Chapter 7
The doorbell rang. He tensed, fear shooting through him. But he couldn’t spend the rest of his life cowering in fear in his apartment. So he lifted his head a little, firmed his jaw, and walked slowly over to peer through the peep hole. There was only one man standing on his doorstep, and he was wearing a policeman’s uniform. Taking a deep breath of relief, he swung the door open.
The cop said: ‘Mr. Singer? Peter Singer?”
“Yes, that’s me,” he replied.
The cop’s eyes traveled over his battered face. “I’m Officer Ridley. I’m one of the officers assigned to your assault. We already have both your statement and Mr. Hartmann’s about what happened, but we’re hoping that you’ll be able to help us a bit more. Would you be able to come down to the station and work with a police sketch artist? If we have pictures to work with, it’ll be easier for us to find the men who assaulted you.”
“Oh, I could try,” Peter said doubtfully, “But I…don’t really remember that much about that night.”
“I can understand that, Sir; but if you do remember anything that would be helpful we’d appreciate it,” the cop said gently but firmly.
Peter’s fingers gripped the edge of the door tightly. The truth was, he’d really rather forget what had happened at that mini-mart altogether. Being forced to remember, even in a good cause, made his stomach churn and bile rise up in his throat. “I’ll…” he began.
A deep voice rumbled: “We’ll both come to station and work with the sketch artist. I saw those guys pretty clearly,” Jake commented as he strolled into sight, dressed in a clean t-shirt and jeans. His long flaxen hair was damp from the shower.
The cop’s face was a picture. “Mr. Hartmann? What are you doing here?” he asked suspiciously.
“Taking care of Pete here, since he’s not doing too well on his own right now,” Jake replied casually. “I offered to stay with him while those guys are still on the loose. I don’t want anything to happen to him if they decide to get rid of him for good. You know that’s possible; they were perfectly willing to beat him to death the first time, and now they have even more incentive to try to get rid of him.”
“I see,” Officer Ridley remarked, his eyes going from Peter’s battered face to Jake’s. “So you said that you’d be willing to work with the sketch artist as well?”
Jake nodded. “Of course. Pete was so scared I doubt he remembers much, but I don’t have that problem. I think I can remember pretty clearly what most of them looked like. We’ll come by this afternoon. That okay?”
“Yes, thank you,” Officer Ridley replied, looking satisfied. “Your help will be greatly appreciated, Mr. Hartmann.”
“Anything I can do to help catch those bastards…” Jake replied, that savage undertone in his voice again.
The cop eyed him warily, but nodded. “All right. Thank you for your cooperation Mr. Singer, Mr. Hartmann,” he departed with a last thoughtful look at Jake, who leveled a cool stare at him in return.
Watching the cop walk away toward his cruiser, Jake rolled his broad shoulders. “It’s not natural for me to work with the cops,” he remarked dryly to Peter. “Because they never trust bikers, and we don’t trust them in return. But this time I have to, because unless I can find those guys on my own we need the cops to find them and arrest them. If I COULD find them…” his lips twisted, and his eyes glinted with a dark light that made Peter tremble a little, “I’d make sure that they never made it into court to defend themselves.”
Peter said nothing, swallowing heavily. Jake sometimes scared him, but at the same time it wasn’t the overwhelming, awful fear he felt toward the men who’d beaten him. It was just a slight chill of apprehension when he saw the burning anger in Jake’s gaze when he said anything about those men. But since it clearly wasn’t directed toward HIM, he decided that he didn’t care that much…
Jake stirred. “I was going to do some laundry,” he remarked. “I’ll do that before we head downtown to the police station. Do you have anything that you need done?”
“Yes, I guess so,” Peter said hesitantly. “Do you need me to go with you? The laundry room is down at the end of the building…”
Jake shook his head. “I’ll find it. You stay here and rest.” he shooed Peter over to the couch and got him settled in there. “Where’s your dirty laundry?”
“It’s mostly just the clothes that I wore home from the hospital,” Peter told him. “And a few things in the hamper at the foot of the bed.”
Jake nodded and strode into his bedroom to retrieve the clothes. He came back out with them draped over his arms, walking over to scoop up his duffel bag with one hand. “I’ll be back in a bit. You be okay?” he asked, directing a keen look at Peter.
“I will be,” he replied as firmly as he could. He wasn’t going to be a slave to fear, no matter what.
Jake nodded slightly at his expression of determination. “All right. See you in a bit,” he left the apartment with the laundry, shutting the door behind him.
