by Alicia Scott
Other two crazy drunks weren’t sure. They were waiting for some other homeboys to arrive. Maybe they shoot the cop then and go dump his body in rival turf. Bring the heat down on the BGFs.
First banger laughed. He thought that was a righteous idea.
Vee roamed the living room, feeling the white cop’s gaze. Gotta do something. Didn’t know what. Still had two hand guns strapped beneath his shirt. Against a bunch of straight shooters, that meant squat.
Vee stopped in front of the white cop. Guy be staring right at him. He looked mad. Vee finally realized the poor dude was trying to gather enough saliva to spit.
Vee shook his head. “Don’t draw attention. Maybe they pass out soon.”
Man looked confused.
“I say, F-you mister,” Vee said more loudly. He stomped the floor. At the same time, he dropped a gun and quickly kicked it beneath the dead man’s leg. Cop’s whole body twitched.
Two homeys came into the living room. They looked at Vee, standing over the white cop, then laughed.
“Look, Vee’s talking trash to the Man. Ah, just don’t kill him too soon, baby dude.”
Vee faked a smile.
The white cop spit up blood.
And in the kitchen, the third banger said, “Hey, come here quick. Look what’s on TV!”
At the speaking pavilion, a rustic command center was quickly and efficiently coming together. Sandra commandeered a dozen phones from the police station and miles of telephone cord. She sent word out that card tables would be great and the next thing she knew, she had five grandmothers, two grandfathers and three gargantuan great-aunts standing in front of her with card tables and folding chairs. They announced they would man the phones. Sandra obediently set them up.
Shortly thereafter, a small contingency of kids ran underfoot, maintaining a steady pipeline of hot coffee to the tables. Sandra was offered four cups in three minutes, while ten pairs of old black eyes gazed on. She accepted each cup, thanked each child and downed the potent brew. She finally, reluctantly, received a stiff nod of approval.
Sandra decided the phone lines were definitely in good hands and she pitied the first crank caller.
She moved on to where Mike stood next to Lieutenant Banks and Smithy Jones, poring over maps of the city. Lieutenant Banks had sectioned off the city blocks into search quadrants. Smithy Jones was supplying local reconnaissance. This area fell under this gang’s control. This area belonged to this group. Drug dealers here, working girls there. If you’re going to send people down to that area, make sure they’re heavily armed.
Police officers, of course, were taking the most dangerous areas. Lieutenant Banks was also doing his best to assign at least one officer to each patrol group. The officer would give his members general instructions on technique and safety. In the worst-case scenario, the officer would also be present to advise his group on how to preserve the crime scene.
People were trying not to think about that, however. Two hours into the organized effort, the mood was optimistic and almost festive. Citizens were pleased to be part of a greater cause, while police officers were clearly touched. A few veteran cops were even spotted discreetly wiping tears from their eyes. Of course, search efforts generally started on a high note. Surely with so many people coming together they would get the job done.
The mood would slip later, when hours passed without result. When the hot coffee ran out and hope began to dim and the dark night turned into an even more daunting morning. People would stop thinking they were searching for a man and would start thinking they were looking for a body. Then the mood would be entirely different.
For now, Sandra shook Smithy Jones’s hand and thanked him for his part in getting this effort going. Smithy blushed and appeared almost giddy.
“Ma’am, that was some speech you gave this afternoon. I’ve been waiting years for someone to give a speech like that. Gotta say I can’t wait to see some things change around here and am just happy to finally have an excuse to act.”
“So I can count you in for community policing? Maybe you’d like to be a block leader?”
“Tell me where to sign.”
“You’re a great man, Smithy.”
The ex-marine blushed again. “Save that for when we find your detective, ma’am. Still got a little work to do here.”
He leaned back over the map. Mike tapped a new section and inquired about information.
