True Grit

by Bella Knight

  Saber switched to apple juice by making a little sign to Nina with his hands. His drinks switched to free when he went off alcohol, but he still tipped. He contemplated an Uber; he had no idea how much stuff Sigrun had. He doubted she had much stuff though; his lady traveled light, as did he. They could pack most of their clothes in a duffel. He decided to go with the bike. He danced to burn off some alcohol.

  Sigrun was lovely, wild, grinding against him when they danced. She had switched to apple juice, too, laced with cinnamon. He tasted it when she kissed him. She grabbed the back of his neck when she ground up against him and put her tongue inside his mouth. She was free, laughing as she danced, screaming out lyrics, deafening him.

  Heading out into the dark night burned the lingering alcohol right out of him, head and heart. They went to their bikes, and she led the way to her tiny apartment. She had four roommates in a two-bedroom, all in a building with peeling, sickly, gray paint over brick, a third-floor walkup. She opened the door. A kitten walked up to them and yowled.

  Sigrun picked it up, cradled it. "This is Roxie," she said. "Dumbass Vedun brought her home, and doesn't do a thing to take care of her." Sigrun petted the kitten, who purred. She grabbed a can of kitten food out of a tiny cabinet, popped the top, and fed Roxie. Roxie ate as if she'd never eaten before.

  Sigrun pulled a duffel out of a closet. Her room was the size of another closet, with bunk beds. She went to a dresser and pulled out clothes, rolled them up, and stuffed them into the duffel. She stuffed a backpack as well.

  Saber went over to the woman on the bottom bunk and checked her neck. Her heart beat slowly. The works were in a tin in her hand, the needle stuck out of her arm. He saw the docking photo printer, took two photos, and hooked up his phone to it. He printed out two photos, and wrote "Drug Addict" on one, and "Way to die from throwing up in your own mouth" in the other. He found a roll of tape and taped one to her body, and plastered one on her chest.

  "Won't work," said Sigrun. "She can't see reality." She did something to release the printer from the tiny lap desk, and put it in her backpack. "Damn junkie would have eventually figured out how to steal this."

  She put earphones into the pack, and she was done. She handed the book-filled, camping-sized backpack to Saber, and shouldered her duffel.

  She went out, and left two twenties on the counter along with a note. "I'm taking the kitten," said Sigrun.

  "Yeah," said Saber.

  Sigrun put the kitten in her jacket pocket, and Roxie snuggled in. She also took the last two cans of cat food, and put them in her pocket.

  "Let's roll," she said.

  Saber packed his saddlebags, and she packed hers. He led the way. The place was only twenty minutes away, but a million miles from the squat that Sigrun had. They wordlessly unpacked the saddlebags, and Saber buzzed them in.

  "Gonna have to get you one of these," he said, holding up the plastic key.

  "I can get it copied, no prob," said Sigrun. "Simple RFID."

  "Okay then," said Saber, leading them to the elevator.

  "Wow,” said Sigrun. "No stairs. Nice." He took them to the floor, and walked them to the door. He let them in.

  "Pie plate's in the kitchen," he said. "I can get kitty litter now or in the morning." He pointed to the right. "We're on the first door to the right, office is second door, bathroom across the hall, with a soaking tub. Your room is next to that. We have a bathroom in our room, so go to town in there."

  She grabbed the pie plate, and the kitten stuck her head out of Sigrun's jacket and let out a wail. Sigrun laughed, and Saber led the way to the guest bedroom. Wraith had gone all-Asian in that room, with a black, platform, queen-sized bed with a built-in table and drawer. It also had mirrored sliding glass doors that led to a closet, and a black chest of drawers with an octagonal mirror on top.

  The walls were red, overlaid with silver. Sigrun took the cat out of her jacket, and put her on the purple-silk comforter. The kitten mewed, then started kneading the comforter. Sigrun petted Roxie, and dropped her duffel. Saber put her pack on the floor at the base of the bed.

  "You don't have to..." He started and stopped. "You can stay here, and sex isn't required. Just, enjoy it." He smiled, took a lock of her hair, and kissed it. "I'll get the kitty litter and the cat toys." She stood there, slack-jawed, as he walked out.

  He bought groceries at Wal-Mart, too, and fruit and veggies in case she was a vegan, or, hopefully not, a fruitarian. When Wraith was gone, Saber tended to eat only frozen pizza and sandwiches. He got some smoked rotisserie chicken, some potatoes, and chocolate. All women liked chocolate. His head was beginning to pound; he bought and drank a water on the way out, and headed home.

