Serie Noire 03

By Likegoodwine copyright June 2013

I often write about cheating spouses with some levity - if not downright humor - but I sometimes need to acknowledge that the event can be a shattering experience for a family. Serie Noire is my place to write about the real life dramas. Each story is a standalone. If you didn't like the two first stories of Serie Noire, don't read this one.

However, this one has a good ending. There is no explicit sex scene in this tale.

I am also experimenting with writing at the third person instead of the more personal first person writing. Bear with me!

Thank to Scalia for his patient editing.

Your votes and constructive comments are appreciated.

Chapter 1 -- Lost in a sea of sorrow

The young woman came into the soup kitchen. She was obviously ill at ease to be among so many broken spirits. Even more so as she was wearing designer jeans and sweater, as well as nice Italian shoes, an outfit that could feed a family here for a month.

There was a hush over the crowd as men, women, and children all stopped eating to look at that gorgeous creature from another sphere of the world.

"Little rich brat coming to slum" was the prevalent thought going through the minds of many regulars of the soup kitchen.

There were still a few laggards in line waiting to be served their evening meal but most people were already sitting and eating. Even the volunteers helping the soup kitchen were curious and were looking at her.

She shrugged away her discomfort, gathered as much courage as she could, and walked toward the line-up. All the way, she kept looking at the people around the tables... and they looked back at her. Most were simply curious, but a few were really not friendly. None had enough energy to be hostile though.

She was out of her element and she knew it. A whistle resounded from the rear of the room, making the young woman self-conscious. More whistles and catcalls soon followed it. One of the volunteer spoke up.

"Hey that's enough," he simply said. "Go back to eat."

He must have been well respected because the whole crowd quickly became silent. Bit by bit, the sound of spoons and forks raking against the plates was again the only sound that could be heard. It wasn't normal because chatter was typically the prevalent sound at mealtime.

The young woman finally reached the man who had spoken earlier. She noticed the little crucifix affixed to the collar of his polo shirt. 'A priest of some kind,' she thought.

"Good evening sir," she said to the middle age man. "I am Mary Crozier and I am looking for my father. His name is Richard Crozier..."

"Few of them use their whole name, miss!" interrupted the man. "I know a few that go by the name of Rick or Dick. By the way, my name is Dean Jones. Why are you looking for him in here?"

Reverend Dean was looking Mary up and down. She looked so out of place.

Mary took a picture of her father, a picture taken almost 20 years earlier.

"I swear that I saw him around here yesterday," Mary said. "I had taken a wrong exit and ended on 47th Street. I stopped at a red light and I looked at this man. Despite the beard and the many years since I last saw him, I could swear it was my father. He almost tripped in front of the car and I had a good look at him. Because of the traffic, I wasn't able to follow him."

Reverend Dean looked closely at the picture. "Ah! He looks familiar," he said. "Why would you think he would be here? We are three long blocks away from 47th."

"Well, er... he looked a bit like er... destitute," she said, barely loud enough to be heard over the buzz from the crowd of eaters. She clearly hesitated at the word 'destitute'. "I drove around last evening and again after work today. I though maybe that he could be here. I'm sorry, I don't want to be judgmental but I really want to find him."

"It's alright miss," answered Reverend Dean trying to appease Mary's discomfort. "Many are down on their luck, that's for sure. Destitute is not a bad description either. It beats people calling them bums."

A big muscled heavily tattooed volunteer snickered beside them.

Reverend Dean handed back the old picture to Mary. But before Mary grabbed it, he turned around and showed it to the big guy.

"Hey Luke! Seen this guy around?" asked the Reverend. "He looks familiar."

Luke looked at the picture for a fleeting second.

"Yep! He used to come here often," said Luke. "Now he comes once in a while, mostly at the months' end. Probably when he runs out of food. He was here yesterday."

Mary grabbed the picture handed back by Reverend Dean and dug a business cards out of her handbag. She gave one each.

"Please, I lost sight of my father more than 15 years ago," pleaded Mary. "I really would like to find him."

"And why is that?" asked Reverend Dean.

It's a long story," answered Mary.

Reverend Dean lifted a finger at Mary to ask her to wait a bit. He grabbed two plates, went further down the line, scooped some mash potatoes, mixed veggies and some meatloaf in them. He came back toward Mary.

