In Too Deep

by Fox, Harley

  “I’m going to be late for—”

  I can’t say “work.” Flynn might ask questions. He doesn’t know I’m a cop. So instead I just say:

  “I’m going to be late for my mom’s breakfast.”

  I can see him furrow his brow as I find my bra and put it on, attaching the clasps together in the back. I take a moment to adjust myself before grabbing my T-shirt.

  “You’re rushing out of here to have breakfast with your mom?” he asks. “Why is it that important that you’re not late?”

  “She’s a crazy stickler for time,” I tell him. I pull on my leather jacket and then my boots, the last articles. Flynn is still in bed and I walk over to him, leaning down and giving him a kiss. As soon as our lips touch I realize I don’t want to leave, and I feel Flynn’s fingers thread their way through my hair. Ah, what I wouldn’t give just to take off my clothes and climb back into bed with him. Just forget the life I was living and be with him, all day and all night …

  But I can’t do that. I have responsibilities. I tear myself away from him, mutter a quick goodbye, and then leave.

  I exit his apartment building and briskly make my way to my bike. The sun is up and the morning is a little bit chilly as I climb on, kicking my bike into life. I ride away from his place and go west, toward the southern point of the PharmaChem building, to where my house is.

  I shake my head as I ride. What in the hell am I doing with Flynn? I shouldn’t be leading him on like this! I’m going to arrest him at some point. Do I really want to break his heart as well when he finds out I’m a cop? Every night for the past four nights we’ve hooked up, and every night I’ve told myself that this is the last night, that I’m going to stop it the next day. But he just makes me feel so good, and I always go back for more.

  And besides all that, what the hell am I doing for the mission? I haven’t even been trying lately to dig up information that can land the Bullets in jail! Every time I look at those dossiers they look so thin. It’s almost been a month now. I didn’t think I was going to be in this so long. I thought I would be able to join and immediately get info that would incriminate everybody there. I didn’t count on there being a lull in activity. And I certainly didn’t count on falling for Flynn.

  I arrive home and park my bike, then rush inside and upstairs to my mom’s room to check on her. Of course she’s all right, lying catatonic in bed, her eyes open as she stares out of the window on the wall opposite. I stride over to her and kneel down beside her.

  “Hey, Mom,” I say as she doesn’t react to my presence. “Sorry. I was out again. I was … I was with Flynn. But I promise, last night was the last night I’m going to stay with him. I’m going to pull my act together and I’m going to get back to what I meant to do. But now, I have to make you breakfast.”

  I get back up and stride into the kitchen. I feel a little bad for lying to my mom—of course I know I’m going to stay with him again. Of course I know that. But I feel like my mom keeps me on track.

  Or, at least, that’s what I want to have happen.

  I put together some yogurt for my mom, taking out her pills as well. There’s no time for me to get anything myself. I can just get something from the break room at work, though. Carrying the tray back into my mom’s room, I quickly spoon-feed her the yogurt, helping her swallow her pills. Once that’s done I carry the tray back and zip into my room to change; no time for a shower. Once I’m in my uniform I go and give my mom a quick kiss goodbye, then leave the apartment once again.

  I ride to work, almost going over the speed limit. I get stuck behind two cars in both lanes and want to zoom forward, slip between them and get to work on time. But I keep my wits about me. This isn’t the Bullets; I can’t just do whatever I want right now. I’m an officer of the law, and I’m wearing my uniform. The people need me for an example. They need to see what correct behavior is.

  I arrive at work only a few minutes late. Not bad for someone who hasn’t had any breakfast and was up all night having sex. Now that I’m off my bike and the wind isn’t whipping into my face, I realize how tired I am. I just want to curl up in bed and go to sleep. I want to curl up next to Flynn. Feel his warm body against mine and fall asleep in his arms. I climb the steps to the precinct and go in, walking through to the offices in the back.

  “PEARSON!”

  The sharp voice makes me jump and I wheel around to see Captain Hartridge striding toward me, an angry look on her face.

