CHAPTER 1: EXECUTION
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It's been a week since my last confession," Rey Curtis mumbled automatically. "Um... I lied to my wife," Father Morelli made a disapproving sound, "I was following a lead with a case and I was supposed to be home for dinner. She invited these friends of hers and I missed it. I sort of... forgot."
Morelli's silence spoke volumes. Rey sighed.
"...I forgot because I didn't really wanna remember. When this lead looked like it might be good, I thought, better call Deborah and tell her I'll be late, but then I knew she'd probably say I had to come home so I just put it out of my mind."
"Why do you think you did that?"
"I don't like her friends very much," he admitted sheepishly. "It's an old college friend of hers and her idiot husband. Deborah and Sylvia gossip about people they knew in college, and I'm stuck talking to Burt. He just goes on and on about commissions and sales projections and his boss... and they don't have kids, so they always look at us like we're letting our kids run wild when they're just being kids."
"Did you tell Deborah that you didn't want to have dinner with these people?"
"Oh she knows. But she puts up with some of my old college buddies sometimes, so we both figure it's only fair I put up with hers."
"You said you lied to her?"
"Yeah... She called to let me know they were all waiting for me, and... I told her I couldn't leave just then, said there was an important break in the case. She was pretty mad but she let it go. I ended up not making it home."
"And that wasn't true?"
"No," Rey sighed. "Lennie started to tell me I could go home - it was a nothing lead, and he coulda handled it by himself no problem. I told him to be quiet and told Deborah I couldn't make it to dinner. I just didn't wanna put up with Burt." He wondered at himself. Sometimes he thought he hadn't matured much since high school.
"Well, you know what you have to do."
"I know, I know," Father Morelli had a thing about honesty in marriage. Damned annoying; he'd rather spend the afternoon doing the Stations of the Cross than fight with Deborah. "I'm gonna go confess to Father Galvez next time, he just has me do a rosary," he muttered, and Father Morelli laughed.
"Good for Father Galvez. You'll notice I'm not him," he said cheerfully, "And you know marriage is built on honesty and trust. It may be a minor lie, but you have to admit to it."
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
"I don't envy you. Deborah's got quite a temper."
"Yeah, well, so do I," Rey admitted.
"That's why you two get along so well, you both have a healthy respect for each other's more dramatic moments," Morelli pointed out humorously. "Go, take it like a man, just make sure you buy her flowers before you tell her," he added helpfully, noticing, not for the first time, that Rey's confessions often turned into more of an informal chat than a serious confession. It was a nice break for Morelli, regular as clockwork every Tuesday, very low stress.
It also wasn't surprising, since they were the same age and very similar in many ways. Rey volunteered at the church and they often worked together as equals. Morelli had often asked his advice on matters of the church and even sometimes on semi-personal issues. Not that Rey didn't respect him, it wasn't that at all, but their relationship was more one of friends than penitent-priest. The title 'Father', though Rey never omitted it, sometimes sounded a little strange.
"Do I have to?" Rey said plaintively, mimicking his daughter's expression with a smile.
"You bet," Morelli chuckled.
"You're a hard man to please, Father."
"And out of respect for Father Galvez's learned wisdom, tack on a rosary too."
"Gee, thanks."
"Is there anything else?"
Rey thought for a minute. Oh yeah. "I swore in front of my daughters the other day. Banged my elbow on the counter and it just came out."
"Rey. You need to watch your language," Morelli admonished him.
"Father, I spend all day with cops and criminals. They don't have the most squeaky-clean language in the world."
"Yes, but you spend evenings and weekends with three impressionable young children. You're their role model. You can never lose sight of what an awesome responsibility that is."
"I know, I know."
"Ten Hail Mary's. And watch your mouth."
"Yes, Father."
"Anything else?"
"Um... I said some stuff to my partner I probably shouldn't have."
"What did you say?" Morelli made a bet with himself that it was probably another tactless remark about his partner's past. Rey wasn't the most understanding person in the world when it came to other people's failures, and his partner had a rather checkered history. Rey was always saying things he regretted later.
"We were arguing about a suspect. Lennie said the only reason I suspected him was that he was leaving his wife, and said I was 'holier-than-thou', so I said that the only reason he didn't suspect him was he figured any guy who left his wife was a hero. And that just because he was a failure at marriage didn't mean the institution was a load of, uh, garbage," he edited the final word out of respect for Father Morelli.
