by Alicia Scott
“You gotta split.”
“What?”
The older boy cuffed him across the mouth. “Don’t what me, little bro. Pay attention here. There be two cops in the school looking for you. Time to split.”
Vee just looked at the older boy dumbly. He couldn’t split. Who would take care of his sister?
“Man,” the older boy said, “for someone who wrote such down letters, you don’t got a brain in your head. Here, take this. If you run home now, you probably got a chance at beating the cops. Grab what you need, find a hotel. Things get real dicey, you can hole up with us. We got a scrapbook on your brother, you know. We take care of our own.”
Vee looked down at the roll of hundreds that had been thrust into his hand. Money. He could give some to his sister. He could buy food. Then he thought, Black Guerrilla Family money. You take care of your own? Tell that to Big S Sammy.
No more time for thinking. The big kid cuffed him again, harder this time. Everyone looked nervously at the school.
“Split,” the four big kids hissed. “Split.”
Vee started running, roll of money clutched in his fist. He didn’t know what else to do.
At twelve-thirty, Sandra got the call from Mike. He and Rusty finally had a name. They’d left two patrol officers at the school in case Vee showed up; now they were on the way to the boy’s house. After a long week, they thought they’d broken the case and they were feeling good.
Sandra made Mike promise to be careful. Then she headed for her press conference.
Everything went well. The reporters jumped over the news that the police had a break in the Vee case and expected to resolve the situation shortly. Of course, Alexandria’s law enforcement still needed to improve their re lationship with the community, Sandra transitioned smoothly, hence the new focus on community policing.
Amid a flurry of note scribbling, she described the general principles behind community policing—that many so-called “soft” crimes such as graffiti, vandalism and prostitution, paved the way for “hard” crimes such as drug dealing, mugging, and murder. Since the police did not have the resources to pursue all crimes, especially minor violations, community members could assist local efforts by attacking these offenses. For example, community leaders could organize whitewash parties every Saturday morning when locals would paint over graffiti tags done during the week. Studies showed that after enough time, taggers generally moved on and so did some measure of gang activity.
Community leaders could also organize local patrols of the city blocks, even videotaping suspicious activity for use by the police later. In one city, local business owners took out a restraining order against the prostitutes on their block. The women had to move their activities or were arrested for violating the restraining order the minute they showed up for work. Police discovered that once the prostitution ceased, so did many of the drug-related activities.
They had to start by focusing on small zones of security, Sandra concluded thirty minutes later, community members and law enforcement working hand in hand. These pockets could then attract investment dollars and community goodwill to help them expand over time, until someday perhaps the whole east side could be a safe zone where children could play in clean parks, walk down well-lit streets, and sit on their front porches without fearing for their lives. Surely it was worth a try.
A few reporters nodded vigorously. A few others looked bored. Sandra could live with that. They all promised to print the police department’s request for volunteer community liaisons. Hopefully, that would get the ball rolling.
Sandra also promised to keep the reporters posted about the situation with Vee. The Post still felt it had first dibs on the story. She let them feel that way.
Five minutes later, she had retired to her office and was hovering anxiously over the police scanner, waiting for news of Vee’s arrest. None came, but at a little after six, Mike and Koontz burst into her office.
“We got him,” Koontz announced, eyes shining bright.
“Kid’s name is Toby Watkins. Little Toby Watkins.”
“Did you arrest him? Is he here?”
Mike shook his head. He looked as jazzed as Rusty.
“No, not yet, but we know he’s Vee. When we knocked on the door, a young woman answered. Big round scar on her right cheek. It’s him, all right.”
“Check this out,” Koontz announced, flipping through his spiral notebook. “Toby Watkins, age thirteen, youngest of three children born to Yulanda Watkins. No record of criminal activity—that’s why we couldn’t find him in NCIC. According to his sister, he also doesn’t belong to any gang. His mother made him swear he’d never adopt colors after his older brother was shot during some gang war. Big S Sammy was the older brother’s name. He died three years ago. Toby now lives with his sister, Opal, and his mom, but the mom was recently taken away.”
“Taken away? Taken away where?”
“She had a breakdown,” Koontz said casually, and shrugged. “Some kind of nerve thing. She’s at the county hospital doped up on Valium and Prozac. I doubt she knows her own name.”
Sandra turned to Mike for guidance. He was definitely more compassionate in his approach. “She was taken away three months ago and Vee was left in his sister’s care. Opal Watkins is twenty-two and capable of serving as a legal guardian. Unfortunately, from what we could tell, she’s not working at all—”
“Dedicated herself to soaps,” Koontz snickered.
“The situation isn’t ideal,” Mike said. “No food in the kitchen and a pile of garbage on the floor. From the letters, it sounded as if Vee was close to his mother. Once she was taken away…” He made a helpless gesture with his hands. “Vee probably started to unravel a little, too.”
Sandra nodded. “We need to find him,” she said seriously. “This situation is still precarious.”
“Oh, we got him,” Koontz assured her. “According to attendance records, he’s pretty good about going to school and according to his sister, he doesn’t have any friends or other relatives. Now we got unmarked patrol cars at each location. I’d say any minute now, that radio is going to be beeping with good news.”
