January Gets Her Gunn

Chapter 3-2

The atmosphere on their ride to the station was definitely chilly. Gunn didn’t say a word which left January feeling more wary than ever. Even Paco remained silent.

Downstairs in the photo lab, Gunn told Paco to take off his clothes so he could get a full length picture of the injuries on his back. He asked January to go up to dispatch to find another officer to serve as a witness.

“Hey, Mister Gunn, I don’t mind if la Dona sees me, if it don’t bother her.” Paco looked pleadingly from Gunn to January and back.

More mysteries. Why doesn’t Paco want another officer here? “Okay, I won’t be embarrassed if that’s what Paco wants.”

“Gracias, mi Dona.” Paco smiled, turned his back to them, and shucked his tattered T-shirt and cut-off jeans, which were all he wore. Gunn shrugged as he gave January a wan smile.

This is really bothering him. I don’t understand. A tough cop, former Marine…He’s surely seen worse.

The boy was skinny, shoulder-blades sticking out like small wings and ribs making ladders along his knobby spine. His back, from shoulders to hips, was a mass of lacerations and welts, some bloody and raw, others purplish or livid scars.

My God, some of those are old! How often has the poor kid been beaten? I’ve seen a lot of bad things, but this is about the worst. Somebody needs to pay for abuse like that. January blinked against her sudden tears. No child should be subject to that kind of brutality.

She watched as Gunn had Paco stand in front of a light green screen while he set up a camera and lights. He acts as if he knows what he’s doing, like a pro that does this every day for a living. He’s infuriatingly good at everything he does. What’s worse, he knows it and rubs my nose in it.

After he finished the photographs, Gunn had the boy put his clothes back on. January turned away to give the youngster some privacy. Gunn nodded at her, smiling slightly. “Thank you. I just wish I had some clean clothes for him.”

“When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Soon.” Gunn’s voice held a ragged edge. He turned away, busied himself with putting up the equipment, removing the film from the camera, tagging it and dropping it into a slotted locked box at the darkroom door.

He glanced at Paco with a forced-looking smile. “How about we go get something to eat?”

Forty minutes later, they pulled up to the emergency entrance to Harquehala County General Hospital. Gunn turned to look at Paco, alone in the rear seat.

“Paco, the only way I’m going to get those wounds taken care of without calling your aunt for permission is to take you in as a prisoner. That means handcuffs. I won’t put them on tight, okay?”

“Sure Mister Gunn, if la Dona puts them on.” The boy winked at January.

“Whatever you say, sport.” This time Gunn’s grin looked genuine. “Do the duty, Farrell.”

January wondered what she’d missed. “What’s so funny, Gunn?”

“You’ve got a devoted admirer. I’m surprised he doesn’t call you mi Reina. On the way to the car lot, he said you looked like a beautiful queen and should be wearing regal robes and a crown, instead of a funky cop suit.”

January looked at Paco, torn between wanting to reprimand and hug him. She shook her head.

“Es verdad, mi Reina.” He grinned from ear to ear.

“Men! For that, scamp, I’m squeezing the handcuffs tight.” January chuckled. Paco only shrugged.

Inside, Gunn laid on the flattery and bull to the clerk-receptionist and the ER nurse, not Willie Hunt but an older, plainer lady. When the doctor arrived, he turned out to be an officious young wimp, already starting to get a belly. He insisted the handcuffs be removed and the officers leave the examining room. Gunn put on a good act, to which January quickly caught on, but they complied.

As they headed down the corridor, Gunn turned to January. “i***t’s lucky he’s not dealing with a real criminal. Just because it’s a kid doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous, but Paco won’t try anything. Let’s go down to the staff lounge for some coffee and I’ll explain.”

“Okay, I guess we’ve got some time to kill.” January fell into step beside Gunn. It’s about damn time! Now maybe I’ll find out if I’m about get fired or go to prison for misprision of a felony, grand theft auto.

* * * *

28 Jul 1982: 1145:

Thad pointed at a round table near the rear of the room. “Go ahead and sit down at that table. It has an ashtray so you can smoke. I’ll get the coffee.” He filled two mugs from the big urn, then turned back to Farrell. “Want a doughnut? They’ve got cake and glazed.”

“No thanks.” Farrell shook her head.

Thad reached into his pocket, pulled out some change, and dropped it in the coffee can near the urn. He picked up the mugs and carried them to the table where Farrell sat. She wore a bemused expression, clearly puzzled by all she’d recently witnessed. Good, I want to keep her off balance.

“The coffee is free, but the nurses pay for it, so it doesn’t hurt to make a donation.” Thad smiled as he sat down. “Now, about Paco.” He looked at Farrell for a moment. “He was out after curfew, so we have a legitimate charge against him. He’s got a juvenile record as long as your arm, but he really isn’t a bad kid.”

Farrell just looked at him, her expression flat, then dropped her gaze.

I’m not mollifying her. She’s still upset.

Farrell continued to frown, gazing into her cup as if it held the answers to her many questions. He could tell she was listening, though.

