Trigger

by David Swinson

  “What do you think they’re going to know?” Millhoff asks.

  “I don’t know until I question them. That’s the point. Rule things out. No pun intended.”

  Rattan smiles. That’s a first.

  “EMTs advise if they think he’s going to make it?”

  “No, but he’s going to MedStar, so at least he has a chance,” Millhoff says. “Afraid we’re going to have to take your guns again. We’ll get your statements at the office.”

  “He’s gotta be on PCP. He was out of his mind.”

  Lights and sirens catch me off guard. I flinch.

  “You okay?” Rattan says.

  “Yeah.”

  The ambulance rolls out.

  “When can I get my nineteen back from the shooting on Twelfth?”

  “I’ll get that taken care of,” Millhoff says. “One gun at a time.” He smiles.

  I have a new .38 at home. Worst case is I’ll have to buy another Glock, but I’m sure I’ll get my weapons back. The shootings were justified.

  “I’m not going to leave my car here. I’ll drive Calvin to Homicide Branch.”

  “You should come with us,” Millhoff says.

  “You suggesting I need a lawyer?”

  “You’re the only one who can decide that.”

  “I don’t.”

  “We have to keep you two separated—you know that.”

  “I know. I know that. I’m just forgetting is all.”

  “You’ve been retired for a bit,” Millhoff says. “I can get a detective to drive your car to our parking lot.”

  “Appreciate it. I need to sit down now.”

  “You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”

  “I’m sure. I need to get my backpack out of the car first. I think Calvin has to get his, too.”

  “No problem.”

  I walk across the street. Rattan follows me. If I were a suspect I’d be in cuffs, so I’m not that worried.

  I walk to the passenger side. Rattan stops at the front of my vehicle. I unlock the door, lift my pack, notice the curb gutter near the back tire. This place is crawling with police. I turn and sit on the edge of the seat with my feet on the curb.

  “You okay, Marr?” Rattan says.

  “Give me a second. I don’t want to have to puke.”

  “Do it if you have to.”

  “Just give me a second, please.”

  “Everything good over there?” I hear Millhoff ask from across the street.

  “I think he’s going to puke,” Rattan says.

  “As long as it’s not in my car,” he says.

  I place the backpack on the floor under my dash, lean my head between my knees, look both ways. It’s clear. I search for the Taurus with one hand, stick my finger down my throat with my other. Couple of heaves. I feel the grip of the gun and quickly pull it out. Stick my finger down my throat again. Big heave with some vomit, and then I can’t stop. I slip the gun under my legs and grab it with my right hand while vomiting, and then slide it like a hockey puck into the gutter. It makes a slight thud as it hits the bottom. I cough hard a couple more times and spit.

  “You good now?” Rattan asks.

  “Yeah, much better.”

  I stand up, making sure to step over the vomit, shut the door, but don’t lock it just in case Calvin wants to get his pack. I walk to the front of my car, set the pack on the hood.

  “Need some water,” I say.

  “You got some?”

  “Yeah, side of my pack.”

  I take out the bottled water, but I really want whiskey. I swish the water in my mouth and spit, then drink some.

  “Much better,” I say. “Let me advise Calvin what’s going on before we leave. He’s pretty shaken up about all this.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Okay. I want to get out of here before the chiefs arrive.”

  “Me too,” she says.

  Seventy-One

  DC Homicide. Last time I was here it still smelled like fresh paint and new carpeting. Not so fresh anymore. They have me in one of the interview rooms and Calvin in another. This isn’t an interview that can take place at a desk, because it has to be recorded. A camera is positioned at a corner wall to the right of the door.

  I refused to sit in the chair they’ve had suspects sit in. Filthy monsters. I don’t even want to rest my arms on the table. Who knows what’s been wiped off that?

  Rattan brings in a spare chair from the office.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  She leaves the door open and sits on a chair next to Millhoff, across from me. Their notebooks are open and pens at the ready.

