The Juke (Changes Book 2) Page 14

  “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  “It’s dangerous. Let’s wait for tonight, and I’ll go back out.”

  “No, not tonight.” He kissed her quickly. “I put us here, and I’m going to fix it.”

  “I’m worried, Frank,” she continued. “What about me and Perry?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s all figured out. Everything will be fine,” and he tried his best to feel confident. He would assume all the risk, and they would walk free no matter what. “I think I know a place. I got it all sorted out.” She knew he was lying but settled back into the seat. They each lived with many lies between them. She was nervous but was also feeling the sickness so she couldn’t protest too much. Frank said, “Buckle up, Perry,” before shifting into drive and pulling out.

  He was reminded of The Grapes of Wrath. The entire family loading up in the jalopy and heading west, hoping for new opportunities. The West. He thought of it fondly in that moment. Wide open. New. Warm. While the East is old and bleary, the West is drumskin-tight, ready to bang loudly with new rhythms. Rebel against its parents. Aspire to the ideals the East surrendered years ago. Traveling west was traveling to the new.

  As he drove through the frozen streets of Lancaster, he passed through the old town, and took in its red-brick row houses. He sensed this would be the last time, though he didn’t know why. Perhaps because the West was where he was from. Rebirth and renewal awaited him.

  And that was it, he reasoned. He was in a rut and wanted newness. But he also knew that his old life sat waiting just beyond the horizon. West.

  He found the 7-11 just as he had seen it a few weeks ago. It was on the edge of an industrial park and was in a neighborhood where people didn’t question. Exactly the type of neighborhood he needed. This wouldn’t net them much, but enough to get going, get out of Lancaster, and point to the setting sun. And, most importantly, get them a bit of junk for the trip.

  He circled around the block twice. Saw the empty homes nearby. Saw the industrial park was closed. Things were still; nobody was out.

  “Is it a holiday today, Mariah?” he asked.

  She laughed. “It’s New Year’s Day, dummy!” she chided. She was pale, but gave him a wan smile. She was already trembling and scratching.

  “Wow,” he said, “…1998.” How had he lost track of these days? Most people were home nursing hangovers. That would be better, especially in these early hours. He didn’t see anybody on the streets to challenge him.

  The orange, red, and green stripes ran along the side of the store, and he pulled past it and parked a half-block down. He turned to Mariah.

  He was jittery with adrenaline and the comedown, so he spoke quickly. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’m going to go up and do my thing. You stay here. If you hear anything, you take off. Don’t look back. Got it? If anybody stops you, you say that you didn’t know what I was going to do and that I asked you to drop me off.”

  “Frank…”

  “It’s okay,” he smiled. “I’ll be in and out in five minutes. Just don’t take any chances. Any questions, you bail and drive off.”

  She looked up at him, then put her head to his chest. “Be careful, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He kissed her hair, opened the door, and slid out. She moved over and took the wheel. As he closed the door, he said, “Don’t shut it off…it was slow to start.”

  She nodded and rolled up the window against the cold. He slid the revolver into the small of his back and pulled his shirt and jacket over it. It was a still morning and briskly cold. He turned to the store and began to trudge through the packed, icy, sooty snow on the ground. He did his best to appear nonchalant, but his heart was thumping in his ears. He could feel the flush. His breath came out in clouds.

  But he tried to stay steady. He knew what he wanted to do. Had to do. This wasn’t his first robbery, and despite his apprehensions, he knew he would be fine. Walk in, demand the cash, and get out quickly. Most of these 7-11s were staffed by college students who didn’t care about the till.

  There’s no turning back now.

  As he entered the store, he heard the jingle of the passive sensor. He made a couple steps up toward the counter, when he saw a man stand up suddenly behind it. “Hallo frien,” the man said, with a thick European accent. “Happy New Year!”

  “Yeah, Happy New Year,” he said.

