Collateral Damage

by Steve Beaulieu

  Also, Alex and Wes are both swamped with patients during the day, so I have no distractions while I work on my software. I have a good chunk of it done, but I still work on it for most of the day. Plugging away at the old computer, writing nonsense that’ll come up perfectly once it’s done. Hopefully. It’s tedious, but the end product will be very helpful. Better to get it up and running with small fries like Tear Drop and Gray Hoodie than to waste precious time when I face bigger criminals.

  Once it’s done, I use the freeze frame with Gray Hoodie in it that I got from the security camera outside the warehouse. The program takes a while to run through but a police report eventually pops up and gives me a name: Marcus Caulkins.

  Looks like he was arrested back in August for vandalizing a building on Canal Street. He served thirty hours of community service for it. Probably spent most of those hours cleaning up after himself.

  I dig further into Calukins’ record. He’s only twenty and has no permanent address. He looks terrified in his mugshot, almost like he’s on the verge of tears. Unlike his Tear Drop buddy, Caulkins seems like he hasn’t been hardened by the street life yet. Still, I’m a little disappointed to discover that he was also arrested last year for disorderly conduct and possession of a controlled substance. He’s still on probation for it.

  The arrest report from his first incident last year says he and someone named Darryl Hutchins teamed up against a junkie who owed them money. There’s no mention of murder anywhere, so I’m guessing they stopped short of killing him, which is usually the case in this city. Not to say that the junkie isn’t probably dead now from an overdose.

  Searching Darryl’s name in the police database, I’m not surprised when Tear Drop’s face stares back at me with a smug look. Only one teardrop tattoo is present in this picture. Apparently, he killed someone else since this arrest. I wonder if he returned to finish off that junkie after he and Caulkins were arrested.

  Not surprisingly, Hutchins’ list of offenses is a lot longer than Caulkins’. Besides disorderly conduct, there’s assault, possession of a controlled substance, vandalism, larceny, even grand theft auto. Judging from these files and what I saw last night, Hutchins is the ringleader and Caulkins and the other guys are just street dealers.

  Still, something stands out to me about Marcus Caulkins. He ran from me, sure, but I was able to catch up to him. What’s even stranger is, I followed him right back to the warehouse where the other guys in the gang were. It’s almost like he wanted me to follow him there. Was he just luring me into a trap or was he hoping that I’d call the police to put an end to their operation?

  I wonder if he’s even still alive. With the temper Hutchins’s criminal record shows he has, Caulkins might end up his third teardrop.

  • • •

  It’s snowing tonight when I go out as Fuse again. I’ve already been to the warehouse I almost got shot in last night and there’s no one there. But then, it’s after eleven. These are operating hours for them.

  Since I wanted to get Caulkins alone—he appears to be the weakest link among them; the one I can break for more information and maybe even set him straight—I needed to return to the only place I found him by himself: the corner of Sage Street and May Place.

  He’s been here since I climbed to the top of the opposite building half an hour ago. Right now he’s with one of the big guys who tackled me last night. I wonder if they paired up because of me. I need to think of a Plan B if they don’t ever separate. Hopefully, they do.

  I crouch down and watch them as I wait for Big Man to leave. Snow collects around me as an hour passes by. Luckily, my suit is insulated so I don’t freeze to death, but it’s still cold.

  Finally, a beat-up sedan pulls to the side of the street below. After a few minutes of talking, Big Man gets in and they drive away, leaving Caulkins by himself. He has his hoodie pulled up and his hands are balled into fists in his pockets. It’s too cold for just a sweatshirt, but I’m willing to bet that’s all he has.

  I consider how I’m going to get him alone. If I approach him on the street, he’ll probably run off again. Especially if I’m wrong about him wanting help. There’s also a chance someone will see us and either take a cheap shot at us or call the police. My paranoia worries that there’s a reporter lurking and there will be an article in tomorrow morning’s edition of the Olympia Tribune claiming Fuse is a drug addict. That’s certainly not true and not going to help build the community’s trust in me.

