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WOOD-CHOPPING, 101
The Future
December 27th, Glimpses into the Future Universe Dan brushed his hands off against his signature
dark jeans after placing the last log into the large woodbin by the
old-fashioned wood burning stove. “That should last you several days, Mr.
Maypenny.” “You didn’t have to chop all that wood,
son,” the elderly man said from his spot in the rocking chair, which was
positioned in the living area of the small cabin. “It’s no problem. You know I enjoy getting
out in the woods during my visits home. Besides, I just chopped a little bit.
I carried most of this firewood in from the shed. I’ll split some more for
you next week.” “I can do that, Daniel. I may not be as
young as I used to be, but I daresay I could still out-chop the best of
them,” Mr. Maypenny crowed. “I’ll bet you could, too. But if I don’t
work these scrawny muscles of mine every once in a while, they’ll get soft.”
Dan flexed his biceps once, allowing the rock hard muscle to strain the
material of his black T-shirt. “Now, wouldn’t it be a shame if I lost these
guns?” he asked, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. Mr. Maypenny chuckled. “Do you remember how
skinny you were when you first came to Sleepyside? I don’t think your upper
arms were any bigger around than a milk jug ring.” “Yeah, and I had to tease the hair on my
legs to get my socks to stay up,” Dan added, grinning broadly. He had heard
that particular sentiment several times from Mr. Maypenny. “That was many years ago,” the old man
murmured wistfully. “Thirteen years this coming February.” “Seems like yesterday.” The sentiment lingered until Dan observed
Mr. Maypenny closer. The elderly gentleman’s shoulders had become hunched
through the years, and his thick head of white hair had thinned slightly. His
hands, once so rough and tan, were now covered with age spots, and if Dan
looked hard, he could see a slight tremor in them when Mr. Maypenny was not
clasping them tightly together. His guardian’s gait, once so sure and fast,
had grown a bit slower, and at times he even stumbled. He could still swing
an ax better than any man around, but his strength quickly waned. Sadly, Dan
observed more decline during each visit, and it bothered the young policeman
more than he cared to admit. Dan cleared his throat. “I’ll be back New Year’s Eve,” he said. “There should be plenty of
wood out on the porch to last you till then. I filled up the closed-in shed
behind the house with enough logs to build another cabin.” “When did you say you’d be back?” “New Year’s Eve,” Dan repeated, this time
louder. “There’s some big swanky party at the Country Club that the rest of
the Bob-Whites are dragging me to.” “New Year’s Eve?” Mr. Maypenny’s wrinkled
brow met in a knot above his beaked nose. “Why, that’s only four days from
now.” “I told
you I was coming back in a few days,” Dan told him gently. “Well, I know
that,” Mr. Maypenny retorted crossly. He had gotten defensive lately if
anyone pointed out that his memory wasn’t as sharp as it used to be. “I just
didn’t think it would be that soon.
Don’t the city policemen have some sort of shindig that night?” “Yeah, but I’d rather come back to
Sleepyside and ring in the new year with the Bob-Whites,” Dan explained with
a shrug. “And of course, Mrs. B’s having a big get-together at her house New
Year’s Day, and only a fool would pass up a chance to eat at Crabapple Farm.” “Bringing a lady friend with you?” Mr.
Maypenny questioned slyly. “Just Beulah,” Dan answered, referring to
his beloved ’69 Ford that had been a gift from Mr. Maypenny years ago. He
waggled his dark brows mischievously. “Bringing a truck for your date,” Mr.
Maypenny replied scornfully. “I’ll have you know that an automobile can’t
keep you warm on these cold nights.” “Tell me about it.” Dan snorted. “I think
the heater’s blowing out cold air, and the air conditioning’s blowing out hot
air. I need to ask Tom to take a look at her.” Mr. Maypenny scratched his stubbly chin. “I
thought you were courting someone. Kaye something-or-another?” “We stopped seeing each other last
September,” Dan reminded him. “We weren’t serious or anything. She’d also
been dating some dude in politics, and I think they ran off and eloped. They
just bought a house.” “Was she the dark-headed one?” “Nah, that was Ronda,” Dan corrected. “I
dated her for a couple weeks in October.” “But you brought Kaye to Thanksgiving
Dinner?” Dan shook his head. “No, that was Steph, although she had blondish hair like Kaye. You’re
thinking of Beth, who I went out with a couple of times before Christmas.” Mr. Maypenny glared at him reproachfully.
“How’s a man supposed to keep track? Back in my day, a man didn’t court every
single girl he met.” “I don’t court all of them,” Dan remarked defensively. With an ornery wink, he
added, “Just the pretty ones.” “Back
in the good ol’ days, a fellow found a nice girl,
settled down, and raised a few kids.” “Hmmm…” Dan murmured thoughtfully. “I think
the pot just called the kettle black.” “You know I never wanted to get married,”
Mr. Maypenny said sternly, pointing his finger at the young man in a
chastising manner. “I’ve always been more than satisfied to stay out here in
the woods by myself. I chose this
sort of life, knowing a family wasn’t the right decision for me. Ain’t nothing more annoying than
people, and I prefer my companions to be the squirrels and the hoot owls.” “I’m a people, er
person,” Dan pointed out with an evil grin. “You let me live here.” “Yes, and what a mistake that was.” The obvious affection in
both his tone and eyes made it clear that Mr. Maypenny was only teasing. “I’m
lecturing you for your own good, Daniel. All the Bob-Whites are in steady
relationships except you. Why, at this rate Honey and Brian will be married
before you even go steady with a gal.” “Maybe I don’t want to get married,” Dan countered stubbornly. “What if I want to build my own cabin out in the woods, miles away
from all the annoying people?” “The hermit life isn’t for you, Daniel
Mangan,” Mr. Maypenny replied wisely. “You can run from love, but you won’t
be able to hide forever. Someday it’ll catch up with you, and when it does,
you’d better take cover.” Dan merely looked out the window. He never
liked it when Mr. Maypenny was right, and something deep in the pit of his
stomach told him that this was one of those times. “So you’d better get out there and start
looking,” Mr. Maypenny added. “What you
need is a fiery redhead. I don’t think you’ve dated one of them yet.” “You know I don’t date redheads,” Dan said,
a wistful expression clouding his features. “Then go get me one,” Mr. Maypenny instructed. He followed up his request with
a hardy chuckle. “Seriously, Daniel, just go find you a good, virtuous wife
like the old black book talks about. I’m not getting any younger, you know.
