Chapter One —— What kind of man will I be?
Dingo squatted down behind the broad dumpster trying hard to ignore the overpowering smell of putrid garbage. He would have preferred another hiding spot, but this was really the only place behind the restaurant that offered some measure of concealment while simultaneously giving him an unobstructed view of the back door. Dingo found himself squinting, which was odd because even with the light at the back door turned off there was more than enough ambient light to clearly see the door and the stacked up empty co2 canisters sitting off to one side. He forced himself to relax his eyes as he surveyed the entire back from the darkened office window, to the door in the middle, over to the grease trap that looked like it was no longer used.
Shifting his weight slightly to loosen the muscles in his thigh which were beginning to cramp in protest from holding this position so long, he glanced at his watch to see it going on 10:30. He had been concealed behind the god awful dumpster for nearly three quarters of an hour, which was more than twice as long as he had planned on having to wait. Not that he minded waiting, she was worth every minute of discomfort and then some. Still, she should have been out back by now with her yellow mop bucket filled with dirty water and the pack of cigarettes from which she would light up. He knew the routine so well, first the light would come on, then the door would open, and after a moment she would appear like an angel. She would dump out the dirty water in the drain by the door, light a smoke and then while she exhaled her first drag she would reach back behind her head and remove the hair clip she was required to wear when the diner was open.
Damn it all, she was never this late, his small voice of doubt interjected, after all hadn’t he been watching this place every night for a week? He was certain he knew her routine as well as she did! Did she know he was out here? Maybe somehow she knew he was waiting for her out here, in the dark. Maybe she was afraid because it might be her first time? Now that thought excited him! He desperately pushed thoughts about her first time away, there would be time enough for first times later. Staying calm would keep him safe, and so he focused in on the little voice of doubt, the one that kept wary and cautious. ‘No it couldn’t be her first time’ it told him sounding smug. His inner voice sounded the same way his mother always had, may she rot in hell, he despised his inner voice, but he had to acknowledge it did keep him from being careless. ‘No way’, the voice continued on despite him, ‘not the way she walks around that diner. Anyone looking her way could see was easy’. No! He shouted at the little voice of doubt, listening to see if maybe had accidentally yelled out loud. If she knew he was out here she would have come early, he argued to himself, after all she loved him, and she wanted it every bit as bad as he did. He could tell she wanted him just as badly, the way she smiled at him when she served him his coffee, the way she gave him his change, she was looking forward to it all, the thrusting, the cries, hell even the cutting.
The light by the door came on, anemic yellow and weak, it was one of those bug lights that are supposed to repel insects but never seem to work. Dingo heard the hinges creak, and he sprang the way a bobcat might, he had no time for hesitation. His plan, as clever as it was, required absolute precise timing. The first step was to sprint the fifty feet to the door and take her back inside before she had a chance to get cold feet. Girls like her always wanted it, you just had to keep them from changing their minds, that’s all. Once inside, step two was to restrain her, for her own good of course. That left dealing with the manager as step three, and then with all the work done, the two of them would have kitchen to themselves and all night to amuse themselves.
Dingo had cleared the dumpster and dropped his weight low like a football player trying to get under his opponent. He felt his hunting smile spread across his face, seeing her silhouetted, back lit as she was from the open door. His need making him run even harder, he was almost there. With one hundred percent focus, he had moved so fast he was almost there when his inner voice, asked ‘Where’s her mop bucket?’ Followed quickly by ‘why does she look so big’. Dingo never even had a chance to react before the person, who was not her, held out a beefy arm to their side and took a relaxed and easy step to their right.
Dingo, who was born Kelly McNamera (but that sounded like a girls name, so he went by Dingo thank you very much) hit the outstretched arm at full speed, his legs going out from under him, and blackness rising like the ground to take him the moment he came to rest.
Once the ambulance had left with the unconscious man and a deputy escort, Sheriff Lester Tulley now had the opportunity to sort out the strange events of the evening, to get all the facts that had led to him standing in the back door of a diner being rushed by a crazy man.
“How did you figure it out?” he asked the brown haired boy who was sitting at the counter eating a slice of pie.
The boy looked thoughtful for a moment while he chewed, his face glowing blue with each pulse of the lights from the police cruiser parked just outside the front door.
“Well I was in here twice this week with Doyle and Hank after practice and each time we were here so was this guy”
Lester briefly looked over to Bentley Cole, Deputy Cole in an official capacity, who was standing on the other side of the counter with the pretty brunette waitress and the balding man who was both night manager and cook. After providing their statements the two diner employees had insisted on serving the boy pie, ostensibly as a reward, but Lester suspected they wanted to hear the boy’s explanation as much as he did. “So you saw the guy here twice, what was so odd about that? You were here twice yourself, that’s not so strange?” Lester asked.
