"I told you, I don't know no guns," Miguel whimpered. "He never give me nothing!"

  Dez shook his head sadly and looked up at the other men surrounding them, all staring eagerly at the small Latino man sitting duct taped to the folding chair in the middle of the warehouse. "I tried, right?" Dez said to them.

  Skip Fitzpatrick, a tall, Irish narcotics officer from the Philadelphia District Attorney's Office nodded and said, "Yeah, you did."

  Ondrey Williams ran a hand over the top of his smooth, shining brown head and said, "Some motherfuckers need proof of action to understand what they up against." It was Ondrey's case, brought over from the twenty-ninth district where he worked plainclothes.

  Dez hitched up his slacks by his thin leather belt and said, "All right, let him in."

  Miguel's head shot up as the rusted metal door banged open from across the room and an enormous man in a rabbit costume stepped out of the shadows, his fur a bright shade of pink with hearts printed all over it. "Not el conejo verdad. Please, I don' know anything! I have no guns!"

  "That's not just any old verdad conejo, Miguel," Dez said. "This here is the Psycho Rabbit. He's what you might call troubled."

  Psycho Rabbit twirled a bright orange nightstick in its hand, slapping it into its padded palm eagerly as it stalked Miguel. The stick's hickory length was dented and scarred by decades of use, passed down from generation to generation, the only alteration being the occasional new layer of orange paint. They hadn't painted it in a while and the stick was turning dark orange from dried blood. "Last chance," Dez said. "Where's the gun?"

  Miguel's hands flexed and twitched under the tight strands of tape binding his wrists to the sides of the chair, and the lap of his tan khakis turned dark brown and wet, but all he could do was cry out, "No, no, no, no!"

  There was a flash of dayglow orange as the nightstick whirled through the air in an arc, followed by a sharp crack of hickory against Miguel's kneecap. Miguel threw back his head and howled in pain, screaming for mercy. "Tell me where the fucking gun is!" Dez hollered.

  The rabbit gripped the stick with both hands and reared back to thrust the front end into the side of Miguel's jaw like a battering ram. The impact drove him sideways enough to topple the chair over and leave his jaw hanging like an unhinged drawer. He opened his mouth to moan and chunks of his broken teeth scattered onto the cement floor like dice.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dez cried out.

  Ondrey Williams ran up behind the rabbit and smacked him in the back of his fluffy head and yanked the nightstick out of his paws. "Asshole! What the hell are you doing?"

  "Pick him up," Dez groaned, sending Fitzpatrick to Miguel's aid. He grabbed the rabbit by the arm and pulled him away from the others. "Dude, you aren't supposed to permanently injure them. That's not what this is about."

  "You told me to play this up, remember? The old Truth Rabbit gimmick wasn't working like before. That was what you said, Dez."

  "Well he's not much good to us if he can't talk, now is he?" Dez hissed.

  The rabbit lowered his empty black eyes to the ground and said, "I missed because he moved. It's his fault."

  Dez looked over his shoulder, "How's Miguel?"

  Miguel's face was slumped forward and blood was leaking onto the front of his shirt. "He's fucked up," Fitzpatrick said.

  "He's faking it," the rabbit said, moving around Dez, "You thought that was bad? I'm going to shove this up your ass until it comes out of your mouth you little faggot!"

  Dez grabbed a handful of the rabbit's zippered-up collar and said, "That's enough!" He pushed Psycho Rabbit back and assessed the situation. "How fucking hard is it to get a good rabbit these days, anyway? All right, untie one of Miguel's hands and put him in the closet. Give him a cup of water or something. We'll see if he's ready to talk in an hour or so when those busted stumps in his gums start to swell up."

  Ondrey Williams turned Miguel over in his chair so that the headrest was against the cement floor and he grabbed the front legs and lifted it, dragging Miguel across the concrete like he was dragging a wheelbarrow. A sudden knock on the building's front door made everyone stop. "Who the fuck is that?" Fitzpatrick said to Dez. "If it's your crazy bitch Aprille again, I'm gonna slap her across the face with my dick. She was told to stay away."