"Not very kind," Morelli said dryly.
"No, not really. He's a good guy, but he gets on my nerves when he puts down everything I believe in. He jokes about being an alcoholic, being divorced twice. And sometimes I laugh but sometimes I just don't find it that funny."
"You missed your calling; you should have been a deacon," Morelli commented, and Rey smiled. Morelli privately agreed with many of Rey's snap judgments of the human failings he saw around him, but sometimes felt that it was too easy for Rey to talk; his wife was young, pretty, devoted to him, and they were still very much in love. Morelli wondered just how well Rey would deal with some of the domestic situations he heard about from his other parishioners. "Not everybody has a picture-perfect marriage, Rey," he chided him.
"My marriage isn't picture-perfect, Father," Rey protested. "Like you said, we've both got tempers. And right now we're having trouble sometimes over the whole fourth-child thing."
"I thought you settled that."
"We did, we did, it's just... I understand she doesn't want another baby right now that Isabel's not even two. And I agree, for now. I know she's got a full plate with the three girls, but... I'd really like us to have a boy, you know? I love my daughters, but I'd like a son too. And she's not that sympathetic. You know Deborah, former campus feminist. She says if I wanna go fishing or play baseball with my kids, there's no reason I can't do that with a daughter. She just doesn't get it," he sighed. "Besides, this 'restraint' thing for half the month gets a little old sometimes," he added.
Father Morelli shook his head in amusement, glad that Rey couldn't see his expression. Rey and Deborah Curtis had their problems, like all couples, but he often smiled indulgently when one of them complained about the other. Their problems were so minor compared to the heart-wrenching tales of abuse, alcoholism, infidelity, and loss of love that he heard from other couples. Rey and Deborah actually made him envious sometimes, especially when he was invited to their home for supper and saw how much they loved each other, how well they complemented each other.
"OK, what do you think you should do about your partner?" he brought them back on track.
Rey sighed. After confessing to Father Morelli for six years, he knew the drill by heart. "Apologize to him," he said, almost by rote, "and try not to judge him. I haven't lived his life, I shouldn't judge what I haven't been through."
"Very good. Think you can remember that next time you're tempted to shoot off at the mouth to him?"
"Probably not," Rey admitted, chuckling. "But I'll try."
As Rey prepared to leave the confessional, Father Morelli was reminded of something.
"Oh, Rey, are you coming to the bazaar the day after tomorrow?"
"Yeah, probably, it's my day off after I come back from the execution. The kids have swimming in the morning, so I'll probably bring Deborah and the kids in the afternoon. Just don't be surprised if she's still steamed at me over the dinner thing."
"So you are still planning on going to the execution?" An ardent opponent of the death penalty, it chilled Morelli somewhat to hear Rey talk so casually about going to a church bazaar after watching a man be put to death. Then again, maybe if he had spent as much time dealing with the aftermath of that man's crime as Rey had, he might not feel much sorrow over his impending death either.
"Yeah, I'm going with Lennie."
"Did you think about what we talked about?"
"Yes, Father. And I agree with you that I should go, I just don't think it's gonna change my mind about the death penalty."
"Come and talk to me afterwards if you feel you need to," Morelli said gently.
"I will," Rey promised automatically, sure that he would need to do no such thing.
ooo000ooo
As he left the confessional, Rey saw that the next person getting ready to go in was Harold Estevez. That should keep Father Morelli busy for a while - Harold was a drunk and a wife-beater, and Rey didn't envy Father Morelli's job dealing with him. He'd heard enough about him from Deborah, who counseled his wife Millie. He didn't think he'd be able to absolve the guy over and over again. Harold also ran around on his wife - not that Millie minded that much, since at least if he was with another woman he wasn't hitting her. But what was the point of taking marriage vows if you didn't keep them?
