Property Damage

by James Vachowski

  If the collective nodding was any indication, the simple instructions were well received. One of Antoine’s most senior deputies, a taller, dark-skinned teen wearing a solid black hoodie, was the next to speak up. “Boss, you want we should pull some more break-ins this time? Or are we just supposed to make a mess of these places?”

  Antoine nodded in approval. It was a good question, one that would clarify the instructions for his entire team. “Your call, Big C. There’s no extra pay for the break-ins, but as always, you can keep anything you can carry off.”

  He took one more slow look around the room. The group’s energy was strong, nearly overpowering in the small space, and Antoine could tell that his team would eagerly carry this enthusiasm over to the task at hand. He glanced out the window, saw that the rain had slackened, and decided to bring the meeting to a close.

  “Okay, y’all” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  SATURDAY

  6.

  Sleeping straight through my alarm was a blissful sensation, a guilty pleasure for which I’d never actually felt any guilt. When I finally did wake up that morning, I just lay there quietly, savoring the chance to let my body remain at full rest. The heavy rainfall was relaxing, so I stayed in place for nearly a quarter hour before the call of nature grew too loud to ignore. Lumbering towards the bathroom, I snuck a quick glance outside to check the weather. The sky was nearly black with low-hanging clouds, and fat drops of rain ran down the windowpanes in thick streams. Even the bigger trees were rocking in the wind, with countless downed branches piling up around their trunks. It looked absolutely lousy out there, the perfect backdrop for what was sure to become a miserable day, but for some reason I was determined to make the best of the situation. After all, if the nasty weather was going to make me all dark and depressed anyway, then I honestly couldn’t think of any place I’d rather be than at work.

  I wasn’t scheduled to report in to the mall until mid-afternoon, so I killed a couple hours lying on my couch, just loading up on carbohydrates and scanning through the channels. The local broadcasts were basically identical, nothing but non-stop coverage of the incoming storm. The live streams jumped back and forth between the news anchors sitting pretty in their warm, dry studios, out to the most junior commentators who’d been posted outside in the driving rain. I said a silent prayer of thanks in between each Hot Pocket, grateful that I’d been transferred over to the higher ground of West Ashley, since it looked like most of the downtown streets had already flooded over. And even though the reports were predicting even more rain still to come, I found my attention waning as the information merged into an endless loop. I finally mashed the mute button and slipped off into a semi-doze, the television’s silent disaster footage creating a surprisingly relaxing backdrop. Pre-recorded scenes of bare supermarket shelves and washed-out side streets were mixed in between aerial shots of the empty highway. Interstate 26 looked absolutely deserted, finally clear of all the evacuation traffic. It looked as if this little storm had the potential to become a full-scale debacle, and I found myself unable to look away from the sight. Watching all the drama had a strange, voyeuristic appeal, one that was not altogether unpleasant.

  Finally, once the hands of the clock began moving dangerously close to four, I took a deep breath and set about preparing for work. Since my plan was to avoid as much human interaction as possible, I chose to skip the shower and head straight for my closet. The way I saw it, there was no point in wasting time dressing up, since I was bound to get soaked through the second I stepped outside. By some miracle I managed to squeeze my frame into an old polyester uniform suit, the thick leather gun belt settling about my waist at a jaunty angle. I paused for a second to admire myself in the mirror, turning full round to examine the slim profile. I had to admit I was looking sharper than ever, even if the blue polyester fabric was covered in dust. I felt a twinge of regret as I layered up with that shapeless, baggy raincoat, since it seemed like a crime to hide such a fine-looking body.

  I finally dashed out to my car, fired it up, and steered it carefully through the mess of downed branches strewn about the parking lot. The streets were empty, since it looked as if most of my James Island neighbors had already evacuated or hunkered down to ride out the storm. The tell-tale signs of an impending disaster were all around me, proof that a whole lot of other people had been busier than me. Most of the shops on Folly Road were boarded up with huge sheets of plywood, and the more responsible homeowners had even cleaned up their yards, pulling their trash cans inside to keep them from flying off in the wind.

