The possibility of doing actual work was all it took to make Jughead step back, and he held up his hands. “What, man, are you crazy? It’s damn near 10:30 already. I’m headed over to Planet Fitness.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What sort of call do they have over there?” I glanced down at my waist as if I’d expected to see my handheld radio clipped there, but of course, I’d left it back in the cruiser like always. “Something hot?”
“Naw, it’s something much more important than work. Today’s leg day.” He drew his six-foot-two-inch-frame up to full height, then clasped both hands together to flex his chest muscles. “This body didn’t build itself, you know. It’s called discipline, Goosey. You get yourself on an exercise routine and stick to it, who knows? Even a fella like you might start to see some results.”
Sal’s response was limited to a single grunt. The man had obviously learned that our boss wasn’t about to get his hands dirty.
“I hear you” I said. “I’ve been falling in with one of these senior citizens’ walking groups ever since I got transferred. Now I don’t want to brag, but I’m probably up to, like, a quarter mile a day now. I’ve got a good loop that starts right from here, going down to the Sears and back. And that’s every day, mind you, whether I feel like working out or not. See boss, that’s one of the great things about having our team office here in the mall. You’ve basically got an indoor track, one that’s available in any kind of weather.”
For some reason, Jughead seemed unimpressed by my achievements. “But as long as we’re both here, young man, how about you give me a rundown on some of this week’s break-ins? We’ve been getting absolutely creamed out there in Shadowmoss, and I need to give the Captain something to keep him off my back. Now all the burglaries aren’t my problem, I can pawn them off on Central, but the petty vandalisms are starting to add up. Are you guys looking at anybody in particular for those?”
I craned my neck, glancing furtively about the office, just in case the answer to his question might have been hiding somewhere back amongst the filing cabinets. My eyes settled on one particular poster tacked up above Sal’s cubicle, a guide to state identification cards that he’d swiped from the Department of Motor Vehicles. That dude worked all of his off-duty security gigs at the bars along Market Street, and nothing gave him a bigger kick than confiscating fake IDs from underage drinkers. Honestly, handing out citations to nineteen-year-old college freshmen was probably the closest thing to policework that guy did anymore.
“Uhh....well sir, it’s like this.” My eyes scanned the small text which highlighted all the security features built into South Carolina drivers licenses. “You said it yourself this morning, we’re most likely dealing with a group of wild kids. These ones have been tough to track down, but I actually do have one name for you.” I squinted, struggling to make out the letters. “Uhh... last name, Sample. Susan Sample.”
Jughead sneered. “A dame? What in the world is a little girl doing running around with a gang of juvenile delinquents?”
My creative brain raced into overdrive as my aging eyes flickered across the exemplar. “Well, she was born in 1992, so yeah, she’s a little on the young side.” I glanced to the left, eyeballing the stock photo of a vapid blond woman. “Not too hard on the eyes, though.”
“Yeah? She’s a cutie, huh?” Jughead reached up to scratch his chin. “You know the drill then, be sure I get a copy of the mugshot whenever you guys finally do make the arrest. Where’s this chick live, anyway? Shadowmoss? Village Green? Or one of those shitty little apartment complexes down Highway 61?”
I squinted. “Last address we had on file was, um, let’s see... 123 Pleasant Street.” I glanced down to the next line of text, blurting out an answer before taking a moment to consider it. “That’s over in Anytown, S.C.”
My boss moved his fingers higher north to scratch at his forehead, a neanderthal-like gesture of confusion which must have been a throwback to man’s pre-evolutionary ancestors. “Anytown? Where in the hell is that?”
I recognized my error and instantly began backpedaling, speaking even more quickly as the panic set in. “That’s up there in North Charleston, if I’m not mistaken. Sounds like it might be one of those trashy old colored neighborhoods up on Rivers Avenue, across from the old Navy base.”
