My mind flashed back to my own tiny apartment, and I suddenly felt concerned for the safety of my prized 26-inch tube television. It occurred to me that I might want to start browsing for a new one, seeing as how the opportunity was so close at hand. “True enough. But what does any of that mean for us on the detail? When’s our next play call going to be coming down the line?”
Sal tilted his head back towards Planet Fitness, where the first dayshift cops were finally starting to rise. Seeing that mob dressed in their underwear, all scratching and adjusting, was a little bit disturbing. I let out an involuntary shudder, and had to turn my head. Let me tell you something, there’s absolutely nothing worse than catching sight of your colleagues first thing in the morning, particularly if they’re all fat, balding and cursed with poor hygiene. “I give it two more hours, Goosey” Sal said, “maybe three if we’re lucky, before the command staff remembers to check that we’re still alive. Mark my words, they’ll want us out there on the streets by lunchtime.”
I took one last swig of my coffee, then stood upright and stretched my arms high overhead. “Well then, I guess there’s no sense in putting off the inevitable. I better go ahead and get dressed before company shows up.” I excused myself, then plodded barefoot down towards the Target. There was no in hell I was going to subject myself to all that morning breath, and besides, if our gravy train of a detail really was coming to an early end, then I needed to hurry up and pick out a new seasonal wardrobe.
9.
About four hours later, the time finally came for me to hit the beat. As much as I hated the thought of going out on patrol, there was simply no use in trying to avoid my job any longer. The steady downpour had slackened to a mere drizzle, and the gale force winds had been downgraded to a strong breeze. It looked as if the hurricane had hung out over the ocean longer than expected, causing it to fade into a mere tropical storm before coming ashore. Imagine that, right? Another wildly inaccurate weather forecast, brought to us courtesy of those so-called “experts” on television.
In the end, even the youngest reporters appeared disappointed, broadcasting live from our flooded-over streets, trying their best to summon an air of excitement as if that sort of thing didn’t happen every time the tides shifted. Finally, after we’d all enjoyed a pair of hearty breakfasts and and an equally generous lunch, Big Jim came to the conclusion that there was really nothing else left for us to do at the mall. To be fully honest, his executive decision to cast us out came as something of a relief to my introverted nature. I’ve never been accused of being a “people person,” and the main reason I put up with my colleagues was that I was getting paid to do it. Even though Slipper, Big Jim, Sal and Dookie were good for a laugh every now and then, if I ever hit the lottery, I swear, I’d be out of that job in an instant.
As all the cops drove off, I had a sneaking suspicion that anybody who lived nearby had to be heading home to check on their property. I even spared another thought my own apartment, though I wasn’t quite willing to risk sneaking back across the Wappoo Cut Bridge. In truth, my entire place could go up in flames at any time, and I might be out a couple hundred bucks, tops. Instead, I took my time about donning a rain slicker and, once the riffraff had cleared out, set about loading up my trunk with groceries and housewares. It took a couple of trips back and forth to get the job done, but the end result was well worth it. My haul was a beautiful sight to behold— all the new winter clothes I’d been putting off buying, with much more stylish brands than I’d ever have been able to afford on my own. On top of that, I’d somehow acquired a flashy new boombox stereo, complete with a 5-disc CD changer and MP3 jack. I was feeling so good about the windfall that I didn’t even mind having to drag my spare tire out to create enough room.
Once behind the wheel, the messy roads made for slow going. I sat up at attention in the driver’s seat, inching along at a crawl and scanning out ahead for downed power lines. Running across a live wire would have meant having to stop and call it in, and I was hesitant to put my voice across the air any more than necessary. Years of experience had taught me that one of the best patrol tactics was keeping your mouth shut, and also turning off onto a side street at the first sign of trouble. My cell phone buzzed away on the passenger seat, a constant reminder of all the pending voicemail messages from Katie Maslow. I’d been too busy playing poker with the guys to actually call her back the night before, but we had exchanged a few text messages, so I knew she was just as bored as me. Katie’d gotten stuck camping out at the county coroner’s office, and I’d promised to make dinner plans once Sal Brown and the rookies posted a menu. My girl wasn’t one to pass up a free meal, either.
