Authors: Jason Austin
“
Okay,”
Percy said and reached for his door's lock. “Just remember
there are cameras in this car,
Mr.
Jameson
, so no
whacking-off while I'm gone.”
Bowen
bore down on the steering wheel, ready to rip it from the column. If
Percy didn’t get out now, Bowen's gun was going to be shy,
at
least
, one bullet.
****
Gabriel remained standing in the
stall, approaching a cold sweat. The toilet's flimsy seat covers were
for shit and no public toilet would ever touch his Armani. He worked
the computer's display like a brain surgeon on an exposed skull. The
orders to the cybernetic uplink had to be precise. No real precedent
had been set for the technology in its newness and it had barely
completed first-round testing—all making for a wafer-thin
margin of error. Should anything go wrong, the program's ability to
compensate would be highly limited. Gabriel heard the men's room door
push open and the subsequent activities of a patron from outside. If
he wanted to monitor things visually, Gabriel would have to leave the
stall, but he wasn't going anywhere until he was done programming the
unit away from roaming eyes. Surely, no one would be able to divine
his pursuit just by watching him, but as far as Gabriel was
concerned, once he started doing what he was doing, every one of
these aimless, nose-picking drones became a loose end.
****
At the counter of the Blue Fish
cafe, Lou Percy took his order and flashed his crooked teeth at the
pestered young redhead trying to do her job. Percy was a mess,
visually groping the tender mammaries that edged out of her outfit
with the tiny blue fish embroidered on the sleeve. She felt the creep
of his beady-eyed leer against her flesh. He was short, ugly and
stupid-looking, she thought. And even the inherent sex appeal of a
uniform couldn't save him.
“
Sure
you don’t want to give up that phone number?” he asked
her again.
“
You
know, I’d really like to,” the girl said sneeringly, “but
my dad is like this really big-time drug dealer and I don’t
think he’d like you very much.”
Percy
sank like a torpedoed submarine and walked away. Why did the fine
ones always have to get so snooty? Damn, he was asking for a date,
not a kidney. He shook it off, took his food and headed back to the
squad car. By the time he got back she'd be the slutty young cashier
who’d just offered to take him home and give him a night to
remember.
Xavier
had ridden the bus to its final stop in an unfamiliar part of town
and jumped off nearly a mile back. It helped to see things he didn’t
recognize—people and places that held no meaning, but might
spark enough curiosity to divert his attention from his own disgrace.
But was that a good thing? he wondered. Shouldn’t he stay
focused on the very reasons his life was in the toilet? “
Aw,
dammit
,” he mumbled. What if he’d lost the courage
to pull the trigger completely? Just the thought of spending another
year, another month, another
second
like this...He reached under his cap for a fist full of hair. Maybe
he was just rejecting the idea of doing it with a gun. Bullets often
had a mind of their own once they left the chamber. If he wasn't
careful, he could end up a 170-pound rutabaga.
“
Oh,
Jeez!” he growled.
His
feet hurt as if he’d been on them for days, but he had to keep
walking. He got maybe another two blocks, before he felt a tickle
under his nose. He lifted his chin and took a heavy drag of air. It
was sweet...
very very
sweet, almost like...
Doughnuts
.
****
Bowen outstretched his muscular
arms and reached around to massage a shoulder when he glanced past a
line of parked cars on his right side. A dirty-looking fellow in a
blue flight jacket and wearing a baseball hat low on his forehead was
lumbering around the doughnut place across the street. Bowen’s
conditioned mind immediately pulled up the stats. About six feet
tall, black or dark brown hair—what he could see of it—
khaki pants, and worn boots. A perfect match of the description given
by Glenda Jameson. Bowen got out of the car and stood, looking down
the street.
