by Colin Conway
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to throw up, are you?”
“Not drunk. Just tired.”
“Okay,” she said, “but if you throw up, I’m charging you extra.”
“Sounds fair,” Garrett said and left his head against the seat.
Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” played through the radio while the woman hummed loudly along with it.
Garrett opened the brown paper bag between his feet before pulling the gun from the pocket of his shorts. He kept it low where the woman couldn’t see it. Quietly, he opened the cylinder of the gun and shook out the empty shells into his hand. He placed them into the bottom of the bag and lifted out the box of shells.
After removing six of them, he carefully wiped each one with his shirt before pushing them into their corresponding chamber. Garrett closed the cylinder and tucked the revolver back into his pants pocket. He then closed the box of shells and put them back into the bag.
He leaned back and stared ahead.
It was then he realized he smelled of body odor.
Garrett had taken a cab to a small neighborhood shopping center in the northwest part of town. The stadium the high school football teams played in was to the north. He stood in the parking lot until the taxi drove away, making sure she was out of sight before moving.
Time was not on his side and Garrett ran the half mile to his destination like he was taking the SWAT test again. He left nothing on the table.
When his mind wandered, Garrett focused solely on the present. Inhale for two steps, exhale for three steps. Exhaustion was replaced with awareness. He was a block away from his objective and he slowed to a walk. His eyes scanned the well-manicured neighborhood. As he rounded the corner of the house, he peered into the garage and saw a maroon detective’s car.
Garrett had the revolver in his hand and by his side as he confidently walked to the front door. As he approached the concrete front steps, he dropped the brown bag into the flower bed. With two quick steps, he was at the door. He turned the door knob, surprised that it opened.
Justin Pomeroy was at the kitchen sink filling a glass with tap water. “Is that you, Wardell? I saw you through the window. I didn’t think you be back so fast.”
Garrett closed the door and quickly moved into the house.
When Pomeroy saw him, he froze. The glass of water hovered in front of his face, his hand shaking.
“Clint was here?”
“No,” Pomeroy said, slowly lowering the glass to put it on the kitchen counter.
“You’re the worst liar on the department, Justin. That’s why Butch liked you. He could trust you because he always knew when you were lying.”
“You killed Butch.”
Garrett ignored him. “What did you tell Clint?”
“Nothing.”
“I said you’re a poor liar. Just stop. Did you tell him about us?”
Pomeroy pursed his lips until Garrett leveled his gun at him. Pomeroy nodded.
“What about Ocampo?”
Another nod.
“Did you tell him about the jobs?”
“Some of them, but nothing in detail.”
“He’s got enough, Justin. Was it you and Butch in the house that night?”
Pomeroy stared at him.
“Trotter? He was working with you?”
Pomeroy continued to stare, but the little ticks he made with his eyes when Garrett hit on the truth gave him away.
“You knew I patrolled East Central, didn’t you? Everybody knew I protected that neighborhood. I made myself an easy mark.” Garrett nodded as he thought the problem through. “Damn.”
Pomeroy swallowed and licked his lips.
“That night. Trotter didn’t stop right away because he was going to run, like I thought. He didn’t stop because he needed to bring me to you and Butch.” Anger flashed on Garrett’s face.
“You should stop all this, Ty,” Pomeroy said. “I told Wardell everything. There’s no way out.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, his mind running as his eyes scanned for a solution.
Pomeroy turned his hands palm up, surrendering. “How about this? I’ll recant my story with Clint. I’ll tell him that I made it up. He had a gun on me, for Chrissakes. I’ll say that Talbott was dirty and I was only trying to bring you down. I’ll take the heat.”
Garrett pointed to the counter. “Pick up a knife.”
Pomeroy glanced at a block of knives near the sink. “You’ll shoot me if I do.”
“I’m going to give you an option.”
“Option for what?”
“You can either go peacefully or you can go violently.” He leveled the gun at him for emphasis. “It’s your choice, but everything ends today.”
Pomeroy had difficulty swallowing and reached for the glass of water.
“The knife, Justin, or I’ll end it now.”
Pomeroy lowered his hand and tears filled his eyes. Finally, Pomeroy reached over the counter and pulled a knife from the block, holding it in his fist. Even though Pomeroy had a look of resignation, Garret’s hand tightened on the gun, but his finger remained calm on the trigger.
The thin man stared at the knife. “Does it really come down to this?”
Garrett didn’t respond. He knew that Pomeroy was working it out in his head.
Finally, Pomeroy looked at him and asked, “Can I sit down?”
Garrett nodded.
Pomeroy sat on the tile floor and pushed his back against the doors underneath the sink. He held the knife over his left wrist, his hand shaking again.
He lowered his hand and looked up at Garrett. “I’m scared.”
Garrett sneered, took a step forward and lifted the gun.
“Wait!”
Garrett stopped.
“Wait, damn it, wait. Jesus, Garrett, haven’t you ever been scared?”
“Plenty of times. The night you shot at me comes to mind.”
Pomeroy stared at him. “We used to be friends.”
“Start cutting or I shoot, and it’s done. You can get a couple more minutes your way.”
