Ingrams & Assoc 3: American Life 03

I'm being stung for alimony, but I think that won't last. I think they are going to get married, now the kid really is his.

I'm really trying hard to think of something to look forward to and coming up blank.

*****

"Hey, Jimmy. You get those files on your perp?" asked Ambrose Hillier, as he walked back from the Keruig coffee machine. He was still deeply unsure and suspicious about this whole individual coffee in a capsule thing.

He'd just about gotten as far as instant coffee and accepted that, coming as he did from a family who ground and mixed their own beans. But this? This was against all nature and humanity and he would have been the first to protest the inclusion of one of these machines in the office if it Wasn't So Damned Good. That Coffee Mates Carmel Coffee was just way too good. Sweet, full of caffeine. It was just bad news all round.

That was the trouble. It was too damn good. And he was drinking a hell of a lot of it. Taking his latest cup, he saw Jimmy Prescott wandering in, looking unshaven and loutish and obviously back from some undercover operation.

"Yeah, I got them. They're on my desk. Thanks for looking that stuff over and finding him. It's been a long gig," yawned Prescott. "I need me some of that stuff, even if it is just plastic."

Hillier smiled, and was about to say something when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the number and then gestured to Prescott to indicate he had to take this. Prescott waved him off and Hillier plunked himself down in his desk chair, trying not to either drop the phone or spill his coffee.

"Ambrose Hillier," he answered, "What can I do you for?" It was a stupid way to answer the phone, but Ambrose Hillier still had some child left in him. His job and his divorce hadn't beaten it all out of him. Not just yet.

"This is Simon Donnelly, Mr. Hillier. I have been told you would like to speak to me? You left your card at one of my dry cleaner locations?"

"Ahhh, Mr. Donnelly, yes! I did want to speak to you. I needed to ask you about one Joe Sullivan, and your relationship with him?"

There was silence for a second and then an intake of breath, as though someone is prepared to make a statement. "Mr. Sullivan and I have a business relationship. That's really all I want to say in connection to this. Why have they reopened this case? And why at a downtown district? This was settled years ago."

"Ahh, I think you might have me at a disadvantage Mr. Donnelly. To tell you the truth, I am more following up to cross t's and dot i's than anything. This is relating to Joe Sullivan's death, and the hands of a muggers, here in DC?"

"Oh shit. Joe's dead?"

"I'm afraid so. You didn't know?"

"Know? Of course not. I've not spoken to Joe in years. The last time we spoke it was...awkward."

"How so?" asked Hillier, curious now, taking a sip of the piping hot and sweet coffee.

"Oh. Let's see. Are you aware of the incident out at Shannondale that happened a few years back? Joe was involved? Several kids out after dark, drunk. They got into difficulties. Joe was there."

"I think there's probably a bit more of that story than that, Mr. Donnelly? Could I trouble you for it?"

"You really need to know?"

"I'm afraid I do, sir."

"Fine," grumbled the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Ok, well, it was summer. These three kids were drunk off their heads, they'd gotten hold of some fermenting cider and drank it all because they didn't realize how strong it was, nor that there was enough fermentation in the cider still going for it to keep fermenting even when it was inside them. Foolish kids that they were, they decided to go down to the river and jump about in the water to try and sober up. That or just play at Tarzan. Who the hell knows with this generation. They can't even wear their pants right without their underwear falling out.

"Anyway, so these kids are drunk, they decide they want to take a swing out on some rope they put up years ago on some old tree out there. Trouble is, the rope itself is old, and it's the low season. The river itself is very low at that point of the year. But to these idiots, well, it's still running, so whatever. They all take turns, then decide they need to do it together. So they do. And what happens? Well, the rope breaks and they all come tumbling down, just like in the song. The thing is, because the river was low, they came down on to rocks and submerged logs and all the other stuff on a river bed that you can't see and don't worry about when the river is six feet deep. When it's two feet deep, it's another story.

"All of them were banged up. One of them was already dead, with a broken neck. The other two were unconscious, and rapidly drowning. And who was on the other bank, a little down the way, fishing? Our friend Joe. He heard the crack, ran over to the boys and dragged them out of the water. The dead one Mikey, well, there was nothing he could do for him. He knew a dead body when he saw it, Joe did. The other two, well, he got them out of the water, administered mouth to mouth, did all you were supposed to do.

