Jac's Rebirth

I hope you're still out there. I have great hopes for this. I think you will like it. Remember, Karma is watching. And listening.

I want to set the record straight. Someone commented, in a nice way, that they didn't understand how Jack's dad could accept his wife's cheating, take her back, and raise his bastard son as his own. I was confused so I re-read the story and realized that perhaps I was a little too cute with my writing. Jack is HIS son, not a bastard. And I feel after 8 months of frigid relations, a little compassion is warranted. If you know me, you know I am a softie, it was only once, she was remorseful and devastated. I also love happy endings. So I apologize for the misunderstanding. Jack's dad is a stand-up guy. I like to think there aren't many of us left in the world. Thank you.

Enjoy.

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Jack's Rebirth- Part 2

The divorce moved quickly, thanks to the fact that my lawyer was sharp, and hers was not. Also, thanks to being a cop, my colleagues rallied around me, and the screws were turned. Slightly. Legally, but slightly.

She went ballistic when she was served with the restraining order and countersuit at work, in front of God and everybody. She then refused to return the car. She was pulled over for 'excessive speed' (36 in a 35 school zone).

"Just a formality, ma'am."

"Don't MA'AM ME, you cretin. I'm late."

"YES. License, and proof of insurance, please." In Texas, your registration was on the windshield, on the sticker. Unfortunately, she was not in receipt of the paperwork to re-register.

So when the officer came back, he asked her to exit the car, please. She blustered and refused, citing who did he think he was? He looked at his name tag, and said, "Arnold Schultz, ma'am. And you are under arrest."

She refused and reached for her cell phone. Unfortunately, it was in her purse, on the seat, and when her hand grabbed it, the cop (knowing who it was) shouted "GUN!", grabbed his taser, and shocked her. They called for a supervisor and dragged the babbling cunt out of the car, cuffed her, and stuffed her in the squad car. All the while keeping me and the squad room apprised of what was going on. It was hysterical.

The car was impounded and released to me. I arranged to have it towed and taken to the dealership.(seeing as how it was mine.) They bought it back for the balance of the loan, and that was that.

By the time my soon-to-be ex-wife shook off her tasering, the arresting officer realized he had not read her her Miranda rights, so they had to release her. She then blew up again when she found out I had retaken the car. Gee, too fricken bad.

Two months later, it was final. She didn't want the publicity (and she worked at an advertising firm-go figure) so she signed the amended decree and we were finished.

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It was ten months after that that I was going shopping at HEB. I was pushing my cart down the aisle, picking up all the yummy, healthy things my mom would scold me about- T.V. dinners, cupcakes, tacos, Jimmy Dean Breakfast Croissants, Coke, R.C. Cola, ice cream (Blue Bell, of course) steaks, instant mashed potatoes, Peeps (you got to have Peeps), etc., etc. All the things a married man would never be allowed.

I got to the end of the aisle and turned the corner, looking for the cookies. In front of me was a wiry Hispanic male, confronting a small Latina female. He had her left forearm in a grip that was not too kind looking. And he was twisting it. I pushed a little faster and closed on them.

"Excuse me, sir. Why don't you let the lady's arm go? It doesn't look too comfortable from here."

"What the fuck do you care, asshole?", he snarled. The young woman turned and stared at me. She looked to be about eighteen and appeared very scared.

"Please, sir, leave us alone."

"YEAH, SIR, leave us alone."

"Can't do that, friend". I flashed my badge. He paled and pulled a knife. It snapped open. Switchblade. That makes it a concealed weapon. So I pulled my concealed weapon, and he was staring down the muzzle of my Browning.

For a brief instance, I think he thought he would push it. Then he let go of her arm, dropped the knife, and raised his hands. I raised my eyes, as though I was talking to God.

"Gerry, call 911, have them send a unit, please".

"No problem, Jack", came the disjointed reply.

"On your knees, friend. Cross your ankles and interlace your hands behind your head." As I cuffed him, I read him his rights. Just as I was finishing, two patrol officers showed up.

I was just looking at his wallet. Diego Montez. I snapped a photo with my cell and turned to the two cops.

"He's all yours. Book him. Your collar. Assault, concealed weapon, resisting arrest, threatening a police officer. I'll be down to fill in the paperwork. Thanks".

They looked at the young lady, then me.

"Thanks, detective. Especially for doing the paperwork". They grinned and took him away.

