Bernard Schaffer - Superbia

“The story I heard was Aprille went on maternity leave and never came back. You saying he’s gonna knock me up too? My wife’s on the pill. Maybe I can go on it with her.”

Erinnyes sneered, “Is that what you heard happened?”

Frank started for the hallway, keeping both coffees in front of himself. He managed to make it as far as the staircase before spilling any on his new shirt.

Vic took the coffee from Frank’s hand and said, “You feeling all right? Your knee bugging you?”

“I just saw the Staff Infection. I actually forgot how much I hated this place until I saw him.”

Vic grimaced like he had the taste of something rotten in his mouth. “I got into it one day with him about a burglary investigation. He insisted I do it his way, and when I asked him how many burglaries he’d ever worked, he said, ‘More than you!’ So I went and looked it up. I looked up all of the stats for his thirty year career here. Know what I found?”

“A sterling career of excitement and danger?”

“Twelve arrests. Six DUI’s. Three domestic violence arrests. Two for retail theft. One for simple assault.” Vic pointed to the case folders stacked on his desk, “I made twelve arrests this year already. All felonies. I’ve made over one hundred felony arrests in my ten years here.”

“Wow,” Frank said. “You must be some sort of hero. Do they sing folk songs about you in your native country?”

Vic’s eyes narrowed, “I looked you up too, smart ass. Do you know how many arrests you’ve made? You’ve made seven.”

“That’s not true. I’ve made more than that.”

“Felonies, Frank. I don’t count the other crap. We don’t write parking tickets down here. It’s real police work.”

Frank slumped into the chair at the small desk near the door and said, “You mean in between naps, right?”

Vic reached for an envelope that was on his desk and removed the folded letter inside of it. “I just got this in the mail from upstate. It was written by a thirteen year old girl and left for her foster mother to find.” He held up the page and started to read:

Dear Mama Rose,

Thank you for all you done for me. I am so sorry about the mess. I am also sorry if you get in trouble for this. It was not your fault.

When I was seven years old my brother started coming into my room and forcing his thing into my mouth when I was sleep. I’d wake up not bein able to breathe. When I cried and tried to fight him off he told me to roll over an put his thing in my butt. I had trouble walking for days after, and just when it got better it would happen again.

He told his friend Sal, and Sal made me do the same things for him. I begged and begged for them to leave me alone, but they never did.

When I told my Mom she called me crazy and sent me to the doctor. I told the doctor I wanted to hurt myself and they put me in the hospital. When the bills became too much at the hospital, my Mom signed me over to the state and that’s how I wound up here.

I liked it here and wish I got to know you better. Thank you for being nice to me.

Love Always, Lyssa

Vic showed him the letter, pointing to the dark red stains splattered across the page’s surface. “Lyssa’s brother already confessed. He’s in a psychiatric hospital upstate. This kid Sal lives in our town. You got any little ones, Frank?”

Frank nodded, “Two little girls.”

“Imagine if one of them wrote this,” Vic said. He could see the pain in Frank’s face and lowered his voice, soothing him, saying, “What we do down here is deadly serious, and if you’re going to work with me, you’d better understand it. I don’t give a rat’s ass what the bosses or patrol thinks.” He held out the envelope to Frank and said, “You asked me what I do. I go after people who ruin innocent lives.”

Frank took the envelope and said, “So what are we going to do with this? The victim’s dead, right? How can we arrest somebody if there’s no evidence but a dead girl’s statement?”

“We’re not going to arrest Sal. I just want to have a little chat.”

The young man sat in the station lobby, texting on his cellphone. His baseball cap was cocked sideways and pulled down over the tops of his ears. The silver logo sticker was still on the brim. Next to him was a large, dark-skinned woman, her fake dragon-lady fingernails nervously tapping on her designer handbag. Frank looked at it again. It was an imitation.

“Sal Mormo?” Frank said. “Who’s this?”

“My mom.”

“ Really? The two of you can come with me.”

They followed him to a meeting room to see Vic across the table from them, the pages of Lyssa’s letter spread out in front of him. Vic kept his eyes on the table, ignoring their greetings, telling them to “Sit down. We have to take care of something first.”

Frank picked up a juvenile rights form and read it out loud, “You don’t have to be here. You can leave at any time. You and your mom can talk in private. If you agree, sign the bottom.” He held out the pen to Sal’s mother who looked at him and then down at the form in confusion.

“She don’t understand English too good,” Sal said.

“What does she understand?” Vic said.

“Spanish and Polish.”

Vic’s eyebrows raised. “How does that happen?”

“My dad’s from Poland. She picked it up from him.”

“You speak both?” Vic said.

Sal nodded.

“Tell her everything I just said. If she agrees, ask her to sign the form. You can pick the language.”

After a flurry of conversation between the mother and son, Mrs. Mormo picked up the pen and scribbled on the form. Sal took the pen from her but did not sign. “What’s this all about?”

“Sign the form first,” Vic said.

Sal had thick Mick Jagger lips and when he sneered it looked like two rubbery window shades smacking together. “What if I want an attorney to look it over?”

“Go hire one. It should only cost a thousand dollars. You’ve got that, right? He can come see you in prison.”

The two of them stared at one another tensely until Frank leaned forward, “Listen, Sal. It’s just a form that spells out your rights. All we’re asking you to do is listen. You don’t have to say a single word. I promise.”

Sal pulled the form in front of him and bent down over it until he was inches above the table, moving his lips to form each word. Frank leaned close to Vic and said, “My five year old can read without moving his lips.”

Vic looked back at him but said nothing. Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell-phone to check his text messages. He looked up to see if Sal had finished reading yet, but the kid’s mouth was trying to wrap itself around the word custodial. He smirked and started to type on his phone when he realized Vic was glaring at him. “Put that away,” Vic whispered.

Frank sighed and dropped the phone back in his pocket, sitting up as Sal slid the signed form back across the desk. Vic picked up Lyssa’s suicide note, clearing his throat to read it aloud. Sal’s mother leaned forward, listening intently to every word Vic said, squinting like it would help her better understand. Vic came to the part concerning Sal very slowly, giving her a chance to hear every syllable. Sal did not flinch.

When Sal finished reading the letter, Vic held it up to show them where the blood stains were. “That’s from her, where she blew her brains out in the bathroom of the foster home she was living in. A thirteen year old little girl, Sal. How’s that make you feel?”

Mrs. Mormo looked at the letter in horror and spoke rapidly in Spanish to her son. He shrugged and answered back, “I don’t know.”