  The surprise of someone standing up so quickly unnerved him, so he turned and walked toward the refrigerators. He felt his hand trembling as he grabbed the sliding door, which seemed incredibly heavy as he pushed it open. He grabbed a bottle of Pepsi and turned back toward the front counter. There was suspicion in the man’s eyes immediately. He saw anticipation. Frank knew he was sending vibes, and he had picked up on them. Fuck it! I just have to do it. There’s no turning back now. He walked back toward the counter.

  Their eyes met as he came forward. The man behind the counter was probably in his early thirties. His dark, wavy hair was cut short. His dark eyes regarded Frank as he continued to amble forward. The counter seemed so far away, and his legs felt heavier with every step.

  Frank saw the cigarette rack behind the counter as he approached. He put the Pepsi on the counter and said, “Let me have a pack of Winstons.” The clerk looked at him and knew he had no choice. He hesitated with a blank stare, then turned to the cigarettes. Frank jerked out the pistol and it was pointed at the clerk before he turned back around. He didn’t see surprise in his eyes—he saw I knew it!

  “Sorry, man, need all your cash in the register.” The clerk looked first at him, then the gun, then stepped to the register with jaw muscles flexing. He pushed two buttons, and the cash drawer slid open. He took the bills out and stacked them on the counter. Frank only saw a few twenties, a couple tens, and some ones. “The coin rolls too,” he said with urgency in his voice. With a slow, deliberate pace he put two rolls of quarters, a roll of dimes, and two rolls of nickels on the counter.

  “You vant pennies too?” Their eyes met.

  “Nah, just the silver.”

  Frank stepped forward, pulling the pistol back just a bit, should the storekeeper lunge. He used his left hand to stuff the bills in his pants pocket and the coins in his jacket pocket. He kept a careful eye on the clerk. The man’s nametag said Hadur.

  Frank grabbed the Pepsi, and kept the gun leveled at the clerk. He then turned to move toward the door. All he needed was a few quick steps and he would be out the door and around the corner to the car, and then they’d be off.

  But within the first two steps, he heard fast movement and then the heavy clack-clack of metal against metal.

  “Stop, muthafucka!” he heard the clerk shout. He turned to see the pump-action shotgun leveled at him. Immediately he jerked down into a crouch.

  The first booming report sounded like a thunderclap, and next to him one of the two swinging doors shattered, the glass blasting out onto the sidewalk. Small shards sprayed him, like glittering snowflakes. He heard another loud clack-clack and then a second boom, and small-bag potato chips that were stacked on a display flew in a thousand directions. He could feel the hot burn of pellets on his left arm, like bee stings, and black liquid streamed out of the Pepsi in his hand. These happened so fast that Frank didn’t see the cashier or the store. His eyes swung wildly about, and his arms flew up in front of his face, as if to protect himself. His legs turned to rubber underneath him.

  A third clack-clack, only this time he swung his pistol toward the counter while the other hand still covered his face. He jerked the trigger hard and heard his own loud report. The .357 nearly jumped out of his trembling hands. He didn’t hear the shotgun blast, so he again jerked off a round, while sliding back toward the door. The recoil made him stumble backward.

  Now his feet found purchase, and flight took over. He dove against the glassless-swinging door, and was out. His feet skittered on the shards on the sidewalk and he went down to one knee. His left hand hit the glass, and the Pepsi gushed out the last o
f its contents. He pushed with his hand, and he was up on his feet and flying with all his will. His neck instinctively pulled down, and his shoulders came up, waiting for the blast he was sure would sound any second.

  He was around the corner, and in the distance he could see the car pulling forward, moving away from him.

  “Wait! STOP!” he shrieked, terror in his voice. He saw the brake lights, and the car stopped. Steam vented out from the exhaust pipe.

  His legs were pumping involuntarily, and he couldn’t feel his feet hitting the asphalt. He could only see the old car in front of him, could only hear his wheezing breaths and footfalls. All else was the silence of death. His mind was pure flight, and he was at the passenger side throwing open the door in seconds, not even looking back to the store. He went in headfirst and shrieked, “Drive, drive!” before he could get the door closed. All he wanted was to be away, far away from where he was.

  The car leapt forward, and they were around the corner.

