Twisted Justice Part 4

Steve had questioned whether Kim really knew what she wanted, but he could tell she was truly frightened by her gangster boyfriend. And what implication did that have for her threat to leave Tampa? He couldn't get a straight answer. She'd been avoiding him all week, and now she was due any minute. He needed to talk to her about why George had wanted to see him and refused to say why. Something was going on behind his back, he knew it.

Steve also knew he should be concentrating on his news stories: Menachem Begin's upcoming visit to the U.S., the imminent marriage of Princess Caroline of Monaco to Philippe Junot, what to do about swine flu vaccine. Inconsequential stories compared to his pressing personal problems. He'd begun to sweat despite the air conditioner running at full blast when Kim breezed through the open door of their shared suite.

"Hi there," she said, already reaching into her trim briefcase to pull out her briefing notes. Kim always showed up prepared.

As Steve looked up, she didn't even glance his way, but headed to her desk. As usual her desk was clear of any clutter or personal mementos. There was only a small clock encased in pink marble and an ornate box of multicolored woods for her pens. "Hey, yourself."

Steve rose from behind his matching desk of light oak, crowded with papers and strewn with office supplies fighting for s.p.a.ce among the haphazardly placed pictures of his kids. He stepped across the room and closed the door behind her. "So what does George want to see me about?" He walked over and tried to place a hand on her shoulder. "And don't tell me you don't know."

"Whoa, back off." Kim shrugged him away. "What's your problem, anyway?"

"What's my problem? Maybe you can tell me."

"Come on," she said, "why don't you calm down so we can discuss this."

"George called last night to tell me he wants to see me first thing. Look at me, Kim, and tell me you don't know something."

"s.h.i.+t. I wanted to tell you firsthand, from me, but I couldn't call you at home, obviously."

Steve shook his head. "Don't tell me you've gone back to that creep? After what he did to you?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm getting out of it my own way. Frankie's a very dangerous man. I keep telling you that."

"So I get kicked out of my house, and you go back to that...that mobster. That's what's dangerous."

"I'm not going back to him. Last night I handed in my resignation because I took that job in Atlanta. Bigger market, more money. No Frankie."

"You're taking the job? But Kimmie, you can't just leave," Steve stammered. "We're a team. Professionally, I mean."

Steve followed Kim's gaze as she glanced out the window of their office, just in time to see George Granger approaching.

"Here he comes. I gotta get changed. I'm sorry, Steve, I really am."

As the door to the adjoining dressing room shut behind her, Steve steeled himself. The set look on George's face as he entered the office told him all he needed to know.

"Steve. So Kim's told you I see. I've been warning you about the ratings, and now with Kim leaving, we have no choice."

"What do you mean, no choice? What about me?"

"Listen, Steve, this is tough on me too. You know how much I like you personally. I so admire your wife and I realize that you have a family, but -"

"But what? Even if Kim leaves, I can still go on with another anchor." Steve started to pace. This was his dream job. How could he go back to the anonymity of a desk job? Or worse yet, back to life as a social worker?

George coughed. "Listen, Steve. The decision went over my head. We're bringing in new talent from Memphis."

"Please, George, you're not even going to give me a chance? I'll be good - great - with someone else."

"There'll be a fair severance." George was not deterred. "But they want you to clean out your desk tonight."

"You're kidding, just like that? I'm not going on the air tonight? You're the G.o.dd.a.m.n producer and I'm just the scapegoat so you can save your own a.s.s on the ratings. I can't believe you're doing this."

Redness crept up George's neck. "I really am sorry, Steve. Will you need any help here?"

With a sweep of his arm, Steve sent the contents of his desk onto the floor.

Steve spent an hour roaming the Tampa streets. It was hot and humid and he had nowhere to go. An hour ago, he was a "star" in the Tampa area and now he was nothing. Had George found out about Kim and him? That ratings c.r.a.p was bulls.h.i.+t. Was it Kim? Or was it Laura who told him? Could either of them be that vindictive? But Kim would have been too scared that her boyfriend would find out. So it must have been Laura.

Steve wandered into the Bayside Saloon and settled at the bar next to a graying man in a faded blue suit. He ordered a Scotch, neat. He knocked back the drink and indicated to the bartender to bring another.

"Hey, can't be all that bad," the stranger said. "Let me buy you another and I'll have one myself."

Steve grunted. The two men drank in brooding silence until Steve ordered his fourth Scotch.

His neighbor at the bar extended a look of condolence. "Female problem?"

"You can say that again," Steve said slowly. "And worse."

The man scrutinized him. "Hey, aren't you the TV news guy? You're the one on those billboards. Knew I recognized your voice."

"Yeah, that was me. Till I got canned."

The man nodded slowly. "Sucks, my friend, which I know 'cause it happened to me. Name's Roger Crossman, was a lawyer right here in Tampa. Know what it's like to get the boot."

