by A. J. Macey
She hopped up and knocked on the wall behind her. “Hey, McCoy!”
“Yeah?” a short and stocky man with graying hair behind the desk asked, his focus shifting to us when he heard his name.
“Can you take her back to one of the interview rooms with the first-aid kit, then help get her cleaned and get her statement?”
“Of course,” he exclaimed when he realized I had blood smeared all over my forearm and black tank top. He snapped the file in his hand shut, dropping it into the filing cabinet he stood next to. The rest of the police station seemed to continue on without realizing I was standing in the middle of the lobby, bleeding, and I was thankful. I didn’t want to be the center of attention or stared at for what had just happened in the alley. I’d had enough of that from people on the street. Not to mention that I was already struggling to keep my cool, despite the unsteady calm that had settled over me on my walk here.
“Right this way, Miss…?” the officer instructed, holding a hand out for me to follow.
“Chloe, Chloe Daniels,” I told him.
“Well, Miss Daniels, right this way.” Holding open the small half-door separating the lobby from the main area of the police station, the officer waited patiently as I shuffled over. As I passed, I took in the spaces around me, curious despite everything that put me here. The long counter where the female officer watched me with a worried gaze was stacked with papers, the trend continuing in the large open area filled with desks. The normalcy of the sight kept the turbulent emotions still brewing in the background at bay.
It’s just a police station. There’s nothing to be worried about.
I watched officers continue on with their workday. Only a few looked as I followed McCoy to a hallway. The narrow space alongside the interview rooms lining one side made my calm start to crumble. It was finally hitting me how real this was instead of feeling like some kind of fevered dream. Tearing my eyes away from the space around me, I focused on the officer in front of me as he reached into a cabinet and pulled out a red first-aid kit.
Once he held the bulky bag in his arms, he continued down the hall, looking through each of the door windows until he found one that was empty.
“In here,” he directed, opening it for me. I tried to muster a thankful smile and stepped into the room. It was empty save for a metal table and matching chairs, the walls were a textured gray, and the space was cold and sterile. I waited awkwardly until he told me which chair to sit in. “Alright, let me see it.”
I moved the scrap piece of rag I had pressed against my arm, noting the bleeding had fully subsided, not that it looked any less intense with my tan skin covered in large swaths of quickly drying blood.
“What happened?” he prompted, eyeing the wound with a frown.
“Oh, um, I was just walking, and I got mugged by two guys. They had knives,” I tacked on, realizing he probably wondered where the cut came from. Head on, Chloe, this is important. You can have a moment to be confused and dazed later.
“Did they hurt you anywhere else? ”
Mentally surveying the rest of me, everything seemed to throb, so I shook my head, hoping the other aches permeating my body would ease after a long shower and a night of rest. Though my shoulder might need some extra healing time, I noted as I shifted in the chair and a surge of pain jolted my left shoulder.
“Did they take anything?”
“Yeah, my purse.”
“Was there anything useful or of value in it?”
“Just some cash and random papers with my first name on it, but thankfully, nothing else. I make sure not to carry anything else when I go out when I travel.”
“Smart girl,” he complimented. “All right, we have antiseptic and some pads, along with bandages and butterfly strips in the kit, but I’m going to go get a cloth and wet it, so we can really clean this off before doing the rest. All right?”
“Okay,” I murmured, watching the officer leave the door ajar, making the cold and sterile room less daunting.
As I waited, I eyed the thin slice down my forearm that was about four inches long. It wasn’t deep and wouldn’t require stitches, thankfully. Good, I thought with a sigh of relief. I couldn’t afford to have a hospital bill while I was here.
Officer McCoy returned after just a few moments, a small washrag dripping in his hand.
“Here we go. Sorry if it’s not very warm. The water here sometimes can take a while to heat, and I didn’t want to risk it bleeding more,” he explained with an apologetic smile and offered me the rag.
“Thanks,” I told him for what seemed like the hundredth time since I walked in, but as if I was on autopilot, I couldn’t come up with anything else to say.
He let me clean my wound, which I appreciated. I wasn’t sure how I would feel with a stranger touching me after having been assaulted by the two men. By the time I was done washing my arm, the spot where the blood had been was pink from how hard I scrubbed.
“This is probably going to hurt,” he warned, putting an antiseptic on a cloth pad.
“It’s all right. I used to play soccer, lots of bruises, skinned knees, and injuries,” I told him, hoping to ease the frown on his face, and it seemed to work. One corner of his mouth quirked up, easing the stern expression.
“You were a sports player, huh?”
“Used to be when I was growing up, now I’m in school… well, not right now, obviously.” First, all I could come up with was ‘thanks,’ and now I couldn’t stop using it as a distraction as I took the antiseptic cloth from his outstretched hand. When I put the cool liquid on my cut, the sting was significant, and I ground my teeth together. “Yet no matter how many times it seems like I’ve done this, it never gets any easier,” I muttered, making him chuckle in sympathy.
“I can imagine. Once we get this bandage on, we can go over everything that happened,” he explained, digging around in the first-aid kit. “But I’d go get that checked out at a clinic to be safe.”
