Lunatic City

by T. Allen Diaz

  “I didn’t know!” The truth notwithstanding, it sounded lame even to me.

  “He’s been to IAB. They’re looking to hang you. You’re black-listed. No one’s supposed to even talk to you.” She glanced over the office again. This time, her gaze froze. I followed it with my eyes.

  Schoaler was standing there, some kind of sandwich in a wrapper in his left hand. He wore a white, grease-stained TCPD pullover. He needed a shave and, like most cops I knew, looked like it would take a week-long nap to recover from his sleep deprivation. His greasy blond hair was collar-length and unkempt. Even from this distance, I could see his glistening blue eyes eating a hole in me. I didn’t dare look away. “Thanks, Dana.”

  I walked from the desk and out to the elevators, right past Schoaler, who watched me leave.

  CHAPTER III

  I walked home. Tycho City wasn’t so big that I couldn’t manage, even if I did live at the opposite end of town. It gave me time to think, and I had a lot to think about. What was Rick doing running these leads on his own? He had a partner: me. Why wasn’t I in the loop? What was he hiding? Did he not trust me?

  I saved the worst question for last: was he dirty? The thought turned my stomach, but I’d been a cop too long and seen too much to be naïve. I didn’t have to ask Dana what she thought. Dana was a smart girl and a good cop. If her instincts said he was dirty, what did that mean for Rick?

  I tried not to be angry at Rick for all of this. I wanted to believe that he wasn’t selling us out to The Lunatics; that he wasn’t endangering his brothers and sisters for some bullshit monetary reward. Rick and I were as close as any two cops on the force. If he was judged dirty, what did that mean for me?

  I told myself not to be selfish. That Rick was dead, his wife a widow, and his kids orphans. This wasn’t about me. Besides, I couldn’t let myself believe that Rick was anything but a good cop. We had spent too much time together chasing bad guys and getting into and out of tight spots together for that. Dana’s instincts be damned.

  I looked up from my place on the walkway. My apartment building loomed over me like the mystical mountain cave where the dragon lived. It was, I knew, more than a metaphorical analogy. She would be waiting and the words from her mouth would burn. I put Rick aside and steeled myself for the onslaught.

  Almost everyone in The Lower City lived in what we called squatter flats. They were wedged between the massive columns that supported the real Tycho City. This made for some pretty original construction. Many were interior apartments lacking any windows or view to the outside. That could be a blessing and a curse. People with windows were six times more likely to be burglarized. On the other hand, an interior apartment increased by six-fold your chances of being killed in our other major problem: fire.

  I’m a cop, so I figured I’d take my chances with the fire, but no one was breaking into my home. The corridor was simple and dark. I drew my key, slipped it into the hole, and opened the door. I could hear her in the kitchen. I turned the corner and there she was, rinsing what might have been breakfast dishes in the sink.

  She was wearing short form-fitting faux-cotton shorts. They were gray and hugged the cheeks of her ass enough to show them off, but not so tight as to look vacuum-packed. The t-shirt she wore hung loose enough to show off a healthy part of her shoulders and stopped high enough to reveal the blue and yellow salamander tattooed on the bottom of her right ribcage. Her brown hair was pinned in a ball that might have served as a nest for some unidentified rodent.

  I paused a moment and took in her simple beauty. I flashed back to those brief moments before the call—her naked body in that plush bed responding to my caress. I could hear her soft sighs and moans. I wanted that moment back. I moved toward her and went to put my arms around her. But she pulled away and pushed me with her free hand.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  She might as well have stabbed me with that kitchen knife on the counter: “You’re my wife. I thought maybe—”

  Suzanne laughed. The knife twisted. “That, sir, is what you cops call ‘a technicality’.”

  I drew back and felt the last tenderness within me slip away. “What do you want from me, Suze? I’m a cop. Rick was my partner! No one on the force is breaking their neck to find his killer. I can’t let that happen!”