  “You’re late, Pearson!” she barks as everybody turns to see me get chewed out. “What do you think, this is your own personal little playground?”

  “I’m sorry, Captain, I’m only a few minutes late.”

  “A few minutes?” the captain repeats. “Well, perhaps I should just dock your pay a few thousand, how does that sound? Hmm? Or maybe I should give you just a few pink slips? What do you think about that?”

  I stare into this woman’s eyes, hear the way she’s berating me in front of everyone. And all for what? For being a few minutes late?

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” I say, feeling myself sneer. “I didn’t realize that these first few minutes of work were the most important of the day. Maybe I should come in a few minutes early tomorrow, that’ll stop people from dying on this new drug immediately. Or hell, show up half an hour early. Maybe then nobody will commit any crimes. What do you think? Is that a good idea?”

  I close my mouth, not able to believe I just said that. The captain stares at me, her upper lip curling.

  “That’s not a bad idea, Pearson,” she says in a low voice. “In fact, I also noticed that crime goes up during your lunch breaks. You’d better skip yours today. That paperwork isn’t going to file itself.” She turns and strides away, calling out, “And don’t be late for the meeting, or you will be fired!” as she leaves me standing, breathing hard, feeling everybody’s eyes on me.

  I turn and stalk to my desk. Why did I do that? Snap back at her like that … that’s not what I would normally do. That’s what Bullets me would do. As I sit down Devon saunters his way over.

  “Nice job, pissing off the captain like that,” he says as I start to get my things together for the day. “You should have been fired, talking back to her. Then you could become my personal sex slave. Stay at home all day, cook me my meals, and fuck me whenever I want.”

  “Can I help you, Devon?”

  He fakes being shocked, widening his eyes.

  “Whoa, calm down, Pearson! What’re you, on your period or something?” He narrows his eyes at me. “You do look different, though. Like something’s changed. You actually look like you’ve just been having sex.”

  My heart leaps into my throat. Oh no! Is it my hair? Do I smell like Flynn? But then Devon raises an eyebrow.

  “Of course, no one would fuck you unless they were really desperate,” he says with a grin. “But I’ll make an exception for you. You ever want to see what a real man feels like, you call me.”

  And with that he walks away, leaving me with the desire to vomit up the breakfast I haven’t yet eaten.

  I glance at the clock. I’ve got a few minutes before the meeting starts. Forgetting the idea of putting notes together, I get up and go to the break room instead, grabbing a bagel and taking a bite out of it, knowing I don’t have time to toast it. I chew on the thick bready mouthful, staring out at the office, at all the uniformed cops working, or talking amongst themselves.

  God, I hate this place sometimes. Every time I’m here, I feel more and more like a black sheep. The captain hates my guts, Devon is constantly harassing me, and no one else steps up to help me out. And no wonder: more than half of these cops are dirty, although I don’t know which ones. But I’m not. I never will be. And that must be why they never reach out a helping hand. I swallow the mouthful of bread and take another bite of my bagel.

  The Bullets, on the other hand … those people are like a family to me. It’s only been a few weeks but already I feel closer to any of the members of the Bullets t
han I do to anyone here on the force. Every time I go to the warehouse, or out to the bar, I feel included. Welcome. Wanted. And they’re not bad people, not on the inside. They’re just doing what Maddox tells them to—kind of like how I do whatever the captain tells me to. We’re all just following orders. And if the Bullets didn’t exist—or if Will Silver didn’t send the word down to do the terrible things they do—then that group would probably just become a group of friends who rode around and got drunk together. Not bad at all, if you ask me.

  I see people starting to get up to go to the meeting and I sigh. Bringing my bagel with me, I take one more bite and leave the thing on my desk as I pick up whatever notes I have and follow the rest into the conference room. I sit down as everybody settles, Captain Hartridge and Deputy Captain Devon Mackenzie standing up at the front. When everyone’s sitting down the meeting finally starts.

  I honestly find it hard to focus during the beginning, as Captain Hartridge rattles through some numbers about crime in Santa Espera. This part of the day is so boring. Why do we even do it? I could be asleep right now. Or I could be out, fighting crime, instead of being forced to sit in the filing room all day sorting through documents that no one is ever going to read.