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The doorbell rang. He tensed, fear shooting through him. But he couldn’t spend the rest of his life cowering in fear in his apartment. So he lifted his head a little, firmed his jaw, and walked slowly over to peer through the peep hole. There was only one man standing on his doorstep, and he was wearing a policeman’s uniform. Taking a deep breath of relief, he swung the door open.
The cop said: ‘Mr. Singer? Peter Singer?”
“Yes, that’s me,” he replied.
The cop’s eyes traveled over his battered face. “I’m Officer Ridley. I’m one of the officers assigned to your assault. We already have both your statement and Mr. Hartmann’s about what happened, but we’re hoping that you’ll be able to help us a bit more. Would you be able to come down to the station and work with a police sketch artist? If we have pictures to work with, it’ll be easier for us to find the men who assaulted you.”
“Oh, I could try,” Peter said doubtfully, “But I…don’t really remember that much about that night.”
“I can understand that, Sir; but if you do remember anything that would be helpful we’d appreciate it,” the cop said gently but firmly.
Peter’s fingers gripped the edge of the door tightly. The truth was, he’d really rather forget what had happened at that mini-mart altogether. Being forced to remember, even in a good cause, made his stomach churn and bile rise up in his throat. “I’ll…” he began.
A deep voice rumbled: “We’ll both come to station and work with the sketch artist. I saw those guys pretty clearly,” Jake commented as he strolled into sight, dressed in a clean t-shirt and jeans. His long flaxen hair was damp from the shower.
The cop’s face was a picture. “Mr. Hartmann? What are you doing here?” he asked suspiciously.
“Taking care of Pete here, since he’s not doing too well on his own right now,” Jake replied casually. “I offered to stay with him while those guys are still on the loose. I don’t want anything to happen to him if they decide to get rid of him for good. You know that’s possible; they were perfectly willing to beat him to death the first time, and now they have even more incentive to try to get rid of him.”
“I see,” Officer Ridley remarked, his eyes going from Peter’s battered face to Jake’s. “So you said that you’d be willing to work with the sketch artist as well?”
Jake nodded. “Of course. Pete was so scared I doubt he remembers much, but I don’t have that problem. I think I can remember pretty clearly what most of them looked like. We’ll come by this afternoon. That okay?”
“Yes, thank you,” Officer Ridley replied, looking satisfied. “Your help will be greatly appreciated, Mr. Hartmann.”
“Anything I can do to help catch those bastards…” Jake replied, that savage undertone in his voice again.
The cop eyed him warily, but nodded. “All right. Thank you for your cooperation Mr. Singer, Mr. Hartmann,” he departed with a last thoughtful look at Jake, who leveled a cool stare at him in return.
Watching the cop walk away toward his cruiser, Jake rolled his broad shoulders. “It’s not natural for me to work with the cops,” he remarked dryly to Peter. “Because they never trust bikers, and we don’t trust them in return. But this time I have to, because unless I can find those guys on my own we need the cops to find them and arrest them. If I COULD find them…” his lips twisted, and his eyes glinted with a dark light that made Peter tremble a little, “I’d make sure that they never made it into court to defend themselves.”
Peter said nothing, swallowing heavily. Jake sometimes scared him, but at the same time it wasn’t the overwhelming, awful fear he felt toward the men who’d beaten him. It was just a slight chill of apprehension when he saw the burning anger in Jake’s gaze when he said anything about those men. But since it clearly wasn’t directed toward HIM, he decided that he didn’t care that much…
Jake stirred. “I was going to do some laundry,” he remarked. “I’ll do that before we head downtown to the police station. Do you have anything that you need done?”
“Yes, I guess so,” Peter said hesitantly. “Do you need me to go with you? The laundry room is down at the end of the building…”
Jake shook his head. “I’ll find it. You stay here and rest.” he shooed Peter over to the couch and got him settled in there. “Where’s your dirty laundry?”
“It’s mostly just the clothes that I wore home from the hospital,” Peter told him. “And a few things in the hamper at the foot of the bed.”
Jake nodded and strode into his bedroom to retrieve the clothes. He came back out with them draped over his arms, walking over to scoop up his duffel bag with one hand. “I’ll be back in a bit. You be okay?” he asked, directing a keen look at Peter.
“I will be,” he replied as firmly as he could. He wasn’t going to be a slave to fear, no matter what.
Jake nodded slightly at his expression of determination. “All right. See you in a bit,” he left the apartment with the laundry, shutting the door behind him.
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