Being the graveyard sergeant has its perks. Work all night and avoid the brass, the press, and most citizens who only venture forth during the day. Only people out at this time of night are crooks and cops. And homeless people. And drug addled zombie-people pushing shopping carts full of belongings down the middle of the road. You really have no idea what you are missing by sleeping the night away.
I roll to a stop at an intersection. I put my car in park behind the down rail arms that signal a train is coming. I watch a train slowly moving past me into the rail yard. I look down the track and can’t even see the end of the train. At ten miles per hour this could take a few minutes but there’s no other way to get to the location I need to be at.
I wave at the engineer as the train ambles by. Putting his cargo to bed for the night, he waves a tired arm at me in response.
Out of the corner of my eye I see movement coming up on my driver side. A scraggly looking man approaches my window. I can smell him before he gets within five feet of me and my gut reaction is to just roll up the window. The train hasn’t even made it halfway into the yard yet, so I’m stuck.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Let me get a ride.”
“No.”
He insists, “Let me get a ride!”
“Do I look like a cab to you?”
The Wild Man of Roland let out a few cultured curses and I watch with a sort of envy as he does a wild jig back across the road towards the oncoming train. I say I’m a little envious because, good Lord, he must feel free. To be able to just prance around without caring how anyone sees you? Not giving a hoot if society thinks your off or weird. Walking down the street air boxing and yelling at garbage cans? I know how you feel man. Sometimes I’d like the freedom to be that bizarre.
I watch as my would-be fair runs alongside the slow moving train and jumps onto the steel ladder attached to one of the rail cars. His foot slips but he catches himself at the last second. I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until my chest starts to hurt. What an idiot! I take it back, I don’t ever want to be a hobo jumping trains in the middle of the night.
It's a good thing the train was moving so slowly. I’ve seen more than my share of bodies hit by a train. Skull pieces and patches of hair and flesh spread out for miles. You can’t slow a train down very quickly so body parts tend to get strewn. This guy was lucky the train was going slow enough and he had a tight grip. He was also a moron because the train was just going into the yard to park. He was getting a ride but he wasn’t going very far.
I turn my attention back to the mission at hand as the train arms lift up, signaling it is safe to go through the intersection. I feel my chest tighten once again. I’m not sure I really believe everything Shorty’s told me but I have to check it out. If he is right, I am in the middle of some serious shit.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
The city of Roland boasts 52 square miles and much of it is coastline. We host a large retired Naval yard and a few large commercial shipping yards right on the bay. Back in the 50’s the city’s residents built Navy ships and as a result there is abandoned military housing lining the edge of the city limits.
Much of the land is state owned and designated as state parks. The parkland is routinely patrolled by the State Parks Police but we still maintain jurisdiction over the yacht harbor, the boat docks and the old naval shipping yards. The Naval yard is where I’m headed to now.
I cruise between the darkened shipping yards. I slowly weave my car in and out of the fenced in parking lots that contain all the new cars shipped in from overseas. It’s a sea of Toyota’s and Honda’s. Big semi’s unload the newest versions of whatever cargo is in high demand.
A large refinery is neighbor to the ship yards and the smell of burning oil does battle for the senses with the salt air. It’s dark and quiet out here. It can be quite eerie but I have loved it since the day I was hired.
I’ve been on the force for about 12 years now. Did my first few years in patrol, the next few in detectives. I couldn’t handle the detective gig anymore. You don’t realize how awful it is to work cases with child abusers and domestic violence suspects. I spent my days dealing with assholes who are supposed to be caretakers. They shoved old feeble family members down stairs or left them to sit in their wheelchairs all day, soiled and half-starved and too mentally incompetent to say so. It was awful. I had to get out of there and when my three-year stint was up, I went straight back to the streets.
I spent a few years training new officers and that was very rewarding, although, I’m not sure I really have the temperament for it. Looking back, I feel a little sense of guilt over how tough I was on some of them. Some of my friends used to call me the Red Baron – “you get a new trainee and you shoot them down.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want them to succeed, I’m just a firm believer that certain people have no business being cops. If you get in my car with a month on the job and you’re so nervous that you throw up every time we head to the bad part of town, you don’t belong here. I’ll be the first person to tell you so.
None of those scared rookies got fired. They quit on their own. To me, that was a good thing. I want a new officer to be able to stick out the fight. Stay in it when it’s hard. If you’re brave enough to admit this isn’t for you then I admire you. This job isn’t for everyone.
I got promoted a few years later and now I’ve been a sergeant for three years. I’ve stayed on graves because this is where it’s at for me. The hours don’t afford me much of a social life but I really don’t mind. I’m married to my career right now and if I decide to change that, I will change the schedule.
I’m about a quarter mile from my destination so I pull over at the last stop before the abandoned ship yard. After this, there won’t be any place to hide my car and if he’s there he will see me coming. Better to head the rest of the way on foot.
I key my shoulder mic and wake up the dispatch center, “Sam 57.”
“Go ahead S57.”
