Chapter TwoNovember 12. Four months later.Roman Stefan surveyed the isles in search of a last minute gift for his ailing father. He should have made an effort to get out of bed but he had a late night—morning actually—and wasn’t in any mood to wake early to go gift-hunting. Now, he regretted that decision, the party store selections had very little offerings to choose from.The shop’s owner, Omar Jafih Muhammad kept a keen eye on his single customer. Roman of course was aware of the man’s watchful gaze, but didn’t care. If shoplifting was his intention, he could easily smuggle items out even under the owner’s scrutiny. A skill he’d retained from his problematic childhood.An annoying jingle sounded as the front door opened. The noise diverted Omar’s attention away from Roman. Several large circular mirrors mounted on various corners near the ceiling allowed the owner a panoramic view of the entire store.Roman stared up at one taking note of the two young African-American men walking in. At first, there was nothing striking about the pair, just typical teenagers. He studied them a moment longer. Two things immediately caught his interest about the teens: One had most of his right forearm stowed deep inside of his open trench coat. While the other was sweating like he just stepped out of a hot shower.He recognized their intentions and accessed their level of danger. The teens’ body language, age, and nervousness told him all he needed, ‘Just amateurs.’ If he had to put them down, they would be little trouble.Roman could have warned the store owner he was about to be robbed, but he recalled how Omar’s distrustful gaze was fixed on him just moments ago and thought better of it. Instead, he continued his search for his father’s gift.The young man with his arm stuffed in his coat yelled obscenities as he withdrew a mean-looking saw-off shotgun from his jacket. The second teen leapt over the counter, joining the surprised owner on the opposite side, cutting him off from retrieving any hidden weapons.Omar once again stared at Roman--this time however, his eyes were silently pleading for help.Roman gave a half smirk and turned away as if nothing was happening.The two young men were in the store for less than two minute. Emptying the cash register and filling their coat pockets with various items from the shelves. They had rushed out hooting, laughing and cursing.Roman gave a genuine smile as he spotted the book of crosswords on the bottom shelf. His father loved solving puzzles. Retrieving the book, he approached the counter.Omar’s color was finally returning to his flushed skin.Roman sat the book atop the counter along with cash.The shop owner opened his mouth unable to speak at first, but finally found his voice and asked angrily, “Why didn’t you help me? You’re a police officer?”Roman scarcely looked up at the man. “I’m off duty,” was all he had to say about the matter. Anyway, robberies weren’t his problem—he handled homicides. And as far as he could see, no one was dead.Roman entered the hospital twenty minutes after the robbery at the party store. The memory of the incident had already become a footnote in the back of his mind. Soon he’d forget it even occurred. For the past four months he’d been making frequent visits to Henry Ford Hospital--ever since his father’s cancer was diagnosed as terminal. The old man might have three or four months left.Because of his weekly visits, he’d become a fixture at the hospital. Staff would recognize Detective Sergeant Roman Stefan on sight. Bypassing standard procedures for visitors because of his status as a Detroit police officer, he was often allowed to visit his father without checking in at the front desk first. This worked out perfectly, since most of his visits were during work hours and less record keeping there was the better he was for it.Usually the doctors, nurses and orderlies would greet the detective with a smile. Today was different--something had changed. The staff appeared sympathetic. Worry worked it way into Roman’s bones and his hands began to shake. Had his father died? No. If he had, the hospital surely would have contacted him. Although he wasn’t aware of it, Roman’s picked up his pace almost running to the elevator.A nurse, Barbara he remembered, cut him off before he entered the car. “Detective Stefan. Your father has been moved to a different floor,” she said before lowering her voice loud enough for only him to hear, “He’s in ICU.”Roman’s went ramrod straight, his chocolate complexion lightened several shades. Though his brain seemed to shut down, he was surprised when he heard himself asked, “How bad is it?”The nurse’s eyes pointed to the floor before returning to meet his gaze. “You need to talk to Dr. Woodrow. He’ll explain things to you.” The empathy in her sadden expression said it all—it was really bad.Dr. Woodrow was standing at William Stefan’s bedside in the private room when Roman and the nurse arrived to the Intensive Care Ward. Using a syringe, the doctor injected a clear liquid into the IV that ran into his patient arm. He glanced towards the door as the two stepped inside the room.