"I guess you didn't eat yet tonight," he asked. Mary shook her head negatively. "Well grabbed a couple of forks and let's eat. You can tell me your story."

"Is it alright with you Luke?" asked Reverend Dean.

Luke only gave him a thumb up as an answer.

A few people moved further down the table to leave some room for the Reverend and Mary.

"Thanks guys!" the Reverend said. "It's appreciated."

"So? What's the story?" asked Reverend Dean before attacking his meat loaf.

"I was eight years old when our life changed forever," started Mary. "We had an happy life I assumed but one day my grandma Crozier came to school to get me and my sister Annie -- she was 6. The next day, our mom came. She had an awful row with grandma. She took us to her mom and dad and never told us why we couldn't go home."

Mary was lost in years past. She played a bit with the mixed vegetables, picked one single pea and ate it.

"A few days later, we went back home. Daddy wasn't there," continued Mary, her eyes damp from unshed tears. "We asked Mom, but she always kept telling that Daddy was gone and would never come back. Not long after that we moved away. I never saw my father or my grandma again."

She waited a bit, playing with her mashed potatoes. She seemed to hesitate to continue the story. Reverend Dean put a gentle hand over her left hand resting on the table.

"Miss, it's alright!" he said kindly. "I heard everything a pastor will ever hear. There is one thing I insist of you though."

Mary looked at him questioningly.

"We spend a lot of time and energy to collect donation to pay for these meals and to cook it," he said pointing at her untouched plate. "Please, eat your meal so it doesn't go to waste."

"Oh, of course, yes!" said Mary obviously embarrassed by her behavior. "I'm sorry. I was just lost in thought."

She took a big mouthful of meatloaf, then another of mashed potatoes and veggies.

"So?" prodded Reverend Dean. "What was he in jail for?"

Mary was totally surprised that Dean had assumed so much from the few words said.

"How..." she started to say.

"I told you I've heard and seen everything. Please continue."

"Yes, he was in jail," resumed Mary. "My mom and grandma Reagan refused to tell us why, but I later did some research. He was convicted of second-degree murder in a... in a domestic dispute. Other research showed that grandma Crozier tried and failed to get a court order to be able to see us and take us to visit her son. She had a stroke and we never saw her again. The worst is that grandpa Crozier was already deceased and she lingered between life and death in an hospital for six months, all alone."

She stopped talking to finish up her plate. She looked proudly at Reverend Dean.

"I was eight when I last saw my father. I have this last picture of him because I was able to hide it from my mother. I took it the day she cleaned out our photo albums. I dug it from the garbage. Anyway, Mom remarried not long after we moved to Idaho. She died in a car accident two years ago. As nothing really kept me attached to Idaho, I decided to get a job around here. I did contact the state correctional administration but was unable to find my father. He served seven years and was released on probation. I found no trace of him after his probation ended."

"But, Miss, why would you like to find him? He's a murderer after all," asked the Reverend.

"Nobody never told us the whole story," said Mary.

"And I can't believe he was a brutal murderer," she added vehemently. "He was a nice and gentle man. I need to know why this happened to us and... and..."

She was unable to continue. Tears were streaking down her cheeks.

"And what?" asked Reverend Dean.

Mary stroked her midsection.

"And he will be grandfather in 5 months," said Mary softly. "I missed him growing up. I want him to be around when I raise my child."

Reverend Dean took her two hands in his. His own eyes were also brimming with unshed tears.

"And 'THAT' is a very good reason," he said. "If you please, leave me the picture and I will start asking around. I will let you know by the end of the week."

Mary gave him back the picture. She then finished her plate clean. She looked at Reverend Dean with pride.

"I finished everything, Reverend," she said. "You spoke of donation earlier, where can I donate?"

Reverend Dean showed a small box at the beginning of the line.

Mary got up and went to the box. She opened her handbag, got her wallet, and fished out a $100 bill out of it, that she inserted in the slit on top of the box. Luke, as well as many regulars of the soup kitchen saw the thickness of her wallet.

Her good deed done, she walked back toward Reverend Dean.

"Thank you Reverend!" said Mary while shaking his hand. "It means a lot to me. I really hope that you will be able to find him."

"I'll try my best, Miss!" Reverend Dean said. He looked toward Luke.

Mary was about to leave when Luke arrived at their table.

"Your car is far from the shelter?" asked Luke.

