The Second Girl

by David Swinson

  “Don’t move,” he commands.

  I notice a barrel of a weapon, like a TEC-9, barely out the passenger’s side window of the hooptie.

  “They got a gun!” I yell out.

  He turns, but it’s too late. Bullets spray, cartridges ejecting out of the window.

  I push Miriam on the ground in front of my car and yell to her, “Stay down!”

  The officer doesn’t have time to get a shot off. I see his feet falling out from under him as he takes a hit.

  I don’t have time to draw my weapon. I hear the bullets whizzing by, too fucking close, hitting my car door, shattering windows. I dive over the hood of my car, sliding belly-first across it. I slam my left shoulder against the front door of a car I’m double-parked beside, and then land on the pavement hard, wedged between the two vehicles.

  Breath escapes me for a second.

  I turn to grab Miriam and pull her in to me, but she’s already crawled around to the other side of another car parked in front of the one I landed against. She’s in a fetal position on the curb near the front tire, cradling her head with her hands.

  That’s a safe place, I think to myself.

  Bullets still popping out car windows above me now, and then the windshield. I manage to get my gun out, but can’t position myself safely to fire or to get to Miriam.

  “Stay down, Miriam! Stay down!”

  I tuck down and scoot myself back toward the rear of my vehicle. The hooptie’s made its way past my car, so I side crawl around the rear end of it, but by that time the shooting’s stopped. Suddenly. All in a matter of seconds.

  I poke my head out and see the car making a left turn on Mozart. It’s gotta be fifty yards, but I still take aim.

  Too many buildings beyond the target.

  I don’t like the possibility of what a stray bullet can do so I tuck my weapon to a ready position.

  I look around the area for any other threats, and then back toward the officer. He’s now splayed beside the front end of his cruiser.

  Miriam is still hunched down at the curb.

  I run back to her.

  She turns, and looks up at me. A shocked expression, like she thinks I’m gonna hurt her.

  “You okay?”

  She nods several times, obviously terrified.

  “They might come back around. You stay here where it’s safe!” I order her.

  I make my way to the officer.

  His weapon is on the pavement just under the front bumper of his cruiser, arm’s length from his body. The clothing around his chest area is soaked with blood. No head wound. I carefully place my left hand under his head and roll him onto his back.

  His eyes are open and he’s breathing, heavy labored wheezing breaths, but he’s still conscious.

  “I’m gonna unbutton your shirt,” I tell him.

  As I do, I notice his T-shirt is drenched with blood. He’s not wearing a vest.

  Looks like two or more rounds hit him center mass. Blood bubbling from the right side of his chest.

  He mumbles something I can’t make out.

  “I’m gonna need your radio to call for help,” I say.

  I grab his radio and key it in. “Officer down. Officer down. Seventeenth and Euclid. Get an ambulance here.”

  “Keep focused on me, buddy,” I tell him.

  He nods, but with effort; then his bloodied mouth opens and he struggles to speak.

  “Help’s on the way,” I assure him again.

  Then I hear something behind me, in Miriam’s direction. When I look up I see her running across the street.

  “Motherfuck.”

  I turn my attention back to the officer but it doesn’t take me more than a second to realize he’s not my concern.

  “Help’s on the way,” I say again, and then I bolt.

  By that time she’s across the street and near the front entrance of the Ritz. All that adrenaline made her fast. I yell for her to stop, and hope with everything I got the hooptie hasn’t rounded the block to finish the job.

  “Miriam!” I shout.

  She opens the glass front door with a key, runs inside, and quickly closes it behind her.

  I get to the door. I see her run across the lobby area and toward an opening on the right that leads to stairs.

  I yank at the door. It’s strong. I yank it harder, but this time with both hands and all my weight.

  All that does is make a loud metallic noise and wrench my fingers.

  “Fuck it,” I say.

  I pull out the Taurus from my backside and think about shooting the lock. I realize how stupid that’d be so instead I smash out the pane of tempered glass with the butt of the gun. I have to jump back to let the large shards fall.

  With the gun in a tucked position I run into the lobby and make my way through the opening. It’s early enough in the morning that no one is around.

  Stairs ahead of me that lead up to the first floor.

  To the left, a narrow hallway and another door.

  I got here fast enough that I should be able to hear her running if she’s taking the stairs.

  I can’t, so I take a chance that she hit the back door instead.

  A metal fire door opens to a furnace room. In the back there’s another metal door with an “Exit” sign above it.

  I open it and see Miriam at the top of a tall metal gate with a chain wrapped around the middle securing them together with a padlock on the outside.

  She’s straddling the top, lifting her skinny left leg over. I holster my weapon in my backside. It’s not far so I get there quick, but by that time she’s jumped to the other side.

  I reach my arm through the gate in time and manage to grab the sleeve of her jacket.

  “Let go!” she screams. “Let me go!”

  “Why the fuck you running like this?”

  “Fucking let me go!” And she starts hitting me on the arm with her other hand while trying to strip herself free of the jacket. Then she bends down, mouth open, and before I can react she’s sunk her teeth into the exposed skin just above my wrist.

