The Patrolman - 18

 

18.

 

 

 

She used Brenda's phone to get a ride to Good Samaritan. Hartsfield was still drunk. Feeling a little ashamed of herself. The way you get with a bad hangover. Last night had been incredible, but how had she gotten so carried away? She left Barbara Stanwyck asleep on the chaise lounge when she left, with a mink coat for a blanket. She'd cherish that night.

The taxi swung onto Union Avenue, and her stomach turned with it. That weak highball hadn't been the best idea. But what else was there to take the edge off? If she felt up to it later, she'd swing by the club. It was Sunday, after all. And nothing ever happened on Sundays.

Nothing ever happened on Sundays. 

The car pulled up, she paid the driver, and followed the slew of people entering the hospital. A nun at the front desk directed her to the fourth floor. She elevatored up. Kids hopscotched up and down the hallway. Women bounced babies on their knees. She found another nun, and told her she was Colm Hartsfield's wife.

Room D. Second on the right.

The room smelled of urine and antiseptic. Two beds. Colm was in the one on the far side, looking out the window. Plastic oxygen tubes from a steel container on the floor ran to his nose. Under the bed was a glass jar. June Hartsfield hesitated in the doorway, listening.

Colm turned his head. His right eye was swollen shut and his left arm cradled in a sling. It was her fault.

'What... do you want?'

She crossed the room and perched herself on the window ledge. 'I came to see you.'

'Then where's my damn grapes?'

Hartsfield noticed there was a man in the other bed. She'd missed him walking in. He was hardly breathing. His chest heaved up and down. Uneven. Covered head to toe in bandages with a leg in a cast.

Colm followed her gaze. 'Hit and run,' he said. 'Not long for this world by the looks of it.'

She dragged her eyes back to Colm. He looked like hell, but he was still making jokes. He had always been tough.

'Why were you following me?'

He brought the broken arm around so she could see the wedding band. 'This,' he said. 'After what you did - to me, to the kids - you're still my wife.'

'Oh, Colm.’

'I'll ask you again, what do you want?’

'To see if --'

He glared at her.

'Fine,' she said. 'I wanted to know what you were gonna do next?'

'What do you think? I'm gonna talk to the cops.'

'The guy, the man who brought you here - he is a cop.'

Colm let out a laugh. 'Then I guess he'll get what's coming to him.'

'Don't act dumb, Colm. It's not your strongest suit. If you report that cop, there'll be trouble.'

'Why? He one of your shakedown artists?'

'Not exactly.'

They sat in silence for a moment.

'Don't, okay?'

'Too late,' he said. 'The nuns already called the cops but I was asleep. They told me when they were making the rounds. Said he'd stop by in the morning.'

'Please. Don't give a report.'

'You ain’t in a position to ask me to do anything, June.'

She sat there, dumbfounded.

‘See yourself out,' he said.

She hovered again in the doorway, who was she kidding? They had nothing else to talk about, they'd run out of things to talk about years ago, when the kids came along.

Downstairs, she found a row of wooden phone booths and called Brenda. They chatted a while about the party - she left out Barbara Stanwyck, but she knew. Brenda always knew. So she cut to the chase and told her about Colm, what Jackson did. If she was surprised, she didn't sound it.

'What's the punchline?' Brenda said.

She told her about the complaint and that someone was stopping over in the morning to take the report.

'We'll fix it,' she said. 'No matter what.' Then she rang off.

Hartsfield went to do the same when she saw something. Something lying on the floor. A newspaper. She picked it up and recognized the girl on the cover. It took her a moment to place her but, when she did, her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

The girl had been by the club a few times. The last time she saw her, she'd been talking to-

‘Christ,’ she said.

She dialed the operator and asked for Hollywood Station.

The man on the phone tried to palm her off with someone from social services.

'No. Get me Lacey. Jake Lacey.'

'He ain't here, can I get him to call you back?'

'Find him,' she said. 'It's important. It's about the girl up in Bronson Canyon.'

'What about her?'

June Hartsfield swallowed, gripping the receiver tight. 'I know who did it.'

 

© J. A. Stapleton 2025 - Image Source: Wikimedia Commons