Trigger

by David Swinson

  “Ahh—” he belts.

  I make him scoot closer to Bigboy, where I pat him down and search his pockets, too. Another baggie of weed and then a zip.

  I pull it out. Looks like about a gram of powder.

  “What the fuck you two doing with blow? Lacing this shit with your weed?”

  They don’t answer.

  “Where’d you get this shit?”

  Still no answer.

  “Fucking not playing.”

  “Adams Morgan,” Bigboy says.

  “Shut up, fool.”

  “No, don’t be a fool. Go on,” I tell him.

  “Off some dude with his girl at one of them clubs.”

  “I’m assuming he didn’t sell it to you.”

  I don’t expect them to answer. I know they robbed him. I put it in my pocket and then think to myself, Why the fuck I do that?

  I stand up, looking down at them.

  Fourteen hundred block of Fairmont is just a few blocks from here, Clifton closer.

  I scan the area. It’s like a ghost town it’s so fucking late.

  “I’m thinking as long as I got myself a captive audience, I’m gonna ask you a couple of questions. I’m not going to ask your fat friend here ’cause I think all he knows what to say is c’mon now.”

  “You a cop, then? Just arrest us. You can ask us then,” Railboy says.

  Been through the system a few times.

  “How old are you? Fifteen?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “No, I’m not going to arrest you. You’re going to answer a couple of questions, though, and if you answer them right, I’m gonna let you two walk right outta here.”

  They both look at each other.

  “Think hard. Here’s the first question.”

  Fifty-Eight

  I would have been justified in shooting Railboy because he was close enough with the knife to be a threat. Only seconds, and everything your mind processes is massive. First thing that came up for me is, Fuck no, not another shooting. Like someone outside of me telling me. All the attention it would bring, shooting a sixteen-year-old kid, justified or not, is not something I need—not something this city needs right now. That little pack of protesters in front of 300 will grow into a much larger pack. Some will even be bused in—black bloc and fucking Antifa-ucks, ’cause most of them are paid to cause trouble. They wouldn’t give a shit about some kid losing his life. Fuck no. They want to destroy property and fight the police. They get trained for that shit.

  “I swear, we ain’t hear nothin’ about no cops getting shot.”

  No, I did the right thing, or more accurately, they did the right thing by obeying my commands. Could have gone bad otherwise.

  “You speaking for your friend here, too?” I say.

  “Naw. He can speak for himself.”

  “So, then you tell me. You know anything about those two cops that got shot on Twelfth?”

  “No. I ain’t hear nothin’,” Bigboy says quietly.

  “Hear nothin’, say nothin’, huh?”

  They don’t know how to answer that.

  “I’m not going to ask again,” I say.

  And how do they respond to that?

  They don’t.

  “I’m waiting.”

  They look at each other. Railboy looks antsy, like he might take his chances and run. I’ve seen the look enough times, and the way the feet start to move apart, toes to the ground. I’m close enough to stop him, but then chance having Bigboy try to take off, too. So what do I do?

  I poke Bigboy with the knife in the upper-right thigh, hard enough that it cuts through his jeans and penetrates the layers of skin to the fatty tissue.

  He yelps, a little too loud.

  I pull the knife out fast.

  “Shut the fuck up, you big baby. Won’t even need stitches. The next one will cut to the bone. So answer me.”

  Bigboy turns to his running buddy, looking for some help, like he’s too stupid to know himself. Tears breaking through. I sort of feel bad ’cause maybe he’s slow in the head.

  “Okay,” I say like a warning.

  “Wait! Wait!” Bigboy says.

  “We ain’t a part of nothin’ like that,” Railboy says. “All we heard is it’s some boys from fourteen hundred.”

  “Fourteen hundred what?” As if I don’t already know.

  “Fairmont, man. Fairmont.” Bigboy whimpers.

  I wipe the blood off the tip of the knife onto Bigboy’s jeans. He jumps a little, thinking he’s getting stabbed again.