  I belt out, “Fucking shit, you bitch!”

  I can almost hear her sharp teeth break through my skin. My immediate reaction is to reach my other hand between the bars and knock her silly, but by that time she’s already let go. She struggles harder now, hitting the arm she bit me on.

  She squirms her way out of her jacket. Shoots north on the sidewalk toward the back of the school, the same direction the hooptie was headed.

  I drop her jacket on the other side of the gate, look up the fence to make the climb. Miriam’s feet are smaller so she was able to get them through the bars. I grasp high, let my breath go and manage to squeeze my toes in, just enough for purchase, and then take hold of the top of the gate.

  I crawl over and slide myself down to the other side. The sleeves of my shirt and jacket have fallen back over my wrists.

  I visually search the area where I saw her run.

  Can’t see her.

  It’s a long block and I’d see her running along Mozart if that’s where she was. She more than likely cut left and through the rear parking lot of the school that faces 17th.

  I rush toward the driveway that leads to the back of the school and look across the parking lot. I’m not going to find her this way, it’s ridiculous. I need to get in the car. Get the police to hit the area with me. But first, I pull up the sleeve of my jacket to check out my throbbing arm. My shirt sleeve is soaked with blood, but the bite’s not so bad I need to give it immediate attention.

  I shake my head, feel like I wanna scream. Instead I hightail it back to the gate and grab her jacket. I search the pockets and find a pack of Newports and three clean syringe needles with plastic covers.

  I look at the needles and realize this shit alone’ll keep her from wanting to go home.

  Sixty-one

  Sirens in the distance, like angels sounding horns. I remember before the shooting the officer said it was a shift change. Tha
t’s why it took them longer than normal.

  Best thing I can do now is get back to the scene and the fallen officer. Miriam’s got to be wandering around somewhere. It’s cold and she doesn’t have her jacket. If she’s on the street, the cops will find her. Hopefully before Cordell’s boys do.

  No blood that I can see along Miriam’s running trail or her hiding spot at the curb. That’s a good sign.

  Sirens are closer.

  There’s a cab on Euclid and 17th. I notice the driver on his cell phone. When he sees me over the cop, he makes a quick turn onto 17th and speeds north.

  No one else is around. They know enough.

  The officer doesn’t look so good now. His eyes are glazed over, and with every short breath a deep-throated gurgling sound.

  “Miriam got away from me,” I say.

  “Miriam?” he asks with effort, like what the fuck am I talking about?

  “The young girl I was holding on to. The reason you were here. Is there another place she might stay?”

  The cruisers are very close. The sound of the sirens seems to fold around us.

  “Where would she go, Tommy? Let me get her. Take her home. You know they’re gonna kill her.”

  “University,” is all he says.

  “What do you mean? What university?”

  He mumbles something unintelligible again.

  “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

  He takes in another short breath then, “Don’t tell…please,” almost like a little kid pleading with a friend.

  “Where can I find the girl, Tommy? A safe house?”

  “Please,” he says one more time.

  “I got you, brother. I’m not gonna say shit. What university?”

  Cruisers are speeding up Euclid from 16th against the one-way sign.

  Loud sirens, the sweetest sound in the world right now for him, but not for me, ’cause he didn’t give me shit.

  Officers roll onto the scene from all directions, blocking off the whole area around us.

  “Your boys are here now. You’re gonna be okay.”

  Sixty-two

  I’m sitting on a chair with roller wheels at an empty cubicle in the 3D detectives’ office. The only thing I got with me is my backpack. My Volvo’s still on the scene. Knowing what I got on me and inside my backpack makes me more than a little paranoid, but I wasn’t about to leave it in my car ’cause that’d give them an excuse to search it. I’m not a suspect so unless I do or say something stupid they won’t even think about it. A crime-scene tech had to take my weapon, though, see if I shot it.

  It’s been a while since I’ve been in here. Last time was when we worked a case with a couple of district detectives and we used the office to stage for a search warrant we were about to execute.

  This office still stinks.

  The interior was recently remodeled, but even the new carpet, fresh paint, and fancy cubicles can’t remove the human depravity this place has managed over the years. You can lose the stains, but the odor still remains. It’ll always be preserved in this structure, and now, my sinus membranes. The only thing this renovation has accomplished is to add a sickening sheen to an already foul place.

  The two officers who took the report have left. I’m not only a witness, but a victim. I’ve never been a reported victim of anything before. I’ve been shot at before, but never reported it. I’ve been shot at on the job, too, even stabbed once, straight through my love handle on my left side. “Victim” is a term given to someone who never had to take an oath. A soldier can’t be a victim, and neither can a cop. Regrettably, I’m no longer a cop, so I’m now a reported victim of assault with intent to kill.

  A couple of homicide detectives questioned me afterward. I know one of them. Tim Millhoff. He’s a good dude. Almost twenty-five years on the job. He told me they were on it because the officer, Tommy, is at MedStar in critical condition.

  I told them exactly how it went down but left out a couple of things. I’m honoring the officer’s request and didn’t give up how I saw him entering the brothel and not exit for a while, and then how Miriam called him out by first name. I told them about the “university,” but made it sound like it was something I learned earlier, from a source on the street.