From what Sandra could tell, it appeared regular patrol officers had thoroughly examined BGF territory during the daylight hours. Ironically, Koontz’s car had been found at the apex of three different gangland turfs, making it tricky to judge who might have grabbed him. Mike and Lieutenant Banks were still convinced he could not be held too far away from the automobile. They couldn’t imagine Koontz willingly walking anywhere. Rusty knew the rules: Never go anyplace with a captor, not even if the other person had a gun. Odds were always better in a public location than once you’d been led somewhere private.
Chances were, the attackers had knocked Koontz unconscious. Then they’d dragged him somewhere close. A full-grown man was a lot of dead weight to be lugging around a city. Mike promptly paled again at Lieutenant Banks’s unfortunate choice of words.
The area around Koontz’s abandoned car contained a lot of houses, nearly eight or ten each on a block all nestled shoulder to shoulder. Officers could request to search the premises, but home owners didn’t have to let them in. It made matters trickier and time-consuming and the men were clearly not optimistic about results.
“What if we went back to the TV stations?” Sandra asked. “We could offer a reward for Koontz’s release.”
Lieutenant Banks immediately shook his head. “Oh, no. We don’t want people thinking they can make money by snatching a cop. Then we’d never get through the streets.”
Sandra nodded. She hadn’t thought of that.
“We could appeal for his safe return,” she tried.
This time Mike shook his head. “The more importance you place on Koontz, the more thoughts you risk putting in the rioters’ heads. Then they might think of making ransom demands or a very public statement. It’s better for them to turn on the news and see community pressure. Whoever has him has got to live here. If they think their actions are now unpopular, they may quickly change their minds and turn him loose.”
“Okay.” Sandra rubbed her hands together for warmth.
“I just keep thinking there ought to be more we can do.”
“I know,” Mike said. He was still studying the map, his expression dark and intent. Finally he pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck. “I keep thinking there’s something we’re missing. This is Rusty. If he was conscious at all he’d drop something, try to leave a trail, anything to help us out. So why does it seem as if he vanished into thin air?”
Sandra could only squeeze his hand.
Just then, a little boy came running up, his eyes nearly bursting out of his head. “Mrs. Chief, Mrs. Chief, phone for you.”
Surprised, Sandra followed him over to the folding tables where one of the great-aunts sat guard, arms folded over her massive chest. Sandra picked up the receiver. The voice was low and rushed, and not who Sandra expected at all. Moments later, she was furiously waving her arms at Mike and Lieutenant Banks.
“I got a lead. Someone grab me a radio. Now!”
In the back room, Vee hung up the phone just as a brother appeared.
“What you doin’?” the boy demanded to know.
“Nothin’.”
“You were on the phone.”
“Called my sister.”
The big kid grabbed Vee’s ear, hard, and dragged him into the kitchen. All five homeboys were awake again. They’d opened the beer but still carried a mean, hungover edge.
“Hey. I found the little dude on the phone.”
The lead banger shrugged. “Who’s he gonna call?”
“He said his sister.”
Kid shrugged again. “What’s he gon
na say? Vee don’t know where he is, do you, little creep?”
Vee shook his head. He had no idea where he be. He just a long way from home.
“Come on,” the lead homey said. “Time to rock.”
Everyone moved into the living room. They’d been watching news of the search efforts on TV, hot-line number scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Then the lead brother had kicked the TV onto the floor. All those people working together had ticked him off. Now he said time was up. They had to kill the white cop. Things were getting too hot.
Vee’s hands were shaking. It was going down fast. He didn’t even know if the pretty chief of police had believed him. Had to speak so quickly. Quiet, too. And he be a cop-killing dude now. Maybe the pretty chief of police didn’t even like him no more.
This need not end in violence.
Lady, lady, lady, you gotta come now. Please, please, please. Somebody help me.
But no one knocked down the doors. The crazy drunks moved in on the cop.
White cop’s eyes opened. Man, he looked ticked. Anger burning so bright. White guy’s arm swung around. He held Vee’s gun.
White cop slurred, “Po—leeese.”
