Cop Town

by Karin Slaughter

  “Stop!” Maggie warned. “Murphy, stop!”

  “Chrissake,” Gail hissed. “Doesn’t she know you’re supposed to bend your arms when you run?”

  “There’s a wall!” Maggie yelled. “Kate! There’s a—”

  It was too late. Both the whore and Kate saw the wall, but by then momentum had taken over. They slammed into the cinder block. Kate staggered on her feet for an almost comical few seconds before falling straight onto her back.

  Gail reached into her purse. Instead of pulling out a gun or a set of cuffs, she grabbed her radio receiver. Maggie didn’t know what she was going to do until she did it.

  “Stupid bitch!” Gail brought the plastic brick down on the whore’s face. Blood sprayed the wall.

  The whore slumped to the ground.

  “You think you can beat me?” Gail kicked the woman in the stomach. “And then you run from a cop?” She kicked her again. “Fucking whore!”

  Kate was still on the ground. She was too scared to move. She had her hands up like she expected to be next.

  Gail didn’t even see her. Her rage had caught up with her. She kicked the whore again. “Are you fucking stupid?” She kicked her again. “Are you?”

  “Gail,” Maggie tried, because sometimes it worked.

  “Shit.” Gail wiped her mouth. Blood was smeared down her chin and neck. Her nose was crooked. There was a wild look in her eyes. Adrenaline did that. Fury. Pain. It was all there, all working to ramp her up. “I still got my teeth?” She gave Maggie a bloody grimace.

  Maggie didn’t know how to answer. All she saw was red. “Yeah.”

  “Well, thank God for that.” She noticed Kate was still on the ground and pulled her up by the arm. “Good going, Sheep. You chased somebody into a brick wall.” She looked at the wall. “Cinder block. What the fuck? Same difference.”

  Kate was breathing too hard to respond.

  “You all right?” Gail brushed the dirt from Kate’s uniform. “You okay, Sheep?”

  Kate tensed as Gail slapped at her clothes.

  “Look at this one,” Gail told Maggie. “You’d think she sprinted a mile instead of chased a doped-up whore down an alley.” Gail rattled off another cough. “Some advice from me sweetheart: bend your arms when you run. All right?”

  Kate nodded furiously.

  “All right?” Gail repeated. “You look like a goddamn sheep when you run.”

  “Okay.” Kate’s hand was clutched to her chest. She looked terrified.

  “You.” Gail prodded the whore with the toe of her shoe. Maggie wasn’t sure how she’d managed to keep on the high heels while she was running. Gail’s feet were bloody where the straps had cut into her flesh. She didn’t seem to notice as she pressed her foot into the whore’s shoulder. “Come on, bitch. Don’t make me hit you again.”

  Maggie said, “Let me—”

  Gail held her back with one hand. “What’s the name, sugar? What’s the name you got for me?”

  The whore turned away, curling against the wall. Her hands covered her bare breasts. She was pathetic to look at. Her bleached hair was lank and filthy. Her skin was the color of flour. Her waist was a spindle. Her ribs stuck out like pickets.

  “You gotta name for me?” Gail repeated. She was seeing the same things as Maggie, but that only ramped up her anger rather than dialing it down. “What’s the name, sweetheart? Give me the name.”

  “Violet.”

  “I know your name, dipshit. Remember we talked about this? I need to know the pimp what’s running gals on Whitehall. I got some questions for him.”

  Violet shook her head. She wouldn’t look up.

  “You want me to kick you in the kidneys?” Gail pushed the tip of her shoe into the girl’s back. “You wanna be pissing blood for the next two weeks?”

  The girl didn’t answer. Gail reared back her leg.

  “Wait!” Kate screamed. Her hands were out in front of her, palms down. There was a panicked look in her eyes. “Just wait, okay?”

  “Wait for what?” Gail asked.

  Kate didn’t have an answer.

