Free Unfinished Business - Barbara Seranella by Barbara Seranella Page B

mommy isn't
around. Even if he or she says he knows your mommy you go tell a
teacher. "
    Asia nodded solemnly. Munch felt a deep resentment
that this conversation had to take place. She didn't want Asia
growing up any faster than she had to.
    "Draw me a picture in school tomorrow," he
said, letting Munch know he'd made the decision that Asia should
attend her classes.
    "And with that, we
should be on our way." She shrugged at St. John and made the
universal hand symbol for "I'll call you tomorrow."
    * * *
    Munch was exhausted when they finally got home. She
made Asia wake up and walk under her own power. The little girl
weighed fifty pounds now, too much to be carrying anymore. But Munch
did bring in Asia's lunch box and knapsack of school supplies. The
front porch was dark.
    "I have to pee," Asia whined.
    "All right, we're almost there." Munch
shifted her load to her left hand and brought the key to the door
with her right. Typically, the phone started to ring.
    "Shi-oot," Munch said out loud when the key
wouldn't go in the door. Even though this act of separating the door
key from the rest on the ring was a rote task she performed nightly
tonight she had selected the wrong key. By the time she got the door
open, the phone stopped ringing and whoever it was didn't leave a
message. She found that more disquieting than she wanted to admit.
    The phone rang again. Asia reached for it.
    "No," Munch said, with more force than she
intended. Asia jumped back. Munch picked up the receiver, tried to
give Asia a comforting smile, and said, "Hello?"
    " You have a nice house," the strangely
distorted voice said. It vibrated, sounding like the voice of that
robot in that old television show Lost in Space. The cadence was
slow, as if the speaker needed an extra moment to prepare each word.
"But you really shouldn't take the same route home every day."
    She felt confused. Her mind grasped for a face, an
identity to attach to this person. "Garret?" she asked,
knowing immediately that she was wrong. Now the fear was setting in.
She flashed to a quick image of one of those cop shows where some mob
informant was being interviewed. You could only see the guy's
silhouette. He was always in a dark room, with a baseball cap pulled
low, and his voice electronically altered so none of the guys he was
snitching on could identify him.
    "Not Garret," the voice said. "Not the
guy you fuck once a week."
    "Who is this? What do you want?"
    "Love. Understanding." He made a noise that
sounded like someone humming on helium. She interpreted it as a sigh,
especially when he added, "I'm doing the best that I can here.
You, of all people, should understand that. So back off, bitch."
 
    Chapter 10
    WEDNESDAY
    S t. John got to work at
six the next morning and went directly downstairs to the roll call
room. Stacks of file boxes filled one corner. Bulletin boards
displayed mug shots of the top ten predators currently at large in
the area.
    He leaned against one of the room's support pillars,
near the front, close to the podium. Uniformed cops sat at the rows
of tables facing a small stage equipped with video equipment and
chalkboard. The scent of strong, black coffee filled the air. He
hated going to morning briefings, which were mostly for patrol
anyway. Things had changed so much from when he was in uniform. In
the sixties and seventies, the seating arrangement had been
determined by the hash marks on your sleeve. One for every five years
on the force. The old-timers sat in the back row, the rookies in the
front. There was one color: blue.
    Then, with this eighties decade, had come the racial
polarization. Blacks sitting with their own, Hispanics banding
together.
    Memos being handed out almost daily on the correct
wording to use. Negro or Neg. was no longer acceptable, nor was
Mexican. Latino was okay. Chicano was not. He rolled with it all.
Just as long as they got to keep catching bad guys.
    But the newest trend was the most disturbing yet.
With the passing of