"Maybe I'll sue the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

"Might work," Roger commiserated. "Wrongful dismissal."

"It's really all her fault. Laura, my wife. Took my kids. It's her fault I lost my job."

"You still married to her, buddy?"

"d.a.m.n right. Temporary glitch is all. Not only was I stupid enough to bring another woman back to my house, I was stupid enough to get caught."

"Oh man, I've heard that before. So she hitting you up for child support?"

"h.e.l.l no. She makes the bucks. Big-shot surgeon."

"Lemme give you some advice. I had it all, the job, the wife, the kids. f.u.c.kin' pressure of it all landed me in some a those pricey dry-out spots, more like clubs. Didn't do s.h.i.+t." He shook his head. "Wife married a local judge. Turned my kids against me. Haven't heard s.h.i.+t from them in five years."

"Sorry, pal," said Steve, feeling sorry for the poor drunk, but not in any way relating to him.

"So lemme tell you what's gonna happen, buddy. The wife, she'll divorce you. Forget her money, she'll go for custody and child support. You'll be paying plenty for a long time."

Steve slammed his drink on the bar. "I can see her doing that just to spite me."

"And she'll turn your own kids against you," Roger slurred. "Wife's got the kids and soon they don't want no part of their old man. Trust me. Any on' a my kids gave a d.a.m.n about me, I wouldn't be sittin' here now."

Steve was silent. He'd talk to Laura tomorrow. Tell her he was fired. For sure, he'd head back home. Concentrate on getting a new job. Forget this separation stuff. Whatever this guy was blabbering didn't apply to him. But as Steve finished his drink, he replayed Crossman's words over and over: "Got a joint bank account? Empty it. Got valuables? Take 'em. Don't end up like me."

On Sat.u.r.day morning Steve was late picking up the kids. He'd spent most of Friday at the Bayside Saloon again, deep in conversation with Roger Crossman. Though he'd promised to take the kids to Busch Gardens, a raging headache and queasy stomach made him irritable and impatient. All day the kids pestered him to go on roller coasters and water slides, and when he refused, they sulked. Patrick had clung to him constantly, but Mike and Kevin tended to wander off like maybe they distrusted him. The girls bothered him more than they normally did. Nicole was her usual outspoken self while Natalie mostly whined.

By late afternoon Steve felt better. He wanted to stay at the amus.e.m.e.nt park for dinner, but the kids just wanted to go to home and watch TV. Steve couldn't help but dwell on Crossman's warning. Maybe it was happening already. When he took the kids home he'd have a talk with Laura. She'd seemed a little more sympathetic this morning when he told her about losing his job. Of course, she acted like it was none of her doing. But it had to have been her, and now that she'd a.s.suaged her jealous pride, maybe she'd just get over this.

As soon as Steve pulled into the driveway on Davis Boulevard Sat.u.r.day evening, he knew it was bad timing. "s.h.i.+t," he mumbled as he carried the twins' duffel bag past the familiar car parked in front of him.

"What'd you say, Dad?" Kevin piped.

"Nothing."

"Grandma and Grandpa are here," called Natalie excitedly as she ran ahead.

"Laura, we have to talk," Steve said as soon as there was a moment of privacy. The kids had charged into the house amid hugs and kisses and now crowded around their grandparents.

"Not now. My parents will be leaving soon, and then I need to spend time with the kids before they go to bed."

"You'll have all week with the kids. Please, this is important."

Laura sighed. "Okay. For a few minutes."

Laura went over to her mother and whispered in her ear. Peg Whelan looked much younger than fifty-nine. She was trim and shapely with strawberry blonde hair naturally highlighted by the sun. Turning toward Steve, she nodded, but Steve saw the start of a frown in place of her usual sunny smile.

"Where you going, honey?" asked Carl Whelan as he juggled Natalie and Patrick on his lap. He was a tall man, distinguished looking at sixty-five with gray hair just starting to recede. Gentle by nature, he had always been supportive of Steve, but now he glanced coldly at his son-in-law.

"We're going out for just a few minutes," Laura said, approaching the front door.

Neither of her parents had yet spoken to Steve. The look of disapproval in Peg Whelan's eyes had a chilling effect making him feel deep remorse. The Whelans had always treated him like a son, and the truth was that Steve was much closer to them than to his own family - his dad - back in Traverse City, Michigan.

Laura was the oldest of the three Whelan siblings and the only one living in Florida, just an hour and a half away from her parents' home in Sarasota. Janet, two years younger, lived with her professor husband in Paris, and the Whelans saw her only one week a year, in Paris or Sarasota. So far, they were childless and the whole family knew that Janet was becoming increasingly desperate to have a baby. Ted, the youngest, now thirty-one, was a Jesuit missionary priest stationed in Uganda. Although so proud of him, they also worried about him as Idi Amin's dictators.h.i.+p in Africa turned more and more ruthless.

