From A Dead Sleep Read online

  The chief ’s eyes shifted toward his coffee mug, displaying an almost criminal longing. He had never experienced the utopia of Ethiopian Longberry, but message-board reviews claimed it to be exquisite. The wait was over. Anticipating the sharp, winy flavor and slightly tangy kick, he stretched out his small hand for a taste of heaven. The mug roasted in his palm as he leaned back in his chair and raised its rim gingerly to his lips. He wanted to savor the experience.

  Without warning, the piercing screech of rubber skidding on pavement blared intrusively from the outside parking lot and through the thin walls of the police office. The hairs on the back of Lumbergh’s neck stood straight up, and his body instinctively jackknifed forward. Hot coffee intrusively streamed down the sides of his chin and onto his shirt and tie.

  “Goddammit!” he yelled without reservation. His voice echoed through the small room and into the outside hallway.

  With his face twisted in anger, he sprung up to his feet and promptly scanned the room for a towel or napkin. There were none to be found in the neat office. His thin arms worked fervently, opening up every drawer in his desk until he spotted a large legal-sized envelope that he found to be empty. He snatched it with his fingers and stomped briskly to his door where he noticed the rest of his small squad curiously gathering in the narrow lobby at the front entrance of the building.

  Holding the envelope to his chest and quickly recognizing its liquid-absorbing deficiency, he stuck his head out into the hallway. From there he could see his officer, Jefferson, who had just returned from patrol. He was peering interestedly out through a window at the top half of one of the dual front doors.

  The muffled sound of two people arguing was just barely audible from outside, and the scent of Pine-Sol momentarily distracted Lumbergh’s senses. Still he thought he heard a familiar voice, which compelled him to momentarily forget about his coffee-stained clothes.

  “Tell me that’s not who I think it is,” he loudly said through narrowed eyes and a fuming scowl.

  Jefferson whipped his head around. There was uneasiness in the officer’s eyes. “Yeah, it’s Sean. He’s with old Milo. And neither one looks none too happy!”

  Lumbergh’s eyes rose toward the ceiling. His shoulders lowered as he exhaled an embittered grunt. “Everybody, get back to work!” he firmly directed. “Jefferson, you handle it! I don’t want to be disturbed with his bullshit this early in the morning!”

  An audible gulp lifted from Jefferson’s throat. “Me?” he asked, hesitantly.

  Lumbergh shot him a glare much like a parent would toward a child who had just spilled a glass of milk.

  Jefferson quickly lifted his shoulders and broadened his chest, not wanting to disappoint the man whose approval he so often sought. Licking his upper lip and composing himself, he delivered a firm nod to his boss before turning his attention back to the window.

  The chief ducked back inside his office and slammed the thin wooden door shut before retrieving a bottle of Evian water from a small refrigerator beside his desk. While the sound of footsteps shifting back to their cubicles drifted underneath his door, he dabbed water over the top of his coffee-stained shirt.

  He knew this would be a good test for Jefferson. The officer had shown hints of promise in the past, but at times tended to lack the proper initiative that Lumbergh felt the job required. The two had spoken of the topic on many occasions, and he had made it clear to Jefferson exactly what was expected of him.

  Sean and Milo ranted back and forth like an old married couple engaged in a spat. Their colorful, quickly traded insults grew louder as they neared.

  The tall and lanky Jefferson extended his long arm along the door and pushed it open wide for the two to enter.

  From behind his desk, Lumbergh could hear Coltraine wildly scream out, “Jefferson! Jefferson! He stole ma’ truck! He kidnapped me!”

  Lumbergh’s eyes widened and his fists clenched. He was nearly tempted to immediately dash out into the hallway and launch a verbal assault on Sean—the man who seemed hell-bent on extending as much complication into life as possible. He fought the urge, deciding to give Jefferson a chance to prove himself. Lumbergh rested his elbows on the top of his desk and buried his face in his right hand while using his left to reach into his pocket for a stick of gum.

  “Here we go,” he whispered under his breath.