  XVIII

  The drive home was the worst part for him. He could feel the last of his energy drain away from him, and he was as empty as he had felt that night. Each shift, each press of the pedal, each turn of the wheel took incredible effort. He was as weak as a baby. He just wanted to get home and relax. Put his feet up on his recliner. He knew he had to plan…yes, he definitely needed a plan. But now his choices seemed very limited.

  And, of course, he would have to deal with her. He would have to tell her at some point what was going on. But not today…today he just needed to relax. That conversation would have to wait until he could consider alternatives and gird himself for the ensuing battle.

  As he drove he watched the movie of events in his mind. He remembered them all sitting around the conference table in the downtown union office. Betrayal. An old friend had betrayed him. There was no other way to look at it. How could he? They had known each other for years. Why would he turn on him like that?

  I guess he’s bucking for lieutenant. Why else would he Judas me like that?

  They had sat around that large, polished wood table. Clear plastic pitchers of ice water. Sipping glasses. Stacks of papers. Rolling cart with VCR. It had all been carefully orchestrated. He knew they had planned this just to destroy him and take away his life and livelihood. And the betrayal was the final stroke…the last blade to his innards, and it came from a friend.

  You also, Aldis?

  He winced when he ran through the DA’s recitation. “Deputy Jensen, we have reviewed your sworn statement, dated September 7th, 1994. You offered a very specific account of the events of the evening of September 5th, 1994. In Section Five, you stated, ‘I entered the cell to help Mr. Joseph, as he seemed to be very upset. It’s not uncommon for a person to feel this way their first time in jail. When I entered, he attacked me. I used my baton to fend him off, but he continued to attack.’”

  His union team had fought very hard for him. They had filed multiple procedural requests. They had maneuvered through the collective bargaining agreement and filed countless protests and grievances on his behalf. It had taken these last two years to reach the point of this hearing. But now, at this most critical moment, they were mute. They had seen the evidentiary tape that was about to be played. They knew its contents. They knew the eventual outcome. There were no more maneuvers to play.

  And then the television was turned on, and the tape slid in. Everybody turned to watch the segment except Sergeant Franklin, now with a few white curls and a few more pounds, who looked straight at Jensen as the gray images danced across the screen. Jensen could only watch himself.

  The camera was positioned above and just outside the cell door. They all saw Frank Joseph slapping the glass with the flat of his hand with a whap whap whap. Deputy Jensen moved to the security door and stood there. The angle did not permit a clear view of their faces, but Frank was speaking, demanding a phone call in a croaky, exasperated voice.

  Then Deputy Jensen extended the keys from his belt loop, and turned the large metal key in the lock. Frank Joseph stepped back from the door, and it was easy to see a relieved look on his face. Jensen entered the room, and the door closed behind him. Then the baton was out.

  Franklin’s eyes were still on Jensen, but Jensen was wincing with each stroke of the baton. Strikes to the leg, body. Grunts and cries. But the hard strikes to the forearm, which clearly distended it, were the most gruesome. It had all seemed so different there in that room. It had all seemed like something that had to be done. Lies…these are lies. They must have edited the tape. My enemies are upon me. They have all the power.

  As Franklin and the other deputy rushed into the room, Jensen turned toward the camera, and his slack face told the entire story. That was where the DA paused the tape. His ghostlike visage stayed frozen on the screen, with Joseph’s prostrate body behind him, right hand holding his broken left forearm.

  The video doesn’t tell the story, Jensen thought. I’m being railroaded. They doctored it. They went right to the end…there was much more. They are setting me up and making me a scapegoat.

  Sheriff’s Captain Rob Smythe sat next to Franklin. He was the first to speak.

  “Deputy Jensen, the actions on that tape show behaviors we cannot support. You have a history of excessive force, which is why you were transferred away from patrol in the first place. Clearly, you have issues, and you have refused the multiple offers of counseling and other support.” Jensen looked to Franklin, who was still watching him. He knew his old friend had made that point. “I have no choice but to place you on indefinite, unpaid suspension.”