Both Steve and Laura's dad were die-hard Detroit Tigers baseball fans - had been all their lives - and that shared pa.s.sion gave Steve a sense of belonging in the Whelan family. Not that they got to see much of the Tigers anymore, but whenever possible Steve and Carl would take the kids to Bradendon for spring training. Suddenly, Steve realized if he lost Laura, he'd lose the Whelans too.

"Looking forward to seeing Billington play soon," he said to his father-in-law, but Carl acknowledged Steve's awareness of the baseball player's move from Cincinnati to Detroit with only a shrug.

"Let's take a ride over to the park where we can talk," Steve said to Laura as they stepped outside.

"All the way to the park?"

"It's just a couple minutes away, c'mon." He took her arm and led her to the Ford Fairlane. To his relief, she stepped in when he opened the door. "We'll get some ice cream."

As he parked under the shade of an old willow at the park, Laura broke the awkward silence that had filled the car. "So did you go to Busch Gardens?"

"Yeah, but the kids didn't have a great time. Not like when we've been there before. I've been thinking a lot and really -" he reached over and touched her knee, "we owe it to them to stay together."

"The kids'll be fine," Laura answered, removing his hand. "But what are you going to do about getting a job?"

Steve stared openly at his wife. "You know, I guess I can even understand why you did it. You had a good reason to be totally p.i.s.sed at me for what I did."

Laura stared back. "Did what?"

"Come on, I know you told George." Steve had apologized for doing it with Kim, and now he expected an apology from Laura for getting him canned. "He sort of let it slip."

She frowned. "I can't believe you just said that. I haven't spoken to him in months. And I can't believe you'd make up a lie like that."

"Look, have it your way. I'm fired, okay? I need to come back home and start looking for a job."

"My G.o.d, Steve, you think this is some kind of game? This is our life. I agree you'll have to find a job, but I've decided to talk to a lawyer about a permanent separation and divorce. You'll get visitation rights for the kids. I'm not even asking for child support."

"Divorce? Laura, c'mon, it doesn't need to be this way."

"Yes it does. Now that I've had a couple of weeks to think about it, I realize that we've been living two separate lives for I don't know how long. You at the station. Me at the hospital. We've been avoiding each other for years. We never make love. s.e.x, maybe, but love, no. The only thing we have in common is the kids, and I know I can be a better mother if I'm on my own. Besides the way you feel about the twins - Anyway, it's fine with me to keep alternating weekends, but we'll have to go to court and get the whole thing finalized."

Steve's face tightened. "Sounds like you've got everything figured out. Except for me. What about me?"

"Please stop."

"Laura," Steve went on, "we've been married for fifteen years. We have five kids who need two parents. I'm living in a dump, and I have no job."

Laura sighed. "Look, we're not getting anywhere with this. Just take me home."

"C'mon, we need to talk about this. Let's take a walk, get an ice cream."

"I don't want any ice cream. If you won't take me back, I'll walk."

Steve's face clouded as he turned the ignition key. "Promise me one thing. No more talk about a lawyer. The least you can do is give me some time to find a job. Cut me a little slack here."

"No," she said through clenched teeth. "I need to move forward with my life now."

"Laura, please. Don't back me into a corner."

CHAPTER SIX.

Alone in the small apartment all week long, he'd had plenty of time to think. For the first time in his life, Steve had had to do his own household ch.o.r.es and the place was a mess. Dirty dishes scattered about, the same unwashed sheets on the bed. There was a mildew smell in the closet and that circle of sc.u.m building in the bathroom sink. After lying around watching mindless TV all day, each night he'd gone back to the Bayside Saloon.

Midweek, he'd stopped by the newsroom to pick up his belongings. That p.r.i.c.k George had been "in a meeting," and "couldn't be disturbed." Kim was packing up her side of the office, too busy with her plans to move to Atlanta that weekend to even have lunch. What a b.i.t.c.h she'd turned out to be. Last night Steve had driven by her place thinking that maybe he could get her to change her mind. Kim hadn't even been home. So where was she? With that "dangerous" boyfriend of hers? The one he was supposed to be so scared of? Well, he wasn't scared. p.i.s.sed, yes, but not scared.

That morning, Steve had stopped at the Barnett Bank. No questions asked, he had withdrawn all but $942 from his and Laura's joint savings account - $51,942. Guess she hadn't gotten a lawyer yet. He took the money as cash in hundred dollar bills, placing most of it in a safe deposit box under his name only. Steve and Laura had been one of those rare, lucky couples who never argued over money. They spent what they needed to maintain the household, a little extra for Steve's "television" clothes, and they rarely entertained. Although Laura's income exceeded Steve's, they both contributed to their combined savings and checking account and wrote checks as needed against the healthy balance.

Laura picked up the phone on the first ring when Steve called the following Friday night. "I'm coming for the kids tomorrow at eight," he announced, not even giving her a chance to say "h.e.l.lo."

"No, tomorrow's not your day."