by Alicia Scott
“Ironically, I understand what happened. Economic differences began to divide the community, while standard policing procedure divided citizens from cops. There was a time when common wisdom held that police officers should be removed from the community in order to maintain their objectivity. But when officers only interact with citizens to make arrests, they come to see the entire community as criminals waiting to happen. When citizens only encounter officers when they come to take away their sons or deliver bad news about their daughters, they begin to see the entire police force as an unjust power to be avoided. So these practices bred distrust instead. That was our fault, an honest mistake, and now, we must move beyond that. Now, we must start looking at each other as neighbors again.
“Already, when I gaze out upon this crowd, I see similarities. I see community members who are worried about their town. I see kids who want to feel they have the same opportunities as other kids in other cities in other parts of America. I see lots of people, white, black, rich, poor, cop, civilian, who have been touched by letters written by a thirteen-year-old named Vee. How many of you out there have read those letters to the editor?”
A collective murmur arose. People nodded and seemed encouraged to find their neighbors nodding, too.
Sandra said quietly, “I’d like to tell you the rest of Vee’s story, what we’ve been able to learn. His story is our children’s story, and we must never let it happen again.”
Sandra glanced down at Mike’s background report. Then she slowly spun the tale of a thirteen-year-old boy growing up on the east side without a father, without a brother. A shy, quiet boy surrounded by gang activity. A boy growing up under so much pressure, his own mother collapsed beneath the strain. And she talked about his attempt to reach out and how, in the end, it sent events spiraling further from his control.
“We have reason to believe that Vee shot Officer Brody last night,” Sandra said finally, as the reporters continued to take notes. “We also have reason to believe he was acting under extraordinary circumstances. Speaking for the Alexandria police department, we are willing to take that into account. We are willing to do everything in our power to help Vee get the assistance he needs. Now it’s time to find out if Vee is willing to do his part by coming forward. It’s time to find out if you, out there, are willing to do your part by working with us to insure that other children don’t have to grow up like Vee. Are we willing to work together yet? Are we willing to be citizens of Alexandria, and not of the east or west side?”
Silence. People glanced uncertainly at one another. Still confusion and mistrust. Sandra leaned forward and continued almost fervently.
“Please, it’s not that hard. There are so many opportunities for us to join forces to improve our lives. Citizens can work with police officers in community policing. Police officers can work with citizens to clean up graffiti and reclaim the streets. We can come together on weekends and holidays, plant shrubs to brighten parks, sweep discarded needles off the sidewalks. We can make this city better and stronger. Help us try. We all desire peace.”
The reporters had questions. They drilled Sandra for more details about the shooting between Officer Brody and the teen. She told them, “No comment.” They demanded more information about this “community policing” stuff. She gave them as much as they could take. They asked her if she was being too optimistic. She said no. They asked her if the police were truly willing to cut a deal with a kid who had allegedly shot a police officer. Sandra ignored her officers and said yes.
It took until three-thirty to wrap things up. In the aftermath, Sandra discovered she was suddenly brutally tired. But then she looked around. The crowd had not immediately dispersed. Instead community members were lingering, seeming to look officers up and down. For a change, her men were not glaring back. They seemed to be regarding the citizens with fresh interest, as well.
People were considering her words. They were not convinced, but they were considering.
Beside her, Mike’s police radio crackled to life. He stepped aside and put the receiver to his ear.
Sandra took a seat next to Lieutenant Hopkins while she waited.
“Not bad,” he grunted.
“Thank you.”
“It’ll never work,” he assured her. “But it makes good PR.”
Sandra smiled wanly. Then she noticed Mike. Standing at the back of the speakers’ pavilion, he had gone pale. And suddenly, Sandra had a horrible chill.
Slowly she rose to her feet. Slowly she crossed to him.
“Vee?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Koontz.”
“What?”