  The DA added, “We encourage you to seek trial counsel, Deputy Jensen. We are gathering evidence, and will present it to a grand jury in two weeks.”

  Franklin thought, Nobody has even mentioned Mr. Joseph in all this.

  Jensen never said a word. He stoically suffered the arrows in his back from his former compatriots. He let his enemies feast upon him. They’ll get theirs. But the betrayal of his friend was the most hurtful. The most crippling. They had attended the same academy class. They had worked the streets of Sacramento together. He knew with full certainty that Franklin had turned on him to get close to the captain, and that’s what had now happened. It was confirmed when he saw Franklin lean over to the captain and whisper to him. He didn’t know that Franklin was asking about his victim; he was certain of more devious intentions.

  But Jensen knew something they didn’t know: he knew retribution would come. A final judgment. He knew he would be vindicated someday. He knew his enemies would fall at his feet. Question him? Challenge him? How dare they? He knew these evil men would fall to evil purposes. Jensen had prayed with his pastor, who had promised him that God’s good works never go unrecognized. That Jesus was the final judge. Jensen knew he would be judged as a good man, no matter what he saw on the tape. Either now or in the next life. Someday he would sit with his Creator and look down upon these low men and their low purposes. Maybe Jesus would let him cast them into the Lake of Fire. That would give him incredible satisfaction.

  He pulled up to his house just as the rain began to fall. A soft patter hit his windshield as he parked on his driveway. His garage door opener was busted, and he didn’t have the money to fix it. He edged his pickup close to the door, then turned off the ignition. He sat there for a moment; he hoped he wouldn’t face one of Crystal’s bad days. He hoped she would be in a good mood, or at least let him rest first. He was tired and wanted to have his feet up. Needed to.

  As he came through the front door, he saw suitcases aligned in a row near the fireplace.

  “Crystal?” he called out. No answer.

  He could hear her moving in the bedroom. He walked slowly to the opened door.

  Crystal Jensen was packing her last suitcase. She was carefully arranging her clothes, and making sure her jewelry was tucked away safely. Next to her suitcase, her makeup case was open, and her last few bottles of Lancôme were to be placed in their neat rows. She didn’t
look up and kept to her work.

  “Crystal, what’s going on?” He honestly knew better than to ask, but it came out of him anyway.

  She continued packing while she spoke. “You know what I’m doing. I heard what happened today. Cindy Franklin told me. I’m not going to stick around while we lose everything.”

  So. Aldis’ final betrayal. I guess he wants to destroy my entire life.

  She moved past him and into the bathroom, returning with her hair dryer. She coiled the cord around it and placed it neatly in the corner of her case. Her pace was frenetic.

  “So just like that you’re gone?”

  And then she looked up at him. She was grinding her teeth, and her jaw muscles were knotted. “Why should I stay? Why would I possibly stick around a loser like you? You’ve already made me live like a peasant.” He could see storms in her dark eyes. “I have had to work like a slave because you’re too lazy to get a good job and take care of me. All my friends laugh at me for being with a weak man.”

  That’s because you tell them you have a weak man, he thought. He didn’t dare say it.

  She placed the final vials of makeup in the case and closed it. Zipping her Louis Vuitton suitcase, she again turned to him, eyes still ablaze.

  “All these years I’ve wasted on you. I worked. I cleaned. I cooked. I took care of you, even though you’re cheap and lazy. I gave you children. I should have left you long ago!” She grabbed her cases and used them as battering rams to push past him, stomping her feet as she went by. She took them to the front room and carefully placed them next to her other cases.

  “Where are the kids?” he asked numbly.

  “They’re with my sister. I’ll be staying there while I get a lawyer. I probably won’t get a single penny from this fucking marriage, so I have to start a new life, living like a pauper with my sister. She’ll be here any minute to pick me up.”

  “Okay, I understand.”

  It was all clear now. The kids were gone. Perfect.

  She was right, after all. There was no money to be had. Nothing but credit card debt and a second mortgage. Neither of them was winning on this deal. Neither of them would be able to rub two pennies together after it was over. They were flat busted, and soon he would be unemployed and unemployable.