“I think we should still approach with caution,” Sandra said. “Even if he doesn’t have a history of violence, he’s been under a lot of pressure. Now he has his face featured in every newspaper. He must be feeling frightened and overwhelmed.”
“We’ll approach with caution,” Mike agreed. “We did find a small arsenal under his bed. Oh, and the manual typewriter.”
“Great work,” Sandra said seriously. “The mayor will be delighted, and I know we’ll all feel better once we’ve gotten this boy into custody.”
Mike grinned. After a moment, Koontz grinned, too. Sandra was mildly taken aback. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Koontz smile before. For the first time she could see the pride he took in his work.
The detective clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “Come on, Rawlins, let’s go down to the Code Blue and wait for the news. My treat.”
Mike hesitated, his gaze slipping to Sandra so imperceptibly she hoped Koontz hadn’t noticed. But Rusty immediately stilled. Something harsh and cynical slipped over his face.
“Oh, yeah, how could I have forgotten? Excuse me.”
“Hey, man, the Code Blue sounds great.”
“Oh, no, no, no. I overstepped my bounds again. Forgot about you two lovebirds here. Can’t be having that.”
“Rusty—”
Koontz wasn’t hearing it. His eyes were already dark with anger, his motions jerky. Whatever rift had been temporarily sealed by closing the case came tearing back open as Koontz headed for the door.
“Rusty, wait.” Sandra spoke up instinctively.
“What?”
“I…it’s just…we’re professionals here Rusty. Mike, you, me. We don’t need to get into this stuff. You and Mike are great partners. You want to go have a beer at Code Blue, more power to you.”
“You mean I got y
our permission?” Rusty drawled sarcastically. Mike immediately opened his mouth, looking angry now. Sandra held up a silencing hand, determined to try again.
“I mean it’s none of my business.”
“Damn right.”
“Damn right.”
The fact she’d agreed with him made Rusty scowl harder. “Don’t go doing me any favors, Sandy. You want Rawlins here, he’s all yours. I’ve been meaning to ask about a new partner anyway. So how about it?”
Sandra’s eyes widened in shock. Even knowing the part ners were going through a difficult time, she had not seen this coming. “Mike?” she asked after a moment.
He wouldn’t meet her gaze. He was engaged in an in-depth study of the badly scarred floor. That told Sandra enough. Mike was embarrassed. He was hurt. He was angry. He wasn’t going to say a word. Let this be Koontz’s decision, just like for him, the end of their marriage had been hers.
It made Sandra’s decision easy, after all.
“No,” she said.
Both men stared at her in surprise.
“What do you mean, no?” Koontz demanded.
“I mean no. You’re my best detective team. I won’t split you.”
“Hey, Aikens—”
“Now, Sandy—”
She cut them both off. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever problems you have, work them out. You are the two best damn detectives on the force. You just broke the toughest case we’ve had, and I won’t split you. Good night.”
She picked up her pen. Both men remained flummoxed. When it became blatantly apparent she wasn’t going to change her mind, Koontz stormed for the door. He slammed it behind him, which Sandra took as his way of getting in the last word. Mike had to open the door back up to pass through it.
At the last minute, Mike turned. The lines were back around his eyes. He looked strained, but he also looked grateful. He said simply, “Thank you.” And then he was gone.
Alone at last in her office, Sandra set down her pen and regarded her closed door. She didn’t know if she had just done the right thing. Koontz hated her. Maybe it would have been best to remove him from Mike’s life. It probably would have made things easier for her.
Except that Mike would have been hurt, and she couldn’t bear to do that to him.
Maybe she was older and wiser after all. Maybe she could grasp the spirit of compromise.
Of course, she thought ruefully, she was still spending the night alone.
“Wait up.” Mike caught up with Koontz just inside the parking garage. Rusty was walking fast and looking ready to spit nails.
“Buzz off, Rawlins.”
“Like hell.”
“Don’t you got a hot date tonight?”
“Not if you stand me up.”
Koontz came to a screeching halt. “Oh, no,” he said, “don’t you treat me like that. I’m not your pity date, Rawlins, the third wheel to fill in if Sandy’s got other plans. I’m your partner. You’re either in or out.”
“I said yes, Koontz. You’re the one who got mad.”
“You hesitated!”
“I’m human.”
Koontz scowled, still not looking mollified. Mike finally lost his temper.
“What do you want from me? You’ve been on my case since the minute Sandra walked through those doors. So you don’t like me getting involved with her. So you don’t like her. You don’t have to. It’s my life.”
“Oh, so now you’re getting all uppity. Your personal life is your personal life and I suppose mine is mine, too.”
“Of course.”
“Then what the hell were you doing calling me a racist!”
“Talking to you about your job!”
“Well, there you go. Sandy’s part of the job now, too.”
Koontz started walking again. Mike swore and caught his partner’s arm. He said forcibly, “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Destroy us. Eight years, Koontz. Eight years. We’ve been a good team.”
Rusty finally looked undecided. His feelings remained hurt, however. He shifted from foot to foot. “I’m not a racist,” he growled.
