by Derek Blass
His arms ached and when he tried to lift himself up nothing happened. He cracked his eye open again and was able to tolerate a couple of seconds. Progress. The granules of thought were falling faster, piling up. What happened? Where am I? Am I alone? He tried to muster speech, a call out, but his vocal cords felt rusted over. He cracked both eyes, several more seconds. The beeping rose in volume and frequency. He heard rustling coming from somewhere. Then muffled footsteps. A presence. Someone was next to him.
“Alguien llame al médico. El Señor ha regresado.” He turned his head, more like a flop, and opened his eyes again. A woman in blue clothing stood next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other pushing buttons on a machine. “Con calma, Raul.” Darkness returned.
* * * *
Cruz sat with his glass of water half-held up to his mouth. He scanned the street in front of the café. Sandra reached over and touched him on the forearm, “You all right?”
“Yeah. I've just got this overwhelming feeling that we're being watched.” Sandra understood the feeling. Ever since she had been kidnapped she fought bouts of anxiety and paranoia. It was difficult for her to trust anyone, especially men. She checked out the street too. Cruz went to set his glass down on the table without looking and missed. It fell to the concrete patio and shattered, silencing the café chatter.
“Shit!” Cruz said as he grabbed his napkin and started to clean up the mess. A staff person ran out and swept the glass away, leaving just a puddle of water under Cruz. “Dammit, I'm sorry Sandra.”
“No worries...we're all on edge.”
“I don't get it. Even with Shaver in jail it seems like there's a constant threat.”
“Shaver in jail doesn't mean this is over. He's got to have connections out here. It makes sense for us to stay vigilant.” Cruz looked at her and admired her calm and strength. She was absolutely gorgeous, all facets of her, and Cruz wondered how he had missed it for so long.
“I'll be right back,” Sandra said as she stood up and walked into the café. Cruz watched her and then stood up. Something overpowered him. Something rich and otherworldly. His heart pounded as he strode several feet behind Sandra. She took a quick glance over her shoulder and smiled when she saw him.
“Bathroom too?” she asked. Cruz shook his head no. She appeared slightly puzzled but continued to the women's bathroom which was around a corner from the café's main seating area. Cruz closed the distance between them and pushed the door to the women's bathroom open from behind her. Their bodies brushed together and sent electricity running up and down both of them. The bathroom was small, no one but them in it.
Sandra was startled but then melted when Cruz put his arm around her back and kissed her passionately. “Hey, I can't be seen...” Cruz ignored the comment and used his hand to raise her skirt. Her leg answered and curved around his thigh. They embraced each other in a half-starved craze. Sandra hooked her arms under Cruz's and pulled him in tight. The temperature in the room skyrocketed. Cruz felt himself become aroused as Sandra rubbed her leg and then her hand on his penis. He finished pulling up her skirt and grabbed her under her thighs, lifting her up to his waist and pressing her back against a wall. She grabbed the hair behind his head and mouthed love across his neck as he slid into her. They both groaned as their bodies swung in unison. Cruz with both hands full of Sandra's ass, squeezing tightly, as Sandra flung her head back and used it as leverage against the wall to push out against Cruz. Sweat streamed down Cruz's temples and started to bead on Sandra's chest. The rhythm became faster, harder. Their panting played off one another. The symbol of enjoyment kept taking them to higher levels of ecstasy. Cruz felt Sandra grinding into him, setting her own circular pattern to his vertical thrusts. Both of their bodies started to tense. Sandra's back arched and her nails dug into the back of Cruz's head. The sweet pain sent tremors through Cruz. They were in perfect unison now, not a single mis-step. Sandra started mumbling “Oh my god” as Cruz mustered all of his strength to pull Sandra closer. He slammed her against the wall as her fingers curled with fistfuls of hair. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as the climax ripped through every nerve, every muscle in her body. Cruz exploded at the same instant. He thrust and matched Sandra's climax, holding himself there as they shuddered together, a magnetic pulse bouncing between them. Cruz locked his lips on Sandra's who had to pull away to breath, her breath coming out in short expulsions. When her breathing slowed they kissed again, slowly, deeply. Cruz let Sandra down gently. He put out his hand and leaned on the wall. Aftershocks coursed through their bodies, an eternal release.