In six years of marriage, it had never occurred to Rey to cheat on his wife - not for more than a couple of minutes, anyway. Sure, he'd been tempted a few times, there were lots of pretty faces around, and he got his share of innocent flirtations and outright come-ons, but none of them made much of an impression. He just didn't get married people who could just hop into another person's bed like it was nothing. Besides... thinking about how Deborah was probably going to be pretty pissed at him tonight after he told her about dinner the other day, who could handle more than one woman at a time anyway?
ooo000ooo
"Daddy!!" his daughters came running to greet him as he entered the house. He was buried in a mass of hugs and kisses, and had to work to keep the flowers he'd bought for Deborah from being mangled by the crush of little bodies.
"Are those for me?" asked Olivia, gap-toothed smile beaming.
"No, sweetie, those are for Mommy-"
"Mommy!! Daddy got you flowers!!" his eldest daughter hollered, running down to the kitchen.
"Hello," Deborah greeted him absently as she scurried about the kitchen. He cornered her long enough to give her a kiss before she turned to the oven and took something out that looked a little overdone. "Dam- uh, darn," she muttered. Then she noticed the flowers. "Oh! Ooh, pretty-" she sniffed the flowers and smiled at Rey, "... and tiger lilies, too, Rey-" she suddenly stopped and frowned at him slightly as she tried to salvage the roast. "OK, what did you do?"
Rey shook his head, as always amused and dismayed at how easily Deborah could read him. "Why do you assume I did something?"
"You hate tiger lilies, you call them weeds with freckles. And you know I love them. And it's Tuesday, so you've just been to confession."
"You wanna go work with Lennie and I'll stay home with the kids from now on?" Rey said ruefully. "I guarantee his solve rate'll go way up."
"Spit it out."
Rey sighed, bracing slightly. She wasn't gonna like this. "You know the other day, when Sylvia and Burt were over and I told you I got a really important break in a case, and you had to entertain them all by yourself?"
"Yes..."
"I coulda come home. It really wasn't that important," he admitted sheepishly.
"Then why didn't you?" her voice was clipped, stern, like it always was when she was angry but didn't want to lose her temper in front of the girls.
"Deborah, you know how I feel about Burt..."
Deborah's dark eyes snapped with anger. "Yeah, and you know how I feel about Joey! I don't bail out on you when you invite him over and he tells his stupid fart jokes and-" Olivia and Serena started to giggle at the 'f-word'. Rey suppressed a chuckle. It was never a good idea to laugh when Deborah was on a tear.
"Girls! Downstairs!" she snapped.
"But Mommy-"
"Go on, go downstairs, listen to your mother," Rey shooed them down to their playroom in the basement.
"I'm sorry, hon," he said when they were safely out of the way.
"You should be. I had to apologize to them and I didn't get a chance to talk to Sylvia and the girls were going nuts-"
"I know, I know," Rey hung his head. "How can I make it up to you?"
"You can't. You get to be around other adults. I'm with the kids all day, I really look forward to being with other people who speak in complete sentences once in a while, you know?" She stabbed the pot roast indignantly.
"Come on, Deborah," he protested, "you know, it's not like I avoided the dinner 'cause I was out drinking or cheating on you or spending all our money at the race track. I told you I was at work, and I was."
"But you didn't have to be!"
"No. And I am sorry. How about you invite Sylvia out for a girls' night out or something and I'll take the kids for the evening?"
Deborah stirred a pot on the stove angrily. "Fine," her voice was still resentful.
Judging that more conversation wasn't going to make her settle any time soon, he ventured, "Do you want me to call the girls upstairs and set the table?"
"Fine." Deborah could do simmering anger with the best of them, he reflected.
"Girls!"
The girls came trooping up, and Serena asked, all cute three-year-old seriousness, "Are you out of the doghouse now, Daddy?"
Rey and Deborah burst out laughing. "What? Where did you hear that?" Deborah asked.
"Tommy's mommy, 'member?" Deborah laughed, nodding, and kept stirring.
"Am I, Deborah?" Rey touched her shoulder as he passed by with the glasses.
"Hmm. Let me stew a little longer," she said grumpily.
Rey drew close and nuzzled her, murmuring into her ear, "I really am sorry, hon."
"Yeah, well," Deborah leaned her head to the side, letting him nibble at her neck.
"Mm, I guess I'm forgiven?"
"We'll see after the girls are in bed."
"Mm, I am forgiven," he put the glasses down and put his arms around her, turning her so that she was facing him and continuing to kiss her neck.
