by J. E. Cammon
David had his own theories, but instead he badgered her about why she was in the protecting and serving business. He was waiting for some emotional story about her dad being killed in the line of duty and her resulting quest for vengeance, but it never came. Apparently, he watched too much television. She liked solving problems and helping people, simple as that.
“You hungry?”
They were sitting at a red light waiting for a green. Vic turned her radio down, but David was still making mental tabulations about what he thought the various codes were. As expected, cops never explained them and no one ever called back inquiring as to what the meaning of this one or that one was.
David looked over at her as if slapped out of a nap. “Hell yes,” he replied.
She chuckled, smirking at her speedometer, and made a turn he was pretty sure was illegal.
The first upside to the evening occurred twenty minutes later at a nice pizza place that had a police discount. Vic liked goat cheese and anchovies. David was sure he would normally be against something like that, but over the years he came to grips that he really liked most anything that counted, even loosely, as food. Plus he was hungry. Without the hot press of need stirring in his gut, David gave some thought to her mystery.
Vic was a homicide detective. She was high enough on the pole not to get just any random assignment, but still had to provide the civil service of solving cases when they were thrust upon her. This one wasn’t current. Apparently, she worked on it while people weren’t dying in a steady enough fashion so as to control the attention of all the detectives at her precinct. The gist of it, which he had trouble focusing in on the details of, revolved around a conflict in and around an area called the barrow. No one liked to say it, but the barrow was the ghetto—the ghetto where people died and there weren’t any ambulances, where people got robbed and no one bothered calling the police. David gave Vic points for even bothering, given that she admitted a lot of things went on in the area that no one really had a strong stance on doing anything about.
David knew a place similar back on the island. He supposed they were everywhere. In any event, apparently the barrow came under the control of some gangster who was known for his ruthless tactics and thorough influence. Naturally, around the same time, people started dying, antagonists and bystanders both, and some of them were cops. Even though the person whom everyone thought was responsible remained in jail for decades, the activity continued. Over time, things became steadily and considerably worse.
Vic was looking for the leader who was the real power behind everything—or for any information, really, that she didn’t already have. She was fairly sure the guy was at the top of some group called the Moguls. David found it pretty laughable that she thought he had any information resembling something helpful to assist with any of that. He said as much.
“There’s a lot here I don’t understand. There’s a lot here a lot of guys in the department aren’t even willing to entertain because the details make no sense.” Vic left it at that, conveniently pushing some food into her mouth followed by a sip of soda. She didn’t do diet, which he could respect.
There was actually a lot about her he could respect. David asked to see her gun, which she refused, but that was about his only objection thus far. He shrugged. “The only weird thing I’ve seen in the past month has been this pizza.” It wasn’t meant to be a joke, per se, but she did chuckle once, and only once. “Aren’t you breaking some sort of rule by telling me all of this stuff?” he asked, curious.
“The names of the undercover detectives were released, along with their rank and department. Undercover detectives who die in the field usually do so in the barrow. Wouldn’t be hard for a smart guy like you to figure out,” she answered while watching him with that steady gaze. It wasn’t something he could see so much as feel. David was learning to shrug it off like the look his mother used to give him about his childhood mischief.
“I’m thinking you may be giving me too much credit. I had to settle for technical school over real college,” he countered.
“There’s nothing wrong with learning a trade over traditional education,” Vic replied. “You enjoy your job, right?”
David supposed he stepped into that one. “Of course. Working with animals comes fairly natural to me.” He clamped his mouth down on his straw, sipping fiercely. “Plus I’m helping people,” he added.
She quirked an eyebrow. “Easy there, superman, you put band-aids on animals.”
David’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He glorified it, but women normally accepted that, with an agreeing smile, even.
“So when are you going back?” She took a drink herself, pressing her lips together to avoid grinning at his expression.
“I was going to go back tomorrow, but I’m taking some time since my dad’s in town,” David answered, staring at her. “Which I can do as soon as you release me from this ridiculous outing.” It was petty but it was all he had.
That was how they got back into the car, silently. David could hear Vic’s mind running through a mental tally of what he revealed and what she chose to assume based on both what he said and what he didn’t say. He chose to pretend to sulk slightly at her reaction to his chosen profession, hoping it would buy him some hours’ reprieve from her investigations.
Her next play saw them pulling into the university parking lot. There was a uniform there already, and David struggled to sift through all the codes he heard already to figure out which this one was for. Vic had them responding to the call without her even acknowledging it on the radio. He felt her eyes on the side of his face as the lights from her Taurus shone on the ugly green of Nick’s car. All she got out of him was a narrowing of the eyes, which could have been him squinting in confusion.
“What are we doing here?” he asked.
She countered with telling him to stay in the car, and closed the door against his next question. Her and the uniform walked a ways back towards the dormitories; the man pointed at the ground in places as they exchanged words David couldn’t make out. If her car were just a tad crappier, he could roll his window down. As it was, with the window closed and them being so far away, they sounded like the adults in Charlie Brown. They did some stooping, and then some more pacing.
