Shots Fired in the Melting Pot

by T. C. Clover

with a firm right hand and led him away from the fuming police officer.

  “Live Pod is dangerous!” Richard declared with a hint of outrage, tossing his satellite phone hard into the white cushions on the couch.

  Stoney wiped some sweat from his brow and blinked a few times as he waited for the living room set to be clear of other people. He thought back to his childhood on the gritty streets of Harlem, New York. At the age of eleven, he had become a superhero to his younger sister, and she often referred to him as Superman. It didn’t take long for the siblings to notice that the world was in need of truth and justice, but both were in short supply in the impoverished neighborhood in which they lived.

  There was a massive crime spree that took place during the years following The Passing of 2033, and people filled their pockets while the government wrestled with issues of food supplies and pollution. Stoney and his seven-year-old sister had spent those years with their parents in shelters that were run by righteous and stalwart people. The quirky Japanese boy had grown fond of a group of men who patrolled the streets around their shelter to keep them from losing everything to burglars. He and his sister would sit above the alleyways and giggle when members of the neighborhood watch shot at trespassers with rock salt. After a perpetrator had entered their outer perimeter, the children would make a game of counting down the seconds before the crook was hit with a blast of salt and ran away screaming.

  The police officer gazed out the windows of the living room toward the city, recalling why he had chosen to stand up for those who were weaker. Without the service of the men at the shelter, he and his sister may not have survived those turbulent years in America. Although his childhood fantasy shattered when he saw the ugliness of evil, it never swayed him from his course. As an adult, Stoney decided that what made heroes superhuman was their ability to see terrible things and keep fighting to stop them. Each year of service on the police force created a mental burden that had become like a new pair of ankle weights for him to bear.

  IV. Garbage Soup

  ‘A beer would be great about now,’ CKB thought as he traversed the streets of New York during a warm spring morning. Despite the potential for discomfort, he had left the loft dressed in a white Nike sweatshirt and black jeans. The career criminal was cautious when taking the subway to Brooklyn, wanting to appear soft and cuddly to ‘appease suspicious white people.’ He clenched a small brown grocery bag in his right hand, swinging it somewhat to give the appearance that its contents were trivial. Although each time the fifty thousand dollars shuffled about inside of the bag, it made him feel nervous.

  Stoney kept pace a few dozen yards behind CKB with his face camouflaged in cheap sunglasses and a blue baseball cap. His body was concealed by an oversized gray T-shirt and blue jeans, giving him a casual exterior. The determined police officer tugged at a brown leather jacket that completed his ensemble, feeling it tighten over the folds of the T-shirt. Despite the warm April weather, Stoney knew that the jacket was required to conceal the shape of his body. He watched CKB progressing through the crowds of Brooklyn toward Canarsie Park on the waterfront.

  Jamaica Bay wasn’t visible through the crowd of pedestrians, but as the wind blew across his face, the disguised officer imagined its graceful blue waters. Stoney watched the bag of money swaying in CKB’s right hand, and a smile emerged from his otherwise stoic face. The meticulous police officer had been curious about its purpose ever since he found the bag stashed away in the loft. Stoney felt his stomach growling and cringed at the thought of his body betraying him this close to victory. He shrugged off the warnings from his digestive system and pressed forward in pursuit of his co-star.

  CKB glanced at the time on his satellite phone and quickened his pace. He took broad steps toward a playground where dozens of children were enjoying swing sets and slides. After inspecting the grounds, he strode with aggression toward a black wrought iron fence that surrounded the play area. The criminal then watched and waited near the fence as if expecting someone to meet with him.

  Stoney observed the muscular black man from the edges of the park and sensed that an opportunity may arise to imprison his foe. He looked closer at the areas near his target and saw no immediate signs of an impending transaction. Despite his contract with the studio, no clause prevented him from having CKB arrested and brought up on charges by a friend.

