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    Place of Wrath and Tears: River City, #6
    Place of Wrath and Tears: River City, #6
    Place of Wrath and Tears: River City, #6
    Ebook464 pages6 hours

    Place of Wrath and Tears: River City, #6

    By Frank Zafiro

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    About this ebook

    It is the nightmare of every community – a school shooting.

     

    When a disturbed teenager masterminds this terrible event, everyone in River City is plunged into the darkness that surrounds it. The students and teachers try to survive, and the men and women of RCPD try to save them. But when things go horribly wrong, everyone seems to be looking elsewhere for someone to blame.

     

    Officer Katie MacLeod is among many who discover that the nightmare doesn't end when the shooting stops.

     

    Takes place in 2001.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCode 4 Press
    Release dateAug 12, 2020
    ISBN9781393898276
    Place of Wrath and Tears: River City, #6
    Author

    Frank Zafiro

    Frank Zafiro was a police officer from 1993 to 2013. He is the author of more than two dozen crime novels. In addition to writing, Frank is an avid hockey fan and a tortured guitarist. He lives in Redmond, Oregon.  

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      Book preview

      Place of Wrath and Tears - Frank Zafiro

      Part I: Circumstance

      September 2001

      River City, Washington

      Prologue

      The defendant watched the prosecutor stand straight and face the jury. Every eye was on him as he buttoned his suit jacket, cleared his throat, and removed his glasses. He gazed directly at the jurors, and every person in the jury box stared back at him.

      The defendant stared, too. He didn’t know where else to look. As the accused, he tried to keep his expression neutral, just like his own attorney had advised, but it was difficult to do in the face of all of the damning details the prosecutor ticked off in his opening statement. A sharp pang of fear spiked inside him with each point.

      The state will show that the defendant did bring a firearm to school, he intoned, taking a moment to point toward the defense’s table. The eyes of the jury followed his finger, settling on the defendant.

      He wanted to sink into his chair.

      Instead, he swallowed and sat motionless.

      The prosecutor continued, merciless. The state will further show that the defendant did use that firearm to cause the death of another human being.

      The defendant winced as the words were spoken aloud. The prosecutor’s tone was full of condemnation, and as he filled in further details for the jury, the defendant could sense their judgment hardening against him.

      He clenched his jaw, knowing his attorney would get a chance to speak. So would he, eventually. But would it even matter?

      What the prosecutor said was true.

      But it wasn’t the whole story.

      ONE

      September 18, 2001

      0629 hrs

      Day Shift

      Baker-238, Baker-234?

      It took Officer Katie MacLeod a moment to realize that Baker-238 meant her. She was distracted, working on some paperwork in the car, and the call sign almost slipped past her. She reached for the microphone. Baker-238, go ahead.

      Katie shook her head in mild frustration. She’d been on day shift since January but her new call sign still wasn’t second nature to her.

      Nine years on graveyard, she told herself. What do you expect?

      Baker-234, answered Officer Anthony Giovanni. His transmission was scratchy, obviously coming from his portable radio instead of the hard mount in the patrol car. That meant Gio was still out for breakfast.

      Suspicious circumstances, the dispatcher informed them. 2012 E. Liberty at the four-plex apartments. Complainant states a suspicious male has been hanging around for the past half hour in a vehicle she doesn’t recognize.

      Katie copied the call and replaced the mic. Typical day shift, she mused quietly, turning left onto Hamilton and pointing her patrol car north. It was most likely someone waiting to pick up someone else for work or something like that, and a busybody neighbor was calling it in as suspicious. Katie wondered if she would be rescuing any kittens later in the shift.

      As soon as the thought formed in her mind, she chastised herself. Not only was it the kind of lazy thinking that got cops killed, but since the terrorist attacks a week ago, people had become especially vigilant when it came to suspicious behavior. Most of what she’d responded to had been benign, but she couldn’t allow herself to be lulled into complacency.

      Lincoln-188, I copied the call, came the voice of Sergeant Connor O’Sullivan. I can back up Baker-238. You can disregard thirty-four.

