Jinxed Redux – Chapter 9 – Oldies but not Goodies Part 2
The officers were as good as their word. Mary gave her statement, and got her Danish. She gave them a quick rundown of Paddy's aliases and crimes from when she knew him. "That's only till he left high school. I'm sure there's more on his sheet now." She grimaced as she swallowed coffee to cut the sweetness of the pastry. The station coffee was sludge. Some cosmic rule about law enforcement and coffee.
While Mary gave her statement, Marshall questioned the suspect. When she finished, Mary joined the two men already in the darkened observation room, watching Marshall and Paddy through one way glass. The older man was in a dark blue uniform. The other looked like a street thug, unshaven, grimy. Nobody spoke.
The door to the room opened, revealing Chief Varney. He settled in next to Mary. Mary acknowledged him with a nod. Varney looked her over carefully, assessing the damages of this morning's altercation.
"Chief," she acknowledged. "You didn't have to come." Although she had caught Paddy and the Newark PD had arrested Mr. Broken Nose, she was embarrassed that the third guy had gotten away. She put her head down, hoping the fall of blonde hair hid her expression.
Motioning her to the back of the small room, the Chief whispered, "When a marshal is attacked, it's my business." Mary nodded, accepting his explanation. She quirked her eyebrow at the two men watching Marshall and Paddy. "That's Newark's Police Chief and a detective from the gang unit." Mary was glad the room was dark. Her bruises weren't as obvious. The detective and the Police Chief remained focused on the questioning.
Paddy was sitting at the table, the cuffs on his hands fastened to the metal loop in the middle. Marshall had gone through the formalities for the record before she arrived. Marshall called him Patrick O'Connor. Mary blinked when she heard it. She had forgotten Paddy Wanker's real name.
Marshall kept his voice low, his tone flat. He seemed off to her. Despite his apparent calm exterior, Mary had the feeling he was like a duck. Calm on top of the water, paddling like mad underneath. With persistent questioning and reasonable surmises, he got Paddy to give up the name of Broken Nose. No big reveal there since he was already in custody. But getting Paddy to tell him something could be the start of more.
Paddy continued to deny that there was a third man in the alley. "It's a public place. People are always comin' and goin'. Could have been anyone." Why was Paddy interested in protecting the identity of the third guy? Paddy was self centered SOB focused on his own survival. How could protecting this third guy work for Paddy? Who was he? That's about all she could be sure of. The voice she'd heard was male, but squeaky. A teen whose voice hadn't changed?
Marshall leaned forward, telling Paddy that no one, but a third man, could have made the footprints in the snow. They all heard Marshall's voice rise as he harangued Paddy. Marshall was ready to blow. She could see his knuckles white where he clamped the table edge. Mary turned to Varney. "Get him out of there." Varney understood. The questioning was going nowhere.
The knock on the door made Marshall sit back. His expression was one of disgust. He stood up quickly, tilting the chair, which righted itself with a thump. A detective entered and took his place. After adding the new inquisitor's name to the record, the questioning continued.
Mary left the observation room, joining Marshall in the hall. "Hey, you ok?" His eyes looked flat reminding her of a shark she had seen at the aquarium. Cold. Deadly.
"C'mon, lets go, check out the break room while they finish." She touched his forearm, lightly directing him. Marshall seemed to be elsewhere, maybe concentrating on something the hump had said.
Mary scanned the vending machines looking for something edible. Marshall needed more than a Danish. They sat with cups ersatz coffee. Minutes ticked by. Marshall didn't say a word. Mary was used to his word eruptions and felt uncomfortable.
The interrogation was still going on. Chief Varney and the policemen hadn't come out of the room. Marshall shoved his coffee aside and pushed back the chair hard. Mary saw him approach the door of the observation room, show his badge, and enter. Mary let him go, trying to figure out what was going on with her partner.
Marshall nodded to Chief Varney, and the other two men. He watched them out of the corner of his eye as they all watched the interrogation. At one point the scruffy detective mumbled, "Oh shit." The police chief echoed with "This is not good. Thank God they didn't get her. Blondes go for premium prices overseas."
Marshall's eyebrows entered his hairline. He looked questioningly at Varney who mouthed "sex trafficking." Those words jerked Marshall's imagination into overdrive. He pictured Mary tied up, assaulted, used and abused. Thanks to the dream they had shared, he could see her, hands bound above her head, tank top sweaty, face bruised. She looked terrified, ready to chew off her own hand to get free. The thought of any man putting hands on his Mary made his blood boil. To think of those animals assaulting her pushed him over the edge. He left the room and went to find Mary.
Interrogation finally done, Mary and Marshall met with the local police and Chief Varney. Paddy had a number of connections to organized crime. Paddy's other connection was more sinister, Jonathon Fuentes of the MS13. He is in jail for sex trafficking, but his organization continued their 'export/import' trade. Two snitches had been found dead. The gang was careful to cover their tracks.
