Disclaimer - ABC or whoever own the characters and no profit is being made.
Set after the events of 'The Last Roundup'.
I don't live in America. I don't know anything about American buses, geography or police houses.
Has a little bit of swearing - nothing obscene.
*
She came for the kid. I'd half-suspected something was up when that jackass Don called just to hear his voice. He's never given a damn about that kid. Oh, he claims that it's for the kid's own protection, that he wants to keep him out of harms way until 'everything' is settled - whatever 'everything' is, and I think I have a fair idea - but I'm incapable of believing a word that man says.
Besides, Harry tells me the truth. Or he tries not to but can't help it anyway. He'll tell me the absolute lies, but I've always known when he's been lying and I've always been able to figure out some version of the truth for myself.
I don't know exactly what they've been up to, but it's not good.
Christ, there's an understatement.
So she came for the kid. I saw a familiarness (if that's even a word) in her features the moment I peered around the edge of the door. It was a bright morning so I winced against the light for a moment, asking who she was.
"I'm here for Frank," was all she said.
Then I realised, and for a few seconds it felt as if the floor had gone missing from under me. I'd actually become fond of the kid since I was asked to look after him. Truth is, I hardly get any time at all to spend with kids - I'm not exactly neighbourly, and the neighbours I do have aren't neighbourly themselves. Frank was a nice change of pace.
"You're the mother," I stated with certainty, my eyes adjusting to the light and now recognising the similarity in features between mother and son. As she nodded apprehensively I closed the door, took the chain off, then opened it fully.
I knew she was alone, and stepped back so she could walk in. Closing the door I immediately reached for the cigarette that was resting in the ashtray on the coffee table. Taking two quick puffs I just as quickly stubbed it out and exhaled the smoke. Turning to face her, I pulled my hair out of my eyes. "Something happened, didn't it? He screwed up."
She seemed to get a little more confident then, shaking her head with a smile used only when describing the absolutely pathetic. "Which one?"
Shit. So both of them screwed up, which meant both of them were probably in custody. Or worse.
I didn't want to think about the worse.
I badly needed another cigarette.
Instead I picked up my stress toy from the coffee table and started squeezing it. I'd been trying to quit smoking ever since Frankie got here, and the toy seemed to help a little.
I really didn't want to think about the worse. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
The toy squished between my fingers as something occurred to me. "You...have another kid, don't you?" I'd heard mention of him occasionally. "Where's he?"
"With family," She responded. She had the most interesting voice, and she was quite beautiful. Still, she was blonde - it seemed that was all most men wanted these days. The thought of the dark brown hair on my head depressed me briefly, but then I got over it. Hell, I didn't get where I was today by feeling sorry for myself.
Realising that she was starting to look impatient, I excused myself to get Frankie. There was no point in keeping him here any longer. I wasn't even sure he really still had a mother - despite the fact that he talked about her - until I saw her, and now there was absolutely no doubt in my mind. Not only were there physical similarities, but she also had about her that look of utter desperation that only mothers and drug addicts can have.
I knew she wasn't doing drugs.
Pausing in the dim hallway, I knocked on his door. "Frankie? There's someone here to see you."
When I got no response I pushed the door open and smiled to myself at the sight. He'd been up all night playing his computer games and was sprawled out on the bed, the joystick still in his right hand. Shaking my head I walked into the room and switched off the television which was still showing bright, colourful images of what looked like some racing game, then I plucked the joystick out of his hand and carefully, carefully sat on the edge of the bed.
Clutching the joystick in one hand and my stress toy in the other, I felt moisture gathering around my eyes. Hell... "I'm gonna miss you," I whispered.
He didn't stir.
Blinking away the tears I sniffed and placed the joystick on the floor. Clearing my throat I reached out with my free hand and gently shook him. "Frankie? Frankie?"
He moaned slightly, no doubt exhausted, and his lips pouted in defiance even before he reached full consciousness. Smiling again, I reached out and place my fingertips over his small, delicate mouth before he woke fully.
His eyelids flickered.
I moved my hand away.
After a few seconds his confused gaze focused on me, and he was awake. "Auntie Katie?"
My heart nearly stopped. Christ, I was never going to hear that again. I somehow managed to speak around what felt like a bowling ball that had suddenly appeared in my throat. "Someone's here to see you. To take you home," I added.
Blinking heavily he shifted, trying to sit up as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Home?" He asked vaguely, and then he seemed to realise. "Mom?"
