Silence this madness; the voices in my head
Guilt talking back to me
Wishing I were dead.
~ Hank Gunner ~
Pending an investigation, a mandatory suspension with partial pay had been dealt from the board until the final judgment could be ruled upon regarding the unauthorized meeting on the docks. Hank had too much time on his hands; between the extra time, grief, and the guilt he wrestled with since the death of his best friend, he grew restless at home. Given the stress that they were under—work suspension, death of his friend, and the funeral—friction between Hank and Gloria was inevitable. Despite their best efforts, the tension was becoming evident to Hannah as well. Hannah learned to stay out of the way, escaping to her imaginary world of pirates, ships, beaches, and vast oceans filled with adventure. Thankfully, Captain Fin was home and often decided to join her! Fleeing aboard a make-believe ship with his beautiful daughter to avoid what was becoming routine confrontations with Gloria, whom Hank had nicknamed the tyrant, was far more appealing than facing his own demons. Hank’s new reality was tearing his family apart.
Hank knocked on Hannah’s bedroom door and in his gruffest, yet kind voice, impersonated Captain Fin.
“Permission to enter ye quarters, Matey.”
Ear pressed against the door, he waited for her giggle and attempt to project her best pirate voice and answer him back.
“Aye, aye, Captain. Enter.”
Perched on her bed, fake sword in hand, Hannah waited for her daddy, turned Captain, to say something. Hank stared for a few moments at his innocent little beauty, stuck in the middle of his mess, not knowing if she should come out of her room to play or lay low in her bedroom as he was about to advise. How had it all gone so wrong? A week earlier they were planning a party; today, he was waiting to see if he still had a job and continually getting under his wife’s feet. He had no idea it was about to get worse. No one did. Sitting down on the bed next to her, he gently tapped the tip of her button nose. Carefully he delivered the message, trying to convince her it was for her own good that she try and lay low at this time.
“Stay aboard ship, Matey, and quietly.” He looked around her room. “You know what I mean? Out of earshot, sight, and trouble!”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Hannah replied softly. “Stay in my room, I mean quarters.”
Ruffling her blond hair, Hank scooped her up and hugged her as tightly as he could.
“Tell you what, why don’t you pull up the anchor, and we’ll set sail awhile. Sound good?”
Beaming, Hannah wriggled out of her daddy’s arms. “Right away, Captain.”
“Well then, let’s head out to Treasure Island and hunt for treasure!” Hank smiled.
Hannah’s eyes lit up as she placed her hands, one in front of the other, pretending to pull as hard as she could on an invisible rope, hoisting up a huge anchor off the bottom of the ocean so they could set sail! Helping her, Captain Fin grabbed the imaginary rope out of her hands, hoisted the anchor one last time, and tied it in a secure knot to the side of the ship. Exhausted, the pair mopped their brows and continued to prepare the ship for their journey. Hannah jumped on the bed, off the bed, and scrambled back up again as she pretended to climb into the crow’s nest, where she pulled out her imaginary telescope, looked all around her room, and spouted off fake coordinates. None of what she had said made any sense, but Hank, though he had trouble trying not to laugh, didn’t dare act as if they weren’t the most accurate coordinates in the entire world.
“Go North West 35 degrees and West North 50 degrees, Captain.”
“Excellent coordinates, lass. First Matey, betting we’ll find gold on those.” He wondered how his beautiful little pirate came up with such coordinates in the first place.
Her blond hair sticking to her sweat-dotted forehead now looked like stringy spaghetti, and the smile that she wore, despite trying to look fierce, radiated across her face. This made Hank want to laugh, but he honestly didn’t dare for fear of hurting her wild spirit. Watching her come alive in her make-believe world was a gift, and Hank couldn’t help but wonder if all parents experienced this with their children. If they didn’t, they were missing out. Missing out. Hank’s mind flashed to Nathan, who would miss out on every single thing that his new son would experience. Tragic. Not to mention his unborn son; he would never experience the love of his father, and that sickened Hank. Nathan would have been the best! Riddled with guilt, Hank found it difficult to fake a smile and stay in character. It was just as well that Gloria burst into the room, startling both him and Hannah and breaking up their pirate game.
“Done playing pirate, because there’s plenty of work to do around here.” Her tone was irritable and cold. “Make yourself useful until you hear about work and help me out.”