"Who says you're gonna get anything out of it? Maybe I'll be feeling selfish," she teased. "It may take a while before you make up for ditching me."
"Ooh, you drive a hard bargain."
"I can tell. Very hard," she whispered, looking down impishly.
"Deborah!" he choked, laughing and blushing a bit. She smirked at him. After six years of marriage and three children, she could still make a homicide detective blush.
"Still mad?"
"Yeah, but I'll get over it. Go finish setting the table," she pushed him away gently. He cleared his throat and adjusted himself slightly.
"Yes ma'am."
ooo000ooo
"I don't have any cash on me," Lennie realized as they pulled up to a drive-through on the way to the execution the next evening.
"No problem, I got it," Rey reached into his wallet, taking out a five and dislodging a receipt as he did so. Lennie palmed the money and snagged the receipt as it floated down, then held it out to Rey. He glanced at it and then looked closer, with the innate curiosity about minutiae that made him a good detective.
"15 receipt for flowers? Whadja do?" he asked as he handed the money over to the cashier.
"Nothing," Rey said automatically. Lennie gave him a look. "Nothing, nothing, I was just in the doghouse with Deborah over that lead we were following the other day. Remember I didn't go home 'cause I wanted to avoid her friends?"
"What, you told her?" Lennie handed Rey his coffee, donut, and change.
"Well, yeah."
"Honesty. The best way to ruin a marriage," Lennie bit into his cruller.
"How would you know, Lennie?"
"So, what, did your priest say you had to tell her?"
"Yeah... I probably would've anyway though," Rey said absently, sipping his coffee. Lennie shook his head. He could never really understand Rey's sense of ethics. It made for a somewhat prickly partnership sometimes, but he'd gotten used to it. After several months of working together they'd settled into a good working relationship. His partner was inexperienced, impetuous, self-righteous and rigid, but Lennie had also found that he was intelligent, dedicated, a quick learner, and not that bad to be around, once you realized that you couldn't take half of what he said personally.
"This the same priest who said you should go see the execution?"
"Yeah. Father 'Anti-death penalty'."
Lennie smiled in bemusement.
"What?"
"Nothing, it's just... you're normally a real stickler for going with the Church party line. I'm just surprised that you disagree with your priest about this."
"The Church isn't against the death penalty. Just a lot of the clergy are. And he's just a priest, Lennie, he's not God. He doesn't pretend to be. He just felt I should go see for myself what it is I'm supporting. I agreed."
ooo000ooo
It was almost midnight as they were ushered into the observation room. There were Claire Kincaid and Jack McCoy. Rey didn't have much use for McCoy - he'd found him to be a little fast-and-loose with his ethics, found he treated justice as a game. But Claire Kincaid was a good person, very ethical, very committed, and easy to work with. He'd heard she was here as a sort of protest though - she didn't agree with the death penalty. Well, she and Lennie could keep each other company bemoaning the loss that the world would suffer from the death of this asshole. He and McCoy were fine with the whole idea.
Mickey Scott. Nobody deserved to be put to death more than this waste of skin. Traffic accident turned into a vicious rape and murder. Adele Saunders could've been anybody - could have been his wife, his sister, his daughters when they grew up. She made a simple driving error and paid for it with her life, in agony.
And if he had his way, the thirty people who watched and did nothing would be joining Scott in that room right now. He was just sorry that it looked like it was going to be a closed execution - that miserable bastard scared to see all these people waiting for him to die?
He could hear the conversation in the room. Sounded like they were talking about Scott's last meal. Man, what must it be like to eat and know it's the last thing you're ever gonna have?
"Now is not a good time to go crybaby Mickey," he heard somebody say in the room.
"Yeah, right, in your dreams," Scott replied. Too bad. For all the pain he'd caused, it would be nice if he could go out sniveling.
"You're sure about the priest?" somebody else's voice. The Warden. He'd introduced himself to the people in the observation room before going in to see Scott.
"I'm sure," Scott replied curtly. Rey thought, oh, I guess he's going to Hell... but it wasn't like there was any doubt of that. Not like you could really absolve what he did.
"How about the curtain?" asked the Warden.
"What about it?"
"It's your choice, Mr. Scott. Open or closed?"
"What would you like?"
"Closed." You just guaranteed that son-of-a-bitch will want it open, Rey thought. Sure enough,
"Then open the sucker up."