If I’m going to teach my grandbabies the proper way to hold an ax, you’d
better get a move on. Lord knows their daddy won’t be able to learn ‘em as good as I could.” Dan smiled tenderly at the old man. “Mr.
Maypenny, you don’t have anything to worry about. You’re going to be around
forever.” “Heck fire, I am!” Mr. Maypenny slapped his
thigh excitedly. “One of these years, I’m going to take all my money and buy
me a condo off in “Probably,” Dan laughed. “Probably.” He
walked into the small living area, where Mr. Maypenny sat. He bent down and
kissed the top of the old man’s white head. “I’ll see ya
next week, Mr. Maypenny. I’d better get Luther back to the stable before
Regan skins my hide.” “Good-bye, Daniel.” The old man watched
fondly as Dan left, wondering where the time had gone and why it had to pass
so quickly.
Dan inhaled deeply, finding the aroma of the
Manor House Stable strangely comforting. Of course, these barns could not be
compared to the average facility used for boarding horses. His uncle was careful
to keep the Wheelers’ barns immaculate, even to the point of obsessive. Dan was sure that the stalls in Regan’s
stables were cleaner than the interior of most homes. And remembering some of
the dwellings that he had visited in the slums of He tethered Luther, the chestnut
Morgan that had replaced Spartan years ago, to a pole in the middle of the
barn. The medium-sized gelding snorted and, strangely enough, almost shook
his head in disfavor. “C’mon, buddy,” Dan murmured
comfortingly. “I know you don’t like to be tied up, but we wouldn’t want you
bolting out of the stable, would we?” Almost as if Luther could understand
his master, he ceased his head-shaking and allowed Dan to loosely tether him
to the pole. He patiently swatted flies with his long tail as Dan removed his
saddle, blanket, and bridle and put them away in their proper spots. The
horse snorted a greeting after Dan returned from the tack room carrying a few
pieces of equipment he needed for grooming. Dan smiled as he affectionately ran
his hand through the horse’s black mane. Luther had been purchased after
Spartan’s death at the distinguished age of twenty-eight nine years ago. Now
almost twenty-years-old, Luther wasn’t exactly a spring chicken, either. In
spite of his vintage, the old horse was still spry for his age and able to
easily carry Dan around the preserve as he occasionally patrolled on the
weekends for the aging Mr. Maypenny. Lately, the horse’s gait had slowed a
bit and Dan watched his old friend visibly decline, an unwanted reminder of
the situation with Mr. Maypenny. It pained his heart as he realized two very
close and dear companions would not always be around. Dan hated to admit it, but Luther’s sprinting
days were far gone. However, he saw no need to bring that particular fact up
in the presence of the other residents of the stable, especially the less seasoned ones. Dan felt very protective of his faithful
companion. He glanced around the stable and, sure enough, Jim’s horse
Mercury, Jupiter’s much younger half-brother, was poking his coal black head
through the open top of his stall. Fearing the much younger, powerful steed
would look askance at his ancient counterpart, the sentimental side of Dan decided
there was no harm in protecting Luther’s reputation. If Mercury assumed that
Luther could gallop away at any given moment, so be it. “Now, calm down, Luther,” Dan sternly
admonished, loud enough for the young, arrogant stallion nearby to hear. He
made sure to give the old horse a wink so that Luther would know he wasn’t
serious. “I know you’re champing at
the bit, but I’m exhausted. I need to rest a while before I put you back in
your stall.” He
gave a friendly slap to the horse’s backside. Luther turned his head to Dan
and began bumping it against his master’s stomach, begging for more
attention. Dan laughed as he scratched his old friend’s ears in just the spot
that Luther liked. “You ready to trade that model in for
something with a bit more… horsepower?”
Regan asked with a grin as he exited his office and entered the main room of
the stable. “Shhh!” Dan
hissed, giving his uncle a nasty look. “He’ll hear you.” “He can still hear?” Regan threw his back
and chuckled at the horrified look his nephew shot at him. “Not Luther. I don’t want him to hear.” As Dan emphasized the
word “him”, he nodded in the direction of Mercury’s stall. Regan scratched his chin, puzzled. “Him
who?” “Him him,” Dan said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. When it became
obvious Regan still did know of whom he spoke, he decided to spell it out,
literally. “M-E-R-C-U-R-Y.” “Mercury!” Regan exclaimed with a hoot,
chuckling at his nephew’s reaction. “Shhhh!” Dan
ordered. “I don’t want him to know that we’re talking about him! That’s why I
spelled his name, you moron.” “As much training as that horse has had, he can probably not only spell, but also
solve trigonometric functions, recite the periodic table by memory, and give
you a list of former presidents in alphabetical order,” Regan remarked with a
snort. Dan, who had been covering the Morgan’s ears
with his hands, shot his uncle a dirty look. “Yeah, and I’ll bet the big
showoff walks on water while he does all that fancy stuff.” “Dan, don’t be crazy,” Regan disagreed,
feigning shock. “With those big horse shoes of his, he’d sink right to the
bottom of the lake.” He laughed uproariously at Dan’s wounded
expression. The red-haired groom gently patted the old Morgan on the rump.
