The Two Minute Rule Part 5

Holman wondered why Levy hesitated, and was about to ask if there was a problem when Levy interrupted.

"Mr. Holman, I'll pa.s.s along this message, but I'm going to be direct with you about this situation, and you won't like what I'm about to say."

Levy plowed on as if it was going to be just as difficult for him to say it as for Holman to hear it.

"I was Richard's commanding officer. I want to respect his wishes and the wishes of his widow, but I'm also a father--it wouldn't be right to leave you waiting for something that isn't going to happen. Richard wanted nothing to do with you. His wife, well, her world has been turned upside down. I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for her to call. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I don't understand. You told me she's the one who told you about me. That's why you called the Bureau of Prisons."

"She thought you should know, but that doesn't change how Richard felt. I don't like being in this position, but there it is. Whatever was between you and your son is none of my business, but I am going to respect his wishes and that means I'm going to respect whatever his widow wants to do. I'm not a family counselor in this matter. Are we clear on that?"

Holman stared at his hand. It lay in his lap like a crab on its back, flexing to right itself.

"I stopped expecting anything a long time ago."

"Just so you understand. I'll pa.s.s along this new number, but I'm not going to push her. As far as you go, I am here to answer your questions about the investigation if I can and I'll call to update you when we have something to report."

"What about the funeral?"

Levy didn't answer. Holman hung up without saying more, then went downstairs and was waiting in the lobby when Perry showed up.

Holman said, "I need that car again."

"You got another twenty?"

Holman held up the bill like a middle finger and Perry scooped it away.

"Bring it back full. I'm telling you. I didn't check last night or this morning, but I want that ride full."

"I need the TV."

"You look like something's wrong. If you're mad you didn't have the TV last night I'm sorry, but it's in storage. I'll get it this morning."

"I'm not mad about the TV."

"Then why the face?"

"Just give me the f.u.c.king keys."

Holman picked up Perry's Mercury and headed south to the City of Industry. Taking the bus would have been smarter, but Holman had a lot of ground to cover. He never exceeded the speed limit and was wary of other drivers.

Holman arrived at work ten minutes early and parked on the far side of the building because he didn't want his boss, Tony Gilbert, to see him driving. Gilbert was familiar with inmate hires, and knew Holman would not yet have his license.

Holman worked for the Harding Sign Company in a plant that printed art for Harding billboards. The art was printed on huge wallpaper-like sheets that were cut and rolled so they could be transported all over California, Nevada, and Arizona. When they reached their a.s.signed billboards, special crews hung the rolls in huge strips and pasted them in place. During the past two months, Holman had trained part-time as a trimmer in the printing plant, which meant his job was to load five-, six-, and eight-foot-wide rolls of fabric into the printer, make sure the fabric fed square, then make sure the automatic trimmers at the end of the process made a clean cut. A moron could do it. Holman had learned the job in about two minutes, but he was lucky to have the gig and knew it.

He clocked in, then looked up Gilbert so his boss would know he had shown up on time. Gilbert was going over the day's schedule with the printer operators, who were responsible for color-coordinating and correcting the art that would be reproduced that day. Gilbert was a short thick man with a bald crown who swaggered when he walked.

Gilbert said, "So, you're officially a free man. Congratulations."

Holman thanked him, but let their conversation die. He didn't bother alerting the office receptionist or anyone else that Richie's wife might call. After his conversation with Levy, he figured her call wouldn't come.

Throughout the morning Holman was congratulated on making his release and welcomed as a full-time hire even though he had already been working there for two months. Holman kept an eye on the clock as he worked, anxious for the free hour he would have at lunch.

Holman took a p.i.s.s break at ten minutes after eleven. While he was standing at the urinal another inmate hire named Marc Lee Pitchess took the next stall. Holman didn't like Pitchess and had avoided him during his two-month training period.

Pitchess said, "Ten years is a long time. Welcome back."

"You've been seeing me five days a week for the past two months. I haven't been anywhere."

"They still gonna test you?"

"Get away from me."

"I'm just saying. I can get you a kit, you keep a little sample with you ready to go, you'll be all set when they spring it on you, p.i.s.s in a cup."

Holman finished and stepped back from the urinal. He turned to face Pitchess, but Pitchess was staring ahead at the wall.

"Stay the f.u.c.k away from me with that s.h.i.+t."

"You feel the need, I can hook you up, your basic pharmaceuticals, sleep aids, blow, X, oxy, whatever."

Pitchess shook off and zipped, but still didn't move. He stared at the wall. Someone had drawn a picture of a c.o.c.k with a little word balloon. The c.o.c.k was saying smoke this, b.i.t.c.h.

Pitchess said, "Just tryin' to help a brother."

Pitchess was still smiling when Holman walked out and looked up Gilbert.

Tony said, "How's it going, your first day?"

"Doin' fine. Listen, I want to ask you, I need to get to the DMV to take the test and after work is too late. Could you cut me an extra hour at lunch?"

"Don't they open on Sat.u.r.day morning?"

"You have to make an appointment and they're booked three weeks. I'd really like to get this done, Tony."

Holman could tell that Gilbert didn't appreciate being asked, but he finally went along.

"Okay, but if there's some kind of problem, you call. Don't take advantage. This isn't getting off to a good start, you asking for time on your first day."

"Thanks, Tony."

"Two o'clock. I want you back by two o'clock. That should be plenty of time."

"Sure, Tony. Thanks."

Gilbert hadn't mentioned Richie and Holman didn't bring it up. Gail hadn't called, which suited Holman. He didn't want to have to explain about Richie, and have Richie lead into Donna and the whole f.u.c.king mess he had made of his life.

