Chapter 32

Broker finished reading in half an hour, breathed deeply, and passed it to Bwana and Roger. They read it in silence, and in silence they headed back to Marine Park.

Shawn looked at them expectantly when they returned and smiled when Broker waved the notebook at him, the smile fading when the three of them didn’t say anything. ‘Nothing in there?’

‘Some clues. Will need some legwork.’

Shawn looked at him for a long moment, looking past Broker’s game face and noncommittal answer, fearing the answer, not ready for it. He slid out of his chair and left the room. Lisa looked at them uncertainly and then, snatching Dino, ran after him.

‘Not good?’ Chloe asked them.

Broker handed her the notebook wordlessly.

 

Shattner’s journal started from his days in Iraq. He wrote about his wife, his kids, the journal sunny and cheerful, a lot of pages focusing on his ‘sprouts,’ and then he started writing about his marriage coming under strain, and the jottings became darker. ‘… marriage has become a black hole for my money. If only she worked.’

There were several blank pages, and then one started with, ‘There were a million reasons not to go down that route, and I knew all of them. Giving my kids a good life outweighed them all. Keeping her quiet was worth it.’ He wrote about selling small arms that were on the verge of being deactivated, his way of rationalizing.

The entries became swiftly written, the pen digging deep in the journal, words bottled in Shattner finding a release.

The next entry was dog-eared, and the page was heavily smudged, as if Shattner had revisited it again and again.

‘He was an odd one. He never socialized with anyone, didn’t encourage conversation, never smiled… no one knew what he did and when asked, he said, “This and that.” Rumor was that he was Special Ops, working with the rebels, but no one ever knew for sure.’

Next entry.

‘He caught me.’ The caught underlined. ‘–saw me stuffing my duffel. One moment I was alone in the store, the next moment he was there. He didn’t ask me what I was doing. He just flat out told me, with those dark eyes looking deep in me. I could see he didn’t buy my explanation. I told him why and am ashamed that I cried. He didn’t fucking react. I lost it and trained the gun in my hand on him. He didn’t move and didn’t react, just said, “Soldier, you’re in deep shit. Don’t dig yourself in deeper.” He walked away and before I could leave, the MPs came and arrested me.’

The next entry was more than a month later.

‘He spoke for me at the trial. Said my circumstances should be taken into account, and the insignificant value and deactivated status of the arms should be considered. He has some juice because my pension is intact.’

Another entry, three weeks later.

‘I am like cancer. No one approaches me or talks to me. I sleep alone. On the last day he came and gave me his number. I asked him why, and he just walked away.’

Elaine Rocka was reading over Chloe’s shoulder, and she asked them, ‘Is that your friend?’

They nodded, and silence fell again as the women resumed reading.

The entries for the next few months were about his winning custody of the children – ‘They’re my everything and I’ll be theirs’ – and the challenge in finding a job.

‘Everything’s okay till I tell them I was court-martialed. Then the doors slam shut.’

A couple of months later, drifting around the city.

‘Sold my first gun. Got it from a gangbanger, sold it to another. Food for a few weeks. Pension not enough. Lisa and Shawn need clothes, books, school money.’

The entries became further spaced out and shorter, about reviving his arms-dealing contacts, time with the kids. The writing became terse, as if Shattner didn’t want the journal to question him. There was one page the two of them lingered long over.

‘Both of them are smart, maturing faster than normal kids. Don’t think they know, but the boy sometimes looks at me, and I hurt. Suicide? I can see why now, but not until they’ll be taken care of.’

A couple of months later, just one line on the page.

‘Caught by the cops in a sting. Offered amnesty in return for being an informant in a gang. 5Clubs.’

A few days later.

‘Many discussions with cops. Detective Kirkus will be my contact. Met with him a few times and got my backstory from him. It’s not difficult to memorize; it’s not far from mine. Discussing ways to connect, phone numbers. Light appearing at end of tunnel.’

The next entry didn’t have a date.

‘In now. Cruz and Diego scare me. Kirkus happy. Worried that other than assurances, nothing from the cops about amnesty. Deal done with the devil.’

The last sentence was underlined twice.

The entries, brief, came rapidly now.

‘Most valuable mechanic now. Kirkus not happy. Says repairing cars is worth jack shit to him. Can’t exactly tell Diego to involve me in gang. Kirkus evades when I ask him about amnesty or payment.’

There were many one-line entries after that, mostly about Kirkus urging him to be more valuable to the gang.

Then, four months later.

‘Shortage of drivers. Drove Diego and a gorilla, Rajek, to a small deal. Sat in car. Kirkus happy. Shawn is man of house, takes care of Lisa. My son has no childhood. Because of me.’

He had recorded the time of the deal and drawn a crude map of the location. He’d also drawn a boy’s face next to Shawn’s name.

Elaine Rocka sighed deeply, and Chloe started to close the book, but she urged her to go on.

They flipped through the pages rapidly, stopping only where he went into some detail.

‘Drove to a hit. Diego killed a guy in front of me. Suspects me of being a snitch since I was very calm. Told the bastard to shoot me. I have nothing to lose anyway, but my kids. Kirkus found the body. Says story is gang warfare.’

He had started recording deals by then, estimates of kilos, money and other parties involved, in small writing in the corners of the pages.

‘Kirkus happy with flow, finally. Says cops are busting some deals. Puts more pressure on me. Kirkus continues to evade amnesty question,’ went an entry.

Bear had moved behind them and was reading over their shoulder, and noticed Rocka’s shudder at the next page.

‘Found a bug in my house. They suspect a snitch and obviously I’m the newest. Carrying my gun with me now.’

The women didn’t notice Lisa and Shawn creeping in the room, Bwana and Roger shushing them and leading them out. They were reading about a deal in Gloucester City; Shattner hadn’t written much, but they could sense his fear and relief at living through it.

The next entry was the last.

‘Garage closed. Diego’s asked me to meet him, not said why. My kids are safe with Elaine. Shawn will call Zeb if I don’t return. He may not remember me, but I don’t have anyone else. I don’t know anyone else I can turn to. I have failed all my life. I should see this one through.’

They turned the pages, but there wasn’t anything else, but Bear stopped them and flipped back the last few pages.

It was there at the bottom of the page, in very small writing.

‘Tried to be a good father. Failed. Forgive me Lisa, Shawn.’

Chloe remained bowed for a long time as Rocka fingered the notebook, opening it, riffling the pages, as if it had more on Shattner. Bear looked around and outside, at the pool glistening in the silence, the distant sounds of the city creeping in on them, and back at the notebook.

Elaine Rocka cleared her throat. ‘Now what?’

Chloe lifted her head then and looked at her, at the others, and that thing in them stirred and then leapt out and roared silently.