by Thunboe, Bo
Dan shuffled into the mass of people in front of the sergeant’s elevated desk. The sergeant stood behind the desk, a tall thin man with a sharp nose, gray hair, and a loose waddle of a neck. He stretched out his arms for attention then started shouting out crimes —assault, battery, rape and murder— and directing the people who answered to each crime to gather into groups which he then assigned to other uniformed officers. The people shuffled around, reorganizing themselves as the sergeant directed, quieting with something to do. The sergeant sat down, apparently done listing crimes. He’d missed one.
Dan raised his arm and shouted. “Child abduction!”
The sergeant’s gaze found Dan. He waved him up. As Dan wound through the crowd, he remembered the gun in his pocket. Too late.
The sergeant—his name tag said Jeffries—pulled a form from a rack of them and had Dan run through the particulars, name, age, appearance, the long oval birthmark on the inside of her forearm, and the circumstances. “I have to be honest with you, Mr. Fallon. We’re very short-handed. We’ll have enough men to put out a foot patrol, but that will really be preventative, not investigatory. If we see her, we’ll bring her in and put her with a family. You’ll have to check back in.”
“If I wanted to ask around on my own, where should I start?” The sergeant had to know Elgin better than Dan did.
“You mean who might have taken her?”
Dan nodded.
Jeffries leaned forward. “I can give you a patrol officer for one hour. He’ll take you to the … let’s call it a club, that thinks it runs this side of the river.”
That was exactly the kind of help Dan needed.
Jeffries stood up. “Garcia!”
A stocky patrol officer with a buzz cut came over. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal thick forearms covered with elaborate tattoos Dan couldn’t decipher.
“I need you to take Mr. Fallon here to see the East Side Tres to look for his daughter. He’ll brief you on the way.”
“I’ll get equipped and be ready in two minutes.”
Dan thanked the sergeant and stood by the door, waiting for Garcia. He returned carrying a shotgun and wearing a bulky bullet proof vest and a helmet with a face shield. “I’m ready, Mr. Fallon.”
Dan followed Garcia outside and they headed straight north. Several people tried to stop Garcia for help but he directed them all to the police station and kept moving. Dan did as Jeffries said and told Garcia what he knew as they walked.
Garcia suddenly stopped. “Why did your daughter leave on her own and at night?”
Dan bit his lip. Erin’s note had not explained that and he hadn’t figured it out. “I think… she’s very tough. Fourth degree black belt. And unafraid. And her mom… isn’t good with big changes. Erin knew I was out of town and probably worried about her mom being alone. I mean, Sean, her son, is there but—"
“Let me see her picture.”
Dan sighed, thankful for the interruption to his painfully inept answer. He pulled out the photo and handed it to Officer Garcia.
“And she disappeared from right under the casino walking bridge?”
“That’s where I found her backpack.”
“The East Side Tres wouldn’t go near the casino in normal circumstances—too much security and too connected. But…”
“The EMP changed everything.”
“Yes. And way faster than anyone could have imagined. That’s why it’s worth a visit. But they don’t traffic women or even run prostitutes. They do have club girls, but they’re all neighborhood girls that want to be with them. And your daughter doesn’t fit in there.”
Garcia’s long stride kept Dan scrambling to keep up.
“When we get inside, you ask your questions and I’ll make sure they answer them. But you leave that gun in your pocket. If it comes out, things will get hairy.”
“What—”
“I mean it. I doubt you have a carry permit so just be glad I’m not busting you.”
“Okay.” Now that Garcia knew Dan had a gun, he felt the Glock pressing into his gut and the revolver pulling down the front if his jacket.
Garcia stopped in front of an old two-story house set back from the street. A fire burned in the front yard and three men sat on the porch that spanned the width of the house.
Garcia walked straight up their sidewalk and climbed the porch stairs, shotgun pointed at the middle of the three men. He wore baggy jeans and a thick flannel shirt with Sherpa lining.
“What the fuck you pointing that thing at me for, Garcia?” The man pulled himself to the edge of his lawn chair.
“So you know I’m serious. Guzzy here?”
“Whether he is or not, you don’t get to talk to him. And who’s your white-bread buddy?”
Garcia looked back at Dan. “Follow me.”
Garcia went through the front door. The man from the middle chair shouted “Cops!” in a hysterical voice that was so comically high-pitched Dan almost laughed.
The entryway was empty, the floor gritty under Dan’s boots. A soft orange glow from the right drew them into the living room. People crowded onto a giant sectional sofa were passing around a bong. Dan swept his gaze over them. Three of the eleven were women: two Latinas, one Black. None were minors or appeared to be under duress. One of the men stood up. It was warm in the house and he wasn’t wearing a coat and his shirt was unbuttoned to the navel, black chest gleaming in the firelight, gold chains flashing orange reflections.
The three men from the porch crowded in behind Garcia and Dan. Dan stepped to the side and put his hand in his pocket. Garcia stepped the other way and motioned with his gun for the three to join their friends. They circled around the back of the couch, two of them eyeing Dan’s hand in his pocket, then looking into his eyes. Measuring him. When they were behind the couch, they divided their attention between Dan and Garcia.