  “You got names?”

  “No. I swear. We don’t know who. We ain’t a part of them up there.”

  “How did you hear about them being involved?” I say.

  “Just on the street, man. That’s all. Just talk.”

  “What area you boys from?”

  “Garfield,” Railboy says.

  They’re my neighbors. Better not run into these two again. Probably won’t remember my face anyway. Too scared.

  Switchblades like this are hard to find, so I fold it up and stand, then slip it in my front pants pocket.

  I’m not going to push this any further. Even at this hour it’ll attract attention, if it hasn’t already. I take out my phone, move to the front of Bigboy and snap a couple photos of him. He shakes off the flash. I do the same with Railboy.

  “What you gonna do?” Railboy says.

  “I’m gonna go home.”

  I pocket the cell but keep the gun on them.

  “Now, you two mopes, get up, hit Fifteenth Street, and walk south until I can’t see you anymore.”

  Before Railboy gets up, he asks, “Which way is south?”

  I point toward the direction they should go and move back to give them room.

  They get up, Bigboy having a harder time, but he manages anyway. He limps behind Railboy, down the steps, to 15th. They cross the street, look back toward me.

  “Go on, now,” I say.

  They head south.

  I stay there until I can’t see them. Then I go to the corner and look down 15th. I see them nearing U Street. That’s good enough for me. I notice Bigboy turn to look back. I know he can see me, so I wave.

  Damn kid lifts his hand up to his chest like he’s going to wave back but changes his mind and drops it to his side. They walk left on U, out of sight.

  Fifty-Nine

  When I get to my stoop, I pull the zip of powder outta my pocket.

  Fuck.

  I sit on the top step, my back to the front door.

  Recreational purposes?

  I could do the whole thing with two easy snorts. That’d be that. Easy peasy. Or just go inside, make it last for as long as I can, like when I first started. That was years ago, when I could make a half gram last me most of the night.

  Shit. This is too easy. I want it bad, now more than ever.

  I quickly stand, walk to the sidewalk, and step onto the street.

  I drop the zip at my feet and, without hesitation, scrunch it into the pavement, breaking open the zip, letting that fine powdery white substance turn to nothing but dirt.

  I go into the house.

  I slip out of my clothes, keeping my boxer briefs and undershirt on—and socks. I toss my clothes in the washer and open my stash wall, place the switchblade on a shelf under the money, where I used to keep a nice collection of confiscated—or rather, stolen—weapons. I like this switchblade. It’ll be safe here. I go into the kitchen to wash my hands.

  I wash them twice.

  I’m too wired for sleep. With all that happened, the adrenaline is staying with me. I pour myself a nice glass of Jameson and sit on the sofa to see if any cable news is on. It’s too early. Most of what’s on is paid programming. I turn it off, take a Klonopin and down it with a bit of whiskey.

  I wake up in a sitting position. Drool is on the sofa cushion where my head was resting and on the left side of my face. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

  “Fuck me,” I mumble. />
  It’s almost 7:00 a.m. Too damn early. Don’t even waste the time for coffee. It’ll be of little use. I grab the remote, power on the TV to watch Fox 5 News and recline on the sofa, resting my head on a small square pillow.

  Possibility of snow, a light coating.

  Top of the hour, the news begins again. Top local stories are the growing number of protesters in front of 300, demanding justice for the “child-killing cop”; the city’s out-of-control crime rate, specifically homicides and robberies; and the funeral arrangements for the officer who was killed on my block. They cut that in with Officer Wiebe’s funeral procession, blocks of cop cars crossing 14th Street Bridge, every jurisdiction from New York to Virginia. That always gets me, sometimes even a tear.

  I hope the robbery stats will drop slightly in my neighborhood because of last night’s encounter, but I doubt it. I don’t think it’s possible to scare any of these young thugs straight. They’ll just be more careful who they target next time.

