by H. P. Bayne
But policing came naturally to him, his instincts honed through years of listening to his father’s stories, his hands and mind steady with strength and practice, his sense of humour and warmth commending him both to colleagues and to the people they encountered each day.
Within months, he’d found himself enveloped within the fold that policing both engendered and required, and had settled into a career that felt as natural to him as home.
Losing his job had felt like an amputation of a major limb, one he’d spent months trying to learn to live without before it occurred to him one broken night he might never get there.
Now with Sully gone, Dez fell back on ingrained instinct and training, launching a search for anyone who might have had occasion to witness something of a man who, come right down to it, didn’t even really exist.
He began where answers seemed most likely, with his neighbour across the hall. Very little slipped past Miss Crichton, an elderly spinster who had lived in her tiny suite since the builders had laid the brick and installed the plumbing. She made it a habit to never sleep past sunrise—or so she’d told Dez shortly after he moved in—and he’d had more than enough sleepless nights to know the truth of it, having been awake to hear her open her door at the crack of dawn to retrieve her newspaper.
As always, Miss Crichton was pleased to see him, although he suspected she would be just as happy with a visit from a salesman for the sake of some company.
“Come in, Desmond, come in.” Her oversized glasses made her eager eyes even rounder.
He smiled politely, though he felt desperate enough at the moment to resort to rudeness should the need arise. “I’d love to, ma’am but—”
“Emily, please,” she said. They went through this every time, she insisting on being called by her first name, Dez feeling awkward using anything but a respectful title when addressing an octogenarian.
“Of course, I’m sorry. It’s just I’m not able to visit right now. I’m looking for someone, and it’s really important I find him. Maybe you saw a young man who stayed with me last night?”
Miss Crichton smiled in such a way that had Dez thinking he’d better explain, and quickly. “He’s my brother.”
“Oh! I didn’t know you had a brother. Of course, I don’t know much about your family, really. I’ve only met your mother twice and never anyone else.”
Dez found his smile wavering. “Listen, the thing is I haven’t seen my brother in a couple years, and when I woke up this morning, he was gone. No note or explanation or anything. I’m trying to figure out when he left and where he might have gone.”
“I didn’t see anyone leave, I’m afraid.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“No, and I’ve been awake since five. He must have gone out before then, or I’m sure I would have noticed. One can hear a pin drop in the hall with these creaky old floors.”
The early hour explained how Sully had managed to crawl over him without disturbing him. Dez tended not to wake easily in the middle of the night on those occasions when he was actually managing a decent sleep. Of course, Sully would know that.
“Thanks, Miss Crichton, I’m—”
“Emily, please.”
“Right. Listen, I’m going to head out and look for him. You’ve still got my cellphone number?”
“Right by my phone, dear. But I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”
“That may be true, but if you happen to see him come back, could you please give me a call anyway? He’s twenty-four years old, six feet tall and thin with long, light brown hair and a beard. He’ll probably be wearing something that seems pretty grubby, but don’t let that bother you. He’s a really great guy. Oh, and he’ll have a big, black dog with him.”
“He knows this is a no-pet building, doesn’t he?”
“His dog’s really quiet. If you weren’t staring right at him, you wouldn’t even know he was there.”
“I would.”
Dez smiled. “You didn’t know he was here last night.”
Miss Crichton frowned. “I went to bed early with a terrible headache. Don’t get me wrong, Desmond. I think you’re a wonderful young man and a very considerate neighbour, but I really wish you wouldn’t allow animals in the building. There are rules, you know.”
“It was only going to be one night and I hadn’t seen my brother in a long time. I didn’t want to miss out on spending time with him because his dog couldn’t stay.”
He was playing on her sympathies and, judging by the kindly smile spreading across her face, he guessed he’d done a sound job.
“Of course, when you put it like that. Don’t worry. Our little secret. Now, don’t worry, I’m sure your brother will turn up. And if I see him before you do, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” he said, giving her the little salute that always made her giggle before turning and heading for the stairs.