"One of them, Todd, the ring leader, woke up in the middle of Joe giving him mouth to mouth. He did the usual things – coughed up water, vomited, all the nice stuff – and then accused Joe of trying to kiss him. Little punk. He was just worried though. It was his fathers stash they were drinking, his idea. The whole situation was just bad. He saw that his friend was dead, they were in shit above their heads and the only way he was going to get off without jail time was to make it someone else's fault, put the attention on someone else. He never let up, that little shit. Even at the inquest. Oh it was pretty obvious to most of us he was just whining to avoid taking the rap. Trouble was, his father was Mayor. And a douchebag. Has been, ever since school. And all too willing to believe what his son said. They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Well, in this case, it's right there, next to the trunk.

"So he makes a fuss and does so publicly, and somehow, even at the inquest, even though they found for misadventure, Joe Sullivan got the blame. All he did was save those kids and somehow, he got the blame for their predicament. There was no logic or reason there that day, just all emotion, because that's what Mayor Byerland is, all emotion and no reason.

"The only saving grace was that the media at the time got Joe's name wrong. They called him Jessie O'Sullivan. It was the only thing that enabled him to stick around. So, there you go. That's the story of Joe Sullivan."

Hillier absorbed all that and thought for a second before speaking.

"I thank you for that, but it doesn't really answer my question?"

"Oh, no, I guess I didn't. Sorry. Yeah, well, the other kid Joe saved was Eddy Donnelly. My son."

"I begin to understand."

"Look, I know. I know. I didn't stand by the guy. You have no idea how it is out here. I was in a public job. If I'd supported him, it would have been the end of it. I didn't say anything against him, but I didn't stand up for him either. And he saved my kid. I'm a fuckin' douchebag and I know it. But... if I had, well, there would have just been two of us ostracized.

"So, I did what I could and it happened anyway, and after it, I tried to reach out to him. I had no idea where he lived – just that it was local. I found he had a PO Box in Charles Town and so I left a message there, and he called me and agreed to meet. I offered him whatever I could and you know all he'd take? Left over clothes and blankets and stuff from my dry cleaning business. I figured he was wearing them or something. I don't know. Don't care much to be honest. Just that whatever he wanted, he got.

"I did go over to Charles Town and talk to some people there. Explained that all was not as it seemed for Joe, and that he'd need help and work and, well, people rallied. That's what people do out here. It's not all sex with our cousins you know. Well, not mostly anyway. They looked after Joe. They protected him. I'm just glad the papers got his name wrong."

"Yes, that's interesting Mr. Donnelly. I wonder how that happened? You wouldn't, by chance, happen to be the local paper editor, would you?"

The voice on the end of the phone chuckled. "No, but I can imagine why you might think that. No, I'm not. I run a bunch of garages out here."

"Oh," said Hillier, disappointed.

"But my brother-in-law, well, lets just say he's in the media, and leave it at that."

"Ah."

"Well, this sucks. Joe was a decent guy. He did the right thing and look where it got him."

"Yes, that's true," agreed Hillier, still processing what he'd heard.

"Look, if you get details on the funeral, can you let me know? There are some people out here who'd like to know."

"Sure," replied Hillier, "I can do that."

"Thanks, Mr. Hillier. Tell me, did Joe die well?"

"What, like a Klingon death you mean?" replied Hillier, and then wished he hadn't.

Amazingly the voice at the other end chuckled. "Well, I can't ever imagine Joe brandishing a big old sword and yelling 'today is a good day to die,' but yeah, the man lived him life by principles and a code. I just wondered if he died that way. It wouldn't surprise me."

"You'll be glad to know he did. He died saving a woman from a mugging gone bad. She'd have died had he not intervened."

There was a pause and the voice said, "God damn! Now there's someone who knows how to go. Good for him. I wish I had his courage. Thanks for letting me know, Mr. Hillier. I hope you have a good day."

There was a click, and the voice was gone.