Cruz heard heels clicking on the tile floor outside the bathroom. When the person tried to push the door open, Cruz held it shut.
“Uhm, excuse me!”
“It's taken.”
“That's a women's bathroom!”
“Get away, I'm a woman.” Sandra slapped him on the shoulder.
“I'm..I'm going to get the manager!” Cruz heard the heels quickly click away as he rushed to pull his pants up and tuck his shirt in. Sandra was frantically fixing her hair in front of a mirror and then she bolted out of the bathroom, leaving Cruz with a swift kiss.
“I understand,” he said, knowing that a scene like this could harm her career.
The heels were clicking back towards the bathroom. Cruz cinched his belt and opened the door to the red face of the café's manager.
“What the hell were you...well, I guess I don't have to ask that. Stay right here I'm going to call the cops.” Cruz pushed the man aside with his shoulder and rushed through the café. The manager followed him, yelling. He ran forward and grabbed Cruz's collar. Cruz spun around the grabbed the man's hand, twisting his arm in the process.
“Fuck off...okay?” He stared into the manager's eyes until certain he wouldn't bother him anymore. All the people in the café stared as he hurried out the front door with a smile like a hyena's on his face.
T H I R T Y-E I G H T
__________________________________________________
Martinez sat looking pensively at the desk of pictures in front of him. The police department was empty. Nightfall had come and only a few other lonely souls were left, scattered around the building. It hadn't necessarily been a welcome reception when he came back. He slipped in relatively unnoticed. Still, some watched him, one sneered. At this point he was a pariah so everyone steered clear.
He set up in one of the war rooms. It was secluded, quiet, no windows. Perfect for someone wanting to stay under the radar.
Usually pictures spoke to him. He had analyzed enough evidence to be able to create stories from the still images or written documents. The bruised faces combined with typewritten notes to weave an account. These pictures weren't talking, though.
Jerome Miller. Isabella Cordoba. Black and brown. Male and female. Connected to Shaver but by a string trailing off into darkness. He heard a quiet knock on the door. He hesitated to look up, but when he did he saw Cruz standing there.
“Hey, what the hell are you doing here?!”
Cruz stepped through the threshold of the room. “Nice hello.”
Martinez shook his head in apology and stretched back over his chair, arms spread wide. Cruz stood next to the table of pictures, moving them around.
“You know, I had those in order,” he said, slightly annoyed.
“Looks like you were accomplishing a lot,” he said while gesturing to the mess in front of Martinez. “How about I fit some of the puzzle pieces here?”
“Go ahead.”
Cruz analyzed the documents on the table and pushed one towards Martinez. “Check out Jerome's coroner report.”
“Okay, I'm looking, what about it?”
“Did you have any dealings with the coroner back about this time?”
“Sure, almost on a weekly basis. What's that got to do....hey.”
Cruz nodded his head.
“Who's that? Who's that there?” Martinez said pointing to the signature line on the report.
; “You tell me.”
“That certainly wasn't the coroner back then. Coroner was Dr. Chuck Swift,” Martinez said with a furrowed brow.
“Remember where Tyler and the Chief were holed up with Sandra? The basement that seemed like a medical office?”
“Ohhh, shit. You think...this is a fake coroner then?”
“Not necessarily fake—the guy was a doctor. Just not the city's coroner.” Cruz took off the hat he was wearing and set it down authoritatively on the table.
“This may implicate the Chief, but we don't care about him anymore. I mean, maybe Sandra would want to run a story on his corruption, but we're focused on the case against Shaver.” Someone slid past the room and they both stopped, looking at each other but with their ears tuned to the hallway. They continued talking after sensing that the person was out of earshot.
