Mercy Dogs

by Tyler Dilts

Handcuffed and locked in the back of the squad car, she watched them searching her car, thinking, They can’t do that, can they? One of them was going through the trunk, tossing all her stuff on the ground, lifting the floor panel, moving the spare tire. He pulled out a plastic bag. Looked inside. Called his partner over. The partner looked inside. Then in unison they both turned their heads and stared at her trapped in the back seat.

  She sat at a dirty gray table in a small room with dirty gray walls. She couldn’t see it, but the chair was probably dirty and gray too. Matthew Lopez was sitting across from her, had been for what seemed like hours. He kept asking her the same questions over and over again. Where’d she get the Oxy? Who was she going to sell it to? Who was she working with? How’d she get started dealing? He did that thing she’d seen on TV where he was super friendly, as nice as he could possibly be. Can I get you something to drink? Are you hungry? I get how hard it is, how expensive tuition is, especially for grad school. Art history? Wow. Who’s your favorite artist? I saw this Picasso at LACMA once, The Crying Lady, you ever see that one? It’s really something. Where’d you get the Oxy?

  There was only one person who could have stashed it in her car. She couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it, but it had to be true. There was no other way the bag could have gotten in her trunk. It had to be the biggest shock, the biggest betrayal she’d ever experienced. She knew he liked weed, but Oxy? And dealing it? That was more than she could take in.

  Later, after they’d gone through the cycle several more times, after she’d caved and accepted a can of Sprite from him, after the shock had faded to numbness, she said, “Don’t I get a lawyer or something?”

  One corner of Lopez’s mouth curled up and he said, “If that’s the road you want to go down, sure, we can get you a lawyer.”

  What other road was there?

  The other road was a four-page confidential-informant contract that promised to drop the charges against her if she agreed to help Lopez and his colleagues gather enough evidence against both Steph and his supplier to convict them. If she did that, she was off the hook.

  She didn’t know what to do. Surely they couldn’t convict her for drug trafficking, could they? Lopez made it sound like a slam dunk. Like it didn’t matter that there was nothing else besides the bag of Oxy in her trunk, that just the fact that they found it in the back of her car was more than enough for her to go to jail for a very long time. But she had to choose. Of course she could talk to an attorney, that was her constitutional right, but the CI deal would be off the table if she did. It sucked, he said, that it had to be like that, but he knew from experience that CI operations only worked if they really were confidential. As soon as someone outside the team was involved, things always started to fall apart. He couldn’t let that happen, he said, couldn’t let her be in that kind of danger. By that point, after hours in the tiny room, she was so tired she had actually started to believe him.

  When they let her go, she went back to Steph’s place like they told her to. But she knew it was wrong as soon as she went inside. She checked the closet. His big duffel bag was gone. So were half of his clothes. His toothbrush and razor. Even his Xbox One.

  Somehow Steph had found out.

  She knew he was gone for good.

  Lopez was waiting for her at the Pick Up Stix, just as he’d said he would be. He introduced her to his partner, Brett Sowers. He looked kind of like Lopez, but younger and slimmer, with a toady sheen and eyes that were too small for his face.

  She told them Steph was gone.

  “That’s too bad,” Lopez said. “But you still owe us two convictions.”

  It was easier than she could have imagined. In an academic department where all-nighters in the studios and media labs were the norm, Addy was everywhere. She barely even had to ask. It only took a sheepish grin and an “Anything stronger?” to move up to the majors. Only halfway through the quarter and she had already made two buys for Lopez. Didn’t even have to wear a wire. He just gave her a smartphone with some app or something that she kept in her pocket to record everything. The art department was so big that no one seemed to notice.

  “So we’re done, right?” she asked.

  Lopez finished chewing his crispy honey chicken and took his time wiping the glaze from his mouth with a napkin. “The deal was for a dealer and a supplier.”

  Sowers grinned and popped another cream-cheese wonton into his mouth.

  The grad-student lounge was really just an extra office, but instead of being stuffed full of faculty desks, it had a couch and a little round conference table and a microwave and a minifridge. It was one of those rare moments that she had the room all to herself. There was frozen vegetarian lasagna heating up in the microwave when the big guy with the mustache came in.

  She figured he must be a professor from another department or something, because he sure didn’t look art school to her.

  “Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  “No.” He slipped a wallet from his coat pocket and flashed his badge, quickly and subtly, as if concerned that someone coming in or passing the door might see. “But I might be able to help you.”

  They went to a pizza place a few blocks from campus and found a table in the back that offered a bit of privacy. At three thirty on a Tuesday, the place was fairly empty.

  Rob explained who he was and filled her in on his investigation of Lopez and Sowers and the rest of the Narcotics team they worked with. Internal Affairs had been tipped off that they were running their CIs fast and loose and keeping sketchy records so they could skim both drugs and money.

  She told him what she’d purchased at their behest. One of the buys hadn’t even been officially reported, and on the other, less than half of what she’d bought had been logged into evidence.