"That's right," Her voice said, and I turned my head to see her standing in the doorway.
"Mom!" He repeated, this time a jubilant shout of joy. He barely had time to move to the edge of the bed when she had already reached him and swamped him in her hold. Lazy murmurs of "I've missed you", "I love you" and just as coherent sniffs made their way from the two forms in front of me, who seemed to be doing everything possible to make themselves into one being.
Face impassive I stood, left the room, and quietly shut the door. I stayed in the dimness of the hallway for a few moments with my hand still securely wrapped around the doorknob.
Then I moved back into the lounge, sat down in a chair, and calmly lit another cigarette.
When they emerged, quite some time later, I had nearly squashed my stress toy into nothingness.
Frankie came up to me first and I gladly received the hug he offered me. I told him to take care, kissed him on the forehead, and tucked a hair behind his ear.
His mother asked him to wait by the door, and after he moved she knelt in front of me until we were eye-to-eye.
"I don't know exactly what your involvement was," She began "but I know you treated Frank well. Very well. He's going to miss you."
"The feeling's mutual." The stress toy flattened in my hold.
She grabbed my hand. "Thank you for taking care of my son."
I didn't say anything. What could I say? "Sorry your kid was taken from you, but hey, it was fun while it lasted?"
No. I couldn't say that. So I just nodded.
She began to move upward to leave when with rare insight I suddenly knew exactly what I had to say. Grabbing her hand more fiercely than she had just been grabbing mine, I stopped her from rising any further. "Tell me where Harry is."
The surprise that flicked over her features was only momentary. "To be honest I have no idea where his now. Probably in prison, or on his way there. That's where skells usually end up."
That knowledge confirmed I closed my eyes, then opened them. "Is there anywhere you could direct me?"
Leaning forward, she studied me closely. "Why? Why would you want to see him?"
I shrugged as if it were obvious. "He's my friend."
"I understand," She responded, and I knew that she did.
Pulling away she stood by Frankie, then took his hand, opened the door, and let the daylight shine in. Pausing, she turned to me and said two words:
"The fifteenth."
It only occurred to me later that I never even asked her name.
*
The bus journey to New York was long, hot and boring. I passed the time by humming (and - incidentally - annoying the rather burly man sitting next to me), squeezing my stress toy, and thinking up the numerous ways I was going to kick Harry's ass when I saw him.
I was dying for a cigarette.
As I stumbled off the bus with only my purse and its contents to live on, all I wanted to do was go straight to the hotel. Cheap and nasty it may be, but cheap and nasty I was used to. Instead I found myself getting caught up in the unbelievable amount of people who seemed to swarm around the coaches, until I managed to pull myself free.
It didn't matter that I was in a strange city surrounded by strange people - I knew where I was going. This was hardly my first time in a big city.
After a quick tussle with a white woman over a cab, I managed to get in said cab and ordered it to the fifteenth.
The cab driver - quite stereotypically, it seemed - only had a minimal grasp of English, so I was more than happy to share the silence as he drove me to my destination.
Traffic was a nightmare; we spent more time not moving than we did actually driving anywhere, but I wasn't about to discover the joys of the New York Public Transportation System. Not after that Bus Journey From Hell (tm).
I had just started snoring when the cab screeched to a halt loudly. My eyes shot open and I sat up sharply, hitting my head on the inside of the cab. "Ow," I muttered dumbly.
From what the driver was saying I managed to translate that I was where I wanted to be, although oddly - or not so oddly - enough, he didn't seem to have any problem with English at all when I was giving him his money.
Slamming the door I stood on the sidewalk, and as he drove away at a reckless speed I tipped my head back until I could take in a view of the whole building.
Clearing my throat, straightening my skirt, and wiping a few crumbs off my jacket from that bag of chips I'd eaten two hours ago, I charged into the building.
'All arrivals MUST report to reception' the sign read, but I ignored it. It seemed the desk was pretty busy anyway, and I managed to sneak by without anyone noticing. Taking my chances I headed directly for the stairs I could see a little further into the building, hoping they'd lead somewhere fruitful. Down here it was all prostitutes, and men with angry eyes handcuffed to chairs.
I climbed up about two flights of stairs and finally came across something interesting. Yes, this definitely looked like a squad room. There was a man sitting at what I assumed to be some kind of 'reception', but he was on the phone so he held up a finger, asking me silently to wait. I was happy to, taking the chance to study the people in the room.
