Cherry Bomb

“Hi, Jackie. When are we going after the bitch?”

Harry had been there the night Latham died, and had his own reasons for hating Alex Kork, many of them just as valid as mine. But I’d worked with him in the past, and had no desire to repeat the experience.

“I’m on a leave of absence,” I told him.

“Good. We can take turns driving the Wi

“The what?”

“I just bought it. Stocked with all the latest spy shit. Phone tracers. Surveillance equipment. GPS trackers. It’s like a crime lab on wheels. If her ass is hiding in a Stuckey’s shitter in Mobile, Alabama, I’ll be able to find it.”

He gri

“How’s the knee?” Harry asked.

“Hurts.”

I hid my surprise. It was the first time I’d ever seen Harry and Herb be civil to each other.

“I see the pain hasn’t kept you from eating.” Harry rubbed his chin. “You’re going to give Rudolph and the other eight reindeer hernias.”

Herb smiled, but it held no humor. “The police report will say you lost your teeth resisting arrest. Bad for you, but good for your boyfriend.”

“Guys-” I stepped between them.

Harry stuck his head over my shoulder.

“I’m a heterosexual. Ask your mom. But you…you’re a hippo-sexual. How does it even work? Does Mrs. Claus hang above you in some kind of harness?”

Herb brought up his crutch like a sword. Harry snatched it in his prosthetic hand. There was a whirring, mechanical sound, and the aluminum frame bent in Harry’s metal fingers.

Herb smiled for real this time. “It’s time for a physics lesson.”

He shoved, knocking Harry onto his back. Several cops still in attendance came over, but Herb warned them away. He gripped the top of the crutch and leaned on it, forcing the end into Harry’s diaphragm.

“This would be a good time to apologize.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry croaked, struggling to breathe. “Maybe you’re not fat. Maybe you’re just pregnant with a wildebeest.”

Bernice, Herb’s better half, gently took her husband’s arm and led him away, probably saving Harry’s life. Harry gri

“I’m glad his trainer stopped him before he ate us all.”

I shook my head. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re my sister. But, disgusting as it sounds, I still can’t help looking up your skirt.”

I’d recently discovered that Harry might, might, be my half brother-a troubling fact that DNA testing would either confirm or deny in the next few days. If it turned out we were related, I’d have to double my weekly therapy sessions. Once I bothered to find a therapist.

“Go away, Harry. I don’t want to deal with you right now.”

“I’ll call you later. We can eat in the Wi

I started to walk away, back to the casket.

“When you come over, bring food!” he called after me. “I haven’t bought any food yet! Pick up some steaks! Or a ham!”

“Shut up!” someone yelled. “It’s a funeral! Show a little respect for the dead!”

“Who the hell are you, Big Nose?”

“I’m Latham’s cousin Ray!”

“Well, I was with Latham the night he died, and his last words were: ‘My big-nosed cousin Ray is a dick!’”

Swearing ensued, and probably a scuffle. I didn’t look back to find out.

Mom stood at the edge of Latham’s grave, peering down. We’d spent six hours shopping for her dress, Mom dismissing one after another, convinced that Latham wouldn’t have liked them. They’d been close.

I reached out, held her hand, feeling swollen knuckles beneath thin, cool skin. I tried to recall the exact moment when Mom had become an old lady, and wondered when I’d reach that point myself. I stared at my hand, looking for signs of arthritis, and instead focused on my engagement ring.

The pain threatened to erupt. I shook with the effort to keep it buried.

“You have to mourn sometime, Jacqueline.”

Mom’s voice left no doubt she was following her own advice.

“I need to find her, Mom.”

My mom turned away from the grave, her red-rimmed eyes finding mine. The softness of her tone didn’t undermine its strength.

“I could tell you that revenge won’t bring him back. Or I could tell you that letting go is the only way you’ll be able to get on with your life. Or I could even plead with you to not chase Alex, because I can’t bear to lose you. But instead of all that I’m just going to say that when you need me, I’ll be there.”

I managed to choke out, “Thanks.”

We were silent for a moment, focusing on Latham’s final resting place.

Mom broke the silence.

“Revenge won’t bring him back.”

“I know.”

“You need to grieve and accept. It’s the only way you’ll get through this.”

“I know.”

“And if anything…happens…to you…”

I hugged my mother, her tears warm on my neck.

“I know, Mom. I know.”

After a few deep sobs, Mom stiffened. She held me at arm’s length, her face hard and set. The face she wore as a cop, de cades ago.

“Don’t try to arrest her this time, Jacqueline. When you have the chance, send her to hell where she belongs.”

I nodded, but I didn’t really want to think about that right now. What I had to say next didn’t come easy.

“Mom…I need you to go away for a while.”

Instead of showing anger, Mom smiled.

“I’ve already booked a cruise. Two weeks in Alaska. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Color me surprised.

“Really? I thought I’d have to threaten you.”

“It doesn’t make sense for both of us to be worried about each other. Alex won’t be able to get me while I’m on a boat. And seeing glaciers and polar bears will help me forget that my daughter is hunting a maniac.”

“It will?”

Mom shook her head sadly.

“No. You’d better come back to me, young lady. Don’t make me strap on my gun and put her in the ground myself.”

Again I faced an internal battle to hold back the tears.

“I’ll be fine,” I managed.

“I assume Harry’s going with you.”

“Probably not.”

“You need help, Jacqueline. Someone to watch your back.”

“Harry is a…” My mind searched for a softer word than shithead. “…he’s difficult to work with.”

“He’s an obnoxious pig, and I say that knowing he might be my son. But he cares about you in his way, and you can use him.”

“Going on the road with Harry McGlade…I think I’d rather dance at a strip club for sex offenders.”

“You need someone. Herb won’t be any good to you with his bad leg. How about that other fellow who helped us? Phineas Troutt?”

“This isn’t his fight, Mom.”

“Alex seemed just as eager to kill him as she did us. Call him.”

“If you want me to.”

“Pinky swear.”

“Jesus, Mom. I’m forty-seven years old.”

She held up a gnarled pinky. I hooked mine around it.

“Fine. I pinky swear.”

Mom stared at the grave for another minute, said goodbye to Latham under her breath, then turned to leave.

“I’m going to Shirley’s. Your partner said he’d give me a ride. You sure you don’t want to come?”

Latham’s cousin was having a reception at his house following the funeral. Mom was invited. I wasn’t. I considered going anyway, weighing the pros and cons of being spat on by his family and friends. Much as I deserved it, I’d be a disruptive presence.

“I need to be alone for a little bit. If I don’t see you, have fun on your cruise.”

“I intend to. I’m hoping I’ll meet a nice man. Those tiny little cabins are much cozier when you’re sharing a bed.”

Mom winked, and touched my cheek. Then she headed back into the throng of mourners, which had now dwindled to only a few. I silently wished for someone, anyone, to come up to me and blame me for Latham’s death. Call me names. Even throw a punch. I was prepared not to defend myself.

Except for a few sour looks cast in my direction, I was ignored. I faced Latham again.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled for the thousandth time.