“Detective,” Wooodrow greeted stoically. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”Roman wasn’t sure if he responded or not. His attention was on the pained face of his father, whose eyes were opened: The left was solid crimson as if a blood vessel had burst behind it. The pupil on the right had his normal nut-brown hue. The old man seemed to have aged another ten years since yesterday. His entire body shook as if a cold chill enveloped him. His wrinkled fingers were opening and closing in that working-the-sleep-out-of-your-hands sort of way. Just a month ago, the retired fireman looked so powerful and strong. Now he was weak and defeated.Roman hated seeing his old man like this. Though he’d been coming to the hospital practically like clockwork everyday, the time he spent there grew less and less. He wondered if this would be his last time. Just thinking about losing his father sent a wave of guilt through Roman’s body. He made so many excuses to leave early, now all he could think about was spending as much time as he could with his old man.Whatever medication Dr. Woodrow had put into his patient body seemed to be taking affect. Roman watched as his father’s body started to stabilize—his shaking stopped and the pumping motions of his fingers had lessened. Even the color single eye had receded from red to a dark shade of pink. The permanent frown of pain on his old man’s face now looked almost peaceful.Roman looked up at Woodrow. “What happened?”“Your father suffered a Pulmonary Embolism. I had to operate to free up the blood clot in his lungs.”Roman focused on the term he actually understood. “Blood Clot? Operate? When did all this happen? Why hadn’t I been contacted?”Two fingers from Woodrow’s hand went to the bridge of his nose. He massaged it for a long time before answering. “Around three a.m. this morning, your father complained of chest pains and feeling lightheaded. After investigating, I discovered that a deep vein thrombosis had broken loose in your father’s pelvis area. It traveled through his bloodstream up to his lungs.” After letting out a long exaggerated breath, the doctor turned to the nurse.She said, “We tried calling you for the past six hours. You weren’t answering the numbers you left for emergencies. We even called your department and spoke with the officer on duty. She couldn’t get a hold of you either. Since your father was conscious and had fully aware of his situation, he gave the hospital permission to perform the emergency operation.”Roman suspected she wanted to add--Since we couldn’t get a hold of you to your permission. Even more guilt weighed heavily on his heart. He had turned off his cell phone last night so he wouldn’t be disturbed. He spent the better part of the evening and most of the morning at Rachel’s house. His eyes went from the nurse, to the doctors and ended on his old man. “How’s he doing? He’s not a veggie or anything like that is he?”“He’s stabilized for now,” Woodrow said, “And no, his mind and body are still functioning normally. Your father is a tough one.” That last part sounded almost complimentary.“So he’s not going to die?” Roman’s question came off sounding like he was annoyed. And maybe he was. After all, he thought this would be the last time he would see his old man alive. The way the staff had acted what other conclusion could he have come up with? His guilt quickly dwindled away and had morphed to full-on resentment.Who did they think they were anyway? Trying to make me feel like my not being here made this somehow my fault, he thought. Well they can kiss my black ass!Dumbfounded, both Dr. Woodrow and Nurse Barbara stood silent not knowing how to react. Finally, Woodrow cleared his throat. “Yes, detective, he’s going to live. I want to keep him ICU for a few more days before moving back to his room.”“Whatever, doc,” Roman said smugly. He was about to say more when a gentle, but familiar fingers touched his palm. He looked down at his father, whose two normal colored eyes were staring back up. Leaning over, he spoke softly. “What’s up, old man? How are you doing?”“You… need… to… chill,” William Stefan answered weakly. He turned his stare towards the Woodrow. “Doc… Mind if… I talk… with my son… alone?”“Of course,” Woodrow said smiling. He gave a polite nod to Roman, thought his expression conveyed irritation towards the police detective.Nurse Barbara said nothing, she sauntered over to the opened door, waited for the doctor to walk out and then shut it behind them.Roman pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat. From atop of a small dresser drawer, he poured water from a dispenser into an empty glass. Lifting his father’s head slightly off the bed, he helped him sip from it. “I thought I lost you today, old man.”After his father was done, he said, “God wasn’t ready fo’ me… yet,” his voice was much stronger. “Tho’ for a while, I sho’ thought He was.” He laughed then coughed.Roman placed the glass back on the dresser. “Well you tell God your work isn’t done down here. I want you around til’ I’m old and gray.”