The Juke (Changes Book 2) Read online

  So Peter Jensen took the steps he knew to be most logical. He took the cards fate had dealt him. It would be for the best, after all.

  He went into the bedroom and took off his gun belt. The holster was empty, as he had turned in his issued pistol and badge. He loosened the collar of his shirt and pulled off his necktie. He laid that flat on the bed. He took off his uniform shirt, folded it, and laid it next to his tie and empty gun belt. He opened his nightstand and took out his .38 revolver. He pushed the release and flicked open the chamber to ensure it was loaded.

  There’s no turning back now.

  He walked out into the living room. Crystal stood there, petulantly turned away from him with folded arms, watching out the front window with impatient foot tapping. He followed her gaze and saw her sister’s Honda drive up and slide into the driveway next to his truck. Crystal exhaled and moved to grab her suitcases.

  As she straightened with a case in each hand, Peter Jensen fired the first shot into her ear. Blood exploded out from the exit wound, spraying across the fireplace mantel, while the bullet shattered their wedding picture, which fell to the ground. She dropped with a hard thud to her knees, and her torso pushed over her row of cases. The sharp crack made his ears ring loudly. He wiped the blood spray from his face with his left hand and wiped it on his duty pants.

  He stepped over her twitching legs and looked down at her. Her eyes were vacant. Grayed out. Her legs jerked with their final, involuntary motions. Though he knew she was dead, he wanted to be sure. He fired two more rounds into her head, which turned to mush. Brain and skull oozed out onto her expensive suitcases. He smiled at that thought.

  Though his ears were ringing, and he was mostly deafened, he could just hear the pounding of Crystal’s sister at the door. He thought for a moment about opening the door and shooting her as well, but decided against it. He knew Meredith would take good care of his children.

  There’s no turning back now.

  He put the pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger. His body fell on top of his wife. One final grapple to end their lives together.

  PART IV: PHOENIX

  XIX

  Frank twisted open a beer and settled into the wrought-iron chair. His skin was grimy with sweat and soot, and he could smell his own stink. He took a long drink and enjoyed it sliding down his throat. It had been a long, hot day, and he was wasted from the heat. Welding was hot work even on an average day, but Arizona summers could suck the life right out of you, and this day had been a scorcher. He needed to take in as many fluids as possible, and the comforting buzz felt good after a long shift.

  “So you made this chair today?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it looks pretty good, doesn’t it?” he said with a sense of pride. He adjusted from side to side so she could see his handiwork, too tired to stand up. The twisted iron bars and meshed seat looked professionally made.

  “I’m very impressed.” She winked at him. She sat on the brick planter, nursing a beer herself, book face down and open next to her. “Will you make me one too?” She put on a girlish smile.

  “Well, I’m guessing when we’re done here, this one will stay. But sure, we can leave two instead of one. I guess it’s only fair we leave something behind.”

  “It would be nice for nights like this.” She took the last drink, stood up, opened the trashcan, and dropped it in. She opened another and was back on the planter. She looked straight up. “Oh, I love these desert summers, Frank.” She winced, then mouthed sorry. “But look at the moon, Chris,” she said, face up again. “I love the moon.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  “The moon is my favorite. I hate the hot red sun. So ugly, so angry. Especially here. The beautiful moon has always drawn me. She’s changing, like a sensual woman. She can be bright or dark. She can move through the sky and alter her shape. Transform. She is never the same.”

  “So does that make the sun a man?” he asked with a laugh.

  “Of course!” she smiled at him, then continued, “It’s a big showoff, the same blazing hot ball every day. Boring. Predictable. Just like a man,” and now they were both laughing.

  “Okay, girl, okay…” he said. “So what’s the book you’re reading?”

  She picked it up and showed it to him. Poems of Love. “It’s a collection of romantic poems. I don’t read books much, but I love the words in this one. I borrowed it from the counselor this morning…she had it in her office, and she loaned it to me.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “They’re all good, but the one I was reading earlier really touched me.”

  “Why don’t you read me a little?”

  She picked up the book, and read, careful to say each word correctly.

  The years shall run like rabbits,

  For in my arms I hold

  The Flower of the Ages,

  And the first love of the world.

  But all the clocks in the city

  Began to whirr and chime:

  ‘O let not Time deceive you,

  You cannot conquer Time.

  She pulled the book down and looked at him. He was looking out into the distance. He let the words settle into him. He pictured them, lined up in a row. Letters outlined in leafs of gold, then flickering flames.

  “You okay?” She was looking at him with her head tilted.

  “Yeah…yeah,” he said, breaking his reflection. “That was deep. What was it?”

  “It’s a poem by W.H. Auden, called As I Walked Out One Evening.”

  He took another drink of his beer. He could feel the words working on him, touching places he kept hidden. Locked closets and bolted chests. The words of the poem knocked on those places. He let those words move around. Cannot conquer time. Goddamned right.

  They were quiet and listened to the evening sounds. Buzzing bugs. Cats in the bushes. Frank enjoyed his beer, and he felt worlds better as it filled and cooled him. They were both lost in thought.