  I came to a full stop at one of the traffic lights, a fairly ridiculous move since my cruiser was the only car on the road. With the window cracked, I caught the unmistakable beat of loud rock music coming from somewhere back in one of the subdivisions. It was obvious that some rogue citizen was defying the evacuation order to host a hurricane party, but after a moment’s thought, I chose to roll my window all the way up rather than go and investigate. Noise violations had just never been a priority for me.

  It seemed like just my luck, getting tapped to work a special assignment when by all rights, I should have been riding the storm out with a three-day bender. By the time I crossed the Wappoo Cut Bridge, though, I was actually a little relieved at the sight of the swelling Stono River. The high water was rushing in fast and hard, threatening to spill over its banks. I’d served on a countless number of bullshit assignments at CPD, so it was somewhat comforting to see that this time, at least, our Command Staff was reacting to a legitimate emergency. Even though the specter of impending catastrophe didn’t completely ease the sting of having to spend my weekend living out of a suitcase, it helped some.

  The drive was a quick one, since it seemed like everybody in West Ashley had heeded the Mayor’s orders and left town. Savannah Highway was empty like I’d never seen it, with only the Coburg Dairy’s cow statue left to stand a lonely watch from high atop his signpost. And even once I’d picked my way over to the Citadel Mall, the only cars left in the parking lot were all police cruisers. I swung my own unmarked ride in alongside them, coming to a sideways stop which took up three spaces. Even though I was morally opposed to all forms of running, the driving rain was all the motivation I needed to break into a shuffling jog. Sal Brown was waiting for me in the vestibule, and judging by his dry uniform, it looked as if he’d been there for some time. He made a slow study of my appearance, glancing up and down at my slick uniform while shaking his head in sympathy.

  “Come on in, get out of the rain, hero!” he laughed, as I worked myself free from the slick rain jacket. “Christ Almighty! You look like a wet rat.” Sal tapped the tip of an oversized golf umbrella against a growing puddle of water, the sharp staccato sound echoing in the tight space. “Why didn’t you use your brain and park up in the fire lane, huh? You could’ve saved yourself a sprint.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Goosey, I think you must be spending too much time around that boss of ours. Maybe Jughead’s gone and turned you into an exercise nut, too.”

  I looked back at my creative parking job, silently cursing myself for not even thinking to pull up to the curb. “Didn’t want to risk copping a complaint, bro. You should know how these rookies can be. Seems like there’s going to be an awful lot of bored cops walking around, all of them looking for something to do, and throwing out parking tickets probably counts as an exciting time for these kids. But say, you could have at least pretended to be a gentleman, maybe offered to walk me in beneath that big umbrella of yours. Where’d you get that thing, anyway?”

  Sal flashed me a wide, toothy, grin. “You want one of your own? Get on inside and grab you one, but you better move quick! With all the broke cops crawling around this place, those things are going fast. Hit up Sports Authority, down there past the food court. Umbrellas are on sale right now— hell, everything else is too. It’s all marked down to free-ninety-free.”

  My jaw fell open. “Jesus Christ, man! What a hookup! You’re not s
eriously telling me that some of these stores actually told their employees to come in and work today?”

  “What, are you crazy?” He held out one arm, his fat hand dangling a thick ring of keys mere inches away from my nose. “Mall’s closed. It’s just us cops now, bro— we’ve got the run of the place. You need to stock up on any socks, underwear or whatever, now’s the time to do it. It’s like Black Friday shopping up in here, but without all the crowds.”

  I returned his grin as I snatched the keyring from his grip. There was a time back in my rookie days when I might have questioned Sal’s ethically dubious actions, but by that point in my career, I’d learned to never look a gift horse in the mouth. “You don’t say, huh? Have any of you lazy sacks of sand gotten around to unlocking Sears yet? Or what about Belk’s?”