“The only piece of the puzzle that can still talk is Tyler.”
“That creep.”
“I know,” Cruz said. “I don't understand how he isn't locked away too. That should change soon though.”
“How?”
“The DA...”
“Mason...”
“Yeah, Mason. He told me to get you and to bring Tyler in.”
Martinez thought about that for a second then said, “Hell Cruz, I don't even know my status on the force right now. It's all a freakin' mess. I'm still all sorts of wound up. Carmen is begging me to take some time off. Losing Williams and Alicia weighs on me daily.”
Cruz sat quietly, reading Martinez as these emotions rose to the surface and then hung in the air around them. Martinez sat shaking his head. “You know, Martinez, you were a tremendous source of strength for me throughout all of this. Doing what's right is most important—still is.”
Martinez brushed a hand through his hair and then rested his forehead on his palms. “Let's go get a cup of Joe and think it out. We aren't gonna go nab him right now anyway.”
Cruz appreciated the accommodation. Martinez bear hugged the documents on the desk into a pile and shoved them into his backpack. Cruz followed as Martinez led them through the old, winding corridors of the department. They reached the glass front doors of the building and pushed them open. That familiar bitterly cool air stung Cruz. He used the collar of his sweater to protect his mouth and nose. They walked out to Martinez's car which was sitting alone like an old man in a timeless train station.
“Aww, dammit,” Martinez said.
“What's that?”
“I think I left my keys on my desk.” They stood there in the cold about fifteen feet from the car. The next thing Cruz knew he was laying on what he thought was his back. Must have been, there were stars.
There was a totally deaf bliss. Embers spun like headless ballerinas into the night sky. Cruz had a warm feeling. He never wanted to look anywhere else. The warmth made him tired and he started to close his eyes.
Then he saw Martinez over him. Gesturing wildly. Shaking him. His right ear popped and the wailing pitch of a siren became faintly audible. Another pop and the swoosh of billowing flames came into being. He wondered what existed without sound.
“Cruz! Can you fucking hear me? Cruz, Cruz!” Three Martinez's swayed like vipers over him. Their heads vibrated and slowly consolidated into one. And then Martinez was gone. Cruz rolled over on his stomach. The black pavement was chilled and rough on his face. He pushed up with his arms and put one foot out in front of himself.
Martinez ran off around the corner of the police station about seventy feet in front of him. Cruz stood up and his left leg almost crumpled. A wobble to the left, then a sway to the right and then the earth's axis seemed to realign. He stumbled forward, picking up pace into a zombie-like jog. Tires screeched from around the corner and he saw Martinez sprinting back around the station toward him. Strange, Cruz thought, until he saw a vehicle shoot out of the alleyway and pummel through the chain-link fence surrounding the station.
Martinez grabbed Cruz as he ran by. He threw Cruz into the back of one of the squad cars and jumped into the driver's seat. Keys were hanging in the ignition. “Cruz, hold on back there.” Cruz couldn't tell if it was a joke because there wasn't a damn thing to hold onto. Martinez gunned the engine and peeled out of the parking lot before Cruz could complain.
“Can you believe it? That fucker Tyler tried to fucking run me over!” Cruz nodded. “After he tried to blow us both up!!” Cruz sat limply in the back seat, jostled as Martinez sped through turns and cut over sidewalks. “You all there, Cruz? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah...I can hear you...” Cruz mustered. “I couldn't hear anything after the blast...for at least a few seconds.”
“Me neither. That shit was close!”
“I still feel it,” Cruz said while running a hand over his body. He looked around the headrest and saw a pair of taillights dashing away in front of them. “Why am I sitting back here?”
“Don't know. Seemed like the easiest place to swing you to.” Cruz grabbed onto the two front seats, “We going straight for a few seconds?”
