The Good Kind of Bad (18 page)

‘There’d been a report of a shooting on West Leamington, a few blocks from where I found you,’ he began. ‘I was responding to the call when this guy runs into the road, flags me down and tells me about a girl down the street with a face full of blood. When I got to you, I first thought you were my vic, until I recognised you, but only barely. I called Reeve, asked him to take the shooting call instead. I couldn’t leave you lying there, and I wasn’t dumping you at the ER. I’ve seen enough beaten women to know the hospital, or the police station, is the last place they want to be.’

Evan
could’ve
abandoned me. In shock over the ordeal and seriously believing I’d been kidnapped until five minutes ago, I’d yet to thank him for his kindness. There were still a few good people willing to help, even if they were getting paid by the city to do so. Despite his efforts, I still couldn’t help feeling awkward, standing there with a beaten face in front of
super
cop. I had to clean myself up and get out of there.

‘Thanks for the clothes and for taking care of me, but I should go, Evan.’

He threw out his arms, like he was trying to stop an express train with his bare hands. ‘Go? You can’t go. You’re not strong enough yet. You’ve taken one hell of a beating. Look, maybe I
should
take you to the hospital, get you checked over. You could have internal bleeding, or a brain injury . . . I know you insisted I didn’t take you to the hospital—’

‘I did?’

‘Yeah, and I agreed. Comfort and company is sometimes better than a long wait and sterile ER, but it hasn’t stopped me worrying about you.’

‘Evan, no doctors, please. I’ll be
fine
,’ I replied, a little too curtly. I had to make sure any doctor talk was firmly off the agenda.

‘All right, no doctors, but you
do
need to eat. Why don’t you clean up and I’ll order take-out. Deal?’

‘First I just need my phone. It’s in my jacket. Do you have it?’

‘Of course. It’s hanging in the hall closet.’

‘So . . . you weren’t trying to kidnap me?’

He half laughed. ‘What? Why would I do that? Psycho kidnappers don’t have dimples this cute.’ He pointed to his cheeks, and I smiled, even though it hurt to. ‘Plus, I
am
a police officer. I think that qualifies me as one of the good guys.’

I shrugged. ‘I guess.’

‘You
guess
? Way to kick a man when he’s down. Anyone ever tell you, you’re a tough crowd?

I knew he was trying to cheer me up, but it was hardly the time or the place, though Evan soon changed tack.

‘Why don’t you go and take a shower? Look, I’m here to help you, not hurt you. Stop thinking so much. It’ll only hurt your brain.’

After making it to the bathroom and tentatively climbing into the shower, I couldn’t help but think about Joe. He was probably collapsed somewhere, screaming at himself and smashing the apartment to pieces. He was out with that girl again, with somebody else’s girl or somebody else’s wife. In the shower he whispered poison in my ear, braggadocio and talk to fuel the metanoia while the water ran red beneath my feet.

Fresher, cleaner, and after accusing him of keeping me hostage, I emerged awkwardly into Evan’s chrome-obsessed kitchen. It’d been a squeeze to haul my runner’s calves into Evan’s ex-wife’s skinny jeans, which I’d teamed with her cream chiffon blouse. I was hardly big-boned but she must’ve been a waif, a model-like creature who’d have blown over in the breeze. Evan’s three-door fridge had to be a post-divorce purchase.

Over spring rolls and moo shu pork at his reclaimed oak dining table, we commented on the balmy early summer, of the films we’d meant to see but had never found time. We spoke of the things that did not matter, idle small talk to mask the silences with nods and smiles in all the right places. Evan was a gracious host. He didn’t ask about my face, the livid bruises and traces of blood, at least not yet, though it didn’t matter to me. The longer I blocked it out, the better.

After clearing away dinner, Evan suggested we sit out on his terrace, his words measured and considered.

Balancing a glass of South African white in my palm, I stepped through the door and gazed out across the city. The lights stretched interminably, like glittering star trails from heaven; streets and avenues glowing and sparkling with the shimmer of Chicago at dusk.

