Arrested Heart (Short story)

Short Story, about 1,600 words How a cop with anger management issues handles a burglar with verisimilitude issues.

A uniformed police officer takes a step out of an apartment into a murky hallway and stops. Behind him, in the open doorway, stands a man in fading, black robes with a white collar around his vulture-like neck; his long bony fingers are clasped in prayerful supplication. Behind the holy man a neon-lit cross enlightens a room.

 

           The cop, Officer William Bonnet Ridgett, puts on his hat, adjusts his gun belt and looks straight ahead. “Thank you, Reverend Gantry,” he says. “I feel much better.”

            The Reverend, beaming with ecumenical joy, nods and says, “May you be at peace with your piece, my son. He stifles a chuckle and returns to his inner sanctum.

            Ridgett rolls his eyes at the tiresome joke tacked on to the end of each month’s session. “Right,” he says to the sound of the door closing. “How about getting the Super to fix this hall light?”

            Officer Ridgett is a large, no-neck man who might have gone pro if he hadn’t flunked out of college " and his scholarship. Despite two commendations, his life on the force these past eleven years has been a seesaw of unfortunate events, as were his two marriages. He was once asked by a reporter why he liked being on the police force, to which he replied, “I like working where the customer is always wrong.” The Reverend Gantry was his captain’s idea.

He stands there for another minute or two, inhaling deep breaths, and shaking out his fingertips. Actually, I do feel better, he thinks. A little spirituality " a little gun control.

            His thoughts are interrupted by an opening door from across the hall. He automatically comes to his police senses and watches someone, dressed completely in black, painstakingly back out. A perp?

            The would-be perp, his back to Ridgett, glances left and right, cautiously drags a duffle bag into the hallway, then, ever so carefully closes the door.

            Little guy’s wearing a hood, too, observes Ridgett as he takes a soft step forward, unsnaps his holster and lays a beefy hand on the butt of his Glock. “Doing your laundry kinda late, aren’t you?”

            The would-be perp jumps like he's sat on a toilet with the seat up, then spins around to face his inquisitor. The two stare at each other a moment, one clutching his chest, the other in a linebacker’s stance.

            The would-be perp breathlessly says " in a female voice, “What do you think you’re doing … scaring me half out of my wits like that?”

            Ridgett hesitates an extra second at hearing a woman speak, then, amused, says, “I suppose you’re the cleaning lady doing a little moonlighting?”

            Collecting herself, she retorts, “What are you talking about?” She follows his stare to the bag beside her. “Oh, this? … Oh, I get it. You think …” She giggles. “… you think I’m, like, stealing this?”

            “Well, I suppose you could be sneaking out of the house, running off to join the Marines, but I’m guessing it’s a little more complicated than that.” He snaps his holster strap shut. “Then again, I’m guessing you’re about to tell me why you’re backing out of an apartment,” he checks his watch, “at 10:34 pm, dressed in black with a hood over your head, and dragging a duffle bag that weighs more than you. Hmmm?”

            Ridgett watches as this creature-in-black, all of five-foot-three, approximately 110 pound, white-female, removes her hood exposing a head of sumptuous, fiery red hair. Later, he will tell his buddies, “Man, when she pulled off that hood, her red hair came flowing out just like one of those shampoo commercials, you know, where she’s worth it.” Then his eyes will orbit upwards in search of that special moment. In the mean time.

            “First off,” she begins, “my name is Laura. Laura Masterson. I live here. And you are?”

            “Ridgett,” replies Ridgett.

            “I’ll bet you are.”

            “Want to explain the costume? Halloween’s not for another two months.”

            “Oh. Yes. Well. You see, I’m supposed to meet my date at a party. It’s one of those mystery murder parties. Are you married?”

            “Excuse,” Ridgett clears his throat, “excuse me?”

            “Well, I mean if your married, you know how demanding a significant other can be. Anyway, I’m supposed to be dressed up …” she laughs “… like a burglar. Isn’t that a riot?”

            “And all that tiptoeing?”

            “That " yes " well, you see, I’m babysitting my sister’s kids and I didn’t want to wake them. Do you have kids? I mean, if you do, you know how hard it is to get them to sleep again, right?”

            Ridgett relaxes a bit. “So you’re not burglarizing this apartment?”

            “What? No. Of course not. I told you " I’m going to a costume party.”

