A Hope City Duet

by Kris Michaels

  “Masters has invoked his right to an attorney. He hasn’t said a word. As far as how he got a gun into the building…” His father glanced at the curtain surrounding them. “We knew we had rats who’d found holes to hide. Seems Masters knew where to look. The sergeant working the floor stepped away to break up an altercation and one of the patrolmen in the lobby took Masters through. It’s all on film. The patrolman was one of the few that Internal Affairs couldn’t bring charges against in the East Side riots.”

  Brock sighed and dropped his head to the pillow. “What was he going to do? Kill Cynthia? I don’t understand the concept of bringing a gun into a secure area.”

  “Desperation can make you do almost anything.” Kallie spoke for the first time since they’d walked into the room.

  “True.” His father nodded and leaned back in his chair. “It also makes strange bed partners.”

  “Oh no, don’t fucking tell me you’re going to let the DA flip Masters. I mean I know it is the right thing to do, but damn it, Pops, he’ll be getting away with murder. Literally.”

  His father shrugged. “It will further the investigation. The DA is very interested in getting Masters into Wit-Sec. But, he’ll have to play ball, and I don’t know if he’ll go for it. Sebastian Treyson is pulling favors right and left trying to block the DA’s intent, which has Larry fit to be tied. He has rats in his organization, too.”

  “Masters’ll go for a plea bargain. The murder charge and attempted murder charge are slam dunks.” Kallie said the words he was thinking.

  “The motherfucker killed Samuel Treyson in cold blood and then torched the warehouse to try to cover his tracks. The fucker would have succeeded if Dawson hadn’t talked to us.”

  Kallie grasped the silver rail of his bed. “The receipts to the cleaner, the tie in between Dawson and Samuel, and Cynthia’s greed paved a perfect set up for Masters, except Cynthia wasn’t a push over. I think Cynthia called Masters and threatened to out him. That’s why he needed to get to her and to silence her.”

  “Wait, how did Samuel get the perc on his face?” He was still fuzzy, but fuck him, he needed to know what was happening.

  Kallie filled in the blanks for him. “From the initial report I got from Davidson, she admitted to slapping him and telling him she was going to have Dawson beaten. That’s when she said Sam dropped to his knees. To beg her not to hurt Dawson. She said she took his car keys and the cash from his wallet when he offered it to her and then left him still on his knees, thought better of it, and circled back. She saw Masters with a knife. She said the men were talking, Samuel started to get up, and Masters slit his throat. She’d videoed the entire thing.”

  His father stood up and stretched his back as he spoke. “If he takes the deal, we’ll have all the answers, if not, well, we may never know. It is one of the hazards of the job. We do what we can do and let the system take it from there. But, if our suspicions are true and the cartels are in bed with some of the companies Treyson and Masters had access to… life just became more difficult for all of us.”

  His father winced as he straightened. He’d aged since he’d become the commissioner. The grey in his hair was more pronounced, but it was the ever-present exhaustion that worried Brock the most. High blood pressure and a high stress job were breeding grounds for a heart attack. His father had always seemed invincible to him, but today, he looked worried, tired, and stressed. Granted, his oldest son in the hospital probably didn’t help, but…

  “I need to get back to Briar Hill, but before I go, I’m going to spend a couple minutes with your mom. She’s worried about you, so cut her some slack.” He headed to the curtain. “Oh, and if you are released tomorrow, your butt will be at Sunday night dinner. It was only a .22 for God’s sake.” His dad raised a hand and ducked through the curtain.

  Kallie managed to hold her laughter in for about two tenths of a second. “See, even your dad agrees.”

  “Har, har, har. I’m still not amused.” But he did smile and then laugh. Kallie’s mirth was infectious. “How was my mom? Did she make your life miserable?”

  “No, she was very gracious. I met your entire family.”

  Brock closed his eyes and groaned. “You need these drugs more than I do.” He motioned to the arm with the IV in it.

  “No, really. Bekki is a force of nature. She’s on Channel 2, isn’t she?”

  “Yep, my little sister, the investigative reporter. Brianna owns Horizon. It is a nice restaurant close to Briar Hills. She’s quite the businesswoman.”

