pajamas and large thick eyeglasses gave him a tortoise-like countenance.
“He’s been getting- ‘it’ — daily since they were married almost fifty years ago,” Erin said. “They have fourteen children. All of a sudden, she started putting him off. And you think you have no energy?”
A trickle of blood slid down the side of the man’s age-mottled head. The wife, alarmed, used her dishrag to stop the bleeding and led her husband to an armchair in the living room. At first, he sat stone-faced with wounded pride, but soon patted her arm. She kissed his cheeks even as tears began rolling down her own.
“We’re not arresting him,” Cal said.
“But…”
“Two hours in Central Booking over this? Look at them. They adore each other. She probably got razzed at the manicure shop for being old-fashioned. My own wife used to read Cosmo — I’m aware of the consequences. If we arrest him, she’s going to feel awful.”
“Well, short of booking them separate vacations, what do we do?”
“She is seventy-three. We should probably cool him down a bit.” Cal pulled out his ticket book and wrote, “conjugal engagements, three times per week, only.” He tore out the ticket and showed it to Erin.
“Translate this and inform them it’s an official warrant. They can have sex three times a week.”
“This isn’t legal,” Erin said.
“ They don’t know that.”
“But…”
“Erin, who’s going to know their business? If she’s in the mood, they’ll think they’re being naughty. If she’s not, he’ll be too worried about what the next cop will write up to push it.” Cal gave his partner a big smile. “For God’s sake, Erin, the woman can’t chew.”
Erin laughed. “Okay, but Lord help us if she turns frigid and he whips out your ‘warrant’ to the next unit that answers the call.”
The old woman gave some rosary beads to Erin and a tin of butter cookies to Cal before shutting the door. Cal called it in to Central, and they left.
Rain pattered the roof of their cruiser as Cal and Erin resumed patrolling the South Bronx. The drumming water had a pacifying effect. No one knew better than Cal how the four-to-twelve shift could put a kink in a person’s biological clock. Add to that his insomnia and it was a recipe for bad judgment on a dangerous job. He’d promised Cat he’d see a department therapist, but had yet to make an appointment. As of 11:00 P.M., Cal was willing to give out slaps on the wrist until midnight so that he wouldn’t have to pull overtime booking suspects. He prayed the rain would keep people indoors and out of trouble. He was determined to hit his pillow before 1:00 A.M.
Erin had a passion for Latin music that she foisted on her partners. Cal was grateful for the upbeat tempo that helped counter the lulling effects of the rain.
“You’re gonna love this one,” she said with one hand on the wheel and the other jiggling a CD into the deck. “I recorded it when Tito Puente came to Orchard Beach. You never heard percussion like this.”
“Look, all this Latin stuff sounds great to me,” Cal said. “But I can’t tell the difference between salsa, calypso, or marinara,” he yawned.
“Marinara is a pasta sauce.”
“Whatever. The music is keeping me awake. Your lecture does the opposite.”
As Erin continued, Cal closed his eyes, convinced it would help him stay awake if he focused on the music. Twice, he jolted as he faded toward slumber, shaking his head and forcing his eyes open to their extreme. Erin hadn’t noticed. He concentrated on the music, tried to single out each instrument, an exercise that would keep his mind alert. He was not going to sleep. Erin’s chattering grew fainter. He fell toward slumber, like a kid hurtling down a slide…
They were all dead. The blood-drenched valley was littered with corpses and broken bodies, many belonging to those who were barely yet men. Smoke billowed from burning towns and the nearby forest, painting the sky charcoal. Winged cavalry fluttered before them like a swarm of locusts. The last remaining defenders clustered on the battlements.
Royal guardsmen were building barricades throughout the castle-every man was ready to go down fighting. “You can’t be serious, Father?” It was the first time Cal had ever questioned his commander’s authority.
“Listen to me,” said the old man. “The boy must be protected on this journey.” It smelled like a parent trying to send his son away from a slaughter.
“My duty is to defend this castle until my last breath!”
“Your duty is whatever I…!” The old man’s nose and cheeks shone like hot iron against his white whiskers. He let out a big breath, and his face softened.
Cal looked into the old warrior’s piercing blue eyes and wondered when this tired old man had replaced the robust warrior who was permanently etched in his mind. It was not so long ago he was jumping into the man’s arms, pleading for a fencing lesson. He felt like that boy again.
“This building keeps the rain off the regent in a storm. Our responsibility lies with the kingdom, with the family. I’ve no idea if the hell I’m sending you into is any better than the one we’re about to face. I only know that the boy’s chances fare better under your watchful eye.”
“This is it, then?” Cal said.
“I still have a few tricks up my sleeve,” the old man said with a smile.
No child was closer to his sire than a MacDonnell. It was their strength. Cal could see his father’s heart breaking for not giving him a better world to inherit. He wanted to tell the old man that he had done better than anyone else could have, but before he could utter a word, his commander said:
“Go! They’re waiting on you. Take any servant that swears fealty to his lordship. Wherever you end up, remember your duty to the kingdom. Our family has protected this dynasty for seven generations.”
A loud crash sounded a few rooms away. Metal clashing. Screams of butchered men echoed across the palace. Cal raced down the hallway without looking back. A blinding light emanated from the pantry as though a thousand candles burned. From inside the room he heard a voice.
“Idafor… susma… lewear… respond…”
Erin was shaking his arm. “Cal, wake up.”
The radio blared, “Four-One Ida, ten-thirty-one reported at nine hundred fifty-seven, Kelly Street. Suspect is a large Caucasian male, in a suit, wearing a black fedora, last seen heading for the roof.”
“Ten-Four Central, Four-One Ida responding,” Erin reported into the radio. “Do you have a call back, over?”
“Affirmative on call back. What is your position?”
“We’re two blocks from site, Central. We got it.”
Cal was shaking his head, trying to wake up in a hurry.
“Can’t blame you for being tired, partner… I wouldn’t get any sleep either if Cat were my girl,” Erin said with a smile.
“Very funny. What’s going on?”
“It’s a prowler. He’ll probably be gone when we get there.”
“Should we wait for backup?”
“Nah. One look at your nine-foot ass and he’ll surrender on the spot.”
In spite of himself, Cal hoped the perp would be gone by the time they arrived.
They rolled up in front of the building. Cal picked up the radio. “We’re eighty-four at nine-five-seven Kelly Street, Central,” he said. “What’s the response on the call back?”
“ Four-One Ida, suspect threatened tenant with an ax, last seen heading toward roof. He’s described as a large Caucasian in a raincoat. No confirmation that he has left the area yet, over.”
“Why did this skell stick around?” Cal grunted. “We’re dealing with a moron.”
“Crack addicts, murderers, and rapists, oh my,” Erin said. “You want easy, move to Iowa.”
“Four-One Ida requesting eighty-five forthwith at present location, over,” Cal said.
“ Affirmative, Four-One Adam responding to request for backup. ETA is six minutes.”
“Thank you, Central,” Erin said airily.
“Wait by the entrance,” Cal said. “We’ll flush him out.”
Erin looked at her partner with amazement. “You want to flush him down alone?” she asked.
“Sooner we nab him, the earlier we book him and the faster I get to bed.”