  “Do you even know what we’re doing here?” Gail took one step, then another, until Kate was backed into the wall. “Don Wesley’s dead, lady. Somebody killed him, gunned him down like a fucking dog in the street, and then went after her brother.” She jabbed her thumb toward Maggie. “This whore you’re so worried about is hiding a cop killer. A cop killer who could be out there right now murdering more of our boys.” She thumped Kate on the side of the head. “Has your three fucking minutes on the job got you thinking like a cop yet?”

  Gail went to thump her again, but Maggie caught her hand.

  That was all it took. Like all bullies, Gail just needed somebody to call her on it.

  She turned away from Kate. Black tears smeared her mascara. Her jaw was clenched so tight that Maggie was reminded of Jimmy chewing his breakfast that morning.

  Gail said, “All right, darlin’. I’m all right.”

  Maggie let go of her hand.

  Gail paced out the width of the alley, once, twice. She obviously had a conversation going on in her head. She kept nodding. And when she wasn’t nodding, she was shaking her head.

  Then she stopped.

  Gail steadied her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. She slipped off one high heel, then the other. Then she turned. Then she jumped up into the air and landed with both feet on the whore’s leg.

  A crack of splintering bone shot up the alley.

  “Fuck!” Violet grabbed her leg with both hands. She rocked back and forth on her side. “Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! Oh, fuck!”

  Maggie went numb. She couldn’t even feel her own heart beating in her chest. Kate slumped back against the wall. Her face was ashen.

  Gail got down on her knees. She rubbed the whore’s back like she wasn’t the one who’d put her into so much misery. Her voice took on a maternal tone. “Just tell me the name, darlin’. Tell me the name and we’ll leave.”

  Violet’s body shivered with pain. “What name?”

  “Don’t play me like that, Vi.”

  “I ain’t—”

  Gail pressed her hand into the whore’s broken leg.

  Really pressed it.

  Violet howled like a dying animal. Gail didn’t let up. If anything, she pressed harder. Maggie saw the indentation in the flesh. She imagined the shards of bone clashing like forks thrown into a drawer. And then she had to open her mouth just enough to take in a deep breath so she didn’t throw up.

  The screaming wouldn’t stop.

  Maggie took another breath. Then another. She tried to think of a song from the radio. Tapestry. Lilly’s thin voice singing about Smackwater Jack and feeling like a natural woman. Anything that might take the edge off the screaming.

  Gail slowly released the pressure. She was patient. She waited for the screaming to die down. She stroked the whore’s back again. Her voice was still gentle when she asked, “You listenin’ to me?” Her hand went to the break, fingers a few inches from skin. “You listenin’?”

  “Yes!” Violet yelled. “Yes!”

  Gail’s hand rested on the girl’s hip. “There’s some whores working the Five in the early hours, right? Some older girls on Whitehall?”

  She hesitated, but only for a second. “Yeah.”

  “Who’s runnin’ them?”

  The whore said nothing.

  Gail asked, “Do you think I wanna hurt you?”

  “He’ll kill me. He’ll fuckin’ kill me.”

  “Sweetheart, you oughta be more worried about me right now than anybody else.” Gail’s hand traced down the girl’s leg again, hovering over the break. Violet’s skin mirrored her name. Bruises covered her body. From the johns. From the needles. From cutting herself out of boredom or spite.

  Gail’s hand went flat to the leg. “One more time?”

  “She,” the girl whispered.

  “What’s that?”

  “Sir She.”

  Kate’s h
ead snapped around.

  Gail asked, “Where’s this Sir She operating out of?”

  “Huff Road,” the whore said. “West Side.”

  “Good girl.” Gail stood up. She wiped her hands on the front of her shirt. “You want me to call anybody for you?”

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself.” Gail started back up the alley. She was still barefooted. Her soles left bloody prints until the red clay stanched the cuts. Her hand reached into her purse. She shook out a cigarette.

  Maggie’s brain struggled with the memory of how to make her legs move. She walked slowly so she wouldn’t catch up with Gail. Kate followed, the loose leg of her pants making a sweeping sound with every step.

  “What was that?” Kate whispered, the words slurring together worse than Gail’s. “Whawashat?”

  “Just let it go.”