“You ready for the pasture, boy?” Dan glared over at his uncle. “Ol’ Luther may be two decades young, but he isn’t quite
ready for the pasture field yet. He’s got a few good years left, and then
he’ll move in with me to my apartment in the city.” “Oh, that’d go over good with your
landlord,” Regan snorted sarcastically. “Besides, Dan, when I said ‘pasture’,
I meant the literal meadow, not some retirement villa for old, rich horses.
If you wanna ride Luther around until he keels
over, that’s fine with me. I don’t particularly want to go through the hassle
of finding you a replacement.” “Of all people, I’d thought you’d understand why I don’t want a
new horse,” Dan muttered, not so easily placated. With a bit of difficulty,
he dug into the pocket of his tight “Of course I understand,” Regan assured him.
“Luther’s been a big help to you through the years. How long have you had him
now?” Dan shrugged his shoulders, before squeezing
his hand into his pocket for another lump of sugar. “Spartan died three or
four years after I moved to Sleepyside. You got Luther after that, so I guess
it’d be close to nine years.” Dan rubbed the Morgan’s nose as he noisily
devoured the sugar. “I’ve grown pretty fond of the old guy.” “Yeah, Luther’s a fine feller,” Regan
agreed, bringing over a can of grain on which the horse could munch. It was
clear that, in spite of his teasing, he was quite fond of the horse himself.
“So, what’re you doing here in Sleepyside? Weren’t you just here day before
yesterday for Christmas?” “Just helping Maypenny in the preserve. He’s
been busy setting out all the salt blocks and keeping the feeders full, and
although he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s hard on him.” “How old is he now--- seventy-some?” Regan
inquired in a mixture of disbelief and admiration. “Just about,” Dan answered,
his voice growing heavy with concern. “I don’t know an exact age, but I do
know he’s getting up there. After all, it was only a year or two ago that I
found out his first name was Elijah and not ‘Mister’.” Regan chuckled in amusement, knowing Dan
spoke the truth. In many ways, the common, plainspoken Elijah Maypenny was an
enigma, even to those closest to him. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know his first name for a
long time, either. And even after I found out, I wouldn’t dare use it.” “You and me both, son,” Dan agreed with a
snort. “He’s one stubborn ol’ coot, but he’s
getting too old to be traipsing around in the woods like a teenager.” “Try telling him that,” Regan said, snickering. “I only hope I’m as spry as
Eli when I’m his age.” “He can’t keep this up,” Dan insisted, his
voice raising as he championed his cause. “I worry constantly that he’ll have
a heart attack out in the woods and just lay there, helpless. He could die
before anyone could find him.” Regan nodded, thoughtfully mulling his
nephew’s words. “True,” he said after a long pause, “but something could just
as easily happen to him while he’s alone in his cabin.” “Well, he needs to start acting his age,”
Dan blustered, purposely ignoring his uncle’s latter comment. “He’s not as
young as he used to be; he needs help, and the old man’s just too proud to
ask for it.” Regan studied his nephew carefully, one
coppery brow raised in query. “That why you’ve been coming home every
weekend?” “S’pose so.” Dan
moved to the opposite side of Luther and began properly grooming the horse. “You can’t keep him from dying, you know.” Dan’s coal black eyes darted everywhere
except near Regan, carefully avoiding his uncle’s gaze. “I can try.” Regan nodded, his sage green eyes boring
into his nephew’s back as Dan fastidiously ran the curry comb over Luther’s
chestnut belly. “So, you think if you spend all your free time in Sleepyside,
you can keep Eli safe?” Dan offered no response, busying himself
with grooming his horse. “You can’t keep doing this, Dan,” Regan
persisted in a gentler tone. “You’re wearing yourself out. If you aren’t on
duty at the police station, you’re either on the road or in the preserve.” Dan silently hung the curry comb back onto
its hook on the stable’s wall and chose a stifle-bristled brush. “You don’t have any time for yourself,”
Regan persisted. Dan exhaled loudly as he ran the brush
through Luther’s mane. “Don’t need time for myself.” Regan’s brow creased as he ran a freckled
hand through his closely cropped hair. “You’re never going to be able to
settle down and get married if you don’t date someone for more than two or
three weeks.” Dan snorted as he turned his head to look at
his uncle. “What is this? First Maypenny, and now you. Has December 27th
officially been dubbed ‘Campaign-to-See-Dan-Mangan-Married-Off Day’?” “As a matter of fact, Mr. Royal Pain in the
Butt, we’ve started the paperwork to get it declared a national holiday,”
Regan cracked smartly. “Besides, if you’re tired of the lecture, then get
serious about someone for a change.” “You’re one to talk.” “What do you mean?” Regan inquired. Dan shook his head slightly as he re-hung the
brush on its hook. “I don’t see you running out of room on your dance
card.” “That’s different,” Regan rationalized with
a shrug. “I’m a loner, and always have been. But you’re one of those annoying
‘people person’ people. You love to get in a crowd and cut up.” “Doesn’t mean I want to settle down and get
married.” “True,” Regan conceded. He studied his
nephew’s serious features, and his green eyes grew a bit misty. “But you’re