“Carry me X on a personal.” I lie to dispatch, saying that I’ll be on a personal break at the station headquarters. I have no idea why we call the police station X. X marks the spot? We’ve all been doing it as long as I can remember.
“Copy that.”
I don’t want anyone to know I’m at the docks. In fact I want them to think I’m far away from this place.
I tuck my flashlight in my sap pocket and start walking the rest of the road in. Staying in the shadows and tree line I can pretty much ensure no one can see me. Up ahead there is a long winding stretch of road with the cold pacific ocean on my right and a parking lot with a high chain-link fence on my left. There are no trees to hide behind or shield me from view. A two foot cinder block retaining wall separates the asphalt road from the chained link fence bordering the vast lots.
I’m taking a huge risk of being seen but at this time of night and in my dark colored uniform, I can stick close to the fence and hopefully out of sight.
The shipyard doesn’t really have a direct line of sight to the main road but I am not taking too many chances. If I was driving you’d see the lights of my car but on foot, in the dark, I have a better shot at catching a glimpse of my target. If this is even real. I’m still on the fence about the intel. But why would Shorty lie?
I make it to the shipyard in record time and stare up at several large abandon factory buildings. High walls, filled with broken windows and painted with graffiti makes it seem haunted. All I can hear is the ocean water lapping against the stone piers and my own breathing.
The single guard shack at the entrance is unmanned at this time of night. There’s a trailer just 50 feet away where the shipyard supervisor works and sometimes stays overnight. The single trailer window has the blinds pulled shut but I can see light around the edges. Someone is home but more than likely snoozing away.
Not too many people venture out here at night. Sometimes the random trysting couple can be found steaming up their car w
indows or a homeless individual might find a corner to get out of the elements for the night. Tonight I see no signs of anyone. Yet.
There are four buildings and all of them are vacant, abandoned, creepy. I’m not sure where Shorty wants me to look but I sneak around the nearest building in an attempt to get an eye on the far parking lot.
It’s a vast half-acre of concrete but parked in the very center I see them. Two cars. One, a black sedan with no sign of an occupant. The second is a white truck. I want to get a closer look but there’s no way I’m going to risk all that open ground to get a peek inside.
I retreat back the way I had come and make my way the full length of the yard. I sneak a peek around the number three building. If I can get down the side without falling on a piece of rusty sheet metal and giving myself tetanus, I will count myself lucky.
I move quietly to the edge of the building. Now I have a full line of sight. The black car, it’s a Crown Vic and it has spotlights. It’s a police car. And not just any police car. It’s the slick top the watch commander uses. Looks like Shorty’s intel might be good after all.
Nothing stands out to me about the truck and there’s no license plate on the front so I can’t write it down. Now I’m certain neither vehicle is occupied.
I glance around and wonder where Shorty’s lookout is hiding? I don’t see any movement but if he has eyes on him, he has to be here somewhere. I can’t risk looking at my cell phone and texting Shorty. The light from the phone will give away my position.
I back track to the entrance and make my way to the large concrete slips used for docking large ships. Two enormous concrete piers with levels like a parking garage. You can get down to each level by steps and ladders placed at various locations along the slips. It’s the way that the dock workers tend to the ships, load cargo, examine for damage, scrape barnacles; you get the picture.
The levels were huge. They were like ancient tombs and they have zero lighting. Even during the day we don’t go down there unless we absolutely have to. There is no cell or radio signal down there. Nothing but darkness and thick walls of concrete. You never know what you might encounter in there.
He wouldn’t be down there would he? That can’t be where they are? There are two slips which means there are four ways to get in and out. Four dark, crumbled, levels of tunnels. Besides, if he thought no one was watching wouldn’t he just do shit in the open?
I sneak up behind the trailer and try to get a good look at the tunnels. I think I can hear voices but whispers bouncing off the fog and the water makes it almost impossible to tell where they are coming.
I consider my next move. Should I take the chance and sneak and peek in the tunnels? I have my earpiece for my police radio set firmly in my ear so no one will be able to hear it squawk but I’ll still be able to hear the traffic. So far no one does anything that requires a response from me but it won’t be long before someone needs me. Once I’m in the tunnels it won’t matter if my earpiece is in or not, there won’t be any signal. I have to make this quick. It’s starting to feel like a fool’s errand.
I make my way to the farthest set of tunnels and wait for movement. None. I can’t hear any talking anymore. I might have been imagining it. I look up at the buildings and try once more to get a glimpse of the lookout Shorty posted but all is silent and all is calm.
I take a breath and quickly make my way down the stone steps in the shadows and once I reach the bottom step I duck into the closest shadow I can find. I’m on the first level down. I cautiously make my way towards the main connecting artery to see if I can find, hear, see, anything.
I pass lumps under blankets. None of them stir. They are either sleeping homeless or dead bodies, neither of which I’m willing to investigate at this time of night.
I smell cigarette smoke. I’m not sure I can tell where its coming from but I have to be getting closer because I didn’t smell it when I first descended into this pit of darkness.