When Gilbert finally turned away and steamed off across the floor, Holman walked back to the office and punched out even though it wasn't yet noon.

Chapter 6.

HOLMAN BOUGHT a small bunch of red roses from a Latin cat at the bottom of the freeway off-ramp. Here was this dude, probably illegal, with a cowboy hat and a big plastic bucket filled with bundles of flowers, hoping to score with people on their way to the graveyard. The dude asked eight--ocho--but Holman paid ten, guilty he hadn't thought to bring flowers before seeing the cat with his bucket, even more guilty because Donna was gone and Richie hadn't thought enough of him to let him know.

Baldwin Haven Cemetery covered the wide face of a rolling hillside just off the 405 in Baldwin Hills. Holman turned through the gates and pulled up alongside the main office, hoping no one had seen the c.r.a.ppy condition of his car. Perry's old Mercury was such a s.h.i.+tpile that anyone who saw him pull up would think he was here to hustle work tr.i.m.m.i.n.g weeds. Holman brought the flowers inside with him, thinking he would make a better impression.

The cemetery office was a large room divided by a counter. Two desks and some file cabinets sat on one side of the counter; landscape plans were laid out on a large table on the other side. An older woman with grey hair glanced up from one of the desks when he entered.

Holman said, "I need to find someone's grave."

She stood and came to the counter.

"Yes, sir. Could I have the party's name?"

"Donna Banik."

"Banner?"

"B-A-N-I-K. She was buried here about two years ago."

The woman went to a shelf and took down what looked to Holman like a heavy frayed ledger. Her lips moved as she flipped the pages, mumbling the name, Banik.

She found the entry, wrote something on a note slip, then came out from behind the counter and led Holman to the landscape plans.

"Here, I can show you how to find the site."

Holman followed her as she circled the landscape map. She checked the coordinates written on the slip, then pointed out a tiny rectangle in a uniform rank and file of tiny rectangles, each labeled by number.

"She's here, on the south face. We're here in the office, so what you'll do is turn right out of the parking lot and follow the road to this fork, then veer left. She's right in front of the mausoleum here. Just count the rows, third row from the street, the sixth marker from the end. You shouldn't have any trouble, but if you do, just come back and I'll show you."

Holman stared at the tiny blue rectangle with its indecipherable number.

"She's my wife."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Well, she wasn't my wife, but like that, a long time ago. We hadn't seen each other in a long time. I didn't even know she had pa.s.sed until yesterday."

"Well, if you need any help just let me know."

Holman watched the woman return to her place behind the counter, clearly uninterested in who Donna was to him. Holman felt a flash of anger, but he had never been one to share his feelings. During the ten years he spent at Lompoc he had rarely mentioned Donna or Richie. What was he going to do, swap family stories with s.h.i.+tbird convicts and predatory criminals like Pitchess? Real people talked about their families with other real people, but Holman didn't know real people and had abandoned his family, and now lost them. He had suddenly needed to tell someone about Donna, but the best he could do was an uninterested stranger. Recognizing the need left him feeling lonely and pathetic.

Holman climbed back into the Mercury and followed the directions to Donna's grave. He found a small bronze plaque set into the earth bearing Donna's name and the years of her birth and death. On the plaque was a simple legend: Beloved Mother.

Holman laid the roses on the gra.s.s. He had rehea.r.s.ed what he wanted to tell her when he got out a thousand times, but now she was dead and it was too late. Holman didn't believe in an afterlife. He didn't believe she was up in Heaven, watching him. He told her anyway, staring down at the roses and the plaque.

"I was a rotten p.r.i.c.k. I was all those things you ever called me and worse. You had no idea how rotten I really was. I used to thank G.o.d you didn't know, but now I'm ashamed. If you had known you would've given up on me, and you might've married some decent guy and had something. I wish you had known. Not for me, but for you. So you wouldn't have wasted your life."

Beloved Mother.

Holman returned to his car and drove back to the office. The woman was showing the map of the grounds to a middle-aged couple when Holman walked in, so he waited by the door. The cold air in the little office felt good after standing in the sun. After a few minutes, the woman left the couple talking over available sites and came over.

"Did you find it okay?"

"Yeah, thanks, you made it real easy. Listen, I want to ask you something. Do you remember who made the arrangements?"

"For her burial?"

"I don't know if it was her sister or a husband or what, but I'd like to share in the cost. We were together a long time, then I was away, and, well, it's not right that I didn't share the expenses."

"It's been paid for. It was paid for at the time of the service."

"I figured that, but I still want to offer to pay. Part of it, at least."

"You want to know who paid for the burial?"

"Yes, ma'am. If you can give me a phone number or an address or something. I'd like to offer to help out on the costs."

The woman glanced at her other customers but they were still talking over the various sites. She went back around the counter to her desk and searched through the trash can until she found the slip with the plot numbers.

"That was Banik, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll have to look it up for you. I have to find the records. Can you leave a phone number?"

Holman wrote Perry's number on her note-pad.

She said, "This is very generous. I'm sure her family will be glad to hear from you."

"Yes, ma'am. I hope so."

Holman went out to his car and drove back toward the City of Industry. With the time and the traffic he figured he would get back to work before two o'clock, but then he turned on the radio and all of that changed. The station had broken into their regular programming with news that a suspect had been named in the murders of the four officers, and a warrant had been issued for his arrest.

Holman turned up the volume and forgot about work. He immediately began looking for a phone.

Chapter 7.