  Dez dug in his front pocket for his phone and opened the screen that connected him to the small surveillance camera sitting above the door. He waited for the feed to load into his phone and said, "Your tiny little Irish potato wouldn't reach past your zipper, Skip."

  "It might not be long but it's as fat as a cheesewheel," Fitzpatrick said with a grin.

  The screen loaded the image of two men in suits standing by the front door, the right hips of each jacket bulging with barely-hidden firearms. Dez didn't recognize them and held up the phone, "Anybody know these two?"

  Fitzpatrick looked down and said, "Nope. They're not from the DA's office."

  Ondrey Williams snapped his fingers at the rabbit and said, "Take him into the closet wit chu and shut the door. Keep him quiet." As Psycho Rabbit pulled Miguel's helpless form into the darkness of the room behind him, Ondrey said, "And do not touch him while you're in there, or I will personally fuck you up."

  "If they had a search warrant, there'd be more of them," Fitzpatrick said. "I say we ignore them and they'll go away."

  The door banged again and Dez said, "Fuck that. I want to know what they want." He tucked his shirt into his pants and nodded his head at the blood drops sprinkled across the floor that led to the closet. "Get the mop. And pick up those teeth." Dez watched Ondrey scowl as he plucked up Miguel's loose teeth from the ground and carry them over to the back door before he buttoned up his suit coat and headed out to greet the newcomers. "Hang on," he called out.

  He pulled the two heavy bolts that kept the door locked and pushed it open, squinting in the harsh glare of daylight. "Can I help you?"

  "Special Agent Desmond Dolos?" the first man said. When Dez nodded, he held up a small silver badge and said, "I'm Sergeant Phillips and this is Sergeant Rand. We're with Internal Affairs."

  Dez smiled blandly, "That's interesting that you know my name and how to find me. I guess we're not running as undercover an operation as I thought. What can I do for you boys?"

  "We get that a lot," Sgt. Phillips said. "We're looking for Officer Ondrey Williams. Is he here?"

  Dez looked past the IAD men and saw Williams' car sitting on the street a block down from the building. He was sure the men standing in front of him had seen it too. "Sure," Dez nodded. "But we're kind of in the middle of something. Can I ask how you boys knew to look for him here?"

  "We'll need to speak with him right away," Sgt. Rand said. They shouldered their way past Dez and called out, "Officer Williams?"

  "Back here," Williams said. "What's up?"

  The IAD sergeants moved in unison toward Williams and flanked him either side, "You're being asked to come with us in accordance with an internal investigation. Will you do so voluntarily, or do you refuse?"

  Williams held up his hands and said, "What's this all about?"

  "We'll explain more once we get back." Sgt. Phillips reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a small green card to read, "You are being asked to provide information as part of an internal investigation. This is a voluntary interview and you do not have to answer questions if your answers would tend to implicate you in a crime. No disciplinary action will be taken against you solely for refusing to answer questions. However, the evidentiary value of your silence may be considered in administrative proceedings as part of the facts surrounding your case. Any statement you do choose to provide may be used as evidence in criminal and/or administrative proceedings." Sgt. Phillips tucked the card back in his shirt and said, "Do you choose to comply with this investigation?"

  Ondrey's eyes flicked from Dez to Fitzpatrick nervously, but neither of them moved or spoke. "Sure, sure," Ondrey said. "Did you really need to come down here and do all this? You could have called and I would have came in."

  "Let's go," Sgt. Rand said. "We'll talk more in the car."

  Dez watched the two IAD sergeants lead Ondrey through the building and out the front door. He followed behind them to watch them place the officer in the back seat of their black, unmarked vehicle and then pull onto the street. "What the fuck just happened," he said.

  "Goddamn rat squad," Fitzpatrick muttered.

  "Have you heard anything? Anything at all?" Dez said.

  "Nah. It's probably something to do with the twenty-ninth district. That place is a den of thieves and thugs. Don't sweat it."

  "Then how the fuck did they know to come here, Skip?" Dez grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him forward, slamming the tip of his index finger into the side of Fitzpatrick's head, "Don't fucking stand there and act like it's nothing. Think about it! Have you heard anything?"