“Well on both occasions we were the only ones here besides him, and since Vince here lives in the apartment building across the back alley” he pointed at the night manager with his fork “and Sylvia drives her red Beetle I knew that the man must drive that black El Dorado.“
The boy stopped pointing with the utensil and started again to saw the back of the pie crust off.
Lester looked at the night manager and quirked an eyebrow as if to ask “Do you live across the alley?” Vince gave a slight nod, but didn’t say anything.
The boy pushed the pie crust pieces to the edge of the plate lining them up neatly in a row. To Lester, he appeared like he was sorting out the crust pieces like details in his explanation, finally satisfied with the arrangement of the bits of pastry the boy continued.
“So last night I noticed that tattoo on his arm was done in indelible ink like from a pen, like a prison tattoo. It was the old astrological sign for Venus, which is often used as the symbol for females and it was drawn to appear like it was constructed of barbed wire meaning that the man had served time for a woman, most likely for rape”
“Prison Tattoos?!? Jesus, how does a fourteen-year-old boy learn about prison tattoos?” The boy looked ready to answer, so he cut him off “You’re not saying you figured it out because of a tattoo?” Lester probed, knowing there had to be more, with this particular boy there was always more, and the boy liked going over every detail.
“No, but part of it. I noticed that his fingernail beds had fading purple striations. Purple striations are one of the more common side effects of someone taking a chemical castration drug. Only these were fading, indicating he was no longer taking the drug, well that and the fact that he kept touching himself every time Sylvia came near his table” The boy blushed at Sylvia before turning, embarrassed, back to his plate.
“OK, so you saw the tattoos, and the inappropriate behavior, the markings under the fingernails. That still doesn’t explain how you knew Sylvia was in danger tonight?” Lester asked although he suspected what the next piece of the puzzle was.
“It was quite simple really, the black El Dorado was here when we pulled up right at closing time, but the man was not inside when we got here. I asked Sylvia if they had been busy tonight and she said we were her first customers for over an hour. And well the rest you know.” The boy said sounding a little like he might be explaining how to set the clock on the VCR so it didn’t blink twelve o’clock all the time. Scratch that thought Lester, the boy had probably never seen a VCR he had grown up with DVD’s.
“Amazing. That boy is simply amazing.” Bentley said as he walked through the opening in the counter by the cash register, he had to turn slightly sideways to fit through the gap.
Bentley was an absolute brick wall of a man, middle age had not softened him in the least, to the contrary the salt and pepper hair and weathered face made him look even more intimidating than when he was younger. The first time Lester saw Bentley they were both freshly enrolled at the police academy. Lester was certainly apprehensive when they were paired together for hand to hand combat training. To Lester the big man seemed like the kind of guy who could take on the whole bar by himself in a brawl, Lester halfway expected him to pick up the smaller recruits and tear them in half like a bear might do on a cartoon. After being Lester’s partner for almost ten years, and serving his chief deputy for another twelve, he had learned Bentley’s ability to keep up in a fight, while impressive, was nothing compared with the size of his heart or the gentleness of his manner. Lester was a cop because he simply didn’t know what else have done, but Bentley never should have had to have been a cop, but was because out of a genuine desire to do the right thing. If there was a better man in the whole county Lester didn’t know who it might be.
“Good work Brandon.” Bentley told the boy before giving him a heartfelt pat on the back as he made for the door. “Well I’m gonna get back to the station now, Sheriff. You enjoy the rest of your night off.”
“Night Uncle Ben” The boy told the man as he moved by.
After he watched the cruiser pull away Lester noticed that the boy had finished his pie and Sylvia had removed the plate. There was an awkward silence in the room now, like the absence of the cruiser’s blue strobe lights had sucked all the sound out as well.
“Well I guess that’s everything then” Lester said “I guess we should pay and be on our way”
“Don’t you dare, put your wallet back right now.” Sylvia scolded “Sheriff, that boy saved us from being robbed or worse tonight, I think I can buy him dinner if I want too”
“Fair enough, but just this once okay?” Lester told her before turning to Brandon “C’mon boy let’s get you home.”
“Before you go, I got a question if that’s okay?” Vince asked from his spot at the counter “So how is it you know I live in those apartments back there” Vince asked point back over his shoulder toward the back of diner.