  “Your brother Blay brought the entire fire station with him.”

  “Yeah, if he was on duty, they’d all travel together. Did you meet Brody?” Brock hoped like hell she had. Brody was the sane one of the bunch, and he was closest to Brody.

  “I did. We had a nice conversation, and your dad briefed me and him at the same time. Sean was here for a moment. He said he’d call you tonight or tomorrow morning depending on how his case played out.”

  “He’s a good guy.” His best friend was more than that, but he wasn’t about to go into all the shit they’d done together. Things like sharing their first kiss experience… they’d kissed the same girl under the bleachers. Yeah, not material to share with your new girlfriend. A smile tilted his lips. His girlfriend. A damn good thought.

  Her phone vibrated, and she glanced at it quickly.

  "Is that from Davidson?"

  She sighed and shook her head. "No."

  "The ex?"

  "Yeah."

  "Kallie, how many times has he texted you today?"

  She shrugged. "Enough to be annoying."

  "What is he saying?"

  "That he is going to get to me, and I'll be sorry for putting him in jail. Bla, bla, bla. Paraphrasing, of course."

  Brock drew a deep breath and gaged his words carefully. "Let me help."

  She gave a humorous laugh. "How?"

  "I have contacts in Guardian. I can have them put eyes on the guy."

  She took his hand. "I'm keeping a copy of the texts. Right now, they're generic threats. I'm a big girl. I know he's out there. When he comes after me, I'll be prepared."

  "We'll be prepared." He squeezed her hand.

  Her phone vibrated again. She glanced at the face and rolled her eyes.

  "If those threats change, promise you'll tell me?"

  "I can do that."

  His nurse slipped back between the curtains. “Detective King, we have a room ready for you. I’ve told the masses in the waiting room where to find you, but I also told them no more than two visitors at a time.” She glanced at Kallie. “We can let your…” The nurse looked from Kallie to him waiting for someone to fill in the blanks.

  “Girlfriend,” Kallie said before he could.

  “Right, girlfriend, come with you as we move you up.”

  “Thank you.” Kallie smiled at the woman and stepped back when three more people in scrubs entered the area. The IV was connected to the bed. He was disconnected from the monitoring machines, and the brakes were released on the bed. He hated that he couldn’t walk to the room, but in all honesty, he’d make it about twenty feet before he’d have to rest. Those damn drugs really took it out of him.

  Down the hall, up the elevator, and into a new room, Kallie stayed right beside him.

  “I’m going to be back shortly. We’ll keep an eye on your vitals and as soon as you eat and use the bathroom, we’ll take that IV out. According to your family, you know the drill.” The nurse laughed when he groaned. “Anyway, the doc will stop by tonight before he goes home. Do you have any questions?”

  “When can I go home?”

  “That’s up to the doctor.” The nurse checked his IV, hooked the oxygen monitor back on his finger, and took his blood pressure again. “When do you want me to start sending in your family?”

  Brock reached his hand to Kallie who slid hers into his. “Can you give us a few minutes? Delay my mother's entrance, please.”

  “That I can do.
I’m on it.” She whisked from the room and the door closed behind her.

  He squeezed Kallie’s hand. “Seriously, I know my family is a lot to take. If they get to be too much, you’ll let me know, right?”

  Kallie took her hand from his and sat down beside him. The vibration from her phone, a sound that had become all too familiar, filled the space between them. She didn't even look at the phone. He fucking hated her ex.

  Kallie leaned forward. “I’m not going anywhere. Your family is wonderful. If whatever this is between us doesn’t work out, it won’t be because of your family, so stop worrying about them, okay?”

  Brock reached up and palmed her cheek with his hand. The IV tubing tangled with her hair, but he didn’t give a fuck. “I’m not going anywhere. This thing between us is new, but I’m all in, so stop expecting me to be like your ex, okay?”

  Kallie’s eyes widened. “I… you… How did you know?”

  “I’m a detective, remember? You’re giving me an out if this thing between us doesn’t work. I’m not looking for an out. I’m looking for a way in. Let me in, Kallie. I know he is texting you, and I know you're trying to keep it from me. Don't do that. I'm not going to give up on us because of him.”