Lamarko Roscoe, James Shannon's one time partner, had been released from prison last year. Law enforcement kept tabs on him till last month when he'd dropped out of sight. No clear link there, but Roscoe had worked for the mob in the past. They needed to locate him. The Newark PD promised to get the word out.
Lunch and dinner had been perfunctory affairs, grabbed from vending machines. Marshall found he wasn't hungry. For once, Mary's voracious appetite was gone. Both were preoccupied with the assault and interrogation.
They argued all the way from the Jersey police station. He swore she would never go anywhere without him. Mary insisted she was a "goddamn United States Marshall." Sometimes the job meant doing it alone. She admitted to herself that her habit of working solo was hard to kick. Especially in Jersey where she always worked solo. With Jinx missing, she had difficulty remembering that she had a real partner now. And that partner had certain expectations.
Walking to their motel room they were silent. Marshall began quietly reciting, "The Newark Police Department is the largest municipal police force in New Jersey. It's also the fifth oldest in the United States."
Marshall spouted trivia when he was relaxed, happy even. This time he spewed the facts between gritted teeth. His fists hung at his side, knuckles white. Mary could see his distress but had no idea how to diffuse it. Except the obvious. But Marshall wasn't interested in sex.
"Can it Marshall. I caught him, he's in jail. We've got a lead. It's over."She just wanted this day to be over, to clear her head, and focus on knitting together the leads they had. To find Jinx.
"No Mare," he grabbed her arm as she loped ahead of him on the narrow walkway leading to their room. "It's not over. The goons are still out there." He held her elbow even as he surveilled the parking lot, the street, every car, every light, every one of the few people braving the cold night. He's treating me like a witness.
Turning back to her, he rasped, "They are targeting you." His breath came out in frozen gasps. "They want you Mare, don't you get that?"
"Goddamn rat bastards. I should have known that moron Paddywanker had something up his sleeve. Stupid shit," Mary groused, arms crossed, head down, Marshall's hand stayed on her arm awkwardly leading her from behind.
Realizing his grasp had tightened into a control hold, she sputterd, "What the hell, numnutz?"
He released her when they got to their room. She got out the key but he yanked it out of her hand, jamming it into the lock. As the door opened he put his hand on her back and pushed her into the room. When she stumbled, he grabbed her scarf, yanking her upright.
The door hit the wall with a thud. It was even louder after he pushed her through and slammed it shut.
"Way to go, Purvis. You trying to strangle me?" The scarf, wound tight around her neck pushed against her voice box, making her cough and her voice rough. Why was he angry? I am not afraid of Marshall. But her skin tingled and her nerves jangled.
Reestablishing the control hold on her elbow, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed, and dragged her across his lap. Muttering, "you could have been killed, goddammit Mare, think, you're a goddamn US Marshal, act like one."
Shocked and surprised by Marshall spouting expletives, she didn't struggle. Feels strange to be lying over his lap. She put her hands flat on the floor and tried to get up. Marshall pushed down on the small of her back, holding her in place. He raised his other hand and smacked it down on her jeans clad ass.
"What the hell are you doing Purvis? How is this going to help?" Is he actually going to spank her? How could he? She struggled, but he tightened his hold.
Marshall growled, low and close to tears. "They would have sold you, you could have been kidnapped." Each word is followed by a swat. He manages no more than five when Mary has had enough. She lifts her upper body and twists to see him, more curious than distressed.
"Goddamit Marshall. You're going to hurt your hand," she yelled. "Didn't you tell me denim is a pretty good insulator?" Maybe a few factoids would bring back the Marshall she knew. They would have sold me?
Marshall hand stops in mid air, "Cast iron bitch,"he growls. Without warning he stands up, dumping Mary on the floor. She rolls, lying on her back and lifts herself on her elbows, keeping an eye on this never before seen permutation of Marshall.
"Nyah," she answers. "I'm going for Teflon, or maybe Kevlar.
"Not funny, Mare. Not funny."
She watches him pace in front of the window of their temporary safe haven. He's muttering angrily. She catches the occasional word - disparaging her intelligence, her sense of self preservation - alternating with the words sold, sex, murder, and dead. The anger trickles out and he begins sniffing moistly repeating loud enough for her to hear the melancholy mantra, "you could have been killed, they would have sold you, you would have wished you were dead." He pauses, "Hell, if you'd been kidnapped into the sex trade, I would have wished you were dead."
She recalls the video testimony of a woman rescued from the sex trade. A broken shell with no spark of life. Mary hadn;t thought about the horror she had escaped. Now Marshall's fear, sorrow and guilt don't seem out of proportion.