  “Is Lumbergh in his office?” Sean asked loudly, more in the form of a statement than a question.

  With his chest bloated, Sean didn’t intend on stopping at the lobby. He kept walking, making a beeline for Lumbergh’s door.

  “Not so fast!” Jefferson ordered in a much-practiced tone that was impressive in its authoritativeness. He held his arm up like a tollgate, blocking Sean’s path.

  Sean stopped and glared at him in subtle surprise before lowering his eyebrows. “Jefferson, get out of my way!”

  With Sean momentarily distracted, Coltraine made a move to quickly try and shuffle around his large body in hopes of getting to Lumbergh’s office first. Without taking his eyes off Jefferson, however, Sean grabbed the back of Coltraine’s flannel shirt collar and held him in place. Coltraine let out a gagging noise as his top button pressed right up against his Adam’s apple.

  “There’s a policy in this office, Sean,” stated Jefferson. “Complaints come to me. They don’t go straight to the chief. He’s a busy man.”

  So far, Lumbergh liked what he was hearing. He continued to listen from his chair, leaning forward with his fingers forming a temple across the top of his desk. His mouth grounded a wad of Trident. He expected his men to deal with adversity, and there wasn’t a better test of adversity than Sean Coleman.

  “Busy doing what?” Sean ranted. “Signing autographs? This is important, dammit! If I needed someone to get me out of a parking ticket, then I’d come to you! This is big time, Jeffrey!”

  Jefferson held his ground, taking exception to being referred to as “Jeffrey.” He hated the nickname that Sean had given him, and Sean knew it.

  “Big time? Oh really?” sneered Jefferson. “Just like when Emma at the laundromat was a big time drug dealer, or when you thought that kid down at the gas station was a big time international terrorist!”

  Lumbergh held his fist in the air, and then retracted his elbow with an excited whisper. “Yes!” Jefferson was earning his pay that day.

  Sean’s right lower eyelid began to twitch as he glared right through Jefferson. His face turned red with anger, and his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

  “Ya thought that young fella at the gas station was a dang terrorist?” Milo asked with enlightened eyes and some pep to his voice. His cheeks turned red and a half-second later he howled out in piercing laughter. “I hadn’t heard that one! A terrorist of all things! Can ya imagine?”

  Sean paid no attention to Milo. His pupils shrank and all he saw was fire. Jefferson had grown nearly eight inches taller since his high school days, but in Sean’s eyes he was still the same mope, the same timid and awkward kid who Sean used to terrorize in gym class. Who was he to be telling Sean off?

  The longer Sean’s intense glare lasted, the tighter Jefferson’s stomach cramped; Sean could see it on the officer’s face. Jefferson paled, and Sean knew he was thinking of those distant memories of being on the receiving end of wedgies and pink-bellies—at Sean’s hands. If the two men were anywhere else but the police station, Sean figured Jefferson might have immediately run in the opposite direction, also much like the old days; it was an effective tactic he’d used to escape Sean Coleman’s bullying back in high school.

  Sean saw the resolve slip over Jefferson’s face. Sean was on his turf now. Jefferson had the backup and the authority, and Sean knew that Jefferson’s boss was likely listening. The officer needed to hang tough. It wasn’t every day that someone had the opportunity to put Sean Coleman in his place.

  Sean wondered if he’d try it.

  Jefferson continued with a forced, wide, condescending smile. “So tell me, big ti
me, what’s today’s beef? Did Moses Jones cheat in that game of eight-ball last night? I heard he whooped your ass!” His tongue slid sleekly across his lower lip in gratification.

  A muffled laugh could be heard from someone down the hall, close to the fax machine.

  Sean’s right arm trembled, and he formed a concealed fist. He wanted to punch Jefferson right in the face—right above that cheesy handlebar mustache. He pictured flattening that fat, rounded nose, and he relished the image of blood squirting from it. It took him everything he had to remind himself where he was and what Jefferson’s uniform meant as far as police charges went. Sean forced composure upon himself, slowly nodding his head up and down.