  “Fair enough. On one condition.”

  “And that is?”

  “Stop getting shot.”

  “I can’t guarantee it, but I’ll try.”

  “I’ll take it.” She leaned into him, and he touched his lips to hers.

  “Oh! Isn’t that sweet, Sharon?”

  Brock groaned at his mother’s words and complained to the nurse, “I thought you were going to give us a few minutes.” Kallie dissolved into laughter, and her head hit his shoulder. He opened his eyes and found the nurse sending daggers in his mother’s direction.

  “I’m sorry, sir, have you met your mother? She wasn't going to be delayed.” The nurse shrugged and left the room. Traitor.

  18

  Kallie opened the door to her apartment. She thought she'd make it back first, but every light in the apartment was on. Brock must have had a hell of a day. He’d milked the gunshot for three weeks of desk duty but had been back on the street for over a month. Davidson had semi-permanently assigned Brock as the side car to Bettis and Hansen's team. Being the third in a two-man team took some getting used to, but from what she'd seen, they were making it work. She hadn't heard of any fucked-up calls today... Something must have happened.

  "Yo, Detective King, what are you, made of money?" She shut the door, turned the deadbolt and reached over to flip off the light in the kitchen.

  She immediately turned it back on.

  The oven isn't on. That's strange.

  Whoever got home first always put dinner in the oven.

  "Hey? How was your day?" She shouted down the hall and waited for a response. Nothing. Is he already in the shower? Damn, it must have been a total bitch of a day.

  She opened the fridge, retrieved the casserole dish, and shoved it in the oven before she snagged two rocks glasses and poured each of them a finger of the good stuff. She dropped two ice cubes in each and used one hand to pinch the glasses together. With her free hand she cut off the lights in the kitchen and hall.

  "What the fuck?" The living room was a disaster, cushions flipped off the furniture and her throws tossed over plants. She blinked, taking it in and scanned to the television, which was muted, but on. Old footage of her and Brock exiting Masters’ trial ran in a six second loop. Her focus shifted to the stickie on the screen. "Found you, bitch."

  She dropped the glasses, drew her weapon, and palmed her phone. The glasses shattered against the hardwood floors. Training backed her against the wall to protect her six. She scanned the hall. Lights were on under the bedroom door and it was closed. A shadow slid past the door. The fucker.

  Brock laughed when he answered. "Hey, did you miss––"

  She hissed, "Shut up and listen. He's here."

  "Who? Rich?"

  "Yes!" Her eyes jumped from the hall to the hall closet and further to the small utility room. The motherfucker was In. Her. Home.

  "Where are you? Are you safe?"

  "Home. In the living room. I saw movement in the bedroom. A shadow against the light. There and then gone."

  "Babe, don't be a fucking hero, get out." She could hear him snapping orders at someone.

  "Fuck that. Call backup." She wasn't going to allow Rich to take her life away from her again.

  "Bettis is doing that now. We're almost there. Wait for me. I'm your fucking backup!" The commanding tone in his voice rang over the connection.

  She stood and edged her way to the front door. She cleared the hall to the rear and backed down the hall in the opposite direction. She kept her eyes on the bedroom door, pinned the phone to her ear with her shoulder, and reached back to dislodge the deadbolt.

  "Front door is unlocked."

  "We're a block away. Get the fuck out. He can't leave without coming through the front door or the fire escape. Bettis and Hansen are taking the rear." She heard him yell at Hansen to pull over and use the next turn to the right to access the rear of the building. "I'm on my way up."

  "Standing just inside the door."

  Brock’s breath panted as she heard him climb the stairs. "Babe, I'm on the floor below you. I'll be there in thirty seconds."

  At the sound of him in the hall, she placed her phone down and stepped forward. The front door swung open slowly, and Brock moved behind her. He pointed to the kitchen and living room. She mouthed, “Clear”.

