Читать книгу Outcast - Joan Johnston - Страница 10

Ben was exhausted. He sat in his undershorts on the brocade-upholstered couch in his newly furnished four-story row house in Georgetown, his head in his hands. He could see the pink-and-yellow light of dawn through the silk-draped windows. When was this going to end? How long was he going to have these damned nightmares? He’d woken up screaming. And been afraid to go back to sleep.

He rubbed a hand across his bristly face. Thank God he’d been alone. Thank God he’d sent home the woman he’d picked up at a bar last night after he’d left Patsy’s party. He didn’t remember much about her, except that her body had been a brief haven for his.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his gritty eyes. He’d been seeking escape from more than his own troubles. He’d felt bad for Patsy.

When he’d entered the living room last night, his father had been helping his mother remove her coat. Patsy would have had to be blind to miss the yearning in his eyes. And his stepmother was a woman who saw things very clearly.

Ben had been furious with his father. And frustrated by his inability to change the situation. It was a feeling he’d lived with since he was eight and understood that his father had gotten another woman pregnant, which had caused his mother to ask for a divorce.

But he was no longer a helpless child. He could protect his stepmother. And had, by refocusing his father’s attention on himself. “Looks like some kind of gang trouble is going to hit the District soon,” he’d said.

“You should have stayed in the army,” his father replied. “There you could have done some real good for this country.”

“I’m doing good where I am, Dad,” he’d said. “The threat is right here in our backyard.”

“You were a good soldier. A great soldier.”

“I’m a good ICE agent.” But it was clear from his father’s expression that there was no chance for greatness in that role.

His father snorted. “You spend your days rounding up illegal aliens and deporting them.”

“That isn’t all I do.” But he knew that, in his father’s eyes, his work as an ICE agent could never measure up to the contribution he could make to his country as part of the military. His father couldn’t understand why he’d resigned his commission after training for a life in the army.

And he wasn’t about to tell him the truth.

Luckily, within a few minutes Ham had arrived, everyone shared a toast to the bride and groom, and Ben’s mother and the senator left to return to the senator’s Georgetown home.

Ben had given Patsy a hard hug before he left. But he hadn’t looked her in the face. Because he couldn’t bear to see the silent suffering in her eyes.

Ben wondered if Patsy and his father had argued last night. Probably they had. He worried that the day was coming when they wouldn’t make up.

Ben shoved his hands through his hair. In order not to stick out as a cop on the street, he was allowed to let his hair grow long. But it was time for a haircut. He needed to get up off the couch and get moving. Get a shower. Eat some breakfast. When was the last time he’d eaten a decent meal? Breakfast yesterday, maybe. He’d had no appetite last night. No wonder his stomach felt like it was gnawing on his insides.

He had to check in with his ICE boss, Tony Pellicano, at nine. Then he wanted to spend some time driving around the Columbia Heights neighborhood. There were kids from gangs other than the 18th Street crowd who might be able to tell him something more about the storm that was threatening to break over D.C.

A half hour later, after a shower and a bowl of shredded wheat—the banana he’d planned to slice on top had been rotten—Ben was out the door. He loved living in Georgetown, loved the feel of it, the brick and the trees and the sunshine that made it feel so alive, even though most of the row houses had been built more than a century before.

But Georgetown had opted out of having the Metro come through—bringing in the riffraff—so he needed a car to get around. He’d been drunk when he’d left the Hare & Hound last night, so he’d left his car parked on the street near the pub and walked home with his nameless paramour. Which meant he needed to walk back this morning to pick it up.

He found himself gaining ground on a stray dog striding along the brick sidewalk in front of him. The heavily muscled black-and-tan rottweiler was wearing a spiked collar, from which a piece of heavy chain dangled. The dog sniffed a Japanese cherry tree, lifted his leg, then marched on down the sidewalk as though he owned it.

The dog’s head turned sharply, and Ben followed the beast’s gaze to a bunch of uniformed schoolgirls, laughing and chattering as they made their way down the opposite side of the street.

Ben felt his neck hairs prickle when the rottweiler started across the road toward the girls, disappearing between two parked SUVs.

Ben picked up his pace, afraid the stray might attack the girls, several of whom had begun skipping, seeming to flee the dog. Making themselves prey.

The dog shot out from between the parked cars at exactly the same moment as a Toyota SUV found a break in the morning traffic and barreled past. The driver hit his brakes and laid ten feet of rubber before he slammed into the rottweiler, sending it flying.

The girls screamed.

The dog howled in anguish.

Ben stared in disbelief as the driver glanced back over his shoulder, then laid more rubber as he snaked through traffic to escape the scene.

As Ben approached the rottweiler the injured beast bared its sharp teeth and growled ferociously. The bones in one of the dog’s hind legs were sticking through its flesh. The beast tried to rise, then yelped in pain and fell back to the ground. There was no way to get near the animal without getting mauled.

“I’m calling 911!” one of the schoolgirls cried as she began searching through her backpack.

Another girl pointed to a brick building across the street and said, “There’s an emergency vet right there on the corner.” She focused her teary eyes on Ben and said, “Won’t you please take him there, sir? Please?”

Ben glanced at the vet’s office across the street, thinking the vet would have some idea how to subdue the dog so he could be moved and treated.

Then the decision was taken out of his hands. One of the schoolgirls bent down and reached out a hand to the growling, slavering beast. Jaws snapping, the animal charged at her.

Ben had no choice but to intervene.