I turned to the young lady who was doing a slow burn.

"I told you to leave us alone!!", she snarled.

"Yeah, not gonna happen. Now what was that all about?". She stared at me, like if she could make me spontaneously combust, she would have willed it.

"He was just someone I knew. My ex-husband knew him and he thought I would be an easy 'piece'". She seemed to crumble then.

"Please, I have two small children. I need to finish shopping and pick them up from school. PLEASE!!".

I studied her and sighed.

"Okay, let's finish your shopping and get you going. What else do you need?".

She looked at her meager articles and then up to my face.

"Milk???", she whispered.

I looked into her cart. Store brand jelly, peanut butter, saltines (?), store brand white bread, store brand 'nilla wafers, store brand tuna fish; she was shopping on a budget.

"O.K., come on let's get your milk."

We went to the dairy case, and I opened the door and grabbed a gallon bottle of whole milk.

She protested. "No, I can't afford that. Get a quart of 2% milk". She hesitated.

"I cut it with tap water".

I stared at her.

"For two children? You can't be serious?".

Then I grabbed 2 half gallons of chocolate milk.

She started to protest.

"Hey, one is for me. Tell your kids 'Unca Jack' treated them to the other one".

She choked a little, but finally mumbled, 'Thank you'.

I asked if she needed anything else. She shook her head 'no'. I stared at her, sighed, and felt I had done all I could.

We went to the checkout line. My favorite checker, Christine, was on duty and greeted me with a big smile. Then she saw the young lady with me and her smile faded a bit. Gerry the manager was there, too, and he waved, then somberly looked at the young lady.

"I got the security footage for you, Jack. I can send it to the station, to your e-mail, if you want."

"Thanks, Gerry, that would be a big help."

She bowed up. "I told you not to do anything. I don't want to press charges".

I was about to say she had no choice, when Gerry said, "I'm sorry, Miss Ortiz, but it's not about you. Your 'acquaintance' made it about an attack against a police officer". She quieted then and I knew Gerry knew who she was. File that away.

Christine rang hers up. "$14.09, miss."

She rummaged in her purse as Gerry bagged her things and Christine started to ring my purchases up.

"I..I...can't afford this. Take the milk and the chocolate milk out, please", in a low, barely audible voice.

"What do you mean?", I asked.

She straightened up and hissed louder.

"I don't have enough money. Please, take out the ...."

I frowned and cut her off.

"Just ring her stuff up on mine, Christine."

If looks could kill, well, you know.

She grabbed her three plastic bags, threw them in the cart, and hightailed it towards the door.

As I pulled out my credit card, I asked Gerry, "You know who she is?".

He stared at the cute little butt disappearing around the produce counter.

"Yeah, she's been in a several times, and she's been short a couple of times. We fronted her the few dollars, and she always made good. She insisted we copy her driver's license. "

He turned and looked at me. "Why?".

As I grabbed my groceries and tossed them in the cart, I asked him if he could send it to me, 'for the report', of course.

He grinned.

"Of course", he called to my back, as I hustled out the door. He was grinning.

I burst into the parking lot and looked around. 'RATS!' I thought. 'I missed ....' THERE she was. She'd just finished loading her groceries in a beat-up old Corolla. She slammed the door and pushed the cart to the head of the parking spot as he rushed up to her.

"HEY!", he shouted and she dropped her keys. She glared at him and snarled, "What do you want now?".

"You didn't say 'Thank YOU'. I was brought up to be polite. When someone does something nice for you, you say, 'Thank you'."

She continued to glare.

"Thank you," she hissed, again.

"You're welcome.'Bye."

I pushed off, found my Bronco, and loaded my groceries. I looked back, and she was standing there, head down, pounding on the roof of the car. I got in, started it up, backed out, and left, driving home.

I went home and put the food away, then I went to the station.

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On the way in, I ran into Officers Donna Smith and Ollie Jones. Alias, Smith, and Jones. They took a lot of ribbing about that. They had been the two responding officers to the arrest. They were on their way back out, having just finished the booking.

"Hey, a man of his word. You here to finish up the paperwork?", said Jones.

"Yup. I owe you guys. Coffee and??"

"Sounds good, Detective. Thanks".

I went in and up to my desk. I started in on the report, attached the video from the supermarket, and two hours later, I punched 'send' and it was done. Then I brought up the file of the driver's license and there she was.