  "No, Dez. I haven't heard shit. I'll ask around the DA's office tomorrow and see who knows what."

  "God damn it!" Dez shouted, kicking a plastic trashcan across the room.

  The closet door slowly opened and Psycho Rabbit's pink fluffy ears peeked out as he said, "Is it safe to come out yet? This guy stinks like piss."

  Dez covered his face with his hand and said, "Get that Mexican piece of garbage out of this fucking building. Both of you."

  "What do you want us to do with him?"

  "Drop him off in Chester City, throw him in the fucking Delaware, I don't give a shit!" Dez shouted. "Just get him the fuck out of here and do not come back until I contact you. Either one of you, understand?"

  Skip Fitzpatrick nodded, but the rabbit said, "Do you want us to try talking to him a little more before we let him go?"

  "Just shut up, idiot," Fitzpatrick whispered.

  "Listen to me, you fucking inbreed," Dez snarled, getting close enough to the rabbit's face to feel its whiskers tickle his nose. "If you do one more thing, just one more, to any single human being without my say so, I'm going to strap you into a chair and cut you apart with a chainsaw. Do you understand me?"

  Psycho Bunny looked down at Dez with black, plastic eyes, his mask a permanent fixture of a gaping, buck-toothed smile, and he said, "I understand."

  Chapter Six

  Frank moved his feet off the ottoman so his little girl had room for her Barbie dolls to sit on it. "Thanks, daddy," Cory said.

  He scratched the top of her head and said, "Actually, I was hoping your Barbies would watch TV with us."

  "You were?"

  "Sure."

  "Do you want to play with me?"

  "Of course," he said, but he caught Dawn's impatient stare from the kitchen as she stood there holding a wet wooden spoon like it was a throwing knife. "Maybe after dinner, okay? Daddy needs to talk to Mommy."

  "Okay," she said.

  He got up from the couch and leaned on the kitchen island as Dawn muttered, "I asked you what we are going to do for money?"

  "We'll manage," Frank said. "So we cut back on some expenses, so what? It's not like I'm not going to work. I'll get two jobs if I have to. I'll probably still work less than I do now."

  Dawn's lips pursed together but she chose not to speak. She turned toward the stove and started to stir the spaghetti in the pot like it had called her a bad name. "You had no right to make this kind of decision without me," she finally said.

  Frank took a deep breath and came up behind her, standing close enough to lay his hands on both her shoulders and smell her hair. "You're right. I'm sorry," he said. "It's going to be for the best, though. I promise." There were a million explanations he wanted to give, a million things to lay out in front of her for his defense, but he decided to just let the apology sit for a moment, unspoiled by excuses.

  "I guess now I don't have to worry about you leaving us," Dawn said.

  He pulled on her arm to get her to turn slightly and look at him, "What does that mean?"

  Her eyes filled with accusation but she turned to look past him at their daughter, still playing with her dolls, singing innocently to herself. "You okay in there, sweetie?"

  "I'm fine," she said.

  Frank lowered his voice, "I'm not leaving you."

  "Well maybe you should. It's obvious you aren't happy here. I keep trying to make plans with you and you blow me off. You're always running off to God knows where to do God knows what." Her voice started to shake, "You think I can't do better than you, Frank? You think there aren't still people out there who find me attractive and want to spend time with me?"

  Frank stared at his wife as his mind reeled, trying to calculate what she was saying. "Are you trying to tell me something, Dawn?"

  Dawn looked down at the pot and scratched her face, "No, not exactly."

  Frank grabbed her by the arm so hard she winced, "What the hell does that mean!"

  "You're hurting me, Frank," Dawn hissed. She peeled his fingers away and stepped back.

  "Are. You. Seeing. Someone. Else," Frank said.

  "No," Dawn said. "Are you?"

  "No," Frank shot back. "Of course not."

  Dawn looked at him contemptuously, "Do you know what I think? I think that even if you were I wouldn't be able to tell. When we first married I knew everything there was to know about you. I could tell what you'd say before you even said it. I could just look at you and know how your day was, whether you were happy or sad, all of that. But now? It's like living with an alien."