  I turn the television off. Like I’ve said, it’s nothing but an anxiety channel. Gonna have to be careful what I fill my brain with.

  So smile.

  After a couple hours of doing nothing but lying on my back, I call Detective Rattan.

  “Rattan,” a groggy voice answers.

  “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “It’s okay. Have to get up anyway.”

  “You working midnights?”

  “Evenings, but caught a double and worked it through the night.”

  “I can call you later.”

  “No. No. What’s up?”

  “I met with another source of information last night, not connected with the one who looked at the photos. The source confirmed what the first one said, that a crew from the fourteen hundred block of Fairmont is responsible for the shooting on my block.”

  “Did the source give names?”

  “No, but like the first one said, Rule is known to hang at 1400 Fairmont.”

  “That’s good. Thanks. It’s looking good on our end, too.”

  “You got Rule and his crew identified?”

  “Just him. And that is his real last name. He’s a piece of work.”

  “You have enough for an arrest?”

  “I’ve been working on it, and I think so. It’d be great if I could talk to your sources.”

  “One is a possible. The other one, doubtful.”

  “Try for me.”

  “I will.” Obviously won’t. “How’s the other officer?”

  “Stable condition.”

  “Good. I’ll let you go. Get some rest.”

  “Yeah, right. Thanks again.”

  “Anytime.”

  I know I’ll start getting pressured to reveal my sources. I wasn’t totally lying. Calvin might come through, but he still needs time, especially with that whole snitch mentality instead of a reasonably good work ethic.

  One of my three burner cells is ringing in the backpack. I unzip the pocket where I keep them and pick up the one that’s ringing. It’s the cell I let Calvin use to call Tamie. I don’t answer, but look at the screen.

  “Yeah,” I say to myself. “Fucking Tamie Darling.”

  I let it go to voice mail, but she doesn’t leave a message.

  Sixty

  Calvin is reclining in the front seat and we’re heading to the circle park at 16th. I still have to play Calvin on this one, but it won’t matter soon, because it looks like Tamie is playing both sides. Why else would she call who she thought was Idris, someone she believes I’m working?

  “Almost forgot,” I say.

  I pull to the curb before crossing 13th, put the car in park, and reach into my pack for the burner Calvin used. I hand it to him.

  “Pocket this just in case she calls back or something.”

  “Why she gonna do that if we’re already set up to meet?”

  “One thing you’ll learn is it doesn’t always go as planned.”

  “Oh, I learned that already. I learned that a long time ago.”

  I look at him, think about asking why. But we’re on a mission. I pull the car out and drive on.

  Not even two blocks out and his burner rings.

  “Hold on,” I say.

  By the time it’s on the third ring, I’m parked along a curb again, but illegally this time.

  “Let me see the number.”

  He does, and it’s her.

  “Put it on speaker and answer.”

  “You sure? People know when it’s on speaker. Most in this business don’t like that shit.”

  “Put it on speaker, and if she asks, tell her you’re driving and it’s on Bluetooth. Answer.”

  He taps the screen for speaker. “Yeah,” he says.

  “Hey, Idris. You supposed to be meeting me today for a blizzard,” she says.

  “Yeah, but that ain’t till later. What you callin’ now for?”

  Damn, he’s a natural.

  “Are you on speaker?”

  He looks at me like, I told you.

  “Yeah, baby. Bluetooth. I’m drivin’.”

  “You alone?”

  “Yeah. What the hell goin’ on here? You callin’ me like this?”

  “We need to change the meet location.”

  “The fuck for? I called the spot.”

  “Yeah, baby, and I have information it got burned.”

  “Burned? You playin’ me?”

  “No, no. I got ways of knowing things.”

  I write in my notebook what I want him to say and show it to him.

  “How do I know you ain’t the police or a snitch?”

  “We meet and you’ll know.”

  I write in the notebook for him to play along and then give her a new spot, public—parking lot of McDonald’s at 7th, by Howard.

  “How I know that?”