'Gloria Ortiz, age..... HUH?? 27???' This can't be right. She didn't look more than 18, 19 max." I made a note of the address and then accessed her record.

'Ortiz, Gloria, age 27, divorced, two children, Micheal age 7, and Marilyn, age 5, currently on parole for drug possession. Victim of a sexual attack and rape, currently residing in Conroe, Texas.

'Ex-husband- Marcus Watson, 32, currently incarcerated in Joliett Prison, Illinois. Doing 15-20 years for attempted murder, drug possession, drug trafficking, extortion, kidnapping', the list went on and on. And he only got 20 years? Wow.

I sat back and thought. 'No wonder she was mad at the world.' She needed a break.

Enter Saint Jack, Guardian Angel par Excellance.

I shut down my computer, stretched, and rose. Making my way out, I got to my truck and headed home. When I arrived at my apartment, I went in and kicked off my shoes. I pulled a couple of hot dogs out of the frig, opened a can of beans, slipped the dogs into my air fryer, and as they were cooking, nuked the beans. I grabbed a couple of R/C's out of the frig along with two buns and the mustard.

Ahh, home cooking! The microwave binged, followed by the air fryer, and I grabbed a paper plate and put the hot dogs on it. I warmed the buns and got the beans. Then I deployed to the living room, and put the food on the coffee table (without the benefit of coasters-Lauren would have had a fit. Loved it).

Sated, and tired, I went to bed, thinking of Gloria Ortiz. 'Now why would I do that, I wondered as I drifted off to sleep??...'

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I awoke the next morning, showered, and dressed. I left for my favorite doughnut shop, Daylights, (screw that Dunkin stuff), and picked up a half dozen of their finest 'cop pills' and three black coffees. I arrived at police H/Q and went in, just as roll call was finishing.

Officers Smith and Jones were on their way to their patrol car and saw me. I held up my thank you and their faces broke into grins.

"You'll have to fix the coffees; they're black, but the doughnuts are out of this world", I said.

Donna Smith pulled out one and handed the bag to Ollie Jones. She took a small bite and almost swooned.

"OH, this is so good. Where'd you get them?".

"My special place. Daylights, down on FM 1488, by my apartment. How's the coffee?".

"It's not bad," mumbled Ollie as he stuffed a second doughnut into his mouth, and reached for a third.

"Thanks for your help yesterday. Ms. Ortiz thanks you, also", I added. Donna chuckled and said, 'I'll bet', in a low voice.

"O.K., we've got to go to work. We'll catch you later", said Donna.

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I got to my desk and was sipping my coffee and scrolling through my e-mails when two files flopped onto my desk. This was followed by Detective Sergeant Clint Wasser, Narcotics, sitting down next to my desk.

"Jack, how you doin'?"

"Pretty good, Sarge. How 'bout yourself?".

"I just came down to talk to you about this bust you pulled yesterday".

"That was Officers Smith and Jones, not me", I countered.

He grinned. "Too late, Jack. They rolled on you". He tapped the top file. "That's his file. Minor druggie, but we are glad to get him off the streets. The reason I'm here is his 'boss', Rafael Santos. We have been after him for about three years now, but the son-of-a-bitch is too slippery. However, the young lady", here he gestured to the second file, "was attacked sexually by Santos about five-six years ago, badly. She swore out a warrant against him, but his lawyers got him off, claiming 'consensual' sex."

I picked up the second file and started to read. 'She'd had had an interesting life, so far.' I looked up at Clint.

"So what am I supposed to do with this?," I asked.

He looked at me with that big brother-type look that I had been getting from a lot of my friends since my divorce.

"I just thought you might like to see what you were getting into. She's really not a bad person, just had a tough life". He held the stare; typical cop ploy.

But I had no clue what was going on, either in my head, my heart, or in the world around me. And I'm supposed to be a detective.

"Well, thanks, Clint. I'll keep this in mind. But based on the way the young lady treats me and talks to me, I don't think I'll be interacting with her anymore."

REALLY!!!

Clint told me he would check in with me from time to time and if I got anything on that slime Rafael Santos to let him know.

I went and got another cup of coffee. 'I should have gotten a few doughnuts for myself,' I thought Back to work and I was engrossed when one of the other detectives said they were making a lunch run. Hero sandwiches at Jersey Mike's. I threw him a couple of bucks, gave him my order, and got back to it.

