Boston to Birmingham Ch. 01

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Allan sat, planned, brooded. Her P.A. had just left, after sharing a text that Gwen had sent.

"One o'clock. I need to be there at eleven. If I work this right, he'll be gone by one fifteen, forever, and I'll catch her on the rebound. A little consoling, a little petting, and I'm back in the saddle."

At ten thirty he was at her door.

She answered on the first ring, expecting someone else, no doubt. She was stunning, the gown was gorgeous, her hair was perfect. She was going all out.

"Allan! What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd stop by, see if Hardy was still in the wind. You know, give some comfort, try to cheer you up."

"Thanks, but he'll be here soon. I believe we're going to be all right."

"That's great!" he said with false enthusiasm, "I brought a bottle of champagne to comfort you, let's use it to celebrate instead."

"I don't know, Allan. Hardy might not understand if he shows up early and sees you."

"He doesn't know about Paris, does he?"

"No, I told you it was a mistake. Please don't bring that up anymore."

"My lips are sealed babe. How about a quick mimosa, and then I'll be gone. I'll be the first to congratulate you. It would be a shame to waste this bottle."

Gwen loved champagne, one of her weaknesses. This was a particularly good vintage, nearly impossible to acquire. He practically sold the shell of his soul to get it.

"Well, maybe one. Then you have to go. You're a real friend Allan, thanks."

He hugged her as the door closed.

By eleven, she was starting to feel the effects of the drug cocktail he had fed her in the champagne. Coke, x, a few more things his dealer said would start her motor.

She was leaned against his shoulder, barely able to speak.

"Come on baby, time to go to the bedroom."

.................................................

Hardy barely slept. He missed Gwen terribly. The fact that she missed him enough to search for him felt good. Maybe, just maybe, things were finally working out.

He stopped by the church on the way home. He hoped the reverend could give him some advice.

They talked for an hour. The reverend took counseling courses from time to time, a requirement in his trade. The church approved, in fact many were certified. Keeping the flock on the right path included keeping couples together.

Deep down, he had his doubts about Hardy and Gwen.

He was willing, but he wasn't sure about her. He really didn't understand rich people very well.

"Hardy, one of the truisms of counseling is the maxim 'Am I better off with her, or without her?'

I've prayed for you both since yesterday. I can't make your decision. Does she make you happy? Do you make her happy? Can you find middle ground and make each other a promise to rekindle your passion for each other?"

Tears glistened. "I can't see me without her. I don't want to."

"Then what are you waiting for? Go home to your wife. Love each other. I'll ask the big man to excuse you from services today. I'm sure He'll understand."

He offered his hand. Hardy shook it.

"Thank you, reverend. I'm not supposed to be there for another hour or so, but I'm going right now."

He didn't run out of the church, but it was a very fast walk.

He was home by eleven twenty. not seeing her he thought she may be out, or still sleeping. He walked quietly to the bedroom, if she was asleep, he would let her rest, maybe even slip into be with her.

He started to ease the door open, when the noise of someone having sex hit his ears.

No, no, this isn't right. No one should be in the bedroom but her. Never a timid man he threw the door the rest of the way open, making a bang and punching a hole in the drywall with the knob.

What he saw destroyed years of work, training, counseling, and hopes. All his hard work, all the work of friends through the years to change him into a better man, slipped off him like a layer of cheap veneer left out in the rain. He reverted to the rough and vicious man-child of his youth, instantly.

Allan was lost in lust, ignoring the soft punches and protests. He was gonna bang the bitch good and leave her, open and dripping, for her husband. That should run Little Abner back to Alabama, then she would be his.

He froze for a second when the door flew open, then grinned. This was even better. When he was done he'd kick his ass for good measure.

He looked over his shoulder.

"Come on in here, boy. Watch what a rea..."

That would be the last coherent word he spoke for ten weeks.

Even through the drug induced fog, she thought the scream sounded like the howl of an enraged animal.

Allan may have been a black belt, but when you're buzzed and balls deep in a woman, your defensive options are limited. Hardy grabbed the long hair and dragged him backwards off Gwen and the bed. Allan had to wear a neck brace for two months.

