Authors: Elliott Kay
Kevin
reached over Attila to turn the radio off, interrupting the man’s statement.
His now-clean kitchen was filled with blissful silence. “That was a mistake,”
he said to his cat. Attila let out a meow that may have been an agreement, or
perhaps instead just a reminder that there were salmon treats in the cabinet
above him.
His
mood remained dimmed by the radio show. Public radio usually had better call
screening than that. He was surprised the host didn’t jump in after the blood
money crack. Ultimately, what he really wished for was a chance to defend
himself in public, but he already knew from experience that it wouldn’t likely
happen. He also knew what would happen if he publicly objected to being lumped
in with those other officers.
“Starting
to wonder if this job was a mistake, too, buddy,” he confessed.
* * *
“He
killed Al and Don, man,” growled Dick, leaning in with his fists on the table.
“Fucking shot both of them in the face. In the
face
, man.”
John
looked back at Dick with a scowl. It was hard to eat his McNuggets and his
fries with someone in his face like this. “I know, Dick,” he said. “Everybody
knows, alright? Whole world knows. All over the news. What the hell do you want
to do about it?”
“Let’s
fuckin’ smoke him, man!” Dick banged his fist on the small motel table, rising
up to pace around the room. He ran his hands over his balding head. Like the
others, Dick was a big man, with tattoos decorating any of his skin not already
covered by his jeans and Harley t-shirt. “I mean this is bullshit! Someone
murders two of our brothers and what do we do? Scurry out of town and hide out
in this cheap dive like a bunch’a pussies?”
“We
are not killin’ a cop, Dick,” John replied firmly. He was thinner than Dick,
and younger, too, with piercings and tattoos to spare. “We’ve got enough heat
on us as it is, or Al and Don wouldn’t be dead in the first place. We go smoke
a cop and they’re never gonna let up on us across the whole fuckin’ state. We
wouldn’t even be safe in fucking Portland or Vancouver, either. Have to clear
out of this whole fuckin’ part of the country!”
“We
were planning on doing that anyway,” said Carl, who sat on the bed with his
laptop. “That was the deal, right? Handful of jobs, then we sell off all the
junk, buy some new bikes and head off to SoCal? I remember that being the
plan.”
John
let out a long sigh. “Well then why aren’t we sticking to that?”
“Because
Al and Don had most of the cash from the last job, remember? That’s why they
were downtown in the first fuckin’ place. And so now we’ve gotta do more jobs
just to come out to where we were before, and we weren’t even quite done yet.”
“Man,
all those goals we had were set between us,” countered John. “We made all that
shit up. It’s up to us to change it.”
“Why
would we change it when we know we’ll need that money? Anyway, we know we’ll
have to do more jobs. Only this time we’ll be doing it with people knowin’
we’re down two of our guys. We run the risk of people trying to stand up to us.
Play hero. Fuck everything up and make an even bigger mess.”
Carl
turned his full attention on John. “I’m not letting two of our brothers die
without any kind of payback. Are you saying we should? What if it was me or
Dick got killed? Would you leave that alone, too?”
John
chewed on it. In truth, he would, but he couldn’t afford to actually tell them
that. “No,” he lied. “It’s not that, it’s just—don’t we run an even bigger risk
of getting caught?”
“Not
if we change up our M.O.,” Carl said. “We change up our way of doing things.
Operate in different hours. Make sure the clues point in confusing directions.
They’ll know it was us, but they won’t be able to prove it.”
“Fine,”
John sighed again. “But how do we even find him? I mean all we know is his name
after all the news stories, but that don’t help a whole lot. Ain’t like a cop’s
gonna be stupid enough to have his name in a public directory.”
“A
cop wouldn’t,” Carl agreed, “but someone who isn’t a cop yet might. The
internet’s an archive, my friend,” he smiled. “And they teach you all kinds of
good job skills in prison these days.”