He thought about it for a moment, then grunted. “Yeah, probably so. Well, what about her accomplices, huh? You got anybody else on the hook for this shit? There’s no way that one little female could have caused this destruction all by her lonesome, and especially not if she had to drive herself across the North Bridge every damned time. You know what, you better get out there and hit the pawnshops, see if she’s been shopping around any of the stolen merchandise.”
I clenched my fist in victory, having secured yet another legitimate reason to avoid the office. “Yeah, these people do tend to work in packs. Right now her name is the only thing I’ve got to go on, but I promise, it won’t be much longer until we blow this thing wide open. You know how these cases work, L.T.: it’s like picking at the loose threads that hang off a crappy old sweater. If you just keep yanking them, one after another, sooner or later the whole damn thing’s going to come unraveled.” I scratched at my nose, ignoring Sal’s grunts of discomfort down at floor level. That guy was a serious distraction, but I resisted the urge to aim a kick at his ribs. “I’ll keep you posted, just as soon as I’ve got any concrete evidence to link everything together. As it stands, I’ve only got circumstantial evidence so far, in addition to everything they’re saying on the street.”
“Yeah?” Hammer looked down at his watch. “That’s the word, huh? And you’re what, now? The man in the know? Six short months working in Team Four, and already you’re completely in tune with the rumblings from West Ashley’s criminal underworld?”
I nodded in the affirmative, tapping two fingers against my wrist. “You know it, boss. I make a point of keeping my finger on the pulse.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, I bet. Listen, I’m going to be off the air for the next couple hours, but be sure to keep me up to date. You boys are in charge while I’m gone, so please, try not to get into any trouble.” The big oaf pushed his way past without waiting for an answer, then strode out the door in the direction of Planet Fitness. It was starting to look as if Sal and I might even be left to our own devices for the entire shift, since Jughead had a way of stretching his morning workout well into the lunch hour. With that in mind, I began dreaming up creative ways to pass the time.
Once the lieutenant was safely out of sight, I flopped down into the nearest chair, leaving Sal struggling to hold the tree upright on his own. I whipped out my smartphone in a reflexive motion, then blazed my fingers across the touchscreen to text Big Jim Cobb an invitation for lunch. I wasn’t all that enthusiastic about spending so much time with my mentor, but I was trying to look out for my wallet’s well being. Pairing up with that cheapskate was always a safe bet, the most efficient way to sniff out a discounted meal.
That done, I leaned back and chucked my feet up on the desk. With nothing much else to do, I thumbed through a stack of the previous week’s reports more out of boredom than from any real sense of duty. “Say, Sal, tell me something, man. What’s the story with all these break-ins, anyway? Christ, and the way Jughead’s sweating me over them? It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen! I mean, you’ve got to expect a couple of B+Es every so often, you know? Lot of people living this side of the river nowadays, that shit is bound to happen. But all these? No, lately it seems like it’s more than just the usual snatch-and-grab jobs. So let me ask you, what are those dicks up in Central doing, huh? I’ve never once seen any of those guys working out this way. Why aren’t they over here doing their damn jobs, running down some of these leads I’ve been busting my ass to turn up?”
Sal chuckled, sending the tree wobbling precariously from side to side and a shower of pine needles scattering across the slick floor. “Yeah, you oughta know all about blowing off work, eh? Y
ou and your big brother Jim Cobb— thick as thieves, you two. It’s a miracle any cases get closed around here at all, what with both of you heroes sneaking off for three hour lunches all the time.” He rolled his wide body over on one side, struggling to sink the final pair of screws into the tree trunk. “Hey, hold that thing straight, wouldja?”
I rolled one of the case files into a tight cylinder, then braced it against the trunk to avoid getting my hands sticky. “I’m on it, bro. And hey, you might want to take a look around when you’re finished down there, see if you can find a broom. Jughead’s bound to shit a brick if he comes back and finds you didn’t clean up after yourself.” My cell phone let out a soft ping, so I used my free hand to thumb through my texts. Big Jim had answered back much more promptly than usual, which was a good sign the man was starting to get hungry. According to Jim, the News and Courier had been so kind as to stick a couple Jersey Mike’s coupons inside their lifestyle section, so I stood, careful to shove my chair against the Christmas tree. That done, I jogged across the office and claimed Jughead’s newspaper for my own. I couldn’t help noticing that both the headline news and the society pages were still crisp to the touch, clearly unread, but both the funnies and the sports sections were wrinkled and smudged.