like your mother. She always talked about growing up and having her own family
someday. It was her dream.” “Just because Mom wanted a family doesn’t
mean I want the same thing for
myself,” Dan retorted sharply. “And just because a person says they don’t
want something doesn’t mean that they really
don’t want it. Especially if they don’t
want to want it.” “You’re starting to sound like Honey,” Dan
commented, annoyance evident in his tone. “Why? Does she nag at you about settling
down, too?” “Well, yeah, but I was talking more about
the rambling than the relationship advice,” Dan corrected. “Anyway, can you
please pick just one thing to gripe
at me about? I’m getting confused if you’re nagging about me coming to
Sleepyside too often, or about my love life or lack thereof.” “But why should I limit myself to ragging on
you about just one thing when I have so much to pick from?” Regan commented
with feigned innocence. “Jerk,” Dan muttered, a broad grin belying
his mean tone. Regan took a soft brush from the hook off
the wall and rubbed it along the underside of Luther’s belly. “So, have you
noticed anything different about Eli lately to get you worried, or are you
just being paranoid?” “Mostly I’m being paranoid,” Dan answered
honestly. “Aside from the normal failing as a result of age, he’s healthy as
a horse. It’s just that… Oh, never mind.” “What?” Regan prompted. Dan sighed wearily. “A couple of months ago
we got a call from someone in an apartment building complaining about a smell
coming from their neighbor’s. We went over to investigate, and sure enough,
the old man that lived next door had been dead for a week.” The young police officer closed his eyes and
shook his head as if he could physically remove the unpleasant memory from
his brain. “The poor old guy wasn’t particularly close to any of his family.
There weren’t any pictures of children or grandchildren anywhere to be found.
We had an awful time locating any relatives to contact who would take care of
burial. I just stood there, looking around the empty apartment, thinking
about Mr. Maypenny. “He deserves better than that,” Dan
continued softly. “He took me in when he didn’t have to, put up with my
crappy attitude, and showed me how to be a man. After being in the Cowhands,
I thought being a man was acting tough, pushing your weight around, getting
what you want. A couple of months with Mr. Maypenny taught me that the
Cowhands were a bunch of fools. Being a man was working hard for your family,
enjoying the blessings God has given you, and maintaining your integrity in
the process. If I lived a thousand years, I could never repay that old man
for all he’s done for me.” “They don’t make ‘em
like Elijah Maypenny anymore,” Regan said admiringly. “He’s the greatest man I’ve ever met.” “Remember the first time you met him?” Regan
recalled with a grin. “You thought he was an ax murderer.” “And I’m still not all that sure that he
isn’t,” Dan quipped, an amused smile on his own face. “I love that old coot.
I wouldn’t be in the police force today if it hadn’t been for his firm hand.
But walking in that apartment and seeing that elderly man, dead in his bed, I
just wonder if it’s worth it.” Regan looked up to meet his nephew’s gaze.
“What’re you talking about? Quitting the police force after how hard you’ve
worked to get there?” “Not quitting it entirely,” Dan amended.
“Just doing it someplace else.” He paused dramatically, and then tenuously
added, “Like Sleepyside.” Regan stepped backwards, whistling through
his teeth. “That old man would kick your butt all the way to your homeland
and back if you left “Well, if he kicks me back to the city, then
at least I’ll already be back in New York to beg for my old job back,” Dan
joked, his onyx-colored eyes twinkling. “I wasn’t talking about “I’ve heard it’s a nice place to visit,” Dan
said sheepishly. Regan ignored that comment, still shaking
his head in disbelief. “After the way you fussed when I brought you here, I’m
absolutely floored that you want to move back.” “You know I grew to love this place.” Dan
shrugged his shoulders, now broad from all his labor as a teenager. “When I
left for college, I thought I’d enjoy living in the city again. But I hated
it. Still do.” Regan’s gaze softened. “Too many memories?” Dan nodded glumly. “Yeah.” “You thinking about
Michelson?” Almost like a young child, Dan instinctively
covered his ears. “I don’t want to talk about him.” “You’ve avoided talking about him for over
twelve years, Dan,” Regan pointed out as gently as possible. “You’re going to
have to face what that ba---” “I said
I don’t want to talk about him,” Dan snapped, his eyes flashing with fire.
“He took everything from me!” “He’s dead, Dan. He can’t do anything else
to hurt you.” “Oh, believe me, I know!” Dan yelled. He
clamped his eyes firmly together almost as if he were trying to cease the
assault of memories flooding his mind. Clenching his fists tightly, he drew
them close to his face in an effort to stymie his anguish. In a guttural
whisper, he added, “Every time I walk past that apartment building, I
remember that he’s dead.” Regan was the only man on earth who could
possibly understand his nephew’s torment. He reached out a tenuous hand and
placed it on Dan’s shoulder, hoping that he could transfer some of his own
strength to Dan in his squeeze. “It wasn’t your fault.” “I’ve told myself that a thousand times.”