After lunch, I was all caught up with backlogged reports and paperwork and I had just cracked open Gloria's file and kicked back with a coke. I opened her file and started to read.

'Gloria Ortiz, formerly married to Lucius Wilson. Two children. Divorced- 6 years ago. Son -- Micheal Ortiz, age 7. Daughter -Marilyn Ortiz, age 5, the result of a sexual assault, reputedly by one Rafael Santos. Never proved. She was subsequently arrested on a narcotics charge, and given 5 years probation. The lawyer got her down to 2 and enabled her to keep her kids.

"Same lawyer negotiated her divorce after her husband went on a 'business' trip to Chicago and was arrested for Drugs, prostitution, felony arms possession, and attempted murder of a police officer. Sentenced to 15 to 20 years. Currently has 11 years left. She changed lawyers in legal aid twice when she complained that they wanted sex. She got a female, who took over and then ran roughshod over the perps. The divorce went through, and her parole was almost a snap.

Then my desk phone rang.

"Headquarters, Detective Stone speaking. Can I help you?"

"Jack, this is Officer Smith. I am sending you an address. You need to get here as soon as possible. It concerns the young lady from the bust yesterday, Gloria".

"On my way. I know where she lives", I said, grabbing her file and sprinting to the door. I picked up the keys to an unmarked unit and started to drive to her apartment.

It was in a less-than-desirable part of town. The Candle House Apartments had once been upper middle class. Now they were borderline slums. I pulled into the parking lot, up behind two black and whites, and there was Smith and Jones along with two other officers. They had two scruffy-looking individuals in handcuffs. As I got out of the car, I saw Gloria's car sitting by the curb. The driver's side window was smashed, and from what I could see both driver's side tires were slashed. The driver's door was dented in, too, but I didn't know when that occurred.

I walked over to Donna and Ollie and asked what had gone down.

"We caught the two of them banging on Ms. Ortiz's door. She wouldn't open for them, and we cuffed them and dragged them down here. Unfortunately, the other three perps ran before we could get them. We canvassed but they were gone."

Donna was leading me upstairs to Gloria's apartment on the second floor. We walked up to it and she knocked on it.

"GO AWAY, OR I'M CALLING THE POLICE!", she yelled.

"We are the police, Ms. Ortiz. Please open the door".

There was the rattle of a chain, and then the door opened a crack. She saw Donna and opened it wider. Then she saw me and the anger returned.

"What the hell do you want, NOW?".

"It's about your car", I said.

Her eyes widened, she pushed past us and was gone down the stairs before we could react.

We are experienced law enforcement officers, aren't we??

Officer Smith followed and I reached for her door, taking a quick look inside. Clean, neat, rather Spartan, but definitely neater than my place.

I closed the door and turned and followed them downstairs. I wasn't looking forward to the outburst I figured I was about to witness from Ms. Ortiz.

I was wrong.

Officer Smith and Gloria were standing in front of her little Corolla. I braced myself. But I was disappointed.

Gloria burst into tears and sagged towards the ground. Donna was quick enough to catch her, but as far as Gloria was concerned, there was no one else there.

She was crying. Huge outbursts of tears and moans, interspersed with gasps and unintelligible pieces of speech.

"All right, all right, let's get you upstairs and cleaned up".

They turned and the two of them staggered away. I pulled out my cell phone and called a friend. Two rings and Louie answered.

"Val-Lone Automotive, and why are you calling my good buddy number, Jack?".

I grinned. Louis Vallone was my high school running buddy, quarterback to my wide receiver, right hand to my left.

"I need a favor, goomba". I sent him the address and the plate # of the Corolla.

"I need you to come get this car and fix it up. Tires, oil change," remembering what it sounded like when she started it up yesterday, "and fix her window. Bill me. Let me know how much. Copy??"

Louie's parents had moved from New Jersey a long time ago. He was born right here in Montgomery County, Texas. But he was a Jersey boy at heart. And my best friend.

"I know I owe you for taking care on Tony's speeding tickets. So we'll be even. I'm on my way." Click. Tony (Anthony) was his younger brother.

I smiled and went back upstairs.

Gloria and Donna were sitting on the couch. Donna was hugging her, and Gloria was coming apart. Sigh!

"O.K., what's wrong?"

Fresh hysterical outburst.

"Do you want to tell him, sweety?".

She looked up at me and guess what? More tears. She nodded her head.