And the lead banger kicked the gun outta the man’s limp hand. Man didn’t have the strength left to swear. He was a goner, and they all knew it. The brother slapped him across the face.
“Come on, crew. Join the fun.”
The homeboys moved in for the kill. Most of them were laughing.
Vee knew there was nothing he could do. Boys would kill him, too, or beat him so bad he’d wish he be dead. That’s just the way it be. He’d tried to tell everyone that just the way it be. Especially for a stupid, cop-killing baby dude like him.
Vee didn’t know what he was doing until he did it. He pulled out his gun. He said, “Halt.”
The bangers turned. They looked surprised. Then the lead kid suddenly laughed and his eyes turned ferocious. “Ah, look, the baby dude thinks we’re cops. Come on, baby dude. Show us what you got. You draw down on me, you better open fire.”
The brother moved in fast. Vee tried to pull the trigger. He wanted to be tough. He wanted to be an O.G.B. Big S Sammy, buried with two guns so he could keep on killin’ even up in heaven.
Vee couldn’t do it. Not in cold blood.
The kid knocked the gun out of Vee’s hand. His crazy gaze now be clear.
And Vee knew what would happen next. His turn to go down. Just like his father. Just like his brother. Another black dude, dying in the hood, and it don’t mean a thing.
When the first blow landed, it still hurt more than he thought.
This need not end in violence….
Poor pretty lady, Vee thought as the metal-toed shoes found his head. Poor pretty lady to care about a loser little kid like me.
“I see it, I see it,” the first volunteer yelled. “Fourth house in, on the left.”
Weasel moved in close, glanced at the front window and nodded excitedly. He spoke into the radio. “Team F reporting, Team F reporting. We have the house in view. Requesting backup and EMTs.”
Orders followed, curt and quiet. Weasel moved his civilians back. A dark van came to a screeching halt two blocks over and released a stream of black-clothed men. The SWAT team poured into Weasel’s block and formed a tight perimeter around the house. Moments later, a sedan pulled up and Sandra and Mike came running out.
The SWAT team leader assumed command. Orders came in the form of hand signals. Men in position. Shields up, battering ram in place. One, two, three.
Four men crashed the wooden ram through the front door and everything happened at once. Shots fired. Windows breaking. The sound of someone screaming.
“The back, the back,” one officer yelled. Two teens came racing out a side door and were promptly tossed to the ground. Another tried to come back out the front. He encountered Mike’s enormous build, running up the front steps to find Koontz. The kid promptly put his hands in the air.
Mike left the subdued teen for other officers to process. He burst into the house with Sandra on his heels and only one thought in his head. And he found himself face to face with a wild-eyed gangbanger wielding a .45 Colt Magnum. Mike had just raised his hands in a placating manner when Sandy stumbled in on his heels. The kid jerked his handgun toward her and she promptly froze.
“Easy,” Mike said.
They all stood stock-still. The kid was breathing hard, the heavy pistol beginning to tremble in his hands. Around them came shouts as the last few teens surrendered to other police officers. But inside this now tiny space, the Magnum loomed large and the kid’s face was growing cruel.
The barrel still rested on Sandy. Mike hated that most of all.
Then a groan came from the corner of the room. Koontz.
“Mike,” Sandy said quietly.
“I know.”
“Shuddup!”
“Your call,” Sandy said. “Whatever you say…”
“Shuddup, dammit!”
“Sandy, duck.”
Sandra promptly flattened to the floor. The kid jerked, his gaze automatically dipping down to follow her movement. Mike didn’t need a second invitation. He stormed forward, catching the kid in the gut with the full force of his shoulder. The teen yelped. Mike wrenched the gun from the boy’s hand and pushed the offender to the floor. The boy had no fight left. Robbed of his weapon, he curled up sullenly.
Sandra rose up, dusting off her clothes. The look she gave Mike was grateful and warm and made him feel ten feet tall.
Then a movement in the far corner of the room caught his eye. Mike saw Koontz.