Like the fog hovering over the “You
can’t let the past stand in the way of your future, Dan. You can’t change
what happened. He’s dead, and it wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to do.” Unable to contain the gruesome memories from
his life in the city, Dan began waving his arms around in frustration, tears
misting in his dark, haunted Stygian eyes. “The fact that he isn’t alive
doesn’t keep me from seeing him every day on those Regan remained silent for several moments
until he saw that Dan had relaxed. With serious eyes, he studied every line,
every centimeter, every detail of his nephew’s face.
What he found frightened him. Worried the memories were affecting Dan’s
work performance, he assumed his most casual tone. “How’s the job going?” “Same old stuff,”
Dan muttered, his jaw clenched. “Your temper been acting up?” Regan inquired
nonchalantly. Dan whooped scornfully. “Let’s just say that
if I get a couple more reprimands from the Captain, then the decision to
leave my job will be made for me.” “Dan, you can’t let that stuff get to you,”
Regan chastised. “Leave all the junk you see on your job back at the
precinct. If you keep carrying it around with you, you’re going to explode.” “It’s not just the crimes,” Dan murmured.
“It’s the memories I have. When I see a man be…” He
broke off his sentence to raise a fist in the air. He shook it, his eyes
closed tightly and a grimace on his face. Regan walked over to his nephew and placed a
calming hand on his shoulder. “I know. I’d already be kicked off the force if
I were you. Nothing raises my hackles worse than that.” “If I don’t move back home, I’m going to
snap,” Dan admitted, trouble etched on his rugged features. “That stuff goes on in Sleepyside, too,”
Regan told him honestly. “Take a job here on the force, and it’ll follow
you.” Dan nodded. “I know. But at least I won’t be
right there where it happened to me.
At least I’ll be home, keeping an eye on Mr. Maypenny before he hikes all the way to “It’s up to you,” Regan said, patting his
shoulder. “I’m here if you need to talk.” “Thanks.” “But it is
kind of ironic, you know.” “What do you mean?” Dan asked curiously. “You wanting to come back to Sleepyside,”
Regan explained. “When you first got here, you couldn’t wait to go back to
the city. Now, you just want to come back home.” “Time changes a man,” Dan observed. “Come back or stay in Dan quirked an ebony brow at his uncle.
“Something up with Bobby that I should know about?” “Sleepyside isn’t your jurisdiction yet.” Regan smiled sadly. “You know
what I always say: I mind my own business and…” “Don’t tell anybody anything that doesn’t
concern them,” Dan finished for him with an impish grin. “Smart aleck,” Regan muttered. He turned his
full attention to Luther, who by now was getting quite antsy. “Well, I think
this ol’ boy’s ready for a run in the meadow. What
do you think, Dan?” “I think you’re trying to change the
subject,” Dan replied, studying his uncle’s face carefully. However, he knew
the redheaded groom too well to pry. Regan, whether he liked to admit it or
not, had a soft spot for youth, particularly those going through difficult
times, and considered himself a confidant to all the Bob-Whites. Now that the
BWG’s were adults, Dan was sure his uncle had become even closer to the
“littlest” Belden, who at 18, now towered above his father and all his
brothers. Just like Regan had kept the Bob-Whites’ confidences, Dan knew he
would keep Bobby’s “see-cruds” as well. “Just promise you’ll talk to Trixie or Mart
if Bobby does anything illegal,” Dan requested earnestly. “Not Brian?” Regan inquired with a touch of
amusement. “Good Lord, no. We want Bobby straightened
up, not dead,” Dan retorted with a chuckle. However, his humor soon faded.
“Just promise me, okay?” “It’s a deal,” Regan agreed solemnly. “You heading back to the city now?” Dan shook his head. “Nah, I’m going to go
back over to Mr. Maypenny’s.” “You just came from there,” Regan said, with
a quizzical look. “Yeah, but I need to chop some wood.” “Didn’t you just do that?” Dan merely shrugged his shoulders. “I think
I need to chop some more.”
New Year’s Eve… Dan completed a wearisome shift with the New
York City Police Department. Drugs, thievery, prostitution, extortion,
murder… he had seen it all. It had been a full day, and he was exhausted, mentally
as well as physically. He longed for the isolation of the rustic cabin in the
woods, not to mention the security he would find in the company of familiar
friends. Before he made the hour-long trek to
Sleepyside, Dan stopped in at the old Irish pub he frequented, Blarney
Stone’s Bar and Grille. He carefully stomped all the snow away from his
shoes, and then entered the cozy restaurant. The building’s comfortable
atmosphere somehow reassured Dan after his difficult day. Various
Ireland-inspired artworks hung from the hunter green walls, their frames
matching the dark mahogany chair rail and trim. The lights in the pub were
dim, casting faint shadows on the dark walls around them. The chairs, tables,
stools and bar were all crafted out of the same dark mahogany wood as the
trim, and had a well-worn patina. The overall effect could be summed up as
“invitingly cozy”. Only a few patrons were scattered around
Blarney Stone’s, so thankfully there was several stools from which Dan could
choose at the long counter in the middle of the room. He knew in another hour
or so, the place would be packed with those ringing in the New Year. Mickey, the bartender there since the
beginning of time, looked up at Dan with a grin. “Your usual, Sergeant?” “Sounds good,” Dan agreed congenially.
“Thanks, Mick.” In less than fifteen minutes, Mickey slid a
plate heaped high with a thick sausage sandwich, fries, and homemade pickles.
A large glass of milk was placed nearby. The bartender shook his head in
disbelief as Dan took a long swig of his beverage of choice. “You’re the only cop I’ve ever seen that
orders a stiff glass of milk after a hard day of patrolling,” he commented. “Hey, milk does a body good, and so far I’ve
never had any complaints,” Dan answered good-naturedly. “Besides you know I
don’t drink.” “And you call yourself a proud Irishman.”
