Canals

by Everett Powers

  “Losing control of what?” Baskel said.

  “Self-control maybe. Its first three kills were in the country, hit-and-runs mostly, away from the city. It’s safer out there. But now it’s killing in town. Last night I believe it ate all of your missing thief and from what we saw on the canal it looks like it played with him a little first.”

  Lawless looked at Jensen: she tapped her wristwatch.

  “So then the thing tonight happened and here we are.”

  “Initially,” Jensen added, “we couldn’t figure out why he had this vision, the one tonight. He wasn’t able to warn them, all he could do was watch — why was he there? So I took him back through the vision and by noticing the surroundings we were able to determine where the attack took place.”

  Baskel didn’t get it. “So? If you couldn’t warn them, what good is knowing the location?”

  “Because if it happens again, he’ll pay more attention to the surroundings and maybe we can figure out what canal it’s in before it strikes.”

  Baskel got it. “Yeah, maybe we could set a trap or something. Kill it somehow.”

  “Right,” Lawless said. “We wouldn’t have much of a notice, maybe just minutes, but it’s something.”

  Baskel snapped his fingers and said, pointing at Lawless, “Why don’t you just go ‘riding’ with it again and tell us where it is?”

  “I tried to couple of times, but got nothing. I think it knows what happened the first time and threw up some kind of block.”

  “Shit,” Baskel said. “So what do we do next? Stick with the plan we came up with earlier?”

  “There’s no time. We have to assume it’s planning on killing here in town again. We have to get people away from the canals. I spoke to that Bee reporter this evening but the paper doesn’t come out until tomorrow morning. We need to do something tonight. I say get all the cars you can and have them cruise the canal banks that run through town. Tell them to use their spot lights; I don’t think it likes light. All of its attacks have been at night except for Sandovich, and as I recall the bright noontime sun really bothered it. So lots of light. And tell them to stay in their cars. No one walks around the canals on foot.”

  “What do we tell them they’re looking for?”

  “They’re looking for people. Just tell them to keep everyone away from the canals.”

  “What if you do have another one of your ... visions, and we figure out what canal the snake’s in? What do we do, then?”

  The question troubled Lawless. “I don’t have an answer for that. If we have uniforms everywhere, we could have a pretty short response time. But what do they do once they get to the right canal? Shoot blindly into the water?”

  Baskel rubbed his chin and thought. “Maybe we need to tell them we suspect something’s in the canals, like an alligator. That way they’ll look in the water, too.”

  “That’ll work,” Jensen said. “It’ll be safer for them, too, because they’ll be shining the spots at the canal.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that,” Lawless said. They felt a little better.

  A loud voice erupted from the crowd; Baskel looked up. “Uh-oh. Probably the husband of the deceased. Gotta go. Where’re you guys going?”

  “We’ll stay here and wait until you’re done. We need to talk some more.”

  Baskel left to take care of unpleasant things.

  The creature was in the Main Canal, swimming toward

  Holmes Road.

  Wilber Cotton sat in the tree by the brick wall in his backyard and smoked the first of his three cigarettes. He didn’t take deep drags because he didn’t like to cough because sometimes when he started coughing he wouldn’t stop until he barfed and he didn’t like to barf.

  The smoke made him dizzy so he wedged his butt between two limbs so he wouldn’t fall and break something or kill himself. His parents would be mad if he broke something or killed himself because it would cost them money they would rather spend on beer and weed. His mom maybe might cry if he ever got killed but his dad would just be mad. Probably his mom wouldn’t cry. Probably no one would.

  He smoked the cigarette down to the butt and jumped off the wall so he could throw it in the canal while it was still glowed. He flicked it into the canal and heard it sizzle and watched the dark water carry it away. He sat and listened to the sounds of laughing and drinking coming out of his house. He bet no one wanted to live by him because they were always so loud. He would move if he lived by him.

  Wilber Cotton hated his life.

  Baskel, Lawless, and Jensen huddled over the canal map Busmur had given Lawless earlier in the week.

