Floodgate

by Johnny Shaw

  —From Dr. James Ebb’s introduction to his controversial bestseller Criminal Utopia: A World without the Burden of Law (1976)

  “Are you kidding me?” Andy said, turning to the one-armed woman. “Is this a joke?”

  Using some tape, she spliced the reel together where it had snapped.

  “What do you expect? Ghostbusters?” Pilar said. “You’re lucky it’s in color. It’s ancient, like twenty years old.”

  “Why the hell am I watching this?”

  “You’ll see. The second part is in your wheelhouse,” Pilar said. “You know all the history, but it’s about to get to the real stuff. The fun stuff.”

  “Your evil cabal—or whatever you are—has an industrial training film?” Andy asked.

  “Cut me some slack. I ain’t wanting to remember all that history and whatnot. Movie does the job.”

  “If it’s as effective as the one they showed in fifth grade about the reproductive system, I’m still going to have to learn from my mistakes.”

  She pointed at the screen. “This next part is important.”

  “Why is the actor playing a hobo?”

  “Shut up and watch the movie.”

  EXT. UNDER A BRIDGE - NIGHT

  The HOBO takes another pull from his jug. He belches.

  Images flash on the screen, illustrating his monologue. Photos from the past. Illustrations. Old film footage, if available.

  HOBO

  Back in those days, four organizations ran the criminal rackets in Auction City. The Trust, the Wretches, the Tongs, and the police. You heard me, the cops themselves. Turf wars over illegal alcohol rose. Smuggling and gambling, too. Never more than a few bodies at first. Disagreements are a part of business. Until the Flood. That’s when the pot boiled over. Speaking of which, my beans are burning.

  The HOBO quickly grabs a smoking pot off the fire.

  QUICK SERIES OF SHOTS, BOTH STILL & ARCHIVAL FILM FOOTAGE

  The city burns. Bodies in the street. Men fighting. A crying child. People fleeing. Buildings looted. Chaos. The aftermath. Whole city blocks in ashes.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  Thousands died that day. Eighty percent of the city burned to the ground. The war lasted a day, but the violence continued for weeks. The US Army could only contain it, never breeching the city limits. Like all wars, only the men who started the conflict could end it.

  On the word END, the film FREEZES, holding on a fuzzy photograph taken from a distance of a group of men meeting in the middle of an intersection.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  The leaders of the Trust, Wretches, Tongs, and the chief of police were summoned by the only organization with enough power to command it. The Church. But it was money, not God, that made them obey. Over hours of tense negotiations, a truce was finally reached.

  MAP OF AUCTION CITY

  Borders drawn by neighborhood and district with symbols for each organization. A plate of spaghetti and meatballs labeled TRUST, a pair of brass knuckles labeled WRETCHES, a Chinese take-out container labeled TONGS, a badge labeled ACPD, and a cross labeled CHURCH. The FLOODGATE symbol slowly fading over the middle of everything.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  The city was divided by territory among the three exclusively criminal organizations. The ACPD held power through the legitimacy of law. The Church as the bank, controlling all monetary exchanges: banking, laundering, and transactions. Just enough power to keep the peace. And as peace was profitable, the leaders complied. Over time, the Church’s tax-exempt status proved to be even more suitable for moving illegally obtained moneys.

  EXT. UNDER A BRIDGE - NIGHT

  The HOBO laughs until he coughs, spits on the ground, and takes another drink.

  HOBO

  God really does work in mysterious ways. Even with the leaders in agreement, they still needed some way to enforce the truce. To make sure that everyone played fair. And to communicate to the people on the street that the war was over.

  A PHOTO OF A GROUP OF MEN

  The only known photo of the first Floodgate: members of the Trust, Wretches, Tongs, ACPD, and Church stand side by side. Armed and frightening. (Contact the Auction City Historical Society for image.)

  HOBO (V.O.)

  While they got their name later, the solution was Floodgate. Representatives from each organization. A united army. Each soldier temporarily severed their ties with their respective groups and created an autonomous organization to ensure the city’s violence ceased. They took orders from the Church.

  ANIMATED SEQUENCE

  On the screen, the plate of spaghetti and meatballs, pair of brass knuckles, Chinese take-out container, badge, and cross appear over the map.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  Floodgate proved effective. In the rebuilding and peacekeeping after the Flood they became folk legends. The tales told not nearly as tall as the truth. And that’s where the story ends. As far as the world knows, once there was peace, Floodgate disbanded.

  The HOBO motions to lean in, as the camera tracks closer.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  But the last chapter hasn’t been written. When Auction’s rebuilding was complete, the truce remained. Cooperation proved more profitable. Floodgate went underground. Their usefulness applied in new capacities. To this day, Floodgate acts as the investigative unit of the city’s combined criminal organizations. Working in the shadows fit the changing world.

