The Fall and Rise of Cain. Greg T. Nelson

wealthy Granger had misplaced several of the Army’s shoulder mounted rocket launchers and come into possession of several pounds of conscript diamonds from Angola. He was never officially charged but he went from king of the guest list in D.C. to lowly shipping magnet in Houston. All at about the same time, Judith joined the Department. I got the feeling the scandal didn’t hurt their relationship much. She already hated him.

      We would stop by on duty a couple of times each week so Judith could check on her mother. Carol Granger was the picture of Southern charm, always smiling to see Judith and always a bit wasted on vodka martinis. Once after a good bust, Judith and I had sat in a Galveston bar and she had confided in me that Philly was a wife beater of the executive class. She had put a stop to it after becoming a cop by threatening to make it all official. But he continued his other vices like openly womanizing and constantly throwing insults at Carol in public. Judith had begged her mother to leave him and couldn’t understand why she refused to even discuss it. “I guess she thinks he’s the best she can do,” she had told me.

      As we made a lazy turn over downtown Houston I remembered how cool I had been in 1985 patrolling the mean street of the county’s fourth largest city. As I caught sight of the ship channel and the twenty-five miles of port authority piers and warehouses, I recalled reading that on any given day there might be a hundred ships and several thousand men in constant motion on those piers. Then I remembered that day two years ago when the largest labor strike ever seen in Texas had made it a huge ghost town. That day there had been only one ship and a news crew and, oh yes, Judith and me.

      The Lear 60 finally screeched onto the Houston Hobby runway and I sighed with relief at having cheated death. As we taxied toward a huge MILLIONAIR sign, I unbuckled and grabbed my cane. We came to a stop near a long glass building and after the pilot opened the hatch, I stumbled down to find another Lincoln identical to the one I got out of eighty minutes earlier, engine running and two perfectly groomed girls holding the doors open. I got close enough to say thanks but I needed to step inside for a moment. “Jillian”, as her nametag announced, cheerfully ushered me inside to a plush lobby and down the hall to a bathroom fit for captains of industry. As I stood at the tastefully lit urinal ridding myself of the General’s liquor I heard the door open and Clifford announces, “We should be going, Cain. The General does not like to be kept waiting.” As I zipped up and washed my hands I replied just loud enough for him to hear, “He’d like it less if I pissed in his Town Car asshole. Why don’t you go wait for me?” I watched in the mirror as Clifford’s jaw flexed three times and I imagined he was thinking about snapping my neck, but even ugly dogs can be well trained and he just turned and left.

      I took a minute at the mirror to take inventory. I’ve put on a little weight since taking the cities injury package. I weigh about 235 now and I rarely lift anything heavier than a drinking glass but I still have the shoulders of the big scary cop I once was. At six four I tend to fill most doorways and size alone has kept me out of a few fights. The scar over my right eye is pretty small and the tan hides it till you get close. Most never notice it. Dark hair with specks of gray falling across my forehead most of the time and I comb it with my fingers, once in the morning at best. Judith used to say I had a spooky smile. I never understood that since she seemed to always get me to smile when little else did. The first thing people always look at is the cane. I lost a lot of bone and muscle when those Russian thugs emptied Uzis at us. It was a Life Flight crew that kept me alive and vascular surgeons that kept my leg attached. After ten months of rehab, I got to ditch the crutches for a cane and they broke the news to me that was as good as it was going to get. HPD gave me a souvenir badge, a Texas Gun Permit and a pension. In exchange, I didn’t say “I told you so” in front of the reporters. They also promised to leave Katy alone.

      As I did at least once a day, I wondered where she was.

      Katy:

      I woke from a light sleep just as the Airbus taxied into the Dallas gate. Most of the other passengers got off as I waited for the next leg of the flight. The flight attendant came back to check on me as I was putting my heels back on. “We’ll be here for about thirty minutes, Ms. Cain. You can stretch your legs if you want.” I had to sneak another glance at her badge to get the name again, “No thanks Marcie, I’ll stay put, ok if I use my cell?” She started her routine, straightening seatbelts and gathering trash down the aisle behind me. “Sure, just remember to turn it off when the cabin doors close.”

      I pulled my briefcase out and dug down until I found the Blackberry. Putting the Bluetooth earpiece on, I spoke clearly, “CALL OFFICE”. I waited a few seconds while the voice recognition decided it was me and listened to a few clicks and hums then Sam answered, “Good Afternoon, Katy Cain’s Office”.

      I tried to snarl, “Sam would you please not answer KATY CAIN, it sounds like a breakfast cereal.”

      Sam chuckled, “Sorry sweetie, it’s been crazy here all day.”

      Sam is the best part of my job, always out in front guarding my door like a pit bull. He makes sure I’m never late, never unprepared and never sloppy looking. Whenever anyone else is around he is big, good looking and all business but when it’s just me and him he is the gayest man I’ve ever met. At the closing of a door, he turns into a walking stereotype for poufy hairdressers. Sometimes I feel like that cartoon character with the singing frog that no one else can see.

      I smiled to myself and visualized him perched on my desk looking at his nails, “So what’s been so crazy?” I asked.

      “WELL,” he sighed. I braced myself for some melodrama. “First, the decorator you hired for the Baytown store is useless, he says. He can’t possibly get the job done on schedule because the carpet you want is on back order…

      I jumped in, “Bullshit Sam! That little prima donna just wants to sell us the carpet he picked instead of my choice, at twice the retail. You tell him he’s either on schedule or unemployed.”

      Sam was laughing, “Sh sh sh, baby I already told him just that and he has revised his estimate and it will be ready for furniture this Monday.” I took a deep breath and realized my shoulders were suddenly tense. I worked them and took a slow breath...

      “Thanks, Sam, good job. Anything else? I’m in Dallas and should touch down at Hobby by two.” The phone was strangely quiet and I thought for a moment I’d lost him. “Sam, you there?”

      He answered but sounded funny, like he was undecided about it, “Yessss, I’m here, do you remember Steven, the guy I told you about?”

      I thought for a second, “Sure, Mr. Perfect runs a gas station for Lear Jets at Hobby, Air Millions or something like that.”

      “It’s MillionAir, it’s a place for very rich people to come and go from and, well...”

      Passengers were starting to file onto the plane. “Better spit it out Sam, I gotta turn my phone off in a minute.”

      “OK, here goes, Steven picked me up here at the office the other day and I showed him around.”

      “OK with me.”

      “Yeah, well he saw the pictures behind your desk, you know the old ones of Richard and you and he called me a few minutes ago…”

      “Oh shit.”

      “Yes boss, Steven just called, your husband’s back.”

      Richard:

      Sensing I had kept Clifford waiting long enough to strain our friendship, haha, I tucked in my shirt, adjusted the Beretta for comfort and moved back through the lobby to the waiting Lincoln. As I passed the desk I got an odd look from a young man at the counter. He opened his mouth to speak and then thinking better of it reached for a phone on the counter. I chalked it up to mistaken identity and pushed to go back outside to my waiting Lincoln.

      “Jillian” was back at the passenger door and managing not to sweat in the 90-degree heat. She reminded me of those girls in a Robert Palmer video. “Thanks for visiting Million Air, Sir, Have a good day.” I wondered if I should tip her but she seemed to be thrilled enough just to hold the door. So I threw her a grin and slid into the