Shaker

by Scott Frank

  She pulled the Raven from his coat and held it low.

  “Fuckin’ Shake,” the boy said. “He oughta be stomped for being a general coward.”

  “Shake didn’t give you up. Your brother did.”

  She watched to see how that would go down. Science wasn’t sure what to say. So she smiled and kept on.

  “Yeah, just now,” she said. “Told me how you snuck the little gat in here on the underside of his wheelchair.”

  She watched him look away in a feeble attempt at hiding his anger, then leaned close.

  “I’m just bummed you’re not eighteen, so I could watch them gas your black ass.”

  He glared back at her a moment and she laughed.

  “What, you gonna wolf me now? That the best you can do? You look like someone just took away your Popsicle. But you keep working on it.”

  He started shouting. “Help me! This lady is hurting me! It’s that crazy pig who beats up nigger kids!”

  She cranked on his wrist, said, “Shut up, Noel,” and started to haul him to his feet.

  But he wasn’t about to stop now. “Ow! Man, she’s hurting me! Please! Somebody help me!”

  Kelly looked around and saw that at least a dozen people now had their cell phones out and were recording the struggle. Some were shouting at her to let the kid go. She turned away from the crowd, put Science up against the wall, and reached for her handcuffs. The next thing she knew, the wall wasn’t there anymore and she was lying flat on her back. And now people were stepping on her. She sat up and got knocked back down again. After a few seconds of this, she finally managed to grab ahold of someone’s foot and pull herself upright. It seemed as if everyone in the stadium was now running.

  She no longer had the Raven and looked around for Science. She saw him fighting through the crowd to get down the steps to where Roy had been. Half the crowd was going up the stairs to the exits up on the tier and half were trying to get down onto the field. Roy, she saw, was among the latter.

  Kelly started to fight her way down, walking directly down over the seats against the tide of people walking up. She could see Roy already on the field fighting his way toward the visitors’ dugout. She saw Science go over the rail and drop.

  It took her another few minutes before she fell up against the same rail, felt the bruises on her ribs and cheek—where she’d just taken a wild elbow—as she leaned out to look for either Science or Roy Cooper.

  She saw Science first and watched as he slowly made his way to within a few feet of Roy Cooper. His hat was now off and so was the wig, both presumably lost in the chaos. There was a muzzle flash, but no sound, the high-pitched shouts and cries of the panicked fans drowning out anything else. Roy Cooper spun around, rocked, seemed to see Science, but then, somehow, turned back and continued on his way. Kelly watched Science move to follow him when another kid, this one a beefy Hispanic, someone she didn’t recognize, grabbed him by the hair and then she lost sight of all of them. She then did as Science had, climbed over the rail and jumped down to the field.

  —

  Science wasn’t afraid. This was supposed to happen. He knew that now. Like the aftershock that hit during his long walk two nights before. This was a sign: it was all his. He just had to pay attention, he had to watch. And right now he was watching Mr. Freeze make his way down to the field.

  Fuck that lady pig. She distracted him. But Mother Nature came through and distracted her. Now once more in possession of the Raven, Science shoved his way through the crowd. Nobody knew where to go, so people just ran in every direction. Science saw a guy in a suit, his head crushed to a bloody pulp, blocking the stairs down to the field, so he leaped over the rail and dropped the fifteen feet to the ground. No way he was gonna get his head fuckin’ stoved in and stepped on by any mob.

  Mr. Freeze was making his way over to the crushed visitors’ dugout. Science could see St. Louis players stumbling out of the rubble. Some of the other players and coaches were now helping to pull out those who were trapped. People who had been sitting in the club seats above lay on the ground waiting for medical attention, some bleeding, some crawling, some still as stone. Science clocked one dude still sitting in his seat, staring straight ahead.

  All of the security people were busy trying to keep some kind of perimeter, shoving back against the shocked people who ran at them, forcing them to find another way out. Mr. Freeze was one of those turned around, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he was trying to see into the rubble. He was looking for somebody.

  Science started to make his way over, the Raven now pointing at the back of Mr. Freeze, but down at his side. He was going to poke him in the spine with the gun, say, “Remember me?” and then shoot him, put him in a fucking chair for the rest of his life. If he lived. This was an idea he had come up with while he was pushing Cole into the stadium.

  But he was barely a dozen feet away from his target when he felt someone grab him by the hair.

  “Hey, mothafuck—”

  That was as far as he got when the damn gun went off.

  It was hard to hear the shot over the panicked clamor, but he could see Mr. Freeze spin around and paw at his leg. The second time in a fucking week that he had shot someone by accident.

  Science lost sight of the man as his head was yanked down toward the ground behind him. He reached up to grab at the person holding him, when a brown face got right up close to his.

  “Hey, vatos, it’s the Science Man!”

  Science couldn’t recognize the upside-down face, or the other two that were now on either side of it looking down at him, but he knew from their ink that all three were members of the Alley Locos.

  They were pumped up and broad in the shoulder, and as they hauled him upright, Science could feel something sharp jammed up against his ribs. One of them got right up to his ear and hissed, “You feel my little filero there, homes?”