I’d never seen anything so beautiful as the wind caught my hair, like I was swimming underwater, while on the neighbouring rooftop a wedding party cavorted around the pool. With the city lights as her backdrop the pretty bride embraced her husband, freeze-framing while battling to tame her gown. How perfect it all was. How perfectly dull my life could have been if only I’d stayed with Mr Banal and his aquiline nose.

‘Hell of a view, huh?’ Evan gulped down another mouthful of wine, his blue shirt fluttering across his back as his gun and shield hung from his belt. ‘Sometimes I come out here after a night shift. After watching the sunrise . . . let’s just say it doesn’t take much to change this town. This place has two sides and not many get to see both. Hell, nobody wants to see what I see. Count was forty-five last weekend.’

‘I’m sorry?’ I looked away from the squares of lights, back to Evan who placed a hand behind his neck.

‘Forty-five murders. Most of them gangs, shootings; not all on my area but it sure makes you think. It’s no joke out there. Little kids thinking they’re thugs and whatever else while they
Pulp Fiction
the city.’ Evan laughed a little. ‘Listen to me, telling you it’s no joke. You already know that, right? I mean, your face . . .’

I glanced at the floor. ‘It’s all right, Evan.’

‘No, it’s not. We need to talk about it. About what happened.’

What was left of my smile dropped.

‘We can’t keep pretending it isn’t there.’

‘What?’

‘The elephant in the room? At the station on Sunday, you mentioned your husband. You were nervous about something.’

It was the last thing I wanted to talk about, and I think Evan knew, but still he pressed.

‘I can only help if I know your story. All I have so far is one beautiful, beaten-up girl lying semi-conscious in the street, and a frightened one, too. You didn’t trip and fall and this isn’t some game. Look at your face. Look what he did. You can barely open your eyes and you can’t tell me your hands always shake like that. You can tell me what happened. You can trust me.’

Of course it was my husband, and of course Evan knew. After hearing Evan spell it out in black and white, it felt like I’d let myself be hit, like I’d let myself become a victim. But I hadn’t. I wasn’t Joe’s prey, and I was stronger than shame. I should’ve fought back.

‘I can drive you to the station. We have specialist officers that can take care of you.’

‘You don’t even know what happened yet.’

‘Anyone ever tell you silence speaks volumes?’

Evan was trying his best and Joe deserved nothing but the worst, though a part of me, a large part, wished the whole thing would go away.

Then there was Evan. I felt more than uncomfortable in his ex-wife’s clothes standing on his balcony, though I doubted the skinny ex-wife ever ventured out here. One gust of wind and she’d float away. ‘What happened between you and your wife?’ I asked, searching for a distraction from Evan’s questions and anything Joe-related.

‘Ah, you know the story. You kid yourself you’re in love, get married too young, think it’s forever and before you know it she’s walked out and taken everything, even the cat. It took me a long time to trust anyone after that. I thought I’d wake up next to Stephanie for the rest of my life, but once it’s over you can never go back. Your toothbrush sits alone in the holder and there’s no one there when you open the door. You’re not nineteen forever. Eventually you accept it.’

‘What?’

‘Being alone?’

I sat on the wooden bench as my head began to spin. Even with the channels of breeze blowing through the railings, the night was overtly humid.

‘What about your dog?’ After learning whose house this was, I was surprised I hadn’t seen Evan’s four-legged companion padding the halls.

‘My dog?’

‘Yeah, your Labrador. He or she?’

‘He. Bert. His name was Bert.’

‘As in Ernie and Bert?’

Evan smiled. ‘As in Ernie and Bert. Even though he was a Labrador, he had this mono brow going on . . .’ Then Evan’s head dropped. ‘Bert was put down a few days ago. Ran onto Dunster Street and got hit by a car. I rushed him to the vet but there was nothing they could do. Too much internal bleeding.’

I lowered my head. ‘I’m sorry. You two always looked like you were advertising Men’s Health or something,’ I offered as Evan joined me on the bench.

‘Always?’