  Frank ran his tongue over his implants. They felt funny in his mouth, but were better than the jagged gaps. Hard work had tightened him and darkened his skin. He saw the small cuts on his hands and the twisted veins now more pronounced. And still those words ran through him.

  “I got a call from Perry today,” she said, breaking the spell. He turned to look at her. She nodded at his questioning look. “Yeah, his foster family called and said he wanted to speak with me.”

  “That’s very kind of them.”

  “Yeah…yeah…” and she turned, so he wouldn’t see her eyes mist. “It was so great to talk to him. He sounded great. He told me he was praying that he would turn into Superman.”

  “Superman?”

  “Yeah. He said he wanted to fly to me and rescue me, like Superman does in the cartoons.”

  “That’s so sweet.”

  “He seems to be thriving with this family. They have him enrolled in school, and he’s going to church. He just started the fifth grade today.”

  “Wow! Fifth grade.” The thought of his own children had been far off, but now moved closer.

  “Yeah, and he’s very excited about his teacher…said she’s very nice to him.”

  “That’s fantastic…I’m so happy you got to speak to him.” He tried to mask his own sadness. Ruth was probably in the same grade. Matthew should have already graduated high school. He wished he could talk to them, but knew it was out of the question.

  “I’m hoping we can visit him when we finish up here.”

  “Yeah, I think that would be great. We have three more weeks in the program, and then you can ask the court for visitation and then custody once we’re settled.”

  She changed the subject. “So tell me about the chair. I didn’t realize you were making this much progress.”

  “Yeah, I’m really enjoying welding. It’s more fun than I would have thought. Today they showed me how to use the torch to make the wrought iron hot and then how to bend these bars. Then I would connect the ends by beveling them wit
h a grinder…”

  “Beveling?”

  “Slope the edge. It gives the angle you need, so the weld has a place to go and fill in. The MIG torch does such a nice job that I could get a very clean surface. Here, look at the weld on the armrest,” he said, pointing to a thin, beaded line.

  “Is that good? I’m sorry, I don’t understand anything about welding…”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I understand. I wouldn’t have known a few months ago. My boss at the shop said I have an eye for it. It’s funny…in my old career I collected certificates and credentials and hung them like trophies on my wall. All those credentials told me and the people around me who and what I was. Degrees. Certifications. I had many, but it’s all lost, and I have nothing to show for it. Now I’m getting real skills, and they’re all in my head and hands. Bending iron. Using a torch. I’m building skills that are self-contained; I don’t need a diploma hanging on my wall to prove I can do it, and they go with me wherever I go.”

  She watched his reverie. “Fantastic.”

  He smiled back at her, not noticing her inner turmoil. “Yeah, and Charlie said he’s going to talk to the owner about hiring me on after the program.”

  “That’s great…Chris,” she said. “Would be great if you had a job coming out.”

  “Yeah, it would,” he smiled. “Would give us something to work with.”

  “Us…that’s nice to hear.”

  “Of course, Mary,” he said. That name felt odd to say. “Us.” He caught her green eyes, and she squinted against the porch light of the house. “What were you thinking?”

  “Well, just worried is all.”

  “Worried?”

  “Well, of course.”

  “Why would you be worried?”

  “Well, I’m extra baggage. You have recovered so quickly, and I’m an old junkie with a kid. You have your own kids to worry about.” She again turned her head. She was ready to say what she hadn’t yet been able to tell him.

  “What’s up?”

  “I…I just wouldn’t blame you if you left when we finished rehab. I wouldn’t blame you at all.”

  “Why would you think that? You know I love you.” He paused for a bit. “And Perry. I love you both.”

  “You can do better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…you’re a man with skills, and you’re successful. You quit junk in a couple weeks, and I’m still fighting a few months later. You’re getting skills and I’m still dope sick. You should go off on your own and rebuild your life. You don’t need us holding you back, dragging you down. Perry’s probably better off with that foster family than with me.” And now her head was turned completely, but she couldn’t hide the tears from the porch light; they dropped one by one off her cheek.

  Frank stood and walked over to her and put his hand on her chin. She wouldn’t turn though.

  He knelt down beside her. “Mariah,” he said softly. “Please don’t talk this way. I love you. I made a commitment to you. We’re cleaning up. You were on it longer, so it’s taking you longer…but we’re getting clean. We’ll get out of this program, and we’ll get a place of our own. Then we’ll get Perry back. If we stay clean, we can have a good life.”

  “Goddamnit, Frank. You don’t get it…I’m hurting. I miss my son, but I miss skag too. I miss shooting up. I’m not over it. You should just move on. I don’t think I can stay quit. I think I’ll always fall back to it.” Her hands were rubbing the lines on her face.

  He put his arm around her, and she settled her head against his shoulder. He spoke softly. “Mariah, I will stay by you. If you fall, I’ll catch you and help you. You’ll get cleaned up. I know you will. Perry needs you, and you’ll do it for him.”

  “I’m weak, Frank…weak. I always fall. I want to fall, I think. It’s easier than fighting. I’m no good at this…”

  “Then let’s be strong together. You’re just having a bad day…I have them too. Let’s work together. We can do it for ourselves and for Perry. We can get our lives together and succeed. I believe in you…in us.”