  “She beat that girl. She—”

  “Let it go.” Maggie adjusted the mic on her shoulder, shifted her utility belt back in place. She tried not to think about the spray of blood when Gail’s transmitter hit the girl’s head. The howl of pain. The black and red blister on the whore’s arm where a needle had broken off and caused an infection.

  Kate reached the cruiser first. Instead of getting in, she threw her hat onto the hood. She pressed her palms to the metal. She leaned over. Her head dropped.

  Maggie said, “If you’re going to throw up, go inside the restaurant.”

  “I’m not going to throw up,” Kate answered, but then she heaved. There wasn’t much. A single stream of bile came out of her mouth. Maggie watched it travel down the front of the car, past the grill, then drip onto the asphalt.

  “Go inside the restaurant.”

  “I’m not—” Kate heaved again. She must have had a light breakfast. Her stomach worked like a cat bringing up a hairball.

  Maggie walked toward Kate’s missing shoe, which was about ten feet from the cruiser. She bent down to retrieve it. She glanced inside the restaurant. Gail was talking on the pay phone. The dining room was empty.

  Kate gave one last heave. She looked up at the sky. She took a deep breath. Finally, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What time is it?”

  Maggie resisted the lecture; officers were always supposed to wear a watch. “It’s a little after two.”

  Kate laughed so loudly that the sound hurt Maggie’s eardrums.

  “I’ve only been doing this for six hours?” Kate kept laughing. “How can it only be six hours?”

  “Cheer up.” Maggie placed Kate’s shoe by her hat. “Only two and a half more to go.”

  Kate’s hand went to her stomach, but she didn’t heave again. She turned and sat on the hood of the car. There was some vomit in her hair. A red line slashed straight across her forehead where the rim of her hat was supposed to be. A matching line cut across the bridge of her nose, probably from hitting the wall.

  Maggie said, “You know you’re going to have to clean that off my car, right?”

  “It would be rude not to.”

  “That was speed.” Maggie explained, “The whore. She must’ve been shooting up when Gail knocked on the door. It winds them up and that’s how they spin down.”

  “Lovely.” Kate stifled a yawn. “I could just go to sleep. I’m serious. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  “Adrenaline crash.” Maggie felt like she was teaching a class. “It’s great when you first feel it. You breathe faster. Run harder. And then your head starts to swim. You get tunnel vision. You forget to look around, see what’s coming up.”

  “My hat was—” Kate didn’t bother to finish the sentence. She reached for her shoe. She didn’t have to untie the laces to slip it on.

  Maggie checked the restaurant. Gail was off the phone now. She was sitting at the bar. “Let the equipment hit you.”

  “What?”

  “Your belt.” That was why Kate had kept her arms straight. “You can’t stop your equipment from hitting you. Just let it happen.”

  Kate put her head in her hands. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

  “It’s not always this bad.”

  “Oh, good. I was worried.”

  “Gail was close to Don.” Maggie withheld the details. You didn’t say anything to one cop that you didn’t want every single other cop on earth to know. “She respected him. We all did.”

  Kate kept her head in her hands. “How can I be so hot and so cold at the same time?”

  “Shock.”

  “Shock. Yes. Of course.” She finally looked up. Her color was coming back. Her lips were a lighter shade of blue.

  Maggie asked, “You want a drink?”

  “I want about twenty.”

  Maggie was debating whether to go inside the restaurant or drive to a liquor store when she heard the wail of an oncoming siren. She saw the bright white blur of an Atlanta police cruiser darting down the road. Then another one. Then another.

  “Where are they off to?” Maggie mumbled.

  There was a long, low tone that sounded like a telephone button being pressed.

  Kate said, “That’s the emergency signal.”

  Maggie was already turning the dial on her transmitter to the emergency channel. There was a burst of static. Then a man screamed for help.

  Maggie’s heart stopped. There was something familiar about the man’s voice.

  Kate whispered, “Who was that?”

  Maggie turned up the volume. Static chopped the man’s voice into unintelligible pieces. The transmitter wasn’t receiving. She couldn’t tune in the channel.

  “Ten—” Static. “Twelfth and—” More static, then a garbled “Lawson. Repeat—” Static.

