Wall to Wall Bangers
Previously: Jeannie has a meltdown and tells Paco and Mark.
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09:58 AM - Thursday, November 6, 2014
St Vincent de Paul Church, Steiner and Green Streets, San Francisco
Leaving the SUV, the trio crossed Green Street to the church steps led by Mark who paused on the sidewalk as he shrugged his suit jacket on over his shoulder holster.
“Okay, let’s think of what we’re doing here,” he began, taking a deep breath. “Let’s check the crowd: see who’s reacting strangely, doing something off, or maybe someone you wouldn’t expect to be there. Maybe whoever was in the hoodie at the library is here. Maybe whoever that “Feo” is is here paying his last respects.”
“Do we know what we’re looking for with that one?” Paco asked.
“I mean…male, of any age really. Foreign? I’d hate to think it was a teacher or someone’s father, but I suppose anything’s possible.”
“It would have to have been consenting —” Jeannie interjected, “ just based on her state of mind and activities, she didn’t exhibit any of the behaviors of abuse. If she was involved with someone older…” she sighed and shook her head slightly. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really fit for me, but I have no idea who else she’d be involved with.”
“Well, let’s see what the teachers are doing.” Mark added quietly, moving to the stairs. “Just observe. If anything seems strange, remember it and keep observing.”
They moved slowly out of the morning sun into the soft shadows of the vestibule. Next to the priest in his vestments, Spiro and Carole Thomas stood at the entry to the nave, greeting visitors solemnly. Both looked like they’d lost weight and color, and gained strain and shadows in return. The church was already almost full toward the front, people speaking in low whispers. The parents gave the three investigators looks of appreciation and even relief.
“Thank you so much for coming.” Spiro whispered to Mark, shaking his hand and then Paco’s.
“We’re honored to pay our respects, sir.”
Carole looked at Jeannie as her tired eyes began to well, embracing her in a tight hug. Surprised and moved, Jeannie slowly returned the embrace.
“I wish you could have met her.” Carole whispered to her.
“I do too.” Jeannie’s eyes filled. Oh no. Please do not cry. She inhaled and pulled back, holding Carole’s shaking shoulders as she looked her in the face and nodded slightly.
“Please come by the house after.” Carole said, looking between the three of them. Jeannie offered her a rueful smile and they moved into the last pew of the church, with Jeannie on the aisle. Only another two or three people came in after them and in another moment Carole and Spiro Thomas made their way up the aisle to the front of the church holding hands. The procession soon began with the opening notes of “Be Not Afraid”. Jeannie cringed inwardly as this hymn was what her father had chosen for Maevy’s funeral. A younger woman in black carried the gospel ahead of the priest who soon arrived at the altar to give his blessing.
Jeannie forced herself to breathe and tried to look around the pews to see who was attending. The first reading was from the book of Wisdom, the righteous, though they die early, will be at rest… Again, something they’d chosen for her mother’s funeral, particularly due to the line that due to a soul being pleasing to the Lord, he takes them quickly. Jeannie wanted to throw up. She thought of how young her mother was, how the chemo and short pixie cut made her look even younger…too young.
“I — I have to go outside.” She whispered to Paco, and then fled out the front, leaning against the large door frame for a moment to stave off her dizziness. She moved to the shaded side of the steps, resting against the large planter box trying to breathe. She heard the congregation inside break into song for the Responsorial Psalm, and scrunched her eyes closed, trying not to fall apart. Just breathe, just breathe. She stretched her neck upward and looked at the gently arched lines of the church roof, leading to the bell tower. Looking at the sky seemed to help a little. They’d probably be doing the gospel soon…something from St Paul to the Corinthians. The one about what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal. She then heard the opening strains of “On Eagle’s Wings” and scoffed.
“Wall to wall bangers.” She said to herself quietly, shaking her head slightly and closing her eyes again. The hymn used to be a favorite in school when she sang in the liturgy group. Something about bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun always thrilled her a little — thrilled but comforted. Now it felt strange and foreign.
