Chasing the Monsters: 37

Todd glanced around Rodi's and took careful pains to find the familiarity he longed for.  The place had long been a reminder of his first meeting Blair, and of other memories since:  her sitting on the bar singing to him in a tight black dress, their wedding rehearsal dinner thrown by none other than John McBain, and just times sitting at the bar, drinking and feeling like the outcasts they were.  "We were," he repeated to himself.  He wondered how it had come from a crippler and a rapist to what they were now.  It all seemed light-years ago.

He ran his hand along the bar, when he caught sight of his father, with a plaid, newsboy hat on, brim snapped down, and Ribsky, with his gun holster half-showing under his slightly-tight jacket.  He approached.

"Ah, Son," Timothy said, standing and throwing his arms around Todd's shoulders.

"We're in public, Old Man," Todd said, lightly patting his father's back.

"Ah, yes, but what of it?  Have a seat, Laddy."

Todd pulled the chair out, but not before greeting Ribsky with a handshake.  "We meet again," the ex-cop said.

"We do," Todd said, "how's it hanging?"

"Fine, I guess."

Timothy spoke, "Good, now that's established.  So, Todd, do ya have news for us?"

"Aren't I going to hear yours first?"  Todd said, signaling the waitress.

"Eh, why don't ya do us the honors?"

"Well, I was able to get the police rosters, dug up quite a bit.  Some are dead, at least one of them committed suicide."

"Could he be the guilty one?"  Ribksy asked.  

"Suppose.  Could something like this drive someone to off himself?"  Todd asked, gulping his Scotch.

"Sure," Ribsky said.  "You're a cop, devote your life to saving others, get into trouble, make a deal, and later realize what it did to someone else.  Possible."

"So maybe we got something, then?"  Timothy said.

"Could be.  We'll just have to see how it jives with what we got," Ribsky said, biting into his burger.

***

"Hello, Bea.  How was y'ar weekend with y'ar family?"  The nun asked, strolling by Bitsy as she worked on yet another painting.

"Todd says he's going to bring more of my artwork to The Diamond Gallery."

"That's wonderful."

"I . . . don't think he'll much care for some of these, though."

The nun scanned the newest painting, which again, featured Mitch as the centerpiece.  But instead of him captivating a crowd, he was standing with his hands on either side of the face of a woman.  Without being told, Sister Rebecca Katherine knew who the woman was.  She said, "He might have a spot of trouble with them, yes.  But ya have many other lovely ones."

"Thank you, Sister.  The visit was wonderful.  I want to live there, so much.  I love being with the children, and Blair, and my Angel, Todd."

"Well, time will tell.  It seems y'ar on y'ar way."

"Yes.  Dr. Martino says I'm getting better, and I've had no nightmares lately.  Only dreams," she looked off wistfully.

"Dreams?"

"Yes.  Of my life, before The Time of Black, of my family, happy times.  Of Mitch, touching me."  She immediately blushed. "Oh, Sister, I'm . . . so embarrassed about what I just said."  She put her paints down and wrung her hands.

The nun was not as much embarrassed or offended as she was truly afraid.  She knew how Todd would feel if he knew where his mother's head was regarding Mitch Laurence.  She also knew how utterly wrong Bitsy's impression of Laurence was.  

She can't know.  She can't know what he's done.  Not all of it.  

She gathered herself, and said, "Dear, no worries, now.   Ya should talk about the dreams with Ray, the next time ya have a session."

"Do you really think so, Sister?"

So innocent, almost like a child.  

The nun said, "Yes.  Yes, I do."

"All right, then maybe I will.  I see him tomorrow, for my weekly session.  I don't have to go every day anymore, or even every other day."

"That's wonderful, Dear Bea."

"Oh Sister," she said, hugging the nun, "I so want to start my life over, on the outside.  I want to be with my grandbabies and my son and his wife.  They are so beautiful, all of them."

"Yes, they are, dear.  What did Ray say it would take for ya to get out into the real world again?"

"He didn't say.  He just said it would be soon."

"Well, then, congratulations, and keep it up.  It will be here before ya know it."

"Yes," she said, turning back to the recent painting.  Then she stopped, and became pensive.  "Sister?"

"Yes, Dear."

"Mitch is still alive, isn't he?"

"Yes," she said, holding her breath slightly before she even realized she was.

"All right, then," she said, adding another touch of color to the canvas.

***

"I had to do some serious digging to bring this up.  Seems the CPD has a habit of erasing things," Todd said absently.

"You know, Todd, I never thought so before, but after yesterday, I tend to see your point.  It wasn't all of us, of course, but you're right.  It's happened," the private eye said.

"What do you mean?"  Todd asked. 

Timothy said, "Which brings us to the next piece of information."

Todd noticed his father shoot a look to Ribsky, and swallow.  He said, "Okay, what next piece of information?"

Jack's look at Timothy lingered a second more, and then he said, "Something's come up about . . . a six year old boy calling for help in 1976."

Timothy saw Todd's face going white, and his hands falter as he put down the Scotch glass.  "It was real?  It happened?"  Todd asked.

"Seems someone might have kept some 911 tapes that were pulled."  Ribsky said, drinking his beer and attempting to seem nonchalant.

Todd said, "Who?  Where can I talk to this person?"

"Slow down, Buddy." Ribsky admonished, "It's a contact of mine.  If she has access to them, she'll get them.  She asked me to give her a few days.  She was the old dispatcher.  Remembered a call like it.  Said that . . . well, said that she couldn't forget."

"What did she say?  Exactly."  Todd pressed.

"I just told you," Ribsky said.

"No, I mean what exactly did she say the kid said?" Todd was urgent.  His face was determined, and his hands were clenched.

Timothy said, "Easy, Son.  Jack's helping, he's not y'ar enemy."

Todd toned down, and then said, "I'm . . . sorry.  I just don't want you to protect me, or hide anything.  I'm a grown man, and it's my life.  I deserve to know."

"She said she'd never forget the little boy's voice.  She dreamed of it for weeks afterward.  Her boss had told her to forget it ever happened.  And then, it happened again, she thinks a while later.  She knew it was the same boy.  She was directed the same way."

Todd looked to his plate of fries and sandwich that had just arrived, and they blurred slightly.

Jack continued, "She said she never got over it, and was willing to help.  She's going to try and get into the area where the tapes are likely stored.  It was the 70s, so we may be looking at a cassette or reel to reel tape, or something."

"Twice."  Todd said.  "I called twice.  First I was six, the second I was seven.  It was three days after my seventh birthday.  Both times, no one came.  After that, I just gave up."

Ribsky wiped his mouth.  "I'd have given up, too.  It wasn't your fault, the adults were supposed to take care of you, and all of them failed."

Todd waited, composing himself, and then said, "I'd appreciate whatever you uncover."

Ribsky nodded as the waitress put down another round of drinks.

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