Trigger

by David Swinson

  “Well, what about now? You gonna see about getting a unit to sit on the block now?”

  “I’ll talk to my sarge,” he says. “If he won’t, we won’t clear the scene and we’ll stay out there through the end of my tour.” He looks at Freudiger, worried because he heard him say that.

  Freudiger smiles. He doesn’t give a shit about something petty like that. At least the Freudiger I remember doesn’t.

  I look back at Al. He’s sitting there sipping his scotch. Looks like a fucking lost puppy.

  Forty-Five

  Crime Scene finishes up and leaves the mess for Al to take care of.

  “We’ll be in the car out front, working on the report,” the MPO tells Al.

  “Appreciate you sticking around out there.”

  “No problem.”

  They exit. The only one left is Freudiger, and we know why he’s here.

  “Like I said, Detective Luna, I was already on my way here when all this broke out. Wish I was on the block when it did.”

  Al looks up to him from his chair, weary smile on his face.

  “I have to serve you with this subpoena for you to provide us with the information that can identify the confidential informant you said you were with prior to the shooting. We need to interview the person. You know that.”

  “I know, but I also have to protect it. You know that.”

  “We will not release any information that can identify your CI.”

  “Right, just like my name and address were not supposed to be released. You can see what came of that.”

  “Our office had nothing to do with that leak. The information will stay with my office, and I’ll be the only one to interview the person. It goes without saying, but you do know the consequences of not responding to this subpoena.”

  “I know the consequences.” He downs what is left of the Jameson.

  “Leave the subpoena,” I say. “He’ll get with his lawyer and we’ll figure this out.”

  “Figure what out, Frank?” Al snaps.

  “Give us time, Johnny.”

  “End of the week.” He turns to exit, looks at Al again. “I’m sorry this happened, Al.”

  “What? The window or the subpoena?”

  “Everything.”

  “Never say you’re sorry,” Al says.

  Al’s looking at his empty glass of Jameson with only one melting cube of ice in it.

  I walk Johnny to the door.

  “I’m going to stick around here until we get the window fixed,” I tell him. “And if Al says the CI doesn’t know anything, then the CI doesn’t know anything.”

  “We’ll talk soon.” He walks out the door, closing it behind him.

  Al turns to me. “It’s freezing in here.”

  “I can make a run to Home Depot, get what you need to board it up until you can get a new window.”

  “No, no. I got a guy who’ll come right out and do that.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “No, Frank. I’ll take care of it. I’ll give him a call now.”

  “All right, then. You want a refill?”

  “Why not.”

  I grab his glass and go to the kitchen. I can hear him talking on his cell.

  When I return with his drink, and a bit for me, he’s off the phone. I hand him his glass and sit on the sofa. I look at the broken bottle of scotch on the end table.

  “Don’t worry about that, either. I like the smell.”

  “Shit. I’ll clean up the glass at least,” I say while standing.

  “Sit down, Frank. You’re driving me nuts with your need to help. It’s not like you, and it’s freaking me out.”

  I sit, sip the whiskey.

  “You can be a real hardhead, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your guy coming now for the window?”

  “Be here in about an hour.”

  “I don’t want to freak you out any more, but you should come stay with me.”

  He snorts a short laugh. “You’re a good friend, bro. Don’t want you to think otherwise, but I’m staying here.”

  “Stay away from the windows, then.”

  My phone rings. I pull it out. It’s Leslie.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  “Judge called a brief recess. Was Al the target?”

  “Seriously doubt it was random.”

  “He still with the police?”

  “They’re all gone. You want to talk to him?”

  “Yes.”

  I hand the cell over to Al.

  “It’s Leslie. I’m going to step out onto the porch to have a smoke.”

  He nods, takes the phone.

  “Hello.”

  I exit, tap out a cigarette from the pack and light it. The MPO and his partner are in the marked cruiser double-parked in front of the house. The nonemergency lights are on. He sees me when I step out, gives a half salute instead of a wave.

  I sit on an old wooden chair. I can hear Al through the broken window as he talks to Leslie. I notice three bullet holes in the siding near the window, all the holes made larger after Crime Scene dug out the spent rounds. More repairs he’ll need to do.

  My butt’s getting cold.

  When I finish the smoke, I flick it to the sidewalk beyond the front yard, watch it roll to the gutter, and then walk back in the house.

  Al’s off the phone. The phone is on the coffee table. I snatch it up before I sit and slip it back into my coat pocket.

  “Getting cold as shit,” I say, and then pick up my glass and take a drink. “That makes it better, though.”

  “Sure does.”

  “By the way, have any of your investigations ever led to a house on Queen Street?”

  He thinks for a moment. “No. Why?”

  “Those two mopes I was telling you about, Ty and Marlon. Looks like they have something going there.”

  He rests his head back on the armchair, staring at the ceiling.

  “Like what?”

  “No foot traffic, so I’m thinking a safe house.”

  “Sorry I brought you into this, Frank.”

  “Now you’re being a dope.”