  I look up and the captain is still talking. I see Devon looking at me and I glance at him, our eyes meeting. He winks and I cringe, going back to my thoughts.

  What if I just quit here? What if I just quit being a cop and joined the Bullets full-time? Maybe I don’t need to dismantle them entirely. I mean, it’s perfectly possible that I bit off more than I can chew with this solo mission of mine. What if I just convince them not to perform any more violent acts? Reconcile the gangs and make peace between them … I could do that. How hard can it be?

  And if I did that, then I wouldn’t have to arrest anyone, either. And Flynn and I could stay together, and he would never have to find out I was a cop. That part of my life would be behind me. I’d be able to sleep whenever I wanted, go out and spend all day with people who actually wanted me around. Of course, I’d have to hide the fact that I’m a cop from them. I don’t think I would ever be able to tell them. Reconciled gangs or not, that would betray their trust. And who knows what would happen to me if they ever found out?

  “… identified the bodies, so we’ve notified their parents who are coming in later to make statements.”

  I come back to reality just as Captain Hartridge flips the page of her notes and prepares to read the next item. But I raise my hand and she notices, stopping what she was about to say.

  “Yes, Officer Pearson? You have a question?”

  I lower my hand. “Sorry, can you repeat that last point please?”

  The captain rolls her eyes.

  “You know, some of us here pay attention and don’t need points repeated to us.” There are a few snickers among the crowd, but the captain turns the page back over regardless, reading it. “Three teens were brought in, having been killed in a drug-related crime. Investigation tells us they likely had their own little dope grow-op and were selling it on the street and they got executed for it. We finally identified the bodies, and now their parents are coming in later today and they’re going to make statements.”

  I blink, shocked. Three teenagers? Who executed them? It wasn’t us … was it?

  “This is just a reminder of how important our drug task force is,” Captain Hartridge says to the crowd. “Every day we’re getting closer to cracking down on these scum, but we still have a lot of work to do. We still don’t know, for instance, which gang is behind this. Our prime suspects right now are the Slingers and the Pig Boys, although we’re thinking it’s the Slingers.”

  The Slingers. They work for the Bullets. The captain raises her eyebrows at me.

  “Are you good now, Officer Pearson? Can I continue on with the meeting?”

  I swallow, clearing my dry throat. “Yes, Captain. Thank you.”

  The captain continues on, but my mind is still stuck. Three teenagers, dead. Killed just for slinging some dope and trying to make some money. And if the Bullets are behind it … I can’t keep thinking of them like a family. A family doesn’t do this. What I’m involved with isn’t a game, I have to remember that. I’ve got to change things soon. Otherwise more innocent people will die and it’ll be all my fault.

  Trista

  I’m sitting cross-legged in my bedroom, all of my homework spread out in front of me. The morning sunshine streams in through the window, but I don’t feel like playing outside. I just want to get this done. I want to solve this equation. I want to hand it all in and get the best grade possible. I can hear my mom’s voice, calling us for breakfast. Sal’s footsteps hammer through the house as he makes his way to the kitchen. I look up at the door and it’s open, beckoning me out of my room, out into the warm comforts of my mom’s cooking, and the love of my family.

  A bird chirps sharply and my head snaps awake. I look around; this isn’t my room. This is my mom’s room. She’s lying motionless on the bed, staring out of the window, her chest rising and falling underneath the blankets. I let out a yawn, my jaw creaking as I open it wide. My eyes are burning, but I look back down at the dossiers spread out in front of me.

  I’ve got to get this done.

  Yesterday, when I found out about those kids who got killed, my mind went blank. I’ve been feeling like a yo-yo, constantly up and down about whether or not to turn the Bullets in. One the one hand they’re all criminals. They’ve killed people—they killed Sal—and they should all go to jail. I have enough to send at least some of them away for a little bit of time, but nothing really hard-hitting. Nothing that will send anyone away for good.