Sal hadn’t noticed my disappearance, and kept right on chattering. “Say, man, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why did you ever transfer out of Central, anyway? You gave up that cush job for a stint down in Foot Patrol, walking the beat... who does that? What were you thinking, leaving the gravy train to pound the pavement? And on night shift, even?”
I blew off his question, mostly because I was starting to grow bored with the conversation. “You know how it is, bud. Sometimes a man just wants a change of pace, you know? After so many years in a high-pressure gig like Central, I just needed some more fresh air. Even looking back now, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Sal laughed, and I could tell the guy hadn’t believed a word I’d said. “If you say so, Goosey. But still, I just don’t understand why you’d ever want to rotate back to a patrol team. As if policework wasn’t bad enough to begin with, we’re stuck out here in the boonies, working for a steroid-abusing meathead. I swear, all those body-building competitions back in the nineties must have done a real number on that guy’s brain. It’s kind of sad, really, watching that man suffer over the roster each week. It’s kind of like watching a chimpanzee trying to do calculus.”
I chuckled at that mental image as I mashed a few more buttons, shooting a quick RSVP back to Big Jim. “Seriously, bro. Who in their right mind would ever put that guy in charge of anything more than a squat rack? Think about it, the guy’s personally responsible for the safety and security of the biggest chunk of land in the city. To make matters worse, our patrol squads are stretched so thin, they’re practically anorexic. West Ashley’s averaging, what, like, one uniformed cop for every five thousand residents? Yeah, I’m sure all those people over here are sleeping well at night knowing Jughead’s on the watch.”
Sal grunted in agreement. “To be fair, you’d have to be at least a little dumb to want to work at CPD in the first place. And you know, I’m damn sure that nobody’s ever accused Chief Greene of being a rocket scientist either.” He shifted his position on the floor, spreading the pine needles around so that they almost could have been a bright green snow angel. “Hell, after what happened yesterday, I doubt anybody ever will. But you know, I’m kind of surprised we haven’t seen that nut out driving around on the beat yet, suspended or not. We’re bound to encounter at least a couple looters once this storm finally blows in, and a lot of these recent break-ins have hit pretty close to the Chief’s house. Say, did anybody ever have a chance to point out where ol’ Rufus lives? He’s right back down there off of Pierpont, set in along the creek.”
I felt my face grow hot as I thought back to my rookie prank, and I struggled to play it cool. Yeah, Sal Brown seemed like a decent guy, but even after working side by side with him for a good long while, I still wasn’t certain he could keep a secret. “Yeah, I think I remember hearing that.” I thought quickly, hoping to change the subject before Sal could stand back upright and take notice of my expression. If that dude spotted me blushing, he’d know something was up. “But aren’t all the houses back that way getting pretty run-down now? Probably used to be real nice, at least before the displaced blacks moved in.”
He grunted, battling against one last, stubborn screw. “Got that right. City’s a fucking dump all over.”
“You know what, though” I went on, “I’d bet the only thing most of those trashy little houses are good for now is the land sitting beneath them. Shit, a good hurricane might even do the property values some good, you know? Once they get all the debris cleared away, I mean.” I paused, struggling to recall any of our previous conversations. “Say, Sal, remind me again where you’re laying your head these days?” The guy must’ve talked to me about his personal life at some point, but what can I say? Long-term memory was just never one of my strengths.