  “Really, I am sorry. I figured if anyone could get to the bottom of this, it’s you. Honestly, though, I don’t know how the hell you can.” He looks at me direct. “I am telling you the truth, Frankie. The kid had a gun.” Rests his head back on the armchair, not expecting me to reply. I don’t.

  I finish off the glass and wait for the guy who’ll board up the frame where the window once was.

  Al is sitting on the chair, head slumped back, hand on the glass that’s sitting on the end table, snoring.

  When the repairman shows and Al looks like he’s fully awake, I leave.

  “Call you later,” I say.

  “Thanks, Frank.”

  Before I get in the car, I walk to the MPO’s cruiser. He rolls down the driver’s window.

  “I appreciate you boys sticking around.”

  “No worries. Talked to my sarge at 5D. He said he’d post a unit on the block for the next shift.”

  “Thank him for me.”

  “Will do.”

  “You guys stay safe and warm, all right?”

  “A good officer always does.”

  I extend my hand to shake. He accepts.

  I get in the car and drive.

  The dark drops hard in winter. I decide to take advantage of that and drive around, maybe hit the 17th and Euclid area. This cold will keep most people inside. I’m not looking for most people, just certain knuckleheads, the ones who are up to no good, braving the freezing weather to make a few more dollars.

  A couple of guys are standing on the corner, huddled together in their overly large bloated black jackets, looking like a couple of bear cubs left out of the den.

  I’m parked on Euclid, half a block away, and look through my binos. They don’t look familiar. I decide to hang out for a bit.

  About an hour passes, when I notice a newer-model Explorer pu
ll to the curb at the corner. The two guys walk over to it as the rear door behind the passenger seat opens. Someone steps onto the sidewalk, wearing a puffy white winter coat. Can’t make the person out until she turns and reveals her profile. Fucking Darling. What the hell? I thought she was sober. Is she trying to score something from them? But then the Explorer pulls away. She stays there talking to the boys for a bit and walks up the stairs to the row house on 17th, the one that was—maybe still is—a brothel, and where I discovered the other runaway a few years back. Tamie opens the door and steps in.

  Holy fuck.

  More than two hours later the Explorer returns, double-parks in front of the house and waits. A couple of minutes after that Tamie exits, says something to the two boys on the corner. They nod, keep a respectful distance, like she’s their queen. After a minute she steps back into the car and it drives north on 17th.

  I follow.

  I’m fucking ready to jump outta my skin now, especially when I follow the car to Queen Street and it parks near the house we followed Ty and Marlon to.

  The driver and another guy step out of the front as Tamie steps out of the rear.

  Peering through the binos, I can’t make the boys out. The street is not well lit. They enter the house.

  It’s late. Al’s probably sleeping. I know Leslie is. I’ll keep this to myself for now. I have to take it all in first.

  I hang out there for more than an hour, then head home. I have Darling’s contact information and the Explorer’s tag number. I’ll give Lustig a call tomorrow, see if he’ll run it for me. I pull out the Polaroid of Tamie that’s in my backpack. Damn, she’s rough-looking. You fucking played me well.

  Forty-Six

  I drive around my neighborhood for a few minutes, like I did before. Looks clear, so I park down the street from my house and walk home.

  I’m hungry, but too tired to fix anything. Too late to order anything, so the best option is sleep.

  My good friend Klonopin helps.

  I immediately fade into a dream.

  Phone rings. Wakes me up.

  Was I dreaming?

  It rings again.

  I roll over, look at it on the nightstand. I don’t recognize the number. Still a little groggy.

  I answer with a scratchy “Hello.”

  “Frank Marr?” a somewhat familiar voice asks.

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “Sounds like I woke you. Sorry. This is Officer Russ Smith, 4D.”

  “Russ, what time is it?”

  I sit on the edge of the bed, turn the light on. I notice the time on my cell. Oh-three-thirty.

  “Oh-three-thirty.”

  “Damn. Haven’t talked to you in ages, man. Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Need you to tell me that.”

  “Okay.”

  What the fuck’s this about?

  “I have this young man here, stopped him when he was wandering the outer perimeter of the zoo’s fenced area at Adams Mill and Clydesdale. Says his name is Calvin Tolson and he works for you.”

  Takes me a second.

  “Calvin? Is he under arrest?”

  “Stopped him for suspicious behavior. Had a large baggie of weed, more than personal use, but no, didn’t arrest him.”

  “Yeah, he works for me. Did he say what he was doing up there?”

  “Said he got locked out of his uncle’s home on Hobart. Didn’t want to wake him, so he was just finding a spot to rest. Has a backpack with personal items and clothing, so I thought that was odd.”

  “We were doing a two-day surveillance gig on a cheating husband. That’s why he’s packed,” I make up on the spot.

  “Well, I ran him and he’s clear. No record.”

  “Yeah, I know he is. Sorry about this shit, Russ. He probably was too worried to call me. He always forgets his keys. Can you hold him there and I’ll come pick him up?”

  “No problem.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “Here he is.”

  “Yeah,” Calvin says.

  “That’s all you got for me is a yeah?”

  “Only thing I could think of.”