“Looks like it.” Cruz tucked his head and pulled himself forward. His knees bumped his chest as he stepped over the center console. They swerved around another car as he plopped down into the front passenger's seat. They drifted around a corner and Tyler's car was in plain sight ahead. Martinez floored the accelerator and the Crown Vic responded with gusto.
There they were, speeding through a nearly empty city at just before three in the morning. Every now and again another car would appear and then immediately pull over. The flashing lights on their car created an eerie illumination on the surrounding buildings. Not fully lighting the buildings, but just enough light to be able to imagine things.
Tyler's car was getting larger with each cut and dash. Martinez was clearly a better driver. Probably sensing the closing gap, the chase began to move out of the city. The buildings progressively became shorter and more spread out. Both cars soon approached top speed on a two-lane road leading out to the suburbs. Martinez and Cruz inched closer.
“Car 247 what's your 20?” The shrill, electronic voice over the C.B. radio startled them both.
“About seven miles out of town,” Martinez answered into a hand-held walkie-talkie.
The radio crackled and then the same voice asked, “Can you be more specific?”
“Suspect is fleeing, will get location once I've apprehended him.” He set the hand-held down and turned the radio off. They were just a few feet behind Tyler's car.
They wove around cars like a pair of connected dragonflies. The road opened up two more lanes and Martinez briefly looked at Cruz, “This is our chance.”
“To do what?”
“Ram this shit off the road.”
“Uhm, okay.” Cruz instinctively checked his seat belt and grabbed onto the door handle.
“Technically, it's a bump and not a ram. It should be pretty easy.”
“You're going to flip his car? Don't we need him alive?”
Martinez's shoulders slumped. “Dammit, I hadn't thought about that. I was so pissed that all I wanted to do was flip the fucker.”
Cruz was having a hard time staying put on the vinyl bench seat. The muscles on his thick forearms bulged as he threaded through the moderate traffic. What the hell are all of these people doing out anyway, Cruz thought to himself.
They neared the rear bumper of Tyler's car. Tyler must have sensed how close they were because he weaved to the left. As Martinez was about to follow him a roaring screech sounded and smoke gathered where Tyler's car had been. Now he was directly behind them.
“What the fuck, top gun!” Martinez yelled at Tyler's car. They both felt a bump and the rear end of their car loosened then regained traction. “You know what? I'll stop right in front of him. I'm not the one running. Hold on 'cause it's gonna get bumpy.” Cruz looked around but there was nothing more substantial to grab onto than the door handle. Martinez braced and watched his rear view mirror for Tyler to approach them. When Tyler got close,
Martinez centered their car on his and hit the brakes.
The impact of Tyler's car whipped both of their heads back into the headrests. Cruz could smell the burning rubber as they got pushed down the highway. The brute force of Tyler's car versus the brakes on the squad car. The brakes were slowly winning.
Martinez was doing his best to keep the wheels straight. The slightest move off-center and they would be sent into a tailspin. As their speed continued to decrease, Tyler must have realized that he was losing the battle. He stopped his car to disengage and then started to go around them.
“The hell you will!” Martinez bellowed. As Martinez wrenched the wheel to his right to cut Tyler off, they both caught sight of a SUV speeding down the highway. The next thing they knew, Tyler's car was sliding sideways and then flipping over. A wave of fluid flew out of the hood of Tyler's car as bits of headlights and windshield hung like illuminated fireflies in the night.
The SUV seemed little effected. It had a brush bar on its front bumper. “Get the last three!” Martinez said as he strained to see the license plate.
“Jesus. The last three of what, Martinez?”
“The license plate!” Cruz looked up but the car was too far in the distance to catch the license plate numbers.
“I couldn't get them. What just happened?” Cruz asked, in shock.
Martinez leaned back in his seat and pounded his fist on the steering wheel. “A hit.”
* * * *
Sphinx lounged with his head rested on his hand watching the television. He took up all and more of the television room's couch. Legs spilling over the armrest, wide shoulders hanging over the edge of the couch.