  A nod. “Done, both of them. Dillard’s too. Some bastard minimum-wage clerk down at JC Penney’s must have jammed gum in their locks or something, but I’ve got one of the rookies working on it with a chisel right now. Help yourself to anything, just don’t be a hog like some of these cheapskates. Just a little while ago I caught a couple privates pulling their cruisers around to the loading docks, looking to fill up their trunks with TVs and stereos and shit. Fresh boots, too, right out of training! Of all people, those two kids should’ve known better.”

  I shook my head at such a blatant act of larceny. “You’re kidding me! I swear, the nerve of some people.”

  “Really though. But guys like us, on the other hand, we know the score. You take it easy, maybe pick and choose a couple things from the discount racks, and who knows? We might even be able to work the ol’ five finger discount for the entire storm.” He jerked a weathered brown thumb back over his shoulder. “Oh, and your buddy Jim Cobb called the team office a little while ago. That dude hasn’t even left the house yet, but he said he was planning to camp out with us rather than shack up at headquarters. Might bring a few friends along, too, I guess the Citadel Mall sounded a lot more comfortable than the cots they got set up at 75. And hey, I grabbed Corporal McGregor a couple minutes ago. Him and his squad are just coming off day shift, so I had him put his rookies to work firing up the pizza ovens at Sbarro. The Department dumped off a crate of canned goods this morning, told us to make do with that garbage— no way in hell that’s happening, not when we’ve got this bounty available. So, kid, you hungry, or what?”

  My stomach rumbled at the very mention of food, and since it was free, it sounded particularly delicious. I tossed my wet jacket down on the floor, leaving it to lay there in a soggy pile. “Is Chief Greene crazy? Hell yeah, I can eat. You know what, let’s grab some grub right now, I can always get settled in later on. Where have they got us bedding down, anyway? And has Jughead bothered to show his face yet?”

  Sal raised an eyebrow at my sad old suitcase, a beat-up carry-on that I’d been dragging along behind me. I knew I was packing light, but it’d been years since I’d spent the night away from home, so I honestly just hadn’t known what to bring. In the end I decided to roll up a couple bath towels and my toothbrush, plus an extra pair each of clean socks and drawers. The bulk of the space was taken up by a stack of magazines I’d been meaning to get around to reading, mostly Field and Stream, with a couple issues of Sports Illustrated tossed in for variety. Since room and board were being provided, that had seemed like all I’d need to get by.

  He sighed, then waved for me to follow along. “That meathead?” he laughed. “You really think for one second that guy would actually show up to supervise his people? No sign of the dude so far, not even a phone call or a text message. Knowing Jughead, he’s probably holed up in a bar somewhere. I mean, our boss has a couple days straight where nobody’s going to be looking for him, meaning he’s free to go and get plastered without interruption.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I’m not complaining, mind you. When it comes to supervisors like Hammer, I’m a firm believer that absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

  Sal leaned his huge frame down to take a closer look at my suitcase, then tapped the handle with a sausagey index finger. “And as far as our sleeping arrangements, you’re just going to have to get in where you fit in. It’s been first come, first served, ever since people started showing up today, so I’m pretty sure all those yoga mats down at Planet Fitness are already spoken for. Say, bud— how’d you manage to cram your sleeping bag into that tiny little piece of luggage, anyway?”

  I snorted. “Sleeping bag? What the hell do you think this is, summer camp? Nobody told me to bring a sleeping bag. For that matter, nobody bothered to put out any kind of guidance at all. And listen, man, I sure as shit ain’t about to spend my own hard-earned cash for any gear that I have to use at work. Hell no! If Jughead expects me to actually spend the night in this place, he’s going to have to offer an all-inclusive package deal. You can tell him I said that, too. Matter of fact, why don’t you pass the message along to Captain Russell while you’re at it?”

  Sal threw up his hands. “Whoa! Easy there, hero! I’m just a Sergeant, remember? Tell you what, why don’t you just circle back around by some of these stores later on, okay? See if you can find some of whatever you need. And you know what, let’s see if we can get the Mori Luggage store opened up while we’re at it, maybe grab a replacement for that sad-looking sack.” He sniffed the air, then wrinkled his veiny red nose. “But first things first, you’d better duck into the Target store while we’re down this end of the mall. Grab yourself some stick deodorant and a bottle of shampoo. Some jock itch powder, if you’re into that sort of thing. There’s going to be at least twenty or thirty cops bunked up in this place tonight, so it’s bound to get a little ripe, if you know what I mean.”