His arm dropped to his side. His dark eyes were hollow and bleak. “Some officers found his car abandoned six blocks over. It was smashed up and rolled behind a Dumpster. They think it’s been there since last night. They think he was probably attacked by a group of rioters when he tried to head home. I shouldn’t have let him leave like that. I should’ve made him wait for me. Oh, God, Sandy, there’s blood all over the front seat.”
Chapter 13
Vee stood in a side alley, stubbing his toe on the ground. He’d been running for so long, he didn’t know where he was. In gangland turf that was a dangerous thing.
Cops had poured in last night. Black brothers gathering. Vee had read the signs and gotten the hell out of there. Ain’t nothing good gonna happen when homeys strap on their colors. Later he heard windows breaking. He heard sirens and car alarms and store alarms as everything busted loose.
He kept on truckin’, his head ducked low. Even if he had BGF money in his pocket and two hand guns beneath his shirt, he still be a homey without a hood. No telling what some gang do to him.
Now he was alone and unsure. He be a straight shooter now. He kept waiting to feel different. He didn’t.
Mostly his stomach hurt. He wanted to go home.
He guessed he wouldn’t be doing that no more. Man like him had to take care of himself. He had money. He could sell a gun for good dough. Live like a king in some junked-out building. No one to answer to but him.
He slouched against the alley wall. He closed his eyes, and he saw his mama in his mind. His big, strong mama, yelling at him to grow up straight.
Vee pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes to make the tears go away. Then he heard a noise.
Big kids approaching. Five or six. They be decked out in thick down vests and low-slung jeans. Vee looked around. Had to find some place to hide. Bigger, older homeys be the most dangerous kind. They’d beat the crap out of a small brother like him just for lookin’.
Then Vee noticed something else. Kids be walkin’ funny, like they pullin’ weight. And they had a half-mad, scary-funny gleam in their eyes. They be laughing and pushing each other around. They be looking mean.
Vee heard a moan. He finally understood. The homeboys had themselves a toy.
White guy. Punked-up good. Bangers be dragging him along by the collar of his shirt. Dude’s face was covered in blood. He had that green look people got when punched too much in the stomach. Red froth foamed at his mouth.
Now the brothers be discussin’ the best way to kill their cop. They’d been playin’ all night and it had gotten old. Time to send a message, the lead banger said.
They came upon Vee. Gave him the stare. He faded into the background, like the little black kid he be, and finally they trudged on, still talking about what to do with their catch.
Cop woke up. Eyes fluttered opened as the brothers dragged him by.
Vee stared at the beaten-up white man and it was too late to turn away. He saw bitterness. He saw rage. He saw a need to fight. Bound and beaten, the man was still pre pared to war. He be the kind that go down hard. Like Vee’s brother, before he became a white coffin with eighteen bullet holes in his back.
Vee looked at the older kids. He thought of his mama, his sister. He thought of how much they’d cry when they knew what he’d done last night…what he would probably still do. Ai
n’t no going back. His brother had taught him that, too. Ain’t no going back.
Least not until ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Vee stepped back out of the shadows. He said, “Yo. I be Vee.”
The other kids stopped. The other kids turned and stared. Leader finally said, “Righteous.”
Vee could come over to play.
Three hours later, Mike and Sandra were back at the police station. Mike was pacing the debriefing room with a raw, savage energy that had everyone on edge, especially Sandra. They had gone straight to Koontz’s car after receiving the call. CSU was already there, piecing through the wreckage and diligently documenting the scene.
Nothing had been good enough for Mike. He wanted to know exactly when the car had been attacked and exactly when Koontz had been kidnapped. Why hadn’t he radioed for assistance? How many kids would it take to roll a car behind a Dumpster? Couldn’t they identify any tracks leading away from the wreckage?
After one hour on the scene, CSU hadn’t had many ready answers. They believed the blood was old, maybe twenty-four hours old. Preliminary theories were that Koontz had been ambushed, beaten, then led away from his vehicle.