Mickey shook his head with feigned disdain. “Mick, if you saw all the things alcohol
causes men to do, you’d never sell another drop,” Dan commented
matter-of-factly as he doused his fries with ketchup. “Seen a lot as a cop?” “And before.” Dan grabbed his sandwich with
two hands and took a bite, unwilling to discuss the topic further. It was on
the tip of his tongue to add that the bartender really didn’t want to hear all Dan faced every day
in his line of work. Or what he had seen as a young teen… Mickey slid another glass of milk in front
of the weary policeman. “This one’s on the house, Danny Boy.” “Thanks,” Dan mumbled with a smile. A customer sat down a few stools away from
Dan, so the kindhearted bartender turned away to take his order. Dan sat there, alone with his troubled
thoughts. The jingling of the bell above the front door announced a new
arrival to the pub. Out of the corner of his eye, Dan noticed a trio of women
enter. One in particular was pretty enough to merit a full turn of his head,
but upon closer inspection, he saw the lady was a strawberry-blonde. Just as
he was preparing to return his full attention to his sandwich, the redhead
cast him a “come-hither” glance. With a mere polite nod of his head, he
turned around in his stool and resumed eating. Troubled thoughts would inevitably plague
him afterwards. After he had finished his meal, Dan tossed a
few bills on the counter to cover his food as well as a hefty tip, and rose
to leave. “Going to the Policeman’s New Year’s Ball?”
Mickey called as Dan was heading towards the door. “Nah, I’m going to a party in Sleepyside
with some friends,” Dan answered. “Nothing
too wild and crazy, I’m assuming?” “ ‘Wild and crazy’ aren’t
invited to the Sleepyside Country Club,” Dan informed him with a chuckle. “I don’t picture you as the country club
type,” Mickey commented. “I’m not,” Dan replied, “but unfortunately,
some of my friends’ families are.” “Gotta hot date?” “Not unless you count Tiffany Delanoy,” Dan
said with a grin. “She good-lookin’?” “For a five-year-old,” Dan responded,
chuckling. He quickly explained. “Tiff’s the daughter of a chauffeur friend
of ours. He’s driving some people to the New Year’s shindig, and is bringing
Tiff along. I promised her that her Uncle Danny would dance with her a time
or two.” Mickey nodded knowingly,
although it was clear he found these small-town niceties odd. He cocked his
head in the direction of the lovely strawberry-blonde. “I noticed her giving
you the eye as she came in. I’ll bet she’d go with you, if you’d ask.” “Not my type,” Dan murmured with a sorrowful
shake of his head. “Be back tomorrow night?” Dan snorted. “I’ve got two days off in a
row, my friend. I won’t be back till ten minutes before I’m on duty. Wild
horses couldn’t drag me back to the precinct until absolutely necessary.” “Safe trip,” Mickey told him with a wave. “See ya when I get
back.” Dan vacated the cozy pub and braved the
cold, city streets. Though only a few flakes had been falling when Dan’s
shift ended, the snow was coming down heavily now. The wind was whipping the
tops of the barren trees around, and he had to zip up his warm, police-issue
coat. He quickened his pace to the apartment where he lived, hoping the
weather would not impede his travel plans. Not even the devil himself could slow me down, he thought with a
smirk. However, a thumping sound followed by first
a frightened cry then a loud clanging noise distracted Dan from his goal. His
cop instincts took over, and he hustled from the main sidewalk to the dark
alleyway behind a rundown apartment complex. Although Dan did not see the devil, he saw
something pretty close. A crying woman looked up at him from the
ground, a trail of blood dripping down from her obviously-broken nose. A
tall, stocky man towered over her, his stance signifying that he was
responsible for her injury. He staggered around slightly, indicating his
intoxicated condition. “Police!” Dan commanded, running towards the
couple. With one hand, he drew his badge, and with the other his taser. “Sir,
drop on the ground and put your hands behind your head!” The woman’s relieved cry echoed through the
night. However, her assailant had obviously neither seen nor heard the
approaching police officer’s warnings. The lady’s relief quickly ceased as
the man standing over her kicked her in the stomach when he noticed he did
not command her full attention. Hurling a stream of obscene epithets at his
victim, he appeared poised and ready to kick again at any moment. Before he could think things through, Dan’s
feet left the sidewalk in a running leap and went flying through the air,
aiming towards the assailant’s stomach. When his thick-soled shoes made
contact with human flesh, the already-tipsy man went airborne. The attacker
landed several feet away in a moaning heap on the snowy sidewalk. “Hey!” the man hollered once he caught his
breath. “What’s going on?” “Police!” Dan barked with great authority,
flipping open his badge. “I said to
drop facedown on the ground and put your hands behind your head! Now!” Although he knew he should be handcuffing
the woman’s assailant, Dan fastened his gaze on the woman. “Are you all
right, ma’am?” The frightened woman nodded, a hand clamped over
her nose and mouth in an attempt to stem the blood flow. “Ma’am, let me call the paramedics for you,”
Dan told her, his eyes filled with concern. “I’m fine,” the woman replied with a shake
of her head. “I just need to go home and get cleaned up.” Hastily putting away his badge, Dan reached
for his cell phone with his newly freed hand. “It’ll just take a minute…” “I’m okay!” the lady tearfully insisted.