  “You can’t let that happen? But you can leave your wife’s bed at a moment’s notice to chase the killer of some crooked cop, just because you,” she held her hands up in quotes, “‘chased bad guys,’” she put the hands down, “together?”

  I looked at the floor.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I heard all about it. He was on the take with The Lunatics, of all people. Sounds like good old-fashioned street justice to me.”

  I grabbed the bowl off of the counter and threw it across the room. It shattered it into a million pieces against the wall. It was a childish display, but the most legal one I could manage at the time. My face contorted into a mask of rage. My hands shook.

  Suze took a step back into the corner.

  I moved closer. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For Rick to be dirty? That would just make your day.” I changed my voice to mock hers: “Whoo-who! Rick Sanchez is a dirty cop! Good times!” I switched back to my angry voice. “Isn’t it enough that he’s dead? Can’t you just be happy that Deb is a widow? That Connor and Jack will have to grow up without a dad? Won’t that quench your thirst for revenge? Won’t that satisfy your petty jealousy? Why do you have to tarnish the man’s name too?”

  A flash of fear passed over her features. The sight gave me sadistic pleasure. She was killing me, ruining my life, and trashing my dead friend. It was good to see her get some of her own.

  “Like I could do that! He ruined his own name! Blow jobs aren’t cheating! As if that’s the only thing he did outside of his marriage! You’re out there trusting him with your life when he can’t even keep his fly zipped, and now you’re defending his honor? You pissed your family away, Frank. You pissed it away over a worthless piece-of-shit bad cop!

  “I spent the last ten years being a faithful wife, waiting on you to come home, hoping you’d come home. For what? You to run this house like a precinct? You’re just a fucking cop! When have you ever been a husband? A father? Hmm? When’s the last time you kept your word to Maddy? To this family? I don’t have a husband. I just have you. And Maddy and I deserve better.”

  She was right. I couldn’t look at her. It wasn’t that she’d been perfect, far from it. But being a cop’s wife is hard. It’s even harder when that cop is a detective, subject to calls twenty-four hours a day. I’ve missed hundreds of events and holidays I can never get back, maybe more now.

  “I’m sorry, Suze,” I said. “You’re right, but you haven’t been the greatest either. I mean, you knew what I was when you married me. You haven’t exactly been patient or understanding. You hate all my friends. You hate that I’m a cop.”

  “Of course I do! Look at ’em! Bunch of drunken, womanizing whores, the whole lot! Brotherhood?” The word must’ve had a bitter taste. “Not one of those guys could be loyal to his real family.”

  She didn’t understand. How could she? She’d never kicked in a door knowing the only thing she could count on were the people around her. She’d never had to sit in a room and console a mom who had just found out that her son, who’d been full of life this morning, was chilling in a metal drawer at the coroner’s office. She’d never had to kneel over the battered remains of an infant who’d cried too much for his dad’s or, more often, his mom’s boyfriend’s liking.

  Suzanne could never understand the emotional bond that comes with doing those things together. She could never understand that we protect each other in spite of our flaws because no one else in this world will, and because we know exactly how heavy that badge can really be.

  “They’re family.” I felt spent, the anger gone. I wanted to re
ach out to her, to make her understand. I loved her, and I loved Maddy. But, being a cop is different than being a cook or machinist or entertainer. It was an identity that couldn’t be shrugged off with the uniform. It was who I was. “I love you.”

  She curled her nose. “No you don’t,” she said. “I’m just something to come home to when you’re done playing cops and robbers. Me and Maddy, both.”

  The words hurt. And the anger flared again, but it was only a flash in the pan. I didn’t have the energy. I turned and left. I wasn’t welcome here anymore.

  *******

  I left the apartment with my head spinning. Maybe it was from fatigue. Maybe it was the emotion of knowing that I’d lost the handle on a situation that would ruin my family forever. Had I done it all for a corrupt cop? Was Rick dirty? I kept telling myself no, but I’d spent my life in a very dark reality. It was impossible to deny that corruption found its way into the soul of every man in one way or another.

