"Winter, James - A Walk In The Rain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Winter James)

A Walk In The Rain
by James Winter

It was a long walk back to the service station, where Lenny would be waiting for me, not the sort of walk I wanted to make at 3 AM. Granted, North Royalton was as far from East Cleveland as you could get, but who wanted to walk a rural stretch of road in the dark?
I know I didn't.
Still, as I locked the gates and whistled for the guard dogs, I began my two-mile walk back into North Royalton. Over the horizon, the lights of Cleveland cast an eerie haze into the night sky. I was too far out, almost twenty miles, to see the skyline, but the lights were bright enough to reveal the late April rain coming in from the lake. I could see lightning off to the west. It was going to be a long walk indeed.
But it had already been a long two nights...
*
The previous night found me in the Flats at a place called Muldoon's. It wasn't the hottest spot on the Cuyahoga River. That was it's charm. The dingy tavern predated the upscale saloons and nightclubs that had invaded the old industrial heart of the city, and stood today as one of the few reminders of it. Only now, it featured live music, usually by patrons.
Patrons like me, Tom Keller, and Angie Warren. We had all gone to high school together, gone to Ohio State together, and, inexplicably, returned to Cleveland together. Well, actually, we all hailed from Medina, to the south, but Cleveland was our spiritual home. Together with a shifting group of folks who hung out at Muldoon's, we made up a tolerable band called Shamus. The name, according to Angie, was in honor of my current profession. Oddly enough, I was an insurance investigator when she came up with it. We'd been a band for four years, and I'd only been a PI for two. These days, the band was supplemental income.
That particular night, Tom and I arrived early to set up for the gig. Sitting in was my ex-boss and college roommate, Bob Povic, on bass, and a strange, hairy guy named Clyde on drums. Tom and I played guitar with Tom doing the vocals. I'd sing, but it's bad for business when a tavern's patrons can't hold down their drinks before reaching the back alley. Angie sang with Tom and played keyboards, or would have, had she shown up. By nine, we found ourselves playing a stripped down set of raw blues without her. It wasn't half-bad, actually, but we had to drop a number of tunes on the fly without our female vocalist.
Angie was a pro, someone already on her way up in the music biz. She still played with us almost religiously to "stay grounded in her roots." I'd always loved her for that. This, however, was the first night in memory that she had not shown without calling. By the end of the first set, none of us could concentrate. We had no call, no page, nothing to tell us what had happened to her. Bob insisted that we were overreacting, that Angie could take care of herself. No sooner had he said that then Angie walked in with her keyboard case. She was a spare woman, medium height with long brown hair tied back in a pony tail. Her eyes were green and her skin pale.
And black around both eyes.
*
The rain started to fall as I walked Ridge Road back into North Royalton. I crested a hill and could make out the lights of the Speedway up ahead. Lenny wasn't there yet, but would be waiting for me. I patted the phone clipped to my belt for comfort. A quick page with the message "911" would pull Lenny out of the Denny's in town and bring him to the Speedway just as I arrived. He had no clue what had happened. He never asked; I never told him. I'd covered for him enough times to know I could trust him.
By nature, I'm not a lawbreaker. I've been known to bend the law on occasion, but seldom break much more than the speed limit. My job sometimes requires me to pull stunts I would never have done as a cop or a claims investigator. Occasionally, I helped Lenny dump a car he'd stolen, but I never questioned him about it. Becoming a PI had brought me to the dark underbelly of society, darker than anything I'd seen as a suburban cop or an insurance man. It meant getting my hands dirty.
Sometimes bloody.
As I started down the other side of the hill, I absently wiped my hands on my pants...
*
The second set at Muldoon's was surreal. Despite her two black eyes and a bruise forming on her upper arm, she acted as though nothing had happened. Tom managed to ignore her plight and concentrate on the music. Every time I glanced at her, though, I found myself hitting the chords just a little too hard, dirty looks from Bob forcing me to concentrate.
We finished our second set well after 12:30 when the source of Angie's grief burst into the room.
Tall, crew-cut, with the posture that came only from the Marine Corps, he strutted through the barroom, cutting a swath through the crowd with sheer attitude. "Get home now!" he bellowed as he reached the stage. Bob, Tom, and Clyde surrounded Angie, blocking him.
I stepped off the stage and up to him. "All right, Kopinski, settle down before you get thrown out of here." I smiled at him. "Let me buy you a..."
He shoved me backward into the stage. I fell backward against the edge.
"Stay out of this, Kepler! And quit sniffing around my wife! Fucking private dick!" Kopinski read too many bad detective novels.