Pomeroy stared at the knife for another moment before pulling it deeply across his skin. Red immediately flowed.
“Vertically next time,” Garrett said. “And it better be deeper than the one you just did, or I’m done.”
Pomeroy looked up with sudden hatred in his eyes. However, the anger quickly faded, and he switched the knife into his other hand and dug deeper with the knife wincing and whimpering as he did.
Blood flowed from the two wounds on Pomeroy’s arms. Garrett stepped back and grabbed a chair from the kitchen table. He set it down in front of Pomeroy.
“I didn’t think it would end this way,” the detective said.
Garrett nodded in understanding.
Pomeroy began to cry, and Garrett watched him, waiting for the man to get up and do something to save himself. More than five minutes passed, and Pomeroy faded considerably, but Garrett was antsy to get moving. A significant amount of blood from Pomeroy’s wrists had pooled around his buttocks and thighs. However, he knew he needed to wait.
“I wish you wouldn’t have told Clint about Ocampo,” Garrett said.
Pomeroy slowly lifted his head, a dull expression on his face.
“Because I just killed Ernesto.”
With effort, Pomeroy widened his eyes.
While he watched Pomeroy’s life trickle away, Garrett remembered.
When Ernesto Ocampo told Garrett that he was famous due to the amount of television coverage, Garrett replied, “I never wanted to be.”
“That’s too bad, ese. It’s with you now.”
“How do we get out of this?” Garrett asked.
Ocampo shrugged. “There is no we. There’s only you. You’re the mayate who got yourself into this mess. You figure your own way out.”
Garrett blinked several times. “What did you sa
y?”
“I said you need to figure your way out.”
“Mayate,” Garrett said, his lip curling.
Ocampo shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”
“It’s a dung beetle that rolls its shit everywhere. The first time someone called me that I went home and looked it up. I’ve never forgotten it.”
The girl looked between Ocampo and Garrett.
“I’ve been on the street for a decade, Ernesto. I know all the sneaky ways people call me a nigger.”
Garrett quickly raised his gun and fired one shot, hitting Ocampo in the head, killing him instantly.
The teenager screamed and rolled from the bed. She huddled in the corner, her eyes not meeting Garrett’s. He took care of her quickly. She wasn’t involved, but he couldn’t leave behind a witness.
When he slipped out of the room, the volume on the television had been muted. He leaned quickly around the corner to see the fat man standing at his chair with his gun held between both hands. He fired three shots, all of them smashing into the wall next to Garrett.
Garrett brought his weapon up tightly to his chest, leaned quickly out, and fired two shots. The big man squealed and went down.
When Garrett entered the small living room he realized the woman wasn’t on the couch. He looked around hurriedly for her. The front door was still closed. Garrett turned around and saw a back door on the opposite side of the kitchen.
Garrett stepped into the kitchen and the woman leapt at him with a butcher’s knife in her hand. Garrett jumped out of the way, hit the couch and tumbled over it, landing on the coffee table. He regained his footing just as the woman cleared the couch with her hand in the air, the knife ready to strike. Garrett fired two rounds and the woman went down.
Six rounds fired. The revolver was empty.
He tucked the gun in his shorts and lifted the cushions on the couch. Under the third one he found multiple packets of powder. Garrett found an old napkin near the fat man’s chair and grabbed it. Using the dirty napkin, he picked up a couple of the packets and put them in his pocket. He then tucked the cushions back into place. He quickly stepped outside, picked up the brown paper bag from the front porch, and hurried away.
Now, Garrett stood and stared down at Detective Justin Pomeroy. He wanted to move closer to check for vital signs, but he risked stepping into his blood. From enough experience, he knew the man was dead or as close to it as possible.
“You were weak,” Garrett said.
Garrett pulled the dirty napkin from his shorts. Carefully, he extracted the two packets of powder from his pocket, ensuring his fingerprints wouldn’t be added to the plastic. He thought about a hiding place for them where someone may find them. However, he worried that detectives wouldn’t search deep enough if it they believed Pomeroy’s death was a suicide. Finally, Garrett decided that obvious was best and dropped the packets into the blood next to Pomeroy’s hand.
When he was done, he rubbed down the knob with his shirt and pulled the door closed.
Calmly, he walked out of the neighborhood. When he was a block away, he broke into a run.
Chapter 44
Several blocks away from Pomeroy’s house, Garrett began to breathe easy again.
He walked through an alley and slowly, methodically began disposing of the brown bag and its contents. In one can, which was nearly full of trash, he disposed of the empty shells.
Another block away, he entered an alley. He found another can nearly full, and poured the remaining rounds in, although he saved the empty box, the white tray the rounds had sat in, and the brown paper back. Garrett continued to walk as he tore apart the cardboard box. He tossed it into a can and continued walking.
Using his shirt, he wiped any fingerprints from the white tray and carefully tossed it into another can along with the brown paper bag.
