The Pike_Right To Remain Silent

by Erik Schubach

  I said quietly, looking around at the people all staring over at us, some whispering to each other, “Madelyn Stone.”

  She nodded and asked, “I-N-E or Y-N?”

  A smile quirked at the corner of my mouth. Most people spelled my name wrong, she at least asked. I offered, “Y-N.”

  She nodded and asked automatically, telling me that she wasn't as new at this as I first thought, “Middle initial?”

  I shrugged and said, “Q.”

  This caused her to look up from her pad. “Q?” She looked back down before glancing back up at me, curiosity painting her face. I had to remind myself that I wasn't a fan of police and shook the notion that it looked overly cute out of my head.

  I exhaled in exasperation, it was just as bad as you might think. “Quinton.” Why couldn't my parents have had mercy on me and at least have made it Quinn or something respectable?

  She smiled down at her pad and scribbled something. She seemed pleased with herself, was she amused by my name? I didn't choose it, none of us do.

  She asked, moving her pen away from the paper, “Parent's were Quinton Jett fans?” I blinked at her. How in the heck did she know the obscure Australian pop band the name came from? Quinton Jett was a short-lived pop phenom down under twenty-five years ago. He was pretty much a one hit wonder.

  I had his one album. One of the only things Johnny and I had from mom. She spent most of her time as we grew up in one rehab or another if she wasn't on the streets trying to score whatever designer drug of the week was out there. Child Protective Services had spirited us away from her and into the foster care system when I was just five, and John was eight. I don't remember much about her. And the couple token visits that she made over the years didn't leave much of an impression. She seemed pretty put off by my... condition.

  I don't know why I have kept the stupid album all these years, it isn't like I have a record player to listen to it with or anything. But every time we were shuffled to a new home, and then into a place of our own in Portland, I always made sure I packed it with my things. Now the stupid piece of vinyl is here in Seattle with us.

  I just nodded, and she nodded back then tilted her head, “You're very frugal with your words.”

  I shrugged, and this got her to chuckle, but not in a mocking way. Damn it, I'm still not happy with the authorities, but she was sort of likable, for a cop.

  Then she went about getting all of my contact information and started asking about the robbery. She took a moment to give the description of the suspect into the shoulder microphone connected to the radio at her hip. I couldn't help out much, he kept his face in the shadow of his ball cap, though he did have red hair and was middle aged.

  Then she asked, “Did the man attack you? Dispatch mentioned an altercation.”

  I paused. Could I get in trouble for this? I mean, I tackled the guy to try to stop him. It was just reflex. It had knocked my hair off, and I let the guy get away so I could grab it and put it back on before anyone saw. I glanced back at the couple waiting in the corner. They saw everything, including that. Was that why the woman kept staring over at me? Yeah, just stare at the freak, lady, I got enough of that in school.

  Would I get arrested for assault, even though I was the victim? I exhaled. Come on Maddie, they aren't all out to get you and John. I shrugged again and held up the guy's jacket. “I tackled him and destroyed my cart in the process. This is his.”

  Her light green eyes seemed to light up at that, and she had an amused smirk on her face as she pulled out a big plastic bag from a pouch and held it open for me to drop the jacket into. “You tackled the guy?”

  I felt defensive suddenly, I wasn't very big, but why should it surprise anyone I didn't want the man to get away. I said coldly, “I have a big brother, I'm not a pushover. I had him by the collar, and he squirmed out of this before running.”

  She nodded in appreciation, “Oh, I'm not shocked at that. It's just that it is dangerous to confront a thief like that, you never know if they have a weapon on their person.” She seemed to be appraising me again, and this time I felt a slight blush burning as I started wringing my hands again.

  She smirked at herself and asked, “Any identifying marks or anything you saw that can help us locate him?”

  “Other than his jacket and red beard I described earlier?” I asked.

  I found myself just as amused as her and had to remember that cops are not our friends, and quelled my smile as she inclined her head. “Yes, other than the jacket. Since I'm fairly certain he isn't wearing it anymore.”