Hannah shrunk down on the bed; a fight was about to erupt, and she didn’t want to be in the middle of it. Her instincts, for a little girl, were right! Hank jumped off the bed and pointed toward Hannah.
“I’ll help you, no problem, but you could ask nicely.” His eyes motioned toward Hannah. “There’s no need to be angry all the time, and certainly no need to be rude!”
“Don’t lecture me. You’re playing, and I need help before I leave for work.” Eyes icy cold, glaring at him, she opened her mouth to say something else, but stopped herself before the words slipped off her tongue.
“What?” Hank demanded to know. “Just say it; not here, out there,” he pointed toward the door. “But spit it out. It will likely make you feel better!”
Spinning on her heels, Gloria left Hannah’s room and stormed down the hall. Hank followed her.
“What did you want to say?”
“Nothing.”
“Now that’s a damn lie, and you know it! Get it over with so we can clear the air.”
Frustrated, Gloria grabbed her purse and keys, and headed toward the back door. “I don’t need to talk. I’m leaving for work, again, overtime since you’re not working at all because of that bullshit stunt that you pulled on the docks that happened to get your best friend killed!”
As soon as the words flew out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back, but it was too late. Hank’s heart jumped into his throat, and his stomach felt as if someone had just sucker-punched him. Furious, he slammed his hand down on top of the kitchen countertop as hard as he could. Gloria stopped in her tracks, and Hannah half-jumped out of her skin from her bedroom when she heard the bang.
“That’s frigging low, Gloria, even for you!”
Taking a deep breath, embarrassed by what she’d said, Gloria tried to backtrack as fast as she could. “I didn’t mean that, Hank. I shouldn’t have said that about Nathan, and that’s not what I meant about the meeting—”
Hank cut her off. “Yeah, I kinda think you did, all of it!” His hands were trembling, and his voice was shaky at best. “Pretty sure you’ve felt like this for a while, but this is the first time you’ve voiced it.”
“That’s not true. I meant to say the stunt that was pulled on the docks, not that you had pulled the stunt on the docks. Not just you.” Setting her purse and keys down on the kitchen table, Gloria pulled out a chair and sat down. “Honestly, I really did mean to say collectively, and not just you. I know this isn’t your fault.”
Hannah jumped overboard the ship, her bed, landed in the make-believe water, and pretended to swim by herself all the way to Treasure Island—her closet—and locked herself in. Sitting in the dark, knees tucked against her chest, head buried on top of her knees, and hands placed over her ears, she hummed as loudly as she could to drown out the sound of her parents yelling at each other. Let the storm die down and hunt for treasure later, she told herself over and over again. Let the storm die down and hunt later. Storm die down and hunt later. Storm die down and hunt for treasure later!
“Hank, please, I’mmmm so sorry! It’s been rough on everyone, but I really didn’t mean that.”
“But you said it.” His voice was cold and monotone. “I asked you nicely for Hannah’s sake, not mine, that we talk about it out here and not in Hannah’s room.” He pointed down the hall. “And you had to turn that into this!”
Frustrated, late for work and upset, Gloria broke down in tears. Head in hands, she begged Hank to listen to her.
“None of this is easy on anyone, Hank. Not you, Sandy, Hannah, and yes, even me. Sandy is my best friend, and she lost her husband, your best friend.” Wiping her hand across her face, she smeared her mascara with tears. “But I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was wrong. I am sorry, but I didn’t mean it!”
Gloria walked toward him and held out her arms. “Are you going to forgive me or hold it against me forever?”
Pulling her toward him, Hank kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to hold it against you forever, but love you anyway.”
Managing a smile, she kissed him. “You are such an ass! I’m going to find someone to cover my shift. I just can’t tonight.”
Hank nodded. “Good idea, but I need some air.”
She didn’t try to stop him from leaving; though she knew he had forgiven her, she had still hurt him and she knew he needed time to cool down. Gloria called Sandy and they visited for a while, confiding to each other their pain, regrets, and fears. Consoling each other as girlfriends do, they said their goodbyes and promised to check on each other within the next few days. As Gloria waited for Hank to come home, she couldn’t stop her mind from racing; it was overloaded. Worried about her husband and fretting over his suspension at the docks, grieving over the loss of her best friend’s husband, Nathan, and her husband’s best friend. Worried about her best friend, Sandy, and the new baby. On top of all of that, she didn’t know if Hannah was really dealing with any of it or how she was doing after their fight. Hanging up with Sandy, Gloria poured herself a glass of wine, changed into her sweats, and peeked in on Hannah.
