33. Justice
Justice
Vedder
I gave Marcus the keys to Melody’s truck and let him drive on his own to the hospital to pick her up. He had a license, but they only had one car, so he never got much time behind the wheel. I wanted to fix that before Melody told me to clear out of her life.
It was the least I could do.
Marc and I had bonded over the past few days, and I did everything I could to teach him the basic skills he’d need to fix the rest of this house. He should know enough to YouTube the rest.
He had a knack for building things. Maybe he’d take his temper out on wood instead of on his sister.
Today, I was tucking tail on my way to Braun, so I could apologize and let him keep his damn money.
I handed him a report that exonerated Melody, including my notes on what Old Man Smithy had “remembered.” He read it, grunted, and nodded as he scanned it before passing it on to the client.
“Tell me, operator,” he drawled. “Why is my own employee handing me a crock of bullshit to give to the most powerful family in this county?”
I shrugged.
“You’ve seen the same fucked up shit I have,” I said, hoping he’d pick up what I was putting down. “Abused people end up dying in prison because they kill their abuser.”
Braun kept looking at me with suspicion.
“You know justice ain’t perfect.”
The more I thought about what Smithy had said. Power was a thing with many legs. Take out one leg, and the others would still hold it up—whether those legs were influence, money, or threats, there was always something.
And as I thought of Melody, I knew he was right about that, too.
If Smithy had said something, the smear campaign on her would have opened her scars for all to see, to criticize, to call into question.
The world wasn’t fair, especially to women. And victims, even underaged ones, were always blamed.
This way, no one really knew. If they did, they’d never admit it. She could live her life.
I was putting my faith in Taz’s opinion of Braun as I explained all of this.
I was putting my faith in the hope that the world wasn’t entirely full of morally bankrupt assholes who thought victims deserved to relive their trauma over and over again.
That the long-arm of the damn law didn’t send victims and their families through years of hell as the lawyers figured shit out.
“I’m still listening, son.” Braun fished out his cigar box and opened it.
With just the tips of his curled fingers, he pushed it my way.
This time, I took one. I nipped the tip after he did his, and with the Zippo he kept on his desk, lit the end.
Then he went into his drawer and pulled out two tumblers, each with a dummy round embedded in the glass along with 10th Group and 20th Group glazed in white.
“Melody Gray’s a good person who’s been through hell and back,” I said quietly, leaning over his desk as I whispered the words. “What I can say is that Luke Gray got what he deserved. Hell, better than what he deserved, because he went peacefully…Well, relatively peacefully.”
Braun lifted a brow, waving for me to continue.
“He drowned. That was too good for him.” My free hand curled into a fist.
I didn’t need to know or hear what had happened. Not in detail. He’d hurt my woman, and that was all I needed.
“What do you think should happen to men who rape girls?” I asked.
Braun’s eyes narrowed. “I think they should be drawn and quartered. Their genitals cut off and lit on fire in front of their eyes as their intestines are pulled out bit by bit.”
“I think the same.”
“Are you telling me Luke Gray raped a girl?”
I couldn’t say it. His crime was too awful, especially when I thought about who the crime had been perpetrated against.
Because I loved her. With every fiber of my being, I loved her.
“Hypothetically, if he had power over a girl and…and abused her for years—decades, even, I don’t know for sure—what do you think should happen to him?
” I still tiptoed around it; I didn’t want to say it.
I didn’t want to confirm what Braun was likely figuring out. Not beyond a reasonable doubt. Not yet.
“And this…girl—now a woman, I assume—you know for a fact she’s telling the truth? She doesn’t just have you pussy-whipped into believing everything she says?”
“Don’t you ever call her a liar!” I growled before walking it back, because I was not doing myself any fucking favors. “She wasn’t the one who told me. She confirmed it…sort of.”
She hadn’t said it, but her eyes did. The terror in her face…
Braun tapped his finger on his desk.
I took a deep breath and leaned back in my seat. Much calmer now, I looked up at him.
“You know that it’s a family pastime. Harming young girls, I mean.” I shook my head. “You know Whitlaw—”
“There’s no need to bring the good Sheriff into this.” His tone did not leave room for discussion.
I flattened my lips against so much of what I wanted to say.
I may have charmed Daria to look into some things none of us should have been able to look at. The things Melody thought were secrets had been seen. I’d read every word, then vomited into a trash can—to Daria’s absolute irritation.
It was my fault, really, for having learned to read.
If I could have unlearned those things and then bleached my eyeballs, I would have. What Luke had done to Melody…
“I know she’s telling the truth. I have proof.
Texts. Letters. Emails. Him, confessing his crimes and trying to lure her back.
Using her siblings to do it. That’s why she did it.
Came back, I mean. That’s why…” I wanted to kill him.
I wanted to bring him back to life, tie him down, and tear him apart with my bare hands.
Knuckle by knuckle. Joint by joint, I wanted to twisted his bones bit by bit, slipping them out of his body until he was nothing but a shapeless skin sack, writhing in unimaginable pain.
He deserved to die a slow, painful death. He had it too easy.
“I don’t want you to see them, though. I’ll show you if I have to, but I don’t think she’d want—”
“As far as I see”—Braun lifted his hand—“and as far as I will tell the Gray family, Luke overdosed on his muscle relaxers and went out on his boat. He was drinking, and the combination of the two made him fall into the water, rendering all his aquatic skills useless. He was unable to save himself. Is that about the gist of it?”
I slumped in relief.
“Yeah. That about sums up what I found.”
“Well, the family will be disappointed and might demand a refund, but that’s life.” He puffed his cigar.
“I’ll pay you back every penny.”
He waved me off. “No need.”
“Really, I…I think I owe it to you—”
“You owe me a favor, pup.”
I sprang up like a lemur that just caught whiff of a predator. “Huh?”
“You got one of these?” He opened his drawer and pulled out something small, tapping it on the table.
It was a CIA coin. The size of a silver dollar with a number or nomenclature etched along the edge as some kind of identifier linking a person to that specific coin, showing they’d need to earn it back from Braun as a favor. An IOU that could be cashed at any time.
Was this Braun’s real currency? Because it was worth more than gold.
“No, I don’t. I never had any made.” It cost money to make them, but I also never thought I was important enough to have my own coin. What could a bum like me ever do for anyone else?
“Well.” He leaned back, the chair squeaking under his weight. “I suppose we’ll need to do this the old-fashioned way. With a handshake and our honor on the line.”
So we clapped hands, shook, and I swore that whenever he needed a favor from me, I would do my utmost to give it.
I drove by the police station on my way back to Melody’s. Old Man Smithy watched me from the door, and I watched him back. We nodded at one another, then went our separate ways.