Hardy still had him by the hair, and was punching him before he fell off the bed. In the end, he had a broken nose, broken jaw[in two places]seven teeth knocked out, four broken ribs and a broken arm. Both eyes were blacked and he had a split ear. Oddly, he never once kicked him in the crotch.

Gwen had come to her senses a bit, and screamed, trying to get Hardy to stop.

He didn't hear her, and when she pulled his arm, he thought he was being attacked and reacted, driven by rage, backhanding her.

It split her lip so badly they had to put in six stitches, and she later had to have an implant to replace the molar she had apparently swallowed. She was out cold before she hit the headboard.

Hardy had a flash of reason when he saw her bounce off the headboard, and stopped. The only sound in the room was his harsh breathing and the moans of his victims.

Still wild eyed and irrational, he went to check on her. Satisfied she was breathing, he happened to catch sight of the three pack of superglue he had bought to try and repair a small vase she had broken.

The vase was the only thing he had left from his mother, and he kept it on his nightstand. She had come in tipsy one night and managed to knock onto the hard wood floor, breaking it into several pieces. He hadn't said anything, just cleaned it up and saved the pieces.

He put the glue in his pocket, grabbed her by the hair and dragged her onto the floor. With his other hand, he grabbed his hair as well, and dragged them both through the house, as if they were feathers..

Their town house was on the ground floor, with a small patio in front, just big enough for a table and two chairs. It was raised off the sidewalk by about two feet and guarded by a short, wrought iron fence. Hardy sat there a lot in the temperate months, exchanging greetings with neighbors and reading the paper. Gwen hardly ever used it.

Not having a spare hand, still running on pure adrenalin and rage, he kicked the front door pretty much off it's hinges, and dragged them onto the patio. Luckily they were both still out cold, but they could add sore scalps to their aches and pains when they awoke.

Propping them side by side against the back fence, he pulled their hair through the fencing and tied it in a knot. Then he squirted a whole tube of superglue in it. He used another tube to glue her hand to his cock, and the last to hold his hand on her breast.

Turning, he stalked off down the street. People were out, but no one offered to stop him, although they stared at the couple on the patio.

Reason was starting to return, and he pulled out his cellphone out and dialed 911. He didn't identify himself, just reported a domestic disturbance with injuries and gave his address.

In another nine blocks he was at the local precinct. The first person he saw was Tommy.

Hey, Hardy! How did your talk go? have you kissed and made up yet?"

He didn't say anything, and Tommy, true to almost three decades of police training, took in the anguished look on his face, his bloody hands and clothes, and the slump in his posture. Softly he asked "What happened, old son?"

"It's bad Tommy, real bad. I caught her in bed with the guy she works with. I lost it, and hurt them both, I don't know how much. I am officially turning myself in."

Tommy couldn't believe it, he had never even heard Hardy raise his voice in anger. All in all, he was the most controlled person he had ever met.

By then his radio was crackling, reports and the urgent request for an ambulance. Tommy made a snap decision, based on his friendship and the fact that he saved his youngest son from a lot of pain and possible death when he subdued the guy with the bat.

"Stop! Don't say another word! Get in the car."

He opened the back door and Hardy slid in without a word. He wasn't arresting him, yet. He just wanted him where he could control him and keep him from leaving. He flipped open his cell phone and called his captain, who called the chief, who called the commissioner. This could be really bad, publicly for the police and his father in law, and privately for Hardy. Tommy listened to his orders and hung up.

He got in the car and started across town. Hardy noticed and asked why they were driving away. Tommy reminded him sharply to stop talking, he figured it was because he hadn't been read his rights.

When they went through the gates of his father in laws' mansion, his head shot up.

"What are we doing here?"

"Not another word, old son, I'll be back in a minute."

Leaving Hardy trapped in the car, he rang the bell and told the housekeeper to get her boss, it was urgent police business. Greg came to the door, puzzled.

"Mr. Canaday, a private word, please." Tommy looked pointedly at the housekeeper.

"Come in, we'll go to my office."

Once settled, he came right to the point.

"What can I do for you, officer... Malone?"

"Sir, you don't know me, I'm from the twenty first, Your daughter and son in law live there."

Greg was instantly alarmed.

"Has anything happened to my family?"