“You must be starving, baby. You ready to eat?”
Hannah didn’t answer. Gloria looked around the room, but she didn’t see Hannah anywhere. Gloria checked the closet and found her daughter tucked away in the corner—fast asleep. Trying not to disturb her, Gloria picked Hannah up and laid her on the bed. Covering her with a blanket, she kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Hannah opened her eyes, murmured something, but closed them again. “Mommy and Daddy didn’t mean to fight; we love you so much!” Stroking her long blond hair, Gloria bent over and kissed her cheeks, leaving her lips on her little angel longer than usual, left cheek and then the right one. A true combination of them both, Hank and Gloria, stubborn as her daddy, but a sharp wit like him as well, and everyone said she had Gloria’s eyes. She looked so beautiful sleeping there on the bed that Gloria felt ashamed for finding her tucked away, afraid, in her closet.
“When you wake up, you’re going to be starving,” she whispered. Hannah didn’t answer. “Wake me up if I’m asleep. I’ll fix you your supper.” Creeping out of her room, Gloria looked back at her one last time. What were they doing to their little girl? This nonsense, the bickering, it had to stop!
Gloria sat half-dazed at the kitchen table waiting for Hank; she was exhausted from the hours she’d already put in at work, fighting with Hank, stress over their current situation, not to mention worrying about why he still hadn’t come home. He should have been back hours ago, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he never should have left that night. It had been hours since Hank had walked out the door, and it was already dark outside. Resisting the urge to call or text him, allowing him his space, Gloria felt as if she were about to jump out of her skin as her mind rehashed the events from earlier that day. The wine was good, but it wasn’t enough; she still needed to relax. Running a hot bath, fighting back her tears, she wished more than anything in the world she could have a do-over day! What she would have given to have done things differently that day: if she hadn’t burst into Hannah’s room and broken up their pirate game, if she hadn’t said such hateful things that she didn’t really mean or believe to Hank, and most of all, if she hadn’t agreed to let him leave but asked him to stay, have a glass of wine and talk it through, and even have dinner as a family with Hannah that night. Gloria knew with all of her heart that Hank loved his family and he would have stayed! Why hadn’t she just asked him to stay? Why did she let him walk out that door? And why wasn’t he home yet? Sinking into the hot bathwater, pondering the questions she had asked herself, Gloria had no idea that her gut instinct was right; she never should have let him leave that day. Her world was about to be turned upside down and the Gunners were about to be pulled into a nightmare they couldn’t possibly have imagined. Hank, with Nathan’s funeral still fresh in his mind, ended up at his local pub, the Shamrock, for a pint. Going out to clear his head that afternoon would be the biggest mistake of his life. That simple decision cost him everything!
“Pete, if you don’t mind, I’ll have a shot of Jameson with that next pint.”
“Sure, Hank, think I’ll join you. You know, Nathan wasn’t just a regular, he was my friend, too. Plus, I’m the owner, as well as the bartender.” Pete winked.
Hank nodded. Grateful someone was there to drink with him and who knew Nathan. Nathan didn’t have to die, not like that, and with Sandy about to have a baby, the whole situation seemed a hundred times worse, not that it could possibly be worse than a young man in his prime being shot down for no reason.
“Well then, to Nathan!” Pete raised his glass.
“To Nathan!” Hank raised his glass, could barely say the words without choking up, and slammed back the whiskey. “Another one, Pete, please.” He wasn’t paying attention to the other patrons wandering into the bar. Minding his own business, lost in grief and regret, Hank had no idea that trouble had walked into the Shamrock.
A sharp voice shot right through him, quickly bringing him back to reality. Tom O’Halloron, a big guy—mouth and physique—had slipped into the bar unnoticed. He had worked for Nathan, one of his crew. Tom was argumentative all the time, purposely taking the opposite side of what the majority of Nathan’s crew voted for or against, wanted, or said, and it made things difficult for Nathan and everyone around him. Tom wasn’t afraid to cause a scene, talk too loudly, or be obnoxious in general. Nathan didn’t like nor dislike Tom, but Hank didn’t care for him on any level. Tom, on the other hand, liked Nathan, but everyone loved Nathan. Nathan was fair, kind, and always had a smile on his face. It was no wonder he was so missed by everyone who knew him. Raising his hand, Tom hollered across the bar to Pete, the bartender.