  They advanced, her weapon pointed down, his up. He'd take high and she'd take low on any entry. She moved past the closet with Brock. There wasn't even enough room for sheets and hand towels in the small space; no one could hide in there. Silently, they moved down the hall. The laundry room was next. Positioned outside the door, Brock held up three fingers, and she nodded. He lowered his fingers one at a time and yanked the door open. She lowered to her knees with him standing over her. Rich had strewn the cat litter all over the washer and dryer, and the bag of cat food was shredded, the kibble everywhere.

  They recovered and moved to the bedroom. Brock stared at her. She knew what he was asking. She nodded. She was ready. He held up three fingers. They repeated the entry, but this time she moved right, and he moved left. Her clothes, and Brock’s, were shredded and draped from every surface. All the drawers in the dresser had been pulled out and dumped, and the mirror over it read, “Die, bitch!” in her lipstick. He’d taken a sharp blade to her mattress and pillows and their guts littered the floor. The room stank of urine.

  She ground her teeth together and did her fucking job.

  Clearing the bedroom, Brock leveled his gun on the closet, moved in front of it with her as overwatch. Nothing. The bed was on a solid pedestal; no one was getting under that thing.

  She nodded past the bed to the bathroom. As they slowly and silently inched forward, Fester issued a screeching meow and ran toward them.

  Fuck! She stepped around the crazy cat and moved to position in front of the bathroom door. Brock opened the door, and they moved as one to clear the small bathroom.

  "Clear." Brock turned around at the same time she did. Fuck, what a mess. Fester weaved himself around her legs. She holstered her gun, reached down, and scooped him up. "What the hell?"

  "He shredded all of our clothes. The motherfucker is dangerous, Kallie. How did he find you?"

  "I don't know. Maybe the news coverage?" She smoothed her fingers through Fester's thick coat, stopping when her fingers hit something. "Oh, the sick bastard." She pointed to the small noose that was fastened around Fester's neck.

  "Is he okay?" Brock's hand rifled through the cat's fur.

  "I think so. Yeah. Purring like a motorboat."

  Brock's gaze snapped to the twine. "Is that the string from the kitchen?"

  "Probably."

  "We need to get the crime scene techs in here." Brock wrapped her in a hug, nearly suffocating poor Fester i
n between them, but neither she nor the cat protested. "I'll call Bettis and Hansen and bring them in."

  "You'll probably want to call Lieutenant Davidson, too." He nodded, his chin brushing her hair.

  "I'm not going to let him do this. He can't have my life."

  Brock made a sound of agreement, kissed her temple, and moved away. "Let's get this scene processed, and we'll worry about what happens next."

  She gave her statement for the third time while sitting in the kitchen, and that's where she'd stayed. She'd turned off the oven over two hours ago when their dinner had started to burn. The crime scene techs had processed her entire apartment. Fingerprint dust covered absolutely everything. Both she and Brock gave sample prints for exclusion. They wouldn't find anything. Rich had been a cop. He knew to wear gloves. The stickie on the television and the homemade DVD with the looping footage were taken as evidence, as was the small noose that Rich had fashioned from butcher’s twine. The sick son of a bitch. Fester had been rattled, or he sensed her unease, because he hadn't willingly left her lap and launched back into it as soon as she'd let him.

  "Where are they?" Davidson plodded into the kitchen and dumped his body into one of the four chairs.

  Brock followed him into the kitchen after closing the front door behind the last crime scene tech. Kallie slid her phone across the table and hit the messages icon. The men huddled together and read the latest vitriol from her ex-husband. It was nothing new. Nothing that indicated he'd found her. No uptick in the threats.

  Brock gazed at her. She shrugged. "They are all the same. I told you I'd let you know if the tone changed."

  Davidson started to scroll. "How many are there?"

  "Hundreds." Probably closer to a thousand. Rich was prolific.

  "This is going to a judge. Restraining order and hopefully a warrant to pick up this motherfucker. Then we need to determine what to do with you." Davidson looked up from his phone at her snort.

  She shook her head. "Nothing. I'm not going to let this guy scare me into leaving my job. I've told Grant about Rich. I'll keep him informed on what happened tonight. Brock has known from the start. I'm not ducking out. I have a life here. I'm not letting him take that from me."