Chapter 10
Around three o'clock in the morning, the shrill tone of the telephone rang and broke the silence in the Harrisons' house. Wade, who was closer to the phone, didn't answer it right away.
Liz turned over in the bed and poked her husband in the side. “Wade,” she said, “the phone's ringing.”
“Okay,” he replied and burrowed further under the warm cozy eider down comforter.
“Wade, get the phone,” Liz repeated as she poked her husband again.
He rolled over and fumbled for his glasses, and then clicked on the black cordless phone. He cleared his throat and said, “Hello.”
Liz was completely awake by then, and she sat upright on her side of the bed.
“You have who, where? Yes, I know him. Just keep him there, and I'll be there in thirty minutes.” Wade clicked the phone off and put it back in the base. Then he rose from the bed and began shedding his pajamas.
“What's wrong?” Liz asked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, poised to get up if necessary. “Who was on the telephone?”
Wade exhaled heavily. He really didn't want to tell Liz who the call was about, but knew if he didn't that she would hound him mercilessly.
“That was the owner of a bar near the job. Uh, there's a problem. They want me to come down there.” Wade opened the closet door, took out a dark woolen shirt and pulled it over his head. He put on a pair of blue jeans and zipped them up. He took his wallet from the nightstand drawer and stuffed it in his pocket.
Liz rolled her eyes, then asked Wade, “What kind of problem, and involving who? Is it your brother, Chester, again?”
Wade buckled his black leather belt around his waist. Then he sat on his side of the bed and put on his socks and shoes. Tension rose in the air like a vapor. A call from a bar in the wee hours of the morning had occurred too many times for Liz. He glanced behind him and saw his wife sitting rigidly on her side of the bed, scowling at him.
“It's Chester, isn't it? It's too early in the morning for this. Doesn't he realize we have to go to work in the morning?” Liz yawned and covered her mouth.
“Uh, no it isn't Chet this time. Apparently Marcus is drunk and has gotten into a fight at a bar.” Wade bent over and tied his shoes. Then he sat up and opened the top nightstand drawer and removed his keys.
“Good Lord, what's gotten into Marcus? I've never known him to do anything that rash before.” Liz rose from the bed, looking fearful. “I wonder if something happened to Monet.” Her knees went weak and her body sagged as she put her hand out on the bed to break her fall.
Wade walked around the side of the bed and sat down next to Liz. “Now Lizzie, don't jump to conclusions. If something happened to Monet, then Marcus would have called us.”
Liz grabbed Wade's arm and clutched it firmly. “I guess so. But my gut feeling is telling me that something is terribly wrong with Marcus and Monet. Wade, this is just so not like Marcus.”
He gently disengaged Liz's arm from his own. “Let me go see what's going on. I'll call you as soon as I can.” He kissed the top of her head and squeezed her arm. Then he stood up and said, “I'll call you later.”
Liz tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. “I want to go with you.” She pulled the yellow and black scarf off her head. “It will only take me a minute to get dressed. Please let me go, Wade,” she begged.
“No, Liz, this is man's business. Marcus is my best friend, and I'm going to see about him like he would for me.” With that said, Wade turned and walked out of the room.
Liz heard the back door open then close and Wade locking it. She held her breath until she heard the garage door rise and shut, and finally the purr of the engine of Wade's beige Jeep Laredo SUV as he drove down the alley. She felt edgy, felt the need to do something, anything. So Liz smoothed out the melon and black comforter that was bunched in the middle of the black lacquered king-sized bed that she and Wade shared. She walked around the bed and picked up the cordless telephone. She punched in the number to Monet and Marcus's house. The telephone rang and rang, and when Liz heard the generic voice mail greeting, she clicked off the phone. She turned on the phone again and tried Monet's cell phone number. She still didn't receive an answer.