  I thought about Rick and the life he lived. He was, like a lot of cops I knew, a regular gem until the booze started to flow. Things tended to take a turn after that. He liked to fight. He really liked to fuck. And, with eighty-proof in him, he wasn’t too picky about who.

  But, he was a hell of a cop: smart, gutsy, intuitive. He was an amazing interrogator who could’ve taught ole Captain Rod a thing or two. I smiled. We’d taken down a lot of bad guys together. There were a lot of tight spots. We’d laughed and cried. I’d been his best man, and we were the godfathers to each other’s kids.

  I drew a deep breath, fought the tears, and lost. I missed him so much. He was my right hand. We had been inseparable. They called us the Dynamic Duo. I sat on a bench and bawled like an idiot for what must’ve been five minutes. I could feel strangers looking at me as they strode by, but none dared approach. I was glad.

  I finally wiped my eyes and looked up past the mezzanine. The glow of The Upper City filtered down like a distant neon Sun. I thought of my two closest friends: one was about to file for divorce, and the other was dead and accused of corruption.

  There was nothing I could do about Suzanne. But, I could still help clear Rick’s name. I stood and turned toward his flat.

  *******

  Timmons Park was very close to the house, ten minutes on foot. It didn’t really look any different than my place. Rick also preferred an interior flat. I stood outside the door and waited several long seconds I could hear the voices of a scolding mom and unruly kids inside. I smiled at the life coming from within the apartment: Rick’s legacy.

  I knocked, and the door swung open. Connor Sanchez was a thin kid, tall for his age. He had golden brown hair and blue eyes from his mother. But, he had the square jaw and mischievous smile of his dad. He would be a lady-killer in his day.

  “Hey, Mr. Frank,” he said. “Mom! Mr. Frank is here!” He disappeared into the flat.

  I waited.

  Debbie Sanchez was wiping her hands when she came to the door. A brown headband held her blonde hair in check. Sweat clung to her forehead in beads. A full-length teal nightshirt belied her slender figure.

  “Hey, Park.” I could see the grief and weariness of the last two months in her smile.

  “Hey, Deb.” I reached out to hug her.

  Deb opened the door and let me. She wasn’t as cool as she might have been in recent years, but she was a long way from being warm. “Come in, please.”

  I passed through the threshold and into her home. Jack and Connor chased each other around the super-small living room. Jack had an inflatable plastic bat and was swatting Connor. The two were reaching a crescendo.

  “Enough, boys!” said Deb. “Run off to your room! And be quiet.”

  Connor went peacefully enough. Jack protested. “But Mom!”

  “Now!”

  He sulked his way to the room.

  She looked back at me. Her melancholy smile was even more tired. “I’m sorry. Jack’s taking the—Rick hard.”

  I nodded. “I am too.”

  She didn’t respond to that.

  I longed for a window. There was no place to put my eyes.

  “What brings you by, Park?”

  “The department is investigating Rick. They—they think that he was corrupt. That he was crooked. They think—Do you know David Carson?”

  Deb looked over towards the kitchen. She seemed to be missing the window right now, too. The way she seemed to be missing it made my stomach churn.

  “Are you investigating him too, Park?”

  “I’m being investigated right along with him.”

  She lost the need for that window and pinned me with her eyes.

  “I’m not here to clear my name at his expense. I’m trying to find the truth.”

  She studied me for several long moments. “He was one of our supers, David Carson.”

  The knot in my stomach grew.

  “Rick—uh—Rick knew him.”

  I took a breath and looked at the ceiling. He knew him. He fucking knew him!

  “He lived two floors down. Rick used to go down there to see him—once, twice a week. But, that’s all I know.”

  My brain was racing, but the pro in me took over. “You don’t know what they talked about?”

  “No.”

  “What they did?”

  “No.”

  “They ever come here?”

  “No.”

  I looked at her. “You’re his wife, Deb. Do you have any insights?”

  Anger touched her eyes. “I said, no.”