  With a burdened grin, Sean said, “I wasn’t with Moses Jones last night, Jefferson . . . I was with Becky!”

  Jefferson’s eyes widened, and his teeth were visible at the mention of his wife.

  The same voice by the fax machine now let out a low, “Uh-oh.”

  Sean was fully aware that Jefferson and his wife had been separated for about a month, and he took great enjoyment in reminding him of it.

  All the confidence that Jefferson had been displaying left in an instant, and his nerve dissolved. His lip quivered, and he glanced at the watching eyes of his coworkers, who he felt were about to judge him by his reaction. Before he could compose himself enough to retort, Sean opened his fist, spun, and grabbed Milo’s velvet hat from the top of his head. He pivoted back around and shoved the hat firmly into the center of Jefferson’s chest.

  “Make yourself useful and hang this up!” he growled.

  The force of Sean’s strong arm caused Jefferson to stumble backward on the slick tile. The back of Jefferson’s long legs met the armrest of a wooden bench that stood behind him. He lost his footing and fell like a ton of bricks—down to his butt on the unforgiving floor.

  Sean hadn’t intended for Jefferson to fall but didn’t feel bad for causing it. Who does he think he is, with that condescending dog and pony show? he thought. He deserves to be made a fool of in front of everyone.

  “Sean!” The name lingered in the air, drawn out as only Lumbergh could stretch it.

  His voice erupted like a volcano, prompting everyone in the office to stare with wide eyes at the sight of the small, wiry man now standing outside his door. The chief ’s legs were spread, and both fists were clenched.

  Breathing hard, Sean glared into Lumbergh’s eyes before noticing the veins protruding at both sides of his reddened face. It wasn’t the first time Sean had seen him this pissed; it wasn’t the first time Sean had made him this pissed.

  “Well, well, well, Hollywood. It looks like you’re not too busy to talk to me after all,” Sean said with a quick smirk.

  Lumbergh despised the nickname Hollywood. Sean had given it to him because of the celebrity-like adoration the chief enjoyed from the rest of the town. Lumbergh slowly and intensely shifted his head from side to side. He looked about ready to blow a gasket.

  “Coltraine!” Lumbergh screamed. “Jefferson will take down your complaint, and I strongly urge you to file charges!”

  “Yes, sir,” the hatless Coltraine timidly answered, taking a step forward and then back.

  “Sean . . . in my office! Now!”

  Lumbergh didn’t wait for a reaction. He turned and stomped back inside through his doorway.

  Grabbing the knob tightly in his fingers, he waited for Sean to enter before slamming the door shut behind them. The force caused the window shade hanging from the top of the door to lose its hold and fall sloppily to the floor. It unraveled as quickly as Lumbergh’s patience.

  Before Sean could open his mouth to state his case, Lumbergh gargled out a loud spontaneous, incoherent sound immediately followed by a raw cough. The chief ’s unhinged anger had caused his chewing gum to slip down his throat. His eyes bulged, and he immediately hacked it back up and out of his mouth. The wad would have fallen from his lips to the floor, but Lumbergh purposely used his own hand to angrily slap it in Sean’s direction. It bounced off of Sean’s chest, causing the big man to flinch.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” Sean yelled in outrage.

  Lumbergh heard nothing but the fizzling between his own ears as his eyes traced Sean’s body up and down.

  “Jesus, Sean!” Lumbergh bellowed with his nose scrunched in disgust. “What did you do? Piss yourself?”

  Sean looked down at his pants which were still wet from the river.

  Lumbergh pointed at his lower pant leg. “And what’s that? Puke? You’re a goddamned mess!”

  “Gary, just shut the hell up and listen!” Sean yelled impatiently with his nostrils wide. His outburst roared out like the call of a large animal.

  Necks were craned, and eyes peered over the walls of cubicles. Outside Lumbergh’s office, a moment of deafening silence allowed for the sound of a sheet of paper to be heard making contact with the floor. Above it, a secretary standing in front of a copy machine stared intently with her mouth hung open.