  Judging by how much he’s shivering, I bet he’d find any excuse to get inside. Lucky for me, I’m standing at the top of an abandoned building.

  Moving to the back of the roof, I try the door leading down to the building. It’s jammed. I kick it once, twice before it finally gives way.

  The sound is louder than I thought it’d be and I race to the edge of the roof again and peer over. Definitely caught Caulkins’s attention, but he appears to be staying put. His quick looks up and down the street tells me he’s spooked. Then again, I would be too.

  Back through the rooftop door, I take it slow down the rickety wooden stairs. A few of the steps are missing and some of them are so rotten they probably wouldn’t hold my body weight.

  The staircase leads to an apartment on the third floor that obviously hasn’t been lived in since at least the ’50s. Faded mirrors, peeling wallpaper, and chipped paint are all that’s left in what looks like used to be a beautiful place. The second-floor apartment is basically the same, though there’s more furniture left behind.

  The ground-floor storefront is the worst, though. Broken windows that have since been boarded up have let in trails of leaves and other debris. The whole room smells damp and I swear I hear a rustle from somewhere else in the room. Must be a critter in here somewhere.

  Through the dirty storefront window, I see Caulkins standing across the street. He continues to look up and down the snowy street nervously.

  I look around in the darkness for something to get his attention without showing him who I am. If he knew he was coming to see Fuse, he’d probably run the opposite way. Then again, I could be wrong.

  I find a pack of lightbulbs in one of the cupboards. They look to be one of the newest things here. Probably from back in the early ’70s when urban renewal changed this neighborhood for the worse. Clearly, though, the upstairs apartments weren’t part of the remodel back then.

  Grasping the end of the bulb in my hand, I let the electricity flow through me and, to my surprise, the bulb illuminates. As the light shines through the window, I see Caulkins take notice. With the black suit, he must not see me, which is perfect. He takes a step forward and squints.

  “Come on,” I mutter under my breath. “Cross the street and get in here.”

  Finally, with another look in both directions down the street, he comes to my side of the street. I look down to check my footing in case I need to make a quick run for it and when I look up again he’s gone.

  Dammit. He must’ve seen me and run off. Or run to get Hutchins so he and his men can kill me.

  Setting the lightbulb down on the dusty counter, the light from the room dissipates the moment the bulb leaves my hands.

  “How’d you do that?”

  I whip around to follow the voice to the back door. Caulkins is standing there with his fists still balled up inside his pockets. The cold breeze drifts in from the open door behind him.

  “I was electrocuted,” I say to hide my surprise.

  He nods as he takes me in. “What you doin’ here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  My eyes can’t quite make out everything in the darkness, but I swear he squints at me.

  “Your friends don’t seem like they’re good people,” I continue.

  “You don’ know them.”

  “The ringleader is Darryl Hutchins. He’s been arrested for assault, drugs, theft. You’re Marcus Caulkins. Twenty years old, no permanent address, still on probation for those drug charges last year.”

&nb
sp; “So, what? You look up my files and think you know me?”

  Surprisingly, he doesn’t move. But then, it’s warmer in here than it is outside. He just wants to get out of the cold.

  “Why’d you lead me to your friends last night?”

  He shuffles his feet. “I don’t know. Nowhere else to go.”

  “I went there earlier tonight and the place is empty.”

  “As far as you know.”

  “So they’re hiding there somewhere?”

  “What do you want?” he asks.

  “I want you to take me to your buddy Darryl.”

  “Yeah, what for?”

  Kick his ass until he agrees to come willingly? Call the cops and occupy him long enough for the cops to come? Convince him to turn himself in? Yeah, right. Caulkins is my best shot for that. Better to just keep talking to him.

  “Just to have a discussion,” I reply.

  “’Bout what?”

  I step toward him. “You guys are heading down a bad road. Trust me. I can help. It’ll be tough, especially at first, but you guys don’t have to continue in this cycle.”