      Katie smiled. She knew Sully was taking the back up so that Gio could stay with the rest of the platoon at Eliza’s Café. Breakfast right after roll call was holy writ on the day tour. A brand-new sergeant could make a lot of points by acknowledging the sacrosanct nature of that tradition. Besides, it wasn’t like she and Sully didn’t know how to handle a call. They’d worked together plenty on graveyard before his promotion to sergeant.

      Copy, Lincoln-188. Baker-234, disregard the call.

      Gio clicked his mic in gratitude.

      Katie headed north on Hamilton, not bothering to increase her speed beyond the posted limit. This call didn’t merit an emergency response. Besides that, even the early morning traffic right now was more than she’d usually encountered on the night shift. She kept her windows up to combat the unseasonably cool morning temperature outside.

      Her mind drifted as she drove. She’d come to day shift for a change in pace, and her experience was generally as she expected. Gradually, she became more accustomed to the differences in traffic, pace, and even the culture of the officers she now worked with. What surprised her was how much she missed her old team, and the nature of graveyard shift. She was starting to wonder if she made the right choice to leave.

      Traffic aside, she reached the block of 2000 East Liberty in less than two minutes. As she slowed down and scanned the street, she saw a number of parked cars up and down it. Although several of the windshields were covered in a light frost, the early morning sun had melted most. She peered into each, looking for an occupied vehicle.

      Halfway down the block, she spotted a red Toyota with a figure seated in the driver’s seat. Tendrils of exhaust drifted up from the tailpipe. Katie glanced at the address numbers of the nearest house.

      Whaddaya know, she muttered. 2012.

      She reached for the microphone. Adam-116, on scene.

      Adam-116? the dispatcher, Irina, replied in a confused tone.

      Katie sighed. Adam-116 was her old call sign on graveyard. Still, there wasn’t a ton of radio traffic, so the dispatcher should have recognized her voice. Katie hadn’t gotten to know the day shift dispatchers in the same way she’d grown to know the graveyard crew, but so far her opinion of Irina wasn’t too high. Sorry, she transmitted. I mean Baker-238. I’m on scene in front of the complainant address. She gave the license plate of the red Toyota.

      Copy, Baker. Two. Thirty. Eight. Irina replied, repeating the call sign slowly and deliberately.

      Oh, she’s a joy, Katie thought.

      Lincoln-188, I’m still a minute off, Sully transmitted.

      Katie thought about going code four and disregarding the backup. After a moment, she decided to let Sully come along. He was almost there, anyway. Besides, maybe she could lay some good-natured guilt on him for letting the rest of the platoon go to breakfast while she shagged calls. It might result in some free coffee later.

      Angling her patrol vehicle behind the red Toyota, Katie put the car into park and got out. Out of habit, she slid her side handle baton into the loop on her belt. She hadn’t been required to use the tool yet on day shift, but refused to leave it in the car. She knew that if she did, that would be the one time she needed it. Murphy ’s Law might be regarded as superstition by most, but it was actively respected in law enforcement.

      Two steps away from the shelter of her driver’s door, she started to get a strange vibe. The man in the driver’s seat of the Toyota was staring intently at her in the rear view mirror. She recognized a whisper of danger in his expression, as if he might decide to flee. She moved forward anyway.

      I’m committed now. Besides, if I get closer, he might not bail.

      She approached the driver’s side of the vehicle. Her hand instinctively dropped to the butt of her pistol. When she reached the rear wheel, the driver turned his head, craning his neck backward to watch her approach. Warning sirens started to go off in Katie’s head. She slowed slightly, reconsidering her options.

      Continue forward and make contact.

      Retreat to the cover of her patrol vehicle.

      Stand still in no-man’s land and look like a rookie.

      Katie frowned. She made her decision, and stepped forward.

      In that instant, the driver’s door flung open. The driver burst out of his seat. Katie tensed in surprise, preparing immediately for the foot chase she was expecting. The man surprised her by charging directly at her, his eyes full of fury.

      Police! Stop— she began, but by then he was upon her.

      The man’s shoulder drove into her chest. Katie’s breath whooshed out of her lungs as she flew backward. After what seemed like forever, she landed heavily on her backside, then bounced once and flopped over onto her back.