“You gots to have a warrant to come in her like this, Garcia.”
“You’re behind the times, Guzzy. The mayor declared martial law. I can go where I want and do what I want.”
Guzzy absorbed that news. Then a small nod, as if he had just adjusted to the new rules. “What do you want?”
“For you to answer this man’s questions.”
Guzzy’s eyes tracked to Dan and held there. They were deep and dark, with a glint. “Let’s go into the other room.”
Half the crowd moved to come along but Guzzy waved for them to stay put. Dan and Garcia followed Guzzy into the dining room on the opposite side of the entryway. There was a fireplace here, too, but the fire had descended into coals, the chill seeping back into the room. Guzzy stirred the coals with a poker then threw some pieces of scrap lumber on them. The new wood burst into flame that lit up the room.
“I’m looking for my daughter.” Dan held up the photo.
Guzzy took the photo and held it to the light.
“A woman told me she saw your crew snatch her up from—”
“Snatch her?”
“—under the casino walkway last night.”
“Three things, Mr. White. One, we know better than to go near the casino. That is not our turf. Two, last night we were still… absorbing what it was that happened. And three, I’s got a mom, four sisters, and two daughters. I don’t hurt women. I don’t use women. I don’t snatch women.”
Dan knew the truth when he heard it. “Whose turf is it?”
“Casino turf. They’s got a license to steal. Nobody who got that gonna mess it up for no girl. So, if she was snatched from there—which is hard to believe—it had to be by somebody carried away with our new freedoms.” Guzzy gestured to Garcia and his shotgun. “Like Garcia walking right into our crib.”
“What about a rogue member of your crew?”
“My crew don’t have rogues, Mr. White. Garcia will tell you.”
Dan asked Guzzy a few more questions without shaking him off his story or catching him in any obvious lies.
“If that’s it, you can get the fuck out.”
“We’ll let you as long you stick to looking for the girl. Anything else you see is off limits. We got more guns than you.”
Garcia nodded. Guzzy called his people outside and Dan and Garcia searched the place. They found a closet full of guns, a table spread with marijuana, a young Black woman sleeping under a mountain of blankets in a room upstairs, but that was it.
They left, walking a gauntlet of club members and girls on the front sidewalk.
“We’ll be seeing you around, Officer Garcia.”
Down the block Garcia stopped. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fallon.”
“I think they told the truth,” Dan said.
“I agree. I think whatever happened to your daughter was a result of this EMP thing.” Garcia whirled a finger above his head. “Most people are scared and angry and holing up at home. Eighty percent of the force stayed home. But some people see this as an opportunity to be… bad.”
“Thanks for your help, Officer. Please tell the sergeant I’ll come back in a week or so to check on the missing person’s report.”
“I will. Good luck, Mr. Fallon.”
Dan got on his bike, then stood straddling it. He had no idea where to go next. But he’d made Mary a promise, and he was going to keep it.
Or die trying.
63
Mary was hauling provisions to the Brady house when she heard a sound once so common she wouldn’t have noticed it. A car! She dropped the basket and ran out to the street, her heart racing. Dan and Erin!
But the sound was coming from the other end of the court. She’d almost forgotten Buddy’s plan to drive down to a relative’s farm with the Vargas family.
“He’s got the wagon running!” Sean came up next to her, hair plastered to his head with sweat from cutting and chopping logs. “Let’s go see them off.”
They walked down the middle of the street, the sun shining, the wind a whisper.
The car was in the driveway. The neighborhood men—even Dan—thought it was special, but she didn’t care about cars. It was a huge, boxy thing like an early example of an SUV, shiny blue with flames painted on the sides and giant chrome bumpers. The rooftop luggage rack was piled high with lumpy cardboard boxes, a volleyball net tied over the top of it all.
Buddy came out of the house. “We’re heading off.”
“Why so late?”
“It’s only a three-hour drive even when there was traffic,” Buddy said.
The Vargas family suddenly streamed out of their house, the girls jabbering. They were a tight-knit trio, likely because there were no other kids their age on the court. Rachel herded the girls into the jump seats, then closed the gate. She came over and hugged Mary. Mary was sure it was the first time she’d ever touched the woman. “Be safe, Mary.”
“You too, Rachel. And good luck.”
Beth Simpson came out of her house, locked the door, and walked down the driveway. She waved to Mary over the top of the car then got in the back seat. Rachel touched Mary’s arm, then got in the back seat with Beth.
Sean was talking to Buddy and Emilio. Buddy reached into the car and brought out a small cardboard box and gave it to Sean, who squirreled it away in one of his cargo pockets. It still struck her as odd when she saw Sean in an adult conversation. Did Buddy see Sean as an adult? Some twenty-year-olds were adults, but Sean just… wasn’t.
Sean bumped fists with the men and they got in the car and took off, the exhaust puffing little clouds of smoke into the cold air behind them. Carson walked out to the end of his driveway and glared at them as they went past.
“Carson isn’t happy about losing part of his collective,” Sean said.
“What did Buddy give you?”