Sitting at a desk to the left were two men - one overweight and bald, the other one fiddling furiously with what looked like a paperclip. Behind that desk was another desk, also occupied with two men. This time one was a large black man, and the other was an older man whose hair I couldn't decide on being either blonde or red.
Still further back there was an office area, with shutters in the windows although they weren't drawn. Through the window I could make out a black man on the phone. No doubt the big cahuna.
The last pair in the room were situated just to the right of the office. At that desk sat two women with brown hair - one with curly shoulder length hair, the other's hair tied up in a tight bun.
The man at 'reception', finished his phone call, then with a particularly effeminate manner asked if he could help me.
"I hope so," I told him. "I'm looking for someone who can tell me something about Harry Denby."
What little chatter there had been in the room suddenly vanished, and I realised everyone was staring at me. I suddenly felt even more paranoid, wondering how I must look to them; a thirty-something black woman, dressed in a wrinkled skirt suit, no doubt looking exhausted.
Aw, screw it. Who cared? That's what Harry always taught me.
"Oh...well..." The receptionist spluttered.
Bald man and paperclip boy stood and slowly approached.
Bald man spoke. "May we ask why you want to know about Detective Denby?"
"He's my friend. I'd like to know where he is."
"Oh," Bald man replied carefully. "He's your 'friend'."
"Yes, my friend," I responded "and I'd appreciate it if you'd leave your assumptions out of your tone of voice."
Paperclip boy spoke up. "You don't know anything about what's happened to him?"
Oh, I did not like the way he phrased that question. I was feeling decidedly light-headed. "No," I stated firmly. "I don't know what he's been up to or what kind of trouble he's in, but I want to see him."
They looked at each other, then Paperclip boy turned away.
"He'll just be a moment," Bald man told me. "So, been in the city long? What about that hot weather, huh? You get a tan yet?" He paused. "Umm, I guess not."
I wasn't interested in his attempt at conversation, instead fixing my gaze on Paperclip boy who headed directly for the only people in the room who hadn't heard who I was looking for - the two women at the back of the room. It was the one with the curly hair that he spoke to, and immediately her head jerked up, her eyes widened, and she stared at me.
After what felt like thirty seconds I could see he spoke to her again, but she shook her head and stood up. She murmured something to the woman sitting opposite her - her partner? - then rubbed her hands over her hips before walking firmly towards me.
Once there she held out her right hand. "Detective Diane Russell. A pleasure to meet you."
I shook her hand. "Kate Mitchell. Likewise."
She opened up the small gate that separated us, and held her hand out towards her desk in clear invitation "Shall we get a coffee?"
What I really wanted was a cigarette. My hand was itching to grab my stress toy which was still resting in my jacket pocket. I smiled and stepped through. "I'd love one, thank you."
I quickly realised she didn't intend for us to sit at her desk as she lead me towards a small room from which the richly intoxicating smell of coffee was emanating. As we walked there I could feel that everyone - including the big cahuna, from behind those shutter-covered windows - was watching me until we stepped through into the room and she closed the door.
I placed my purse on the counter as she found two mugs and quickly filled them with coffee - avoiding my gaze the whole time. Once she handed me a mug I thanked her, then closed my eyes, wrapped both hands around the mug, and inhaled.
"Thank you," I murmured. "I'm never travelling by bus again."
"How do you know Denby?"
Well, I guess that meant the pleasantries were over. I sipped at my drink. "We're best friends." Her eyes went wide. "Or...I guess we were before he moved to New York. Still, we keep in close contact, he phones once a week...or he did."
"Best friends?" She clearly found it hard to believe.
"Since childhood. His family...his parents, didn't like it all of course, and mostly they didn't know about it. But...when you're supposed to be friends with someone, there's nothing really that'll get in your way."
"Denby was your best friend?" She asked, as if needing clarification.
I smiled. "It really surprises you, doesn't it?"
Russell finally drank some of her own coffee. "He doesn't seem the type who'd have a best friend."
Shaking my head, I almost chuckled. "Harry was always very misleading but ultimately very honest. It's one of the things I love about him."
She laughed briefly - loud, harsh. "Maybe you should find a different reason to love him, Miss Mitchell."
"Kate," I corrected automatically. "And why do you say that?"
"Frank was with you, wasn't he?"
It didn't really surprise me that she knew, or that she avoided the question. "Yes. The mother has him now."
"Good," Russell whispered, looking relieved. "So I take it from your line of questioning that you don't know what he was up to?"