      With aching lungs, she forced herself to roll onto her side. Her baton was trapped under her leg, making her movements awkward. She had to get up. Get up and chase this guy—

      Goddamn bitch! he snarled at her. Katie looked up just in time to see him falling downward toward her, his arms wide open. She tucked her elbows close to her ribs and drew her knees in protectively. He landed on her a moment later. A burst of pain shot from her thigh as the man’s crushing weight forced her leg against the baton pinned beneath her. The last of her breath rasped out of her chest.

      Get up! Fight back!

      Katie felt his hands grasping at her neck. She dropped her chin to her chest to protect the front of her throat.

      I’ll kill you, bitch! he growled in her ear. His voice held a frantic edge that frightened her even more than his rough hands fumbling near her throat, trying to choke her.

      Katie shifted one leg and drove her knee up as hard as she could. She felt the point of her knee connect weakly with some heavy part of his thigh.

      He let out a cruel laugh. No fucking way, he said. I’m sick of you bitches. You’re done.

      Katie rocked left, then right. Her handcuff case ground into the small of her back. She fought to get a hand free. If she got her right hand free, she’d go for her gun. If it was her left—

      Her left arm popped free. She reached hard for her portable radio, fumbling for the red panic button. In the middle of a fight, her fingers didn’t have the fine motor skills necessary to find the tiny notch. Instead, her thumb came to rest on the larger transmit button. She pushed and held.

      His hand slid under her chin and closed around her throat.

      Katie tilted her face, opened her mouth and bit the back of his hand.

      He let out a bellowing cry of pain and snatched his hand away. Katie tried to draw air into her aching chest. The beginnings of a breath seeped in as she tried to force her lungs to work.

      You bitch!

      Katie kept the transmit button depressed. She hoped that Irina was listening closely. She knew that sometimes portable radios became stuck on the air, broadcasting benign sounds of an officer going about his business. That never raised much of a concern. Sounds of a fight, if the radio picked them up, should be a different story.

      His hand came slamming back, this time blasting into her collarbone. Sharp pain shot through her shoulder and chest. The shock seemed to open up her lungs. Beautiful, sweet oxygen rushed into her, filling them. She didn’t take any time to enjoy the sensation.

      Baker-238, she shouted. Code six!

      She released the transmit button as the man rained down two more hammering blows. One caught her on the point of her shoulder. Electric pain zinged down her arms. The second skipped off her chest and grazed her chin.

      Katie folded her thumb against the top of her fist and thrust upward blindly. She felt the knuckle strike somewhere soft. The man grunted in surprise. His weight shifted. Katie moved in the opposite direction, sliding out from under his bulk. Without hesitating, she scrambled to her feet, stepping backwards almost before she was fully upright. Her hand tore at the holster on her hip, pulling her gun.

      Don’t you move! she rasped at the man, extending the barrel directly at his chest.

      He stared back at her, his eyes full of surprise and rage. For the first time, she took in his harsh features. His greasy blond hair hung to his shoulders in disarray. Several days’ growth of stubble surrounded a scraggly goatee. His sallow skin resembled a druggie who probably hadn’t completely lost control of his life yet.

      His gaze hardened as he stared at her. Or what? You’ll shoot me?

      Then again, she thought, he was fighting with a cop on a city street at six-thirty in the morning. That was pretty out of control.

      Don’t move! Katie repeated, injecting more strength into her voice this time.

      All units, Code 6, her radio crackled. 2012 E. Liberty for Officer MacLeod. Code six.

      What are you going to shoot me for? he demanded. I’m sitting on the goddamn street, minding my own business.

      Down on your knees! Katie ordered him.

      Fuck you, he answered. Then he turned and bolted in the opposite direction.

      Katie let out a curse. She re-holstered and took off after him. As soon as she took the first few steps, her body screamed in protest. Every stride resulted in a thudding shock wave that rippled throughout her body, buzzing the most in her tailbone and shoulder. Her baton slapped at her thigh as she ran.

      She ignored the pain and reached for her portable radio. Baker-238, she transmitted. Her voice took on a bouncing sound in cadence with her steps. Foot pursuit!

      The man loped out in front of her like a crazed jackrabbit. Katie forced her legs to pump forward. She didn’t have to catch him. All she had to do was keep him in sight until the cavalry arrived.