“I’m used to this.” “If I let you go home to get cleaned up,
will you meet me at the precinct to press charges?” Dan questioned. Once again, the lady nodded in response. She
cringed as her violent companion muttered several obscenities under his
breath while he struggled to stumble to his feet. With surprising speed, the
drunk bolted towards his victim. As Dan was fumbling with his cell phone, the
man bent down to grip the terrified woman by the arm, and yanked her up. “C’mon, woman!” he yelled, his voice
slightly slurred. “You’re not going to any precinct! You’re my wife and
you’ll do what I say!” “Drop the lady’s arm!” Dan ordered, his
onyx-colored eyes blazing with suppressed anger. “Lie facedown on the ground
and put your hands behind your head, now!” Dan’s command only made the man squeeze the
woman’s arm more tightly. “This ain’t no ‘lady’. This is my wife, and she’s nothin’ but an ol’ whore!”
Those statements were followed by several crude suggestions how the police
officer could creatively spend his free time. Dan’s gaze shifted ever-so briefly to the
lady’s face. Blood streamed from both her nose and chin. Her nose was
obviously broken, and a tooth had been knocked out as well. Both her eyes
were blackened and swollen, but these appeared to be old injuries. He inhaled
deeply as he noticed a tress of bright red hair slip loose from her woolen
cap and fall over a bruised eye. “Let go of your wife!” Dan’s voice, guttural
with fury. “This is your last warning!” However, the man didn’t seem concerned about
complying with Dan’s request. In fact, when his wife didn’t move quickly
enough to suit him, he yanked her arm with such force that Dan was sure he
had pulled the shoulder out of joint. Dan threw down his taser and lunged toward
the couple. He grasped the collar of the drunk’s shirt, yanking him away from
his wife. Freed from her husband’s vise grip, the woman cowered away, heading
towards the couple’s apartment. Consumed with rage, Dan pulled his
tightly-balled fist back, and punched the man in the abdomen. All the years
of chopping wood had made weapons of his upper arms, and he launched a full
assault on the man in his grasp. However, instead of hitting his face, the
furious cop socked the man in the stomach several times in a row. When he
finally released his prisoner, the perpetrator staggered around, gasping for
each breath of oxygen. Deciding he’d had enough, Dan then grabbed
the drunk’s shirt and forcefully hauled the man to a standing position. "You have the right to remain silent,
you frickin' scumbag," he growled as he jerked
the man around. The young cop, still churning with extreme anger, jerked the
drunk’s arm behind his back with such force that a loud crack echoed through
the alley. Dan then roughly placed the handcuffs on the suspect, not caring
if the steel bit into the perpetrator’s wrists or not. "Anything you say can and will be used
against you in a court of law," he hissed, giving a good jerk to the
cuffs. When Dan paused in his recitation of the
Miranda rights, the man, though obviously intoxicated, seemed to come out of
his stupor enough to realize that he was being arrested. In a fit of resistance, the drunk turned
slightly. With his hands cuffed, he
had little ability to fight back, but he still attempted to combat Dan by
ramming one shoulder against the policeman's chest. This only served to enrage Dan further. "You son of a…!" Dan ground out. Before the man could do little more than
glare at him, Dan grabbed the handcuffs around the man's wrists and quickly
yanked up on them, which succeeded in forcing the perpetrator down to his
knees. "As I was saying," Dan barked as
he "accidentally" shoved the man's face against the sidewalk,
"you have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him present with you
during questioning." The man
looked as though he were about to begin an argument, but Dan cut him
off. "I'm not done yet, you flippin' pig!" "If you can't afford a lawyer," he
continued, his voice hard as steel, "one will be appointed to represent
you, if you wish." As he prepared
to finish his mandatory speech, Dan shook the man so hard that the drunk
groaned at the dizziness it caused. "Now, then, you freakin'
lowlife, do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them to
you?" When the man didn't answer
immediately, Dan hauled him up again and turned him so that his face was
inches from his own. "I said," Dan snarled menacingly,
enunciating each word carefully, "do you understand each of these rights
as I have explained them to you?"
By this time, the drunk was nearly passed
out from his intoxication, but he was still coherent enough to sense the
imminent danger standing in front of him.
With a wobbly nod of his head, he affirmed his comprehension of the
Miranda rights, and Dan pushed him forward as he pulled his cell phone from
his pocket again, hit the speed dial
button for the precinct, and called for backup.
Not bothering to
be gentle, Dan dragged the perpetrator through the police station to be
processed. One of his particularly smart-alecky coworkers could not resist
calling out, “Book him, Dan-o!” “Yeah, never heard
that before,” Dan muttered under his breath with a roll of his eyes. In his
frustrated state, he gave the suspect a slight push to hasten his progress.
The prisoner hollered out in protest just as the captain stuck his head out
of his office. “Mangan!” Chief
Lawrence bellowed. “Let Detective Geoffrey handle the interview, and get in
my office pronto!” “He’s drunk as a
skunk, sir,” Dan respectfully informed his superior. “Then hand him
over to Officer Davis, and tell him to put the perp
in a holding cell until he sobers up,” the captain instructed. “And hurry up
about it!” Dan rolled his
eyes in exasperation as he led the inebriated suspect over to the young
African American policeman manning the holding cell. “Merry Christmas,”
Dan quipped sarcastically. He gave a hearty yank to the drunk’s handcuffs,
making him stumble towards Dan’s coworker. “Aw, Sgt. Mangan,”
Officer Davis muttered unenthusiastically, “ya
shouldn’t have.” “Don’t thank me,”
Dan responded with a snort. “I get to have a meeting with the Captain, and he
told me you’d baby-sit my prisoner.” “Is he
intoxicated?” Just as the
younger policeman finished asking the question, the suspect leaned over and
began regurgitating the contents of his stomach in front of the desk. “Guess that
answers my question,” Officer Davis mumbled unappreciatively. “I’ll clean that
up if you take my place in the meeting with the chief,” Dan offered. “No, thanks,”
Officer Davis replied. “Rumor has it that Cap’s in a bad mood this evening.” “Just my luck,”
Dan murmured. “Have fun in
there,” the other cop replied, smiling in an encouraging manner. “Thanks.” With a
heavy sigh, Dan turned on his heel and marched back to the captain’s office.