  "I'm still me, Dawn. I haven't changed how I feel about you."

  "That doesn't mean it's the same for me, Frank."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I want a divorce."

  "What!"

  She took a deep breath and suddenly laughed with relief, "There. I said it. I want a divorce. I'm tired of living like this and I can do better."

  Frank stepped back, eyes blinking rapidly. He felt himself stagger like she'd punched him in the face. "You can't have one. I'm not divorcing you," he finally said.

  He reached for her, trying to pull her close to him so he could tell her things would be better, but Dawn blocked him from coming near her and said, "You don't have to. I'm divorcing you."

  He sat down at the table and did not speak until Dawn called the girls in for dinner and began to pass out their plates. He listened to Cory talk, her musical, tinkling voice the most beautiful thing in the entire world. He looked at Devon, his older daughter, and noticed that she was starting to look like a younger version of Dawn when they'd first met. It wouldn't be long until the boys began to notice how pretty she was becoming either. If they haven't already, he thought. He could make out a bra strap on her shoulder under her t-shirt and thought, when did that happen?

  "I'll pick you both up tomorrow from school so I can get you to rehearsal on time. Make sure you have your ballet shoes in your schoolbags, okay?" Dawn said.

  "Okay, Mom," both girls said.

  "Rehearsal for what?" Frank said.

  "Recital. It's in two weeks," Dawn said.

  "I'll take them."

  The women at the table all turned and looked at Frank silently.

  "I'm off. I'll pick them up from school and I'll take them to rehearsal," Frank said. "I'd love to."

  "You're sure. That means you have to be there," Dawn said. "No last minute excuses or drug jobs or anything else."

  Frank shrugged, "I said I'd do it. I'm sure you can go get other stuff done."

  "Okay," Dawn said, looking at him skeptically. "Then I'm going to rely on you for this."

  "Wait, wait, wait," Frank said, looking at Cory. "I have one question. Do I get to dance too?"

  "No, silly," she giggled.

  Frank smacked the table, "What? I was going to get ballet shoes and everything. I was going to be the duck."

  "What duck?"

  "The duck with the lake!"

  Devon rolled her eyes, "You mean Swan Lake?"

  "Same thing," Frank said. He flapped his arms and said, "Honk-honk. See? I'm practicing already."

  His cellphone rang from the other room and Dawn shook her head as she chewed in exasperation, "Never fails."

  Frank stabbed a pile of spaghetti with his fork and shrugged, "I don't hear anything. Do you guys hear anything?"

  "Nope," Cory said, smiling as she stuffed her face with food.

  He lifted the fork to his mouth and started to chew. Eventually, the phone stopped ringing.

  After dinner, he told everyone to leave their things on the table and he would clean up. He gave Dawn space, knowing it would be useless to crowd her. When she said she was going upstairs to tuck the girls in, she added, "I'm probably going to bed too."

  Frank stood up when she said it, and she gave him a light, passionless kiss on the cheek that felt automated and routine. Frank said, "Okay. I'll be up in a few."

  He cleaned up the dishes from dinner and loaded the dishwasher. He put the extra food in containers and found space for them in the fridge. After it was finished, he went upstairs and into his kids' room and kissed both of them on the tops of their heads. "Goodnight, my loves," he said.

  "Goodnight, dad."

  He bent down close to Cory's ear and whispered, "Honk-honk," making her giggle again. Frank shut their door and walked over to his bedroom and put his hand behind his back before he knocked lightly. Dawn was sitting up in bed watching TV and said, "What are you doing knocking?"

  "I didn't want to come in if you weren't decent or anything."

  "You've been looking at me naked every day for fifteen years."

  "I know, but that doesn't mean it's my right or anything. It's supposed to be a privilege."

  Dawn clicked off the television and said, "Listen, I don't really want to talk right now. Can we discuss it tomorrow?"

  "Sure," Frank said, "but I just figured you'd want to see what I found."

  "What did you find?"

  He showed her his hidden hand and smiled, "I found a back rub hidden in the pantry and you won't believe it, but there was a foot rub in there too."

  "Seriously?" Dawn said.

 

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