David began worrying when the uniform started flipping through some paperwork that led him to point at Nick’s car, and then gesture back to the building. He pointed to some other cars in the parking lot, but briefly and with less emphasis. David pulled out his cell phone and dialed from his lap. The best he could do was put it on speaker. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. David ran through several bleak scenarios when the smell of blood began to waft through the air vents. Nick wasn’t answering his phone; what’s more, he seemed to be missing. David stared at a field of puzzle pieces with no idea of where to start.
Another code was called in, and it must have been a major one because both Vic and the other cop froze, listening. Then Vic hurriedly gave instructions, the man started putting things away, and Vic hopped back in the car. David shoved his phone back into his pocket so fast he ripped his new pants. Either she heard it, or thought he was masturbating, the way she looked at him.
“So what’s going on?” David asked, citing the code number.
Vic started the engine and clipped her seat belt in one smooth motion. “Tampering with police equipment is a crime, you know,” she said, looking in the rearview mirror as she pulled out of the parking lot. It wasn’t a full on tire-screeching exit, but she was in a bigger hurry than at any point in the evening. When they were on the road again she made a point to look down at his hand in his pocket. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” she said, which had less impact than she probably intended.
Instead of David being unnerved, the atmosphere in the car sort of got awkward. No lewd comments popped into David’
s mind to say. Vic jerked her head forward and he could hear the old leather of the steering wheel complain in her grip.
Thus far, cop work consisted of waiting, sitting, eating, waiting, driving, pointing, stooping, waiting, and talking. Vic’s ankle flexed as she pushed the engine just a hair above the speed limit as they moved in a southeasterly direction. The engine growled comfortably. David could tell Vic was concentrating on both not going too fast or too slow.
He broke the silence. “I was calling my dad, to check in and stuff,” he said.
“Oh?” she responded, more brightly than she looked. “How is he?”
“I’m actually sort of worried. He didn’t pick up.” He looked over at her; she was still looking at the road.
“He seemed like the sort that could take care of himself.”
“Well, according to you, there’s axe murderers and ninjas walking our streets. The man has an AARP card,” he quipped. She chuckled again. Apparently, he was funny. David long suspected as much.
“Maybe not anymore, after tonight.”
David was starting to understand her, with all the tension and waiting time. It was bad to say, but it was sort of like hunting. With each interchange one better learned about their prey. They sped across the boundary he learned the police used for the barrow, and promptly Vic slowed down.
“We got a report,” she said as she started to weave her way down the short streets. The quality of the roads decreased drastically, the ride becoming more jostled.
“I thought you guys didn’t get reports from the barrow.” He left the question hanging in the air.
“We do if enough people die,” Vic replied.
The car slowed at a stop sign, a faded-red octagon with spray paint filling bullet-shaped dents in its front. It seemed like a suggestion, mostly. As they stopped, David saw cars coming to cross. It was a deliberate line of sober-looking four doors. They were in all colors, with matching windows; except for those that were rolled down, they were all walls of solid color. One car near the back turned right where all the others kept going straight. The driver side window rolled down and a serious looking man peered through Vic’s window at her. David wouldn’t say he was afraid, but he was paying close attention. He had a thought that this was how famous rappers died. Vic rolled her window down after taking a moment; to compose herself, he thought.
“You must be lost,” he started, drawing out his last word, sprinkling it with menace.
Vic showed him her badge, a little quickly. His expression didn’t change. He repeated his statement.
“We heard you had a problem that needs looking into,” she said, her accent a little thicker than normal. Her heart rate sped up but other than that, she was doing well. David didn’t know who this person was, or how he fit into the grander scenario, but at least something exciting was happening. He frowned at his newly discovered desire for excitement.
The man in the jet-black car set his stare and let a few moments pass before responding. “A’ight then,” he said, his window seeming to roll up by its own accord. “Welcome to hell.” It was loud enough for anyone listening to hear, but remained an afterthought.
Chapter Twenty
David looked over at Vic for confirmation, because he was confused. The guy in the car insinuated something but he never said it. Instead of answering his look, Vic performed one of those turns where the car goes forward and backwards twelve times. After that, they began to creep along after the black sedan through the cracked, lonely streets of the barrow.
“I think I’m starting to understand,” he lied. David was actually closer to formulating something that sounded like a confident guess.
“It’s just a different culture,” she replied. She glanced over at him and must have seen something in his face. “They have their own laws and customs and norms. You learn about some of them in infiltration classes, but mostly by interaction. That we came is an insult, even if they need us.”
David grinned with the side of his face that she couldn’t see. “That actually makes sense.” A lot of families liked to settle things in house. He thought of his father, curiously. Maybe he really should have called him, just to check in. David’s view of his father as he was growing up conflicted with the feel of the back of the man’s hand, old and leathery.
