The Lover's Children novel Chapter 51

KLEMPNER

The novelty of my situation has worn thin.

My cell companions are not inspiring company. A couple of street hookers share the bench opposite me. Perhaps they’ve been arrested for plying their trade. On the other hand, judging by the state of their veins, they could have been busted for possession.

A young idiot flushed with courage and whiskey thought he was tough until he tried it on with me and I demonstrated otherwise. He’s quiet enough now, sitting as far away from me as he can, using up the oxygen as he nurses a couple of cracked ribs. In the next cage, a drunk lies snoring. He’ll cause no one any problems until he wakes up, unless you count whichever poor bastard has to clean up the pool of vomit he donated to the City authorities.

The place stinks.

The outer door clangs open and a warden, jangling keys, slouches in. He levels one of the keys at me… “You.” … then unlocks the cage. It swings on smooth silent hinges, just enough to allow my exit before banging closed again.

In the corridor outside, the warden shuffles behind me with a nasal whistle: some jingle that makes me want to slap his mouth shut.

I resist the temptation.

“Stop.” He stops at a doorway, pushes it open, jerking his head inside. I follow the instruction to find myself in the discharge area. “Waterman. Lars,” drawls my minder.

The day officer sniffs, retrieves a plastic bag from a locker and dumps it on the counter in front of me. “Sign.” He thrusts a ballpoint at me.

A quick inspection: the bag contains my car keys, wallet, phone and a jangle of change. There’s no need for conversation. I sign.

The officer hooks a key from his pocket, unlocks a door: Exit. Then jerks a thumb outward.

In the room beyond, two figures await me: Haswell, hands thrust in his pockets, staring at his feet as he scuffs at the floor. He flashes me a warning glance, jerking his head sidelong toward the second figure: Mitch.

She’s tried to clean herself up, with traces of mascara and liner swiped away from red and swollen eyes. But arms wrapped around herself, she’s trembling. “Larry…” Her voice rips through me: barbed with terror.

I stride forward, enfold her in my arms. “Shhh… It’s fine. It’s fine. Don’t be so upset.”

Close up, sobbing into my chest, instead of her usual perfume, light and fruity, Mitch reeks, sour with fear. “Why are you here? When Richard told me, I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

Over her head, I glance to Haswell who nods, mouthing silently. “No charge.”

I rock her a little, swaying one way then the other. “Everything’s alright. It was just… a misunderstanding.” Haswell raises brows at that, but when he speaks says only, “My car’s right outside. Let’s get Mitch back home.”

They must have given Haswell special dispensation. His car is not just ‘outside’, but parked almost on the threshold. His driver opens a rear door.

In the few seconds, we have between Mitch climbing in and me and Haswell following, he hisses, “What the fuck were you playing at Klempner?”

“I… suppose I thought it was something Mitch would want me to do. She pressured me into that business with the kid at the station.”

Haswell’s expression blanks for a moment, then, “That doesn’t matter now. The point is that didn’t scare the crap out of Mitch. You being held by the police did.”

*****

Mitch still trembles beside me as the car draws up to the house, speaking in a fair imitation of a normal tone. “Larry, you must be hungry. I’m sure James will have something cooking. And I imagine you could both use a drink?”

I start to agree. “Good idea. Mitch, you’ll feel better with…” But she’s already opened her door and, arms hugged around herself, is tramping away toward our small shared home.

Haswell watches her retreat. “Perhaps later?”

“I think so.”

“And then you can tell the rest of us what that was all about.”

I run to catch up, but Mitch is already at the door and inside. Indoors, although only seconds ahead of me, all the barriers have come down. She’s weeping and sobbing, a storm of tears, hands pressed to her face, her body shaking.

And I have no idea what to say. I settle for circling her with my arms again, holding her close.

After a while, the storm subsides. The shaking dwindles to shivering…

I rub her back and shoulders with my palms, press lips to the top of her head. “Mitch, why the tears? It was just a mix-up. It’s true that I shouldn't have been where I was, but there's no harm done. Quite the opposite. I learned what I needed about Borje and…”

Mitch wrenches from my hold, cutting through my words. “I was frightened,” she gasps. “I was so scared…” She raises hands, fingers curling into claws. “I can’t believe this has happened.” Her voice is rising. Her colour too. “I wanted you to know that you’re free. I’d told you to take time for yourself. And the very first time you go… The very first time… This happens. You’re away for a few hours and I hear that the police have you. I… didn’t know what to think. In my head…” Anger and fear and recriminations spill through her words. “I didn’t know what to do. My imagination was helter-skeltering away. If I’d let myself, I’d have thrown up. I was scared, Larry. Not just scared. I was terrified. Of what had happened. Of what you might have done.”