  I couldn't help myself it was too good of a setup, and my sense of self-preservation was overwhelmed by my smartassery as I commented, “Your investigative prowess seems unmatched.” Son of a bitch Maddie, shut your mouth.

  I looked down, but she chuckled and grinned as she quipped, “Fourth in my class.”

  I was a little relieved she hadn't taken offense, and I muttered in response before I could stop myself, “Fourth string? I'm never seeing my cash box again am I?”

  I was startled by an explosive sound from her that was a cross between a bark and a squeak. I looked at her, and she was covering her mouth in embarrassment and looking around the bakery before dropping her hand from her smile, and then got serious again. Putting on that impassive face which I swear they must teach to all cops in the academy.

  She said with a touch of humor coloring her tone, “We'll do our best to return what is yours, Miss Stone.” Then she cocked an eyebrow in question.

  Oh yeah, right. “He had a prison tattoo on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. A cross.”

  Her brows raised then she narrowed her eyes. Most likely wondering how I knew what a prison tattoo was. She didn't ask, though. Instead, she asked, “Front or back?”

  I pointed at the back of my hand as I said, “Back. He'll also have a bruised ribcage and a couple scratches at his neck near his collar, I got a piece of him as I grabbed his jacket.”

  She smiled and wrote that down as she said under her breath to me in appreciation, inclining her head, “Badass.” Then she sobered a bit and said, “And I would remind you it isn't a good idea to confront a criminal, leave that risk to us. That's what you pay us for. You never know what they are capable of.”

  I felt a little internal conflict over my reaction to her calling the man a criminal. Because I felt the same, yet part of me was wondering if it was just a guy who fell into a bad crowd like Johnny had, and made a mistake. One that would haunt him his entire life. Did that make him a criminal?

  This whole thing was likely to put me out of business if I couldn't get the cart fixed quickly. We might even get thrown out on the street. So yeah, I was going to pay the consequences for the guy's actions.

  I paused, wondering if my brother's indiscretions had caused someone else the same hardships. I had to admit that I had only been looking at John's decision as to how stupid he was, and how it ruined his life as he knew it. I knew he broke the law and deserved his punishment, but I don't think I had ever thought twice about his victims.

  I sort of felt a little dirty about that. Now that I was the victim, it was all I could think about. Maybe I needed to call that entertainment store down in Portland to offer an apology for my brother and see if it had any lasting negative effects that I could help with. Not that I had any money or anything.

  I pushed those thoughts aside when I realized the officer was speaking to me. “Miss Stone? Are you sure you're ok? You just went pale there.” She looked genuinely worried. Maybe all cops aren't as acidic as the ones I dealt with in Portland. Her pale green eyes darkened in concern. Wow, they were pretty, I hadn't noticed, such a unique shade of green I don't think I have seen before.

  I nodded. “I'm fine, was just thinking about something.” I noted that she wasn't wearing any makeup and had an unconventional femininity to her that I'm sure was a curse, being in a testosterone laden profession and all. I had no doubt the men gave her nothing but a ration of crap a
bout it.

  She's a cop, Maddie, stop humanizing her. They are all the same until they prove differently. The only reason you are talking to her is to get the guy that just messed up everything in your fresh start. She smiled, and I caught myself smiling back. I wish she'd stop being cute.

  I looked down at my hands as I wrung them. I glanced up, and she was looking at me through narrowed eyes, and she asked, “You don't like the police very much do you?”

  I opened my mouth to defend, though I didn't know what I would have said since she seemed to be reading me like a book. She held a hand up to stop me and said in an apologetic tone, “Just an observation. I get it.”

  Then she went into that cold, unfeeling drone that felt so familiar. Great, I offended her, odds of her putting in any effort to find the guy just flew out the window, hadn't it? “Did the man have a weapon, or indicate he may have one?”

  I shook my head, and her next question droned out flatly as she wrote on the notepad, “Estimated value of the cash stolen and the damage to the cart?”

