CHAPTER 3
Colin
On the Monday after his fight, Colin stepped out of his apartment and was ambling toward the old Camaro when he suddenly spotted Detective Pete Margolis. The cop had parked in the street out front and was leaning against the hood of his sedan, holding a to-go cup of coffee, a toothpick in his mouth. Unlike most of the officers Colin had dealt with in the past, Margolis spent almost as much time in the gym as Colin did. His sleeves were rolled up, the fabric straining against his biceps. He was in his late thirties, his dark hair swept back and greased in place with God knows what. Once, sometimes twice a month, he would show up unannounced to check on Colin as part of Colin’s court-ordered deal. Margolis clearly enjoyed the power he had over his charge.
“You look like hell, Hancock,” he said as Colin drew near. “You do anything I should know about?”
“No,” Colin answered.
“You sure about that?”
Colin watched Margolis instead of answering. He knew the guy would eventually get around to whatever he wanted to say.
Margolis moved his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “There was a brawl in the parking lot at Crazy Horse a little after midnight. A bunch of guys swinging bottles at each other; a few cars in the lot got dented up and there was a man knocked unconscious. Witnesses said he’d been kicked in the head after he was on the ground. Right now, he’s in the hospital with a cracked skull. That’s assault with a deadly weapon, you know, and as soon as I heard about it, I thought to myself how familiar that sounded. Didn’t I arrest you for something like that right here in Wilmington? Just a few years ago? And haven’t you been in a couple of scrapes since then?”
Margolis already knew the answers, but Colin answered anyway. “Yes to the first. No to the second.”
“Oh, that’s right. Because your friends intervened. The goofy guy and the hot blond chick, right?”
Colin said nothing. Margolis stared. Colin continued to wait until Margolis finally went on.
“That’s why I’m here, by the way.”
“Okay.”
“Just okay?”
Colin said nothing. He had learned to say as little as possible in the presence of the police.
“Put yourself in my shoes,” Margolis finally went on. “The thing is, pretty much everyone scattered as soon as the sirens started closing in. A couple of witnesses stuck around and I talked to them, but I figured I was just wasting my time. It’s a lot easier to go straight to the source, don’t you think?”
Colin hitched his backpack a little higher on his shoulder. “Are we done here?”
“Not quite. I don’t think you understand what’s going on.”
“I understand. But none of this concerns me. I wasn’t there.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Can you prove otherwise?”
Margolis took a sip of his coffee, then fished a fresh toothpick from his pocket. He took his time placing it in his mouth. “That almost sounds like you’re trying to hide something.”
“It was just a question,” Colin said.
“All right, then. Let’s get to the questions. Where were you Saturday night?”
“In Jacksonville.”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “The fight. MMA stuff, right? You told me about that. Did you win?”
Margolis didn’t care and Colin knew it. He watched Margolis take another sip of coffee.
“The point is, we were able to get a couple of descriptions from the witnesses, and it turns out that the guy who did the kicking was in his midtwenties, muscular with tattoos on his arms and short brown hair, almost a buzz cut. And wouldn’t you know it, it turns out that the guy was pretty bruised up even before the fight started. People had seen him inside. And because I knew you’d just been fighting in Jacksonville… well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened.”
Colin wondered how much, if any, of Margolis’s story was true. “Do you have any other questions for me?”
Margolis shifted the toothpick again while setting his coffee on the hood. “Were you at the Crazy Horse on Saturday night?”
“No.”
“You didn’t even stop by? For a few minutes?”
“No.”
“And if I have a witness that says he saw you there?”
“Then he’s lying.”
“But you’re not.”
Again, Colin didn’t answer. There was no reason to. And part of him suspected that even Margolis knew it, because after a long moment, he crossed his arms, his muscles flexing almost—but not entirely—involuntarily. If the detective really had something, Colin knew he would have already been arrested.
“All right,” Margolis said. “Then answer this: Where were you between midnight and one a.m. on Sunday?”
Colin sorted through his memory. “I wasn’t watching the clock. But I was either about to leave Trey’s Diner on Highway 17, or driving home, or changing some lady’s tire during the storm. I was home right around one thirty.”
“Trey’s Diner? Why the hell would you eat there?”
“I was hungry.”
“What time did you leave Jacksonville?”
“It was after midnight. Maybe five or ten minutes after, but I don’t know for sure.”
“Witnesses?”
“Dozens.”
“And I assume you ate alone at Trey’s?”
“I was with my landlord.”
Margolis snorted. “Evan? One half of the dynamic duo? That’s convenient.”
Colin flexed his jaw, ignoring the barb. “I’m sure the waitress will remember the two of us.”
“Because you look like you had your face run through a meat grinder?”