****
If there was such a thing as a
man’s man, then Madeline Hawkins was a woman’s woman...or
man’s woman, or however it would translate. If a basin of hot
water was steaming by the sofa when she slipped through the door at
3:00 a.m., it meant Xavier had, again, defied his grandfather and was
in the kitchen trying to dump ten pounds of chocolate powder into a
single gallon of milk. Momma would ease her aching feet into the
basin while she and little Xavier shared a warm, mountainous apple
fritter coated in rivers of sugary glaze. The club where she waited
tables was next to an Amy Joy doughnut shop and she had hooked Xavier
on those glorious pastries from day one. It was that exact memory—the
memory of charming his mother senseless—that Xavier indulged in
as he walked into the doughnut shop, unable to resist the magnetic
aroma. He sucked in even deeper and his mouth began to water.
“
Can
I help you, sir?” someone asked. An acne-clad teenager had
slap-footed behind the counter and was giving Xavier the most awful
of stink-eyes.
A
handsome row of double-glazed apple fritters were lined neatly in the
display case beneath Xavier’s gaze. He carved out a smile as he
pined to take a bite. “Yeah. I’ll have one of those,”
he said, pointing at the fritters.
The
boy took a sheet of wax paper, and grabbed-and-bagged the biggest
fritter in the stack. He shoved it in front of Xavier and quickly
recoiled. “That’s $2.25,” he said.
Xavier
choked. He forgot he wasn’t carrying any money. He ruffled his
hollow pockets, avoiding eye contact with the boy. He then paused
long as he caught his own dreadfully humbled reflection in the
plate-glass.
Just grab
and run,
he
thought. That's all he need do. He looked over his shoulder at the
only other patrons, seated at a corner booth: three coffee-swilling
yo-yo’s in off-the-rack blazers submersed in their
conversation.
No
good Samaritans there
.
Just grab and run.
Xavier's
soles squeaked as he ground his foot against the tiled floor.
One
..
.
two
...His
right leg gave a twitch, and three wrinkled dollar bills floated
noiselessly onto the counter.
“
There
you go,” Bowen said.
Xavier
exhaled so heavily, the bills flew apart. He turned around to see a
bright silver badge fixed to a young punk, at least half a nose
taller than him. The cop was standing there preen and smiley faced,
no doubt, just waiting to deal out a little “justice”.
Xavier shrugged.
Suicide by
cop maybe?
he thought. At least he wouldn’t have to
pull the trigger himself.
Who
says they're never around when you need them?
“
Don’t
I know you?” Bowen asked.
“
No,”
Xavier replied, instantly having second thoughts. He regarded again
the three shlubs in the booth, this time as potential witnesses. The
teenager looked downright offended as he handed the officer his
change; as if it were preferable to let the bum-scum starve. Having
finally had enough of the “fuck you” atmosphere, Xavier
swerved around the uniform, and walked expeditiously outside.
Bowen
pursued his person-of-interest from a safe distance. He didn't want
the guy bolting, but if this
was
the man they were looking for, he would need to be detained. “Hey,
wait a minute!” he shouted.
Xavier
came to a dead stop. Fuck it. Let the badge have his fun. He was too
tired to run and the little punk would have to bruise up his own
knuckles pretty good to get Xavier to feel any worse. “
I
didn’t do anything!” Xavier announced and
turned around with chin to chest. He took his hands from his pockets
and dropped them at his sides.
Bowen
approached him, grinning like a used car salesman. “You forgot
this,” he replied, dangling the doughnut bag in front of him.
Xavier
hesitated, thinking any hand he extended would be shackled. He took
the bag as if it was filled with radioactive waste.
“
I
didn’t mean to make you nervous,” Bowen said. “I
just thought you looked familiar, that’s all.”
“
Let
me guess,” Xavier droned. “I just 'fit the description',
right? Or maybe you were hoping I was the bully who picked on you in
the fifth grade.”
Bowen
smiled. He liked this guy already. Most homeless would be way too
panicked at the sight of a cop to make jokes. Hell, nine times out of
ten, they freaked, no matter how unimposing he played it. Normal
reaction or not, for a kid who was voted a close second as most
popular in high school, it was something Bowen had, yet, to get used
to.