“Emily, please,” she called after him.
During his years with the police, Dez had spent plenty of time in the part of KR he was now unfortunate enough to call home. He’d made contacts on the streets, people he could tap for information when need be. During the past two years, he’d tended more toward calling on them for a drink at whichever bar was closest, convincing himself he didn’t have a true drinking problem if he wasn’t tossing it back alone.
Anyway, truth lived in the adage “misery loves company,” and Dez’s new barroom buddies certainly made for some miserable company. But they were company nonetheless, and giddy moments played out in the midst of the long drunken evenings when he found escape with them, listening to stories that made his problems seem like molehills next to mountains.
One thing about those people: they knew this part of town, some of them calling the streets home during the summer months, before the bitter cold of winter drove them behind whatever doors they could find.
Back in the old days, this part of KR had been a place for business and family, had seen new buildings popping up well into the 1960s. Named for the neighbourhood in which it sat, Riverview Park had been designed with families in mind, a place for picnics, carnivals and fishing. But repeated flooding—and the big one four years ago—had led to a turnover in the Riverview neighbourhood. The park, too, had changed hands. The benches and bushes had become makeshift beds, the public toilets were office space for drug pushers and prostitutes, and the handful of sculptures had been not-so-tastefully redesigned by vandals and graffiti artists.
But to a cop—or, in Dez’s case, a former cop—it was also the first place to look for those with answers.
It took all of two minutes to locate Bulldog. Born William “Billy” Bird, he’d earned his nickname through his short and stout appearance, jowls tugged ever lower with gravity and age, and a tendency to growl with the onset of severe intoxication. When he was sober, though, he was all smiles, stories and back slaps and, thankfully, that was the Bulldog Dez found this morning.
“Copper, how the hell are ya?” Bulldog asked, pumping Dez’s hand in one of his shoulder-dislocating handshakes.
“I’m good, thanks. How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Copper? I got canned from the force a year ago.”
“I don’t call you Copper because of that. It’s your hair. Or would you rather I call you Carrots?”
“I’ll stick with the original, thanks.”
“Didn’t see ya last night. Figures. You said next round was on you. Where’d you end up, anyways?”
That was a story Dez wasn’t much in the mood to tell, and so he settled on the abridged version. “I ran into an old friend.”
“Really? What kind of friend?” He was grinning and winking so hard any good mother would warn him his face might stick that way.
“Not that kind of friend. It’s a guy.”
Bulldog shrugged. “Who’s judgin’?”
Dez rolled his eyes, and spoke quietly, hoping to engender the same hushed tone in Bulldog’s response. “Sull
y, you goof. I’m talking about Sully.”
“Sully who?”
“Bulldog. Sully. My brother.”
Bulldog’s jowls dropped as his mouth popped open, jaw moving without sound. It took a moment for the words to come. “Jesus Christ.”
“Listen, man, I need you to—”
“Are you drunk, Copper? You don’t smell drunk.”
“I’m stone sober, Bulldog. Now shut up and—”
“Then you’re obviously on some other magical substance, or you’ve just lost whatever was left of your friggin’ mind. Sully Gray is dead.”
Dez had given it plenty of thought on the way over, had initially thought only to provide Bulldog with Sully’s physical description and ask the man to check around for anyone who might have seen someone matching it. But he’d thought better of it. Bulldog knew Sully, knew him well and genuinely liked him, for years guarding his secret about seeing the dead. And there was the other reason for honesty; Bulldog was lousy at selling bullshit to Dez but a pro at smelling it. Any attempt by Dez to lie to the man—someone he considered a friend—would result in nothing but hurt and hard feelings.
“I’m on the level here, Bulldog. But I need you to keep this on the D-L, all right? No one can know. No one.”
“You’re serious.”
“You think I’d be anything but serious about Sully? I thought he was dead until last night.”
