without you in it, Jesse.”
“Un huh.”
“Am I losing you, Jesse?”
“There’s some danger of it, Jenn.”
“Oh God, well I can’t talk now. I got to work out, I have to get my hair done. Can I call you again, soon?”
“If you want to, Jenn.”
“I do, Jesse.”
“Fine.”
After he hung up Jesse continued to stand at the table looking at the phone, slowly twirling the Smith & Wesson in its holster. Then he stopped and went back to the sideboard and made himself another drink. He carried the drink to the refrigerator and looked in. There was half of a mushroom-and-green-pepper pizza there on the second shelf, wrapped neatly in Saran Wrap, left over from Monday night’s supper. He got it out, unwrapped it, and put it in the microwave. When it was hot he slid it onto a dinner plate and took it out onto the deck and ate it, sitting in a folding chair, drinking scotch between bites, looking out at the lights across the harbor on Paradise Neck.
“I guess I don’t want to lose you either, Jenn,” Jesse said aloud, “but maybe I’ll have to.”
14
The call came in to the dispatcher at 2:43 in the afternoon. She put it through to Jesse.
“It’s Simpson, Jesse. DeAngelo and I are at Thirteen Sylvan Road. People named Genest. Domestic dispute. I think you need to come over.”
“Do I need the siren?” Jesse said.
“I think you should get over here quick,” Simpson said.
“Here I come,” Jesse said.
The house was a big white one, back from the street and up a slight rise. It was white clapboard with dark green shutters, and a very big maple tree shaded much of the front of it. A Paradise cruiser was parked in the driveway. Jesse shut the siren off as he pulled in behind it and got out. The Chief of Police badge was pinned to his white uniform shirt. He wore pale amber Oakley sunglasses, and no hat, the short .38 on his right hip. The side door of the house stood open and he went in without knocking. In the den to his right were his two officers, a woman, and a bodybuilder with longish blond hair combed back like Kirk Douglas, and a nice tan. The woman was crying.
The bodybuilder’s name was Jo Jo Genest. The woman was Jo Jo’s ex-wife.
“For crissake,” Jo Jo said. “The chief. Nice shades, chief, very L.A.”
Jesse stared at him without any expression at all.
“Don’t we have a restraining order on you, sir?” Jesse said.
“It ain’t working too good, is it?” Jo Jo said.
“What’s the story?” Jesse said to Simpson.
Suitcase Simpson was a sturdy kid with fair skin and red cheeks. He’d been a tackle in high school. He was twenty-two. His partner was Anthony DeAngelo.
“This is Carole Genest,” Simpson said. “She called us. Alleges her husband forced his way into the house and threatened her.”
“That right, ma’am?”
She nodded. Her eyes were red, and her nose was running. She sniffed.
“The bastard,” she said in a thick voice, “is going to kill me someday.”
Jesse nodded.
“Kids?” he said.
“I sent them upstairs,” Carole said. “They’re frightened of him too.”
“Anthony,” Jesse said. “You got kids?”
DeAngelo nodded.
“Three,” he said.
“Okay, go upstairs and find the kids and do what you can to make them feel safe.”
“Hey, you got no right talking to my kids,” Jo Jo said.
Jesse paid no attention to him. He nodded at DeAngelo and DeAngelo headed for the stairs.
“Did he say he was going to kill you, ma’am?” Jesse said.
“He says that all the time. And he’s not my husband. We’re divorced.”
“Maybe you’re divorced, slut, I’m not,” Jo Jo said. “You’re my wife until I say you’re not.”
“Can’t you people do anything about him?” Carole said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse said. “We can. Did he hit you or otherwise assault you?”
“Not this time. I called the cops the minute he showed up.”
“Did you invite him in?”
“No fucking way,” Carole said. “I tried to lock him out but
“Un huh.”
“Am I losing you, Jesse?”
“There’s some danger of it, Jenn.”
“Oh God, well I can’t talk now. I got to work out, I have to get my hair done. Can I call you again, soon?”
“If you want to, Jenn.”
“I do, Jesse.”
“Fine.”
After he hung up Jesse continued to stand at the table looking at the phone, slowly twirling the Smith & Wesson in its holster. Then he stopped and went back to the sideboard and made himself another drink. He carried the drink to the refrigerator and looked in. There was half of a mushroom-and-green-pepper pizza there on the second shelf, wrapped neatly in Saran Wrap, left over from Monday night’s supper. He got it out, unwrapped it, and put it in the microwave. When it was hot he slid it onto a dinner plate and took it out onto the deck and ate it, sitting in a folding chair, drinking scotch between bites, looking out at the lights across the harbor on Paradise Neck.
“I guess I don’t want to lose you either, Jenn,” Jesse said aloud, “but maybe I’ll have to.”
14
The call came in to the dispatcher at 2:43 in the afternoon. She put it through to Jesse.
“It’s Simpson, Jesse. DeAngelo and I are at Thirteen Sylvan Road. People named Genest. Domestic dispute. I think you need to come over.”
“Do I need the siren?” Jesse said.
“I think you should get over here quick,” Simpson said.
“Here I come,” Jesse said.
The house was a big white one, back from the street and up a slight rise. It was white clapboard with dark green shutters, and a very big maple tree shaded much of the front of it. A Paradise cruiser was parked in the driveway. Jesse shut the siren off as he pulled in behind it and got out. The Chief of Police badge was pinned to his white uniform shirt. He wore pale amber Oakley sunglasses, and no hat, the short .38 on his right hip. The side door of the house stood open and he went in without knocking. In the den to his right were his two officers, a woman, and a bodybuilder with longish blond hair combed back like Kirk Douglas, and a nice tan. The woman was crying.
The bodybuilder’s name was Jo Jo Genest. The woman was Jo Jo’s ex-wife.
“For crissake,” Jo Jo said. “The chief. Nice shades, chief, very L.A.”
Jesse stared at him without any expression at all.
“Don’t we have a restraining order on you, sir?” Jesse said.
“It ain’t working too good, is it?” Jo Jo said.
“What’s the story?” Jesse said to Simpson.
Suitcase Simpson was a sturdy kid with fair skin and red cheeks. He’d been a tackle in high school. He was twenty-two. His partner was Anthony DeAngelo.
“This is Carole Genest,” Simpson said. “She called us. Alleges her husband forced his way into the house and threatened her.”
“That right, ma’am?”
She nodded. Her eyes were red, and her nose was running. She sniffed.
“The bastard,” she said in a thick voice, “is going to kill me someday.”
Jesse nodded.
“Kids?” he said.
“I sent them upstairs,” Carole said. “They’re frightened of him too.”
“Anthony,” Jesse said. “You got kids?”
DeAngelo nodded.
“Three,” he said.
“Okay, go upstairs and find the kids and do what you can to make them feel safe.”
“Hey, you got no right talking to my kids,” Jo Jo said.
Jesse paid no attention to him. He nodded at DeAngelo and DeAngelo headed for the stairs.
“Did he say he was going to kill you, ma’am?” Jesse said.
“He says that all the time. And he’s not my husband. We’re divorced.”
“Maybe you’re divorced, slut, I’m not,” Jo Jo said. “You’re my wife until I say you’re not.”
“Can’t you people do anything about him?” Carole said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse said. “We can. Did he hit you or otherwise assault you?”
“Not this time. I called the cops the minute he showed up.”
“Did you invite him in?”
“No fucking way,” Carole said. “I tried to lock him out but
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