"Are you aware that were having...difficulties?"

Yes, my daughter called me. I expect they'll patch things up."

Tommy sighed.

"I don't think so."

He proceeded to tell him the events of the day. In constant contact with his captain, he learned that she had minor injuries, and was already in a private room. The man wasn't so lucky, multiple broken bones and a concussion, but his life wasn't in danger. He didn't give details of the way he had left them.

Greg went pale. Then he squared his shoulders and went into lawyer mode.

"Where's Hardy? I need to get there, I'm his lawyer of record. First I need to see my daughter, make sure she really is okay. Have you read him his rights? Has he been questioned?"

"No to both. He hasn't been charged yet, so there was no need. As to where we're holding him, he's outside in the car. The chief wants you to call him before we proceed. I'm at your disposal until then."

Greg had the housekeeper take Tommy into the kitchen for some coffee, and started making calls. The chief agreed to place Hardy in his custody, unofficially, until charges could be filed. He also agreed to give him Officer Malone for a few days, calling it detached duty.

He went into the kitchen, drawing Malone off to the side and handing him some keys and papers.

"Officer Malone, these are keys to my cottage on Cape Cod, and directions on how to get there. These are the keys to my Lincoln, someone will pick up your patrol car shortly. Call the commissioner, he'll explain."

"Keep Hardy there until we call, if you have to handcuff him to the bed. Now, I need to go with you to talk to Hardy. Wait just out of earshot, client lawyer privilege, you understand."

They walked to the front of the house. Just before they went out he put his hand on Malone's arm.

"I can't thank you enough, but tell me why? Why would you help him like this?"

"Mr. Canaday, he's one of the good ones. He does his job, doesn't cut us slack, but never makes it personal. A lot of defense lawyers win cases by smearing cops, but not Hardy."

"Also, he's a good man. He helps out with the police youth league, with money, but more importantly time. Most lawyers give lip service and a check, Hardy is right there with us. If he ever has kids, he'll be a great Dad. He can get them to listen and behave, because he respects them and expects it in return."

"But I helped him for two more reasons. Last year my youngest son was a rookie patrolman, working the projects. He made a rookie mistake, thought he had the crowd controlled and was cuffing a suspect. The suspect's partner was about to bean him with a bat when Hardy came by on one of his runs. He subdued the guy, my son would have been blindsided. He could have been hurt bad, even killed.'

"Another reason is you and I are related, very distantly. My grandmother was a Kennedy. Not THOSE Kennedys, but again, distant relatives.

My aunt researched our ancestry as a hobby. Did you know that when our ancestors came over from Ireland, the clerks at Ellis Island weren't the sharpest government employees around? Some of them could barely spell. Some of our people were processed as Kennedy, some as Canaday, but they were all the same clan. Just like you're a fifth generation lawyer, I'm a fifth generation cop. Our families have been intertwined for over a hundred years. And I was taught from the cradle you always took care of family."

Greg was overwhelmed. He thought his family had been dying out for generations.

He extended his hand and Malone shook it.

"Thank you, cousin. Know that as long as my firm survives, your family will never pay another fee to a lawyer. Family has to stand together. Now, excuse me while I talk to my idiot son in law."

He opened the car door.

"Out!"

Hardy got reluctantly out of the car, not looking him in the eye.

Greg started immediately.

"Malone filled me in. It was a horrible thing done to you, and I can understand your rage against the guy on some level, even if I can't condone what you did. But Gwen, was that necessary? You could have just walked away."

Hardy told him the whole story, making sure he knew he only hit her once, by accident. He was sorry about her, and knowing how much he hated abusers, was deeply ashamed. But he surprised Greg by what he said next.

"She probably saved Allan's life. I had every intention of beating him to death. If she hadn't distracted me, I would have. And I'm sorry, but only that I didn't get a chance to finish the job."

Greg realized as he looked at him he didn't know who he was anymore. It was like someone flipped a switch, and he had transformed into something different, alien, evil perhaps. And his eyes, usually bright and flashing with good humor, had all the warmth of a bar of steel. They looked soulless, barren.

"I have to go to the hospital. You've been released into my custody, and as your lawyer and boss I'm ordering you to go with Officer Malone. Do not talk to anyone, you understand, not a soul.