  Science nodded, the pain from the knifepoint making his eyes water.

  “We gonna get the fuck out, go for a ride.”

  Science was having trouble accepting this latest development. It couldn’t be happening. He was too close. He was there. He felt himself fall into a kind of shock, as for the first time since he had shot Frank Peres, Science realized that he might actually get dead. For some reason, this possibility had never occurred to him before now. He was too busy imagining his future to pay attention to trivial matters such as who he may or may not have pissed off. A real leader doesn’t concern himself with those things. It’s not about being liked, it’s about being respected. Isn’t that what Cole had always said?

  He wasn’t feeling much respect as the three Locos now dragged his ass through the crowd, everyone too lost in their own panic to pay any attention to them.

  There was no fighting them. First of all, they had the Raven. They took it from his hand the second he fired the shot. Second, there was no softness in the arms that held him. These were three bodies made of lumber, all built in some prison out in Lancaster. Science couldn’t move. They were, he realized, not dragging him, but carrying him.

  Within minutes they were at a maintenance gate that security had just unlocked at the end of the field, and then they were moving through the chaotic parking lot.

  “You claiming Vineland now?” one of them asked as they dodged moving cars. This one had the number 13 inked on his forehead and on each cheek. Years ago, Science’s oldest brother, Guy, had once told him 13 stood for the letter “M,” which meant that this one was Mexican Mafia. They each had several 13s and Ms on their faces. One of them had a black hand on each cheek. The letter “M” inside one, the letters “AL” inside the other. The third was covered head to toe with ink, but the eagle and the snake on his neck were what Science kept staring at. What that eagle was doing to that snake was pretty much what Science expected to be his own fate in a few short minutes.

  They carried him to the outer reaches of the lot. Horns were honking all around them and the three of them laughed at the sound of drive
rs backing into one another in an effort to get the fuck out of there.

  When Science saw that they were leading him toward a black van, he struggled comically against the inked-up girders that held him. They laughed as they put him up against the side while they checked each other for the fucking key.

  I gave it to you.

  No, homes, you have it.

  It’s not there.

  While they went on like this, one of them, the one with the Raven, put the muzzle of the gun behind Science’s ear.

  “You shoot Frank Peres, Negro? That’s some balls. Shoot an unstrapped old man like a dog.”

  He could hear them laugh.

  “And now you want Vineland and what else? What else can we give you?”

  Science couldn’t stop shaking. Just feeling this one’s breath on his neck made Science’s heart beat so fast, it was vibrating.

  “You ever been to Mexico?” the third one went on. “We think maybe we should send you down there, meet some people. You can tell them all about how you want to take away their business. Tell them how badass you are.”

  More laughter.

  Science felt his bladder go and the dude backed away, shouted Fucking panocha! and backhanded Science across the face. Science’s legs went out from under him. He tried to sit down, but the strong hands held him up.

  One of them stood on the hood of a Nissan parked beside them and looked at the line of cars.

  It was clear they were going to be there awhile.

  So the question became “Walk him down to the park or put him in the back?”

  They decided on the latter and lifted him into the back of the van. Shoved him on top of a damp mattress that smelled of blood and smoke and were climbing in after him when Science saw one of them pause and go stiff.

  He could hear her say in Spanish, “Te pego un tiro en la cabeza.”

  I will shoot you in the head.

  They all turned around and he saw her standing there, badge around her neck, gun pointed their way. She nodded to the one holding the Raven. “Put that on the ground.”

  He just looked at her like he didn’t understand.

  She said, “Now’s good.”

  He then looked at the gun like he was thinking about what it was used for when she shot him in the knee and he dropped the pistol and fell to the asphalt screaming.

  She said “Gracias” and then, as one of the other two went to help the one on the ground, “Leave him.”

  She gestured with her gun. “Look around. It’s Armageddon. I can shoot you both and say you were trying to steal that Maxima. In this situation, that’s looting and I’m good as gold.”

  She wasn’t positive that was even correct and could see that they were both figuring out what move to make, so she said, “I’m gonna assume you’re both armed, I really don’t give a shit. The three of us, I’m sure, will meet some other time over some other beef and we can shoot it out then. Right now I just want the kid.”

  “So do we.”

  “And I don’t blame you. But the fact is, if you wanna kill him, you’ll have to get him in jail. He’ll be there soon enough.”

  “Not if homes can’t hold his mud and they wrap him up, send him to Nebraska or someplace.”

  “They do that,” she said, “I’ll personally send you his new name and address.”

  —

  Kelly waited with Science while the two of them hauled their wounded compadre into the van and joined the endless line of cars. She could feel the stadium calm down now that people understood that they were alive, and the atmosphere shifted from panic to anger when those same people found themselves once more stuck in horrendous L.A. traffic.

  Cops and EMTs were crawling all over the now otherwise empty stadium. The place had cleared out that fast, and like a receding tidal wave, only the mess was left behind. So far eight dead and several dozen injured according to the security radio she had clipped to her belt.

  She looked down at Science sitting at her feet, hands cuffed at his back, head ducked, crying.