My plan was to head away from the city, out along Highway 61, charting a course well clear of the big-box retail stores which would’ve been the most likely targets for criminals. Running into any looters would have only prolonged my time on the street, and also brought forth mountains of paperwork in the event of an arrest. And even though I’d literally just spent the night within walking distance of my desk, I simply hadn’t felt motivated to work on any of those open cases. The way I saw it, the whole point of this special assignment was to stay available in case of emergencies, which is why I ended up aiming my ride towards those historic old plantation homes along the river. I was thinking of parking underneath one of the scenic live oak trees, and maybe settling in for a long afternoon nap.
That blissful thought lasted nearly a full minute, at least until I coasted to a stop at the first traffic light. I don’t know why I bothered since mine was the only car on the road, but as I rolled my stiff neck from side to side, I happened to glance over at the Winn-Dixie supermarket. It looked as if each of the four coin-operated vending machines had been forcefully ripped open, with dozens of soda cans left strewn on the sidewalk in front of the store. It was a chilling reminder that there actually might be a few bad guys out there lurking in the shadows, so I made a snap decision to stomp down on the gas and race through the intersection. As much as I hated to pass up all that free Dr. Pepper, there was no way I’d risk having to investigate something as piddling as a couple handfuls of stolen quarters.
I let the engine wind, racing the car down the narrow road and over the Church Creek bridge. Once it felt like I’d put a safe distance between myself and civilization, I banked off into one of the subdivisions along the Ashley River. These homes were all dark due to some kind of power outage, and it was challenging to follow the road beneath those overcast skies. Out of caution, I slowed to a crawl as I looped through the neighborhood, even though I really wasn’t paying much attention to my route. It had been chilling, coming so close to having to write an incident report, and my was mind wasn’t fully attentive to the slick blacktop. As I wheeled around one particularly tight corner, I felt the car suddenly slide to the right. The shift was followed by a sharp dive forward, then a soft, sickening ‘thump.’ I stomped down hard on the gas, but my engine just revved impotently as the rear tires spun free in mid-air. I must’ve sat there in silence for a full minute, and it wasn’t until the shock finally wore off that I realized my car was stuck in one of the deep roadside drainage culverts.
Once I’d come to my senses, I slapped the steering wheel and let out a long string of curse words. The car was stuck nose down in the ditch, so with no hope of pushing it out myself, my only choice was to place a distress call over the radio. But I’ll say this, even though I knew that our dispatchers must have been laughing their fool heads off at my predicament, at least they were polite enough to keep it down while they called me a tow truck. That done, I downed the window and clambered outside to inspect the damage. It was a safe bet that every cop in Team Four was heading my way with a digital camera, and I sure as shit didn’t plan to still be sitting down behind the wheel whenever they showed up. A little good-natured ribbing was one thing, but having some joker post my sad mug up on CPD’s Cop to Cop internet forum was another matter entirely. That anonymous bulletin board was an outlet for cops to
air all of their gripes and moans, and I had no intention of becoming the butt of that week’s jokes.
After I’d gingerly extracted myself from the wreck, I climbed up onto the road and stepped back to assess the situation. The scene was almost comical, as if the car could have just slipped on a banana peel and slid clear off the road. Aside from the awkward angle, though, there didn’t appear to be any real damage. Even the front bumper seemed intact, so it was entirely possible that I’d escape the incident without coming out of pocket for any repair bills. My spirits buoyed ever so slightly at the thought of saving money, and I tiptoed up the nearest walkway, taking pains to avoid soaking my boots in the puddles of standing water. Thinking of nothing more than a desire to get out of the rain, I hopped up onto the porch and began shaking water from my overcoat. I was too occupied to notice how the front door was cracked open and hanging askew on its hinges, but in all honesty, I probably would’ve turned right around and jogged off if I had. But I didn’t, though— at least, not at first. What caught my eye was that swollen green garden hose. Specifically, the way that the hose was snaked around from the corner of the house, looping its way up and in through one of the ground-floor windows. Unusual, to say the least.