“Jean — are you alright?” It was Paco standing next to her suddenly. Her watery eyes snapped open to look at him, and she took a ragged breath.
“Yeah. I’m okay, I’m not great though.” She panted. “Sorry — I should be in there, it’s just a lot. A lot of the same of what we did for my Mom. I started to get dizzy.” Paco looked at her with concern and sat next to her on the edge of the giant planter. He didn’t admit it, but it sounded like Jeannie was having a moment of PTSD.
“Can I do anything for you?”
Jeannie shook her head silently. “No. Thank you, but this is all my stuff to go through. Maybe if I’d been able to face it before it wouldn’t be coming out at a less than ideal time, but…here I am.”
“Well, it’s true what they say sometimes that if we don’t deal with things, they deal with us.”
“Yeah. That’s definitely true.” She swallowed.
“I think you’re brave.” Paco said simply. “If that matters for anything.” Jeannie felt her eyes well all over again and nodded a little.
“It does, thank you.” She whispered.
They both sat there for another few minutes, not talking. Jeannie realized how nice this was, to just have someone there, not trying to make you comfortable or move through the situation, or even to encourage or cheerlead. All of that was the kind of thing she’d hated about the last two years: everyone else trying to make themselves comfortable around her grief, or lack thereof. Or to tell her that things would get better, or that they knew how she felt. Even if it was the truth it felt completely hollow because she didn’t engage with it. She realized she didn’t even offer her grief to move around, she had just shut everything down, exactly like Chris had said. She shut down because all they did was talk; if they’d just shut up and sat with her, maybe it would have been different. She hadn’t known what she needed then. It was all just confusion. She felt her heart pounding, like it was trying to fight its way out of the fester of sadness inside. She put her hand to her chest and inhaled deeply again.
“It — it hurts so much, Paco.” She whispered. “I’ve never hurt so much in my life. And please don’t say it will get better because it’s been two years and it hasn’t gotten better.” Paco sighed and leaned against her slightly.
“I’d never tell you that.” He said softly. “I don’t think it gets better either.” He thought of the elders on the Res — all were more and more faded each time he visited and how it felt like a little piece of him broke every time. “But I do think you’ll get better. And you’ll keep getting better, and eventually, maybe it won’t hurt so much.” He paused. “But I don’t think it will go ever go away.”
Jeannie nodded silently as “Ave Maria” began from within the church, indicating Communion. Then there would be a eulogy, maybe more than one. She sighed, not wanting to leave the fresh air but knew they should be inside again.
“We should probably go back inside.” She stood slowly and Paco followed. Two figures loped up the front steps of the church toward the door in the classic navy-and-burgundy letterman sweaters from Xavier Prep, a giant felt letter “X” on the pocket. It was Seb Podesta and Dash Reilly. Paco trotted ahead to intercept them at the top of the steps.
“It’s a private funeral guys, are you invited?” Jeannie stood next to Paco, folding her arms across her chest. Suddenly her anxiety was pure adrenaline and she had nothing but contempt for these two.
“Are you a bouncer?” Dash Reilly chuckled a little at Paco. It was then that Jeannie smelled the alcohol. Seb looked drooped and spacey, his eyes downcast. Maybe it wasn’t just alcohol? Dash tried to move forward up the steps, but Paco got in his way.
“I sincerely doubt the Thomases invited either one of you to be here.” Jeannie said sternly.
“We — I — I want to pay my respects.” Seb managed to get out. He burped a little, and a waft of tequila came off of him.
“No. You pay your respects by being respectful.” Jeannie countered, getting closer to Seb. “You’re drunk. Have you been getting high too, or was it just tequila?” She looked from him to Dash who scoffed at her. “Wonder what the Dean will say about you cutting class this morning.” Jeannie knew there was a strict attendance policy at Xavier and truancy would result in days of detention. “I wonder what your basketball couch would have to say about it too. “Bash and Dash” busted — that’s a pretty good headline. You can add it to your college applications.” Jeannie saw Dash’s blue eyes fade as he connected the dots. “Pac — can you handle minding Tweedle Dumb and Dumber? I’ll call a black and white to get them back where they should be.”