“No. Because Evan stood out in a place like that.”
Margolis smirked, but business was business. “So you left the diner.”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Evan left a few minutes before I did. He drove his own car.”
“So there’s no one who can say where you went afterwards?”
“I already told you what happened after that.”
“Oh, that’s right. You changed a lady’s tire.”
“Yes.”
“In the storm?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know her?”
“No.”
“Then why did you stop?”
“Because I thought she might need my help.”
Margolis considered Colin’s answer, no doubt thinking that Colin had been caught in a mistake. “How could you know she might need help unless you’d already stopped?”
“I saw she needed a hand getting the tire out. I stopped and got out of the car. I offered to help. She said no at first. She asked if she could borrow my phone and call her sister. I let her use my phone and she called her sister. And then she asked for my help in changing her tire. I changed it. Then I got in my car and drove straight home.”
“What time was this?”
“I don’t know. But a call was made from my phone from the woman to her sister. If you’d like, I’ll show you my call log.”
“By all means.”
Colin reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone; a few taps and the call log was on display, confirming his alibi. He showed it to Margolis.
Margolis took out his pad and made a point to slowly jot the number down. No doubt it was right around the time of the brawl, because his biceps flexed again. “How do I know that’s the number for the lady’s sister?”
“You don’t.”
“But you’re fine if I call and check.”
“Do what you want. It’s your time that you’ll be wasting.”
Margolis’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Oh yeah you do. But you know what? You’re not.”
Colin didn’t answer, and for a long moment, they continued to stare at each other. Margolis grabbed his coffee again and circled back to the driver’s-side door. “I’m going to check this out, you know. Because you and I both know that you don’t belong on the streets. A guy like you? How many people have you sent to the hospital over the years? You’re violent, and while you think you can control it forever, you can’t. And when that happens, I’m going to be there. And I’ll be the first one to say, ‘I told you so.’”
A moment later, the sedan was pulling away, Colin watching until it finally vanished around the corner.
“What was that about?”
Colin turned around and spotted Evan on the porch. Already dressed for work, his friend stepped down and started up the walk.
“The usual.”
“What was it this time?”
“Fight at the Crazy Horse.”
“When?”
“When I was with you. Or driving or changing a tire.”
“I might be your alibi this time?”
“I doubt it. He knows it wasn’t me or he would have brought me in and questioned me at the station.”
“Then why the big show?”
Colin shrugged. It was a rhetorical question, since they both already knew the answer. Colin motioned toward his friend.
“Isn’t that the tie Lily bought for your birthday?”
Evan looked down to examine it. It was paisley, a kaleidoscope of color. “Yes it is, as a matter of fact. Good memory. What do you think? Too much?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“I think that if you want to wear it, you should wear it.”
Evan seemed momentarily undecided. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Refuse to answer a simple question.”
“Because my opinion is irrelevant. You should wear what you want.”
“Just tell me, okay?”
“I don’t like your tie.”
“Really? Why not?”
“Because it’s ugly.”
“It’s not ugly.”
Colin nodded. “Okay.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t even wear ties.”
“You’re right.”
“So why do I care what you think?”
“I don’t know.”
Evan scowled. “Talking to you can be infuriating, you know.”
“I know. You’ve said that before.”
“Of course I’ve said it before! Because it’s true! Didn’t we just talk about this the other night? You don’t have to say whatever pops into your head.”
“But you asked.”
“Just… Oh, forget it.” He turned and started back toward the house. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Where are you going?”
Evan walked a couple of steps before answering without turning around. “To change my damn tie. And by the way, Margolis was right. Your face still looks like it was run through a meat grinder.”
Colin smiled. “Hey, Evan!”
Evan stopped and turned. “What?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re just lucky I won’t tell Lily what you said.”
“You can if you’d like. I already told her.”
Evan stared. “Of course you did.”
In class, Colin sat in the third row, taking notes and trying to concentrate on what the teacher was saying. The class focused on language and literacy development, and in the first few weeks of school, he’d been of two minds about it: first, thinking that most of what the professor was saying struck him as common sense, which made him wonder what he’d gain from being there; and second, that there might be some as-yet unknown advantage to quantifying common sense into some sort of cohesive classroom strategy so he’d be able to put together formal lesson plans. The only problem was that the professor—a neurotic middle-aged woman with a singsong voice—tended to wander from one subject to the next, which made paying attention somewhat difficult.