“Larsen, how many times have you asked me that question? I swear, you’re an absolute dumbass. For the hundredth or so time, I’m still in the Sergeant Jasper apartments, right down there off Broad Street. Remember now? They got me on staff as the courtesy officer, keeping all those damn college kids in line.” He stuck his head out from beneath the lowest branches, a look of arrogance plastered across his wide brown face. “While all you peasants are out splashing around in the puddles during storms like this one, I get to look down on you from the penthouse apartment. Let me tell you, bro, it’s a nice feeling living twenty floors above the flood zone, all high and dry in my rent-free bachelor pad.”
“Oh yeah.” I could almost feel my limited span of attention starting to shift, especially since it was getting so close to lunchtime. I had absolutely no clue where the morning had disappeared to, but at the same time, it was somewhat satisfying to wrap up yet another productive workday. I was only half-listening as Sal launched into a long-winded spiel about all the money he’d saved through his frugal living arrangement, since I had absolutely no interest in taking investment advice from a grown man living alongside drunk college kids. More importantly, I had even less enthusiasm about staying on call twenty-four hours a day.
My cell phone kept pinging away, so I leaned back in my chair and watched the messages roll in as Big Jim changed our lunch location three times in as many minutes. His restless mood must have been contagious, so when I’d finally grown tired of listening to Sal’s rambling, I stood up and made for the door. From his prone position, that dude reached out with one hand as his other fumbled against the tree stand. “Hey Goosey, pass me one of those screwdrivers, willya? Make it a flathead. I think I’ve just about got it here.”
“Sorry, bro” I called, with the front door open and one foot out in the corridor. “I’m late for a follow-up interview. Gotta work on some of these cases, you heard what Jughead said.” I stepped into the mall and let the door fall shut behind me, ensuring that I wouldn’t be able to hear anything Sal said in reply. Sure enough, the only noise that followed was that of a six-foot Christmas tree thumping down hard on the linoleum. I did my best to shrug off the setback and strode away, thankful at least for the fact that Sal hadn’t gotten around to hanging any ornaments.
5.
I pulled my cruiser across Sam Rittenburg Boulevard, cursing a blue streak at the heavy mid-day traffic. Even though it was only a quarter-mile from the Citadel Mall over to the AMF Bowling Lanes, it took me nearly ten minutes to make the trip. It might’ve been quicker if I’d just walked, but I’ve never been predisposed towards physical activity, not unless it was absolutely necessary. As it was, I had to be content with leaning on the horn and rubbing bumpers with the other drivers. Finally, though, just as my patience was wearing a little too thin, I clicked on my emergency equipment to let the bubble light and siren make quick work of the congestion. Pulling into the parking lot mere seconds later, I took two short laps ar
ound the building in order to give any witnesses ample time to disperse. I noticed that Big Jim Cobb had slyly stashed his dirty brown cruiser behind the building, safely out of sight from any command staff officers who might happen to ride past, so I followed his lead and pulled my own ride in behind his. Unlike that guy, though, I took an extra second to roll up the windows and lock the doors before walking away. The bowling alley’s fire exit had been propped open with a chunk of broken cinder block, so rather than walking all the way around front, I chose to stroll on in like I owned the place.
It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, so I trod carefully, walking that narrow path between the wall and lane one, brushing up against those pull-down bumpers they used to block the gutters during little kids’ birthday parties. I stuck my hands in my pockets and shook my head as I went along, disgusted by all the weak, tender-hearted kids who were being brought up in the world today. I mean, God forbid one of those little anklebiters were to roll themselves a gutter ball, right? Nowadays, their parents would probably try to sue the AMF Lanes for emotional distress. Back in my day, though, rolling a gutter ball would just make you the butt of all your friends’ jokes for a while. Normally, all that teasing would just be more motivation to make you go and actually learn how to fucking bowl.
Out ahead, I spotted Big Jim holding court close to the bar. The dude was pretty hard to miss, his massive body taking up an entire bench seat. I hustled on over and slid in across from him, politely overlooking the fact that he’d polished off half a pitcher already. Jim nodded a silent, business-like greeting, then jerked his head sideways towards the brew. “Go on, kid, help yourself. It’s the good stuff, Miller Lite.”
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