Garrett soon arrived at a Walgreen’s pharmacy. Inside, he grabbed a handcart and moved through the store. He tossed soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush into the cart. He added a small hand towel and washcloth. He found a clothing section. He grabbed a green and gold t-shirt and sweats that promoted the local high school. They were the only things that would fit him. It took him a minute to find the last thing he needed, but he soon found a multi-head screwdriver.
The cashier was a young woman with a full-sleeve tattoo on her right arm and a bored expression. As she reached the toothpaste, Garrett asked, “Can I get an extra bag?”
She shrugged and continued scanning his items.
He was out of the store in less than five minutes.
Finding a quiet place in a neighboring alley, he pulled the gun from his pocket and sat with his back against a dilapidated garage. He unloaded the six rounds inside the cylinder and dropped them into the empty bag. He then removed the multi-head screwdriver and set to work on the revolver. He unscrewed the grips and tossed them into the empty bag. Next, he undid the screws holding the side plates which also freed the cylinder. It took him only a few minutes and the entire revolver was completely dismantled. Garrett tossed the screwdriver in the bag and was on the move again.
As he walked he dropped several screws. Another block, he tossed the grips into a trashcan. He repeated this process until he had only the frame and the cylinder left. These two items he took care to wipe down before disposing. He dropped them both into trashcans several blocks apart.
Finally, he tossed the screwdriver and bag away.
He stepped out of an alley, opened his phone, and called for a cab.
The hot water pelted his frame. He had the water turned as high as it would go. The cab had dropped him off a couple blocks away from Derek Tillman’s rental house. Just as Tillman said, there was a lockbox on the front door with a key inside. The house was completely empty.
However, the hot water worked and that was all Garrett needed.
He quickly scrubbed himself with the washcloth, paying particular attention to his hands.
When he was done, he wiped himself down with the hand towel. After brushing his teeth, he put on the new sweats and T-shirt.
With attention, Garrett collected the items he’d brought into the house and put them back into the plastic bag. He secured the house, placing the key back in the lock box.
Two blocks away he put the bag into a trashcan in an alley.
He stepped onto a corner and called for another cab. It only took a few minutes for the cab to appear. As it approached, Garrett opened his pre-paid phone and snapped it in two. He dropped it on the street and stomped it until it broke in pieces.
Garrett climbed into the back of the cab and gave the driver his home address.
He leaned back, and a wave of exhaustion rolled over him.
When the cab arrived at Garrett’s house, the driver said, “We’re here,” waking him from his sleep. He’d been out for ten minutes.
Garrett saw a county patrol car sitting in front.
“Looks like you’ve got a visitor,” the driver said.
Garrett paid for the ride and climbed out, not bothering to engage in conversation.
He approached his house, ignoring the deputy posted out front.
A car door opened, and a deep voice yelled, “Sir!”
Garrett turned.
“Are you Tyler Garrett?” the deputy asked.
Garrett nodded, wearily.
“I’m Deputy Douglas. I’ve been assigned to bring you to the station for an interview with Detective Harris.”
He nodded and walked slowly toward the deputy, a tall skinny man who barely looked out of college.
“Sir, I need to pat you down before I put you in the car. I hope you understand. Regulations.”
Garrett nodded and put his hands on the back of his head. The deputy quickly patted him down and then opened the back door of his patrol car.
He climbed in sideways, laying down on the backseat.
The deputy watched him settle in before shutting the door.
> As the car pulled away, Garrett was rocked to sleep.
Chapter 45
Clint parked in front of Nona Henry’s house. He got out of the car carrying the thin manila folder containing the six-pack of photos he’d created at the Public Safety building. Before he’d even closed his car door, a voice cut through the night air.
“Clint! What the hell?”
He turned to see Detective Hollander stalking toward him, her face twisted into a hostile sneer. Marty Hill followed, though his expression was more disappointed than angry.
“Flowers sent you here to help us out. Where have you been?”
“Farrell called me off for something else.”
“Something else?” Hollander snapped. “What the hell could be more important than a quadruple homicide?”
Clint tapped his collar where the white shirts wore their rank insignia. “Hey, I see the gold, I do what I’m told.”
“Yeah, you’re a real paragon of service and virtue.”
He spread his hands peacefully. “I’m off the case, sister. Sorry.”
Hollander shook her head. “This is bullshit.” She turned and strode away toward the crime scene.
Detective Marty Hill hesitated, then said, “We could have used your help, Wardell. Still could, actually. It’s a mess, and we don’t have anything yet.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah.” He glanced at the file folder under Clint’s arm. “If you’re off the case, why are you back here?”
“Gotta talk to a witness. Some unrelated information came up during canvass.”
Hill nodded slowly. “Some unrelated information? Just two houses away from our scene? This important information just happens to fit into some other case, one that trumps a quadruple homicide in terms of importance? Must be a hell of a case.”
“Captain trumps lieutenant, Marty. That’s all I know.”
Hill pursed his lips. “You know I respect you, right? A lot of these other guys out here, they don’t. They think you’re crazy, or paranoid, or whatever. I know what kind of detective you are. When they get all ramped up talking smack about you, throwing around ‘Honey Badger this’ and ‘Honey Badger that,’ I’m one of the few people around this place who sticks up for you.”