He was in his third year of college, but it was his first semester at UNC Wilmington. His first two years had been spent at Cape Fear Community College, where he’d finished with a perfect GPA. So far, he couldn’t tell whether the classes were harder here or there; in the end, that would come down to the difficulty of the exams and the quality expected of his papers. He wasn’t too concerned: He made a point to read ahead whenever possible, and he knew Lily would help him study, quizzing him when he needed it in addition to helping him edit his papers. As a rule, he liked to put in at least twenty-five hours a week of studying, in addition to time in class; whenever he had a break on campus, he wandered to the library, and so far, it seemed to be paying off. Unlike many of the students who were here for both an education and a social life, he was here only to learn as much as he could and get the best grades possible. He’d already done the sow your wild oats thing; in fact, it had been all he could do to escape it.
Still, he felt pretty good about having made it to this point. He had Evan and Lily; he had his MMA training and a place he called his own. He wasn’t too fond of his job—the restaurant where he bartended was too touristy for his own tastes—but it wasn’t the kind of place that led to him getting into any kind of trouble. Most people came there to eat, including lots of families with kids, and those who sat at the bar were usually waiting for a table or having dinner. It was certainly a far cry from the kind of bar he used to frequent. During his wild years, he’d favored pro bars—for professional alcoholics—those dark and dingy out-of-the-way dives with or without blaring music in the background. He’d expected problems almost as soon as he walked in the door, and the world had obliged him. These days, he avoided places like that at all costs. He knew his triggers and his limits, and though he’d come a long way in keeping his anger in check, there was always the possibility that he’d find himself in a situation that quickly spiraled out of control. And there was no doubt in his mind that even if he was involved in an incident in another state, Margolis would find out and he’d live in a cage for the next decade, surrounded by people who had the same kind of anger problems as he did.
Realizing that he was drifting, he forced himself to focus on the lecture again. The professor was telling them that some teachers found it beneficial to read passages from books that were age appropriate, as opposed to books that were geared toward older or younger students. He wondered whether to jot that down in his notes—did he really need to remind himself of that in the future?—before deciding, Oh, what the hell. If she thought it important enough to say, he’d make note of it.
It was around that point, however, that he noticed a dark-haired girl peeking at him over her shoulder. While he’d drawn the expected stares when he’d entered the classroom—even the professor had done a double take and broken off in midsentence—by now the stares had been redirected toward the front of the room.
Except for this girl. Definitely watching him, almost scrutinizing. He didn’t get the sense that she was flirting; rather, it was almost like she was trying to figure him out. Not that it mattered to him one way or the other. Stare or not; it was her choice.
When class finished a few minutes later, Colin closed his notebook and stuffed it into his backpack. Flinging his backpack over his shoulder, he winced when it thumped against his bruised ribs. After classes, he planned to head to the gym to work out, but he wasn’t up for contact just yet. No sparring or grappling; just weights, core work, and a half hour of jumping rope. He’d take a break for a bit, then pop in his earbuds and run five miles while listening to the kind of music his parents had always hated, and after that, he’d shower and get ready for work. He wondered how his boss was going to react when she saw him; he suspected she wouldn’t be pleased. His face wouldn’t exactly blend in with the touristy atmosphere, but what could he do?
With an hour until his next class, he began walking toward the library. He had a paper to write, and though he’d gotten a start on it last week, he wanted to finish the first draft in the next couple of days, which wasn’t going to be easy. Between training and work, he had to utilize his limited free time efficiently.
Still sore from the fight, he walked slowly, noting the reactions of the girls who passed him. They were nearly uniform: They’d spot him and do a quick double take, revealing expressions of shock and fear, and then pretend not to have even noticed him at all. The thought amused him—a single Boo! would likely send them fleeing in the opposite direction.
As he turned onto a different walkway, a voice called out from behind him. “Hey, wait up! You, up there!” Certain it wasn’t directed at him, he ignored it.
“Hey you, with the hurt face! I said wait up!”
It took Colin a second to make sure he had heard right, but when he stopped and turned, he spotted the dark-haired girl from class, waving. He glanced over his shoulder; no one else was paying attention. As she finally closed in, he recognized her as the girl who’d been watching him in class.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Ya think?” she said, stopping a few feet away. “Who else has a hurt face around here?”
He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or laugh, but she said it in a way that made it impossible to take umbrage.
“Do I know you?”
“We’re in class together.”
“I know. I saw you staring at me. But I still don’t know you.”
“You’re right,” she said. “We’re strangers. But may I ask you a question?”
He knew exactly what was coming—the whole hurt-face thing was the tip-off—and he hitched up his backpack.
“I was in a fight.”
“Obviously,” she said. “But that’s not what I wanted to ask you. I wanted to know how old you are.”
He blinked in surprise. “I’m twenty-eight. Why?”
“That’s perfect,” she said, not answering his question. “Where are you going?”
“To the library.”
“Good. Me too. May I join you? I think we should talk.”
“Why?”
She smiled, vaguely reminding him of someone else. “If we talk, you can find out.”