Domino

Ronan Whittaker rushed out of the hospital, ready to ditch his navy-blue uniform, to rip his badge out of his chest and toss it in the river nearby. Thirty years he’d spent in the police force. Fourteen weeks he’d wasted in the academy. He had seen a good few things, but never had he been so lucky as that day, nor had he ever done such a wrongful deed as this. He was well aware of the fact that nothing in the world would absolve him of his crime. Which was why all that was left for him to do was keep running.

Five minutes before, he had finally done in the ex-wife of the most dangerous Mob Boss of all time. He had gone to her bed, where she slept peacefully, turned off her life support, and waited patiently for her to flatline. She continued her slumber as though nothing had happened, but the monitor beeped incessantly, crying out for help, and Ronan knew that was his cue.

It was a wonder, how he had found her in the first place. The ones who had led him to her were none other than her new family. A simple phone call had helped reconnect her son with his father, who was in the emergency room with her. By the time he received the call, frankly, the man had forgotten that he even had a kid.

Little John Wright had been found under a bridge, fishing with a homeless man. Ronan, who was off duty and on a leisurely bike ride, could not help but feel that something other than their capture smelt fishy. So, he asked the kid what the deal with him was. Fifteen minutes later, they were both at the precinct. Johnny was a smart boy – he knew his father’s phone number. He even knew his own social security number, which had helped prove to the officers in the room what a good memory he had.

It had been rather easy for Ronan to find out how the little boy had wound up in such a peculiar situation. When asked to tell his story, John had sat up straight and assumed an air of confidence and superiority, as he had most probably done before at school, when he corrected his teacher’s grammar. Even in his pyjamas, he looked as though he was about to carry out an important presentation.

Apparently, he had stumbled upon the man under the bridge in his inane frenzy. The man had been sleeping on a piece of cardboard and the kid had woken him up when he fell over him. At first, he had been terrified by his shaggy dark hair and tangled beard, but then the man had showed him kindness, and Johnny decided to spend some time with him. They ended up fishing together. Ronan had overlooked the fact that it was forbidden to catch fish in that river for the time being.

“And what were you running away from?” The policeman had asked. Little Jimmy had cowered in his spot, like any kid caught red-handed. With time and effort – and bribe that had consisted in a piece of cake from his co-worker’s birthday – the man had finally coaxed an answer out of the kid.

He had run away because he had panicked at the thought that he might never see his parents again.

“What made you think that?” Ronan had asked. Johnny had started to cry by this point. He said his parents had left him alone at home when they left.

“Where did they leave, son?”

“To-to the hospital, sir,” the kid had sobbed.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters who could have stayed at home with you?” the man had asked, to which John shook his head.

And they left their only child alone? Is that how desperate they were? Mr Whittaker had thought. If anything, the parents could be accused of child negligence. We could go to court.

“Have they ever done anything of the sort?” he had asked. “Have they ever left you behind like this? Have you ever felt like they did not love you?”

“N-No, sir! Not at all! Mommy loves me very much! So does Daddy… I think.” He had started to blabber, saying too much. “I mean sometimes he hits me, but only when I deserve it because I did something bad. But then he cries and says he’s sorry and that’s how I know that he loves me.”

Ronan had stared at him, wide-eyed. Should the kid tell me more, he had thought, this could take a turn for the worse.

“Is something bad going to happen to them?” the little boy had asked. It had been heart breaking for the officer to watch the child crumble. No one who found themselves at such a fragile age deserved to live through trauma of this sort. Had he been his own son… Calm down, Ronan, you’re not that good a father either.

The kid needed to be taken good care of. The first step in his recovery was taking him back to his parents.

“Nothing is going to happen to your parents, okay? We just need to make sure that you’re safe and sound, whether you get back to them or not. Which is why I need to ask you one more question.”

Johnny had been on the edge of his seat, ready to confess. A strange feeling had taken Mr Whittaker over. He had known, then and there, that that day would be interesting, to say the least, and not in a good way. But he had to know the entire story. Therefore, he had leaned forward, managing to scare the poor child even more, and asked the following question:

“Why did they go to the hospital, son?”

The kid had shaken his head, refusing to answer the question.

“Do you understand, Johnny, that I need to know this in order to make sure that I am making the right choice by reuniting you with your family?”

But the facts simply had not computed for little Johnny.

“I need to see whether your parents are still eligible to keep you as their kid. If you have problems at home, we have to know about them. That way, we know you’ll be safe in your house. If your father also beat your mother up and that is why they went to the hospital, then we have a problem.”

“No, sir, that didn’t happen!” the child had screamed. “I… My popsicle melted, sir! And Mommy went to buy me a new one from the ice cream truck, across the street! And…And she got hit by a car! I saw it with my own two eyes, sir! And Daddy picked her up and put her in his car and they went to the hospital! Ain’t nobody beat nobody, sir!”

Ronan Whittaker had frozen on his seat. In his mind, he had tried to recreate the tale.

His popsicle melted, so his mother went to get another one. On her way to the ice cream truck, she got hit by a car. Her father rushed her to the hospital, leaving their kid alone. Kid panicked, ran away, and ended up under a bridge with a homeless fisherman.

Ronan had helped the kid get into his car and hit the gas, heading towards the Viktor Babka Hospital. At the reception, he had explained the situation and the nurses had led him to her. Ronan had been through many situations in his thirty years of service. Never had he been so shocked as he had been in that life-changing moment, as he looked in the salon and recognized the victim of the accident. The woman that Johnny Wright had rushed to, calling her Mommy!, was none other than Paula Wright.

Formerly known as Paula Carossi, Mrs Wright was the ex-wife of Tenzo Carossi, an Italian mobster, and governor, whom everyone held in high regard. The man had walked over dead bodies in order to get to where he was at the moment. He had killed people who opposed him, and she had helped him cover up his crimes more than once. Even more, she had resorted to murder herself, quite a few times. The Police had been looking for her ever since she’d announced her and Tenzo’s divorce and moved overseas – fifteen years before, that is. In the past few months, however, all hope of finding her had been lost. With her new husband, who was a pilot, Paula and her family had been on the run. The man must have known what she had done and still, he had taken care of her.

Love surely worked in peculiar ways. Ronan had never truly grasped its meaning.

The officer had returned the child to his father, who held him tightly as he glared at his enemy. He had been in on it from the beginning. The father had kissed his child on the top of his head and sent him off to play with the Legos in the reception lounge. Then, turmoil had unleashed.

The man had lunged at Ronan, trying to punch him, but the officer had already taken out the pistol out of its holster and slammed its backstrap against his nose before the father reached him. Ronan had left his attacker on the ground, bleeding, and entered the room. Eager to see the woman whom he and his colleagues had been chasing for a decade and a half.

Then, he had shut the blinds.