"Fine."
The curtain opened and there he was. Strapped down, barefoot, arms out. Rey had a sudden image of Jesus on the cross. He dismissed it with a humourless inward chuckle. Probably the closest Mickey Scott ever came to Jesus in his life.
"Like damned fish in a barrel," Scott sneered, looking at them in the observation room. Rey glanced at the back of Adele Saunders' parents' heads. Nice. An unpleasant piece of crap till the end. What an asshole. They deserved more than that from him.
"Want to say anything?" the Warden asked.
"Do it," Scott said, his voice tightly controlled.
No Sorry, no Forgive me, no nothing. He was scared, though, judging from his tense expression and the clipped way he'd said that last. Well he should be. He wasn't far from Hell now.
Two men had entered the room, and now they walked to a wall and opened a panel. They turned some dials. What must that be like? Rey wondered. To know that your actions were about to cause the death of a human being? Even one like Mickey Scott?
Rey took a deep breath, watching the two men who were killing another man do their job. They closed the panel and left the room. Rey watched as the line started to pump poison into Scott's body. Watched as a green light, then a yellow light went on, then all of a sudden Scott's hand relaxed and the heart monitor flat-lined.
Shit.
He was dead.
One minute he was taking up space and air in a world not meant for monsters like him, and the next he was dead.
As a doornail.
Rey shivered, and was instantly puzzled. What? Where did that come from? He'd dealt with death a lot in the last few years. He could look at a brutal crime scene without flinching, discuss autopsies no problem, talk to grieving families... what was this? Squeamishness?
Mickey Scott was dead.
And the curtain was being drawn on him. Literally. The observation room was once more closed off from the last place on Earth where Mickey Scott had breathed and lived.
Mickey. Somebody once named him, somebody once nicknamed him, somebody somewhere must have cared about him at some point in his sorry existence. And now that was over.
Lennie was getting up, a faintly disturbed look on his face, and Claire Kincaid had tears in her eyes. Tears, for Mickey Scott? McCoy looked a little stunned, just for a second, before he stood up and then bent down to say something to Claire. The other witnesses were also starting to get up, get ready to go. He stood too, and they filed out. He was struck by the utter silence of the people coming out of the room.
ooo000ooo
Out in the hallway, leaving the execution, he couldn't shake the chill that was settling upon him. He and Lennie checked out of the prison in silence, exchanging a few brief words with McCoy about one of the cases they were working on, McCoy's voice uncharacteristically subdued.
He got into the driver's side. Lennie drove the last few hours here, so now it was his turn. Sat thinking of nothing for a moment, then realized Lennie was already in the car and looking at him expectantly. Right.
He pulled out of the prison parking lot and started the long drive back to New York, still thinking of nothing. Drove for about half an hour before he realized that he and Lennie hadn't said anything. Not that they spent all their time talking in the car. As much time as they spent together, not even the most gossipy teenage girl could fill it up with talk. But it was a little odd that they hadn't said a word.
"You OK?" he asked Lennie.
"Yeah," Lennie answered automatically.
More silence for the next little while.
"So...what did you think?" asked Lennie. Rey shrugged.
"He's dead."
"Justice is served?"
"Guess so," he replied. "One less repeat offender, anyway."
"Guess so," Lennie repeated quietly.
ooo000ooo
They arrived at the precinct in the morning and went to Lt. Van Buren's office.
"Aah, hell of a way to spend your day off," Lennie said, sitting down.
"He just twitched, closed his eyes... case closed," Rey told her.
"What did you expect, a dozen archangels strumming their harps?" Van Buren asked, smiling slightly. She had declined to go with them, looking at them in puzzlement like she couldn't understand why they would even think of going.
"Well Mickey Scott's got nothing to do with angels," he said. And he's not among them right now, he thought. He didn't know what he'd expected.
"Who knows, maybe somebody, somewhere will learn something from this," Van Buren said skeptically.
"Yeah, the thirty friends and neighbours who cheered when he ripped off Adele Saunders' skirt," Rey replied, thinking of his earlier wish to have them all strapped down to a gurney too.
Lennie grimaced and stood up. "Wanna go get some Chinese, Rey? I guess executions make me hungry."