“We don’t need to add the joy riding to his troubles. He only did it to get our attention. The car wasn’t damaged, and that thief Roberts can afford a little gas. Nothing will come of it. Nobody but you, I and Paco know about the car. We didn’t put out anything about it on the radio. Dead issue.”

Farrell shook her head, as realization clearly registered. She’d been too shocked to call the incident in when he didn’t tell her to. “I don’t know…I’m a probationary officer and this worries me.”

Thad nodded. She’s got a conscience—but I knew that. “I realize that, but I do have some discretionary leeway. You just followed orders.” He forced himself to smile again. “Let me tell you about that boy. He really is the nephew of the woman he’s living with, but she hates him and doesn’t want him around. Oh, she likes the money she gets from the state for fostering him well enough, but if he isn’t home at meal time, tough, he doesn’t get fed. If his clothes get washed, it’s because somebody else does it. And he never got any new clothes in his life. The old lady beats him for the slightest things. He gets into trouble with us at night because he knows we’ll try to help him, at least see he gets fed. No boy needs that kind of life. I know because I lived about the same way for ten damned long years.”

He read the shock on Farrell’s face. Well, that surprised her, but maybe she’ll understand now. “That’s right. My mother died when I was seven and my father was lost at sea a year later. I was shipped off to a foreign country to live with a brother of my mother’s who hated the name Gunn. I wasn’t wanted. In fact I was hated. The superstitious fools made me sleep with iron in my bed, because they thought I wasn’t totally human.”

Farrell shook her head slightly. Her face had that you’re kidding expression. “Just what country did they send you to?”

“The United States of America.” He gave her the full power of his ghoulish grin. “That’s right, I got my citizenship after I was in the Marines. I’ll bring my naturalization papers tomorrow night so you’ll believe me.” Hearing himself, he felt a jolt of shock. Why is it important that she believes me about this? Hell, I don’t need her sympathy.

Farrell lit a cigarette, turning from him for a moment as if studying the featureless room. “Okay, I believe you. But what about Paco? And what’s my part in it?”

“You did your part when you witnessed my photographing his back. All you have to do now is write a short statement about that and that only. This time I’m going to by-pass the Juvenile Probation Office and go see Judge Beltran. He used to be a Riverton cop, and we can go see him at home if we don’t make a habit of it. He’s the presiding judge and also handles juvenile. When he sees those pictures of Paco’s back, he’ll go ballistic. Particularly when I produce the record of that Cuban bastard in juvie not doing anything about the abuse.”

Farrell chewed on her lip a moment, a frown tightening her forehead. “What about the cop, Meyers I think his name is?”

“Benny Meyer is everything a cop shouldn’t be. He’s ignorant, fat, and lazy. He refuses calls, but every time a chief tries to fire him, the City Council puts the screws on. Benny does a lot of dirty little jobs for some of the Council members.”

“Then there’s nothing that can be done about him.” Disgust colored Farrell’s tone.

“No, I didn’t say that. Something can be done, but it has to be completely outside the system. There are people working on it, but I can’t say who or how. Besides, if you don’t know, you can’t get hurt if it back fires. Just don’t have anything to do with Meyer.”

“Not if I can help it! Anyway, I’ve heard about small town politics all my life—one of my dad’s pet peeves. But since we’re kind of off duty right now, answer me a couple of personal questions. Where were you born?”

Oh, oh, she’s not about to let me forget my little lecture on separation of personal and police business. Still, it would be best to answer in a manner as matter of fact as possible. “On the northeast coast of Scotland in a small fishing port village.”

“And where in the states were you raised?”

“Pennsylvania, a steel town, in a neighborhood full of superstitious Irish, Scots, and a few Poles. You’ve noticed my eyes?”

Farrell nodded. “A time or two.” Though it held sarcasm, her voice somehow sounded gentle.

“My father had eyes like this. Some people thought he was not totally human—a selkie.”

“Ah, roanish.”

“You speak the Gael?” My God, can it be? Is she fey?

“No, but Grandmother Farrell called the selkies or seal-kin, roanish.” Farrell smiled, a gentle, wistful expression softening her face. “She told me a lot of stories when I was small, before she died. She was Irish as Bridey Murphy.”

“That’s how you tumbled to the evil-eye?” I’m beginning to understand how she caught on so quick.

“Yes, she told me of the Sidhe.” Farrell’s face lit. “That’s the reason for the iron in your bed! The faire folk could not touch iron. It sapped their powers, even burned them.”

God, she’s quick. Of course, she’s been fed the lore. Thad nodded.

“That explains a lot of things but I still think you need a shrink, and I’m not comfortable about this business with the car.”

A shrink? The hardheaded wench! I’ll show her shrink. Damned if I won’t. When a nurse walked in, Thad looked up. Oh, no, not her.

It was Wilma Hunt. She approached January, smiling, completely ignoring Thad. “Hi, Jan, your prisoner is ready.”

Farrell returned the smile. “Oh, hi, Willie. How’s things?”