I stood there, stumped, reaching for the length of plastic tubing and turning it over in my hand with no real clue as to its purpose. My mind was fully occupied, so I was completely unprepared for what happened next. The sound of running feet snapped me back to reality, as several pairs of sneakers splashed their way across the front yard. I heard the sounds of wet shoes squishing and slapping against the pavement, as a pack of dark-skinned teenagers took off down the street. I shouted for the kids to stop as I fumbled for my radio, but before I had a chance to raise the alarm, from around the corner there came a sudden screech of tires. Shouting followed, voices carrying the unmistakable enthusiasm of rookie cops. In an instant, I knew the suspects stood no chance. Fleeing criminals might have that burst of adrenaline going for them, but that could never match the sheer energy of a bored young cop who was itching for action.
The noise quieted just as quickly as it had erupted, so I pulled up my radio and mashed the call button. “414, Control, just advising. Myself and several other units will be out at this location with a couple black male parties.” I took a deep breath, squinting to get a better look at the chaos. “Looks like three in custody, I think. We’re 04 at this time.”
Once they’d acknowledged my message, I holstered the walkie-talkie and risked a quick peek inside the house. There was no telling how long that hose had been running, but it was safe to say that the ground floor was completely flooded. The shag carpets were soaked through, and it looked like the furniture was going to be a total loss. Maybe, just maybe, if the owners could get their hands on a couple heavy-duty air blowers, they might be able to keep the mold damage to a minimum. If they’d left town for the evacuation, that place was going to be soaking in stale water until a repair crew could get around to it.
Stalling, so as to delay getting involved in the fracas, I did some quick math to guesstimate the home’s value. When you factored in all the rehab work, it looked like the building might have been devalued by close to a hundred grand. Back out on the porch, I craned my neck from side to side, glancing up and down the small street. The clouds had parted ever so slightly, allowing the sunlight to creep its way back over the marsh, and it was obvious that the vandals had been hard at work. Around me, at least half a dozen other homes showed visible signs of damage. Front doors hung open all down the block, and I shuddered to think of the total cost. Hope all these folks had the sense to spring for flood insurance, I thought.
As soon as it seemed like the moment of urgency had passed, I took a deep breath and strode out to investigate. Despite the fact that I had absolutely no clue what was going on, I did my best to project a calm, professional demeanor. A small crowd of cops had made their way over from the mall, and they were all standing around outside their cruisers, forming a semicircle of dark blue around three kids lying facedown on the ground. The young thugs were identically dressed in dark jeans and black hooded sweatshirts, their hightop sneakers scuffed beyond repair. Closing the gap, I broke into a jog and covered the last ten feet with a token display of hustle. “Yup” I said, hitching up my gun belt around my waist. “That’s them all right.”
Every head turned my way. It looked like neither group, the cops nor the criminals, really knew what to do with themselves at that particular moment. Thankfully, that was when Big Jim pulled up. His cruiser tore around the corner, tires skidding across the wet blacktop, and the car’s front bumper brushed up against the closest thug’s nappy hair. Jim wrenched the gearshift to throw the car in park, pulled himself up out of the driver’s seat, and took charge with his own unique flair. He thrusted his thick neck from side to side before locking eyes with me. “Goosey!” he bellowed, charging towards me in a purposeful beeline. He pounded a thick, meaty finger into my chest, jabbing it forward with each word he spoke. “Damn it, son! You want to tell me exactly what in the hell you think you’re doing out here?”
He’d put me on the defensive, and I stumbled back. “Whoa there, big fella! Calm down!” I raised both hands, partly as a display of innocence, but also just in case I needed to physically restrain the man. “Jim, swear to God, I’ve got no idea what’s going on! Just as soon as I got out of my car, this pack of yo-yos took off running.”