  CKB tilted his head forward when he noticed a chubby man of German descent watching the children at the playground. The television star’s eyes seemed to flash under the modest warmth of the afternoon sun as if he took a mental picture of the stranger. Although the men stood on opposite sides of the same fence, more than eighty-five feet apart, CKB was worried about being discovered.

  The mysterious German was pasty and clean-shaven: he loitered next to the three-foot wrought iron fence with two baseball gloves pressed against his abdomen. CKB watched in disbelief as the mothers in the area went about their business, unaware that a predator was only a few steps from their children.

  The bullish crook grabbed the back of his neck and shook his head, wishing that the trees could tell the mothers what had taken place over the years. CKB recalled the first time that he saw the creepy outsider and picked up on his ulterior motives. It was easy for criminals to catch one another plotting their next misdeeds. He often refused to involve himself, but CKB had no patience when it came to acts against children. ‘Everyone deserves protection from the streets,’ he thought after concluding that the kidnapper would not be taking action today.

  “I’ll be here when you make your move,” CKB said aloud to the fresh air of the park, “and you won’t see me comin’.”

  The criminal tightened his hands around the top rail of the decorative fence, caressing the smooth welded metal with manipulative grace. He spied the short German tracing routes from the children to their parents, trying to determine who would let their guard down. After watching to ensure that the man lacked enough confidence to act today, CKB strafed left around the fence toward the shipping docks.

  Stoney grimaced from the strain in his abdomen, regretting the big breakfast that he allowed Fassim to feed him. He observed CKB with halfhearted interest, wondering if this outing would produce a smoking gun. The crook had been acting strange all morning, but this venture into the park was the first real sign of intent to misbehave. His thoughts were interrupted when Stoney noticed that CKB was bolting toward the docks at an aggressive pace. He shook his head with a tormented sense of dedication, reluctantly jogging behind his adversary.

  The television stars traversed the park in silence as CKB pulled several hundred yards ahead of his pursuer. Stoney felt agonizing pain in his right side and recognized that his body wouldn’t allow this chase to continue much longer. He bit his lower lip and set his sights on a few possible shortcuts to gain ground on his co-star.

  CKB made his way through the wide streets of a vast industrial district. He ran past warehouses that stored: amalgamated sugars, vegetarian hamburgers, and concrete mix. His breathing was becoming labored as he approached a modest sporting goods warehouse. The building had turquoise aluminum siding that was flaking off to reveal an earth tone primer. It featured a solitary door at the front with bulletproof glass that was tinted almost solid black. He retracted the brown bag in a protective manner and reached for the black steel door handle with his left hand. Upon entering the building, CKB noticed beads of sweat forming all over his shiny bald head.

  The interior of the sporting goods warehouse looked nothing like its exterior. There were rustic hardwood floors of dark hickory and walls paneled in stained pinewood. A solitary staircase on the left side of the room led to a second-floor balcony. The circular set of stairs was stainless steel, and despite being designed for outdoor use, it looked attractive with the rest of the décor.

  Although the front portion of the warehouse took up only one-third of the total space, it was still large enough to
command respect. The layout was simple on the ground floor, featuring racks of clothing on the left and shelves with sporting equipment to the right. On the second floor, there were miscellaneous items like archery targets, kayaks, fishing poles and climbing equipment. His employer had a habit of keeping all of the guns in the back where he could see them.

  CKB moved through racks of spring clothing that included camouflage jackets and black spandex outfits. He took a moment to gaze at the head of a timber wolf that was mounted above a doorway which led to the larger part of the warehouse. The taxidermist had done something unnatural to the eyes of the creature, making it appear alive to those who entered the building.

  His gut trembled as he considered Mitch Gentile’s need to use symbols in every aspect of his life. The wolf represented something obvious to those who served the warehouse under his employ. CKB twisted the cheap brass knob on the flimsy interior door, avoiding the rough birch surface as he entered the workspace of his boss.

  The miscreant found himself in a small room where the warehouse seemed to end. There was a tall desk made up of glossy, painted concrete with a marble countertop at its front.