by Derek Blass
“I know Alicia. Don't worry 'bout it. We're gonna bring it to these punks. I still need your help though.”
Alicia collected herself between sobs. She managed to take some deep breaths and look up at Martinez.
“You're one of Carmen's best friends and I'm gonna need your help in convincing her to leave town. You know she won't accept leaving her own home. But, it's not just her in danger.” Martinez stopped, softened his face and lowered his voice, “I know you said you wouldn't leave, but do you understand the danger here? Do you understand why I need the two people I love the most out of here?
Alicia thought about it and then nodded her head.
“Alvin was your husband and basically my brother. We share that grief but we also share the weight of the fight that's coming—and I need your help getting Carmen and yourself to safety.”
“I can do it.”
“Good,” Martinez said as he started the car. “When we get to our house I'll fill you in on the plan.” He was putting on a courageous front but the truth was that Martinez had no idea what the next step was.
* * * *
Cruz stood slack jawed in front of Sandra.
“Are you okay? What happened…did someone hurt you?” He knelt down and took Sandra by her hands, gently pulling her out of the closet. She was pale and limp. As Cruz started to lead Sandra to the front door she pulled away and ran into the bathroom. Cruz heard the toilet seat slam and Sandra vomiting. He pulled out his cell phone and started to dial “911” but then stopped and looked at the body in the living room. Blood pooled behind the cameraman's body. Every few seconds Cruz heard a drip.
Cruz closed his phone and moved back to the closet where Sandra had hidden. He opened the closet door and knelt down on the carpet.
“What are you doing?” Sandra asked.
Cruz jumped up, “Shit Sandra. You scared the hell out of me!” He looked at Sandra who had hair pasted to both of her cheeks. She was always so put together that this vulnerable look was startling. “I'm making sure no one knows we were here.”
“You aren't going to call the cops?”
“I thought about it, but no way. If that cop is crazy enough to shoot an innocent person, he'll have no problem pinning this on us. Hell, he's probably waiting for the call to come back here and kill us too.” Sandra lowered her head. “I need your help taking care of anything that could identify us. Scrub down all door handles and the bathroom you were just in, then ...”
“I've got something,” Sandra interrupted.
“Okay,” Cruz responded a bit impatiently. “What is it?” Sandra handed him a USB drive for a computer. “It's the video of the shooting.” Cruz stared at the drive in disbelief.
“How'd you get this?”
“The cameraman, Max, gave it to me before the Sergeant got here. Literally, as the Sergeant got to the door.”
Cruz still could not believe they had the drive. After a moment he gathered himself and said, “That's amazing work Sandra...truly. We've got to get this cleaned up and get out of here. You clean anywhere that may have prints. I'll check for anything we may have dropped. I don't want to meet this Sergeant or leave him a calling card to come find us.”
“I think he already has one...”
“What do you mean?”
“I gave Max my business card, and the Sergeant picked it up before he left.”
Cruz's heart dropped when he heard the news, but he tried to maintain a calm demeanor. “Don't worry, Sandra, I'll protect you,” he said, hoping his voice didn't betray his doubt. “Let's get this place cleaned up and then worry about that problem next.”
The two scoured the apartment for the next ten minutes. Cruz collected two pieces of Sandra's hair from the closet and crept along the floor looking for more identifying evidence as Sandra wiped down surfaces where they may have left fingerprints.
When Cruz reached the front door, he said, “Let's get out of here. Close the door with a paper towel.” He watched Sandra come out of the apartment and close the door. Cruz put his arm around her as they walked to his car. When they got into his car, Cruz turned on his phone.
“Who are you calling?” Sandra asked.
“A doctor who can take a look at you.”
“No, no. I'm fine Cruz, just a little shaken up.” When he didn't respond she said, “Really, I'm fine.”
He hesitated to let it go that easily. “You sure?” She nodded her head. “Okay, but I've got to make one other call then.” Sandra let out a breath of air that she had been storing since the Sergeant was in the apartment.
“Who's that?”
“Diego,” Cruz answered as he backed the car out of its stall. “Hey Diego…it's Cruz. I've got something you are definitely going to want to see…yeah, yeah, I'll meet you there in an hour.” He hung up the phone.
“Diego Archuleta?” Sandra asked.
“Yeah…you remember him?”
Sandra laid her head back on the seat. “How could I forget?”
T H I R T E E N
__________________________________________________
Tomko paused at the door to Shaver's house and listened. He could hear Shaver yelling inside but could not quite make the words out. He gently turned the doorknob until he heard a click and edged the door open. As he started to peek his head through the crack something cold touched his forehead.
Shaver's voice seethed through the darkness, “Are you fucking nuts, man?” All Tomko could see was one of Shaver's ice-blue eyes.
“Sorry, I heard you yelling and didn't know what was going on.”
Shaver lowered his gun from Tomko's head. “Have I satisfied your silly curiosity?”
“Kind of. Who were you talking to?” Tomko asked. Shaver turned around and walked into the darkness, beckoning Tomko as he moved away.
“Shut that door.”
Tomko did and asked again, “So who wher...”