Bulldog regarded him, his eyes locked onto Dez’s with squirm-inducing intensity. Dez refused to break eye contact, needing his friend—Sully’s friend—to see the truth.
Dez knew Bulldog had gotten there when his face lit up, the expression of a twelve-year-old unwrapping a new BB gun on Christmas morning. “Holy hell. Shit, man, that’s amazing!”
“No one can know, Bulldog. I mean it. If anyone finds out, his life is over. You hear me?”
Bulldog wiped the grin away long enough to fix Dez with an indignant glare. “Listen, Copper, I love that kid. He was decent to me—hell, to everybody. He was one of the only bar guys I ever knew who didn’t look at me funny or kick my ass out on the street. Even gave me somewhere to sleep a few times in winter when I was so drunk off my ass I probably would've frozen to death tryin’a make it to the Sally Ann. If no one’s supposed to know about him, then no one’s gonna know it from me, all right?”
There was no sign of a lie in Bulldog’s earnest face, leaving Dez with only the very real concern for what might happen once the guy was too drunk to know better.
“This isn’t going to come out when you’re pissed, though, is it?” Dez asked. “Face it, you’re not exactly known for discretion after you’ve had a few.”
“Come on. Most people who don’t know better think I’m full of shit when I’m sober. When I’m drunk they think I’m a bloody loon.”
Dez smiled. “That’s ‘cuz you are.”
“Yeah, yeah. So, what’s going on? Why’s he been playing dead?”
“I don’t have a lot of answers, Bulldog. That’s the problem. He was with me last night and this morning he was gone. All I really know for sure is he’s on the run, and he’s in trouble. I want to help him, but I need to find him first.”
“So you want me to keep an eye out for him, huh? Can do, my friend.”
“You won’t know what to look for.”
“Are you kidding me? I spent almost as much time with him as you did those last few years. Anyway, he hasn’t exactly got one of those faces that blends into a crowd. Pretty Boy turned plenty of heads.”
“His hair’s grown a lot, past his shoulders, and I think he keeps it over his face most of the time to hide his features. He’s also got a full beard, likely for the same reason. And he’s skinnier than he was and is dressing a lot grubbier. He was wearing black cargo pants and an oversized sweatshirt with the hood up. He had a dark green army jacket over that. Oh, and he’s got a big, black dog with him. Sound like anyone you’ve seen?”
Bulldog appeared to mull it over. “No. No one like that. I think I’d have noticed, especially with the dog and all. Well, and the fact people with their faces concealed freak me out a bit. It’s the eyes, you know? Gotta see the eyes. Only way to really know they aren’t makin’ to stick a knife in your gut.”
Somewhere behind Dez, a dog barked twice, the sound closer to attack than warning. In this neighbourhood, the noise wasn’t exactly unusual, meaning Bulldog’s rationale made plenty of sense. Around here, more than just dogs could put bite before growl. “But you’ll keep an eye out for him, right?”
“Course I will. And, before you ask, yes, I still have your cell number.”
“The personal one, not the work one. Someone else will have my old work phone by now.”
“Hey, let’s not forget, I was your best snitch before I was your best buddy. I always called your personal cell.”
True. “Thanks, man. If you can maybe put the word out I’m looking for someone with that description without mentioning any names, I’d really appreciate it. I don’t have much, but I’ll pay you whatever I can.”
“Will do. And you don’t gotta pay me. I owe the kid. If I can help you to help him, I’m good.”
Dez smiled, allowing his gratitude to show before turning to make his way out of the park.
Bulldog called out his name, drawing Dez to a pause.
“What are you gonna do now, Copper?”
He turned long enough to meet his eye. “I don’t know.”
Leaving Bulldog behind, he hiked back toward Endlin Road.
5
Concealed between cardboard and steel, Sully nearly missed when Dez emerged from the apartment entrance next to the Golden Hand.