Liz became agitated. She stood up, walked out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. She turned on the burner under a silver tea kettle, which she had filled with water the previous night. Then Liz opened the pantry and removed a tea bag from a nearly empty box. When the orange tea was ready for consumption, she poured herself a cup and sat at her glass table. She blew on the tea to cool it off before taking a few sips. Then she set the cup on the table, walked over to her desk in the corner of the kitchen, and picked up the cordless phone. She quickly entered Monet's telephone number, and still there was no answer.
After an hour had elapsed, Liz became very concerned. She decided to get dressed and call Monet again. If she still didn't get an answer, she would go to the Caldwells' house. She began mentally composing a letter in her mind to leave on the kitchen table to explain her absence to Wade. She stood, left the half empty cup sitting on the table, and walked rapidly to her bedroom to get dressed.
Monet, where are you?
Liz thought as she got dressed.
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Wade turned up the collar of his leather jacket as he walked toward the bar on West Sixty-third Street. The red and blue neon sign simply read Otis's Longue. The bar wasn't more than a hole in the wall. He was relieved there wasn't any sign of Chicago's finest around and about. The bar owner had informed Wade when he called him, that he had found Wade's telephone number in Marcus's wallet as an emergency contact. The owner explained how Monet's name was listed on the card too, but he figured what happened at the bar was, as he called it,
“Men's bidness
.” The owner went on to explain that he could see from Marcus's work ID card that he was a policeman. The older man assured Wade that if he could get Marcus out of the bar without further incident, then he wouldn't press charges against Marcus.
Wade pushed the door open and saw Marcus sitting at one of the few tables that still stood upright. His hands were covering his face. The place was empty. The mirror behind the bar was cracked, and many bottles of liquor and glasses were broken and leaking onto the floor. Bowls of peanuts were upended. It was obvious that some type of brawl had taken place.
A short, thin, dark skinned man with tufts of gray hair shooting out of his head, wearing dark jeans and a sweat shirt that overflowed his body sat on a barstool. He introduced himself as Lee Otis Fowler, the owner. Wade noticed a sawed off shotgun lying against the side of the bar.
The man looked Wade up and down with beady eyes and asked, “You must be Harrison?”
“Yes,” Wade replied, as he walked toward his friend.
“Look, man, I gots to have my money. Do you see what yo' boy done?” Lee Otis pointed toward Marcus. “I done lost a whole lotta money up in tonight, and somebody gots to pay for this.” His hand swept an arc in the air.
“Give me a minute to talk to him. You'll get your money,” Wade said disgustedly.
He walked over to where Marcus was sitting, picked up a chair off the floor and sat it upright across the table from Marcus.
He waited for Marcus to say something, and when he didn't, he said, “What's up, man?” Marcus didn't respond for a minute, so Wade tried another tactic. “Come on, Marc, tell me what's going on? This isn't like you, fighting in public. You're lucky the owner is looking for money and didn't call the police. You'd be written up so fast at work that your head would spin. I heard that Liz called Monet a few times earlier tonight for their nightly prayer session, and no one answered. What's going on?”
When Wade said Monet's name, Marcus looked up and Wade gasped. His partner's bloodshot eyes reflected unadulterated pain. Wade had never seen Marcus look as he did tonight, despite all the situations they'd encountered while working. Wade thought that maybe Liz was right, and something had happened to Monet.
Marcus whispered, “Monet,” in a strangled voice. Then he put his head on the table and cried.
“Man, I think he's crazy or something. That's all he's been doing since I closed the place down . . . moaning 'bout his woman.” The bar owner made a circle with his fingers around the side of his head.
“Did something happen to Monet?” Wade asked Marcus tentatively. His stomach felt like someone was dribbling a basketball inside of it.
“Nay-Nay, she's . . .” Marcus broke down, put his head on the table and began crying.
Wade surmised correctly that he wouldn't get any useful information out of Marcus until he sobered up. He decided to talk to the owner and get Marcus out of the bar as soon as he could. He stood up and walked back over to the bar and asked Lee Otis, “What happened here tonight?”
