Posted by: jockmackenzie | May 21, 2009

“Dealing with Dymans” End of Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Pt. 1

Click the “start arrow” below to hear the audio of this chapter:

At 8:03 a.m., Patrice Pananikolaou rolled over and hit the snooze button for a third time. No, Patrice Perkins hit the button. She was exhausted. Getting too old. At least Phil the Photographer could pronounce Perkins. Come to think of it, last names hadn’t come up. But she had done her duty, extracting assurances that continued coverage of Pizzazz would be in the paper whenever the “the dazzling boutique with flamboyance and flair” could be mentioned, or more importantly, photographed – part of a revitalized downtown, a ribbon cutting on opening day, winning some award or other from the Chamber of Commerce.

Patrice sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the king-sized bed. Gosh, you had to get out of the office to go to the office. Jenn would be back soon and the whole charade would begin again. If you always pretended to be good, always pretended to be whatever the hell the world expected you to be, then you’d always be a winner. Somehow she just didn’t feel like one as much these days.

14. Back in the Saddle

Upon his arrival in Adair, Jack’s first stop was his apartment. The shower, shave, shampoo et cetera routine was in order. He’d checked his home phone messages, none since Saturday. Jennifer would be returning from the City; he’d have to give her a call. He wanted to see Clee. Leo would probably be up; that was another important visit. Of course the young clerk from Sharma and Dymans was jobless and that needed immediate attention. Yes, it was good to be back in the saddle. At last, he was doing what felt right.

Not feeling right was what had made him quit the police force. Too much red tape, too many bad guys let off with sentences that had infuriated him, too many lives put in jeopardy because of an unwillingness to stand up and be counted. And then the final straw, having his integrity brought into question, being asked to prove things you simply couldn’t prove. After all of the sacrifices he’d made.

Maybe he’d been wrong. What good had it done? His leaving had been like pulling your hand out of a bucket of water. Seconds later the water looked just the same, no sign that he’d ever had a hand in anything, no sign that he even existed.

His closest friends had believed in him. That’s where his gold retirement watch had come from, certainly not the department. A too-somber gathering, a few drinks, some reminiscing. What a way to end. And it had only been the closest of friends. Okay, three. Where were all the others? At the time, too unsure of what to do, to say, how to react.  Slowly, a few had returned, not making excuses or offering explanations, just gradually inching back into his life. He’d accepted them. Life was too short. He didn’t really blame them; it just didn’t help.

His phone rang – 1 – 800 number. Telemarketers and it wasn’t even suppertime. He wasn’t in the mood for any of his several methods of discouraging these ongoing annoyances so he let the phone ring. Five rings and it quit. Then it rang again. Persistent buggers. He checked the call display. J. Anastassakis. There was hardly room for her name in the little window. And there was no longer any room for J. Anastassakis in his life. Well, soon there wouldn’t be.

• • •

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