  “I can’t help how I feel. This is what’s inside me.”

  “You’re letting weakness and fear control you…you have to be strong…for us…for Perry.”

  In her heart, she felt a sting, as if he was using her son to manipulate her. She couldn’t help feeling resentment, though she also knew he was right.

  He took her hand in his and pulled gently. She stood up, eyes still averted. He walked her into the house, leading her by the hand. They moved to their room. Mariah was still spilling tears. Frank pulled her to the bed, then locked the door. He slid the bolt into place. He moved to her and kissed her. She kissed him in return, but tears splashed their lips.

  He tugged her blouse over her head and kissed her bare breasts. As his lips kissed her skin, more tears dropped to his head and ears. He saw the junk scars on her sides, and he kissed the tattoo on her stomach.

  Mariah relaxed to his kisses. She welcomed the physical contact. She welcomed his body on hers. His penetrations warmed her and soothed her. She pulled him to her and let his heat move into and through her. She closed her eyes and dreamed of the warm opiate filling her veins, the way he filled her now. She wished his ejaculation was her lover, H, and that its sweet conjoining would heal the ache in her bones and quiet the storm in her mind.

  XX

  Frank hadn’t ever thought he would be voluntarily sitting in a lawyer’s office ever again. And yet here he was. He looked around at the diplomas and certificates on the wall. He saw the usual: pre-law at Chapel Hill, JD from Harvard, multiple certifications. Trophies on the wall for Sarah Renn, Attorney-At-Law. She was a professional because her diplomas showed she was. The frames on the walls told you all you needed to know about her.

  She sat across from him in her crisp black pinstripe suit. Legs crossed tightly. It seemed so familiar for him to assume the same posture: back straight, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap, though his shoes were not Italian and his polo shirt was business casual. Now that he was clean and shaven, though, he could easily have just stepped into work from a day off, or come in after a golf outing. He reassumed the visage he wore for so many years, and it felt comfortable…familiar.

  She looked at her notes. “So I have worked out a deal with the Sacramento DA. He is more than eager to clear the books of your case.”

  “I still can’t believe all that happened.”

  “Well, after you gave me the whole narrative, I’m honestly not too surprised that his life imploded. It’s tragic how it all came out in the end, but violent people usually can’t shut it off. It’s just a shame you didn’t find this out four years ago…must’ve been hard living under the shadow of this…case.”

  “Yeah, hard to sleep when you keep waiting for the police to kick down the door. Every time a dog barked or a car door slammed, I would just about shit myself.” All that worry for all these years. Waiting for some inevitable reckoning that would never happen. Afraid some cop would run his ID for a speeding ticket. Afraid someone would recognize him at a mall. He could feel a calming exhalation, going out long and slow. An unclenching of his jaw. He took one long blink, savoring that cleansing breath. Worry slipped from him. All those years. Wasted years of worry. Always anticipating…dreading. He let out a dry chuckle to himself, shaking his head.

  He opened his eyes and looked again at the copied article from the Sacramento Bee. Disgraced Sac Deputy Murders Wife, Kills Self. He looked at the faces. Her photo, obviously a glamour shot, with heavy hairspray, opera gloves, and feathered boa. His stern and serious official photo, in full dress uniform. He looked at the face closely. It was familiar, yet only distantly so. In his mind’s eye, the deputy had grown into a fanged ghoul with a mile-long baton. Haunting his nightmares, ready to open the glass door and do damage. To see the troubled man himself, in a uniform he was proud to wear, made him…human. He hadn’t expected that. No mention of the victim in all of this, either.

&n
bsp; “So what’s the deal?” He slid the paper back to her.

  “In exchange for clearing the parole violation they want a statement from you eschewing future lawsuits against the county for the actions of Deputy Jensen. Both slates are wiped clean. Warrants cleared, files closed.”

  “And you’re sure there’s nothing from Karrick and Santos?”

  “Nothing. Sounds like they didn’t want anybody to know. And with Karrick serving time in Chino, I don’t think there’s anything he could do for a couple of more years, at the earliest.”

  “But I’ll still have the battery conviction?”

  “Yeah…no clearing that. It was a jury case. You could ask for a retrial, and my guess is some of the witnesses might not show up. Still, retrials are hard to work and generally take years.” She saw Frank’s hesitation. “All in all, it’s probably the best you could hope to get, Frank. And you’ll get your name back. You can move forward with your life.”

  “Yeah.” He looked up. “I guess it’s a good deal, all things considered.”

  “And, most importantly, you’re free to pursue your business license.”

  “Right…right.”

  “You don’t seem very excited about this.”

  “Sorry, Sarah,” he smiled. “It’s just that there might be one more issue out there.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  She got up from her desk and walked around it. She pulled up a chair and sat next to him. He remembered another time in another office.

  “Okay, Frank. Have you committed another crime you’re worried about?”

  So many…he thought. “Well, potentially. Would you please contact Pennsylvania…quietly?”

  “Any particular cities?”