  He asked if she’d be willing to help with his investigation. There were risks, he said, but he’d do everything he could to minimize them. If she didn’t want to, she could walk away right now and that would be the end of it.

  “What about the drugs they found in my car? Will I go to jail?”

  “No. That ex of yours, Stephen?”

  “Steph,” she said.

  “He had priors and was heading downhill fast. The reason your car was flagged was because someone fitting his description was seen driving it away from a buy. If Lopez hadn’t stuck his nose in, they would have tested the bag, found his fingerprints and not yours, and you wouldn’t have had anything to worry about.”

  “Except my boyfriend being a piece of shit.”

  Rob chuckled. “We’d appreciate it if you would help us out, but I understand if you don’t want to.”

  She thought about it, made up her mind. “Fuck Matthew Lopez.”

  There were two more buys like the ones before. Small. Undergrad students from other departments, so it would be less likely that anyone might connect them to her. Then Rob told her they were ready to make their case and take Lopez down.

  She had no idea how it all fell apart. Late one night, Rob called and said it would be best if she went away for a while. He had everything set up for her. A good place to stay.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “A while.”

  “What about school?”

  “You might need to do a leave of absence.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “We’re minimizing risks.”

  She hung up the phone and heard Lisa knocking on her bedroom door. When she opened the door, Grace was crying.

  “What’s wrong?” Lisa asked, pulling her into a hug.

  She’d been careful about what she said, though Lisa did know about Steph and how he’d gotten her into trouble. But she had held back most of the details about what she was trying to do to get herself out of it. Now it all just came pouring out.

  “Oh my god,” Lisa said. “I was scared for you before, but now I’m fucking terrified.”

  “Me too,” she said. “Me too.”

  All that time,
Ben thought, she had been carrying so much. And he’d had no idea. Could he have done something to help her sooner if he had known?

  “The sun’s going to be coming up soon,” she said. “I’m sorry I kept you up all night.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He hoped she believed him. “And Grace?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s going to be all right.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  After breakfast, Peter’s stomach was bothering him more than usual, so he went back into his bedroom to lie down for a while. “Not for very long, just a minute,” he said. “Then I’ll get going.”

  “Sure, Dad. There’s no rush. Just try to relax so you’ll feel better.”

  Peter eased his head down onto the pillow. “I’ll get going in just a minute.”

  Ben was anxious to go see Grace, so he went into his bathroom and got in the shower. He hadn’t realized how tight the muscles in his neck and shoulders had been until the hot water began to wash away the tension. After several minutes, he started to worry about how long he was taking. He intended to keep the shower short, so he could be ready to go as soon as his father was up and feeling better. Just a few more minutes, he thought. Grace was waiting for him, but the more centered and focused he was, the more likely he’d be able to talk her into trusting the LBPD.

  As he toweled off, he heard his father’s voice outside his bedroom door. “Ben?” His voice was weak, almost a whimper.

  The calm Ben had been so earnestly cultivating in the shower crumbled and he felt something snap in his head. “What now?” he yelled, coming out of the bathroom to see his father shrinking away from the open bedroom door.

  Peter’s eyes widened, then his lips began to tremble as he said, “Nothing. I’m sorry.” He wrung his hands and shuffled away toward the back of the house.

  “Fuck!” Ben snarled as he clumsily put on the dirty shorts he’d taken off before getting in the shower. What was wrong now? What was . . . what was his father wearing? He’d only had on his undershirt and boxers. Peter never came out of his room like that.

  Guilt washed over Ben now as he hurried back to his father’s bedroom.

  “Dad?” he said through the closed door. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m really, really sorry.” He turned the knob, opened the door halfway, and leaned in. “Dad?”

  Sometimes the Miralax worked too well.

  There was a brown puddle in the middle of Peter’s bed. The diarrhea had gotten all over the sheets. His father was hunched over and using a baby wipe, trying to clean up the footprints that trailed across the hardwood floor into the bathroom. It must have run down his legs as he was rushing to the toilet.

  “Oh no,” Ben whispered.

  Peter looked up at him, holding the empty wipe package in one hand, eyes wet with humiliation, and said, “Is there more of these?”

  After he got Peter showered and dressed, the sheets in the wash, and the floor cleaned up, Ben called Grace and told her he was running late but would be on the way soon.

  “It’s a good thing I was too lazy to take that plastic liner off your bed after the last surgery,” Ben said.

  “You’re not lazy,” Peter said as he spooned another bit of yogurt into his mouth.

  Ben put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I know you have to go now.” He didn’t look up from his snack.

  “I do,” Ben said, trying hard not to let the guilt and shame he felt slip into his tone.

  “It’s okay.”

  “You want to come with me?”

  Half an hour later, they were crossing Terminal Island with the Vincent Thomas Bridge rising in front of them. Peter stared at it through the windshield. “We used to come this way,” he said.

  “That’s right, Dad, we did.”

  “You were such a good boy.”

  Ben wiped at the corner of his eye and felt his father’s hand squeeze his knee.

  “And you still are.”