  Baskel made notes and swore. “I didn’t know there were so many damn canals running through town. I don’t have enough patrol cars to cover them all.”

  “How many do you have?” Lawless asked.

  “I can put ten cars out on the streets, but there are more than twenty sections of canals that need to be covered.”

  “Give everyone two canals, then,” Lawless offered, “and give us a couple, or three. If I have a vision, as long as someone’s close, we’ll have a decent response time. And remember the spotlights, lots of light.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Baskel growled. “And keep your eyes peeled for an alligator.” He left to make the calls.

  “Do you think we have a chance of killing it?” Jensen asked, after Baskel left.

  “Only if we’re lucky. Very lucky.”

  “I’ll feel like shit if some cops get hurt, or killed,” Jensen said, hugging herself. “We’d have a permanent enemy in Baskel, too.”

  “What else can we do? This was your idea. Let me know if you think of something different.”

  “What’s this bullshit?” Billy said to Vijay after getting the orders from Baskel, bitching like he always did when they got a call, any call. “We’re supposed to look for an alligator in the canal? Who does he think we are, that Australian crocodile dude on TV? You seen that show, Vijay? What’s his name?” Billy turned east on Briggsmore.

  “I can’t remember his name, either. I think he got killed, though. Shark or something.” As much as Vijay hated to admit, Billy was right this time. This had to be one of the strangest calls they’d ever received: an alligator in the canal? Had to be a prank.

  “Which canal did they say?” Billy asked, already forgetting what they’d been told thirty seconds earlier.

  “We’re responsible for the canal that runs alongside Briggsmore, from Claus to 99. If you turn left on Oakdale, it’ll be easy to get on the canal bank and—”

  “I know where to go,” Billy snapped. “I’ve lived here all my life. You don’t need to tell me how to get there.”

  Vijay made a mental note to talk to the sergeant, again, about being reassigned. The problem was, nobody wanted to ride with Billy so everyone had to take a turn, and a turn lasted a year. He still had seven months to go on his sentence. Maybe he would get lucky and Billy would go out on medical leave: bunions, or something. A slipped disc, maybe.

  They turned off Oakdale onto the canal bank, which ran on the south side of the canal, which meant Billy had to operate the spotlight and drive. Vijay unbuckled his seat belt and made sure his door was unlocked.

  They took Lawless’s car: Jensen behind the wheel and Baskel next to her. Lawless sat in back in case he “tripped out,” as Jensen put it.

  Baskel needed some aspirin, said he felt a whopper coming on, so they stopped at a Raleys. Baskel returned with his headache medicine and Jensen drove south on Tully, heading for their assigned canal, Lateral No. 4, the one that ran by Elk Park.

  They had just passed Bowen when Lawless said, “Ah man...”

  Baskel turned around and said, “What?”

  Lawless was sprawled across the backseat and staring at the roof. He said, “It’s dark.”

  “What’s happening?” Baskel shouted at Jensen.

  “He must be having another vision.” She pulled into the parking lot of an old shopping center.

&nbs
p; “What?” Baskel shouted. “Is he having a seizure? Call 9 1 1!” He fumbled for his phone.

  Jensen was cool. “Put your phone away. He’s not having a seizure so calm down.” She left the car running but turned in her seat.

  “What do you see?” she asked Lawless.

  “Canal,” Lawless answered. “Ragged pair of kid’s tennis shoes, cheap knockoffs.”

  Baskel moaned and rubbed his forehead. The whopper had landed and the aspirin was in full retreat.

  Chapter 12

  Vijay had one hand on the door handle and the other poised to grab the wheel should it appear Billy was steering them into the canal, sweating despite the cool evening breeze.

  “I don’t see a damned thing but black water,” Billy grumbled, and passed gas: the patrol car filled with the stench of bowel rot. Vijay’s eyes watered and he gagged, but did not take his eyes off the road; he knew if he did, they would be in the canal.

  “Damn, Billy,” he said, struggling to breathe.