"About one block toward 47th," answered Mary.

"I'll walk you there," Luke said. He wasn't asking and his tone made it perfectly clear.

They walked in silence toward her car. She got in and Luke tipped a fictional hat then left.

Luke walked back toward the shelter. They had the place cleaned up in no time and the night crew started to arrive for the sleeping arrangement. They finally had some quiet time to talk about Mary. The Reverend retold Mary's story to Luke.

"And what do you think Dean?" asked Luke. "Is she straightforward? Does she really want to meet her jail bird of a dad?"

"Why do you ask?" replied Reverend Dean.

"Well he was a regular here about two years ago," answered Luke. "He was called Raven. I never understood why. As I always do, I tried to chat him up a bit. He wasn't very responsive. That guy's mind seemed a bit screwed up, kind of fragile. I would be very cautious before I try to throw him to the lions. What seems like a good idea for us might just be a nightmare for him. Maybe putting him in front of his daughter might bring back shame, embarrassment, or other unwelcome emotions."

"My goodness Luke! In a couple of sentences, you sized up the essence of the whole matter," said Reverend Dean, chuckling. "Even if we had the budget, we wouldn't need a 'psych' to work with our customers. As for your question, yes I believe that she really want to be back in her father's life. Or more importantly, she wants to have her father back in her life. I don't recall him as much as you do, but if your assessment is right, it might be a very good thing for him to resume a loving family life."

"Ok, I'll go with you on that one," said Luke. "Tomorrow, I'll start asking question to find out where we can find him."

Luke got up. "Well, time for me to go back home. Goodnight Dean!"

"Goodnight Luke!"

Chapter 2 -- A love thrown out the window

Luke was the well-connected volunteer, but it was Reverend Dean who finally got the information on the whereabouts of Richard Crozier. So early one morning, he went to a waterfront warehouse where many job seeking laborers would gather in an attempt to get a one-day job. True enough, Richard Crozier was among the waiting men.

Reverend Dean waited a bit to see if somebody would hire Crozier. Other younger and stronger men found a taker, but not Crozier. A few of the waiting men recognized Reverend Dean and acknowledged his presence by nodding at him. Crozier was solely focused on the guys coming in their pick-up truck looking for helpers.

He didn't get a call, but he was well organized. He had a little sign on which he had his skills listed: drywalls, general labor, painting, bookkeeping, and more.

When the men started to split, Reverend Dean accosted Crozier.

"Hi, my name is..." started to say Reverend Dean.

"Reverend Dean," finished Crozier for him.

"I saw that you do bookkeeping. I don't have much to offer -- one hundred dollars for the day -- but I would like to have somebody helping me with the books. Would you be available?" asked the Reverend.

Crozier agreed right away and they were soon driving back toward the homeless shelter.

"You know who I am," asked Reverend Dean. "But I don't know your name."

"Raven," said Crozier.

He was sure a man of few words, as Reverend Dean would soon learn.

"Er... I don't mind paying people under the table, but I prefer to know them, and their real name," said Reverend Dean.

"Richard Crozier!" said Crozier reluctantly.

"Why Raven?" asked Reverend Dean.

"Crozier, Crow, Raven," simply said Crozier.

Reverend Dean really needed somebody to help with the bookkeeping, and it is only because of the $100 donation from Mary Crozier that he was able to afford help for a day. He was soon at work in the small room that was the office. Crozier started working, asking few questions and keeping to himself while making sense of the total disarray in the paperwork.

Lunchtime finally arrived. Reverend Dean told Crozier that he was treating him to lunch at a nearby restaurant. He has been thinking all morning about the best way to broach the subject of Mary Crozier. He still wasn't sure how to proceed. Contrary to what Luke said, Reverend Dean didn't think that Crozier was screwed up. He kept to himself, sure. He was not very responsive to an open dialogue, preferring to nod a yes rather than say it. But Reverend Dean saw him more like a hurting human being real quiet rather than a potential psychopath. When he finally realized that, Reverend Dean had his path all chosen for him: truth.

They both ordered the soup and sandwich special.

While waiting for the soup, Reverend Dean decided to dive.

"I lied earlier," he said. "I already knew your name when I hired you. I knew who you are."

Crozier nodded. "I know! You kept looking at me."

"My books are totally messed up, I know that. But I hired you for another reason," said Reverend Dean.