Slowly getting off the floor, she sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between her knees. She's uncertain how to approach this volatile Marshall. Waiting. She'd try waiting. It didn't hurt to sit, the mattress was soft, but her behind was definitely warmer. Marshall's right palm is bright red. Bet that stings. That old parental saw 'this hurts me, more than it hurts you,' must be true.
"Marshall? Marsh." She tries to break through his monologue, which has become a litany of his failure to protect her.
"Sit down," Mary requests softly. When he doesn't comply she commands, "Sit down. You're a target with the room light behind you." Marshall would have realized that if he wasn't upset. He does sit, next to her, but not too close.
"Me, a target," he chides. "Me a target." Looking straight ahead, hands clasped in front, he hisses "You are the one they are shooting at, trying to run over and kidnap. If the goons connected to your father don't get you, Paddy's sex trade contacts will. Blondes bring premium prices overseas."
That fact startled her. She knew sex trafficking was big business, but hadn't realized that blondes were valued just because they were blonde. If Marshall said it, it must be true.
"And how is spanking me, the target, going to work? What was that about?" She really was curious. He can't be coming off the adrenaline high from a dangerous situation. That was over 10 hours ago. She wasn't even injured. Except for the scratch from Paddy's knife. She had the situation in hand when he arrived. Although, one felon had escaped.
Marshall jumped up, hands on his hips, his long coat behind him like a superhero cape and turns on her. His eyes are blue diamond chips, lasering down at her. "What in the hell did you think you were doing leaving the Marshal's Annex? What part of being the target don't you understand? Don't you know they want to kidnap you?" She hears, Why did you leave me?
His rambling diatribe contains a whole bunch more of How could yous and Why did yous. She has to be the quiet one. She waits for his verbal vomit to slow to a stop.
Finally he takes a breath and walks to the bed, sitting down beside her, closer this time. He pulls her to him in a tight hug. Mary has never been a hugger but she knows this is what he needs and for this man, she is willing to give it.
"Was that, the spanking, because you were afraid for me?"
He turns his head to her and yells right into her ear. "Of course I was afraid. Goddamit Mare. You put yourself in danger for no good reason." Seeing her pull back, he lowers his voice. "It was so damn stupid of you. You're not stupid Mary. Why did you do it?"
Mary pulls away as far as his grasp would allow, trying to understand what he was asking. Why had she done it? She thought back to that morning when she found Marshall asleep at the computer. After tucking her in on the break room couch, he had gone back to work.
After he abandons the hug, she answered. "When I worked in Jersey, I went to that coffee shop. You had been up all night. I wanted you to try coffee from this place, compare it with Albuquerque's." She added softly. "That's all. Really."
He was touched by her thoughtfulness, but not ready to forgive. "That might have been fine when you worked here, but your mother is missing," he hissed. "They've tried to kill you twice. How many lives do you think you have?"
Mary swallowed and sighed. Marshall was right. She had allowed the memory of the way things used to be to dull her professional paranoia. Being with Marshall, being content, had lulled her into feeling safe. Was her relationship with Marshall affecting her ability to do her job?
"Don't you get it Mare? How can you not understand? Any time something bad happens to you, it's like. . . . it's like it happened twice as bad to me. If you died, or worse, if they had sold you into the sex trade. . . . I would cease to be me, the Marshall you know. I would spend the rest of my life hunting down those that hurt you."
She put her arm on around his shoulder, looked him in the eyes and said the two most difficult words, words she never said, "I'm sorry."
Then she mumbled something that scared him even more than her driving. "I would do the same."
Mary pulled him to her, wrapping him in her arms. She placed his head on her shoulder. He nuzzled the shirt under her jacket. She was surprised when it started feeling damp. Marshall was crying. Oh my God.
She gently stood up with him, removed his coat then her jacket. "C'mon Marsh, let's get ready for bed. You'll feel better in the morning."
She took his hand and led him into the bathroom, wet a wash cloth and gently wiped his face. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I'm sorry." He snuffled. When she finished, she handed him his toothbrush, and went to get his pajamas. She heard him blowing his nose while she changed into her sleeping clothes.
When he was finished, she took her turn in the bathroom, then walked to the bed where Marshall lay staring at the ceiling.
Waiting for her to join him in bed he spoke to the ceiling, not looking at her, "I can't lose you Mare. I can't."
"I know." She responded walking to the bed. "It's the same for me." With a quick indrawn breath, she continued "Our lives are in danger every day. I can no more promise to never leave you that way than you can promise me."
"I know," Marshall's small voice answered.
"That is the only way I would ever leave you Marshall," she assured him. "The only way."
Afraid his voice would crack, Marshall nodded his head and lifted the covers. With that she turned off the light and crawled into bed on the fifth night since Jinx went missing.