  They were only going ten miles an hour, but to Vijay they were hurtling down the road, out of control. “Let me hold the wheel,” he said, trying to keep his nerves out of his voice, trying to breathe.

  “What for? I got it, Vijay. I’m not the one green around the collar here. I can do two things at once you know.”

  Billy passed gas again. It was such a part of his life he never said pardon me or oops or anything, nor did he ever acknowledge the smell. Vijay thrust his head out the window and gasped for air.

  They rolled along the canal bank, tires inches from the water, until Vijay’s shirt was soaked with sweat and the car smelled like an outhouse. Billy turned the wheel to the right, seconds before Vijay was sure their left tires would slip into the canal.

  “If this isn’t the biggest damn waste of taxpayer’s money —” Billy starting saying.

  “I think sitting in the parking lot behind Krispy Kremes, stuffing my face with donuts, is a bigger waste of time,” Vijay cut in, between gasps.

  “You’re too young to know how police work is really done, Vijay, that’s your problem. Did I ever tell you about that time we caught that guy robbing Mr. T’s Donuts?”

  “Yeah, five times. It’s the highlight of your career.”

  More gas rumbled out of Billy and Vijay was bathed by a fine mist of burritos and broccoli gone bad; a rotten, sulfury, earthy smell. He gagged.

  “Old Gonzales and I — you’re too young to remember Gonzales. He was a good cop, God rest his soul. Died of a heart attack two years after retirement.” Billy rambled, unfazed by the foul air. “That’s gotta suck. Anyway, we were having ourselves a donut or two at Mr. T.’s when...”

  Vijay tuned him out and kept an eye on the road, every breath a struggle. Now and then he’d reach over and pull the steering wheel to the right, Billy’s Get your damn hands off the wheel! notwithstanding.

  They followed the canal until it went under Lakewood. While waiting for traffic to clear, Billy spotted a Quik Stop across the road. “Let’s stop and get a snack. Gotta keep my blood sugar up.”

  Normally Vijay would have protested, but his nerves were shot, and he needed to get away from the stench. He hoped the rest of Billy’s gas would work its way out while they walked around the store, but doubted he would be that lucky.

  The creature quickened its pace and activated its senses; it was nearing the concentration of humans and needed to be alert. Its program tonight called for it to strike and move, strike and move.

  Detecting all nearby vibration, it ignored any not made by living entities and focused on emotional emanations; the frequency of human life.

  It sensed prey ahead. Were it able to interpret the prey’s emotion, it would see it as profound sadness.

  Baskel shook three aspirins out of the bottle and chewed them dry, cringing at the bitter taste. He wiped his face on the back of a shirtsleeve and turned to watch Jensen talk to Lawless. He now knew why she was always at his side: it was like she was his caretaker.

  “He’s still not doing anything,” Lawless said. “No wait. He’s getting something out of his shirt pocket. A Band-Aid. A cigarette. He’s lighting a cigarette.”

  “Forget the cigarette. What else can you see?”

  Lawless’s eyes moved back and forth, as if searching the roof of the car for some clue of the boy’s whereabouts.

  “What’s going on? What’s he seeing?” Baskel asked Jensen, too loud. He’d spoken only to her after Lawless’s vision started.

  “You don’t need to yell Detective. You can hear what he says as well as I can, and if you want to ask a question, ask him, not me. He can hear you, you know.”

  “There’s a wide road on the other side of the canal, and a brick wall. Trees off to one side.”

  “What about cars, are there any cars driving by?” Jensen prompted.

  Baskel looked at the roof for the sixth time, thinking maybe this time he could see what Lawless was seeing. He didn’t, so he turned around and looked out the windshield, again. Three kids were skateboarding through the empty parking lot: here was a scene he knew. They passed close to Lawless’s car and saw Baskel looking at them. The third one gave Baskel the bird as he floated by. Baskel held his shield out the window; the kid saw it, sneered, and raised his hand higher.

  Baskel sighed. “The world is full of punks”

  “Wait a minute,” Lawless said. “I hear a train, fairly close.”