  “All kinds of ways, baby. You can call the spot, but not at the circle.”

  “All kinds of ways?”

  He looks at me, smiles, and raises his eyebrows ’cause he knows what that means. Shit. Fucking Darling.

  “Okay, in an hour. Meet me at the McDonald’s parking lot on 7th, the one at Howard U. What you gonna be wearin’, again?”

  “White parka and tight black jeans. I’ll be carrying a pink purse.”

  “Tight jeans, huh? All right, then.”

  “See you there, baby.”

  He disconnects.

  “Damn, she got a sexy voice.”

  Fucking black widow spider is what she is.

  “Damn good job, Calvin. You’re a natural.”

  “You burned, man. You know that, right? She smart.”

  “No, not burned. I didn’t really want it to get played this way, but I had my suspicions.”

  “How you mean?”

  “She’s playing both sides, and now we gotta learn the extent of the damage she’s caused.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will, rookie.”

  “Shiet.”

  The question is, do I take Calvin with me when I snatch up Darling?

  “I’m going to have to go do this one on my own,” I tell him.

  “You not taking me?”

  “It’s too risky, and I don’t know if it’s a setup for a robbery, thinking you have all that crack,” I lie.

  “Fuck that shit, man. I know how to handle myself.”

  “It’s best I keep you out of this one, Calvin.”

  “What be my purpose here, then? I ain’t learnin’ shit, except what I already know. Seems like you just using me like you would one them sources you say you work with.”

  “It’s not like that. I don’t want to put you in a position where the cops might get involved. I still don’t know if they have a warrant on you for that shit at Euclid.”

  “You said they’d have to get my prints to put me with a warrant, if there is one.”

  “Yeah, unless one of your old running mates worked out a plea deal and gave everyone up.”

  “You never mentioned
anything like that. You sayin’ the police might have my real name associated with that shooting?”

  “I thought we talked about all this.”

  “No. You didn’t share all that.”

  “Listen, I’m going to do this one on my own. You sit tight at home, still on the clock, and when I’m done, I’ll make a couple of calls and see what the police have on your old Playboy days. All right?”

  “Seems to me you shoulda already done that. I been runnin’ with you all this time, gettin’ with that female detective and shit, and they might know me by name? I been takin’ some big chances here.”

  “I don’t think they do know you by name. Shouldn’t have even said anything. I’ll make that call and let you know. I’m confident they just got you by nickname and physical description.”

  “And you’ll put it on speakerphone so I can hear?”

  “I said I’ll make the call later. No worries.”

  “Right. No worries. And I gotta trust you with that?”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  Sixty-One

  I messed up with Calvin. Didn’t mean to go there. I want to keep him away from Darling, though. For now. I’m getting closer to trusting him, but only with certain things.

  I get to the parking lot at McDonald’s half an hour early and set up at a spot where I can see the side and the rear area. It’s busy, mostly college students.

  I notice a black SUV pull in from Georgia Avenue and park on the side facing Barry Place. I’m backed into a space about five cars west of them, so I can’t make out the occupants. I will notice if anyone steps out, and yes, I’m skeptical of most dark-colored SUVs now, because of what happened. I notice thick smoke wafting up and taken by the slight breeze toward me. Too thick to be a cigarette, and I doubt it’s a cigar.

  I roll down the window and light up a smoke. Supposed to get flurries today, but the clouds overhead don’t look like they’re holding snow. Darker clouds east of here. The slight breeze blowing west might bring some my way.

  Thirty-five minutes and a couple cigarettes later, I notice Darling step out from the passenger side of the black SUV. There you go. I’m not being paranoid, after all. Like she told Calvin, she’s wearing the white puffy jacket/parka and tight, nicely fitting jeans, and she’s carrying a pink purse you could see from a mile away. This is not the Darling I once knew. I wonder who might be at the driver’s side of that vehicle. Is she planning to rob Idris, and her muscle is waiting in the car?