  He put the groceries away, set up the kitty litter in Sigrun's bathroom, took tags off, and threw kitty toys around like grenades. He popped some headache medicine and checked on her. She turned to him, the cat on her chest, purring away.

  She reached out a hand. "Stay with me," she said. "Just... here."

  She pulled back the sheets and comforter on the other side of the bed. He held up a finger, then went to the other room. He stripped down, threw the clothes in the hamper, put on sweats and thick socks, and climbed in bed next to Sigrun. She held out a hand, and he held it. The purring of the cat lulled him to sleep.

  He awoke in the night to her on top; moving gently, her black, purple, and silver hair now falling on the side of his face like a dark curtain. She kissed his neck, his shoulder, his belly, getting herself into positions, and moving hips and legs with a lithe body. Her breasts were small. He reached out, flicked a tongue over each nipple, making her moan. He felt a condom on himself, and relaxed as she rode him; her hair stroking his face.

  He kissed and licked her nipples, sucked on the small mounds of her breasts. She came, over and over. He shuddered then released. He rose, stumbled into the bathroom, threw away the condom, kissed her, and washed himself. He brought her a wet wipe. She used it and threw it away. The cat climbed back up on the bed, proud of its ability to stalk and find its human. Roxie curled up in Sigrun's arms, and Saber held them both.

  In the morning, he smelled bacon and coffee. His head was pounding. There was water and two familiar headache pills by the bedside. He ate the pills and drank the water, and stumbled into the shower in his own bedroom. He came out and wore his scruffy-dealer clothes, including long underwear, torn jeans, a torn Henley top, and a hoodie. She had two breakfast sandwiches on a plate when he got out, English muffins with cheese and bacon.

  "Bless oo," he said, already biting into one.

  "Don't talk with your mouth full," Sigrun said, and poured coffee.

  He swallowed. "Bless you," he said.

  "And the gods be with you," she said. "I've got two classes this morning." She pointed to his card and his keys. "I duped everything already." She kissed him, then put her own plate and glass in the dishwasher. "I love not being the dishwasher," she said. He smiled. "I'm acing Asian art, and the collage class is just... goopy. Anyway, dinner at six?"

  He nodded like a bobblehead. "Good," she said. "I'll heat up those chicken and potatoes. See you!" She grabbed the art portfolio that she’’d stuffed into her full-sized backpack, and carried a smaller backpack on her back.

  He waved, and said "Bye!" over a mouthful of crispy bacon goodness. "This woman is amazing," he said to himself. He rinsed off his plate and glass and put them in the sink, then he grabbed his leathers and was off.

  He spent his time mapping out the dealers, hookers, runners, and what exactly, was for sale. He was after guns. Some crew of lowlifes had been robbing pawnshops, and had killed two of the owners. His job was to make gun buys, looking for twenty-three grand in stolen weapons and some antiques, that had been accumulated in four heists.

  Grant "Granny" Rasque was selling guns on a corner. Granny was old and wizened, the last one anyone expected to sell guns on the streets. His sons, Pablo and Terrence, would go fetch the guns from ancient easy-to-abandon hoopty cars,
when Granny stuck a deal. Saber asked for two of the guns he knew had been stolen, but stayed away from the antiques. Granny said he had one, and the men agreed on a price.

  Saber paid a hundred and forty dollars in marked, grimy bills for a Ruger that fit his hand like it had been made for him. It was the right gun. He signaled, and Granny and his sons were taken by the LVMPD's robbery-homicide squad, despite Pablo and Terrence rabbiting. They were caught and brought back. Six of Granny's hoopy-car guns were from the robbery-homicide.

  Saber didn't even have to bring them in to know what had happened, but they were taken in, and put in separate interview rooms. Saber took Granny, with Detective Fatima Orono from the LVMPD robbery/homicide squad at his side. The old man was chained to the desk, and was drinking a Coke through a straw.

  "You sure you don't want a lawyer?" asked Saber.

  "Don't need no lawyer. I don' know nothin,' said Granny.

  Saber knew he'd be eager to deal if he knew where he had gotten them from. Most gangs kept their gun business very separate from the drugs and women. Losing one guy on a weapons charge wouldn't set the gangs back much.

  Saber nodded, and they turned on the camera, and apprised Granny of his rights again. "Was it Pablo or Terrence that killed the father of three?" asked Saber. Granny's stunned face turned ashen. "Which one of them killed the soccer mom?"