  “Do you see anything different? Has anything changed?” Jensen asked.

  “No.”

  Jensen said to Baskel, “Where’s that canal map?”

  Baskel fumbled around and found it on the floor. “Here.” He went to hand it to her, but she said, “Look on the map and see if you can find where a canal runs by a railroad track.”

  Baskel stared at the map, trying to comprehend her instructions. He found what looked like a railroad track but it was difficult to tell on the little map.

  “There’s one by 99. Five or six canals cross those tracks.”

  “The train stopped,” Lawless said, excited. “It sounded like it stopped not too far from where the boy’s at.”

  “No,” Jensen said to Baskel. “It’s not downtown. Keep looking.”

  A drop of sweat dropped off Baskel’s face onto the map and his hands started shaking. Sweat got in his eyes, stinging them and blurring his vision. He swore and wiped his eyes with a damp shirtsleeve.

  “Did you find anything?” Jensen asked him.

  “I can’t find a damn thing on this map! Where the hell is your regular one?”

  Wilber Cotton was smoking his second cigarette when he heard the Amtrak whistle as the train pulled into the station a half-mile away. He looked toward the sound and wondered how much it cost to ride Amtrak. Probably a lot more than twelve dollars. Wilber had twelve dollars hidden in a another Band-Aid tin in the backyard. He didn’t hide money in his room anymore because his mother always found it and took it to buy beer or cigarettes or McDonald’s cheeseburgers. She didn’t find where he hid it outside.

  He talked to a boy at school named Quentin Boozer about running away. He and Quentin were sort of friends because they both hated their names except Quentin had two names to hate. Quentin was not as bad as Wilber but Boozer was a lot worse than Cotton. They talked about running away to Los Angeles where Quentin’s grandpa lived by the beach. They could stay with the grandpa and play on the beach every day and stay up as late as they wanted and not go to stupid school or do stupid homework.

  They talked about running away and Quentin pretended he wanted to but he really didn’t because he didn’t hate his parents except for naming him Quentin. When Quentin told Wilber he really didn’t want to run away Wilber pretended he didn’t want to run away either but he did.

  Quentin said they always find kids who run away and take them back to their parents. Wilber’s parents would be really mad if he ran away and the police brought him back because that would mean the police would come to their house and they always got
mad when the police came to their house.

  Quentin also told Wilber that sometimes bad people find kids who run away and do bad things to them and kill them. He didn’t want bad things to happen to him but he wondered what it would be like to be killed and what happened after you were killed. Some kids say you go to heaven or you go to hell after you die. He wondered what heaven would be like but he thought he would probably be sent to hell because he had never did anything nice or important. He was just a kid who had a bad name that other kids made fun of and who had loser parents.

  He took a puff on his cigarette and took in more smoke than he usually did because he wanted to feel dizzy. He coughed and the world spun.

  “Ah jeez, it still stinks in here,” Vijay complained as they piled back into the patrol car. “Damn Billy, what’ve you been eating that makes you stink so bad?”

  They each had a soda and a bag of chips, the difference was Billy had a sixty-four ounce flagon of Mountain Dew and a full-sized bag of Fritos while Vijay had a snack-sized bag of Sun Chips and a twenty-ounce Diet Coke.

  “Must be Brenda’s chili,” Billy said, acknowledging his gas problem for the first time. “She made a big pot of it a coupla’ days ago. It kinda’ smells funny but it tastes good. This batch didn’t have any beans in it, though. She said they give me gas.”

  “What doesn’t?” Vijay said.

  Vijay kept his nose pointed out the window while Billy drove across the street to the canal. The radio squawked just after they pulled onto the canal bank.

  The collective experience of its ancestors told it that once it revealed itself to more than a few of its prey, there would be no turning back; they would come hunting for it, and while it did not fear them, its survival instincts still warned against taking this step.

  So it drifted in the canal, upstream from the human, weighing the potential risk of its new programming against the rich feeding it felt certain it would receive.