Even with the distance, he couldn’t mistake the tension tightening Dez’s jaw and creasing his brow as he looked up and down the street, eyes searching but not seeing. Sully instantly felt the same clawing guilt that had devoured him when he’d attended his own funeral and he’d watched Eva attempt to wrap her much larger husband in arms not quite up to the mammoth task. Sully had left before the service ended, unable to bear the pain he’d caused.
Back, now, in that same agonizing place, he felt Dez’s panic as if it were his own.
Dez’s gaze headed toward the alley, and Sully sank back against brick. He sensed rather than witnessed Dez retreating inside, and Sully knew his brother would head out the back to get his SUV, enabling him to cover more ground in his search.
Sully trailed the SUV at a distance, watched as it pulled over a few blocks east, next to Riverview Park. Dez emerged, hands in the pockets of his hooded jacket as he stalked down into the green space. Sully continued forward, trying to keep his brother in his sights. There were blind spots in the park: thick and untrimmed sections of brush, a couple of tunnels, and structures once used for entertainment and maintenance—plenty of places for a potential assailant to hide. Although Sully suspected last night’s attack on Dez was, in some yet-unexplained way, about himself, he hadn’t managed a good look at the person responsible and had no way of knowing whether Dez’s rescue had been witnessed. And there was still a possibility his brother had been the target all along, and that the Purple Girl—visible on the park’s borders ahead, that same expression of abject panic colouring her features—was simply trying to keep Sully from becoming collateral damage.
It didn’t matter. If anything happened to Dez, Sully would happily go with him.
Sully gained the park’s edge, picking Dez out easily against the others present; his brother dwarfed everyone within sight, and the early morning sun made a flaming beacon of his hair. The Purple Girl hovered next to Dez, but Sully—uncertain about her intentions and his next move—hung back, pressing past a line of lilac bushes and into the small grove of trees beyond.
Dez approached a man Sully recognized as Billy “Bulldog” Bird. Sully’s resulting grin quickly disappeared with the sudden return of the Purple Girl at his side, arm extended and index finger pointed toward the road. Following the direction of her hand, he spotted an unmarked
, white delivery van illegally parked, facing the opposing lane of traffic. If he was to guess, the same van had nearly hit him earlier this morning.
Sully could see no one behind the wheel, although there was a possibility someone was slumped back against the seat, positioned so he wouldn’t make them out from here.
Sully returned his gaze to his ghostly companion. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”
Her response was another motion, a turn of her body and the extension of the arm in the opposite direction. Back toward Dez.
Beside him, Pax growled, eyes fixed on something in the trees that Sully couldn’t see.
The dread rushed him hard as he realized the driver of that van, still hidden from sight, might well be the one who had tried to kill Dez. If so, was he waiting here now, possibly set up in the trees, lining up a shot?
Sully stood, pushing back through the lilacs, the Purple Girl be damned. If it meant protecting his brother, Sully would happily put himself in front of a bullet, would give up everything if it meant saving the person who had saved him.
He’d barely taken two steps forward, had just opened his mouth to yell when he was distracted by the sound of rushed movement behind him. He turned. It wasn’t purple hair and blood-painted white skin he saw.
Two people faced him, one well-built and one slight, faces covered by balaclavas. Sully knew his strengths, knew his current condition meant fighting wasn’t one of them, so he turned from them, intending to run for Dez.
Pax barked twice. Just twice. There was no accompanying human shriek of pain, leaving Sully in little doubt as to what that meant. Torn between checking on Pax and escape, Sully realized too late the decision was not his to make. A hand went over his mouth while more vicelike fingers seized him. He was dragged, off-balance, back into the trees, taking him past the prone form of his dog in the tall grass along the trees’ edge. Regaining purchase as they stopped moving, he brought a heel down on the foot of his nearest attacker. While a pained grunt and the release of one arm resulted, his success was short-lived as a fist collided twice with his skull. Stunned, Sully was wrestled to the ground and held there on his belly by the larger of his assailants while the second temporarily vanished, reappearing only long enough for Sully to see the syringe.