  “We’ve already made the introductions for the sake of the camera there,” Millhoff says. “And you’ve waived your rights and agreed to speak with us, and like I said before, you are not under arrest at this time.”

  Get in all the necessary shit, Millhoff.

  “Would you start from the beginning, Frank? What brought you to the twelve hundred block of Queen Street NE?”

  “Like I told the both of you on the scene, I had information that two subjects I know only as Ty and Marlon were staying at a house on the twelve hundred block of Queen Street NE. They were known associates of Arthur Taylor.”

  “Do you know the address?” Millhoff asks.

  “I was only given a description of the house, wasn’t sure which one,” I reply, because I don’t want to provide them with too much information.

  “How did you get this information about Ty and Marlon?” Millhoff asks.

  “Interviews on the street. A little money here and there.”

  “Any names of the subjects you interviewed?”

  “I’m not a cop anymore, Tim. I don’t have to note anything or get names, unless it can directly help my client.”

  “Your client being Al Luna?”

  “Normally, I would say that’s privileged information, but you both have known for some time that I’m helping him out.”

  “Go on,” Millhoff says.

  “So my part-time assistant, Calvin, and I go to sit on Queen Street, see if there are any young kids who fit Ty’s and Marlon’s descriptions so we can try to talk to them about Arthur Taylor, see if they know why he was at that lot where Detective Luna shot him. I’ve stated to both of you before that I believe Taylor was not there by himself.”

  “A gut feeling?” Rattan asks.

  “You all get those occasionally, don’t you?”

  They don’t answer.

  Damn, I fucking need a drink.

  “Also, Calvin was pretty sure he might know what Ty and Marlon look like because Calvin grew up in that area, and no, he didn’t hang with any of those subjects. I can’t remember what time we got there, or even how long we were there. I’m thinking it wasn’t that long. I spot this kid who fits the description of Ty. Calvin is in the back of my vehicle with binoculars. The rear windows have good tint, so it’s easy for him to conceal himself back there. Calvin tells me he believes that is Ty. We watch him as he stands on the porch of the house, looking like he’s texting someone.”

  “You weren’t parked that close, though,” Rattan says.

  “The binoculars are good, and Calvin thought it looked like he was texting, but I suppose he also could have been playing a game. Doesn’t really matter. So, a couple minutes later he steps off the porch, walks across the street, just a few cars ahead of where we were parked. He’s standing on the street, still staring at the screen of his phone. He looks up, right in our direction, like he knew we—or rather, I—was there, because I don’t think he realized Calvin was in the back.”

  “What made you think that?” Millhoff says.

  “I’m pretty certain if Rule knew Calvin was in the car, he would have had him step out after he put me down, but I’m jumping ahead here. The kid we think is Ty starts walking down the street straight to us, but he stops about a car length ahead of my car. He points the phone at my car, like he’s taking pictures or recording. I
t is weird and a bit unnerving. He had this quirky little smile on his face. Calvin said something like ‘He made us.’ Even though I was reclined down as far as I could get, I was sure Calvin was right. That’s when I decided I would exit and try to talk to him. I advised Calvin to stay in the car and keep low but watch my back. I stepped out of the car. It didn’t feel right. And yes, another gut feeling,” I say, directing that to Millhoff. “I called the kid by name, ‘Ty,’ and said something like I’m a private investigator, and I’m looking into the shooting of his friend Arthur Taylor. Again, I’m sort of losing the time frame, but it couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes when I felt what I knew was the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of my head. Sorry, but I can’t remember what I said, if I even did say anything. Next thing I know, the gun pulls away, and I’m hit hard on the back of my head. So hard, I’m thrown to the ground, on my knees, I think, using my hands to steady myself, trying not to go out. Can I get some water?”

  “I’ll get it,” Rattan says.

  “You can continue,” Millhoff says.

  “I’ll wait for your partner,” I say.