“You’re already gray as far as my weak eyes can see,” his old man retorted, it was followed by another laugh/cough.He was half-right. Roman’s dark hair was peppered with strands of gray. At thirty, he looked forty. He thought many times about darkening his hair but knew his fellow officers would tease him about it. Rubbing a hand through his close cut crops, he now wondered if he should just shave it off all together.“Yeah, well, work is stressful,” Roman finally responded.His father’s eyes darted around the room, his brow knitted into a V and he pursed his lips together as if he were holding his breath.“What is it old man? I can see you want to say something.”“I’m not as blind as you think I am,” his father said. “I know you’re not… You’re not a good man.”Roman cursed inwardly to himself. This was a conversation he had hoped never to have with his old man. During his ten years on the police force, he’d done many things that he tried to keep hidden from his parents. He lost count of the number of times Internal Affairs had investigated him, and how many times hungry journalists tried to run exposés on him divulging his dirty little secrets. And what he had done to squashed their efforts.His father continued, “I blame myself. I’ve always put work ahead of family. I was never there for you, yo’ sister, or yo’ mother. And it only got worse when I became fire chief. I missed all yo’ ballgames during high school, I missed Remmy’s musical recitals. What you are today… It’s my fault.”Roman turned away and stared across the room at the closed door, wishing he were on the other side of it. “My life was what I made of it. You were… Are, a good dad—the best. The times you were at home, you made the best of it. I’ve seen lots of kids go bad, even when both parents were around all the time. Besides, look at Remmy, she went on to study at Juilliard’s and now she’s a successful musician.”Remmy, Roman’s younger sister by nine years, had graduated with honors from the distinguished school of fine arts. A week later, her skill at the piano and from the high recommendations from instructors at the school, Remmy quickly landed offers from Symphonies from across the country. She chose to stay close to home because of their father’s declining health, taking a position on the Detroit Symphony Orchestra.“You could have followed that same path. You’re as good, if not better at the piano, than she is,” his old man said. “No, instead, as soon as you graduated high school, you did a two year stint in the Army and then joined the police force after coming back home.” He conveniently left off the fact that Roman was forced out of the military with a dishonorable discharge.“You’re trying to make something out of nothing. I don’t blame you for my life’s decisions.” Roman let out a haggard breath. “Can we talk about something else, please?” He looked impatiently at his wristwatch he was supposed to have gone on duty ten minutes ago. But he wasn’t worried at all about being late, it was this conversation that he was growing tired of.His old man reached out once more and touched his son’s arm. “I’m dying and there’s nothing on God’s earth that’s going to stop it.”Roman didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet waiting for his old man’s point.“I don’t want to leave this world knowing that I may have contributed in what you made of your life. I don’t want to go to my grave knowing I created a monster…”Monster? Roman repeated that last word over and over in his head. His father thought of him as a monster. Just how much about me does the old man know?“I want to die with a clear conscious… I want you to make me a promise. Will you do that?”Roman frowned fearing he knew where his old man was going with this. He had many faults, he stole, lied, and even killed when he had to, but the one thing virtuous thing in his life-the one thing that mattered most to him, was his word. Roman rarely gave it, but when he did, it was something he’d yet to break. “Promise you what, old man?”His father’s squeezed his hard tighter, lovingly. “Does it matter? I mean, look at me here, son. Have you seen a more pitiful sight?”His old man’s six feet, three inches of stature once towered over Roman’s five feet, eight inches. But looking at him hooked up to machines and all kinds of IV’s stuck into his arm, all the muscle gone from his once mighty frame, Roman couldn’t imagine a more pathetic sight. A part of him wished his old man were already dead so he wouldn’t have to see the cancer eat away more of him.The last thought, made him feel as if a hand was gripping his heart, trying to yank it out of his chest. He actually wanted his old man dead. Maybe he was right, maybe I am a monster, he considered. Roman’s mouth opened then close like a fish trying to draw in breath. Finally, the words poured forth and he said, “You win old man. You have my word. What do you want me to do?”William Stefan smiled weakly. “I want you to be a good man. I want you to be an honest cop.”Roman looked at the closed door and wished he was on the other side of it.
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