“Shouldn’t your dad be asleep?”
The question jerked his head around. “What?”
“You said you called your dad. It’s past three. I mean, he seemed spry enough, but still older.” She tip-toed to the end of her sentence. David appreciated it.
“He seems pretty easy-going, but he’s sort of a wild man. Plus mom keeps a tight leash on him back on the island. This is as much an excuse to check up on me as it is a chance to cut loose a bit.” He could feel the moment leaving and the two of them slipping back into their back and forth: his lying and her trying to detect his untruths.
“Still waters run in the family?” She asked. David looked forward to keep from acknowledging what was, honestly, a really good job on her part. Admittedly, he had a harder time lying to women for some reason, but he was of the mind that he could teach a class. She was keeping up, though she probably talked to liars all the time, slamming their heads into that metal table in the room with the one-sided mirror. David frowned; that was an odd image.
“I think we’re here.”
David couldn’t know where here was; it was all uniform buildings in this section of the barrow. They were two story and long, with identical windows, identical shades and color, identical bricks and in some cases even graffiti. There weren’t many cars except for the ones they followed, pumping hot air into the night under the red glow of brake lights.
Vic pushed on. “Maybe you should call him again?” She eyed the pocket containing his phone.
Almost defensively, David pulled the device into view and realized redialing would call Nick and not his father. What if Nick picked up? David felt Vic giving him that stare. He debated; he had to admit that he grew concerned about Nick’s safety. The man was a magnet for bad situations; apparently, all the intelligence in the world couldn’t keep a person from making stupid decisions.
The people around them, seemingly all men, began disembarking from their cars. David didn’t realize it then, but this required Vic to get out too, which she did. She conceded to a draw again, a little exasperatedly. She couldn’t hear, but David made the concession of a pressured sigh.
She tossed in another “stay in the car” and pushed the door closed. David watched another silent show. He could almost see what she talked about earlier. Those of the men not reaching into their trunks for what looked to be all manner of weaponry were standing around, away from Vic. Their posture was indifferent, and not inviting. She produced a pistol, being very deliberate not to point it at them. It seemed like some words were spoken, mostly between the assembled men and the man who was in the black car. David surmised he was the pack lead, so he was sort of responsible for Vic. She moved in among them, cautiously. David squirmed in his seat, finally flipping the phone open. Vic and the well-armed neighborhood watch stepped towards the nearest building, picking what was one of several entrances. Vic was the only one who looked officious, sort of ducking while walking, holding her gun in both hands. The others worked hard on evoking a sense of presence and invincibility. David really was beginning to understand then.
A moment after they disappeared, he got the excited urge to push all the buttons on the radio, check the glove compartment, and open and close the air vents. He flipped the phone closed, and open, and closed. The thought of calling Nick occurred to him again, and like magic, the phone rang.
“Nick,” is what he said into the receiver, without looking at the caller ID.
“No,” came the hushed voice of his father. Right then, David realized he honestly thought the man would be in bed. He was much older
than he looked. “Your friend is fine.”
David blinked at the phone. “What? How do you know that?”
“Listen to me. He’s fine. There are other problems, Niño.”
David thought he heard something. In a fit of compound annoyance, he opened his car door and stepped out. The smell of blood this time was mixed with death.
“Uh-huh. Okay. Like what?” David looked toward the doorway he saw Vic disappear inside with the others. His eyesight was very, very good, which meant he could see in pitch black, but not well enough to do anything but not walk into things. He looked up as if the clouds might part at his insistence.
“There is a Sevren here, in this place.”
David stopped, stock-still. Did he forgot to tell his father about Jarvis? He wasn’t sure how to respond. Then there came that noise again that he thought he heard before. It sounded like a thump, or a thud.
“Uh, really?” he said, numbly, the phone drifting away from his ear as he strained.
The noises which followed were very clear to his hearing, and they all came at once. Gunshots David heard before, and these were in the same in some ways, and different in others. Flashes in the windows told him where the shots came from, and the shouts and screams told him they were ineffective. Within the action of clenching his fists as he bent forward into a sprint, David closed the phone shut on his father’s words. He didn’t register them, really; there was something about the morgue and a shopping cart. He would have been a little curious if he weren’t suddenly involved with a strong sense of worry.
David pushed himself forward, disregarding the first set of stairs completely, pulling himself up onto the landing and springing up the second set. He found the door corresponding to the windows he saw, and thankfully it was left open. David tripped on an arm splayed out across the doorway, falling partway in line with the dead gaze of a little girl with pig-tails and pink bows.
The next noise brought his focus rushing back: it was a strange, confused snarl. It was followed by a more assertive rasp, fearful cursing, and more gunshots. David pulled at the carpet with his hands for traction while he pushed forward into the place. There were bodies everywhere, lots of children and about half as many adults, many of whom were older; all of them were torn apart, not just simply dead. It smelled like days upon days of rot.