“Did you hear that?” A male voice breaks the silence.
Holy shit they were close but I still can’t see them!
A second male voice, one I recognize. “No, I didn’t hear anything.”
“Man, this place makes me nervous.”
“Why? You scared some homeless person gonna suddenly take an interest in you and want your number?”
“No, it’s just creepy.”
I stay put. I still can’t see them and I have to strain to hear what they are saying.
The man I know, Lieutenant Carson, says, “Listen, Johnson, we have to do this quietly.”
Johnson? Who the hell is Johnson?
Carson continues with his instructions, “I want it done soon.”
“How soon?”
“As soon as you can get it done.”
What did he want done? I feel the need to see his face, their faces. I move a step closer and immediately my foot bumps into something solid.
“What the hell!” The lump grumbles.
Shit, I woke up one of the nightwalkers! Clearly pissed at being woken from his sweet dreams, he starts thrashing even though I shush him as best I can. “Can’t a guy get some rest around here? Are you trying to steal my stuff? This is MY space! Get out of my house?”
Oh good grief this guy is gonna get me found out before I even get a good read on what’s going on.
“Who’s there?” yells the one called Johnson.
I still can’t see shit but I hear footsteps getting closer. I can’t exactly get to the steps without them seeing me so I brave it and move deeper into the darkness. I crouch as low as possible behind a random shopping cart full of garbage. A flashlight comes on but I can’t see who’s holding it.
“Screw you! Ghost in the machine! Ghosts in the caves!” continues my new friend.
Carson growls, “C’mon, it’s just some homeless guy sleeping it off.”
“Oomph.” By the sounds of it, one of the men gave the homeless guy a kick. “Shut up and go back to sleep before I roll you right into the bay!”
“Let’s get out of here. You know what to do.”
“I should have it done my tomorrow or the next day. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
“No need for you to contact me again. I’ll know when it’s done.”
The voices fade as the two men walk away. I peek around and see two dark figures going up the same steps I had come down. Shit that was close!
Now I know for sure the intel Shorty fed me is decent but just the word of dope dealer isn’t going to be enough. I need proof. I need real tangible proof that what I suspect is true; someone is about to die.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
I wait five full minutes, which seems like a lifetime, before I scramble up the steps and make my way back to the main building. Crap! The radio is calling me.
“S57 do you copy?”
“S57, I copy you now. Sorry I was on a 21.”
“S57 can you 98 2L6 at his location? He’s asking for a supervisor.”
“Affirm. Send the detail to my MDC.”
“W114,” Lieutenant Carson breaks in.
“W114, go ahead.”
“W114, route me that detail as well.”
Shit he was going too! I better get the hell out of here. I start walking quickly to my car not even trying to stay in the shadows like I did getting here. Now, I’m running. I have to get out of here and get to that scene before he does.
I hear a car. I look back to see the slick top police car and the truck both have their lights on and are coming my way.
I jump the two foot retaining wall and wait until they pass me and their headlights are at least a half mile down the road. I had planned to be gone before them and I pray to God Carson hasn’t seen my patrol car parked at the bait shop. I hadn’t exactly hidden it.
Once the lights have made it around the nearest bend and are out of sight I break into a dead run. I make it back to my patrol car completely out of breath but I’m almost certain I’ve made it without being seen.
My computer has gone dark because it’s been sitting here so long. “Hurry, hurry, hurry, you stupid thing,” I chant at the computer, willing it to fire up quickly so I know where the hell I’m going and why.
I start driving back towards town and by the time I reach the main road the details are popping up. Looks like Camden tased a guy. Burglary in progress. They need me for a k9 search. A perimeter is set. Damn it! I missed all that?
Good thing it’s late and there aren’t any cars out because even with my emergency lights going, it’ll be a mad dash to get all the way across town.
I speed through red lights and intersections dodging zombies like I’m in a video game, and pull up quick behind Carson’s car. Damn it! He arrived before me and is already there talking to Camden.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
“Hey guys, what’s the newest?” I ask as I approach.
Carson looks at me and flashes me a fake smile. You know the kind, all teeth, like a shark? His eyes are cool.
“Nice of you to join us, Sergeant Shaw.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, “I got tied up on a phone call and had my volume down.” I turn my attention quickly to Camden, “So what’s the story?”
“911 caller hears a noise in the front of his home. Then the front door kicked in. By the time we get here and set up a perimeter, I see a guy coming out the back and making a run for it. He disappeared over the fence but I’m sure we have him contained. Anderson is here with the dog and we are just waiting on you for the go ahead.
I can feel Carson staring at me but I dare not look back at him. I pretend I’m engrossed in what Camden is saying.
I tell Camden, “Ok, come with me.” To Carson, I ask, “LT, you ok out here?”
“I’m fine. Do what you gotta do.”
Leaving Carson standing on the sidewalk, Camden and I walk the half block to where a stack of officers are lined up in front of the victims house.
“Start here,” Camden says.
Roland P D Omnibus Page 18