  If Tommy didn’t get himself shot, I’m sure he could’ve argued that he had a complaint on the row house from an anonymous neighbor, and so he had to check it out. No, I didn’t go there. I simply said he must’ve been nearby because he got there quickly. Probably because it was close to checkoff and he was just sitting in his parked vehicle. I said he was doing his job, but it went down so fast he couldn’t react quickly enough. He paid the price for his dirty deeds. Why make him pay more?

  As far as Miriam calling him out by first name, if I were him I’d simply say that it’s my beat and I know all the people on my beat. I know better, though, and maybe he asked me not to tell ’cause he knew I did.

  I also advised Millhoff that Little Monster was the shooter, even though I wasn’t completely certain. But from what little bit I can remember, I’m confident now that he was.

  Millhoff asked me to stand by. He said Davidson and the agents he works with are on their way.

  A couple of young plainclothes officers enter to talk to Millhoff and his partner. They’re standing a couple of cubicles behind me, near a door that leads to a hallway and the Vice office. The skinny one with red hair says something about the Ritz. Millhoff looks my way and then walks over.

  “They’re from Vice. The whole unit canvassed the shit out of the Ritz. Knocked on every door and even got a couple of other good witnesses who saw it go down from their apartment windows. Uniformed officers did the same along Seventeenth and Euclid. All in all we got some witnesses who can verify most of your story. There is this thing about you dragging the girl to try to get her in your car and then pulling your weapon out at a crowd that gathered at Seventeenth and Euclid.”

  “Every retired cop in DC carries a weapon, and as far as that crowd, I told you what they were about to do before the officer showed up.”

  “I don’t have a problem with all that. Those witnesses could only see the action, not what was being said. We talked to the girl’s dad, so it’s all good that you were hired by him. Sorry to say, though, there’s nothing on the girl. One witness saw her run up Mozart, but then out of sight.”

  “I’ll give the father a call after we finish up here. The good news is she was last seen alive.”

  “Maybe you want to word it differently.”

  “I got a little tact left,” I say without humor. “She used a key to get in the Ritz. I’m confident that’s where she was keeping herself.”

  “I’m sure she’s not using her real name, and no judge is going to give us a search warrant for every unit in that complex, so the only thing to do is keep knocking on doors and canvassing the area. I keep wondering, though: Why the hell did she run? You think maybe she was being abused at home?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s a good family. Bad drugs just got the best of her, that’s all. And we both know how this is probably going to turn out for her,” I say. “What about that info I gave you about her possible connection to a university?”

  “They’re working that.”

  “Maybe one of the universities has one of those outreach programs for prostitutes.”

  “That’s a good one. I’ll be sure to let them know.”

  “Maybe even some sort of GED class for high school dropouts.”

  “I’ll talk to Davidson about all that. He probably knows. Listen, you’ve just been through the shit, and you need to take it easy. We’re on this.”

  I’ve never felt so powerless. This is fucked up.

  “Oh, and that row house was cleaned out,” Millhoff begins. “The only one there was an old man who said he didn’t know shit. It was obvious something illicit was going on there. Illegal rooming house, prostitution, gambling. I don’t know. Probably all that and more.”

  “Wha
t about Cordell and his crew?”

  “They cleared the fuck out of that area. I’d be surprised to see them back anytime soon.”

  “Give them a few days. Cordell makes too much money off that corner to just let it go. Most of them will be back, except for Little Monster and the driver. They’ll be in the wind for a bit.”

  “Yeah, I know you’re right about that.”

  “Any word on the officer?”

  “Naw, he’s still in surgery. I’ll let you know.”

  “What about my car?”

  “When they’re done processing it, I can have it towed back here for you. I know you don’t want it to go to our lot, right?”

  “No. I’d appreciate if you’d get it here. If it doesn’t drive, I’ll get it towed myself.”

  “Want some of this shit they call coffee?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “All right, then. I’ll get back at you.”

  Millhoff gets a call on his cell shortly afterward. He and his partner both walk past me and into the office where the detective sergeants have their desks, while he’s still talking on the cell.

  The only thing I hear when he passes is, “Fuck, I’ll hit you back from a landline.”

  Sixty-three

  I’m starting to crash. I get a soda out of the machine in the lobby, but it’s no use.

  Davidson is carrying a case jacket as he walks in with his partner, whose name I still can’t remember. Agent Hernandez follows behind them.

  Hernandez is not dressed tactically like she was the last time I saw her. She keeps her tiny FBI badge clipped to her belt and her sidearm in a brown holster on her right side.

  “Sorry it took so long,” Davidson says. “We were at the branch working some leads with McGuire and Luna. Where are Millhoff and his partner?”

  “Sergeant’s office over there,” I direct him, tilting my head to the left.

  “Be right back.”

  He and Whatshisname walk into the office. Hernandez remains.

  “Where’s your boy?” I ask.

  “You mean Hawkins?”

  “You got any other boys?”

  “He’s the main one.”