“Bullets for the gun Dan has.”
“How do you know what size he—”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“I didn’t call you an idiot. I asked because I want to know.”
“Sorry, Mom. It said .38 Detective Special right on the barrel.”
“Let’s hope we won’t need them.”
“Well…”
He didn’t finish the thought, but didn’t need to. He’d already told her his theory about the hordes coming out from Chicago. Worrying about that would have to wait. If Dan wasn’t home with Erin by tomorrow night, then she’d lost both of them. She looked at Sean. He’d matured a lot in the last few days. But he wasn’t ready to be left alone.
64
Sean went into the Brady’s house and sat on the coffee table in front of the fire. Despite hundreds of hours of virtual gun battles, the little Detective Special Dan had brought home was the first real gun Sean had ever touched. It was too small to be featured in a video game, so Sean had never even heard of it. Buddy said it was a super common revolver and knew right away what bullets it took. Sean opened the box and pulled out one of the bullets. It was small and shiny—a brass body and the end covered in copper, jacketed, Buddy had called that—but much heavier than you would think from its size.
He put the bullet back in the box and hid the box on top of the entertainment center behind the decorative trim that surrounded it. No one under seven feet tall could see it there.
He went back to his own house to check on his mom.
She was sitting on the couch staring into the fire, her left eye twitching. Sitting was not like her. She was always doing something. Even when she watched a movie with them, she folded clothes or paid bills or did the crossword. And the twitching was a clear sign she wasn’t doing well. He went upstairs and into her bathroom. He found her pill bottle and shook it, then opened it to be sure. Empty.
He’d never seen his mom without the pills, but knew from internet research that it would get… bad. Maybe, when Dan got back, they could use the gun and rob a pharmacy. He grit his teeth as a tremble worked through him. Then he remembered Carson had said the city took possession of the grocery stores and pharmacies.
He put the pill bottle in his pocket and went to see Carson.
Carson was in his garage, sorting through the food he’d collected from other neighbors. Mr. Snick was with him.
“What is it, Fallon?”
“We need a medication from the pharmacy.”
“What medication?”
Sean bit his lip. His mom would not like him sharing her personal information. “A prescription.”
“For what?”
“Why does that matter?”
“How can I ask for it if I don’t know what it is?”
“But you would ask for it?”
Carson squinted. “If you join the co-op.” Carson gestured to the food on the tables. All together it was less food than his mom had in their pantry.
Sean pulled the bottle out of his pocket. “How many pills could we get? It’s a—”
“Sean?”
His mom. Rushing across the street.
Sean slipped the pill bottle back in his pocket.
“Yeah, Mom?”
She stopped at the end of Carson’s driveway. “I need you.”
Sean looked at Carson. The man smirked and Sean almost punched him. He joined his mom and she hooked her arm through his and pulled him toward home. “Give me the bottle.”
“You need these pills, Mom. If we join the co-op, you can have—”
“Nothing will ever trickle down to us from whatever the city has cooked up. We’re too small of a group. Especially not from the pharmacies. I’m sure they’ve all been looted by now. And even if we get a few pills, they will eventually run out. I have to do this on my own.”
“Then you need to eat better and sleep more and—”
“Pray.”
Sean nodded. It couldn’t hurt.
But what his mom really needed was for Dan and Erin to get home.
65
Dan leaned his bike against the wall under the staircase to Inez’s second floor apartment. Across the alley, the ruins of Marla’s building still smoldered, thin columns o
f smoke rising from several places in the wreckage. He pulled off the Cubs hat as he climbed the stairs and caught his reflection in the glass on the apartment door. He looked… dead. Pale and unkempt with deep lines etched into his face and dark circles under his eyes.
Marla answered the door. “No luck?”
“No.” He stepped inside as she held the door open. She led him through the kitchen, warmed by a lit burner on the gas stove—how long would gas continue to flow, he wondered—and into the living room. Inez sat in a rocking chair near the fireplace, cooing to a swaddled bundle in her arms. Julia lay on the couch. She smiled and raised a hand in greeting. “Our hero,” she said.
“We named him Eli.” Marla leaned over Inez and stroked her baby’s cheek with the back of one finger. “Isn’t he perfect?”
“He certainly is.” The boy did look perfect, but all Dan could think about was the potential pain he represented. How could these women care for the boy in this new world? What kind of future would he have? What would his generation be called? The EMP generation?
He shook it off and pulled on a smile, or tried to.
“Let’s go back into the kitchen,” Marla said. “We have some stew.”
She sat him at the table and ladled out a bowl of stew from a big pot on the back burner. As she put it in front of him the meaty odor finally registered. He’d just been too tired to notice it as he came in. What else had he failed to notice in his exhaustion? Had he missed something that might have led him to Erin? He worried about that as he ate the stew. Marla sat across the little table, watching him. When he finished, she said: “You want my help with something, don’t you?’
He told her where he’d searched and who he’d talked to and about filing the police report. “If you could check with Officer Garcia every week or so I’d appreciate that.”
“Of course. And if she’s found we’ll take her in here with us until you come up.”
“Thank you.”
“But there’s something else.”