“I heard you the first time,” Shaver snapped. He sat down on a couch and put his gun on a table in front of him. The room was barely lit by an overhead light in the kitchen. “It was the Chief.”
“No fucking way. The cluster bomb has officially gone off,” Tomko muttered.
“Yeah, you can put it that way.”
“What did he want?”
“What the hell do you think he wanted Tomko? The goddamn drive.”
Tomko laughed. “How did that old dog catch wind of this?”
“Who knows. He's got ears in all corners of this city. Shit, I may have told him in my sleep. Persuasive little shit.”
“Did he give you a deadline?”
“No, but he didn't have to. When he asks for something, God turns over his hourglass.”
Tomko sighed and sat down on the couch next to Shaver. “Well, he wants what we want, right?” Tomko looked over at Shaver whom he had never seen so visibly distressed. Shaver usually didn't get shaken by things like this because he didn't care about much. Apparently the Chief's call had some serious bite behind it. Tomko went on, “So, if we get him what he wants, we're saving our own hides. Whatever he decides to do with the drive after that sure as hell ain't our problem.”
Shaver shifted uneasily in his spot. Tomko saw him lean forward and grab the handgun on the table. “Tomko,” Shaver started, “I don't think you understand how much of a snake he is.”
* * * *
Cruz and Sandra sat on Diego Archuleta's back patio. Diego was a short, stocky Chicano. He sported a full beard that was always borderline unkempt, silver jewelry on his wrists and neck, and thick glasses that perched halfway down his nose. Diego had fought for Latino rights in the streets, the schools, the town halls, the capitol…and it all showed in his burdened gait. But his eyes and voice told a different, more alive story.
“You two conejos have gotten into a bit of trouble, huh?” He looked mostly at Sandra as he said this. “You, princesa, look like you've just seen the chupacabra!”
“It's been a rough day,” she responded quietly, without lookin
g at Diego.
He shook his head, less than surprised that events of the past did not evaporate so quickly. He stepped towards her and put one of his hands on her shoulder, “Muchacha, you can let it go. It was just a difference of opinion.”
Actually, Cruz recalled it had been a bit more than a difference of opinion. Diego was about the same age as Cruz and Sandra's parents. Their parents were activists in their own rights. However, about six years ago a schism developed between Diego and Sandra's father.
Diego was a hardcore activist. He lived in the streets and fought for rights in the fields. He was a devout, outspoken Marxist. On the other hand, Sandra's dad took a moderate approach and attempted to integrate capitalism into his life while still serving the general good of the community. To Diego, capitalismo would slowly turn the whole world over into “sheeple,” as he called them. Sandra's father was skeptical of capitalism, but figured that a better path than fighting it was to use it to advance the goals of the community. While Diego would have everyone live on a farm and support one another, Sandra's dad would have people be productive members of the great, capitalist machine.
In any event, the two men used to co-exist amicably. They were two great champions who respected each other's intelligence and their joint dedication to their shared community.
That amicable relationship ended abruptly when Diego published a column in a local newspaper slamming the fact that Sandra's father endorsed the development of a research facility for an oil and gas company on land owned by community members. In turn, Sandra's father used his connections as a professor at a national university to lambast Diego in the local media. What followed was an Ali-Foreman throw down between the two men which ended on a hot July night when Diego cracked Sandra's father across the forehead with a half-full bottle of Dos Equis.
When Sandra didn't respond, Diego turned around and moved back to study his rose garden.
“So,” he started slowly, “what do you two need from me? Or, let me rephrase. What do you two need from me that your own families could not provide?” Cruz could see the left side of Diego's long mustache flicker, most likely in light amusement.
“What we've got is a little less ivory tower and a bit more...”
“Zapatista?” Diego asked, finishing Cruz's sentence.
“Yeah, you could say that. We're going to need some protection.”
Diego stopped scanning his flowers and without turning said, “It's that serious?”
“Yes,” Sandra answered. “I was two steps from dying today!”
“Ayy,” Diego groaned, “who would harm a hair on your pretty head?”
“The Sergeant in the police department who wants what we have.” That piqued Diego's interest enough to get him to turn around.
“La policía?”
“Yeah,” Cruz answered. “This is connected to the slaying of Livan Rodriguez.”
“El Caballo?”
“Who?”
“Livan Rodriguez—El Caballo. He got that name because back in the day, and I'm talking way back, he used to come to protests on a horse. Freakin' crazy dude,” Diego said with a reminiscent smile on his face.
“Well, I'm sure you've heard about it.”
“Por supuesto…of course I've heard. Don't forget who's green around here!”
“Listen, Diego,” Sandra said raising her voice, “we are here despite my better judgment and we aren't goddamn kids anymore. So treat us with some respect, especially in a situation like this.”
He shrugged off her attitude. “You know that coming to me for something related to la policía is dangerous, right? Esos cochinos and I don't get along. Look, look here!” Diego said excitedly drawing them to a particular rose bush.
“See that?” Diego asked pointing to a stem on the rose bush.
“No, what are you looking at?” Cruz asked impatiently.
“It's an aphid.”
“Okay, why the hell does that matter?” Sandra asked.
