Chapter 34

word count  1344

Adam ate his Cheerios, crunching the still hard cereal after grabbing it up out of the bowl too soon. It didn't have time to soften, to swim in the milk before he scooped it up and shoved it in his mouth. He wanted to eat fast and get out of the house. The usual shit was going on and he needed to get out of there.

These mornings since his dad got hurt were making him crazy. Mother wandered around like she was lost, fretting, crying, not knowing what to do. And his Dad, well, as soon as the therapist arrived and entered the room, the yelling and curse words started. With every bellow blasting through the house, the boy cringed. His pulse raced and his face flushed with embarrassment. What could the therapist think of their family, what with the way she was treated? He didn't want to face the lady when she came out of there. And his father, so angry, unpredictable...violent in an instant...one moment calm, the next hauling off and socking someone good and hard. The least little thing and he went ballistic quick enough to make you jump out of your shoes.

At least laid up in bed he couldn't hurt his mom. Adam still wanted to kill his dad, just for the way he treated her. When he thought of it, the boy's pulse raced. But that guy, Gil, he promised to help. And he tried to make Adam understand his dad had a problem, and even though it spilled over onto the entire family, only his dad could and should make it right. No guns, no embarrassment, the guy wanted Adam to just chill and let Gil see what he could do to help. Still, it was hard for Adam not to feel like he was part of it all and to wonder if he wasn't a good son because he didn't do anything to stop it. He suspected his mom blamed herself for the violence. She blamed herself for making Buzz angry enough to hit her.

___

At the Hunt household, Elliot eyed his step dad with disgust. The guy was wearing an apron, cooking at the stove, flipping pancakes. What kind of a man wears an apron anyway? Especially not a flowered one that belonged to his wife. She had never worn it, not even once. So now it was standard fare for his step dad to put it on every morning and every evening while he cooked their meals. He'd taken to cooking for them only lately, as though he had nothing better to do. Oh well,  pancakes made a better breakfast than that stupid Life cereal his mom threw at him.

“Elliot, you're going to be late for school. Better finish and get going!” The guy shot him an Ozzie Nelson smile. Next he went to the doorway and yelled. “TRUDY, breakfast is ready! You're gonna be late!”

Elliot put down his spoon and got up, grabbing his backpack. Time to get out of there before he was completely nuts. “See you later,” he said, heading for the door.

“Bye, son!” John smiled at him, a tentative slit, tenuous and riddled with nerves as though he were uncertain it would be welcome, far from an open, happy, tooth-glaring display. Elliot didn't answer, slamming the back door as he left.

“Wha' the hell is all that racket first thing in the mornin'?” Trudy shuffled into the kitchen, a cigarette dangling from her mouth while she busied her hands scratching her butt with one and messing her already ruffled hair with the other.

“Good morning, dear!” John offered, then paused as though waiting to see how the greeting flew in his wife's world.

“Hmmph!” The grunt was all she seemed able to muster.

“Pancakes, sweetie?”

“Hell, no! Just coffee.”

“But I got up early just to make them!” He watched as she shot him a blank stare. He laid down the pancake turner he'd been clutching and slipped the flowered apron over his head. “I'd better get to the office,” he murmured. Maybe his assistant would give him a greeting and a smile. He certainly wasn't getting any affection around here. Trudy had been closed off for days and drank herself to sleep every night. 

She didn't notice him leave. Her head was banging like a roller coaster rollicking over the tracks, and the headache felt as big as Texas. She switched off the glaring kitchen lights and sat, resting her head on folded arms.

___

Gil and Hank sat in the squad room, each with a cup of coffee set in front of him. The liquid steamed and sent off seductive vapors up to and right under their noses, but neither man seemed to notice.

Gil cleared his throat. “I came upon Buzz's son yesterday. He was in a bit of trouble, but I got him straightened around. A couple delinquents sold him a gun and ammo. I got it back and turned in the other kids. Adam was able to supply their names.”

Hank looked at him, an expression of utter surprise plastered on this face. His close-set, little eyes looked bigger and wider than normal. “Buzz's kid. How in the hell did you come across him and what did he want to buy a gun for?” Hank could already guess the answer to the second question, having spent time the day before learning all about Buzz from Jeannie. He waited, though, to see what  Gil would say. He could hardly be surprised to hear if Buzz knocked the kid around, too, and the boy felt a need to defend himself.

“Actually, I'd been trailing Jake Leichtenstein, that scum of the earth pedophile, and was checking out one of his favorite places to pick up kids—the DQ over on Main. Adam was in the vacant lot next door. I watched him pull the gun out of his backpack. Anyway, I got it off him without blowing my cover.”

Hank sat quietly, pensive for a moment. “Did the boy mention anything about things at home?”

“Yeah, just between you and me, my friend, Buzz is a son of a bitch, beats the wife around. She's such a nice lady, too.”

“I know what he does.”

“How did you know that, for sure, I mean? I've always kind of guessed, but it took the kid to confirm it.”

“I ran into Jeannie just yesterday and gave her a ride to the hospital.”

“The hospital?”

“Between us, she hasn't told anyone but me she has cancer. She was going in for her daily radiation. I told her I'd take her every day. It's easier for her than driving and parking herself.”

It was Gil's turn to  be surprised. “Back up! She has cancer. I'm certain the boy doesn't know that.”

“No, he doesn't. And she hasn't told Buzz either. She actually thinks he will be mad at her for being sick, 'causing him trouble' as she puts it. I tried to convince her otherwise. I mean a man needs to know that about his wife, am I right?”

“Yeah, I think you are right! It might even give the guy a reality check, a real kick in the balls.” Gil took a long sip of the now tepid coffee. “Now I really have a problem. I told the kid I'd try to think of a way to help. Knowing what I know now, I'm not sure whether to spill the beans outright to Buzz about his wife's illness, or to tread lightly as I originally planned.”

“I can't say I think it's our place to tell him. But I can try to convince his wife to do it. I'm going to be seeing a lot of her.”

“Hank, my old buddy, I had no idea you possessed such a sensitive heart!” Gil said it with a quirky smile, friend to friend.

“Gilberto, I had no idea, either,” Hank replied, lost in thought, failing to notice the other man's grin.