Kris went ahead of Maggie back to the parking lot; she had some official police-type business to attend to. He made his way down the service alley between the backside of the stadium and the adjacent community college buildings, fighting hard to keep the ground from shifting beneath him. The ground seemed to be really into that lately. Up ahead, beneath the inverted concrete steps that were the underside of the bleachers, something was going on. As he neared, Kris could see that two stocky guys, one white, one black, were harassing a third smaller white kid. He couldn’t tell what it was about, but he could tell, as his Momma would have said, “Somethin’ weren’t right.” The two larger guys began to shove the smaller one. The situation was escalating and it was clear to see where things were headed.
What to do? Kris as a fundamental, core principle did not believe in physical confrontation of any kind. Violence only begets more violence, was his philosophy. He was a Christian pacifist, through and through. Of course, I’m not really a Christian anymore, per se, so how does that work? “Hey, what’s goin’ on guys?” Did he just say that? Kris was nervous and, to be honest, more than a bit scared; his pulse was racing and each of his hemispheres seemed to have their own ideas about how to handle this situation. Violence never solved anything. - Violence is about to happen here whether you approve of it or not. One of the pair, the white one, pointed straight down the road, “Keep walkin’, bro.” Deep inside, these guys just need love, like everyone else. “Whatever’s goin’ on here, it’s not worth it. You’re gonna cause yourself more trouble than him,” Kris tried to use his authoritative camp-counselor voice. But this wasn’t camp, and Sunday School psychology wasn’t going to work here. The two assailants stopped cold and stared him down. Kris understood that this was it, the moment of commitment for him. Just walk on. Do the math: either he gets beat down, or you do. It’s a zero sum game. - You can’t just walk by and let that kid get hammered. Who knows what will happen to him? – Maybe we can share some scripture with them later.
“Guys,” for better or worse, Kris was resolute now, “Leave him alone.” The two goons were upon Kris in an instant. In his defense, it should be noted that Kris did throw some swings, a few of which actually landed solidly. But each of the brutes outweighed Kris by a good 30 pounds. They pummeled the former Youth Minister to the asphalt and smashed him in the head with their fists. When he curled into a ball, they kicked him in the kidneys and spat unkind words at him.
And then an azure storm of humanity swept over the whole event. Kris heard a flurry of punches, the rattle of metal, and two heavy thuds followed by strings of curse words. He opened his eyes to see Detective Kennedy and two fellow officers with both of the young heavies pinned to the pavement.
“Oh my gosh! Kris, are you ok?” Maggie pulled Kris to his feet. Men in blue sat the young men down on the curb and questioned them sternly. One of them called for a car.
“No. I’m really not.” In fact, he was actually quite hurt. His side hurt with a dull pain when he was still, and with a sharp pain when he inhaled. And he was very, very humiliated. “I’m sorry. This . . . this is bad, I know.” The small white kid was being questioned by one of the officers over on the sidewalk. He looked puny and clueless, like a pink-nosed possum wandering blindly around the highway shoulder. But he looked unscathed, so Kris put a point up on the board for the Good Guys.
“Are you kidding? You did the right thing, man.” Detective Kennedy gave him a comrade’s slap on the shoulder.
“I just got my you-know-what kicked.”
“Kris, I want you to listen to me,” Maggie said, “A good ass-kicking is the first step on the road to enlightenment, my friend.” And she was serious.
Something about Maggie’s throw-away pun lodged itself in Kris’ brain. Was that important, a trite?
“They say no serious damage,” she continued.
“I guess one of the perks of being a cop is being able to have an ambulance on the scene at the drop of a hat.”
Maggie tried to lighten the situation up, take Kris’ mind off of his trauma, “You know that over-priced so-called gourmet coffee you love so much, I’ve been thinking, you should open up your own place, and sell it by the syllable.” Kris tried to see where she was going with this. “Yeah see, 50 cents per syllable. ‘Cof-fee’. A buck. ‘Non-fat soy moc-ha-chi-no .’ $3.50. See? It all works out perfectly. By the syllable. This is gold, Kris.”
“Ah yeah,” Kris said unenthusiastically. “Nicely played.” The joke fell flat.
“My genius is wasted on the likes of you,” Maggie said. She changed the subject. “I’ve been thinking. I think I need to enroll at a program at Sacred Heart, AA or something. We know that at least two of the victims have ties there, and it’s looking like that gown may be Sacred Heart as well.”
“Alright, let’s do it,” Kris agreed, “I think that makes a lot of sense.” He rubbed his jaw. This provided no comfort whatsoever.
“Whoa, cowboy. There’s no let’s. There is only I. This is a police investigation, a real, bonifide homicide investigation, with dead people and killers and stuff.”
“So now I’m a civilian?” Kris was a bit insulted. “I’ve been watching your parade of dead bodies – I just got ‘wounded in the line of duty’ – I’m unemployed – and I am squatting in a hoarder-house. I think I can handle the company of a few drunks.” His voice rose with each clause.
“Kris, this is part of my investigation. I gave you access as a favor. I don’t regret that, but I can’t actually involve you in the investigation. You get that, don’t you? This is not a fuzzy area. There is a bright line here.”
“Well, Maggie Kennedy,” Kris’ jaw made a funny clicking sound as he flexed it open and closed a couple of times, “I appreciate you protecting our freedoms. And I would like to point out that one of my freedoms in this great country of ours is to go and come anywhere I please, even to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at my local house of worship.”
Maggie sat down and sidled up right next to him. “Hey, that’s good. Yeah, I like that,” she said, “So let’s think about this. Where should Kris go? Hmm. Sex addicts? Oh yeah! That’s right, you haven’t been laid this decade.” Kris was not amused. “You’re not a druggie, either. So you could lie, but that would just fly in the face of your Christian values, wouldn’t it?”
Kris shrugged Detective Kennedy off of his shoulder. “I am not a Christian any more,” he said coolly.
“I said you have Christian values. There’s a difference.”
Kris was sore in every sense of the word. He scowled at a point in space.
“Oh, come on now. Don’t pout,” Detective Kennedy cajoled, “Listen, I can’t tell you what to do. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind the company. But you’re clear that I have to have some separation between my private life and the case, right? I am not allowed to, nor do I have any wish to, put you in harm’s way.”
“I get it, Maggie,” Kris stood up from the back of the ambulance,” but you need to understand that they’re called values because they are valu-able, they have intrinsic worth. Please don’t dismiss the hardest thing I’ve ever done as quaint or cutesy. Maybe if more men kept their junk in their pants you could be a florist instead of cataloging bodies left in football stadiums.” Confident that he had the last word, Kris took his man-bag and trekked off once again. And then as an and-furthermore afterthought, he yelled back, “It’s called character!”
Maggie was surprised at the nerve she had hit. As he skulked away, she called out, “Love you.”
Kris came out of the canyon of the alleyway into the open parking lot. Far across the block he could see someone getting beaten. And he thought it completely absurd that, at least from where he was, it looked to be the small white kid, recently rescued from beneath the bleachers of Veterans’ Stadium. He looked all around, but for the life of him couldn’t tell where that strange dragging sound was coming from.
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