What a surprise. Everything made Lennie hungry - he could put away more food than a football team. Suddenly Rey didn't feel like eating with Lennie, didn't feel like being around people very much. Didn't know what he felt like.
"Nah, actually I got some files I gotta finish up." Work. That should take his mind off of... what? What was it he didn't want to think about? He hadn't done much thinking during the long drive either. What a strange feeling.
"Watch out Lieutenant, this kid's gunning for your job," Lennie told Van Buren as they left her office.
"Yeah, well, it doesn't get him any overtime," she joked.
They went into the squad room and Profaci started a round of applause. Lennie didn't look too amused.
"So where you guys going to, Disneyland?" Profaci asked, full of high good humour as usual.
"Knock it off, Profaci," Lennie said curtly, and left.
"What's up with him?" Profaci asked, puzzled.
"He lost the lotto. He takes it personal," Rey replied, knowing that his partner had been somewhat more conflicted than he over the whole death penalty thing. And if he was feeling a bit unsettled, it must be even worse for Lennie. Not that he was feeling unsettled. It was nothing. He was fine. He went to his desk, ignoring the chill that wouldn't go away.
"Beginning of a new era, huh Rey?"
"We're just lucky that Scott kept his lawyers out of it," he said, sitting down. He was fine. He still believed in the death penalty. What happened this morning was right.
"So what's it like, man?" Profaci asked eagerly.
"What?"
"Does the guy turn green, does he lose control of his bodily functions, or what?"
"That would be cruel and unusual," he replied, feeling a little pissed off at Profaci too, for no good reason. Profaci just seemed a little too... enthusiastic about the whole thing. As he had been yesterday.
"Yeah - for the poor SOB who had to clean it up!" Profaci joked.
A little over an hour later, he was feeling a lot more normal. Fine, as a matter of fact. Bored, actually, and he was starting to think it was time to go home and maybe take Deborah and the girls to that bazaar at the church. It was his day off, after all. Why spend a beautiful early-summer day inside, working on papers that would still be here tomorrow, half-listening to some idiot mouthing of at Profaci - wait, what was that he said? He turned around.
"What are you looking at?" asked the perp rudely. He turned back around. Asshole. The guy continued to give Profaci a hard time as Rey tried to finish one last file before calling it a day. Van Buren stepped out of her office and called Profaci over, and he looked at the perp. No point having the guy sit there handcuffed to a chair while Profaci was talking to Van Buren, he'd probably start mouthing off at him next and then he'd never finish his file.
"I'll take him," he offered, taking the handcuff keys from Profaci. "Come on, we're going for a walk."
"Easy, dude!" said the little weasel as he hauled him up.
"That's Detective Dude," Rey muttered. Jerk.
"Yeah, well, nice threads for a cop. Oh I get it, you're on the under-the-table plan."
Rey tossed him into the holding cell. Impertinent asshole. Just like Scott when they arrested him. Suddenly sick of these idiots he rubbed elbows with every day, Rey felt a surge of irritation and pushed the miserable shit against the wall of the holding cell.
"Gonna shut your face or what?" he started to undo the handcuffs.
"Heh heh, sounds like I hit a sore spot, what is it, kickbacks from dealers? Hookers? Uh? What?" As if. These lowlife dregs figured everybody was just as dirty as them. Rey slammed him against the holding cell chain links, a little harder this time. "Hey man that hurts!" he whined. Good.
"I told you to shut up!" Rey reminded him, working on the other cuff.
"Hey, it's not my problem you got extra-curricular activities! So Officer Krupcke, what's it gonna cost to get my butt outta here?" Christ, they never shut up, do they? Rey thought, fury rising up unexpectedly. He snapped.
"You gonna keep spouting off like that?" he grabbed the guy's collar, getting into his face. "I tell you to shut up, you shut up or I'm gonna rip that tongue outta your throat!!"
"Detective!" he vaguely heard Van Buren's sharp voice through his anger, but he was too pissed off to care or stop. He stayed where he was, in the guy's face, feeling the rage pouring out, seeing a flicker of fear in his belligerent beady eyes, wishing Mickey Scott had been at least this scared when they killed him.
"You gonna shut up? Shut up!!" Then Profaci was there, yelling at him and pulling him off the ugly toad, propelling him out of the holding cell.
