And just like that, the phone went dead.
Mitch cursed, dropped his phone onto the kitchen table, and covered his face with both hands. He inhaled and exhaled heavily several times, trying to get a grip on himself and suppress a riot of emotions.
But they were irrepressible. He swiped at tears that filled his eyes as the ever-simmering anger boiled up inside of him seeking an outlet, a target on which to direct his wrath with the impetus of a wrecking ball.
His mother-in-law? The exchanges like they’d just had, where more was left unsaid than spoken, didn’t change or improve anything, so what purpose would be served by a full-out go-round with her? It would only create additional tension, which Andrew would sense, and that would be detrimental to a child not yet three years old. He didn’t want to alienate Mary, anyway. She’d suffered just as he had. For the time being, Andrew needed her, and so did he.
To direct his anger at God would be a validation of his existence, which he, once a faithful believer, had soundly denounced.
But this seething rage that he’d lived with for two years was all-consuming and combustible. The only way he was ever going to be free of it was to rain down hell on the persons responsible for it.
He lowered his hands from his face and looked at the framed photo on his dresser, which he’d taken on the day of Andrew’s christening. Angela, holding the baby in the cradle of her arms, was beaming into the camera, radiating joy.
“Angela,” he whispered hoarsely, “I swear by the devil himself, we’ll have our vengeance.”
Chapter 2
Mitch made it to the CAP unit with minutes to spare. As he pulled out his desk chair, he looked toward John’s office. Through the window in the door, he saw John check his wristwatch.
“Sanctimonious son of a bitch,” Mitch muttered, then looked around to see if anyone in the unit had been observing or eavesdropping, and saw that most, if not all, currently pretending not to, had been. Sure as hell, by now the antagonistic scene in the drunk tank had been recounted dozens of times throughout the entire PD.
He tried to appear nonchalant as he booted up his computer in order to find the phone number of the bar where he’d wreaked havoc last night. It was owned by a guy he knew only by his first name. When he got him on the phone, he said, “Gus, Mitch Haskell. Please don’t hang up on me.”
He humbly offered to foot the bill for repairs in exchange for Gus not pressing charges. Gus was querulous and slow toforgive until Mitch turned on the charm—which once upon a time he’d been reputed to ooze. “Look, I admit that I was a jerk. You have every right to be pissed over the damage I did.”
“It’s not just that, Mitch. I thought you’d given up the booze.”
“I had. What can I say? I backslid.”
“To the max. You were out of your head. Violent. You threatened to cut my bartender’s throat.”
“I’ve got no excuse, Gus.”
“No excuse, maybe,” the man said around a heavy sigh, “but you’ve got a damn good reason.” When Mitch said nothing in response to that, Gus continued. “Everybody knows about… well, your wife and all. And it sucks. Big time. In light of that, I’m willing to cut you some slack. I’m not going to press charges.”
“Thank you.” To lighten the mood, he said, “Tell you what. Cost of damages plus a bottle of Beefeater to replace the one I broke.”
“Two bottles.”
“Deal.”
“Not quite. There are a few chairs I’ve got to replace. And that mirror was all I had left to remember my wife by.”
“I didn’t know she’d died.”
“She didn’t. She split. But still.”
Mitch chuckled. “To all of the above, okay.”
“Now we have a deal,” Gus said. “You know, Mitch, for a cop, you’re okay. I like you. I appreciate your patronage. But you gotta go easy on those double straight-ups.”
“As my pal John Bowie keeps reminding me.”
“Which brings me to something else. I don’t want Bowie on my case for overserving you, so I’ve instructed the bartenders to cut you off after two. Got it?”
“Yeah. Got it.” Mitch asked him to figure up what he owed. “And thanks again, Gus.”
As Mitch was disconnecting, John came out of his office and walked over. Before John could say anything, Mitch held up his hands in surrender. “Gus is a decent guy. After some initial grumbling, we came to terms, and he agreed not to press charges. He accepted my apology and even told me he likes me.”