"No. The only reason I didn't question the kids presence was because of our friendship. If it had been anyone else..."
She studied me, frowning. "He instils quite a bit of loyalty in you, doesn't he?"
"He has that effect." I didn't tell her it was because he was the only one who never hit me. Or that he would stay up until 4am talking with me.
Sighing, she placed her mug on the counter. "Look, Kate, I'm not going to lie to you. As far as I'm concerned, Denby's an asshole and I don't want anything else to do with him. But...I do believe you. I can usually tell when someone's lying to me - although Denby-"
"Harry," I insisted.
"Denby," She continued "seems to be the exception to the rule." Running a hand over her face and resting the other on her hip, she shook her head. "I can tell you where he is. But don't expect me to go with you."
"Thank you," I told her, meaning it. "And I won't." It took me a few seconds to realise that the more she thought about, the tenser she got. "This is really stressing you out, isn't it? I can see how much just by looking at you."
Russell rubbed the side of her forehead. "Look, he was a prick, okay? He really pissed me off."
I tried not to smile. This was Rebecca all over again. "I can't apologise for whatever the hell it was he did, but I can tell you that there was a time when he wasn't a prick. When he was the nicest, if most confused, man I ever knew."
"Spare me the sob story," She retorted, then immediately closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. I-"
"Don't be," I shrugged. "This is obviously an emotional issue for you. I'm not going to try and change your mind. I just want to see Harry again."
*
The irony of it was that in the end she had to come with me anyway. I don't know what kind of favours she pulled or who she ended up owing, but she got me into where he was being kept - only stipulation was she had to be there too.
Fortunately for her she got to wait outside the room. She had no intention of going in.
He wasn't violent, so I was allowed in by myself. He was lying on the bed, his head turned to one side and he just stared at the wall as if there were something monumentally boring there.
Carefully, gently, I placed my hand on his arm.
He didn't stir.
"So I heard the strangest story," I murmured. "Some prick developed his alcohol problem into a cocaine habit, and got caught."
"What a stupid bastard," He responded.
I found myself smiling as the tears began to fall. It was hard to speak through them, but I kept trying. My hand slid along his arm until it reached his hand, and our fingers entwined. "I remember doing that when we were seven," I whispered.
"Six," He corrected.
I shook my head. "You bastard. You silly bastard. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me help?"
"And spoil all my fun?"
"Don't. Don't you do that to me Harry."
His hand squeezed mine. "How did you find me?"
"Diane Russell."
He very nearly sat up. "Diane?"
I'm sure I heard some movement outside the room.
Oh, I was very interested in the way he said her name. "Well, she's Detective Russell to plain old me.."
"How...is she?"
"Still hates your guts."
Harry tried to nod. He looked terrible.
"Of course," I continued, as if it were an afterthought. "You realise that this is just like Rebecca."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"She absolutely hated your guts. Not just your guts. Your eyes, your ears, your mouth...although I do remember that she made a comment about loving those same body parts some time later. In fact-"
"Do you remember that she left me?"
I almost slapped him. "She didn't leave you, Harry. She died. There's a difference."
"Not anymore."
"Will you stop feeling sorry for yourself?"
"Oh, now let me see Katie. I'm currently suffering through the 'nicer' part of withdrawal after becoming addicted to alcohol and cocaine, and I could quite possibly get up to twenty years for my part in Don's little plan, and the only woman I care about at the moment thinks I'm a prick. Tell me, where should I stop feeling sorry for myself?"
"I didn't say I thought you were a prick."
"I wasn't talking about-"
"Me? Nope, you certainly weren't Harry. Well, well. Young Harry Denby seems to have resurrected his heart. Close friends say it was a major rebuilding project that required record amounts of scaffolding."
Closing his eyes, he exhaled with what seemed to be a laugh then looked at me for the first time. "I've missed you, Katie."
"You better get out of this, Harry. I have no intention of spending the next twenty years of my life coming to visit you in jail."
"I..." He stopped, not having the energy to continue the battle. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."
"Go to sleep," I told him.
It didn't take long at all for him to lose consciousness.
I separated my hand from his and he moaned slightly, no doubt exhausted, and his lips pouted in defiance even in sleep. Smiling again, I reached out and place my fingertips over his delicate mouth.
His eyelids flickered.
I moved my hand away.
Leaving the room, I felt around in my pocket and pulled out the stress toy. "Here," I told Diane, placing it in her palm. "I think you're going to need this more than I am."
~FINIS