  He stares at me for a minute before looking down. “He don’ care ’bout that.”

  “Well, I could try to convince him, then.” I hold up my palms. “I just want to talk to him.”

  Nodding slowly, Caulkins agrees. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll take you there.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Back out into the cold, he mutters, “Follow me,” before breaking into a run along the same streets he led me down last night.

  As we turn down Crimson Avenue, Caulkins stops dead as soon as he sees blue flashing lights. A lot of them. All around the warehouse. There has to be three or four police cars here. Without a word, Caulkins turns and sprints in the opposite direction, faster than he moved before.

  I chase after him, zipping around Harold Place to cut him off, and smash into him as he races by, both of us falling to the snow-covered sidewalk. I get to my feet and pull him up by the front of his hoodie, slamming him against the bricks.

  “Get it together!” I shout.

  “Where the hell am I gon’ go?” he shouts back. “That’s where I sleep, man!”

  “I’ll take care of that, just relax.” I loosen my hold on him but don’t let go. If I’m going to get to the root of their operation—Darryl Hutchins—I’ll need Caulkins’ intel. Which means I can’t let him get stopped by the police. Especially since he’s on probation.

  “I need you to work with me.”

  He’s still breathing heavily, but he’s no longer trying to escape so I let go of him.

  “Let’s go back to that empty building.”

  He nods. “Okay, but if I see any cops—”

  I put my hand back on his chest and push him against the wall. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  Looking down at my hand before meeting my eyes, he mutters, “Okay.”

  We go up to the second-floor apartment once we get back to the building. It’s a little warmer up here. If nothing else, it gets us off the concrete. Judging from Caulkins’ old sneakers, there isn’t much between the floor and his bare feet.

  “Now what?” he asks once we make sure the place is still empty. “You just keepin’ me ‘til you can turn me in so you can play hero?”

  “No,” I say sternly. “I’m trying to help you. You don’t need to live this life.” He’s scared and I need to stay conscious of that, but he isn’t giving me time to think. Problem is, I’m not really sure what to do yet.

  “You don’ know how bad it is, man.” He takes a seat on the edge of a dusty couch. Something I’d probably never sit on, but it doesn’t seem to faze him.

  “Sure I do. You’re homeless. You come from the worst part of the city and you’ve been on the streets your whole life. You’ve had a few charges in your past, but nothing too bad. Dealing, though? That’ll do you in.”

  He shakes his head. “Man, you keep talkin’ like you know me.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you want, then?”

  “I don’ know, man! You the one who came lookin’ for me.”

  “Because you’re in a bad place right now and you’re letting that define you,” I say, my voice rising. “Everyone has problems, but we deal with it and move on. Wallowing in it like a pathetic baby isn’t going to make things better. So if you don’t want my help, I’ll go find someone else. But look around, because disgusting places like this is all you’ll ever call home if you keep this up. If you keep following people like Darryl Hutchins around.”

  “Better listen to him,” a voice says behind me.

  I spin around and see it’s none other than Darryl Hutchins.

  “Or else you do summin’ stupid like callin’ the cops on ya boys.” Hutchins steps in further and brandishes his pistol.

  “He didn’t do a damn thing,” I say, forcing Hutchins to look at me. “I’m the one who called the cops last night. Probably why they’re there now. Found something worth investigating.”

  Hutchins turns and surveys me, pointing at me with his gun. “And who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Fuse. I’m about to change your life.” Jerking my hand up, I send a streak of lightning at his gun, which fires into the ceiling as it flies out of his hand and clatters to the floor in the corner.

  Clutching his hand, which is likely twitching from the zap, Hutchins cusses at me as he charges me. He swings his left fist at me but smashes the mirror behind me instead. I send a small jolt into his side, which makes him jump. I smile at my swiftness and chance a look back at Caulkins, but Hutchins tackles me to the floor.

  We roll around, each of us pinning the other at one point or another. Eventually, Hutchins pins down my shoulders with his knees, sitting on my hands to keep them at bay.

