philly but I had promised others I’d leave Houston anyway. So I just nodded and drove away. As the Lear climbed towards the Texas sky I thought of Judith and my last day on the job.

I think Judith Granger had been a cop just to aggravate her famous father at first but she got to be pretty good at it. I was twenty years a Detective when she made the grade and became my partner on the Violent Offender’s Task Force of the Houston Police Department. Being the daughter of a retired General had given Judith a hard edge that was offset by a perfect 5’2 inch frame and a set of killer brown eyes. I never laid a hand on her, worse I sort of adopted her. Taught her some shortcuts, how to work a case and how to not give a shit what other cops thought of her. Yeah, I loved her and I understood why Philly could hate me for getting her killed. I felt the same way.

Did I mention I hate to fly? Never is a man more helpless than sitting in a modern miracle of engineering going 500 mph with nothing between him and 40,000 feet of air, except technology. It doesn’t matter how smart I am, tough I am or how good a shot, if the jet, the mechanic or the pilot screws up I’m screwed. Stupid way to travel.

Thirty minutes into the flight I realized with stifled dread that it was only half over and I had already had two drinks. One more and I’d be too sloshed to deal with Philly.

General Phillip T. Granger, U.S. Air force, retired in 2001. The legendary hero of three wars and fallen hero of one weapon for diamonds scandal in the South Africa. I was never interested enough to look into it. But it seems that on nearing retirement, the already wealthy Granger had misplaced several of the Army’s shoulder mounted rocket launchers and come into possession of several pounds of conscript diamonds from Angola. He was never officially charged but he went from king of the guest list in D.C. to lowly shipping magnet in Houston. All at about the same time, Judith joined the Department. I got the feeling the scandal didn’t hurt their relationship much. She already hated him.

We would stop by on duty a couple of times each week so Judith could check on her mother. Carol Granger was the picture of Southern charm, always smiling to see Judith and always a bit wasted on vodka martinis. Once after a good bust, Judith and I had sat in a Galveston bar and she had confided in me that Philly was a wife beater of the executive class. She had put a stop to it after becoming a cop by threatening to make it all official. But he continued his other vices like openly womanizing and constantly throwing insults at Carol in public. Judith had begged her mother to leave him and couldn’t understand why she refused to even discuss it. “I guess she thinks he’s the best she can do,” she had told me.

As we made a lazy turn over downtown Houston I remembered how cool I had been in 1985 patrolling the mean street of the county’s fourth largest city. As I caught sight of the ship channel and the twenty-five miles of port authority piers and warehouses, I recalled reading that on any given day there might be a hundred ships and several thousand men in constant motion on those piers. Then I remembered that day two years ago when the largest labor strike ever seen in Texas had made it a huge ghost town. That day there had been only one ship and a news crew and, oh yes, Judith and me.

The Lear 60 finally screeched onto the Houston Hobby runway and I sighed with relief at having cheated death. As we taxied toward a huge MILLIONAIR sign, I unbuckled and grabbed my cane. We came to a stop near a long glass building and after the pilot opened the hatch, I stumbled down to find another Lincoln identical to the one I got out of eighty minutes earlier, engine running and two perfectly groomed girls holding the doors open. I got close enough to say thanks but I needed to step inside for a moment. “Jillian”, as her nametag announced, cheerfully ushered me inside to a plush lobby and down the hall to a bathroom fit for captains of industry. As I stood at the tastefully lit urinal ridding myself of the General’s liquor I heard the door open and Clifford announces, “We should be going, Cain. The General does not like to be kept waiting.” As I zipped up and washed my hands I replied just loud enough for him to hear, “He’d like it less if I pissed in his Town Car asshole. Why don’t you go wait for me?” I watched in the mirror as Clifford’s jaw flexed three times and I imagined he was thinking about snapping my neck, but even ugly dogs can be well trained and he just turned and left.

I took a minute at the mirror to take inventory. I’ve put on a little weight since taking the cities injury package. I weigh about 235 now and I rarely lift anything heavier than a drinking glass but I still have the shoulders of the big scary cop I once was. At six four I tend to fill most doorways and size alone has kept me out of a few fights. The scar over my right eye is pretty small and the tan hides it till you get close. Most never notice it. Dark hair with specks of gray falling across my forehead most of the time and I comb it with my fingers, once in the morning at best. Judith used to say I had a spooky smile. I never understood that since she seemed to always get me to smile when little else did. The first thing people always look at is the cane. I lost a lot of bone and muscle when those Russian thugs emptied Uzis at us. It was a Life Flight crew that kept me alive and vascular surgeons that kept my leg attached. After ten months of rehab, I got to ditch the crutches for a cane and they broke the news to me that was as good as it was going to get. HPD gave me a souvenir badge, a Texas Gun Permit and a pension. In exchange, I didn’t say “I told you so” in front of the reporters. They also promised to leave Katy alone.

As I did at least once a day, I wondered where she was.

Katy:

I woke from a light sleep just as the Airbus taxied into the Dallas gate. Most of the other passengers got off as I waited for the next leg of the flight. The flight attendant came back to check on me as I was putting my heels back on. “We’ll be here for about thirty minutes, Ms. Cain. You can stretch your legs if you want.” I had to sneak another glance at her badge to get the name again, “No thanks Marcie, I’ll stay put, ok if I use my cell?” She started her routine, straightening seatbelts and gathering trash down the aisle behind me. “Sure, just remember to turn it off when the cabin doors close.”