  Lumbergh wasn’t going to be intimidated. He wouldn’t let Sean continue. This was his house. He had all of the authority here. “Who the hell do you think you are, walking in here and spouting off like a lunatic? Those are my subordinates out there!”

  Before Sean could answer, Lumbergh raised his arm out straight, pointing toward the door. “You have no right to come in here and disrespect me and get physical with one of my men! This isn’t flag football at the park! This is where I work! You come in here with beer on your breath and looking like you slept in a trash dumpster last night, and—”

  “I wouldn’t have had to disrespect you if your ape would have just listened to me!”

  “Why should he? Why should any of them?” Lumbergh was livid. The pitch of his voice was higher than he intended it to be as he raised his shoulders and threw his arms up in the air. His wide eyes blinked erratically. “They’ve heard all the same bullshit stories that I have! I mean, look at it from their point of view, Sean! Do you have any idea how many hours my people have wasted on your hair-brained theories and childlike imagination? And today, I’m sure you’re here with another one . . .”

  “So?” Sean retorted with a taunting shoulder shrug. “It’s not like they have anything better to do! They should be thanking me for getting them out of your boot camp for a few hours! Now listen to me . . .”

  Lumbergh raised his finger at Sean to cut in.

  “. . . a man died today, Gary!” Sean yelled out, breaking the stalemate of wild banter.

  Lumbergh’s mouth refused to follow up and instead was left gaping open. His arm slowly lowered back to his side. His demeanor went from outrage to awestruck in the time it took Sean to relay one simple but chilling statement. His eyes blinked as they peered into Sean’s.

  “A man died today,” Sean repeated.

  Chapter 4

  “That doesn’t make sense!” stormed Lumbergh with his arms crossed and his slender body aligned against the front of his desk. “Why would someone kill himself by shooting himself in the back of his head?”

  His eyes were filled with doubt, and the skepticism didn’t go unnoticed by Sean. After noticing a large peculiar coffee stain on Lumbergh’s shirt, Sean replied with a head shake. “I don’t know.” A moment of silence ensued and with a glance at the ceiling, he shrugged his shoulders and offered up: “I can tell you one thing; he wasn’t Chinese.”

  “Chinese?” Lumbergh enquired, interested. He leaned forward, his eyebrows narrowing the gap between them. “What do you mean?”

  Sean’s eyes returned to the ceiling, and his tongue slid to the corner of his mouth. He momentarily pondered his own words while trying to recall the details of an old episode of Hunter that featured a disgraced immigrant taking his own life. He soon shook his head in digression. “Oh, never mind . . . I’m thinking of a dagger through the stomach.”

  Lumbergh deflated back to his desk. “That’s Japanese,” he muttered indignantly under his breath, frustrated with h
imself for giving Sean an inch. “And it’s called seppuku.”

  An annoyed and unimpressed grunt escaped Sean’s mouth. “Well, very good; someone just earned themselves a gold star by their name.”

  Lumbergh ignored him, not desiring to fuel another unproductive outburst. “I’m trying to make sense of your story, Sean. You don’t have the best track record for credibility.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Gary, don’t start this shit again! Do you think I’m just making this whole thing up?”

  Lumbergh’s eyes left Sean for a moment, taking a breath and searching for the right words. “I’m not saying that, Sean. But you have a way of letting your imagination run wild. You know you do.”

  Sean glared at him, shaking his head in disgust. “I’m not making this up, Gary. It happened, goddammit. Right in front of my eyes!”

  Lumbergh took a breath. “Sean, you had a lot to drink last night. I think that’s pretty safe to say—”

  “Oh, give me a fucking break! I’m hungover. I’m not crazy.” Sean’s blood was beginning to simmer again. “Are you going to check this out or not?”

  Lumbergh looked sympathetically into Sean’s eyes—the same way a father would look at a son who just missed the game-winning field goal. “Sean . . . I’ve given you a lot of leeway for obvious reasons . . .”

  Out of frustration, Sean’s face twisted and he quickly lunged forward, slamming his fist hard across the top of the desk.