Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [8]
Then he went inside.
He finished his scotch and poured himself another. He sat down in front of the TV with his take-out turkey burger and fries.
He turned on the old-movie channel and watched a bit of the Marx Brothers in Horse Feathers. He admired Harpo’s ability to always remain silent.
Afterward he went back outside. Although the cat remained unseen, Jesse noticed that the dry food had been eaten and most of the milk was gone.
He turned off the porch lights and poured himself another scotch. He took note of the fact that it was his third of the night. The scotch hadn’t erased the look in Mrs. Lytell’s eyes, which continued to haunt him. He poured himself another.
He stopped short of drinking it, however. He knew he was on the edge. He put the glass down, climbed the stairs, and went to bed.
7
So that’s why you phoned me,” Dix said.
“Yes,” Jesse said.
Jesse sat back in the chair opposite Dix, who was drinking a mug of coffee.
“Because you almost got wasted?”
“Yes.”
“And you almost got wasted because . . . ?”
“Something about the look in that woman’s eyes. They seemed so violated.”
“Was there anything else?”
“The phone call.”
“You were upset by Cronjager’s call?”
“I might have been.”
“And you wanted to discuss it with me.”
“Yes.”
“If we’re gonna get anywhere, you’ll have to stop giving me one-word answers,” Dix said.
“You’re asking questions that only require one-word answers.”
“Is this gonna be as hard as I think it’ll be?”
“Maybe,” Jesse said.
“Okay. What exactly was it about Cronjager’s call that upset you?”
“When I took down this Rollo Nurse character, I was in terrible shape. Jenn was fucking Elliot. I had moved out of my house. I was drinking heavily.”
“And?”
“And I took it out on Rollo Nurse.”
“You hurt him.”
“Badly. Don’t get me wrong. He was an arrogant son of a bitch. I didn’t like him. At first sight I didn’t like him. So when he gave me all this attitude and refused to obey my commands, I decked him.”
“With your fist?”
“With my fist and the butt end of my pistol.”
“You mean you hit him in the head with your pistol,” Dix said.
“Yes.”
“More than once?”
“Three times. I’m pretty certain that I fractured his skull.”
Dix didn’t say anything.
“I did fracture his skull, okay? I could hear it. I can still hear it. I was wasted, and I exercised no restraint.”
“What did the doctors say?”
“That he might not fully recover. That he might suffer residual damage.”
“Such as,” Dix said.
“Headaches. Lapses in memory. Dementia.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“At the time, I felt nothing. Later, I began to feel guilty,” Jesse said.
“Guilty for?”
“For wasting some piece of detritus who perhaps deserved better.”
“And if you had it to do all over again?”
“I’m afraid that if he shows up here and starts acting cute, I might have to kill him.”
“And you want me to do what for you,” Dix said.
“Help me to exercise restraint.”
“Because?”
“Because I’m not certain I’ll be able to control myself.”
“Because?”
“Because he’s a shitbag.”
Dix didn’t say anything.
“Despite the fact that I hurt him and that my reasons for hurting him were more related to my own issues than to his, it worries me that this thing still isn’t over and that in all likelihood I’m gonna have to kill him.”
“And,” Dix said.
“And in an odd way, I’m looking forward to it.”
8
Suitcase was waiting when Jesse pulled his cruiser to a stop in front of the station.
“Get in,” Jesse said.
Suitcase did, and they pulled away from the curb.
“Anything on the killing,” Suit said.
“Nothing.”
“Where are we going?”
“On a training mission,” Jesse said.
“A training mission?”
“Police work isn’t all fun and games, Suit. A good cop needs to be properly trained. I took a number of classes before I qualified for the LAPD.”
“I only took one,” Suit said.
“Which is why it’s important that you listen and learn. I want you involved in this car theft business.”
“I thought Rich Bauer was involved in it.”
“He was,” Jesse said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I want him less involved.”
“Because?”
“Because he’s a nitwit.