      Direction? came Irina’s voice over her radio. Katie imagined that she sounded mildly irritated.

      Eastbound, Katie snapped into her radio. She transmitted in short bursts. White male. Medium height. Thin. Blue jeans. Red shirt.

      Copy, Baker-238.

      Katie considered yelling at the man to stop, but decided that would be a waste of breath. She needed every bit of oxygen she could muster to keep up with him.

      As they neared the end of the block, he suddenly cut to his right and disappeared behind a house. Katie slowed as she approached, wary that he may have stopped just around the corner. More than one cop in foot pursuit had fallen for that ploy.

      As she rounded the corner, he was gone.

      Katie felt her stomach drop.

      I can’t lose him!

      The back yard was open clear to the alley. She accelerated to a run, cutting through the yard. Once she reached the dirt alley, she pulled up short. Her head snapped left and right, looking for a flash of the suspect’s red shirt.

      Nothing.

      Baker-238, an update?

      Katie frowned. She didn’t reply, but instead listened hard while her eyes swept up and down the alley. She tried to focus outward and ignore the sound of her own harsh breathing.

      A muted crash came from a yard two houses to the west. Katie immediately sprinted toward the sound.

      Baker-238, an update?

      Katie brought the radio to her lips. Westbound in the alley, cutting through yards.

      Which side of the street?

      South, Katie answered.

      Irina copied her transmission and re-broadcasted a summary for the other responding officers. Katie expected to hear sirens soon. She ran to the point the noise had come from and cut through that yard. As soon as she reached the front yard, she saw the man in the red shirt running along the sidewalk westbound.

      She took off after him.

      A moment later, a green unmarked patrol car rounded the corner and swung in front of the suspect. Surprised, he skidded to a stop and gave the driver of the police car an appraising look. Katie continued to close distance. After a moment, the suspect made his decision. Still looking at the police car, he turned and began running back toward Katie.

      Katie accelerated, lowered her right shoulder and drove it squarely into the suspect’s chest. She felt the satisfying force of the collision reverberate throughout her body. Somehow, as she watched the suspect fly straight backward, the jarring pain didn’t seem as sharp as it had been when he’d hit her earlier. The shocked look on the suspect’s face as he landed on his ass with a thud was a better salve than any ibuprofen.

      Katie heard the sound of a car door swing open and looked up to see Sergeant Connor O’Sullivan clambering out of the supervisor’s patrol car. Without pause, he rushed around the nose of the car. Katie started to draw her gun again, but as she cleared leather, Sully grabbed a handful of the suspect’s hair at the nape of his neck. With one giant pull, he forced the man onto his stomach. Seamlessly, he transitioned into a prone-cuffing technique, planting his knee on the back of the suspect’s neck while controlling the right arm.

      Wow, Katie muttered. Sully hasn’t lost his moves. She holstered her gun and stepped forward to help.

      Sully slapped his cuffs on the suspect with practiced ease. Once the suspect’s hands were secure, he released the pressure on the man’s neck, sliding his knee onto the upper back to keep him pinned. Don’t move, he commanded gruffly.

      Katie stopped and stood still for a moment, catching her breath.

      Sully looked up at her. Nice job, MacLeod, he said.

      She wondered for a moment if he were teasing her a little, but one look at his expression told her the truth. His eyes were shining with excitement and pride.

      Thanks, Katie told him in between breaths. But you did…all the work, Sully… er, Sarge,

      Sully cast her a satisfied grin. Nah. You tuckered him out.

      You two want to quit stroking each other and get me up off this wet grass? the suspect snapped, lifting his head to glare at them.

      Sully’s eyes narrowed. Pipe down, he told the man.

      Police brutality!

      Shut up. Sully reached for his portable radio. Lincoln-188, we’re code four.

      Copy, code four. All units downgrade your response.

      We’re mid-block on Euclid, Sully told dispatch. Next car in, come to our location for transport.

      Katie shook her head. I’ll take him to jail, she told Sully. I’ll bring my car around.

      Take me to jail for what? the suspect shouted up at them. He squirmed in the grass.

      Shut up, Sully repeated, but he gave Katie a questioning look.