  She returns with bottled water. I twist the cap open and drink. Fucking like I have cottonmouth.

  “Thanks, Rattan. Where was I?”

  “On your knees,” Millhoff says.

  “Yeah, felt like I was going to pass out. I look up, immediately recognize the man standing a couple feet away from me, aiming the gun at my head, as Jonas Rule. Rattan showed a BOLO picture of him to me and Calvin, to confirm whether Calvin knew him as Rule. Calvin was the one who thought the bodycam photo looked like Rule. He confirmed to Rattan that it was. There he is—”

  Not doing this pause for effect. It’s like my mind goes blank for a second.

  “You all right, Frank?” Millhoff asks.

  I sip more water. “Yeah. That was weird.”

  “You need us to take you to the hospital?” Rattan asks again.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “You sure you can continue?” Millhoff says.

  I know all they’re doing is trying to cover their asses just in case I drop dead right now.

  “I’m sure. It’s like I knew I was dead, that he was going to shoot me. I do remember Ty calling something out, not sure what, but he used Rule’s name, and that pissed Rule off. I’m looking down at the ground, thinking, I fucking hope Calvin called nine one one, and I’m praying to hear the sirens.

  “Next thing I know, Calvin is fighting Rule for the gun. I don’t know how much time had passed. The gun goes off, though, and I saw it fall to the ground beside the tire of my car. I turned to make sure Ty’s not coming up on me. He’s not. I draw my weapon. I think I stand up. Yeah, I stand up, position myself so I can see Ty and Rule. Calvin was head-to-head with Rule. I ordered him to get on the ground. I notice a lot of blood on the pavement, and Rule’s foot. Calvin later told me that when they were fighting for the gun, it went off and blew a couple of Rule’s toes off.

  “Rule saw that I had a gun pointed at him, but it’s like that didn’t mean anything. He was out of his mind. It was crazy, because I ordered him to the ground several times, and he still tried to make a dive for the gun. He landed on his side toward me. I could see that he managed to grab the grip of the gun with his right hand. I fired. I think two times, hitting him in the chest. He yells something, tries to regain himself, raises the gun toward me. I fire again, hitting him in the chest area again. He drops. Gun falls out of his hand. I tuck my gun, keeping it pointed at him, and I walk over, slide his gun in my direction with my foot. Calvin’s freaking out at this point, scared. I cuff Rule, then try to calm Calvin down. Don’t know how long after, but I call nine one one.”

  “Damn, Frank,” Millhoff says.

  “Why did you hang up on nine one one?” Rattan asks.

  “Because I remembered Ty. He was gone. For all I knew, he was going to get help, more guns. I needed my hands free.”

  “We found a witness,” Millhoff begins, “said they believed Calvin had a gun in his hand, pointed at Rule.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he managed to wrestle the gun away from Rule. But from what I saw, which was about two feet away, they both were fighting for the gun and then Rule got shot in his foot.”

  “The witness was pretty sure Calvin and Rule both had guns.”

  “Witness is wrong. I had my gun. Calvin doesn’t have a gun.”

  “How do you know?” Rattan says.

  “How do I know? Because when I hired him, I made sure. Last thing I want is a young kid working for me, carrying an unregistered concealed weapon. He’s a good kid. Smart as fuck. That’s why I hired him. Your witness is mistaken. The way I tell it, you would think it took place over several minutes. It was only seconds. He probably had his hands on Rule’s gun for a bit, but he definitely didn’t have a gun pointed at Rule.”

  “Everything you said adds up, but we’ll reinterview the witness,” Millhoff says.

  “You do that. I was right there. Your witness was probably halfway down the block, looking out a window.”

  They don’t respond because they know I’m right.

  I look directly at Rattan and Millhoff, like they’re one person.

  “I know Ty was recording all of this, or at least some of it. It was a planned execution.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I remember now—something Rule blurted out, that he knew all about Detective Luna. He called him a ’migo detective.”