  “Pete,” Grace squealed, throwing her arms around him. “It’s so good to see you. What are you doing here?”

  He returned her enthusiastic hug, grinning and looking happier than Ben had seen him since all of this had started. “I shit the bed,” he said seriously.

  Grace looked at him, at Ben, then back at him and started laughing, then Peter joined in. Ben couldn’t quite go that far, but he managed a half-hearted grin.

  She led Peter over to the sofa and sat next to him. “How have you been?”

  “Hanging in there,” he said, staring at her.

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Are you coming home?” he asked with hopeful eagerness.

  She shot Ben a glance before she answered. “I don’t know yet. I hope so.”

  “Me too. We miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  There was a long silence. It felt awkward to Ben, but Peter didn’t seem to mind it. He couldn’t read Grace’s expression well enough to guess how she was feeling.

  Peter looked at the TV across the room. “Want to watch Ellen?”

  The question surprised Ben. His father hadn’t been able to remember the name of the show in a long time. Ben couldn’t recall him doing that since the last time he came home from the hospital.

  “I’d love to,” she said, “but I don’t have it recorded like you guys do. If I’d have known you were coming . . .” She shot Ben another glance. He should have told her he was bringing his father. It was a dick move to surprise her, especially with how much stress she’d been under. He just didn’t feel like he’d had another choice. Not that morning.

  “Can I go to the bathroom?” Peter asked.

  Grace took his arm, helped him up, and led him down the short hallway. She reached into the door on the right and turned on the light. “Here you go.”

  Peter went inside and looked around for a few seconds to get his bearings.

  “You need some help?”

  “I’m okay,” he said, carefully closing the door.

  She returned to the living room and sat back down on the sofa. “That was a surprise.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said. “Things took a rough turn this morning.”

  “It’s okay. It really is good to see him.”

  “You changed your hair.” Her dark shoulder-length curls were gone. The new cut was short and kind of shaggy, maybe two shades lighter.

  She seemed surprised that he noticed. “I saw the Supercuts and thought it would be a good idea.”

  “It was.” From a distance he might have had to look twice to recognize her.

  Ben didn’t know what else to say, so he leaned forward and took the three bank envelopes out of his back pocket and put them on the coffee table in front of her. “There’s a thousand in each one, all twenties, so they’ll be easier to spend.”

  “Three thousand? That’s—”

  “Not enough,” Ben said. “I know you don’t trust the police. That’s completely understandable. But trust me. Let me talk to my friends again before you go. See where they’re at with Rob’s case. Maybe you won’t have to run at all.”

  “I don’t know, Ben.” She bit her lower lip. “Disappearing seems like the best thing.”

  “Maybe it is. If my friends can’t get Lopez, you might have to. But I think they can, especially if you—”

  “I won’t agree to testify again. I never should have done that in the first place.”

  “That’s fine. But will you talk to them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just think about it, okay?”

  They heard the toilet flush.

  She nodded. “I will.”

  Peter hadn’t wanted to leave, so Grace turned on the TV, flipped through the channels, and found a movie with Tom Hanks where he’s an older guy who goes back to community college where Julia Roberts is a professor. One of the classroom scenes caught Peter’s attention and he leaned in to see it better.

  Ben looked at Grace. She was watching Peter w
ith an expression Ben couldn’t quite read. Wistfulness, maybe.

  When he guessed there was maybe twenty minutes of the movie left, Ben excused himself, saying he needed to get something out of the car, and went outside. The apartment was on the lower floor, and it was one of those complexes that had been popular in the eighties when he was a kid, with recessed and staggered entryways to each unit to maximize privacy. He walked around the perimeter of the building looking for anything out of place, a car or person that didn’t seem to belong, searching for a place where someone might hide or watch. He looked for cars with people sitting in them, delivery trucks or utility vans that didn’t to seem to belong to someone working nearby. He asked himself how he would set up surveillance on Kyle’s apartment and checked out every possible angle he could think of. There was nothing he saw that seemed out of place or as if it might be part of a stakeout operation. When he was satisfied that the only way someone could be watching Grace was if they’d moved into one of the other units, which seemed highly unlikely given the time frame and other constraints Lopez would have to work against, he went to the Volvo in the guest parking area, got the canvas tote bag out of the trunk, and went back to join Grace and Peter.

  “That took a while,” she said.

  “I wanted to take a look around.”

  “And?”

  “Everything looks good.”

  When the movie ended, Peter said, “That was a good one, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it was,” Grace said. Then she looked at Ben and tilted her head toward his father. “Too bad you missed it.”

  “Hey, Dad,” he said. “Maybe we could watch it again at home. Would you like that?”

  Peter nodded. “That was a good one.”

  “Let’s get you home for some lunch.”

  Graced hugged them both again, and as they got to the door, Ben said, “Dad, would you wait on the porch for just a minute?”

  When his father was outside, he pushed the door almost closed, walked over to the dining nook, and put the tote bag down on the table. Inside were two objects wrapped in kitchen towels.