I pulled my briefcase out and dug down until I found the Blackberry. Putting the Bluetooth earpiece on, I spoke clearly, “CALL OFFICE”. I waited a few seconds while the voice recognition decided it was me and listened to a few clicks and hums then Sam answered, “Good Afternoon, Katy Cain’s Office”.

I tried to snarl, “Sam would you please not answer KATY CAIN, it sounds like a breakfast cereal.”

Sam chuckled, “Sorry sweetie, it’s been crazy here all day.”

Sam is the best part of my job, always out in front guarding my door like a pit bull. He makes sure I’m never late, never unprepared and never sloppy looking. Whenever anyone else is around he is big, good looking and all business but when it’s just me and him he is the gayest man I’ve ever met. At the closing of a door, he turns into a walking stereotype for poufy hairdressers. Sometimes I feel like that cartoon character with the singing frog that no one else can see.

I smiled to myself and visualized him perched on my desk looking at his nails, “So what’s been so crazy?” I asked.

“WELL,” he sighed. I braced myself for some melodrama. “First, the decorator you hired for the Baytown store is useless, he says. He can’t possibly get the job done on schedule because the carpet you want is on back order…

I jumped in, “Bullshit Sam! That little prima donna just wants to sell us the carpet he picked instead of my choice, at twice the retail. You tell him he’s either on schedule or unemployed.”

Sam was laughing, “Sh sh sh, baby I already told him just that and he has revised his estimate and it will be ready for furniture this Monday.” I took a deep breath and realized my shoulders were suddenly tense. I worked them and took a slow breath...

“Thanks, Sam, good job. Anything else? I’m in Dallas and should touch down at Hobby by two.” The phone was strangely quiet and I thought for a moment I’d lost him. “Sam, you there?”

He answered but sounded funny, like he was undecided about it, “Yessss, I’m here, do you remember Steven, the guy I told you about?”

I thought for a second, “Sure, Mr. Perfect runs a gas station for Lear Jets at Hobby, Air Millions or something like that.”

“It’s MillionAir, it’s a place for very rich people to come and go from and, well...”

Passengers were starting to file onto the plane. “Better spit it out Sam, I gotta turn my phone off in a minute.”

“OK, here goes, Steven picked me up here at the office the other day and I showed him around.”

“OK with me.”

“Yeah, well he saw the pictures behind your desk, you know the old ones of Richard and you and he called me a few minutes ago…”

“Oh shit.”

“Yes boss, Steven just called, your husband’s back.”

Richard:

Sensing I had kept Clifford waiting long enough to strain our friendship, haha, I tucked in my shirt, adjusted the Beretta for comfort and moved back through the lobby to the waiting Lincoln. As I passed the desk I got an odd look from a young man at the counter. He opened his mouth to speak and then thinking better of it reached for a phone on the counter. I chalked it up to mistaken identity and pushed to go back outside to my waiting Lincoln.

“Jillian” was back at the passenger door and managing not to sweat in the 90-degree heat. She reminded me of those girls in a Robert Palmer video. “Thanks for visiting Million Air, Sir, Have a good day.” I wondered if I should tip her but she seemed to be thrilled enough just to hold the door. So I threw her a grin and slid into the car. I was just getting positioned when Clifford gunned the engine and we flew off the ramp and into Houston traffic. The trip toward Granger's house was almost as tense as the flight had been. Clifford was pissed at being chewed out by a gimp in a bathroom. Without asking I lit a cigar and cracked the window before addressing the problem, “Let’s agree that you don’t like being called an asshole and I don’t like being ordered around, especially while I’m pissing.”

It must have made some sense to him or maybe he just remembered he was stuck with me cause he eased up on the gas and mumbled, “OK, but open the window some more will ya.” I complied and settled back for the twenty-minute ride to Granger’s house.

In addition to five pro sports franchises, the largest theater district next to New York and the world’s largest annual rodeo, Houston also has about four and a half million people and it always seems they’re driving at the same time. This did not trouble Clifford Childs in the least. While the rest of humanity struggled through the infamous Houston snarl, Clifford cruised up and down back streets and little-known shortcuts with the ease of a studied expert. With skill usually acquired by years in a cab or a patrol car, he timed lights, cut through parking lots and crowded slower cars out of his preferred lane. I was silently impressed when he turned into River Oaks ten minutes quicker than I could have without a siren.

The house was just like I remembered, huge. Complete with pool and guesthouse, it was walled all around and crowded with nicely trimmed pine trees towering over always-mowed grass. The white columns framed a front door big enough to drive the Lincoln through. Judith had never lived on the estate. Granger had brought it after she went to college. She had grown up on a dozen different military bases. Oh, she had keys and gate codes but I sometimes got the idea she never went there unless I was with her. It wasn’t that she was afraid of her father. She just seemed to act tougher when around him. Like she had to wear emotional armor to be near him. I had talked with him a few times while Judith and Carol were out of the room visiting but even though he was civil enough it was obvious he never liked me. Always a snide remark here and there about how stupid he thought cops were or how stupid he thought Texan’s were or how really stupid Texas Cops were. I had always assumed it was suspicion on his part. Of me, a man twice her age, spending so much time with his little girl. I mentioned it to Judith once and she got a dark look about her, “Screw him Rich, what he thinks doesn’t matter.”

Clifford parked at the front door and I got out with my bag and followed him up the steps. Clifford opened it without knocking and waited till I was inside before closing it behind me. He gestured down the hall, “General Granger left something for you to see in the office.” I can move pretty fast on the cane when I have to but it tends to wear me out so I let Clifford outpace me. I arrived at the office door after he had opened it and stepped inside. I wished I’d stayed at Barnaby’s.