Hillier threw the phone down and drank some more of his rapidly-cooling coffee. Charles Town, eh? A PO box there? That might warrant a visit some time soon, he thought.

*****

Penny left today. I had guessed it was coming, after the revelation she was having an affair with Mark. I have no idea how long it's been going on – hell, I didn't have a clue. Or more to the point, I did – I saw signs – but I thought, 'no, it couldn't be happening again.' I thought I'd had my bad karma event for life. I had thought that I had problems trusting and what I was seeing was the result of my own suspicious nature. I'd actually convinced myself what I was seeing was my own over suspicious leanings because of what Tara did. That it couldn't possibly be happening again.

But then last week, Penny sat me down, with Mark there, and they were holding hands. Well, it was pretty obvious then. I got all the "It's not you, it's me" and "We didn't plan this, it just happened" and "I still love you, just not the way I love him". Well, it's been happening for a while, obviously.

I'm just so stupid not to have seen this. No sex for seven months – yeah, 'amniotic sack' my ass. I was cut off. From my darling wife, who's been fucking my uber-salesman on the side.

So I'm a two-time loser now. I did have the satisfaction of belting that fucker Mark. He'll carry that cut on his face for a while, from where my ring cut him. Fuck them if they want to press charges, it was worth it.

I did tell them that she could just fuck right off, but she's not taking my son with them. I'll fight them tooth and nail; he's mine and he's going to stay right here.

I got a restraining order, but that won't last long. Either way, I need to get on this.

Four years of marriage down the drain. I didn't even bother asking why this time. It's obviously me. Once, it can be situation. Twice? Well, the only common denominator is me. You do the math.

Fuck. How does it happen twice? What is wrong with me? Am I that much of a loser? Am I that boring or stupid or a waste that women are just compelled to leave me?

What the hell am I going to do now? So much for the second go round.

*****

April's car had a throaty exhaust on it. She knew it would sound anemic next to a Mustang or a Porsche – enough of her co-workers made fun of her car for her to know that, - but she loved the sound. It was just the right note to her ear.

She drove out to Charles Town, along Route 70 and then switched to a local route, 340. She had the top down – it wasn't that warm but the skies were clear, and that's what heaters in cars are for. She had a scarf on her head to protect her hair, big black sunglasses and she looked all for the world like some 1950's starlet.

Eventually, she pulled into Charles Town and was surprised at how small it actually was. Like many towns, it had a small, old-fashioned town center, with the large retail stores like Walmart on the outskirts.

April drove the length of Washington Street – the main street for Charles Town – looking carefully at the shops and stores, trying to decide which one Joe Sullivan might have frequented – where she might pick up some information of where he lived, what he did.

Did he drink coffee? Was it worth stopping off at the Jumpin' Java café? Perhaps the County Commission might know something? April was prepared to stop at everyone to ask if she had to, but conserving your energy and going where success was mostly likely was best.

Eventually she decided on a drink at the local tap tavern, right off the main street. She walked in and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Exactly the kind of dive bar she imagined Joe in. Smokey, slightly dark and with that last-nights-beer-on-the-floor smell that all good dive bars have.

She spent an hour there, trying to talk to the barman and politely fighting off advances from some of the local day drinker winners that frequent bars like that during the day. She left none the wiser – the barman and locals were quite firm that they had 'never heard of him', and she was also sure that they had and were very sure that they were not going to talk to her, smile as she might.

She was pretty sure that she was in the right place now. Now she just had to find someone who would talk to her.

She tried the coffee shop, and immediately on mentioning Joe's name, the lady behind the counter clammed up. She got suspicious looks from other people in the coffee shop, and she knew then that Joe was known here, but for some reason, this community was protecting him.

Eventually, she had a brain wave. Sitting in her car, looking at Google Maps, she watched an electric post office van go past her. She stared at it, and then started her car and followed it. It pulled into the local post office and she parked in the parking lot, digging in her bag for an envelope and stamp. It took two seconds to find one, write the name out, stick a stamp on it and then close it.