Your word on this, Hardy."

He agreed, and Greg watched as the Lincoln pulled out of the driveway.

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Greg had them both transferred to a private hospital.

Gwen looked awful, her lip and the side of her face swelled enormously, the lip bristling with stitches. Plus, she was mildly concussed. The doctors assured him in a couple of weeks she would be back to normal. She was only semiconscious, but in a moment of clarity she recognized her Dad, and she held out her hands. He held her until she went back to sleep. His shirt was soaked, and she murmured "sorry" over and over.

He was shocked when he saw Allan, trying to reconcile his image of Hardy to the man capable of doing this. The face was swelled beyond recognition, his jaw was wired, and he had tubes and bandages sticking out of his face.

What shocked him most of all was that both Gwen and Allan had almost shaved heads. He thought it was due to the medical treatment.

When he read the police report, he was so stunned he had to lie down.

.................................................

It was one of the most uncomfortable meetings he ever had.

A month had passed. Gwen was presentable again, except for the small scars on her lip. Her hair had grown out, and she had it in a modest bob. The hairstyle and her quiet demeanor made her appear older.

She had come back to her fathers' house after she was released from the hospital, on medical leave from the firm, hardly ever leaving her room. Greg finally insisted on counseling, she had gone twice so it was too early to tell if it was doing any good.

Allan still looked like shit, his face a mottled color of healing bruises. His jaw was wired shut, would be for a few more weeks, and his buzz cut made him look totally different.

Trying to keep the disgust out of his voice, he spoke.

"All right, you two, here's what going to happen.

We'll start with you, Allan. Here are your options."

"One. I'll allow you to resign, and you won't be getting a recommendation. If you do this, I'll pay for your reconstructive surgery and give you two hundred thousand. You will relocate, west of the Mississippi. I hear California has excellent plastic surgeons. You will sign a paper releasing Hardy of any further responsibility of your medical bills. I've already paid them anyway. You will refuse to press charges for the assault, go away, and never contact him, my daughter, or this firm again."

Allan was already shaking his head no, visions of a multimillion dollar lawsuit in his eyes. Plus, he really wanted to stick it to the redneck asshole.

Greg eyed him for a minute.

"All right, option two. I'll have you arrested for sexually assaulting my daughter and drug charges. Yours were the only fingerprints on the champagne bottle. You have any idea how popular pretty boy lawyers are in jail? You'll be married to Bubba in less than a week, I'll make sure of it."

"You'll be disbarred, even if you beat the assault charge, because of the drug angle. Gwen has already agreed to testify. You'll most likely have a felony record, and minimum wage will be your future."

"As a bonus, the Boston P.D. has a real hardon for you right now. Shouldn't have been such a jerk when you were doing defense work. If you're one mile over the speed limit, you'll get a ticket. If you fart in public, they'll cite you for breaking the noise ordinance. Have one drink in a bar, and you'll get a drunk and disorderly charge. They know your fondness for drugs, they'll probably search your home, your car, your body, including full cavity searches, on a regular basis. All I have to do is call the commissioner and say "go". All told, sunny California looks like your best option.

"In other words, I'll use all my wealth and the connections I have to make your existence as miserable as possible, and I'll do it with a smile. Shouldn't have messed with my family, ASSHOLE!"

He picked up the phone.

"So shake your head yes right this minute, you miserable motherfucker, or the games begin."

Allan was trapped, and knew it. He was actually crying when he shook his head yes. Greg smiled for the first time.

"Good. Now before you leave, I think my daughter wants to say something to you. When she's done, I expect to hear you're on a plane within twenty four hours, heading West. Go past that and I start making calls."

Gwen rose and stood before him. He wouldn't raise his head. She grabbed him by his split ear. He would have screamed if he could have opened his mouth.

"Look at me, you miserable cocksucker. I lost the man I loved over you. I've always meant to tell you, without the drugs in me your lovemaking skills suck. I hope you have a long miserable life, and all the shit you've pulled come back to bite you on the ass."

She let go of the ear and slapped him hard. He almost passed out from the pain. He practically crawled out of the office. The paperwork, including the check, was waiting for him at the security desk.