  "My boys..."

  "Are killers," said Saber. "Murderers."

  "I ain't..." said Granny.

  "They're going down," said Saber. "How hard depends on you. Tell me about the guns."

  "What guns?" said Granny.

  Saber brought out the Tec-9, 9mm, semi-automatic pistol, sealed in its evidence bag. "Found this in one of your hoopty cars. Been guns like this popping up all over the city, used to mow down women and children. You are going to tell me all about them. Every damn thing. Then your boys are going to tell me, too. Then maybe, maybe I can convince the district attorney to take some time off." He leaned forward. "You stole, then sold, illegal weapons used for homicides, robberies, all sorts of things. That makes you responsible, and facing homicide charges, too." He laid back in his chair, took out his utility knife, and began cleaning out under his fingernails. "Your boys are facing lethal injections. Both of them." He smiled the death's-head smile he had learned from Wraith. "You'll be in solitary, hearing about their deaths."

  Granny sweated. Saber waited him out. His fingernails were really quite grimy. Finally, Granny said, "Did a job. Some prepper named Swenson, or Samson… or something." Preppers were preparing for the end of the world.

  "Henrik Sabanson," said the detective. "A Neo-Nazi and all-around nasty guy. His wife offed him for beating her. Have her medical records. She'll get dim cap." Dim cap was diminished capacity. It meant that she had a reduced ability to tell right from wrong, and after years of abuse, that would certainly be true.

  "So, this guy died, and we heard he had lots of guns hidden somewhere. So, my boys and I, we go up and find them with his kid, Gunter. Lots of 'em. Whole cases of guns and ammo… and grenades and stuff. Sold 'em in both our shops. Paid that boy good, too. Wasn't stealing."

  "And out of your hoopty cars," said Saber, carefully cleaning, then putting back his folding knife. "And I take it, you took it on consignment, started paying the boy when you got sales?"

  "Yeah," said Granny.

  "That boy is seventeen years old," said Fatima, smiling at him. "The father hadn't been buried, his wife tried for murder. No will was read. So, I wonder, did you check his identification, or whether or not he was authorized to sell anything?"

  Granny swallowed. "Jus' did what I had to do."

  "Had to do," said Saber. "Had to sell guns to drug dealers, pimps, bank robbers, addicts? Had to sell guns out of the back of your cars you get from the junkyard? Had to buy these guns from a seventeen-year-old kid? Buddy, you didn't have to do jack-shit."

  "We were gonna lose the shop!" said Granny. "Them big pawnshops, like department stores, been takin' all our money." He snorted. "Kinda hoped one o' dem hopped-up druggies would knock one of the chain stores out, you know?"

  "Your sons started holding up other pawnshops. What happened, did Gunter sell some of the guns without you? Your boys got greedy," said Saber. "And they were trying to force them out of business, weren't they, to save your shop? Two for one? You've lost it anyway," Saber pointed out. "You may not get out in your lifetime, and your boys will be lucky to spend the rest of their lives in prison and not get the needle."

  "You said you'd help! Get the charges reduced!"

  "I said I'd try," said Saber. He handed over a pen and a legal pad. "I want the name and physical description of everyone who wanted a gun, including where and when. How many guns were there?"

  "A case of the big black ones," said Granny.

  Saber felt like smashing his head repeatedly into the table, then he thought about smashing Granny's head into the tabletop. Those guns would go for two hundred dollars, minimum, a piece.

  "Big wooden box, filled with smaller black boxes?"

  "Yeah," said Granny, "sold 'em."

  Saber lowered his voice. "Did you know that the Tec 9 was banned in the 1994 Assault Weapons Ban? I've got you on federal charges. Who. Did you. Sell. Them to."

  Granny swallowed, then the words came pouring out. "Some guy outside a gun range, kinda tall, blonde hair, military looking." Fatima nodded. That man was Bobby Heith, and he'd murdered his soccer mom wife with it. "A couple bangers. Then Big Daddy done heard about 'em, bought 'em, all I had left."

  Saber nearly leapt up and ran from the room to plan the next op. Big Daddy ran the drugs and prostitutes in northwest Las Vegas. The DEA was trying to infiltrate his gang and bring him down because Big Daddy had chemists that started mixing drugs, creating increasingly lethal combinations. Including drugs like ecstasy and PCP, otherwise known as angel dust. People had walked into traffic, out windows that were not on the ground level, and been raped and murdered while high. Saber suspected this would be a joint taskforce op: DEA for the drugs, ATF for the guns, LVMPD robbery-homicide for the crime wave caused by the drugs. Coordination would be needed, and that would take time, time he didn't want to take. The drugs and guns were killing people, and the two of them together were beyond dangerous.