      Assault on a Law Enforcement Officer, for starters, Katie said immediately. Then we figure out whatever he was up to before I got there.

      I wasn’t up to shit!

      I doubt that, Katie said.

      Chicken shit bitch cop! the man yelled at her.

      Sully chuckled. That quote chicken shit bitch cop unquote just knocked you on your ass.

      So what? I didn’t see her!

      It was hard to miss, Sully went on, smiling at Katie while he spoke. It was like watching Lawrence Taylor crush a quarterback.

      She got lucky!

      Whatever, dude. She teed you up like a golf ball.

      Katie felt a small rush of pride at Sully’s words. On graveyard, she’d earned a reputation for being able to carry her own water, whether that meant working hard or dealing with the physical challenges of the job. The guys on her platoon respected her for that. Coming to day shift, she knew her reputation would follow her a little bit, but she’d still have to prove herself all over again to some of her new platoon mates. Having Sully around helped.

      A second patrol car pulled up. Officer Anthony Gio Giovanni exited the vehicle and sauntered over. He reminded Katie of a taller, more handsome version of Al Pacino when he’d played Michael Corleone in the original Godfather movie. His reputation as a skirt chaser was near legend.

      What happened here? He looked down at the prone suspect, then shook his head at Sully. "Sarge, did you forget that your days of doing real police work are over? You’re a boss now."

      Sully’s grin seemed to grow. I still get to do a little RPW once in a while.

      Fags, the suspect said, twisting again on the ground.

      Gio put his hand over his heart. Ouch. Well, if that’s true, I guess I’ve been making horrible mistakes every weekend.

      Sully slid off the suspect’s back and grabbed one arm. Katie knelt down to grab the other.

      Stand up, Sully directed him.

      No.

      You like laying in the wet grass? Sully said. You’ve been complaining about it since I got here.

      The suspect remained still for a moment, then sighed. Tucking his knees underneath him, he struggled to his feet with both cops holding onto his arms for balance. Once he was standing, he gave Katie a dark look.

      I could have killed you if I wanted to, he whispered at her.

      Katie returned his gaze flatly. She was used to being threatened. It happened all the time.

      Sully scoffed at him. Yeah, it sure looked that way when she was dumping you on your butt. They began walking him toward Gio’s patrol car.

      A cruel smile lighted on the suspect’s face as he stepped along. She knows.

      It was Gio’s turn to snort. You should count yourself lucky, amigo. This is the cop who took down the Rainy Day Rapist a few years back. You’re pretty lightweight in comparison.

      The suspect’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Katie appraisingly.

      Katie gave him a short nod. Gio was right. Not many threats fazed her anymore. Not after having a crazed serial rapist attack her in her own home.

      Well, good for you, sneered the suspect. I’ll bet he didn’t get his hands on your fucking throat like I did.

      Gio popped open the back door to his patrol car. Nice. Anything else you want to confess to, genius?

      The suspect paused, then scowled. After that, he kept his mouth shut.

      Gio flashed Katie a grin. He took over for Sully and the two of them searched the suspect. All he had on him was a wallet. Katie removed his identification card.

      Sidney Kincaid, she read aloud.

      You might want to remember that name, he growled at her.

      You might want to shut up, Gio said easily and guided him unceremoniously into the back of his patrol car. He slammed the door, then glanced over at Katie. What a mope, he said. You want me to run him in for you?

      Sure, Katie said. Book him for the third degree assault. If I come up with anything else, I’ll head down to jail and add it to his booking sheet.

      Will do. Gio slipped into the driver’s seat of his patrol car and pulled away.

      Sully remained behind. He gave her an appraising look. And you’re okay? he asked. You’re not hurt?

      Katie shrugged. Her body still zinged with adrenaline, so she couldn’t be sure. Nothing felt broken, however. I’m a little bruised. I’ll probably be sore tomorrow. But nothing too serious.

      You want me to fill out an injury report?

      No. Like I said, it’s just bumps and bruises.

      Okay, Sully said. What happened?

      Katie gave him a quick run-down of events. Sully listened, nodding but not interrupting. When she was finished, he asked, You need help with the follow up?

      I don’t think so.