“Because the cops are like these damn aphids. We build beautiful things in our community. We start beautiful families. We raise beautiful families. But, it's all as delicate as this rose.” Diego reached towards the stem and held it up as the aphid moved slowly in the opposite direction of his hand.
“Then these little putos come along and start to destroy what we've built. It isn't fast or visible. If it was, our reaction would be violent and they can't have that. It's slow, degrading. Small bite by small bite. Once you recognize that they are there though, they must be dealt with.” Diego pinched the aphid between his fingernails. “Understanding my philosophy, are you still interested in my help?”
Cruz and Sandra looked at one another. They knew Diego was the only alternative. He was the only one that would fight fire with fire. Nothing else would do. They turned back to Diego at the same time and said, “Yes.”
* * * *
Carmen ran to the car and took Alicia into her arms. They stood there for some time before Carmen led Alicia inside the house.
“Sit down preciosa,” Carmen said as she directed Alicia into a lazy chair. “I want you to know we're here for anything you need, okay?”
“Yes Carmen, I know,” Alicia said as she wiped tears from her face.
Carmen turned to Martinez, her face changed instantaneously, “Que paso aqui? How did you let this happen?”
“It's not really that simple Carmen. This…this situation...”
“It was Shaver and his racist punks, huh?” she asked.
Martinez took a second to gather himself before responding, “Yeah, and it's Shaver and Tomko after us.”
“Not to mention the Chief now,” Alicia added.
“She's right,” Martinez said. “We just met with the Chief and he knows what we got.”
“Pues, are you going to finally tell me what you have?”
“It's a video of Shaver killing that old man a couple days ago.”
“No puede ser!” Carmen said as she sat down. “No wonder he's going nuts trying to get it.”
“Right, and that's why we need to figure out a game plan,” Martinez said as he went to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass of water and rejoined the women. “I only see one option for you two, which is for both of you to leave.”
“No way hombre—this is our home and I'm not running!” Carmen exclaimed.
Martinez cherished how strong Carmen could be. However, a companion of strength is usually stubbornness—and she was no exception. He knew this mini-battle would erupt and that he would have to win. He looked Carmen directly in the eyes and said, “I'm not giving you a choice. What's up is bigger than both of us. It was bigger than us when Shaver murdered that innocent man, and became even bigger after they killed Alvin.”
“I know this is bigger than us! That's why I want to stay and help!”
“Any help you give by staying is outweighed by the risk of having you here. If Shaver is able to leverage me through you, the whole situation is fucked.”
Martinez could see the disappointment in Carmen's eyes as she considered what he was saying. “The greatest sacrifice is for you to leave what you know, what is yours, and where you feel safe. But it's necessary.” Martinez looked at both women without an ounce of doubt. They sat near to each other on the couch as this all set in.
“Let's say we do leave,” Alicia began, “what are you going to do here all alone?”
Martinez looked at Alicia. “Fight. Fight for your husband and against that bastard Shaver. It's time to strike back.”
F O U R T E E N
__________________________________________________
The Chief watched as his phone blinked with each ring-tone. He was a small, wiry man with a busy mustache and salt and pepper hair. He impatiently tapped his fingers on his desk.
The Chief was an unlikely person for his position. He wasn't a jock, or excessively predisposed to violence or “action.” He didn't come from a police or military family. But, what he lacked in physical prowess he made up for in mental
ruthlessness. His mind and his willingness to use his mind as a weapon helped him rise through the ranks and beyond other candidates.
This was his ninth year as the department's chief, so plenty of instances of police brutality crossed his desk. None of them were ever filmed though. This was novel, but the challenge would drive him. The chance to wield his nearly limitless power was also attractive.
The other line picked up, “Who is this?”
“It's your old friend from the department.”
“No shit…haven't I repaid my debt to you?”
“Not quite. Hell, maybe not ever!” The Chief had an extensive list of debtors. Looking the other way, filing “half-truth” reports, and letting guys slide all came with a price—and the Chief never forgot who owed or how much. The how much part was always open to his interpretation.
“What is it?” The Chief laughed at this game Tyler played. The “no-you-are-twisting-my-arm-to-do-this” game. The truth, which both of them knew, was that Tyler was a lifelong criminal with a lust for violence. When he could get his rocks off and have the Chief's backing, well, there was nothing better.
“I've got two sets of problems, both emanating from my department. All of them are connected to the shooting of that old Mexican guy a few days ago. Five of my men were there, and two of 'em just killed each other yesterday. That leaves three: Roman Martinez, Ben Tomko and Sergeant Colin Shaver. The whopper here is that Sergeant Shaver shot and killed that old man while a cameramen was filming an episode of Police.”
“So you want me to take 'em all out?”
“No, no...not yet, tiger. If you kill them all, then I never get my video. No, I'm hoping Shaver can do his job and recover that video. But, you know what my grandpa used to say to me?” Tyler was silent. “Hope in one hand and shit in the other and see which fills up first. I'm not counting on anyone coming through for me—except you.”
“Then, you've got nothing for me to do?”
“Not yet, but I want you to be eager, willing and ready the next time I call you.”