"He's guilty of using a slug on the subway!" Profaci yelled at him angrily, and immediately turned to the little twerp before he could draw a breath, "Shut up!"
Van Buren was glaring at him, seriously irate. "Today's your day off, Detective Curtis. Take it!!"
ooo000ooo
OK. OK. Go home, take the kids out to the bazaar when they came back from swimming.
No. All of a sudden he had an image of his kids, and Deborah who would probably be a bit ticked at him for not coming home right away after the execution - she always hated it when he worked extra - and Olivia who was going through an overly chatty phase, and Isabel who seemed eager to get to the terrible twos, and his sudden unexpected and uncontrollable anger at that little weasel in the squad room... and he realized he'd better cool off before going home. No point taking out this whatever-it-was on his family.
Central Park. It was a nice day, he'd go to Central Park and maybe walk around a bit, read the paper, then go home. The bazaar was going on all day anyway.
OK. He turned off his cell phone - what's the point of a break if people can still reach you? - and headed off.
ooo000ooo
A while later, he was finishing his paper in Central Park. Doing pretty good. He put the paper down. He should go home, he thought, but he was somewhat reluctant to do so. It was nice out here, sunshine, people skating by, pretty girls, nice trees... he didn't really take much time to stop and enjoy the scenery these days. Not that he really needed to, he wasn't stressed or anything, life was good, it was just... sometimes you really need to take some time to just be.
"You reading that?" some young woman was pointing at his paper.
"Oh no, help yourself," he replied. He was done. Only thing he hadn't read was the food section.
"You believe Dole?" she asked, glancing at the front page and sitting down beside him. "Older than my grandfather."
"Oh I love him."
"You're kidding."
"Guarantees four more years of Clinton," he smiled at her. It was a little unusual for anybody, especially a good-looking young woman, to just come up and start talking to a stranger in New York.
"That's gotta be an endangered species... Democrat on Wall Street," she said, looking him over humorously.
"What makes you think I'm Wall Street?"
"Look in the mirror, sweetie," she smiled at him. Oh really. He smiled back, inwardly amused. Wall Street. Second time today somebody had commented on his clothes. First he's on the take, now he's Wall Street. Maybe he should dress like Lennie, nobody would mistake him for anything but an honest cop then. He mentally shuddered, thinking of himself in Lennie's wardrobe, especially his casual attire.
"You're pretty smart for, what, a sophomore?" he teased the girl, playing along. Nice to be around somebody who didn't know what he did for a living. Especially today. He quickly dismissed that thought.
"Excuse me. Grad student," she said, playing offended but mostly amused.
"Oh, I'm sorry, OK," he grinned. He thought for a moment. "Actually, I'm just jealous. I used to love school," he told her, smiling in nostalgia.
"Right," she was skeptical. "Cramming for finals, 48 hours without sleep, lunatic professors preaching about god knows what..."
Rey shook his head, "Best time of my life." Sounded like such bliss. The girl was lucky, and she didn't know it. He remembered student life - no kids, no wife that he was rapidly beginning to realize was going to have a better and better reason to be annoyed with him for not coming home right away... no belligerent little mouthy creeps or executions...
"What happened, bear market go to hell today?" the girl broke into his brief reverie.
"Something like that," he told her. No, I watched a guy die today and I think I'm a little freaked out by it, he thought. How would that play as a conversation stopper? She looked at him speculatively.
"Tell you what I'm gonna do, Wall Street. I'm gonna let you take me to lunch. One-time offer."
He looked at her. Oh. Looked at her closely for the first time, noticing that she was quite pretty. And friendly. And flirting with him. He'd noticed the flirting part right away, but it hadn't really registered until now. And she was waiting for his answer.
"Going, going..." she teased. He hesitated. He really should go home. But... what was the harm in going to lunch? With a person who didn't know him, wouldn't ask about the execution, wouldn't make jokes about it that rubbed him the wrong way or ask about things that he didn't want to examine or harangue him and ask why he hadn't come home a few hours ago or...
"Sure," he replied.
"You like Italian?" she asked, smiling at him. They headed off.
ooo000ooo
Author's Note: If anybody wants the actual script for Aftershock, e-mail me at
ciroccoj2002 at yahoo dot com