"I am not your wife, Joe!" Angie said, with a force of will I'd come to admire in her. "In fact, I'm not your girlfriend anymore. If you're not out of the house by the time I get home, I'll have the police drag you out."
Kopinski leapt over me onto the stage, his fist drawn. Clyde - strange, hairy Clyde - pushed him backward. Kopinski landed flat on his back.
Kopinski got up and lunged at me. I got ready to roll out of his way when someone from behind yanked him backward by his collar. Kopinski looked blearily up into the face of a fellow ex-Marine, a white guy about my height and build, with Kopinski's crew cut and a much better physique. He put a foot on Kopinski's chest and pulled out a badge.
"Do you know what this is, soldier?"
Kopinski looked up and sneered. "Fuck you, pig. That's a Fairview Park badge. You ain't got no jurisdiction in Cleveland."
Someone behind the ex-Marine called out, "Kick his ass, Wolf!"
Wolf snorted as he shoved Kopinski back down with his foot. "I am still an officer of the law, asshole." When Kopinski grabbed for his foot, Wolf shoved harder. He shook his finger at him. "Ah, ah, ah! One false move, and I bust your ass for assaulting an officer."
"You ain't got no jurisdiction, pig!" He slurred his words badly.
"But I do."
The new voice came from a tall, black man in an Indians jacket and faded jeans. He had a badge, too. And a gun, which he held on Kopinski. "I'm Deputy Sheriff Reese. Unless you agree to quietly leave as soon as Officer Wolverson let's you up, I'm going to haul you in for assaulting an officer, aggravated assault..." He looked at Angie. "...and, most likely, domestic violence." He aimed his .357 it at Kopinski's forehead. "Or, I could shoot you in self-defense. I've got a room full of people here who would see you make a wrong move on me. What do you think's going to happen?"
Kopinski snorted. "Fucking cops! Always stick together!"
Even from where I sat, I could smell tequila on his breath. No doubt Wolf or Reese would report a drunk driver the minute he left the parking lot.
"Actually," said Wolf, "Deputy Reese and I don't like each other. What's that say about you?" He grinned. "Now, are you going to be a good boy, and leave nicely? Or will Mr. Reese have to do an off-duty prisoner transfer?"
Kopinski stared at the barrel of Reese's gun and paled. "All right, all right, I'll go!" He stood as Wolf took his foot off his chest. He pointed at Angie. "This ain't over! Not by a long shot!"
Angie just glared at him. "Be out of my house by the time I get home. Or else."
Kopinski was itching to make a move, but couldn't. Not with Reese still holding a gun on him and Wolf clearly waiting to break one or both of his arms. Kopinski stumbled out of the bar, Reese and Wolf following him. Sure enough, Reese pulled out his cell phone and called 911. Kopinski had a surprise waiting for him as soon as he rounded the corner.
*
The rain poured steadily as I started up the next hill. I could still see that haunted look in Angie's eyes that she couldn't hide. For as long as I had known her, Angie took crap off of no one. Yet, for some reason, when she started playing music professionally, she had fallen in with Kopinski. I shook my head. Even now, with the rain clearing my sleep-deprived mind, I still couldn't understand what she saw in that monster.
Then again, I have a bad history with abusive men. In my five years as a cop, it was a guy like Kopinski who prompted my only instance of police brutality. Never mind that he was a fellow officer. Never mind that I was able to justify the use of extreme force on him, preventing him from killing his wife. The fact was that, like Kopinski, the man was a beast. Unlike Kopinski, who was just a drunken musician with no day job, the cop I'd pistol-whipped hid behind his badge for years.
Quite frankly, I enjoyed beating the hell out of anyone who preyed upon the weak. I was sorry Wolf and Reese had stopped Kopinski. I wondered if I had pounded his face into the floor a few dozen times if I'd be walking along Ridge Road in the dark on a rainy night...
*
As soon as Kopinski left, Angie headed into the back room. Tom and I followed. We found her slumped at a table by the kitchen stove, crying. Tom and I pulled up chairs and sat next to her.
Tom touched her arm. "Ange, are you all right? Do you want to go to the hospital?"
Angie just shook her head, waving us off. "I'm all right. I'm all right. Just let me... let me..." She continued to sob, despite the brave front she put up for us. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come."
I put my hand on her shoulder. "Hey, we're your friends. What kind of talk is that? Someone beats the hell out of you, who are you supposed to turn to?" Tom scowled at me. Once again, I'd proven my talent for saying the wrong thing. "Do you want to stay with me and Margo tonight?"