  Saber forced calm upon himself. "Surprised Big Daddy let you live."

  Granny smiled a little. "My boys was watchin.'"

  Saber sighed. "The only reason you're still alive is that Big Daddy hoped you would bring him more guns."

  "Sales been good from the stuff Gunter sold us. Some of that crap we couldn't do nothin' with. Old stuff. Antiques. Gunter sold it to other dealers 'fore we found out how valuable it was."

  "And robbed and killed those dealers to get them back," said Saber. He looked at the paper, and the pen. "Write it down. All of it. I'll put in a word with the DA about your cooperation."

  Fatima looked at Granny with shark eyes. He swallowed and wrote. "That towelhead cop you got," said Granny.

  Saber sat up, and spoke in a low voice that hinted at his using the utility knife in his pocket to gut Granny. "It's called a hijab. She wears it to respect her religion and her family. She was there to pick up the pieces when Sabanson's wife, Hilda, decided to end him. Literally." He paused. "She used a grenade. She pulled the pin, then threw it with the arm he hadn't broken three times." He stopped, stared. "You sold some of those grenades to people too, didn't you?" Granny stared at him, swallowed. "Why don't you write down those buyers, too?"

  Rounding up the little buyers took some time, and Kevlar vests. One junkie pulled the pin on the grenade he'd been sold, and blew himself up. One barricaded himself in his house with a Tec 9, his girlfriend, and two children. Saber snuck around the house, slipped in the back door, and took the guy out. The girlfriend took turns hitting him and screaming at him for killing her lover. Her children were taken away by children's services, and ultimately to live with their grandmother in another city. All after they found crack
cocaine sitting in plain sight in the house.

  When Saber bagged and tagged the gun and checked its serial number, she tried to attack him, despite her handcuffs. "He bought that for me!" she screamed. "For my birthday!"

  Saber looked around. "Better that he buy you diapers and toys and baby clothes." The house was filthy. There were rat droppings on the floor near the crib. "Did you ever consider cleaning your house?" She ran at him again, her hair filthy, her teeth turning black. He turned and stared her down. "A little clue," he said, "your children are, and always have been, more important than you, this gun, or anything else in the world." He looked at Fatima. "Please take her away," he said.

  "My pleasure," she said.

  He went to finish his paperwork, ready to finish it so he could go home. He hoped Sigrun was still there, and even the damn cat. He had a task force to work with, and a drug lord to take down. But, right then, he wanted to be home.

  The new normal stunned Saber. He opened the door, and Roxie tried to climb up his leg. By the time he had hung up his leathers and kicked off his boots, the kitten was halfway to his hip. He took her in his hand. She squealed mightily at him. He petted her, then listened to the rumble of her body as she purred contentedly. She fit in the palm of his hand.

  "Dinner smells fantastic," said Saber.

  "Smoked chicken always does," said Sigrun. "Roxie needs to get down, unless you want her to steal your chicken." Saber put the cat down next to a toy. She attacked the pink fake mouse with all the ferocity of a lion.

  Sigrun gave him a plate of smoked chicken on a bed of shredded cucumber and carrots, and a side of potatoes. He bit into it. "My gods," he said. "Amazing."

  She laughed. "You bought it. Listen, I've got to jet. They brought in the nudes, and I've got to draw naked people. Take care of Little Warrior for me?"

  "Sure," he said. "We'll watch the fights together. Have fun with the naked people! Wait, that didn't come out right."

  Her laughter made the silver beads in her hair ring like tiny chimes. She walked out with her rigged backpack/portfolio, and left. He finished his meal, washed his plate and put it in the dishwasher. He took a shower. The cat was his companion while he went halfway through a six-pack of sodas and some bouts of Muay Thai. Saber made himself a little bowl of cherry ice, and banged out a couple of reports on his laptop he'd needed to catch up on. He sent them in via the secure server, and then he went over a cold case. There was a truck with firearms slated for demolition, and being moved to a facility outside Las Vegas when they vanished. Both the tracking device on the truck and the tiny RFID chips on the shipment boxes were removed and destroyed. It had to be an inside job, but only three people knew about the shipment, and two were dead.