A patrol unit arrived 4 minutes later, driven by the Sergeant, which surprised Jeannie. But, it wasn’t entirely unlikely for a patrol Sergeant to be out on patrol either. A second officer Jeannie didn’t know, but knew was a new Academy graduate was riding in the passenger seat. It suddenly occurred to her that she wasn’t the youngest rookie any longer. Pulling to the front curb, Jeannie trotted down the stairs to meet them.
“Hagen.”
“Sir. I need these two boys removed from the premises and taken to their homes. They are off campus from Xavier Prep, I’m guessing without permission. More to the point, Alexa Thomas’ funeral is going on inside — it’s almost over actually — and it’s a private funeral. I doubt either was invited.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, sir, the tall blonde boy was once her boyfriend until he and his buddy over there tried to coerce her into a sex party last summer.” Jeannie saw the Sergeant recoil a little at this. “Alexa ended the relationship and her father told him directly not to bother them again. What’s more sir, is that both of them are stinking drunk. Tequila, I’m pretty sure, and possibly some weed.” The Sergeant sighed and proceeded to walk toward the church with Jeannie next to him.
“It’s not even 10:30 in the morning.”
“Yes sir.” Consciously or unconsciously, she didn’t tell him their connection to Tripp Hartman. “I don’t think they came here to do anything but socialize and create a scene.”
“Likely.” He huffed. “Alright fellas, we’re gonna get you home, alright?” Seb turned toward the Sergeant’s voice and his knees buckled on the stairs. “Woah — okay.” Jeannie grabbed him under one arm, while the Sergeant grabbed the other one.
“Dude, Seb, what the fuck?” Dash said, starting to giggle at his friend like they were at a party. The Sergeant pulled Seb up to standing.
“What made you two think you could get wasted, come to a funeral, and act a fool?” Paco asked Dash, who giggled again.
“We wanted to say bye to Alexa. She’s the one that got away, you know?” Dash’s words sounded hollow and slurred. Paco reached up under his arm to steady him on the stairs. The second this gesture registered, Dash spun out of his grip. “Do NOT fucking touch me, dude.” The giggles were gone and there was nothing but rage. He charged Paco on the stairs, pushing him backwards. Paco fell, hitting his head on the top step. Jeannie moved up behind Dash and pulled his right elbow open before reaching around to grab his bicep, pulling it backward while coming in tight against him. Dash was clumsy, but still tried to swing away with his left arm, but Jeannie stayed glued to his back and used his open arm swing to slip her left arm up under his left arm pit, and then joined it with her right hand over his shoulder, launching his chest back against hers. She held on tight. “Get THE FUCK OFF me, you bitch.” Dash wiggled side to side on the step. Jeannie knew if he went backward, he’d lose his balance and land on top of her, but all she had to do was hold him or force him to the ground. She pressed him tightly against her, her pistol digging into her hip.
“Get on your knees Dashiell. Get on your knees right now. “ She growled calmly, right into his ear. The good thing about the seatbelt hold was that it subdued people pretty quickly once they realized they were stuck with you. “Get on your knees.” She repeated. Dash heaved a liquor-laced breath and slowly moved to his knees, just as the Sergeant came rushing back over to help.
“Nice hold, Hagen.” The Sergeant slapped a cuff on Dash’s left wrist just as she released her left arm, grabbing his right wrist to join the left behind him. “You taught it to me, sir.”
“Mayfield? Are you okay?” Paco was sitting upright at the top of the stairs, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, I’m good. Need an ice pack though.”
“See Dash —” Jeannie whispered in the boy’s ear. “All you had to do was get in the car. Now you’re going to be arrested for assaulting a federal officer.”
omg so many levels to this chapter! and dash getting put in check by a woman…chef’s kiss
……consequences