  This is where my blood went cold, as I knew the reason for that question. My answer would determine if they would classify the robbery as a misdemeanor or a felony. A felony would give the guy some serious time in prison instead of the jail. And most businesses ask if you have any felonies on record during job interviews.

  Johnny is damn lucky his conviction was reduced to a misdemeanor, or it would have been almost impossible for him to find a job here in Seattle, even though businesses aren't supposed to discriminate because of criminal history, we know they do.

  My eyes drifted to the cart. I shrugged and said absently as I tried to guess. I had used every penny I could scrape together, beg or borrow to buy it. This was supposed to be a new start in life. Hoping that maybe this time we could get it right. Even used and in need of some TLC, it had cost two and a half grand.

  What was the cutoff for felony theft in Seattle? Wasn't it seven hundred and fifty?

  I shrugged and said, “Until I get it looked at, I'm not sure. About two fifty in cash and maybe four hundred and ninety to get the cart fixed?”

  She paused again, her pen stopping in mid transcription. She just stared at her pen for a moment before looking up and asking in that impassive cop tone, “So seven hundred and forty dollars? Just shy of it being a felony theft charge in Washington State?”

  Fuck.

  I shrugged, feeling embarrassed, and she tapped her pen on the pad for a moment then exhaled loudly and kept writing. I don't know why I was helping the thief, he wasn't my brother. I was the one feeling like a criminal just then. I knew that feeling. It is how I felt during the whole ordeal with John. He was the one who stole, yet I felt as if I were guilty by association the whole time. I was always having to remind myself that I didn't do anything wrong.

  God, I was sounding like a victim. Well, in this case, I was the victim, so why did she have me feeling like... I… was protecting... shit. I sighed at myself and shrugged again. My shoulders were getting quite the workout. I said offhandedly, “Maybe more, maybe less. I won't know until someone who knows what they are doing gets a look at it. I couldn't afford any insurance on it.”

  She took a breath, tapped her pen on the side of the notepad as she thought. Then she nodded to herself, and without really looking at me, said, “I'll file the report, Miss Stone. We'll do all we can to find the thief and get your cashbox. We'll contact you with any progress we make in the case.”

  She handed me a business card as she added, “If you think of anything you wish to add to your statement, feel free to call me. I'll get statements from the witness now. Good day.”

  Yup, she was treating me the same as the others now. Cold and detached, after catching me trying to protect the guy from a felony record. Hell, for all I knew he already had a felony record, and I wasn't doing anyone any favors. He did have that ink after all. How screwed up in the head was I? I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully forgive Johnny for how much his screw up has messed me up.

  I said to my hands, “Thanks, Officer O'Brien.” She finally looked me, catching my eyes as she moved on to the guy in the green shirt. She had a shadow of distrust in her eyes. When she turned away, I sighed and looked at the time on my cell. Damn, this was going to be an exceedingly long day.

  I looked back at the door, headed out into the corridor beyond, and went into the women's room and locked the door. I moved to the counter and just leaned on it, staring into the mirror. Could my life get any more fucked up than it already was? We didn't need this.

  I started running the water in the sink, then pulled my hat off, my wig going with it and sat it on the counter. I leaned in closer to the mirror to look at myself, God, I looked exhausted. I just wanted to scream out in frustration at the universe.

  I ran my hands over my shiny, bald head, then cupped my hands under the faucet, and splashed cool water on my face. I contemplated my life. Where had everything gone so sideways? I had great aspirations to display my art at the Portland Art Museum one day. But instead, I'm in a different city, selling hand dyed scarves out of a cart to tourists.

  I grabbed a paper towel and dried my face, checked my eyelashes, then huffed and went about reapplying my makeup. I stared at myself for a minute, then sighed and grabbed my hat and detached the wig. I brushed out the tangles in the wig, from my extracurricular tackle, and went about putting my hair back on blindly afterward.