“A full round here, Pete, whiskey and pints. We’ll have a toast for our Nathan!”
The sound of his best friend’s name rolling off Tom’s tongue made Hank cringe. Sitting at the bar, head down, sipping on his beer, Hank tried to block out the sound of Tom’s loud mouth shouting across the room. The waitress set a shot glass and a beer in front of Tom and each one of his friends. Quickly, as if knowing he was going to be an ass, she turned and scurried away. Tom didn’t disappoint. Making an ass out of himself was what he did best. As soon as Hank heard a bar stool scrape across the wooden floor, the banging of a hand on the bar, and that voice that cut through him like a knife asking for a moment to say a toast to his best friend, Nathan, Hank had to bite his tongue. Tom’s loud public toast went on, and on, and on!
“I think most, if not all of you, in the Shamrock here tonight knew Nathan.” Tom looked around the bar. “And if you didn’t, you should have! He was one of the best, ah hell, let’s face it… he was the best!” Cheers erupted. “Certainly one of a kind! I loved working for him. He treated all of us here right, all of us! He was fair. A genuinely nice guy, and he’ll be missed. So if you’ll join me and raise your glasses, let’s have a toast for a man who was too good for all of us, and who was taken too soon! To Nathan!”
Everyone in the bar, except for Hank, raised their glasses. “To Nathan!”
Tom noticed Hank hadn’t moved—didn’t raise his glass and hadn’t said Nathan’s name.
“Hell, Pete, another round. I think some of us missed the first toast.”
Drinks were doled out, and Tom repeated a short toast. “To Nathan.”
Hank pushed his drink away.
“You don’t wanna drink with us and honor Nathan? Too much trouble to lift your glass and toast him properly?” Tom’s menacing voice came from behind Hank. “He deserves to be honored, and the least you can do is accept a drink in his name, lift your glass, and say his damn name.”
Gritting his teeth, Hank refused to raise his head and acknowledge that Tom was addressing him. Wrapping his hands firmly around his glass, so he wouldn’t be tempted to wrap them around Tom’s neck, he continued to stare at the bottom of his pint glass. The bar became eerily quiet as everyone waited for Hank to raise his glass. Pete intervened.
“Leave it, Tom. We’ve had our toast, Hank and me, and you’ve lost a shift-lead, but he’s just lost his best friend. Everyone in here is honoring Nathan, not just you, and in their own way. Now leave it alone!”
“Are you telling me and everyone else in here, Pete, that it’s okay for that son of a bitch sitting right there to disrespect Nathan by not saying his name during a simple toast? That right?”
“Did you not hear me, Tom? Drop it!” Pete snapped across the bar. “Me and Hank, we’ve had a toast for Nathan earlier, before you got here!”
“He owes Nathan!”
Hank’s eyes—filled with rage—narrowed; he didn’t owe anyone an explanation and neither did Pete, especially in his own bar. He never understood why Nathan kept Tom around anyway; damn worthless troublemaker, arrogant ass at best, difficult, and didn’t get along with anyone except those who were using him. Odd that Nathan kept him around at all, but again, everyone loved that about Nathan. He was kind, tolerant, and fair, even to crap people like Tom O’Halloron. Pete’s eyes flashed toward Hank, and he knew immediately it was time for him to exit; it wasn’t fair for Pete to continue to defend him anyway, and he knew Nathan wouldn’t want trouble over him. Hank threw another twenty-dollar bill on the bar, thanked Pete, and stood up to leave.
“I don’t owe you an explanation, Tom. I’m asking you as nicely as possible, for Nathan, leave it alone.” Downing the last of his pint, he added, “Leave me alone.”
Tom slammed another shot, and as the liquid rushed down his throat, the burn seemed to fuel his temper. His face already reddened, he walked toward Hank, ready to grab him, but Pete stepped in front of him.
“Tom, I’m not asking, I’m telling you to leave this pub now. You’re not the only one upset about Nathan, hell we all are, but you’re the only one causing trouble! Damn it, Tom, he was Hank’s best friend, not yours. For the last time, leave it the hell alone!”
Hank stood up to leave, shaking his head as he pulled on his coat. “I’ll leave, Pete, no worries. I don’t want any trouble, not today, and you don’t need any.”
