Frank Zafiro - Under a Raging Moon

The woman stomped into the small room. Katie followed.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

She crossed her arms. “Julie. Julie Krivner.”

Katie jotted the name into her pocket notebook.

“Date of birth?”

“What does that matter?” Julie’s voice rose shrilly. “I’m the victim here. Are you going to arrest that animal out there?”

Katie maintained an even voice. “Ma’am, we’ll do a complete investigation and if an arrest is in order, we will make it.”

“That sounds like cop bullshit to me.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I want him in arrested and I want him in jail now!” she shrieked.

“Relax, ma’am.”

“Relax?!” Julie’s voice exploded into a screech. “Don’t you tell me to relax. I was just beaten by that asshole in there. Now do your fucking job and arrest him!”

Katie struggled to keep her voice calm and held an open palm in front of the woman’s face. “Ma’am, that’s not how it works. We have to interview-”

“Oh, I see. You come in here and see his big arms and your little heart goes all mushy.” Julie put her hands on her hips. “You’re pathetic.”

Katie’s jaw clenched. “Listen to me! I don’t want your boyfriend. I am only here to investigate-”

“Oh, you don’t want him? So you’re a lez-bo, is that it? You probably want me, then.”

“No.” Katie said in a clipped tone. “I don’t. Now what happened here tonight?”

Julie shook her head. “Uh-uh. I don’t want to talk to any lez-bos.”

“Fine.”

Katie stepped out of the room. Chisolm and the body-builder both stared at her.

“Tom? You want to-”

“Sure.”

Jesus, everyone is interrupting me tonight. Katie strode toward the man as Chisolm brushed past her. She asked his name.

“It’s Steve.”

“Last name?”

“Marino. Like the quarterback.”

“You’re birth date?”

“November 22, 1967.”

“Do you work, sir?”

Steve nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I work construction as a laborer for Greenwood Builders.”

“Okay, Steve. What happened here tonight?”

“Officer, I’m sorry for the way she’s acting. She just-”

Katie interrupted, taking a brief pleasure in finally being the one to cut in. “It’s all right, Steve. Just tell me what happened.”

Steve took a deep breath and let out a huge sigh. “I can’t go to jail, officer.”

“No one said you were going to jail,” Katie said calmly. “We just have to find out what happened.”

“No, you don’t understand.” His voice had a pleading tone. “I’m on parole. If I go to jail for any reason, my parole will be revoked and I’ll go back to Walla Walla for three years.” He took another huge breath and let it out. Every muscle in his upper body tensed and released as he stared at the wall.

Katie felt a stab of fear. If he decided to fight, things could get ugly.

Just work the call, Katie .

“Steve, let’s worry about one thing at a time, okay?” She used her professional, but soothing tone.

“I can’t go back to the Walls, man,” Steve said. He trembled slightly and Katie watched his eyes tear up. “I’ll die before I’ll go back.”

“Steve? Take it easy, okay? It’ll be all right.”

Steve didn’t respond.

“Steve? One thing at a time, okay? We’ll work it out, you and me.”

Steve gave a nod.

“Good. Now tell me what happened.”

Steve let out another huge breath. “We’ve been together about eleven years. About nine years ago, I got in a bar-fight and killed a guy. They sent me up for first-degree manslaughter. I got nine years for that. Can you believe that? Nine years for defending myself in a bar-fight?”

“Sounds unfair,” Katie said calmly.

Steve looked at her, as if gauging her sincerity. Then he nodded. “Yeah. It was. I did six years as a model prisoner and made parole. Jules stuck by me the whole time. Or so I thought.”

“What’s that mean?”

Steve shrugged. “Lately, she’s been hounding me about everything. I don’t make enough money. She might have to go to work, says she’s tired of working after six years. She complains about the time I spend at the gym, too.”

“You spend a lot of time there?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted. “Two hours a day, after work. But that is all I do. I work and I go work out at the gym, then I come home. I don’t go out drinking, nothing.”

“So why is she upset?”

“She’s not. I am.”

“Why?”

Steve let out another huge sigh. “I found out tonight she’s been sleeping with my best friend since I went away to prison. I pretty much caught them today.”

“You caught them in the act?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. I wasn’t feeling too good today, so I skipped my workout. When I pulled up, my buddy was driving away from the house. When I came inside, she was still in the bed.” He looked down at his feet. “Plus, I could…the smell…it was in the air.”

Katie didn’t know what to say. She waited for him to continue.

After a moment, he said, “We avoided each other for about an hour, but eventually we started arguing. She blamed it on me. I told her she was a whore.” He looked up at Katie. “I didn’t mean it. Or maybe I did. I don’t know. She flew off the handle and started kicking me and hitting me. Then she called me a faggot. She said I probably liked it in the pen because I could have all the guys I wanted. Stuff like that.”

“She hit you?”

Steve nodded.

“Did she leave any marks?”

Steve gave her a look. “She’s five-foot, ninety pounds. What do you think?”

“I have to ask.”

“No. No marks.”

“All right. Then what happened?”

“I got mad. I have a bad temper. It takes me a while to get mad, but when I finally get there, I just explode. When she started saying that stuff about being a faggot, I just lost control, you know? I mean, I fought guys off for six years. I never got broke.” He pointed to the tattoo on his forearm. “See that? BSC. It stands for Brotherhood of the Southern Cross. I had to hook up with the asshole, Aryan bikers to stay alive in there. You think it’s easy being around those racist bastards?”

Katie shook her head. “I doubt it.”

“It ain’t easy at all,” he told her, “but it kept me from having to deal with a lot worse shit. I never punked out to anyone, not in six years.” He shook his head again. “After all that, then she goes and calls me a faggot?”

“I can understand that making you mad. Did you hit her then?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I did. I slapped her.”

“Once?”

“Yes. Just once. I even used my left hand.”

“Did anything else physical happen?”

“No. She ran into the bedroom, and I sat down in the chair. Then you guys showed up.” Steve’s shoulders slumped and he looked at the floor.

“Katie?” Chisolm was at her elbow.

There was nowhere else to move so they could confer privately, so they had to speak in codes.

“What do you have, Tom?”

Chisolm glanced at Steve, who was still staring at his shoes. He then tapped his cheek and motioned to Julie. “One-Edward,” he said quietly, using the radio clearance code for an arrest and booking. He nodded toward Steve.

Katie nodded. “Same here.”

Steve looked up at them. His calm demeanor was slipping. “Look, man. I know the law. You’re going to arrest me. But I told you, if I go to jail, my parole is revoked. I am not going back to the walls. No way.”

“Steve,” Katie soothed, “maybe your parole officer will give you a break.”

“That prick? Not a chance.”

Katie noted the intensity of Steve’s words. She considered requesting further backup, but didn’t want to tip him over. She sensed Chisolm’s presence behind her.