  But on the other hand, they’re all good people. At least, in their hearts. I’ve had long conversations with them—Chloe, Tyrone, Jackie, Alyssa, all of them—and each one is a wonderful person in their own right. They’re just part of a gang. Surely everyone, at some point in their life, has had a job where they didn’t like what they’re doing? I’m certain a lot of police officers don’t like it when they have to draw their weapon, or, God forbid, actually kill someone. But they do it. That doesn’t make them bad people. It just makes them a good employee.

  That’s what these people are: good employees. Which is why I felt so conflicted finding out about these kids who got killed.

  Work went by in a haze. After I got home I changed into my Bullets gear and rode over to the warehouse to see if I could find someone who could tell me what happened. Tyrone was there, and I told him I heard some kids got offed and I was curious about the details. He confirmed my worst fears: yeah, it was the Bullets who did it. Orders from Maddox, who got it from Will. He got a couple of the Slingers to do the dirty work. Tyrone said that he didn’t know who the kids were who got killed. He doesn’t even think Maddox knows. A job’s a job.

  He asked me if I was going to the bar tonight—everyone was going to be there. I was tempted. Seeing Flynn again? Nothing would be sweeter. But I told him I had stuff to do and left it at that. So I left and came back here. I took out my dossiers, brought them to my mom’s room, and I’ve been going over them all night, racking my brain for anything I can put in. I haven’t slept, except for small bits here and there, nodding off with my chin on my chest. I haven’t even bothered taking off my Bullets gear. I’ve just been wearing it all night.

  And now it’s the morning. I should make us some breakfast. I push myself to standing, swaying a little bit when I do. I look over and see that my mom’s awake.

  “Morning, Mom,” I say. She doesn’t respond.

  I walk out of her bedroom to the kitchen, my legs feeling like rubber, wishing desperately that I was in my bed, curled up and fast asleep. But I have to feed my mom. And I have to eat. I take the eggs and bread and yogurt out of the fridge and begin getting everything together, and as I do I try thinking of more things I can incriminate the Bullets for.

  I ran out of actual things I’d witnessed hours ago, and now I’m going on stories they�
��ve told me in the past. They were always just little things: getting drunk in public, playful fights in bars with their friends. I’ve been avoiding putting in all the good qualities they have, but now I’m wondering if I should do that, at least to pad out what I already have.

  The toaster pops and I’m startled by the noise. I don’t even remember putting the bread in there. I take it out and butter it, then slide the cooked eggs on top. Spooning some yogurt into a bowl and grabbing my mom’s medicine, I go back to her room and pull up a chair, starting by spooning the yogurt and pills into her mouth.

  “How’re you doing, Mom? Did you sleep well?”

  My mom doesn’t respond. At least her jaw muscles move when she’s eating. I don’t know if I’d be able to stand seeing her lie here, unresponsive and with an IV hooked up to her veins.

  “I’ve been having a hell of a time coming up with stuff to put these guys away,” I tell her, giving her another spoonful. “Each of them is actually not that bad. And I … I don’t know. I like spending time with them. And Flynn …”

  Flynn. I’ve been on the fence about him since I started. And now that things are actually getting in order, I’m completely conflicted.

  “I’ve got some stuff for him,” I tell her, as though she already knows these people. “I didn’t want to, initially. I kind of had the idea that maybe I could turn everybody but him in. And then he and I could … run away together or something.”

  Another spoonful. My mom’s still staring straight ahead.

  “It’s stupid, I know. I’m just acting like a little girl with a crush. Flynn is as culpable as everyone else. There’s no reason to single him out. Except …”

  I look at my mom. At her dull, glassy eyes.

  “Mom, what do you think I should do? I really like him, but I don’t know … if we can ever have a future together. And I know he likes me. That’s the problem. I feel so wonderful when we’re together. But that’s part of the problem too. It makes this all just so much harder. I mean, maybe he’s not even the person I think he is. Maybe he’s really bad. But he said he wasn’t at that gun fight where Sal died. And he’s always joking around with everybody. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. What do you think I should do?”