Digging his hands in his pockets, head down, Hank walked past Tom and avoided any kind of eye contact. It wasn’t good enough for Tom, who slipped in front of Pete, grabbed Hank’s arm, and pulled him around to face him, whether he wanted to or not.
“This is all your fault, you piece of shit!”
Hank didn’t respond.
“You killed him. You frigging killed Nathan!”
Hank’s facial expression still didn’t change and his body, despite wanting to kick the shit out of Tom, didn’t budge. His frame, now noticeably ridged, showed incredible self-control as Hank held himself back from throwing a punch.
Tom continued. “He wouldn’t have been there that night, on the docks, if you hadn’t guilted him into it. You bullied him into that impromptu meeting that nobody gave a damn about, except for you!” Tom snickered, but it wasn’t real. The entire exchange was forced and painful to watch. “And you wanna know why?” Searching the bar to make sure Tom had everyone’s attention, which he did, including Hank’s, he went on. “So you, the man in the middle, could be the frigging mediator, peacemaker, and for what? Not a damn thing! It was an impromptu meeting; it never counted because it wasn’t even sanctioned!”
Hank yanked his arm out of Tom’s grasp with such force that Tom fell forward. Gritting his teeth, Hank reached for the door handle before he did something he’d regret. Rage consuming him, about to blow, he had to get out of there! Laying hands on Tom would be easy; walking away from him would not be as satisfying. Hank knew it was time to head home. Tom signaled across the room and before the bar door had swung open a large man jumped up and pushed his body against it, preventing Hank from leaving. Tom’s onslaught of blame continued to infuriate Hank; it worked, his words cut deep. It was as if a knife had pierced him all the way through and actually punctured his soul; though he knew it wasn’t true, Hank couldn’t help but blame himself for some of the things that Tom was spewing. But true or not, the last thing Hank needed was to hear those kinds of statements spilling from Tom’s mouth!
“Everyone knew Nathan was against a strike. He needed to work for Sandy and his kid. Nathan showed up on the docks that night to show his support for you, Hank Gunner! It wasn’t even a sanctioned meeting. You did this. You got him killed. You are responsible for Nathan’s death, but worst of all is that YOU know it!”
Hank pushed past the guy standing against the door, fists clenched in his pocket, Tom’s words ringing in his ears, and stormed outside. The chilly air smacked him in the face just as Tom rushed him from behind, knocking him to the ground. Crowds of people collected around the door to see what all the commotion was about, but as soon as they saw Tom on top of Hank, fists swinging, they made their way outside. Pete pushed his way through the crowd, hollering over them.
“Damn it, Tom, I warned you! I’m calling the cops.” Dialing the phone he called it in, yelling across a now-empty bar. “I warned you, Tom. I frigging warned you! What the fuuu—. Oh, sorry, yes, ma’am. I’d like to report a fight, and it’s happening as we speak.”
Hank’s grief, rage, anger, and hate found relief in each and every punch that landed and made contact with Tom’s body. So angry, Hank never felt the physical pain of Tom’s blows in retaliation. Swing after swing with no idea where the punches were landing, the two found themselves tangled around each other fighting like wild animals, slipping and sliding on the icy road. A crowd gathered around them, egging them on, pushing them back and forth, from side to side from the edges of the circle that they had formed around them. One minute rolling around on the ground, another fighting in the street, and before they even knew it the crowd had moved with Hank and Tom as they made their way toward the footbridge over the river that ran next to the frontage by the pub. Freezing cold water below, snow on both sides, no one seemed to care that both men were dangerously close to the aging, already damaged railing on the far side of the bridge. The crowd, still circling the men, took the liberty of dishing out their own swings, jabs, kicks, and shoves as they continued to push the pair back and forth among themselves as the two fought. Hank, unable to gain his balance on the icy bridge, fell to the ground. Tom never let up. A hand reached down and pulled Hank to his feet, only to shove him back into the direction of a punch landing in his face. Falling backward into a wall of men, the entire group braced themselves against the aging rail. Cracking, the wood splintered, and several pieces of the railing hit the ground or fell over the bridge. Scrambling, the men regained their footing. The violence had escalated to such a degree that the sounds of punches, breaking skin, and the eerie sound of cracking wood falling from the barrier railing over the bridge echoed through the night sky, and no one seemed to care. Tom and Hank landed against the broken railing of the bridge for a second time, along with an entire group of men pressed against them as they fought.
