Excerpt from The Good Cop:
Excerpt from The Good Cop:
I got to the office a little earlier than usual the next
morning and was taking my time drinking my coffee and reading the newspaper
when I heard what I thought was a knock at my door. "Come on in," I called,
but no one turned the knob. I thought I could make out a figure on the other
side of the opaque glass panel in the door, but wasn't sure. Then it came
again, softly, tentatively. I set my coffee down and got up, moving around
the desk toward the door. "I said ‘Come on in,'" I repeated, mildly
exasperated by somebody afraid to open a damned door. I opened it rather
swiftly and saw…nothing. Nobody. Then I stuck my head out the door and
saw someone with his back toward me, leaning against the wall about five
feet from the door.
"Jonathan?" I asked, and he slowly pivoted around, his
shoulders against the wall.
"Jonathan! Jesus! What happened?" I asked as I moved
quickly to him. His shirt was torn, all the buttons ripped off; he had a
badly cut lip and a deep bruise on his cheek. His left eye was black and
swollen. He kept his head down and to one side and he wouldn't look at me.
I put my hand under his chin and raised it up. He still wouldn't look at
me.
"Jonathan, tell me what happened," I said.
Finally, his good eye moved to my face and his jaw began
to quiver and his shoulders shake in silent sobbing. He was trying very hard
to be brave, but he couldn't keep tears from running down his face.
I grabbed him by his arm and guided him into my office,
closing the door behind us, and led him to the sofa. I made him sit down,
then sat down beside him, our thighs touching. There was blood on his pants.
He took little shuddering gasps of air, still struggling
to keep from sobbing audibly, though his shoulders still made small jerks
as he fought to suppress them.
"Now tell me what happened," I said, calmly.
He kept his head turned away, but he shook it. I reached
out again for his chin, turning his head toward me.
"I want you to tell me what happened," I repeated,
slowly.
His chin and lower lip quivered, but he took a deep,
rasping breath and said: "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I don't mean to bother
you. But I didn't know where else I could go. I don't know anybody here,
and you were nice to me and…I'm sorry."
I let him regain a bit more composure, then said.
"Now tell me who did this to you."
Actually, I didn't have to know who. He probably didn't
know, either, but I knew perfectly well what had happened. I was equal parts
anger and sorrow, and some small part guilt.
Guilt? For what? my mind asked.
For letting this happen to him, I replied.
You can't save the world.
This isn't the world, it's one poor kid!
Ah, Hardesty….
"Do you know who did it?" I asked.
He nodded. "It was that man," he said; "that man who
gave me all the money."
He looked at me now, hard, as if looking for an answer
in my face. "Why did he have to do that? Why? I never did nothing to him."
Then he raised up his right arm, as he had done at Hughie's to show me his
new watch. But the watch wasn't there.
"He took my watch," he said, his voice almost dry with
disbelief. "Why would he go and do that? And he took my money, too. All of
it." He suddenly reached into his pants pocket and came up with a closed
fist. "Except this," he said, and opened his hand to show me a nickel and
a penny.
JEEZUS! My emotions were still in a close race,
but the anger was surging ahead rapidly.
"He didn't have to take my watch or my money," he said,
more to himself than to me. "He's a rich man. He doesn't need it."
I got up to get the coffee from my desk, and brought
it back to him. "Here," I said. "Drink this. Have you eaten?"
He shook his head again. "I'm okay," he said, almost
shyly.
"When did you eat last?" I asked, pressing him.
"Yesterday morning, I guess."
I got up again, went to the phone, and called the diner
downstairs. "This is Dick Hardesty in 633," I said to whomever picked up
the phone. "I want a breakfast to go: Three eggs, scrambled, toast, bacon,
a large coffee, black, a carton of orange juice and two cartons of milk.
I'll be down in five minutes. Thanks."
Hardesty, for chrissakes…my mind started
to say.
Shut the fuck up! I told it.
I went back over to sit down beside Jonathan, who was
sitting quietly, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded between
his partly-spread legs, head down, looking at the floor.
"When did it happen?" I asked.
"Last night," he said. "Late. I went back to where he'd
picked me up those other two times, and he came by in his van and we went
where we went the other two times and we got in the back and then he went
to get a rubber and he didn't have any and I told him I didn't either and
that I couldn't have sex without him having a rubber and he told me yes I
could and I damned well was going to and I told him no and that I wanted
to go back to where he picked me up and I started to put my shirt back on
but he grabbed it and tried to tear it off and then he held me down and he
started to do it anyway and I pushed him away and then he just started beating
on me and beating on me until I managed to get up and jumped out of the van
and he stood there in the door and took all the money out of my pants and
then he wadded them up and threw them at me and kicked my shoes out the door
and then he slammed the door closed and just drove away. I didn't have chance
to get my watch."
"Do you have any idea where this happened?" I asked.
He shook his head. "It was in the woods somewhere. There
was a sign I saw when we drove in—Prichert Park, I think it was. It
was a long way." Prichert Park was a forest preserve about fifteen miles
from downtown.
"How did you get here?" I asked.
"I walked," he said casually.
"All the way?" I asked, incredulously.
He nodded. "I didn't have any other way. There weren't
many cars out, and I didn't dare try to hitchhike looking like this. It took
me from the time he drove off 'til now to walk here. I got kind of lost for
awhile until I got to the top of a hill and I could see the buildings downtown
here, so I knew which way to go."
"Didn't you try to get help?" I asked.
He shrugged. "While I was walking, just when it was starting
to get light out, a police car pulled over to me and asked what I was doing
and I told them what had happened to me and they just laughed and said
‘Well, maybe you'll know better next time' and then they rolled up the
window and drove off. And later on I came to a gas station that was closed
but the outside bathroom door was unlocked and I went in there and washed
myself off and I laid down on the floor for awhile and I think I went to
sleep for a little bit, but I'm not sure."
Then he looked at me and asked, again: "Why would he
do that to me? What did I ever do to him?"
I didn't have an answer for that, of course, but I vowed
that if I were ever able to find that scumbag, I'd make damn sure he never
did it again, to anyone.
I glanced quickly at my watch and got up from the couch.
"You stay right here," I said. "I'll be right back." Just as I reached the
door, I had a sudden thought, and said: "Since you were with the guy three
times, did you by any chance find out his name?"
Jonathan looked down at the floor and shook his head.
I reached for the doorknob and had the door halfway open when I heard him
say: "I do remember his license plate number, though."