      Sully clapped her lightly on the shoulder. Nice work, even if I gotta do a use-of-force report now.

      Thanks, Sarge.

      Sully walked over to his own car. Katie waved to him as he left, turned and trudged back toward her patrol car.

      0700 hrs

      The alarm went off at seven, but Jimmy Ryan had been awake for some time. He wished he could sleep more, but there were too many things that needed thinking about. Things that were his responsibility. Those things kept him awake.

      Jimmy rolled over. He looked at his school clothes that he had laid out the night before. They were the same ones he’d worn twice last week. He knew that most of the other kids would still be wearing new clothes today, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that some of the clothes he had bought at Value Village for school this year probably belonged to his classmates last year. Or the year before. All he cared about was that they were his clothes, and he bought them with his own money. There was a certain satisfaction to that. Something that all the richies at Franklin High couldn’t touch. Not his mother, either. None of them.

      What felt best was that he’d come by the money honestly. He didn’t get it from his mommy or daddy like all the preppy rich kids. Or from public assistance like his mother. He worked for it. He spent the entire summer helping Mr. Russo, the apartment complex maintenance man.

      He liked Mr. Russo. The old man taught Jimmy that fixing a problem in the complex did not always mean spending money. Just about anything could be jimmy-rigged to work for a little longer. Jimmy laughed the first time he heard the term, but as he learned more and started to evolve into the go-to guy around the apartments, he took a certain pride in it. Jimmy-rigging didn’t mean slapping it together with tape and baling wire. It meant fixing it so it kept working.

      Thanks to Mr. Russo and some natural talent, Jimmy’s repair prowess quickly grew. By the end of the summer, he could do just about any of the constant repairs in the run-down building.

      Jimmy didn’t always get paid cash for the work he did. Often, Mr. Russo talked to the apartment manager and she applied the money towards the rent his mother owed. It seemed like his mom was almost always behind on the rent. But sometimes Mr. Russo slipped him a five or a ten for the work he did anyway. He stashed it away inside an old tennis shoe in his closet to keep his mother from finding it. Over the course of a summer, those fives and tens added up and he was able to buy himself and his sister Liz some new clothes for school. Of course, he had to lie to his mother and say that someone from the church brought them by.

      Jimmy lay in bed, staring at the clothes he’d laid out. He thought about his mother. She worked nights and usually didn’t get home until early in the morning. Once, a few years ago, Jimmy had asked his mother what she did for work. He’d hoped she’d say she was a nurse or even a janitor, like she used to tell him when he was littler, but he knew that wasn’t true. She didn’t have a uniform, for one thing. And there were other reasons, too.

      The last time he’d asked her, shortly before school started, she didn’t even try to lie. She gave him a weary look and mumbled, Whatever it takes.

      Jimmy wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what that meant.

      Tired of his own thoughts, Jimmy pushed the blankets aside. He got dressed in his second hand clothes, then went to his sister’s room. Liz was still asleep when he cracked open the door. His sister was only a year and a half younger, but she was in special classes at school. Liz just started going to the high school this year.

      He was glad that they were at the same school. This allowed him to walk her to school and back home again. Last year, she had to wait for him outside the middle school. Kids took advantage of the opportunity to tease her. One time some of the more popular girls pretended to befriend her. They told her that she could join their club, but she had to eat gum from the sticky wall. Students pressed their gum against the sticky wall when they were done chewing it. Eager to be accepted, Liz did what they asked. By the time Jimmy got there, she had a wad the size of a golf ball in her mouth.

      At least he wouldn’t have to worry about things like that this year. So far, he’d been aware of some mild teasing, but nothing worse. In his experience, it usually took a few months for the teasing to get intense. He hoped that this year would be different.

      Jimmy leaned down and gently shook Liz’s shoulder. He half-sang, Liz, Liz, Lizzy, time to get up and get dizzy.

      She didn’t move, though he could tell she was awake now. She was faking it, waiting for him to finish.

      Liz, Liz, Lizzy, he full-on sang now. Time to get up and get busy.

      This time, Liz opened her eyes a little and peeked out. When she saw that Jimmy had caught her looking, she snapped them shut again.

      Jimmy leaned over and whispered in a deep voice into her ticklish ears, I see you, Elizabeth.