Several of Tom’s friends kicked, shoved, threw punches, and continued to lean on Hank while trying to protect Tom. For a brief moment, Hank and Tom made eye contact. Tom’s eyes dark and hollow, Hank’s filled with fury, gave Hank the second wind he needed. Kneeing Tom in the groin allowed him to punch him under the chin as he doubled over. Hank spun around and broke free of Tom and the tiring crowd. Face to face with Tom, Hank pulled his fist back to deliver his final blow, but just as his fist was about to strike, Tom reached out and grabbed Hank’s arms. Shoved in the back from behind, Hank jolted forward with such a force that he fell into Tom and instinctively grabbed his shirt as the pair slammed into what was left of the railing. To everyone’s horror, the damaged railing gave way, and the pair fell off the bridge.
Scrambling to find their footing, desperately trying not to topple over the edge, the rest of the men on the bridge stopped fighting in their tracks and pulled each other back from the railing. What seemed like an eternity was a mere split-second as Hank and Tom, free falling, plunged into the icy river below. As their bodies hit the freezing water, it was as if concrete hit concrete. It was true what they say: so cold it felt like needles piercing the skin, and too cold to even breathe. Hank thought his heart had stopped. The fighting ceased entirely as everyone panicked, looking for the men in the water below. They knew that Tom and Hank had fallen, but had anyone else?
“I heard one splash!”
“Nah. I heard three.”
“No, man. I heard two. There were two splashes.”
“Two went over.”
“Are you sure? I swear I heard several.”
Waiting to see who surfaced, they followed the fast-moving current downstream. Two bodies for sure were being dragged down the river, both bobbing up and down while being pulled under from time to time by the current. All eyes were glued to the bobbing bodies, and no one could determine if anyone was coming up for air.
The men gathered on the banks to try to help fish out the two men, but only one seemed to be staying afloat. Others gathered coats to keep the two warm until an ambulance arrived once they were pulled out of the frigid water. Laying on the cold riverbank flat on their stomachs and holding onto each other, the men made a human chain as they waded out into the icy water to drag in a body lodged between two rocks that they had sighted from the bank. No one knew if it was Tom or Hank. First responders had been dispatched, and everyone could hear the sirens; they were close. Eventually one body was pulled safely to the bank and taken away in an ambulance, but the man’s identity wasn’t disclosed. The second man hadn’t been located. No one knew if the men were alive or dead.
Rumblings started among the crowd as the police gathered statements. Several versions of the same so-called story were told, but which version was the truth? The search continued for the missing body, and the buzz and speculation spread regarding who had survived and been sent to the hospital.
“Who’d they pull out?”
“I don’t know. Looked like Tom, but hard to tell.”
A police officer interrupted. “No one leaves without talking to us. Is that clear? We need statements from everyone here. Start talking; hell, there’s enough of you. Someone knows something.” He grinned. “The real version, I mean.” He took out his notepad and his phone to record. “No one leaves this spot until I have names and statements from every one of you.”
Tom’s buddy, the big guy who had stood in front of the bar door barring Hank from leaving, stepped up.
“I’ll tell you exactly what happened!”
“All right, then. State your name, why you were here, and your relationship to this Hank Gunner and Tom O’Halloron. We seem to be able to agree, so far anyway, that the initial fight started with those two.”
“Yes, sir. Jerry Jonson is my name. I was in here with my buddy Tom O’Halloron and our work colleague.”
“Okay.”
“We were having a drink.” Jerry took a step forward, but the officer stuck up his hand.
“You’re fine right there, son.”
“A drink to toast our shift lead, Nathan Nichols. He was recently murdered.”
“Sorry to hear that; my condolences.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Go on.”
“Yes, sir. Anyway, Hank Gunner, he pushed Tom O’Halloron off this bridge.” Jerry pointed to the footbridge. “And do you know why?”
The officer stared at Jerry, recorder in hand, but never said a word.
“Because he was getting his ass kicked in a fight for being disrespectful during a toast to Nathan Nichols inside the Shamrock!” Jerry shivered in the cold night air, wrapping a blanket he’d been handed tightly around his shoulders. “Oh yeah, while we’re at it.” Jerry, defiant, stared the officer straight in the eye. “Also, because Tom called Gunner out for being responsible for Nathan’s death. That’s right! Gunner got Nathan killed, and Tom called him out, Hank caused all this trouble! Right, boys?!”