  I smiled. The two of us strolled past the information kiosk, and I paused just long enough to snatch up a shopping cart. It was one of those oversized jobs with the built-in baby stroller, a blue plastic beast built to look like a rocket ship. Blasting off, I tossed my suitcase onto the undercarriage rack and increased my pace to a slow jog. After a second or two, once I’d reached top speed, I jumped up on the frame and rode the cart along the smooth tile floor.

  “No worries, Sal” I called out, leaning my weight to the right as I rounded the corner, heading straight on towards my favorite big-box retailer. “I might be a few minutes, though... tell them boys to go ahead and start whipping me up a pie, would ya? You know what, make it two. And hold off on any toppings, except for the meat.” I felt a twinge of regret for not having thought to bring along a copy of my grocery list, but quickly shook the feeling away. I could probably recall most everything from memory, and maybe even add in a few impulse purchases since the price was right. “I’ll be back around before too long!”

  The cart coasted to a halt, and I craned my neck to search the empty corridor. “Hey, bro!” I shouted. “You haven’t seen any of those slick mobility scooters laying around, have you?”

  Sal just shrugged in reply. “Man, what the hell do you think? The mall’s got two or three of those handy little rides, but they were spoken for just as soon as cops started showing up. Like I said— it’s first come, first served.”

  7.

  I suppose it must have been some kind of an ethical gray area, me rolling a shopping cart through Target to load up on groceries, toiletries and clothing, but in my defense, I actually did spend a few minutes pondering the arrangement. The way I came to see it, if all us cops weren’t stationed at the Citadel Mall, the place would almost certainly get pillaged by looters. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in merchandise would have disappeared just as soon as the power went out, and all of those perishable groceries were sure to go bad. In reality, we were probably doing these stores a favor by helping them trim down some of their excess stock.

  As soon as I’d reached that logical conclusion, my errand seemed to go a lot quicker. The whole thing felt almost as if I’d won some kind of VIP shopping spree, with the merchandise practically falling off the shelves into my cart. Eventually, though, once
the loaded-down buggy had become too heavy to push, I headed back across the mall to start setting up my nest. It was still early in the evening, way too soon to be thinking about hitting the hay, but if I didn’t charge up my new iPod soon then I’d be stuck hearing the other cops snore all night long. Back at the Planet Fitness, I found the aerobics area overflowing with a score of makeshift campsites. I stole a glance over my shoulder and, once I was certain nobody was watching, shoved aside a stack of yoga mats and brand-new camp chairs to clear out my own space. A pair of weight benches blocked off my sleeping area perfectly, and I was confident that nobody in our group would miss them.

  Finally, once all my chores were complete, I followed my nose back down towards the food court. A handful of industrious supervisors had already pushed together a few sets of tables, creating a festive, family-style banquet at the center of the atrium. Over behind the Sbarro counter, a pair of slick-haired patrol rookies were manning the pizza ovens, powder-coated aprons donned above their uniform shirts. The kids had their sleeves rolled up, gamely sprinkling generous handfuls of toppings over a long line of pies. When I saw that they’d even taken a stab at mastering the stuffed crust, I was truly impressed. The next kiosk down was Taco Bell, where another new hire was doing his level best to light the fryers. His nametag read “Sanchez,” so I couldn’t help but wonder why the kid was struggling over the job.

  My stomach growled in anticipation as I hitched up my duty belt, ambling over to squeeze in between Sal Brown and Big Jim Cobb. “Hey fellas, you believe this shit?” I asked them. “You mean to tell me that CPD hasn’t hired a single damned Asian cop this year? What the hell? I got me a craving for some Chinese food, but here we are, without a single damned person capable of breaking into that there Manchu Wok. Geez! I never thought I’d say this, but this place could really do with one of them affirmative action programs.”