Xavier
only half-looked at the officer, waiting for the proverbial next shoe
to drop...or kick him in the ass, depending on whether the kid's
momma raised him right.
“
I’m
not here to roust you, man,” Bowen said showing his palms. “In
fact, I thought I might have to say thank you.”
Xavier
cautiously looked up, cocking his hat above the hairline.
“
You
see, we had an incident happen yesterday in an alley downtown. A
woman was attacked by some psycho with a knife. She thought she was
done for until some guy just came out of nowhere and saved her life,
went toe-to-toe with the guy who jumped her. Unfortunately, he—the
guy who saved her—disappeared before we could talk to him. As
it so happens, you
do
kind of
fit
the
description
...of
the guy who intervened, that is.”
Xavier
averted his eyes. This is where he would be offered an opportunity to
fess up. He didn’t bite.
“
You
sort of look like you’ve been in a scuffle,” Bowen said.
He pointed awkwardly at the lumpy purple giveaways on Xavier's face.
“You okay?”
“I'm
fine.”
Bowen
nodded.
He jutted the same finger
at the Army shoulder-patch on Xavier’s jacket.
“
You
serve?”
“Yeah,
but I’m sure I’m not
the only one who wears one.”
“
Oh,
no, I know. Military surplus stores always carry them. Guy I
mentioned before was wearing one just like it, though.”
“
Uh,
huh.” Xavier surveyed the nothingness around them, trying to
appear as if he had better things to do.
“
So
what’s the deal?” Bowen asked. “Am I in the
presence of a real American hero, here?”
Xavier
took a good look at the young man. A rookie. Had to be. He had the
smile of a kid who hadn't yet seen his first dismembered body or a
crazed father of three gun down his entire family before blowing his
own head off. Nor, had he just
rushed
Xavier like an angry preacher about to set fire to a whorehouse. Any
other cop, by now, would’ve demanded everything from Xavier's
shoe size to his mother’s maiden name. And all just to make him
think
he was a
suspect and therefore better off cooperating. By the same token, cops
were also trained in weaving a false sense of security for potential
suspects. While he did pick up on the use of the word “hero”
to play to Xavier's long dead ego, Xavier was also forced to
acknowledge an air of
sincerity
coming from Bowen—something Xavier wanted desperately and to
summarily
ignore in regard
to his own best interests.
“
I
suppose since you bought me lunch, you think I owe you something,”
Xavier said.
“
Not
at all,” Bowen replied. “I would like to talk to you for
few minutes, though. You can consider that repayment if you like.”
****
Lou Percy approached the squad
car with his mouth in high gear. When he saw it empty, it kicked him
into duty mode and he radioed Bowen justly. “Ham, come in. This
is Percy.”
Bowen
tapped at his chest-plate and answered Percy’s call. He knew it
might have been a mistake to leave the unit, but he was only a few
strides away and he thought it best not to roll up to Xavier in a
jail cell on wheels. “Yeah, Percy, go ahead.”
“
Where
the hell are you? Is everything okay?”
“
Sorry,
Lou. I should have radioed. I’m just around the corner. I ran
into somebody I thought might be able to help us out.”
“
You’re
not a detective yet, kid. I...” Percy had more admonishments,
but stopped in mid-thought. He scanned the area of the motel like a
storm cloud had just dropped over it. “Come on back here, Ham.
I’m going to run upstairs and check on things.”
“
On
my way.”
****
Satellite signals crossed miles
of ether in milliseconds. Gabriel checked, double-checked, and then
triple-checked the orders to the cybernetic uplink. If this went off
without a head exploding—the unit’s or Gabriel’s—it
would be nothing short of miraculous. When all was displayed on the
screen correctly, Gabriel punched in the final order to the unit and
the center of the screen ignited with a single word in bold red
letters: “INITIATE”.