      Liz giggled and opened her eyes.

      Time to get up, princess, Jimmy told her, his voice returning to a normal tone.

      Liz sat up in bed. She asked, I get to go to school with you. Right, Jimmy?

      She’d been asking him that every day since school started. Jimmy knew she was excited about the change, too, and was probably afraid it wasn’t going to last.

      Well, he said, if you ever get out of bed, I guess I’ll take you.

      Liz smiled. That made Jimmy smile, too. Her smile was the most honest and pure thing Jimmy had ever seen.

      Liz rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched. Jimmy went to the dresser and grabbed the clothes he had put out for Liz the night before. She was wearing the brand-new pink shirt he’d bought at Kmart again. She’d worn it the first day of school, too, and three times since. It’d been the only piece of clothing he’d been able to buy new. The rest of her clothes came second hand, just like his.

      You’re going to wear this out before the first semester ends, Jimmy told her.

      I like it, Liz said. It’s my pretty shirt.

      Yes, it is. Jimmy said. Pretty shirt for a pretty girl. Now get dressed and then I’ll help you with your hair, okay?

      ’Kay.

      He left the bedroom to give Liz some privacy. He walked to his mother’s room and peered in. He was not surprised to see the bed unmade but empty, just like it had been the night before. He turned and went into the living room. Not surprisingly, his mother was collapsed on the couch, one foot on the floor. An unsmoked cigarette had long ago burned out in the ashtray, the long drooping ash proving it had been lit and forgotten.

      Jimmy hadn’t heard her come in last night, and was glad. Sometimes she was loud, cursing everything from him and Liz, to herself, to the President and eventually God. Other times, if he’d happened out into the living room in the middle of the night, he saw things he didn’t want to see.

      Her with a pipe.

      Or with someone else.

      At least that last thing had stopped. He’d used the leverage that he was contributing to the rent to convince her that the apartment was no-man’s land. She occasionally violated the rule when it came to the drugs, but it had been since before summer that she’d brought anyone home with her.

      Jimmy covered his mother with a blanket. At the foot of the couch, he saw a small glass tube. An etched red rose on the end was streaked with black from the lighter she’d used. He picked it up and walked into the kitchen, looking for her purse. He’d made the mistake of throwing away his mom’s pipe in the past. His mother became enraged and slapped him several times. He took the beating then, though he didn’t understand why. Now, he resisted the urge out of simple economics. She’d just buy another one, anyway.

      His mother’s cheap purse lay open on the plastic kitchen table. He could see a handful of cash inside. He put the pipe inside the purse and snapped it shut. He hoped that some of the money would end up going for food or rent, and not just for filling up the pipe.

      Jimmy opened up the cupboard and looked at the contents. He saw nothing worth trying to turn into a breakfast. He knew they could get free breakfast at school, but that idea didn’t sit well with him. He’d take it if he had to, but he’d rather not. There was a stigma associated with free meals at Franklin High School, and everyone knew it. Maybe that would change someday, but he doubted it.

      Of course, it wasn’t like everyone didn’t know exactly what the story was with him and his sister anyway. They might not know about his mother, but one look was all it took to see that they were poor. Most of the kids at Franklin were at least middle class. When Jimmy looked around, he didn’t see many kids struggling like his family did. Even the gangs were something kids joined more for entertainment value than as a result of poverty or desperation.

      Liz called from her room, Okay, ready.

      Jimmy walked back into her room and immediately saw that she had her new shirt cross buttoned. He helped her fix it.

      Goofball, he said, but his tone was soft.

      Liz giggled. I like it that way.

      Let’s get into the bathroom, he told her.

      Gotta get pretty, Liz said in agreement.

      In the bathroom, Jimmy opened the drawer and fished around for Liz’s special Big Bird toothbrush. It was a little young for her these days, but he knew she found comfort in the familiarity of it, so that was what they always bought her. He squeezed a little toothpaste onto the brush and handed it to her.

      Things are going good this year, right? he asked.

      Liz smiled at Jimmy and sawed the brush back and forth. Yep, go-un goot, she said around the mouthful of brush and foamy toothpaste. Then she smiled at him.

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