  “When did he say that?”

  “When he had the gun on me.”

  “Why would he mention Luna to you?”

  “I told you, I advised Ty that I was looking into the shooting of his friend Arthur Taylor. Maybe Rule heard that. He’s probably the one who shot out Luna’s window, and was more than likely on Twelfth Street, sitting on my house to kill me then. Maybe because of all the questions I was asking on the street, trying to find out about Taylor. Maybe they didn’t want me to find anything out. Or maybe it’s just because they found out somehow that I was working to clear Luna. Who knows. Hope the son of a bitch survives so you can find out.”

  “We haven’t been notified yet, so that’s good news.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t that be something.”

  “What?” Millhoff says.

  “That he lives.”

  “Don’t understand,” Millhoff says.

  “A cop takes one bullet and dies. Rule takes several and will probably live a full, healthy life.”

  “Funny how that works. Then that full life is spent behind bars,” Millhoff says.

  Seventy-Two

  It’s late afternoon by the time we get out, well past lunchtime, but I’m not hungry. Calvin says he isn’t either. My car is parked in the lot, between a marked unit and a detective’s cruiser. We hop in. I keep my pack on my lap and start the car.

  “Get some heat on in here,” Calvin says.

  “It’ll kick in when it warms up.”

  I grab a Ruby Red grapefruit out of my pack.

  “In the meantime, this should help.”

  I use my knife and quarter it.

  I hand two slices to him.

  “How will an orange help with the heat?”

  “It’s a grapefruit. Ruby Red grapefruit, and it’s good for your immune system. It’ll keep you healthy.”

  “Naw, man. I’m good.”

  “Just take a bite. Suck the juice in.”

  He tightens his lips. A fucking childlike grimace you give when you don’t want to take your medicine. He bites into it, though. Eyes widen a bit after.

  “Good, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, refreshing-like.”

  He devours both of them, rolls down the window and tosses the slices out. I finish my half and do the same.

  “Shit’s gotta bite to it, though.”

  “A healthy bite.”

  I zip my pack back up.

  “You still have that gun in there?”

  “What gun?” I s
ay.

  He knows better than to answer back.

  “It’s about time you meet our client, my best friend and brother,” I say.

  “Been a long day.”

  “It’s gonna get a bit longer.”

  I drive out of the lot.

  “What did you say when Detective Caine brought up a witness?”

  “Like you told me in case there was a witness, that I had control of Rule’s gun for a bit, but he got it back and that’s when he shot himself in the foot. So, where’s it go from here? I mean, they let us walk out.”

  “Found out just before they finished up with us that Rule is in critical condition and unresponsive. Doesn’t look like he’s gonna make it. I’ll still get in touch with Leslie Costello, a lawyer I know. We got nothing to worry about, though. I’m sure of that.”

  “Then why the hell we need to lawyer up?”

  “We’re not lawyering up. I want to run our story by her is all. Keep her in the loop. So keep it all together in your head.”

  “Yeah, but what if they find Ty, and the phone he was using to record that shit?”

  “I guess we have to find him first. Stop fucking worrying.”

  “You good at that, huh? Finding people.”

  “Yeah.”

  I know he’s nervous. I’d worry about him if he wasn’t.

  “You saved my life back there, Calvin. That was some stealthy shit you pulled off.”

  “You give me a raise, then?”

  “Save me twice, and you’ll get a raise.”

  “Fuck, you a hard man, Marr.”

  “Not hard enough. My head’s throbbing like a hammer keeps hitting it.”

  That reminds me. I think I have some Oxys left from a hit I did a few months ago, but they’re at home. I’ll suffer through.

  We get to Al’s house. Calvin notices the boarded-up window.

  “Shot out,” I tell him. “Probably Rule.”

  “Shiet.”

  I knock on the door. Al’s looking the same. Beat down. He shoots Calvin an unsure look when he opens the door, looks at me after and says, “What the fuck happened to you?”