  Kelly, overcome with a feeling that she couldn’t quite define, sat down beside the kid and put her arm around him. She took a deep breath as he then leaned into her and began to sob loudly. Not so much sob as howl. She could feel him shaking and wrapped her other arm around him as well. They sat like this for a full ten minutes before her phone rang.

  —

  “Somebody knew right where to poke. Got him in the big trunk. That alone would have bled him out, but they cut his throat just to be sure.”

  Rudy was sitting on the toilet, but he had tipped to the side, one cheek was against the stall, his mouth open wide in some kind of grotesque frozen laugh.

  Kelly felt sick.

  “Do we have to leave him there?”

  “We’re waiting on the Homicides.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Stuck in the same shit everyone else is.”

  “At least cover him up.”

  —

  She walked to the security office and tried to hold it together. The aftershock had scared her, but seeing Rudy in that stall had put her into a trance. She couldn’t feel a thing, yet she knew that she felt everything. Rudy was the closest thing Kelly Maguire had to family. What was she supposed to do now?

  Find whoever did that to him. That’s what.

  For the next hour, she watched footage from eight different cameras. There was Rudy out front of Gate 4 talking to someone. Kelly got a better look at the guy as they went through security. Tall. Dark glasses. The face. She knew that face. There they are again going into the men’s room. Jesus, Rudy, how could you be so stupid? Now the guy was coming out of the john by himself. He put a hand to his back—probably checking to make sure the gun he’d just taken off Rudy was snug—then looked up at the camera and…Did he just smile?

  The Camry. He’d been driving behind her. He had laughed at her when she gave that stupid bitch shit for not merging. Then there he was again at the high school. How long had he been following her? Who the fuck is he? Somebody they busted? No. She kept a file on the hot ones. Who was this guy?

  Whoever he was, he was now running around with Rudy’s gun and badge.

  Kelly’s phone rang. Erin. She let it go. Wanted to think about what this guy’s next move might be. With the aftershock, the guy could have gotten out of here without any kind of problem. It would take at least a day or two to go through all of the parking lot footage. And even then, he would have to be in a car they could read the make and model, if not the tag. And the car was probably stolen anyway. No way this guy would be in his own car, he was a pro.

  Not unlike another pro who had recently come to town.

  Was this guy working with Roy? Helping him get clear and clean up his mess? That made no sense. Why go after the cops? That only makes things hotter, unless Rudy found something he shouldn’t have on his little field trip to Missouri. Kelly had to wonder, though, if this guy had been following her for the past two days, why was she still breathing?

  Why Rudy and not her?

  She stood and looked out at the empty stadium. Trash and abandoned clothing and chair backs were everywhere. The place already felt haunted. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the certainty that the person who slit open her closest friend was still here.

  —

  Just outside the players’ entrance, at the far end of the now empty VIP lot, Joe Mills, aka The Kid, was losing his shit. His fellow players had already split and were at that moment onboard their luxury coach back to LAX. Joe refused to go with them and was now arguing with—per his latest contract—his personal bodyguard. Joe couldn’t accept that the game was over and that he, with his freshly injured right shoulder, was done pitching for the season. He couldn’t leave the stadium. Not yet. He couldn’t face the interviews, or listen to Mike Lupica’s wry take on his misfortune. The fact that he was a historical almost was just too much to bear.

  The bodyguard, a tall, blond ex–Special Forces type dressed�
��improbably, given the circumstances—in an immaculate and still perfectly pressed suit, gently tried to lead Joe Mills by his good elbow to a black Escalade parked a few feet away from the locker room door.

  Mills said, “Just give me another minute,” and pulled free. He turned back for the building and nearly ran right into Roy, who, now standing directly in front of the door to the building, seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Joe Mills said, “I’d give you an autograph, but as you can see…” and turned so that Roy could better see his wrapped right arm in the sling.

  The bodyguard saw that Roy was a bit unsteady, caught the blood on his pants, and said, “Sir, the medics are all on the other side.”

  Roy had waited a long time for this moment. He had thought about exactly what he would say should he ever find himself in the presence of The Kid. But, instead, he just froze.

  Joe Mills said, “Could you please move? I really need to get inside.”

  Roy stepped aside and anxiously watched as Joe Mills reached for the door. He could feel the bodyguard’s hand on his own shoulder.

  “You need to go now, sir.”

  Joe Mills tried the door and said, “Fuck me, it’s locked.”

  Roy said, “You’ll get another shot at the record.”

  Joe Mills said, “Yeah. I’m sure I will,” then nodded to the bodyguard. “Lance,” he said, “you got a key?”

  The bodyguard shook his head and Joe Mills started hammering the side of his fist on the metal door. “Can somebody open this door please?”

  Joe Mills saw that Roy was still standing there and said, “Buddy, I don’t wanna be rude,” and then gave the bodyguard a look: Will you please deal with this guy?

  “Sir, please, step away.” The bodyguard was now pulling Roy away from his client.

  Roy reached out, grabbed Joe Mills by the good arm, and said, “I’m so proud of you, Captain.”

  Joe Mills looked at him in disgust and said, “Fucking hell, Lance.”

  The bodyguard reached out and barred Roy around the neck with his forearm, but then turned as the metal door opened behind him.