Baxter Clare [Detective L A F End of Watch (epub)

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.Baxter Clare - L.A.Franco 5 - End of WatchBaxter ClareBella Books (2006)* * *Francis M.Franco.Shot for three bucks and change.The only witness, his ten-year old daughter.Thirty-five years later, that daughter is LAPD Lieutenant L.A.Franco.Tired of running, Frank realizes its time to either face the past or die by its long hand.In an effort to quiet her demons she returns home, to New York’s Lower East Side.But the journey intended to rest old ghosts only resurrects them.While visiting her mother’s grave Frank is stunned to discover a lead in her father’s long-unsolved murder.Aided by NYPD Detective Annie Silvester, Frank follows the lone clue down the unlit steps of memory to a final, unthinkable resolution.In End of Watch, L.A.Franco at last kneels before Fate and in so doing becomes its master.CHAPTER 1Wednesday, 5 Jan 05—homeAll right.Here goes.Mary says I should write, that writing will keep me honest, so here I am.She said, don’t think, just write.Ten minutes a day.I’ve got my timer set.Nine minutes and twenty-one seconds left.Christ, where to start? WWJD? What would Julie (Andrews) do? Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.Let’s start with Mary since this is her brilliant idea.I bitch, but she’s a gem.Knocked on my door at six thirty the morning after I tried to eat my gun.Took one look at me and said, “Kid, you look like you’ve been eating rat poison and sleeping under rocks.”Which was exactly how I felt.I liked her right away.No bullshit.She’s from Brooklyn.Left her husband with two little boys and ran to California, just like I did.Minus husband and kids, of course.She was a terrible drunk.Now she looks like somebody’s sweet old granny but evidently she did everything short of murder before she sobered up.She’s a retired dispatch operator from the sheriffs department.I can tell her things I couldn’t tell a civilian—from the baby drowned in a bucket last week, to fucking up with Gail, all the drinking on the job.The blackouts.Eating my gun.No secrets.That’s the deal.Got to tell your sponsor everything.She just nods and keeps knitting.She’s fucking shockproof.She’s kept me sober this far—sixty-one days—so I may as well keep doing what she tells me.Beats a bullet for dinner.Six minutes left.Got Stan Getz on.Moved the CD into the living room.Too many memories in the den.Easier to be out here.I’ve been going through new CDs like I used to go through Scotch.Hard to listen to the old ones.They remind me too much of wine, or Scotch, or beer, or ad nauseum … a drink for every song.So Tm making new memories, sober ones, ones I can remember in the morning.Tm loving Getz’s West Coast Sessions.He was a junkie.Amazing how many musicians were junkies or drunks—it either killed ‘em or they kicked it.No half measures.Getz kicked it.Died sober.Good deal.One day at a time, right?Which reminds me.Tm going to New York this weekend.Mary thinks it’s too early, that Tm too vulnerable in my fledgling sobriety, but Tm afraid if I don’t do this now I never will.Been putting it off a long time and I need to make peace with it.It’s only a weekend.I’ll be back on Monday.Jesus.Gail just called.She got my letter.Wants to come by.She’s going out of town tomorrow and wants to talk before she leaves.She sounds pissed.What could have pissed her off? This is what I wrote (I spent so much time on it I know it by heart): Gail—I’ll keep this short—I know you’re busy and probably don’t want to hear much from me.I knew when I walked out on you that Td made the wrong choice but wrong as it was, it was the only option I could see at the time.And I pursued that option as hard as I could until I was an ounce of trigger pressure away from ending up on one of your gurneys.I got some help and have been sober a while.My head’s clearing and Tm seeing the messes I made.The worst is what I did to us.For whatever it’s worth, Tm sorry.That doesn’t change anything.It doesn’t make it all better.It’s just the truth.I was wrong—dead wrong—to walk out on you and I have to live with that.I hope it hurts me more than it hurts you, but when I see you at the morgue you look miserable.I hate what I’ve done to you and Td do anything to take it back but I can’t.Please know it wasn’t about you, Gail [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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