But then something surprised him. He noticed Crozier eyes shinning with dampness. And a tear came down his cheek. A single lonely tear! Reverend Dean decided to keep silent. He didn't understand what was happening. Was Luke correct in his assessment? Was Crozier a loony?

"You spoke with my daughter," stated Crozier, flooring Reverend Dean with surprise.

"Er... How... I didn't," tried to say Reverend Dean.

"It's alright Reverend! I recognized her earlier this week," acknowledged Crozier. "I tripped and almost fell on my face in front of her car when I realize that it was her. I saw her trying to follow me. She's smart! The bitch raised her good I guess."

"You didn't want to talk to your daughter?" asked Reverend Dean.

Crozier didn't answer the question. He was looking outside. The waitress came with the soup and they both started to eat it. They both had respect for the price they had to pay to be able to eat. Reverend Dean left Crozier alone with his thoughts.

As they were eating, Crozier began to cry. Tears were dripping in his soup, making it a bit saltier.

They finished their soups at the same time.

"Everyday, I am dying inside because I don't talk to her, and to Annie, my other daughter. But I am nothing and they are everything. They are the only good things I ever did. For them, it is way better not to know me."

Reverend Dean didn't push and they waited for the sandwiches in silence. The waitress put them on the table and both men finished their lunches.

While walking back toward the shelter, Reverend Dean decided to probe a bit.

"Mr. Crozier," he said. "I hate to ask, but I would really like to know why you went to jail?"

Crozier looked at Reverend Dean. "Why would I tell you that?"

Reverend Dean was at a loss to answer that question. He wanted to know in order to decide if it would be advisable to bring daughter and father together. In the end, he would be judging Crozier over his past deeds and that would go against all his religious as well as his citizen's beliefs.

They reached the shelter while Reverend Dean was still struggling to find an answer to Crozier's question. At the shelter, Crozier went back to the office and Reverend Dean to the kitchen to make himself look busy. They were doing spaghetti that night, so there was no long preparation to do tonight.

Fifteen minutes later, Crozier came in the kitchen. Reverend Dean was scrubbing an obstinate stain at the bottom of a huge pot.

"Do you have a minute Reverend?"

"Sure!" said Reverend Dean.

He removed his rubber gloves and went toward the common area. He picked two coffees on the way. He was dubious about it as it was a coffee made three hours earlier. They sat down.

"When I asked you why, I had a come back for every reasons you could find, Reverend Dean," said Crozier. "I wasn't prepared to receive no answer at all. After a while, left to myself, I was asking myself 'Why not?' You still want to hear what happened to me?"

"Yes!" said Reverend Dean.

"It all happened because of a damage ligament in my back," started Crozier...

*****

Two days earlier, I had helped a supplier's employee bring boxes of copier paper into the office. I was in my office when that scrawny kid came at the back door. If he was 5'5' and 130 pounds, it's because he was wet and wearing high heel boots. He put a box to hold the door opened and a draft of cold air hit me in the back. After a few minutes, I looked and saw that he was carrying only one box at a time. I decided that if I wanted some warmth, I would have to help him. At one moment, I tried to lift up two boxes of paper. I felt a warm sensation in my back but paid no attention to that.

The next day, my back continued to hurt and by mid-afternoon, it had become unbearable. I decided to go home and wait for my wife, Martha, to rub some Tiger balm on my sore back.

You know how the story goes. Well, many of my mates in prison faced something like that. For me, it was a strange car in the driveway, blocking my way to the garage. Remember I was hurting in the back and had a hard time to walk. I was really pissed off when I walked in. I looked around and saw nobody on the first floor. I then went to the stairwell.

"Anybody home?" I called out while starting to climb the stairs.

I heard a ruckus upstairs. As fast as my back allowed I rushed up the stairs and down the hallway. My wife came out from the bathroom, almost totally undressed but with a towel around her.

"Hi honey!" she said, hurriedly. "I was about to jump in the shower."

She looked flustered and didn't volunteer to tell me why she was home in mid-afternoon. She didn't ask me either. Something wasn't quite right and her guilty look didn't help. I pushed her aside and looked inside the bathroom. Nothing! I then walked toward our bedroom and I saw nothing either, aside from the unmade bed. We always made the bed in the morning. I looked around, even in the closet. Nothing!