“Okay.” I nodded, finally having to give in to his help, knowing I couldn’t hold the gauze over the wound and wrap it with the bandage at the same time. Thankfully, my body was a little more at ease with him working around my arm now that we’d had some conversation. His being a police officer and not two crazed men in an alley was certainly a contributing factor.
“There, all patched up. I’m going to put this away, then I’ll get your statement.”
My arm slowly felt better now that it was cleaned, and I slumped into the cold metal chair as I waited for his return. Instead of glancing around at everything in the room, like the cameras and textured walls, I focused on running through everything that had happened once again, so I could accurately tell him everything. Remembering made me adjust and shift uncomfortably in my chair, all the aches intensifying as if I was back in the alley, but it was a necessary evil. It was only for a little while longer before I could go back to my hotel and pretend it never happened.
“All right, Miss Daniels, let’s start at the top,” he instructed, sitting across from me, his pen poised over a pad of paper, ready to write. “When did it happen?”
“No longer than ten… maybe twenty minutes ago if I had to hazard a guess.” I started at the beginning, telling him I had been lost, trying to find my place on the map, and failed miserably. I had started exploring on my own, and while I couldn’t remember what street I had been on, I remembered a few of the shops, so I could give him an accurate location of where it all went down.
It took several internal pep talks not to succumb to the tears that built as it set in. I had actually been mugged… Shoving the repeated realization away, I continued. As soon as I got to the part about the men, what had transpired, and the description of the tattoo, his pen stopped scribbling across the paper.
“You’re sure this is what it looked like?” he questioned, pointing at the description he’d written.
“Mm-hmm,” I hummed, nodding my head.
“If that’s the case, that sounds like the Phan
toms are up to no good again.”
Again?
“The who?” I asked, wondering what the hell that meant.
“Oh, sorry.” He waved a hand apologetically as he looked up from his notes. “The Phantoms are one of the local gangs always stirring up trouble. They’ve laid low for a small sliver of time, so everyone was hoping they’d moved on, but it appears they’re creeping out from wherever they’ve been hiding. Not all of them have the tattoo, mind you,” he explained, going on a tangent. The ramble helped ease the discontent turning my stomach. “But if you see someone with this tattoo again, it’s safe to turn around and walk the other direction.”
“Gotcha,” I murmured. You can bet your ass. I’ll fucking run the other way if I ever see it again.
I know it probably shouldn’t have made me feel better, but somehow, knowing it was two gang members made it easier to swallow. It wasn’t just a random person, a normal New Zealand citizen who attacked me. I knew it was weird, but I wouldn’t question the relief that filled me.
At this point, I’ll take any calm I can find.
“Anything else?” Officer McCoy questioned, but as soon as I opened my mouth, there was a knock on the door, and another officer opened it slightly, sticking his head in.
“Hey, McCoy. Supervisor Hanson wants to see you,” he relayed.
“But I’m in the middle—”
“It’s a right-now thing, McCoy. I can stay here and get the rest of the statement,” the new cop offered.
“You sure?”
The guy in the door nodded, barely looking at me.
“Would that be all right with you?” Officer McCoy asked. I wanted to say no, not wanting to retell the entire story a second time, but I also didn’t want him to get in trouble with his boss, so I just nodded, giving him a small smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With a final nod, he got up and headed to see what his supervisor wanted.
As soon as Officer McCoy was from out of the room, the new guy shut the door. I don’t know why, but as soon as the click of the door sounded, I felt my eyes narrow ever so slightly and a strange sense of worry pooled in my belly as he turned to look down at me.
“So, you had two men to attack you?” he summarized as he strode to the table, each step sending me more on edge. There was no logical reasoning for the building panic, and I couldn’t pinpoint why I had just been comfortable with the previous officer, so I wasn’t sure why this one was any different. All I knew was that my gut was telling me something was off about this guy.
Get ahold of yourself, Chloe. He’s just here to get the rest of your statement, I commanded myself, but it did little good.
“Yes.” I tried my best to keep my voice steady, not wanting to give away that I was uncomfortable. “McCoy thought it was the Phantoms,” I offered, shrugging slightly with my uninjured shoulder, hoping he would understand what that meant.
“The Phantoms? You sure about that?” he questioned with a skeptical brow raise. Leaning against the table, he propped one thigh on the edge of the metal top. He didn’t even bother to scan the rest of the notes, which made me frown slightly, but I smoothed it out as quickly as it came. A glimmer of something simmered in his gaze, and whatever it was made me want to curl into myself.
Probably just because he’s a cop and you’re shaken up. He’s used to talking with criminals, so this is probably just what he’s normally like. Despite the logic, my gut continued to turn. I dipped my head in acknowledgment, my tongue glued to the top of my mouth.
“Last I checked, the only gang members who have been causing trouble are the Auckland Kings,” he explained, tapping the table. The sound was loud and startling in the concrete room, each metallic sting filling the room, making me wince, still on edge from the events of the morning.
“The who?” I questioned, unable to stop myself.
“The Auckland King’s Crime Family. The Kings are well known for being violent and generally just a pain in the ass. You know, the usual.”