  “Let’s see who you are, Trick-or-Treat.” He reaches for my mask, but something swiftly collides with his face, knocking him off me.

  I scramble out from under him and see Caulkins drop what appears to be a broken chair leg to the torn carpet covering the floor. He gives me a nod and I want to tell him to get out of here, but how would I track him down again? I still don’t feel like I’ve gotten through to him yet so I doubt that he’d go to the police himself.

  I’m pulled back to reality when Hutchins yanks at Caulkins’s leg from the floor. As soon as Caulkins falls, Hutchins is on top, his legs holding back Caulkins’s arms as he wraps his hands tightly around Caulkins’s throat. His face begins to take on a bluish tint to it when I move into action.

  I kick at Hutchins, one, two, three times before he releases one hand to swat me away. At least that’ll give Caulkins some sort of a break. As soon as I back off, though, Hutchins replaces his hand on Caulkins’s throat.

  Letting electricity zap between my fingers like I did last night, I hold it close to his face and mutter, “Let him go or I’ll fry that tiny little brain of yours.”

  Grumbling, Hutchins releases Caulkins, who immediately gasps for breath, and gets to his feet with his hands held up in the air.

  Looking down at Caulkins, I ask, “You okay?”

  Suddenly, I’m on the floor again, swatting away Hutchins’s attempts to punch me. Pressing my palm to his chest, I zap him once quickly with electricity that sends his body convulsing on the floor.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I mutter as I get to my feet. Offering my hand to Caulkins, I ask, “You okay? Do you need to go to the hospital or anything?”

  He coughs once and takes in a ragged breath. “I’m fine.”

  I nod. “Good, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  • • •

  We’re in the hotel room I got for Caulkins—hell, I could probably call him Marcus now. With my recent unemployment, it’s definitely a hit to drop a hundred dollars on a hotel room I’m not even going to stay in, but I couldn’t let Marcus fend for himself tonight. Not with Hutchins pissed at him. Plus, this way Marcus can see that I genuinely want him to get on a better path in lif
e.

  He, of course, had to check in himself. The hotel staff probably wouldn’t give me a room key in my Fuse suit and there was no way I was taking off my mask in front of anyone.

  Since the hotel is down in the Lakeside Village—close enough to walk to, far enough that Hutchins probably won’t look for us here—they’re more situated to the lake the city sits on. Now that it’s November, and snowing nonetheless, the vacancy in the hotel was high, so nobody noticed when Marcus led me up to the room.

  “You gon’ watch me all night or summin’?” he asks after examining the bruises on his neck in the mirror.

  “Yeah, but I’ll wait outside. Give you your privacy.”

  He huffs and plops on the end of the bed.

  “So what are you going to do?” I ask.

  “Whatchu talkin’ ’bout?” His bravado greater now that he almost just got his ass kicked.

  “I’m talking about Darryl Hutchins.”

  He clucks his tongue once and shakes his head.

  After a minute of silence, I ask, “That’s it? Can’t even give me a ‘thank you’ or anything?”

  Still nothing.

  “Fine. Enjoy your time in prison.” I turn toward the door but his voice stops me.

  “I met Darryl at the homeless shelter in Hopman a few years ago. Waiting in line for the crap they try to pass off as food. I seen him around before. Lived on the same street for a while before Ma died. Hung out that night. Caught up, ya know?”

  I nod, not wanting to interrupt him.

  “Didn’ see him the next day. ’Bout a year later, I run into him. Says things are turnin’ ’round for him. Says he met someone in the mob who want him to start workin’ Ashland.”

  Immediately, my mind goes to Michael Bello, a land developer who is tight with the Martelli crime family. Well, was until I came along.

  “Darryl needed more guys. Asked if I could help. Gave me a preview of what he was makin’, said this mob guy even had a place for us to stay. I didn’ have a job or nothin’, so I said I’d do it. Had a few run-ins with the cops, but I made it by.”