            “But you are leaving minor children unattended?”

            Laura stands there blinking. She sighs and leans back against the wall. “Okay, okay. I’m not going to a costume party. This is really embarrassing. Did you say you were married?”

            “No.”

            “No, you didn’t say, or no you’re not married?”

            “No, I’m not married " twice. So what’s that gotta do with anything?” Ridgett steps closer and breathes deep her perfume. He’s thinking: Please say something I can believe. Please, oh please, say something I can believe.

            “Twice. Wow. Then you must know how it feels to want to get away from somebody, right? I mean, twice - you gotta know. Am I right? Well, see, that’s what’s really going on here. This guy I’m " like, this is so embarrassing " this guy I’m living with, well, he’s really a beater, you know, the small kind that thinks they’re big ‘cause they can beat up on a woman. You should see the bruises.

“I was warned,” she continues, warming up to her story, “but do I listen? That’s my problem, you know. Never listen to anybody. That’s why I’m sneaking out " with my stuff, mind you " sneaking out so he won’t hear me. I’ll probably have to leave town and"”

            “Let’s see them.” Ridgett shifts his weight and crosses his arms.

            “I’m sorry?”

            “The bruises. Let me see the bruises.”

            “It’s kinda dark in here. I’m not sure-”

            “I have a flashlight.” Ridgett reaches down and taps metal hanging from his belt.

They both wade through a long pause. Finally, Laura takes a deep breath and exhales through puffed cheeks. “How humiliating.” Her head drops. “It’s all so degrading.” She dabs an eye with a gloved finger and chokes on her words. “I shouldn’t have to tell anyone this.”

Ridgett mentally slaps himself for what he’s thinking, which is: No one who smells as good as you should ever have to pretend to cry. He says, however, “Well, you can tell me here or tell me downtown " your choice.”

“It’s my father " in Texas. He’s very ill and I’ve been sending him money every week. But I don’t have any more to send him and … I know this looks bad, but, but, I just couldn’t pay the rent anymore, and"”

            “And the landlady’s going to kick you out and keep all your stuff if you don’t come up with some bucks by morning. And, of course, your outfit " matching gloves, accessorized hood " is so if she sees you, you’re just the shadow of your former self? That about it?”

            “Don’t be such a brute,” she bleats. “It’s true. I’ve got just enough money for a bus ticket to Texas. I’ll find something there so I can take care of Daddy.” She buries her face into her palms.

            Ridgett stretches a hand to the wall just above her head and leans in. She’s so small, he thinks. So vulnerable, so " hot. What is that mantra Reverend Gantry keeps harping? Oh yeah. He works up his best sincere look (which comes off like he has a nail in his shoe), “Well, you know what they say " life entails obstacles … or ruts … or something like that.”

She raises her head a little; her eyes dart from side to side.

He pushes on, “What I mean is, the path to Nirvana is not at the end of a forked tongue.”

She c***s her head and looks at him like he’s speaking any language but the one she knows.

He straightens up. “Okay, how about this " stop conning me or I’ll toss ya just because I can.”

            Laura’s eyes flash and with all her might she pushes Ridgett back " about a half inch. “Okay, okay. You win. Yeah, that’s what I’m doing " burglarizing the joint, okay? Satisfied? Wouldn’t you know, my first time and I get busted.” She kicks the duffle bag. “I don’t even know if anything in here’s worth a nickel.” Dramatically, she sweeps the hair out of her face, throws her shoulders back, and squares off. “What now? Jail I suppose.”

            Ridget scratches an ear. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

            “The slammer? The Greystone Hotel for chicks? The … huh?”

            “My shift doesn't start for another hour - unless I have an unexpected report to make. How about having a cup of coffee with me?”

            Laura looks into Ridgett’s face and sees a pair of soft brown eyes in complete harmony with a sideways smile. “I " the thing is " you mean … Okay.”

            Ridgett looks at the duffle bag and nods toward the apartment door. Laura, managing to grin and grimace at the same time, unlocks the apartment door with the proficiency of a locksmith, and slides the duffle bag inside. They turn and walk down the stairs.

            Ridgett swings open a door into the cool night air.  “First time, huh?”

            “Absolutely. No really - I mean it.”

            "And?"

            "And?  Oh yeah - sure. It's, huh, Kelly. Kelly Maguire.