  Kate said, “I think he said Lawson.”

  Maggie jogged toward the road. She furiously scanned the dial on her transmitter, trying to get better reception. Another cruiser whirred past. She tried to flag it down as she ran into the street.

  “Shit-shit-shit,” she cursed, holding up the transmitter as high as she could. She spun around, searching for a sweet spot.

  And then she found it.

  “Dispatch?” Terry’s voice was filled with panic. “Dispatch? All cars. Repeat, all cars. Jimmy’s been shot.”

  13

  Maggie ran through the Grady Hospital emergency room. She had to shove people out of the way. There were at least two hundred cops here, and none of them seemed to be doing anything but keeping Maggie from her brother. She despised herself for wanting her uncle Terry. He’d sweep all of these assholes out of her way with a wave of his hand.

  “Maggie?” Rick Anderson caught her arm. “He’s all right.”

  “Where—”

  “This way.” Rick took hold of her hand as he led her through the crowd. His palm was clammy. It was the same as this morning: people parted for him. They nodded their heads. They stared at Maggie. Rick kept glancing back over his shoulder to make sure she was okay. Maggie knew he was being nice, but his calm deliberativeness set her on edge.

  Finally, they reached the back corridor. Rick pushed open the door. The wing had been closed down after a chemical spill. Most of the lights were off. Yellow tape still crisscrossed the locked door where the accident had happened.

  Rick led her down the hallway. “They put him back here because it’s quieter.”

  “What happened?”

  “He took a bullet in his arm. Went straight through. No big deal. Doctor says he’s gonna be fine.”

  Maggie slipped her hand from Rick’s. She wrapped her arms around her waist, pretending to be cold. “Where did it happen?”

  “Ashby Street over in CT.”

  She knew the area. That was two blocks from the address Violet had given them for Sir She. “He was alone? You can’t go into that area alone.”

  “Jimmy’s a big boy,” Rick said. “He was talking to a snitch. Some old woman went nuts. Thought Jimmy was gonna arrest her son. So she shot him.”

  They stopped in front of the nurses’ station. Two wome
n in white caps were sitting behind the counter. One of them saw the uniforms and said, “He’s in the last room on the right.”

  Maggie told Rick, “Thanks. I’ve got it from here.”

  He seemed reluctant to let her go, but mercifully, Rick wasn’t rude enough to stay where he wasn’t wanted. He crossed behind the nurses’ station, going through the doorway that led back into the main emergency department.

  Maggie slowly walked down the dark corridor. Suddenly, she wasn’t in such a hurry to reach her brother. She stared at the light pouring from his room. Chemical smells swirled through the air. She ignored the biohazard signs and dirty buckets. The soles of her shoes snicked against the sticky floor.

  Out of nowhere, Maggie remembered the first time she’d visited her father at the mental hospital. She was ten or eleven. She was terrified. Her legs were shaking. Her heart beat like her blood was running dry. Hank was in the lockdown ward. People were yelling at the top of their lungs. Maggie had felt like she was going through a fun house at the carnival. Each room she passed had an open door and beyond that doorway was some new horror: a crying man restrained in his bed, another man sitting in a feces-covered wheelchair, yet another man standing in the middle of the room, his gown wide open, a wet, degenerate look on his excited face.

  All the while, she was terrified that there would be some sort of mix-up and they’d lock Maggie on the wrong side of the cage door.

  She put her hand to the wall. She steadied herself. Now wasn’t the time to be emotional. She wasn’t at the mental hospital. She wasn’t going to be locked up. Jimmy was fine. He’d been shot, but by a frightened old woman, not a cold-blooded assassin.

  Maggie tried to make her expression passive as she rounded the door into Jimmy’s room. She found him sitting up in bed. His shirt was off, and maybe the rest of his clothes because he tugged up the sheet when he saw his sister standing there.

  “Jimmy,” was all she could manage. A large bandage was wrapped around his upper left arm. Rick had said the bullet went straight through. That meant no damage to the bone. No surgery needed. Yet, still, Maggie’s heart felt like somebody was straining it through a sieve.