* * *
Friday
morning was much the same as Thursday. Kevin cooked breakfast. Ate. Exercised
as best he could given his circumstances. Showered, shaved, cleaned up the
kitchen and plopped down on the couch for some quality time with his
Playstation and his cat.
Attila
sat beside him, cleaning his fur and occasionally looking up at Kevin as if
waiting for something Kevin was supposed to say.
“I
don’t know what to do now, buddy,” Kevin told him, weaving his car through this
obstacle and that on the big screen. “They might kick me out. Maybe I should go
on my own. But after all the trouble I went through to get this job, I can’t
see quitting. Y’know?”
Attila
went back to his work.
Kevin
played through another couple of levels, marginally entertained but mostly
bored. He had to admit that a day and a half after the shooting, he felt a
little less shaken by it. Time made a difference. Then again, maybe Molly’s
prank created a productive mental distraction. None of it really did anything
about any of his problems, but time helped put things into perspective.
What
he really wanted now was a chance to go out and do something about the rest of
his troubles. There was bound to be some manner of further fallout for the
shooting, regardless of how justified it might be. Too many people looked only
at numbers and not context, at least when it suited their agenda. He couldn’t
blame them for that agenda—hell, he agreed with a lot of it. That didn’t mean
he wanted to be an unintended victim of it all.
Kevin
completed another level. The screen went dark as the Playstation reloaded new
data for the next one. Seconds passed with no change. Kevin wondered if the
system had frozen.
He
heard the metallic flump and clank of his mailbox outside through his open
front window. It offered a new distraction. He hadn’t even checked the mail
yesterday. Amazon owed him packages. There might be a magazine or two out
there. Bills, too, probably, and junk mail, but it was contact with the outside
world. He looked at the clock. Today was supposed to be the last day of school,
but it was still in session at this hour and most people would still be at
work… he wondered how risky it might be?
At
the very least, he’d be able to tell Molly truthfully that her nudity-based
incarceration project hadn’t completely held him for the full two days.
Kevin
hustled upstairs to the study and looked out its window. Cars rolled up and
down the major street of Aurora Avenue a couple blocks away, but nothing moved
on his quiet side street. No pedestrians. No bicyclists. Nothing except the
postal van, already crawling up and away from his place. Were it not for his
unclothed predicament, he’d never be able to stay in on such a nice, warm,
sunny day.
He
came back down the stairs without wasting his chance. His mailbox stood with
several others on the sidewalk only a few yards from his door. Parked cars all
along the street offered plenty of cover even if someone did drive by—and what
were the odds that it’d be anyone who knew him and would call in a complaint?
He peered through the small window of his door again. Fuck it.
He
unlocked the door, opened it, and slipped outside. Someone small and furry
slipped out, too, right between his ankles. “Attila, no!” Kevin called, but it
was too late; his grey and white housemate was out and gone, already trotting
down the steps and out to the sidewalk as if he was as entitled to an early
afternoon stroll as anyone else. He looked back to Kevin and meowed once as if
to ask what the big deal was about walking around naked, considering he did it
all the time, and then turned and walked off to his right.
“Shit.
Not again. Not now.” He threw the deadbolt on his open door to make sure
there’d be no chance of it accidentally locking on him and then darted out
after his cat. Kevin didn’t trust the neighborhood enough to let Attila out.
The cat blithely strolled up the sidewalk while Kevin ducked behind one car
after another in pursuit.
“Buddy,
c’mere! Attila! Dammit, cat!” he hissed. He went for a grab. Missed. Went for
another, and missed, and this time Attila darted under a car outside of Kevin’s
reach. “Attila, don’t do this to me,” he said.
Attila
meowed. A pickup truck rolled by, moving toward Aurora. Kevin stayed low.
It
stopped right in front of his house. Kevin glanced over his shoulder at the
jacked-up blue vehicle, thinking little of it until a man in a denim jacket,
jeans and a ski mask stood up from the back with an AK-47. The driver leaned
out of his window with a pistol, too, and even the passenger side door opened
with a third masked man, also armed with an AK. All three leveled their weapons
at Kevin’s townhouse.