  Then I reattached it to the hat which I had made when we first came here to the Emerald City, it was one of my favorites. I positioned it all on my head again and looked up, and there I was. I was a girl again, not a freak. I always wanted to punch the mirror for showing me who I should have been my whole life.

  I forced myself to smile again, I liked seeing 'mirror me' smile, then I headed back into the Pike to wait for my ride.

  The officer was still questioning the witnesses, and I caught her stealing glances at me from time to time. No doubt suspicious of my answers. If only she weren't a cop, I probably would have been looking at how well her butt filled out her well-pressed blue uniform slacks. It was a pretty cute ass. I mean... umm. Cop, Madelyn, remember she's a cop.

  I almost jumped when someone spoke beside me, “Can I get you anything hon? You seem a bit out of sorts. I guess a robbery will do that to a girl.”

  I glanced over at Eve, trying to get my heart to settle from the surprise. I guess I had been in my own little Maddie world there. She glanced between Officer O'Brien and me, then whispered behind her hand, “It's the uniform isn't it?” I blushed as she winked at me.

  I sputtered under my breath, “What? No... she... I was just watching her take their statements.”

  She didn't look impressed at my response. I sighed and said in resignation, “Some of that coffee would be great. I need to sit out by my cart until my brother gets off work at six and can come get me with the truck.”

  She hesitated at that. Oh. I reached into my bag on my shoulder and started digging for my wallet. She placed a hand on my arm to stop me. “It's on the house Madelyn, us Pike Placers have to watch each other's backs. I was just concerned that you have to wait so long. It isn't even three yet.”

  She gave a silly grin. The short woman was almost too cute. If redheads were my thing, I'd have been blushing about then. But I've found fire tops to be a little too unpredictable in my experience.

  She added, “You are more than welcome to wait here in the Pike.” She paused and seemed to think about something, looked behind her, then she got an almost wicked glint in her eyes and added, “I can probably get you and your cart some transportation sooner.”

  Before I could say anything, the hyperactive woman was already motoring off toward the counter to get me a coffee.

  Chapter 2 – Favor

  After I left that confusing Madelyn woman, I checked my notes then moved to one of the witnesses. I adjusted my cover under my arm and straightened my badge a bit. I glanced back at the woman. Why was she going easy on the t
hief in her statement? That was easily a thousand dollars in damage. Hell, a wheel alone on a cart like that would be four hundred or so, not including the labor.

  She could identify a prison tat and knew the felony charge cut off for the robbery. Had she done time? The girl certainly wasn't happy having to speak with me, she wasn't comfortable with the police. She was a scrappy one, tackling someone whom she didn't know if they were armed or not. Why did the hot ones always seem to have a record?

  I glanced back again, she caught me looking with those stunning hazel eyes of hers. There was something a little off about them, but I couldn't put a finger on just what it was. I certainly wasn't going to let myself get lost in them, as much as I wanted to stare at her to figure it out. I mean, she pressed every button of mine, and then some. And she was funny too. I just wish I knew what she was hiding... or maybe I didn't.

  I glanced back one last time, but she was gone. I looked over to see her heading out into the hall, then I went back to work, taking down the man's statement, prompting for clarification when his account varied from hers.

  It was always so frustrating taking statements from civilian eyewitnesses, ten people could see the same events unfold in front of them, but they always seem to see something different. You have to sift through the bulk of it to find the consistencies in what they relay to get near to the truth of it all.

  By the time I was finishing with the tourist couple, I was sure of three facts. One, the perpetrator was a white male. Two, that Stone girl hit the man like a runaway freight train; a fact that had me smiling for some reason, even though it was foolish and reckless of her. And three, she was the only one who got a good look at the guy. Her description matched that of a guy who had been hitting the Market off and on for the past couple months.

  I swear we are going to nail that guy one day. He's getting sloppy and seems to be getting more and more brazen. It is only a matter of time before he steps up his game to violence. It seems to always go that way, once the thrill wears off, they have to get their fix some other way.