“Well you never have a car here of your own and there is no bicycle, so that means you likely live within walking distance. I’ve noticed that you often have red clay on your shoes, and the only area of exposed clay in the immediate vicinity is the small berm that separates this commercial area from the apartment complex one block over.” Vince nodded slowly and Brandon smiled at him “Thank you both for the pie”
By the time they were settled into the truck it had begun to sprinkle and Lester couldn’t help but notice the way the cold rain steamed when it hit the still warm pavement that had baked in the sun all day. Given all that happened tonight he felt he should be happy, but instead he couldn’t shake the feeling that trouble was coming and the fact that the road looked like it was ready to catch fire did nothing to ease his tensions. Brandon apparently didn’t feel like speaking either, he just sat there clutching his backpack to his chest and looking out the window, so the two just rode in silence reflecting on the events of the last couple of hours, listening to the rhythm of the windshield wipers their precise tempo only occasionally interrupted by bursts of chatter and static on the police radio.
Lester sat in front of his computer, the house quiet except for rain hitting the living room window. He was reading the booking report and rap sheet of Kelly McNamera. According to records he was from Huntsville, he had missed his last several probation meetings and sure enough chemical castration was a precondition of his release, not that Lester was surprised, but the boy had nailed it. The boy seemed too young to have that much talent Lester thought, pushing the thought away before it made him start worrying again.
He became aware of the rustling noise in the hall, that unmistakable crinkle of the plastic shell of a disposable diaper which stopped at the entrance of the living room. He didn’t need to turn around to know his son was standing there in the door frame wearing nothing but some threadbare t-shirt and a diaper.
“It’s late, what are you doing up?” Lester said taking a moment to close down his remote network session to the Sheriff’s office.
“Thanks for believing me tonight, when I told you there was someone at the back door” Brandon said quietly, when at last he continued it sounded like he was about to cry “I’m sorry, I know you wish I were different”.
Lester turned, pushing back the chair from the desk as he got up “No Brandon, I don’t want you to be different. You done good boy, probably saved two people’s lives tonight, and I am so proud of you and for you.” Lester meant it too. “I just worry about you that’s all, a kid your age shouldn’t be out preventing rapes, or stopping robberies. You should be worried about making the JV baseball team, or getting pimples, or finding a date to a school dance. THOSE are the kinds of problems you should be dealing with. How does a boy your age even know about prison tattoos - I work in law enforcement and I might have missed that.”
Embarrassed at the heat that crept into his voice Lester got up and hugged the boy who was now almost as tall as his father. When he pulled away he could see traces of hurt lingering on Brandon’s face. Lester felt no small amount of frustration that he couldn’t make the boy see that police work was dangerous. He had yelled, pleaded, worried, lost sleep, but Brandon seemed determined to find trouble no matter how many times they had this same argument.
The first time the boy had demonstrated his talents, he was nine and they were in the Walmart parking lot. Brandon had grabbed his father’s hand and pulled him across the parking lot to the back of the lot where an RV was parked, not uncommon since the chain encourages the practice. “They are making drugs in here” he said and pointed.
“No buddy, that’s Breaking Bad, and you shouldn’t be watching that show. That’s daddy’s show”
“I don’t know what that is, but they are making drugs, See” The boy pointed to the roof of the trailer, it’s vent opened and a small box sticking out.
“That’s just a vent”
“What about that ammonia tank” he said point to were the propane tank would normally be mounted.
And so it went Lester kept dismissing his ideas, and the boy kept countering, until Lester reluctantly conceded there was enough circumstantial evidence that he called a deputy to watch the trailer and within a day they had enough to get a warrant.
Lester had been so proud that next day, it seemed like the first good thing to have happened since his wife had passed. But it didn’t take long before the boy was trying his best to ‘help’ all the time, accusing a man in public of cheating on his wife, a teenager of shoplifting, and a teacher at his school of having an alcohol problem.
Lester then began to worry the boy was going to bite off more than he could chew, and his elation became a constant battle to get his son to just be a boy, while his boy somehow got it in his head that he was going to be some kind of TV detective.
“I won’t confront anyone, I’ll just tell you” he pleaded one night after Lester told him he wanted him to stop.
“Boy it’s like football game, even from the sidelines sometimes the coach, the cameraman, or the players on the bench got clobbered when a play goes out of bounds. So no matter how careful you are there is still a risk, and too much risk for a twelve year old”
More than a year later and he was making the same argument.
Feeling guilty Lester tried to take the fear and anger and doubt, (and guilt if he were being honest), out his voice “Your mom would be proud too”. While Lester couldn’t go long without thinking about her, he found he missed her most at times like these, she would have known exactly what to say to convince the boy that he needed to just be a boy and enjoy the last few years of childhood before adult responsibilities began to press down on him. Raising a boy with Brandon’s talents was difficult enough as it was, but raising him alone was a whole different matter entirely and sometimes Lester wondered if he alone could ever be enough for the boy.
“Yeah I think so too” Brandon said sadly before turning to shuffle off back to bed. “Night dad, I love you.”