“Oh,” I murmured in confusion. “Well, Officer McCoy said—”
“I’m sure I know what he said, but you have to know, I’m on the gang task force, and trust me, I know when it’s the Auckland Kings. The Phantoms have been underground and disbanded for quite a while. I don’t think they’d pop up for something this menial, do you?” he chastised, pushing his observations in a way that made me believe he truly didn’t want me to think it was the Phantoms.
Why? I bit my tongue, wanting to snap at him for his disregarding and chiding tone. Being caught in the middle of a mugging wasn’t menial, not to me.
“Anyway, is that all?” he prompted, cocking a brow expectantly.
Hesitating slightly, I remembered the piece of paper, which felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. I shook my head, not trusting the man.
“You’re sure? I’m sure any information would be very helpful.”
“No, sorry,” I offered, hoping to be convincing.
He glanced over to the door with a frown. Following his line of sight, I saw McCoy standing out in the hallway, talking with another officer, this one with a different pin on his lapel. His boss, I assumed, which meant he’d hopefully come back in, and the one in front of me would leave.
“Well, I’ll let you and McCoy finish this up, but a little heads up?” he offered, shifting off the table. “Tangling with the gangs can get you killed.” A shiver worked down my spine at his tone, but I tried to stay still as possible to not give it away. “We’ll be keeping an eye out for you, make sure you don’t have a run-in with the wrong people.” A slimy grin curled up, and he left as soon as McCoy turned the handle. Once he was no longer looking at me, I glanced at his name plate, Inspector Philemonde, attempting to commit it to memory.
If that wasn’t suspicious, I don’t know what was.
Hunter
“How’s it going, Michael?” I questioned, walking over to the few other Auckland Kings working at the dock. Two were supervising while four others loaded, watched for any prying eyes, or roved the marina for any of our rivals, the Phantoms. They may have gone dark for several days, but one could never be too careful.
“Doing good,” he told me, tilting his chin up toward the box that had just been set on the ship. “Chip got the last one loaded up.”
“Paperwork and customs forms look good?” I murmured, eyeing the clipboard in his hand.
“Yep, everything’s ready to go. This shipment heads out to the states tonight, and the one we finished this morning should ship out to our suppliers in Southeast Asia and Hawaii.”
“Perfect. Well, that was easy—” I started.
“Hey, yo, Hunter! What are you doing down here?” I heard a familiar voice call out.
“Damn it, spoke too soon,” I muttered under my breath, turning around. Inspector Murray was glancing around at the various ships and the men and women currently loading the cargo ships for the next run. Thankfully, everything we were doing was technically legal, at least on paper. What was actually in the shipment boxes was a whole other story.
“Nothing, just looking at buying a boat,” I fibbed, flashing him a smirk, knowing I needed to chat him up long enough for him to continue on and leave us be.
He scoffed. “Right, like I believe that.”
“Hey, you never know.” Shrugging, I continued on with my charade.
“Yeah, if you’re looking to buy,”—a deep brown brow arched, and Murray crossed his arms over his chest as he reached us—“then why are you near all the industrial ships?” he countered, pointing to the boat we were standing next to. It wasn’t a freighter with massive shipping containers, but it wasn’t exactly a high-end yacht, small personal boat, or anything like that.
“What? Maybe I want to start my own shipping company,” I explained, earning another halfhearted glare. Come on, Murray, keep on walking. I knew what would happen if he didn’t.
“Mhm, sure. I’ll let you keep spouting that shit if all of your permits and papers are in order.”
“Of course. What kind of man do you think I am, Inspector?” I exclaimed, pretending to be offended. I’d known Inspector Murray for years, and while he probably knew what we were doing, he never pushed or prodded too much. Probably worried about what would happen to him if he went up against the Auckland Kings, I thought with a smirk.
“I know exactly what kind of man you are, Hunter, but as long as a lot of you are keeping out of too much trouble. I suppose I’ll continue on and let you guys just do whatever it is you guys do.”
“I appreciate that, Inspector,” I told him cheekily. Score one for me, I thought as he started down the dock once more.
“Don’t push it,” he murmured as he passed by, pointing at the boxes the guys had just loaded. “I could still technically search these.” I ran my fingers across my lips as if I was zipping them, locking the invisible key, and tossing it over my shoulder. “You’re such a smart ass, King. One of these days, it could get you into a hell of a lot of trouble.”
“Yeah, but it could also get me out of it!” I called back.
“That’s if it’s not duct-taped shut!” he hollered, turning and walking backward, so he could look at me from the other end of the dock. I shrugged, not saying anything else. Inspector Murray only laughed, waving a dismissive hand at me as he spun back around to continue on with his beat.
“How is it you can talk to the police, and nothing happens?” Chip asked from where he stood on the deck.
“Because it’s him doing the talking. Besides, Hunter’s probably got half the police on his payroll,” Michael joked quietly, elbowing me as he talked.
“Okay,” I started, holding up a finger. “I don’t have half the police department in my pocket. My father, now that’s a different story,” I corrected, chuckling.
“Well, whatever it is or however much you guys pay to keep them looking the other way makes my job a hell of a lot easier,” Michael told me, whistling to the two men on the ship. “All right, let’s head back. We’re done for the day.”