“Shoot, yo' boy walked in here with a chip on his shoulda. When he got here, he was quiet. He jist sat at the bar down at the end, and he kept drinking and drinking. He minded his bidness. Then later some young cats came in heah and they wuz talking. One of 'em said something 'bout how that nurse at St. Bernard that got beat up looked good, and he wouldn't mind hitting that.” Lee Otis's rheumy eyes got wide. “The next thing I knowed, yo' boy snapped, and it was own. Dah cats tried to put up a fight, but they weren't no match for dude. Shoot, he was lucky they ain't had no pieces on 'em. Course they knows I don't allow that up in heah.”
“Okay, I get your point,” Wade said impatiently. “How much you looking for as far as damages?”
“Shoot, he musta caused at least five Gs wortha damage up in here,” Lee Otis blustered.
“I don't want your estimate. I know you've probably had fights in here before. So call your clean-up guy, and then call me tomorrow morning with an estimate. You got a piece of paper?”
The owner took a slip of paper and a pen from the side of the cash register and handed them to Wade. Wade wrote down his name and telephone number, and he gave the paper back to the owner.
“Fair enough,” Lee Otis replied. He folded the paper and put it inside his shirt pocket. “Jist get him outta here. I knowed he was the law.” Lee Otis's voice dropped to a whisper. “Ain't he the one whose missus was raped? I thought I seen him on TV. I feels sorry for 'em, that's why I ain't called the po-po. We don't need one of us in the paper with this kind of foolishness.” Lee Otis nodded his head.
“I appreciate that,” Wade agreed. “We're good for the repairs. I'm going to get him out of here. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”
Lee Otis nodded and resumed cleaning up as Wade walked back to where Marcus was sitting. He pulled at Marcus's arm. “Come on, big guy, let's get out of here,” he cajoled and begged, but Marcus wouldn't budge. “Hey, Lee Otis, come give me a hand getting him up!” Wade yelled, after his futile attempt to get Marcus to stand up. Lee Otis sauntered over to the table. “You take one side and I'll take the other,” Wade instructed.
It took some time and effort before they managed to get Marcus out of the chair. Once he was somewhat upright, he leaned against Wade as he stood between the two men. With a lot of exertion, Wade and Lee Otis got Marcus outside and into Wade's SUV. Lee Otis closed the passenger door. Then he walked to the driver's side and exhaled exaggeratedly. He blew on his gnarled hands.
“Ya sho you don't wanna break a brotha off a li'l sumin' sumin'? It ain't like it was easy carrying a dude this size outta heah,” Lee Otis said.
Wade reached in his pocket, took out his wallet and pulled out twenty dollars. “This money will go toward Marcus's repair bill,” he informed the wiry man, as he handed the folded bill to Lee Otis.
“'Preciate it, man. Dat man got a hurtin' on him. I hope you can help him fo' he start tangling with the wrong crowd. He was lucky it wasn't gang bangers he was tussling with.” Lee Otis blew on his cold hands. “I gots to go. Later.”
While the car was warming up, Wade debated where to take his friend. Marcus was slumped against the window, and his head lolled back against the back of the seat. Wade put the key in the ignition, started the car, and pulled into traffic. There really wasn't any place to go except to his house. He sighed, knowing it was going to be a long night. Wade fought back tears because, like Liz, he assumed that something terrible happened to Monet. With the way his friend was acting, she might have even been dead.
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At the same moment Wade was heading home with Marcus, Liz was ringing the doorbell to the Caldwells' house. When no one answered the door, she returned to her car, and rummaged through the glove compartment for the spare key she always kept to their home. She exited the car and walked inside the silver chain link gates.
“Lord, please let everything be all right,” Liz mumbled, suddenly feeling frightened. Her hand wobbled as she put the key in the lock, turned it to the right, and walked inside the darkened house.