The
roar of gunfire that followed drowned out every other sound. The shooters
emptied their weapons in a matter of seconds. Glass shattered and wood
splintered all over the building’s façade. More than a few rounds struck the
homes on either side of his. Kevin didn’t believe his neighbors were home, but
couldn’t be sure. His heart went into overdrive.
A
moment later, the guy in the passenger’s side slipped back into the truck. The
shooter in the cargo bed crouched back down again. Kevin made his decision
before the pick-up got rolling again. Like Molly said, he hadn’t signed up on
the force to let bad guys go.
He
ran forward, having somewhat more of a plan than he had clothing, but that
didn’t mean much. He hoped dearly that Attila would have the sense to find his
way home again. Molly would take good care of him if Kevin didn’t make it out
of this alive, which seemed entirely likely.
Potholes
in the road prevented the driver from flooring the accelerator in their escape.
Kevin managed to catch hold of the tailgate with his left hand and put his
right foot up onto the bumper before the pick-up left his block.
The
shooter in the cargo bed spotted him immediately. His eyes nearly bugged out of
his head as he leveled his AK at Kevin and pulled the trigger, but he’d already
spent all his ammunition shooting up the townhouse. The gun denied his wishes
with a loud “click.”
Kevin
nearly slipped off the bumper. His left foot dragged on the pavement for only a
split second, but that was enough to cut into his skin and leave him bleeding.
Kevin threw his hurt foot over the tailgate and then launched himself the rest
of the way in, coming down on the shooter with a resounding right cross to the
face. The man fell back against the passenger window.
Suddenly
panicked at things not going according to plan, the driver slammed down on the
accelerator and turned out onto Aurora Avenue.
Satisfied
that the unreasonably loud noises had passed, Attila emerged from his hiding
spot to look around. The street no longer held any appeal for him. He padded
back up to the townhouse, finding the door wide open and debris everywhere.
Attila trotted inside, sniffed around, and moved off to the kitchen, picking
his way through fallen wood and glass.
On
the floor of the kitchen, amid shattered bowls and plates, was the bag of
salmon treats that Kevin normally kept in an overhead cabinet out of the cat’s
reach. Attila recognized the scent immediately and tore into the bag.
Later,
Attila found the drapes over the sliding glass door to the back porch had
fallen after the curtain rod had been struck by a bullet. With the glass no
longer obstructed, Attila found a nice, warm patch of sunlight on the living
room carpet he could lounge in. He padded around, sniffing the air again. The
open front door and all the shattered windows made for a pleasant cross-breeze.
Attila curled up for a nap.
All
in all, Attila had a pretty nice afternoon.
* * *
“This
whole street used to be hookers and dealers all up one side and down the
other,” Sergeant Claudia Esposito explained to the rookie beside her. “All the
way from Shoreline down to the north side of the bridge into Queen Anne. The
Woodland Park zone gave you a break from it, but as soon as you were out of
that area, bam. More mess, more skeezy people. This area has come a long way.”
Officer
Angela Weir gave a nod, listening to her attentively. She was a little
intimidated by the sergeant. Claudia was confident, tough and businesslike. The
two had met before, with Claudia serving as one of Angela’s unarmed combat
instructors at the academy. The sergeant was also pretty, with the sort of
smooth golden skin that women would kill for, and her boyish haircut didn’t
make her look masculine.
“Yeah,
I remember from when I was in college,” Angela said. “Growing up in Kent, I
didn’t come out here a lot, but the couple times I did and wound up on this
road, I thought it looked pretty sketchy.”
“It’s
a good word for it. Still not the greatest in the city, but—” Claudia suddenly
held up her hand and slowed the car. The sustained roll of popping noises came
straight through the patrol car’s open windows. Then it stopped.