  I nodded. The noise from the kids’ bedroom was growing.

  We both ignored it.

  “I need something to go on, Deb. I can’t help you unless you help me.”

  “It’ll make me feel better, right, Park?” she said. “What do you think? That I’ve never heard that one before? I’m—I was a cop’s wife, for Christ’s sake. I guess you’ll have to keep looking.”

  She took a step back to clear my path. Even the anger in her face was tired, but it wasn’t to be ignored.

  I moved to the door. I could do no good here.

  I had just cleared the main corridor of Timmons Park when my pReC chimed.

  “Parker,” I said.

  “You need to get down here.”

  The line went dead.

  The voice belonged to Willis Rodson.

  CHAPTER IV

  I knew it was bad when I saw Eric Keelan. He was the union VP in charge of discipline, or rather in keeping us from getting it. He had Jake Stephens and Jason Albritton in tow. Both were members of the e-board.

  Keelan was tall and lanky. He shaved his head clean and wore a pale blue button-up with suspenders and grey slacks. Stephens had dark, coarse hair and wore a grey T-shirt with a gold TCPD shield over the left breast. Albritton was almost as round as he was tall. His black hair was thinning and his black pullover hung half out of his jeans. He was eating a flakey treat wrapped in wax paper.

  The trio was laughing and joking about something among themselves. Then, Albritton moved to take another bite from his pastry. His eyes fell on me and he nudged Keelan. The lighthearted atmosphere evaporated, and Keelan looked at me in a way that made my heart sink. He motioned towards Rodson’s door. I nodded.

  The room was empty. I sat in the same chair I’d occupied last night. Keelan sat in Rodson’s chair while Stephens and Albritton stood guard at the door. This operation was Keelan’s.

  He made a show of leaning back and looking at me. It was a long time before he spoke. “You know, as a union rep, I work for the same twenty or twenty-five guys time-and-again.” He paused. “Why is that?”

  My lip curled in a smile. There was no humor in it.

  Keelan took a deep breath and let it out. “They’re coming after your job.”

  I willed myself not to react.

&n
bsp; “Tsaris wants your ass. Says you were in it with Rick. Says he can’t trust you.”

  “Tsaris isn’t my supervisor.”

  Keelan’s laugh was bitter. “This shit’s coming down from way above Rodson, Frank.”

  I just nodded and tried not to show too much. Surely I wasn’t going to lose my wife and my job within twelve hours of each other. “So, what are you telling me?”

  Keelan looked past me at the door and then back. “I’m telling you that you’re on paid leave until this is resolved, and you need to think about how you’re going to make that money last you for a while.”

  I tried not to laugh in his face. My family was about to be splintered by civil war and this guy was telling me to be frugal. I thought about pointing that out, but I knew they wouldn’t care. They thought I was a dirty cop, grieving the death of another dirty cop. What difference did my divorce make to them?

  “I can give you a couple of weeks,” said Keelan. “But beyond that...”

  I nodded.

  Keelan gestured to Stephens and Albritton. They opened the door. Tsaris and Rodson entered. It was like last night all over, only worse. Rodson gave up the image of being my friend who wanted to understand and wore the mask of stern, disappointed supervisor.

  Keelan came to sit next to me. Stephens and Albritton stepped outside. It might have made me wonder why they even bothered showing up at all. But, I knew the story: Keelan would be union president someday, and he might need his ass kissed in the meantime.

  Tsaris opened the ball. “Quite a mess you’re in. Eh, detective?”

  “Been in worse.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but I wasn’t gonna give this prick the satisfaction.

  Tsaris seemed unfazed. His shark’s smile broadened. “Your mouth ain’t getting you out of this one, my friend.”

  “We’re not friends.”

  He stopped and studied me for a few seconds. His smile lost some of its energy. “I guess that’s true. So, I know you and Rick were in cahoots together. I know you were tipping The Lunatics off about our operations against them. I know that a lot of money passed its way through Rick’s accounts as cash deposits. Who knows how much he had stashed away.”