  “You the only one that can hear me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told Officer Smith you had a backpack of clothes because we were working a two-day surveillance case and that you forgot your keys. Got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And do you know what would have happened if you got yourself locked up?”

  “For what?”

  “Weed is legal in the city, but not if you have more than a certain amount. You know that.”

  “I know. I get locked up, then I’d have an adult record.”

  “Fuck that. They would’ve run your prints, and it would’ve come back to a hit on the nickname Playboy. The fucking drive-by. You understand now?”

  A bit of an exaggeration. I’m only trying to scare him. Like I said, I’d have to identify Calvin as the driver, too. That is, unless his prints are also on the shooter’s weapon. That’d fuck him.

  “Fuck.”

  “You’re lucky the officer knows me. I’ll be there in a few. You treat Officer Smith with respect for the courtesy he’s shown you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “What’s up, Marr?”

  “I’ll be there in about twenty. I appreciate what you did, man. I owe you. Calvin’s a good kid.”

  “Drinks on you at Rebellion next time I see you.”

  “Hell yeah.”

  I disconnect, step out of bed, and shake off the sleep.

  I don’t even have time to make coffee. It’ll have to be by willpower alone.

  When I get there, Calvin is sitting on the curb in front of the patrol car. The headlights are off, but the parking lights are on. Smith and his partner are in the car. It’s a no-parking area, so there are no other cars around. I can pull ahead of Calvin and park along the curb. When I step out, Smith is already out. His partner, a young woman, probably still in training, also steps out. Calvin stands up and shoulders his backpack.

  I shake my head at Calvin, like I’ve had to pick him up before.

  “Good to see ya, Smith.”

  We shake hands.

  I turn to his partner and introduce myself. “Hi. Frank Marr.”

  “Officer King,” she says.

  “Calvin, I’ll say it again. You can’t keep forgetting your keys, man.”

  “I know.”

  “Thanks for not locking his ass up for the weed, Russ.”

  “Looked more than for personal use, but hell, I don’t have a scale. Do you, Officer King?”

  “No.”

  “’Sides, Mr. Tolson seems like a good young man who knows in the future to carry only a couple of joints, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, we’ll get out of your hair, man. Be safe.”

  “You too, Marr. See you around.”

  They both step into the cruiser in sync.

  “It’s freezing out here,” I say, and walk to the car.

  Calvin follows.

  Forty-Seven

  Still don’t trust him enough to take him to my house, so we head to an all-night food joint in Georgetown. I am curious why he chose to call me.

  I never asked how old he is, but I figure no older than his midtwenties. Hard to tell, though. He could be younger. I don’t want to say I feel like a dad right now even though I’m old enough to have a son his age. Let’s just say I feel like a big brother, and we’ll leave it there.

  “Why’d you disappear?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugs, but I know he does know.

  “Why’d you think to call me?”

  “Couldn’t call my uncle. I guess I was afraid they might have paper on me, so figured you being an ex-cop might help. At least I was bankin’ on you helpin’.”

  “If there was paper on you, the officer would have locked you up after he ran your name. It would’ve been un
der your nickname, Playboy, with your description, but more than likely, what we call an unnumbered warrant, so the only way they would’ve found out is if you got locked up and your prints were run. Then the detective who got the warrant on you would be notified.”

  “Unnumbered?”

  “Not in the system, but still a warrant for your arrest. You’re lucky that officer knows me. Most cops won’t waste their time processing an arrest for weed anymore. It’ll just be a no-paper, but some of the young ones like the overtime money that comes with going to court at the end of their shift even if the case is going to get thrown out.”

  “Weed’s legal.”

  “Technically.”

  “Appreciate what you did.” He says it sincerely. Sounds like a different person saying it, a little uncomfortable.

  “You get back with your uncle, tell him you met a girl, some shit like that. Tell him you’ll call next time instead of disappearing like that, or I’ll turn you in to the detective myself. You’re an adult. You make your own decisions, but your uncle’s not like a roommate. You can’t just run off, not tell him. He’s gonna worry, ’cause he’s family.”

  “Yeah.”

  The city is different around this time. Quiet, and there’s a certain light glow in the night sky as it begins its turn to day. There was a time I pulled a lot of all-nighters, but it’s harder to stay awake these days. I am up now and may as well stay up, as hard as that might be.

  When we get to the diner, we grab a couple of stools at the counter. Not a busy night, just a few tables taken up by college-type kids still trying to sober up.

  First thing I do is order coffee, Calvin just water. I’m not hungry. It’s too early. My body has its set routine. I don’t like to disrupt it or it’ll fuck up my system.

  Calvin orders the steak and eggs with toast.

  “Where did you think you were going to go after you left your uncle’s?”

  “I don’t know.” Sips water. “Thought about goin’ to the house where I bought weed, but didn’t take long to change my mind ’bout that. Knew I’d be walking into trouble if I did. Fall back into that old shit. Don’t know, really, what I was thinking. Where I’d go.”

  “So, you got this job back if you want it. No strings.”

  Seems bothered.

  “What’s the problem here, Calvin?”