He sneered, curling up his lip in a tight twist. The man’s disdain was evident as he held the glare, then glanced past me to stare at my upended ride. “Well, now. I guess it serves you right for getting out of your car in the first place, now, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t have an answer, so I just hung my head in shame. As usual, I hadn’t bothered to shine my boots, so I kicked at a patch of dirt, hoping to cover the scuff marks with a layer of fresh mud.
Jim grew impatient with the silent treatment, and let loose with a heavy sigh. “Seriously, Goosey. How long have you been on the job, anyway?”
Long enough to know better, I thought.
“Long enough to know better, that’s how long” Jim lectured, shaking his head once more. “Dude! I thought you of all people would’ve learned by now. Nothing good can ever come from doing your job, especially not on a detail like this one.”
I hung my head down low, scared to make eye contact, mindlessly tracing a shapeless circle in the mud. As always, Big Jim’s logic was irrefutable. The smarter move would have just been to sit quietly after my accident, belted securely down in the driver’s seat, and wait for the cavalry to arrive. Instead I’d done the exact opposite, and as a result of my thoughtlessness, I’d committed the unpardonable sin of creating work for other cops. “Sorry, Jim” was all I could manage to mumble. “It won’t happen again.”
Jim held the angry stare for a long moment before turning his attention toward our hogtied prisoners. “Better not.” He snorted, drawing a thick glob of phlegm up from the base of his throat, then spitting out a huge brown loogie. The glistening saliva flew in a smooth, graceful arc before landing smack dab in the center of one kid’s back. “Hell” he said, “I’m tempted to make you do all the paperwork yourself. Might teach you a damned lesson.”
I felt my hands clench involuntarily, my fingers cramping up at the mere suggestion of writing.
Jim caught my fearful expression. “Naw, just yanking your chain” he laughed. He reached out to grab my arm, leading me a safe distance away from the other cops. “I wouldn’t do that to you, man. Not when we’ve got all these rookies standing around doing nothing. Got to keep them kids busy, otherwise they’ll come up with their own ways to get in trouble. Besides, I’ll bet any of these boots could do a better job of assembling the case file.”
I nodded with appreciation, doing my best to ignore his backhanded insult. “Thanks, boss. I mean that.”
He returned my nod with one of his own. “Seriously though, Goosey. I do want you to think long and hard about what you’ve d
one here, okay? Looting is a felony. You know that, right? By the look of things, you’re going to be dealing with multiple counts on this one street alone. It’s probably going to take the crime scene nerds all night to make sense out of this mess. You know what, you’d better call those clowns now, get them and the Central detectives headed this way.” He lifted his thick neck high in the air, tilting his chin towards my cruiser. “Well, hell. At least a big bust like this will help steer the attention away from your wreck. What were you trying to do, anyway? Run these jigs down? Because you remember how well that worked out for you last time.”
My mind flashed back to a few years before, when I’d cracked open an arson ring by accidentally running over the suspect. I’d been recognized as CPD’s Officer of the Year for that case, an award which turned out to be much more trouble than it was worth. “Just the opposite, actually.” I wasn’t foolish enough to risk my career by standing in the spotlight again, so I decided to come up with a lie. “Actually, boss, I had to slam on the brakes just to avoid missing these idiots! Locked the wheels up, started to skid out, and that’s how I ended up in the ditch. I know it looks bad, but all things considered, we’re lucky nobody got killed.”
He spat once more, aiming his wad of phlegm courteously down towards the street this time. “You should’ve aimed straight for ‘em and sped up, if you ask me. But you know what? The best thing you’ve got going for you right now is the fact that Chief Greene, that crazy old bastard, is stuck on ice. You know how that tightwad Jew feels about his precious patrol cars.”
I nodded, thinking back to my previous experience with wrecks. Even though my finances were steadily floating along, getting hit with a thousand-dollar insurance deductible would have still made a pretty big dent in my wallet. “Well, looks like this sort of thing won’t be a problem for ol’ Rufus much longer. But anyway, what’s the next step here, Jim?” I asked, suddenly remembering my trunk full of stolen loot. “How do we get started cleaning up this mess?”
Property Damage Page 13