‘I mean . . . never mind.’

I hoped Evan didn’t think I was stalking him, but after offering me more wine from the bottle on the side table, the conversation moved swiftly back to Joe.

‘We should start making tracks. I’ll drive you to the station, you can report him, they can take your injury photos and then we’ll get your husband what he deserves, right?’

My husband, Joe; the perpetrator of the crime.

‘Hey, are you crying?’ Evan asked, with a hand on my shoulder.

‘No.’ I was, though only a little bit.

‘It’s okay, you know. It’s not against the law.’

‘I’m sorry, about all this.’

‘Don’t ever say that. You have nothing to be sorry for. Come on, you don’t have to pretend. That you’re made of granite?’

‘Why did he think he had the right? He was supposed to protect me. We were supposed to have a life together.’ It didn’t matter how strong I thought I was, I
wasn’t
made of stone, and I wasn’t a robot. I cared about Joe, and he’d betrayed me. I was allowed to feel something. ‘Why did he have to do it?’

‘Because there will always be monsters. There will always be people who want to hurt and show how tough they are, how powerful. Because it’s hard to tell a good guy from a bad one if they hide behind a smile.’

‘Joe never smiled much anyway.’

‘Promise me you’ll file a report? Don’t let him win. Your life shouldn’t have to change because he made some shitty decisions. Look, I know you’re afraid, it’s understandable, and it’s not like I haven’t seen this a thousand times before. But make a report and we go lock him up, interview, charge him and throw him in jail. It’s that simple. Your husband is going away for a long time. You don’t need to be scared anymore.’

I must’ve fallen asleep.

Awaking between crisp cotton sheets, I soon realised they weren’t mine. The room was dim, a muted and clinical grey ‒ a carbon copy of the rest of Evan’s apartment, apart from the novelty
Visit Albuquerque!
wall clock. I was in Evan’s guest room. I had to be. I didn’t remember leaving, but then didn’t remember going to bed either.

It felt early. Unsettled, my eyes again darted the unfamiliar terrain until they rested on my borrowed clothes beside the bed. Clinging to the covers, I raised them to my chin – unable to shake the bizarre sensation of being watched, like a crowd of men leered unseen from behind the two-way mirror, me the star of some seedy peep show.

Last night there’d been wine, and plenty of it. The vinegary remnants clung to my mouth as I dragged a sandpaper tongue over my teeth. After my heart-to-heart with Evan, the one thing I did remember was escaping into a haze of numbness and denial, where I’d made it to the church in Appleford and Will and I had just returned from our honeymoon in the Seychelles. What shame was there in wanting to get drunk and forget?

With my head pounding like it’d been trampled by a herd of wildebeest, in the adjoining bathroom I checked my face. It’d been thirty-six hours and I was still a riotous mess, the bruises blackening and my cuts scabbing over. But at least I was safe.

Heading back to the clothes, I pulled on Stephanie’s goddamn skinnies, but this time there was something sharp, scraping my skin. Turning them to the light I realised it was the price tag, still hanging inside the jeans.

Leaving the dull of the bedroom, I was soon squinting away the harsh sunlight of the lounge. Cluttering the coffee table were three empty wine bottles, the crusty remnants of a pepperoni pizza and a couple of whisky tumblers, sticky with dried liquor. I gagged. Just looking at the deep dish was making me nauseous.

‘Oh, hey. You’re up.’

Spinning around, Evan stood in the lounge doorway, the dressing gown loose around his shoulders, greeting me with his toned chest and the tattooed crest of the Chicago Metropolitan Police over his heart. I glanced away, a little embarrassed at his nonchalance.

‘Man, I had too much to drink last night. What time is it?’ With a palm smacking his forehead, he looked to the lounge clock. ‘Six-thirty? Shit. My shift starts in half an hour. You feeling better? Looks like you’re healing well. Will you be all right here by yourself today? How about breakfast? I have bagels and waffles and some kind of frosted cereal goodness. Got to keep your strength up, right? Hope the bed was comfy enough. You sleep okay?’