Mike didn’t say anything.
Rusty bowed his head. “Dammit, I don’t know what I am. I hate this PC world! Hate it!”
“I’m no expert at this stuff, either,” Mike said quietly.
“After what you went through with your uncle—I don’t know. Maybe you need to talk to someone about that. Get a better perspective on things.”
“You mean like a shrink?” Koontz sounded as if he was strangling.
“Yeah! Maybe. Hell, I don’t know.”
“You,” Koontz said, “have been spending too much time around women.”
Mike shrugged, Koontz scowled harder. “I hate Sandy.”
“No kidding, Rusty. And for the record, she hates you, too.”
Rusty blinked, obviously taken aback by this blunt disclosure. Then his lips twitched. For some reason, the news that the animosity was mutual amused him. That Sandy disliked someone was probably the first thing about Sandy that Koontz could understand.
“She’s got a mouth on her, Rawlins,” Rusty said after a moment.
“It reminds me of someone else I know.”
“Yeah, but she always wants the last word. How do you put it up with that?”
“Pretty much the same way I put up with you.”
“Sandy and I really do go at it,” Rusty acknowledged.
“Maybe it is kind of fun, goading each other on.” Rusty looked at Mike abruptly. “Kind of sucks to be you, though, doesn’t it.”
“Yeah,” Mike said softly. “It kind of sucks to be me.”
Rusty finally looked chagrined. He gazed off into the distance. He shook his head. “Why didn’t she just let us split up?” he said finally. “It’s gotta make her life easier. You go your way, I go mine. She can have you all to herself. I mean, what’s she trying to prove?”
“Maybe she’s not trying to prove anything. Maybe she means exactly what she said—we make a good team. She respects that.”
“God, these neophyte chiefs of police. You’d think we had nothing better to do than break them in.”
“You’d think.”
Koontz said more hesitantly, “I always figured she did nothing but bad-mouth me behind my back.”
“Rusty, I don’t need her to think for me any more than I need you to think for me. Got it?”
“You still called me a racist.”
“You backed out on me. We had a job to do, and you weren’t there.”
Koontz studied the ground. Slowly he nodded. “Maybe—maybe I should think about that. Ah, hell. I hate this stuff. Buy you a beer?”
“Two beers. Imports.”
“Then you’re going to go to her place, aren’t you?”
“If I’m lucky.”
“I’m so much more fun, Rawlins.”
“Yeah, but she’s got better legs.”
Koontz finally looked at him. “Tell me honestly. Do you love her?”
“Yeah, Rusty. I think I do.”
Chapter 11
Mike left the Code Blue a little after ten, later than he would have liked. He and Rusty had consumed six beers in the end, plus two orders of macho nachos. Then they’d booed the Red Sox who managed to lose it in the ninth inning. Then they’d slapped each other on the back—hard.
Male-bonding rituals. They worked.
By the time Mike slipped out the front door, he was feeling better about things. Quite a few cops hung out at the Code Blue and by morning, word would spread that Rawlins and Koontz had not only solved the cop-shooter case, but they had also patched things up. Life at work would improve for both Mike and Sandy.
In Sandra’s case, Koontz would probably lighten up a little. And, if a sarcastic, hard-to-impress cop’s cop like Koontz started to go easier on her, others would, too.
All in all, not a bad night’s work.
Now Mike wanted to show his appreciation to his
divinely intelligent ex-wife. In his beer-hazed state, he de cided to go all out. Buy her a dozen roses. Yeah, and more peach lingerie.
Of course, florists weren’t open at ten o’clock. It was the damnedest thing. He ended up in a cab going to a gas station minimart that sold single pink rosebuds for a buck. The cabdriver assured Mike that a rose was a rose, who cared where it came from, so Mike bought six. In the back of the cab, he managed to fashion them into a single bouquet. The driver was very impressed.
Arriving at Sandra’s home in the upper west side, Mike saw that lights were blazing. Sandra was awake; he was in luck. He threw a wad of money at the cabdriver—who continued to be more and more impressed by Mike—and jogged up to the front door.
Sandra answered after his first knock. She was wearing that icy-blue silk robe he loved so much. Her eyes widened appreciatively at the sight of half a dozen slightly mangled roses.
“For me?”
“Yep.” The word came out funny. Mike pursed his lips. He ought to be able to sound clearer than that. Now his ex-wife was smiling at him.
“Had a few beers, did we?”
“Mmm, maybe.”
“Uh-huh.” She let him in. He followed her down the hall to the kitchen, where she retrieved a vase for the flowers. Damn she looked good in that robe. He wondered if she was wearing anything beneath it.
“I take it things are better between you and Rusty?”
“Mmm, yep. You’re very pretty, you know.”
“Yes, I bet I am.” Sandra arranged the roses in a vase.
“I wanted to buy you ’nother peach teddy. You know the stores around here close at seven? How’s a person supposed to get anything done?”
“It’s very difficult.”
He moved closer. She was still smiling and her eyes held a warm, welcoming glow. It made his heart beat harder in his chest.
“Can I take off your clothes?” he asked politely.
“Possibly.”
“Can I take off my clothes?”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