Curled up. Hand holding his belly. Eyes swollen shut. Frothy blood foaming at his lips.
Oh, God.
Mike bolted across the space. He tried to figure out where to touch, how to help. It was beyond him. Vaguely he was aware of Sandy calling frantically for the EMTs. Vaguely he was aware of her own cry as she looked into the adjacent room and discovered Vee. But mostly he just saw Koontz, proud, arrogant Koontz, beaten into a bloody mass on the floor.
“Don’t move,” he whispered thickly. “I’m here now, partner. Don’t move.”
Rusty’s eyes fluttered open to thin slits. He looked at Mike dimly. His lips curved. Maybe a grimace, maybe a faint smile. Then he coughed violently, his shoulders wracking hard. He said, “Vee…first.”
“The EMTs are coming for both of you, buddy. Hang on. Hang on.”
“Vee…first.”
“Shhh, don’t speak. Save your strength.”
“Kid…gave me…gun. Too weak.” Koontz grimaced. Fresh blood flecked his lips. “Sandy…was right. Damn smart woman. Keep…her.”
“I know, I know. Enough talking now, Rusty. You just rest, save your strength. Then you can heckle Sandy yourself. I swear.”
Koontz’s body suddenly shook. Mike tried to hold his partner together with his hands until the spasm passed. Dammit, where were the EMTs?
Koontz was whispering again. “How?”
“Vee called the hot line. We came as fast as we could.”
“Thought…didn’t know…place.”
“He made a sign for the search parties. He taped two pens to the front window, in the shape of a V.”
Koontz smiled roughly. He said, “Good kid.”
Then his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Dammit!”
The EMTs were clattering through the front door. They hastily pushed Mike aside, then strapped Rusty to a gurney and administered immediate emergency care.
“Looks like internal bleeding,” one EMT said sharply.
“Get him stabilized and to the OR. Stat, stat, stat.”
They rushed Koontz back down the front stairs into the waiting ambulance. Mike was left all alone, feeling helpless with his partner’s blood still smeared across his cheek.
A moment later, Sandra was at his side. She knelt down beside him and put her arms around his shoulders.
“Toby Watkins?” he asked.
&
nbsp; “Not good. They loaded him up first.”
Mike closed his eyes. “You were right about him, Sandy. He really is a brave kid.”
They looked around the room. The V was still taped to the window. Blood spotted the floor.
“Lord, Mike,” Sandra said after a moment. “They’re supposed to be children. Just children.”
Mike didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure he could. After a moment, he pressed his face against Sandra’s hair. They held each other more tightly. And together, they got through.
Epilogue
The day of the dedication ceremony dawned beautiful and bright. Multicolored helium balloons waved cheerfully in the breeze while newly planted trees showed off a fresh dress of leaves. Sandra, who had spent most evenings for the past four months working on the site, thought it had never looked so lovely.
Of course there had been a lot of help. One of Alexandria’s top nurseries had donated the trees and flowerpots now lining the street where her press conference had once been held and a community search effort had been organized. A leading architecture firm, friends of Sandra’s family, had agreed to draft a plan for rehabilitating the abandoned warehouse where Vee had fired on Officer Brody. Then, a lumber company had shown up the first day with all the timber and building supplies a community crew could desire. Four carpenters had arrived. An electrician had agreed to do the wiring for free. A plumber decided to do the same. Over long days and longer weekends, the building slowly and surely took shape and community excitement increased.
The next thing anyone knew, a local sporting goods store decided the new community center needed at least four Ping-Pong tables and two pool tables. Their parent company liked the idea so much, it paid to have a basketball court installed in back. A home goods store threw in free carpeting. Their main competitor, not to be outdone, installed a kitchen.
Now three stories of formerly abandoned warehouse gleamed in the morning sun. Windows had been washed, the outside facade freshly painted. All that remained was the ribbon-cutting ceremony, which would formally open the new center to the community.