Vice was still working the streets. The Gang Task Force had been making the rounds. No one had heard talk of anyone kidnapping a police officer, though. Twenty-four hours later, they were just discovering that Koontz was gone. Everyone knew that as each hour passed, so did their chances of finding him alive.
Officers were mad again. Mike could see the resentment building in their eyes as they studied broken buildings and pothole-ridden streets. Mike didn’t care anymore. He was angry himself and tired of feel-good speeches about everyone playing nice. He’d given those speeches to Koontz and look what had happened to him.
Koontz had been right to be wary. Koontz had been right to be afraid. When all was said and done, Koontz was probably going to die at the hands of some black gangbanger.
And it was Mike’s fault. He had let his partner leave alone. He’d been too consumed with taking care of Sandy. Blacks might kill Rusty, but it was his white partner who’d failed him first.
Sandra finally approached him from across the room. Mike read wariness on her face. He wished she’d listen to her own emotions and leave him alone. Now was not a good time. Especially with a room full of fellow officers watching.
“How are you holding up?” she asked quietly.
“Just dandy.”
“Mike…it’s time to go home—”
“No.”
“You haven’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours.”
“Don’t care.”
“You are useless in this condition!”
“Sandy, get the hell away from me.”
“I can’t, Mike. Lieutenant Banks just ordered me to get you out of here. He wants you gone.”
Mike promptly looked over at the lieutenant and snarled. Banks didn’t care.
Sandy tentatively brushed Mike’s arms. The concern was still bright in her eyes. “We have nearly fifty patrols working the streets, Mike. There is nothing we can do now but wait. Come on, Mike, get some sleep.”
Mike shook his head, shoving his way forward. But then the room started swimming before his eyes and he had to put out a hand to steady himself. Sandy was looking at him sympathetically. He had pushed himself too hard, and they both knew it. It all just made him angrier. Koontz was his partner. Koontz was his friend.
“Okay, Mike. Here we go.”
Sandra led Mike out to his car. He tried to protest, but his exhausted mind was no longer functioning clearly. He didn’t even remember the drive to her house. The next thing he knew, she was leading him into her bedroom, and all he could think was he’d made his bed and now he would have to lie in it.
Koontz all alone. How could you fail your partner like that? How could you put Sandy ahead of Rusty? How could you not? What was a man supposed to do?
“Sandy, I can’t do this anymore. You, me—it’s not going to work. We’re just going to destroy each other….” Then, as sleep overcame him, he could hear Sandy crying quietly. And he couldn’t do anything. He had nothing left to give.
Hours later, he became aware of Sandra lying beside him, her fingers brushing back his hair. In his dreams, he had traveled someplace far away from him, leaving him empty. But now his eyes were open. Reality had returned. He was here. His partner was missing and probably dead.
“We’re going to find Koontz,” Sandra murmured as he shifted edgily. “It’s going to be okay.”
“He was my partner and I left him alone with a mob.”
“Shh.”
“I can’t be a good husband and a good partner. Koontz was right.”
“No. We’re going to get through this, Mike. You, me, and Koontz—”
“Will we?” He rolled over, feeling harsh. Too many images were raw in his mind. Sandra in a peach-colored teddy. Koontz’s car, covered in blood. He no longer knew how to make sense of them. “Tell me the truth, Sandy. Your life would be better without Koontz. Our lives would be easier. No more Mike belonging too much to his work. No more Mike hanging out with his partner at the Code Blue. It could be everything you ever wanted.”
“No,” she protested. “That isn’t what I wanted. Not us together like this.”
“Yes,” he insisted stubbornly.
“No! Dammit.” She sat up, grabbing his face and looking fierce, the way she always looked when they fought.
“Four years ago, Mike,” she said sternly, “four years ago I would’ve said yes. Let Koontz rot in hell. Let me get my husband as far away from the police department as I can. But I was wrong. Do you hear me? I was wrong. I wasn’t listening to my wedding vows. I wasn’t understanding what it really meant to say for better or for worse. Instead I wanted to love you only on my terms, if you’d live where I wanted you to live and work how I wanted you to work and speak to me when I wanted you to speak with me. I loved you without understanding what it meant to really love someone. And for my arrogance, I got to spend four years without you, Mike. We both had to pay our dues.