She went inside and stood in line. Eventually she came to the front and put on her best smile and presented the letter to the lady behind the counter – an older woman with glasses and bundled silver hair, a lined face that spoke of life lived hard, saying, "Um, excuse me. I have a letter I need to send to Joe Sullivan, but I don't have his local address. Is there any chance you might be able to help?"

The woman behind the counter looked at her, then leaned over and looked at the line behind her and then said, "So you the woman looking for Joe, eh? Yeah, don't be surprised. In the sticks, we all have one eye in the middle of our foreheads, we all marry our cousins and guess what? We have phone! We actually talk to each other. What do you want with Joe?"

This was the first confirmation that Joe had been in the area and April decided to go for broke. Try the truth for once.

"Honestly? Joe is dead. He was killed, and I'm looking for where he lived."

There was silence in the line. The postal worker, whose badge named her 'Sue', put down the letter.

"He's.. he's what?"

"He died. Five days ago. Saving me from being mugged," replied April.

The muttering began. Two people peeled off from the line and pulled out cell phones. April watched them, then turned back to Sue.

"He was well-liked around here then?"

"Joe was... well, he was one of those people who you never notice, but he was always there. He's helped out everyone around here at one point or another. I presume you know of his string of bad luck?"

April nodded. "I've found out a fair bit about our Joe. He appears to have the patron saint of bad luck following him around."

"Yeah, well, for all that's he's done around here, we...look after our own. Several people have come looking for Joe and no one has ever found him. He won't be found till he makes it known he wants to be. What's you interest here?"

April sighed. Time for some truth again.

"To be frank, I'm just trying to track him. Where he lived. See if there is anyone left I can help. I figured they would want to know what happened. I just...need some closure, you know?"

Sue stared at her, obviously trying what to decide what to do. She made a decision.

"I can't give you his address, but if you are staying in the area, I would strongly suggest you check out Trolleys Field Cabins. They are just out of town. You should stay there."

April nodded silently, gave a beaming smile to Sue and left the post office.

She sat in her car, checking Google Maps and located Trolleys Field Weekend Cabins, just outside of town. Once she'd entered the address, she started her car and headed out into the afternoon traffic.

*****

Penny delivered today! Happiest day of my life, by far. A perfect baby boy; we named him Aaron. I can't believe how perfectly formed he is. It's been nine months of hell – no sex for the past seven, apparently the Doctor said it would be bad for her ' potentially rupture the amniotic sack' or something. I dunno, sounds scary though. Mark was there, he brought cigars, which was nice. I haven't had a good cigar in years. Cubans of course, Christ knows where he gets them.

I got to hold the baby for an hour and it's a humbling experience. I am so scared. I spent an hour just buying books on Amazon about being a dad and some for Penny about being a mom. She looks tired and spent, and I've no doubt why. Maybe we should think about a cruise or something, get some sparkle back in life. Aaron would love it.

*****

Hillier was bored. He was on a stakeout in Benning Ridge, a suburb of D.C., looking for a crystal meth dealer. He'd already spent too long sitting there, yawning and wondering when the scumbag dealer he was looking for was going to show up. He'd spent the time with the other detective doing all the things that cops traditionally do when on a stakeout.

There had been coffee. Lots of coffee. Danish pastries, hamburgers, conversations about red meat and bananas, even a banal attempt to play I-Spy. But like all real stakeouts, it was boring, tedious and repetitive. Every cop had their own way of surviving it, but whatever you did, you couldn't take your eye off the ball. You had to be observant and watch, not be playing on an iPad or reading a book.

An hour before he was due to for relief – and get his two precious days off – Hillier made a decision.

He was going to drive out to Charles Town the next day. He was off anyway, and he had nothing else to do. He didn't feel like he had enough to go on to do it in any official capacity – hell, he wasn't even supposed to still be investigating this. There was no real reason for him to dig deeper, but he just couldn't help doing it. Every time he learned something more about Joe Sullivan, he found the need to keep exploring. He sounded like a man worth knowing, dealing with all the shit his life had thrown at him and still not completely giving up.

Once he'd made that decision, Hillier just felt easier in himself. He resolved that first thing in the morning, he'd drive out to Charles Town, poke around a bit and see what he could dig up, see if anyone knew of Julian Sullivan out there in the sticks.