High Noon

desk, sat on the edge. “Okay, yeah. They’ll make a deal. The department, the DA, nobody’s going to want a public trial, and the publicity that goes with it. And even with what happened in interrogation, the case is a little shaky. Strong enough so Arnie’s lawyer knows to take a deal when it’s offered. He’s going to lose his badge, Phoebe, and he’s going to be disgraced. Is that going to be enough for you?”
    “It’ll have to be. I appreciate all you did.”
    “You pulled plenty of the weight.”
    “Hey,” Phoebe said when Liz got up. “I know this nice bar—Irish pub on River Street. I’d like to buy you a drink. I need a few days’ grace on it, until my vanity lets me go out in public.”
    “Sure, just let me know. Take care, Phoebe.”
     
    Down in Holding, Arnie paced his cell. They’d arrested him, booked him. Goddamn useless lawyer.
    Goddamn bitches screwed it all up. Assault, battery, sexual molestation. Railroading him, that’s what they were doing, all because that cunt couldn’t handle a few bruises she’d damn well earned.
    It wouldn’t stick. No possible way they could make it stick.
    He whipped around when the door slid open, and bit back the words that wanted to spew out only because his father shook his head when he came in.
    So Arnie held them in until the guard stepped away.
    “They can’t make this bullshit stick,” Arnie began. “She’s not going to get away with locking me up like this, with embarrassing me in front of my fellow officers. That bitch—”
    “Sit down. Shut up.”
    Arnie sat, but he couldn’t shut up. “You see how they put a girl ADA on it? Circle the fucking wagons. What’s Chuck thinking, for God’s sake?” Arnie demanded, speaking of the DA. “Why didn’t he just kick this in the first place?”
    “He’s getting the arraignment pushed up, and he’s going to recommend ROR.”
    “Well, Jesus, that’s just great.” In disgust Arnie threw his hands up. “I get charged for this bullshit, but released on my own recognizance, and that makes it okay? Fuck that, Pa. I could lose my badge. You need to reach out to IAB, get an investigation on Mac Namara. You know Mc Vee’s dipping his wick in that. You know that’s why I’m in here.”
    Mouth tight, Sergeant Meeks stared down at his son. “You’re in here because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, just like now. I’m going to ask you one time. Just you and me. I’m going to ask this one time, and I want the truth. You lie, I’ll see it. I see it, and I walk out of here, and that’s the last I’ll do for you.”
    Anger faded away into shock, and the first trickle of fear. “Christ, Pa.”
    “Did you do this thing? You look at me, Arnie. Did you do this?”
    “I—”
    “Don’t you fucking lie.”
    “She suspended me. She used me as a goat. You taught me to stand up for myself, not to take shit off anyone. If you got to kick an ass, you kick it.”
    Meeks stared. “Did I teach you to use your fists on a woman, boy? Did I teach you that?”
    “She wouldn’t get off my back. She—” He broke off, eyes watering, burning, when his father’s hand slapped across his face.
    “Did I teach you to jump a superior officer from behind, like a coward? I taught you to be a man, goddamn it, not to hide in some stairwell and beat on a woman. You’re a disgrace to me, to the family name, to the job.”
    “They come at you, you come back harder. That’s what you taught me. That’s what I did.”
    “You don’t see the difference, there’s nothing I can say.” Wearily, Meeks got to his feet. “I’ll use what I’ve got to fix this for you, the best I can. You’re my son, so I’ll do it for you, for your mother, for my grandson. But you’re done on the job, Arnie. If I could fix that, I wouldn’t. You’re done.”
    “Then how are you going to hold your head up, if you don’t have your son following you on the job?”
    “I don’t know. I’ll get you out of this, the best I can. After that, I don’t know.”
    “I only did what I thought you’d do.”
    “If I believed that, I’d feel sicker than I do now.” Meeks walked over to the cell door, set his jaw. “On the gate!” he called, then left his son.
     
    By Sunday, Phoebe decided to ditch the sling. She was tired of it, tired of the meds, tired of the bruises.
    And she had to admit she was tired of having to fight back the need to whine and complain so that she could ease her family back into routine.
    Still,