“Well, I don’t want to do that again. As far as I can tell, this is it. We love each other, we were meant to be together. Together we may fight, but boy, do we make love. Together may involve sacrifice, but apart is so much more lonely. Face it, we challenge each other and understand each other and drive each other nuts. And we’re going to grow old together. This time around, we’re not going to quit. I won’t, and if that means I’m spending the rest of my days with Rusty Koontz as well, then by God, let the man start whittling his rocking chair. Because I’m not letting you go, Mike. I’m not!”
“I can’t be both a good husband and a good cop!”
“You can! We were the ones tearing you apart, Mike. It was our fault, not yours.”
“He’s my best friend, and I failed him. What kind of man does that make me?”
“One who is learning.”
“I gotta get back out there.” He rolled over, still feeling edgy and undeterred.
“I know. I’ll go, too.”
Mike immediately shook his head. “You do what you gotta do, Sandy, as chief of police. But I have business out there as a partner. I have some of my own places to go.”
“You mean you’re going out on your own?” she asked sharply.
He simply nodded.
Sandra inhaled deeply. Her lips parted. He could tell argument was on the tip of her tongue. Then slowly, carefully, her shoulders relaxed.
“I trust you, Mike,” she said simply. “You do what you need to do.”
The phone rang. Sandra swiped up the receiver. She said hello, then nodded twice, hung up and bolted out of bed. Mike eyed her warily, already steeled for the blow.
“That was Lieutenant Banks,” she said simply. “We’re supposed to go look at the news.”
They both moved into the living room, and a minute later, sat stunned
Alexandria’s citizens were flooding the site where Sandra and Mayor Pet
erson had given their speeches. They were bringing search lanterns and flashlights and jugs of hot coffee. They were bundled up in warm coats and they were all offering their assistance to find Detective Rusty Koontz.
Smithy Jones, with his tattoos and leather jacket, stood on the speaker platform coordinating the scene. He had implored his neighbors to take a stand for justice on the east side, to pull together as a community, and they had responded. Young and old, black and white, they were all convening upon the square.
“Store owners, retirees, working moms, kids. They’re being matched up with cops and given a search grid,” Sandra observed. “Then they’re going door-to-door. Hundreds and hundreds of people, Mike. All looking for Koontz. Isn’t it the most beautiful sight you have ever seen?”
It was. Mike put his arms around Sandra. For a few moments, they simply sat beside each other on the carpet, holding each other close.
The news clip ended. Sandra and Mike rose together. No need for words anymore. They grabbed their heaviest jackets, two flashlights and headed for the speaking pavilion.
The night was cold and dark, but the crowd of people lit the way and warmed the air.
Hang in there, Koontz, Mike kept thinking. Hang in there.
In some house now. Vee didn’t know where. Probably belonged to somebody’s O.G.B. House reeked. All sweat and urine. Fridge held nothing but beer.
Couple of homeys be sleeping. Collapsed on sofas and snoring to wake the dead. Brothers had been drinking all night, Vee heard. Some wanted to sleep it off. He knew the type. Three others still be awake. Dark looks in their eyes. Crazy drunks. Vee be afraid of them.
Still didn’t know what to do. White cop awake now. He be propped up in a corner, shoulders slumped against the wall and legs straight out in front of him. Vee could see the dead man’s gaze patrol the room. Watching, waiting. Watching, waiting. White cop never moved, though. His breathing had gained a wheeze. Man not gonna make it much longer. Seemed to know it, too.
The three crazy drunks sat in the kitchen. One of them was bored now. He kept saying, “Let’s kill the dude and be done.” He had the cop’s two guns. He twirled them around and around on both his index fingers.