After a brusque rap on the door, he opened it to reveal the very
unhappy-looking police chief sitting at his desk. “Thought you were
headed to Sleepyside?” Captain Lawrence questioned, his half-glasses perched
on the bridge of his large nose. “I was,” Dan admitted hesitantly. “But I
happened upon a crime as I was exiting Blarney Stone’s.” Grunting, the
captain nodded towards the empty chair across from his desk. “So, what
happened, or do I even want to know?” Drawing a hesitant
breath, Dan sat down. “You probably don’t want to know,” he answered warily,
waiting for the inevitable lecture. The older man
groaned loudly, raking a hand through his sparse brown hair. “What’d you do
this time? Another one of your perps ‘fall down’ as
you were loading him in the patrol car?” “Actually, sir, he
‘fell’ before he made it to the patrol
car.” Dan reminded himself quickly that the man had fallen a time or two without his “assistance”. “That seems to
happen a lot to the guys you arrest,” the chief muttered, wearily rubbing his
throbbing temples with his fingertips. “Was this one knocking his wife
around, too?” “Yes,” was Dan’s
clipped response. “She okay?” “She was pretty
banged up, sir,” Dan told him. “Both of her eyes had been blackened and were
swollen, most likely from a previous assault by her lousy excuse for a
husband. The perp had just broken her nose, and I
noticed a missing tooth or two. He was pretty rough with her, and I wouldn’t
be surprised if her shoulder was dislocated as well.” The captain’s
bushy eyebrows met in the deep groove above his nose. “She
coming in to press charges?” “Supposed to,” Dan
replied, albeit a bit doubtfully. “If we need to, we can track her down using
the address we found on her husband’s driver’s license. I could go to their
home and pick her up, if you’d like.” “I think you’ve
done quite enough this evening.” Captain Lawrence’s voice was heavy with
sarcastic overtones. “We’re not going to get sued, are we?” Dan shook his
head, struggling to keep a sheepish grin off his face. “It’s only my word
against his, sir. He didn’t, er, fall until after his wife had left,
and he’s so drunk, I doubt he’ll remember any of that in the morning.” The chief muttered
a stream of obscenities under his breath as he slapped his desk loudly with
his hand. “Mangan, you can’t keep doing this sorta
crap! I know you have issues with this particular thing because of your past,
but it has to stop!” Dan shifted in his
seat as he fastened his gaze on the tiled floor. “I know…” “No, you don’t know!” Spouting off a few more
vulgarities as he flipped through his filing cabinet, the captain pulled out
a folder and slapped it onto the desk. His eyes hardened into chips of blue
ice, while meanwhile, his neck grew redder with each passing minute. “Mangan,
do you know what these are?” “I have a pretty
good idea, sir,” Dan said, nervously clearing his throat. “These are
complaints that’ve been filed against you in the
past three years,” Captain Lawrence barked angrily. He leaned over the desk,
his bushy brows raised in query. “Do you know how many are in here?” “Two or three?”
Dan offered hopefully. “Five!” the chief
shot back testily. “Five complaints in three-and-a-half years! That’s
ridiculous, Mangan!” Dan sunk back in
his seat, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Since he agreed whole-heartedly
with the police chief, he knew it was pointless to argue. “What’s your
problem?” Captain Lawrence bellowed. Suddenly, he began dumping out the
contents of the folder onto his desk. “Look at this!” He began reading from
the paper he held in his hands. “ ‘Suspect found
with bruises on his arm.’ Here’s another one: ‘Perpetrator complained about
inappropriate police conduct. No sufficient grounds for complaint found.’ You
got lucky there, Mangan.” “Those guys
deserved it, Captain,” Dan said with a wince. “If you’d seen what I’d
seen---” “That’s no excuse!”
The chief let loose another stream of four-letter words. “Mangan, it’s our
responsibility as officers of the law to maintain the peace, not destroy it!” “I know,” Dan
mumbled guiltily, his eyes staring holes in the toes of his black dress
shoes. Captain Lawrence
exhaled loudly as he studied the officer sitting before him. He closed his
eyes thoughtfully, rubbing his fingertips in the left corner of his right one
in an effort to calm down. Once he had found the barest semblance of
serenity, he fastened his steely gaze on the young policeman. “Dan, you’re a
rising star here. You’ve got good instincts, street smarts, and a brain like
a steel trap. And it’s a good thing you’re sharp as a tack; if you weren’t so
freakin’ intelligent and intuitive, you never
would’ve made it to Sergeant.” “Thanks, I think,”
Dan answered hesitantly. “For every one of
these complaints, you have two or three commendations,” the chief continued,
tapping his pencil thoughtfully against his desk. “When you aren’t being such
a royal pain in the butt, you’re a good cop. I don’t want to have to fire
you.” |