  The animation coincides with the changes that the HOBO recites.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  The Trust grew out of its street roots and expanded to form an almost-legitimate multinational conglomerate. The Tongs were absorbed by the Triads.

  The badge flashes on the screen.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  In 1966, the ACPD left the group. They had simply become too corrupt for the criminals. A cold war between the ACPD and the organizations began. Although the two groups are often forced to work together when similar interests are at stake.

  The badge fades on the screen.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  There is little doubt that the next Flood will come from the divide between the police and the organizations. Unless the Church and Floodgate can maintain the balance.

  Replacing the badge, a fifth icon, a lunch box labeled CITIZEN appears.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  Floodgate worked best with five members. A replacement for the police was chosen. To provide a different perspective and to represent the people of the city, a member of the general public was recruited to join. To act as ballast.

  The image turns into two hands shaking and a group photograph. In the 1967 photograph (see Gamma File #67-gp888), five people stand side by side: Kate Girard, Rocco Colombo, Father Sean O’Shea, Jerome Jefferson, and Wang Lei.

  HOBO (V.O.)

  Floodgate. Criminal justice by criminals and for criminals. Protecting secrets. Protecting business. Protecting Auction City. Truly, the last line of defense.

  FADE TO BLACK

  The screen flashed to a yellowish white, a hair dancing in the corner of the frame. The film reel turned in the projector, loose end flapping in a rhythmic slap. The lights flicked back on. Pilar turned off the projector, leaving only the buzz of the fluorescents.

  Andy stared at the screen, processing what he had seen. He turned to Pilar, who nodded her head. Andy turned back to the blank screen. He drummed his fingers on the table, caught himself doing it, and stopped.

  Andy stood up and pointed at the screen, shaking his finger.

  “I fucking knew it,” he said, turning to Pilar. “I knew something was going on. A big thing under the surface. I knew it. I was so close to finding all this out. I wasn’t crazy. Now that I see it, I can see it. I knew it.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “You weren’t even close.”

  “But I would’ve. I would’ve found out,” Andy said. “I got even more questions. Tons of questions. New questions. Oh, man, I knew it.”

  “I got no idea what’s next for you,” she said. “Rocco told me to
show you the movie. I showed you the movie.”

  “Rocco? That’s the guy that said he was my father.”

  “He saved your ass,” she said. “He’s the only reason you’re here and not next to Gray in the morgue. We wouldn’t’ve been helping you out.”

  “Helping me out?” Andy stage-laughed.

  “You got no idea the shit you stirred,” she said. “There are a lot of people—most of them—that want you dead.”

  “It’s all making sense,” Andy said. “What the hobo said. That Floodgate never went away. That the mobs are aligned under some super-secret pact. Under the radar.”

  “I thought you’d take more convincing,” Pilar said. “Most people would find it outrageous.”

  “One last time. To get it straight. To make sure I’m not completely bananas,” Andy said. “You and Hobo Joe are telling me that three mobs, the cops, and the effing Church run the city and have since 1929. On top of that there’s a group called Floodgate—you guys, my kidnappers—that act as a—what?—police for this group.”

  “CliffsNotes version, yeah. We don’t throw around the name Floodgate anymore. Even if some old-timers still do. The cop brass know we exist, can’t shut us down, but constantly threaten,” Pilar said. “We’re not above the law—we’re below it.”

  Andy counted on his fingers. “The cops police criminals. You’re criminals that police criminals. But also police the police.”

  Pilar nodded.

  “What do you want with me?” Andy asked. “Why was I allowed to watch that?”

  “Rocco. It’s his deal.”

  Andy stared hard into the woman’s eyes. “What happens if I don’t cooperate?”

  “You get one chance to do what you’re told. If you don’t,” Pilar said, “best case, you go down for Gray’s murder. You left loads of evidence at the scene.”

  “If that’s the best case, what’s the worst case?”

  “We’re criminals, dumbass. If you don’t play along, somebody—maybe me—will torture you, chop you into pieces, burn your dead bits, and then bury the ashes all over the city. Standard TCBB—torture, chop, burn, bury.”

  Andy stared at the one-armed woman, trying to look strong.

  “I’m just kidding.” She laughed, a small snort.

  It took a moment. Andy exhaled, feeling sick. “You got me.”

  “If you were a threat, you’d get shot in the head and dumped in the river. We’re not show-offy.”

  Andy didn’t find it as funny as she did.

  Pilar stood up, walked to the screen, and pulled the cord. The screen shot up into its canister with a loud bang. “I know this all sounds scary and shit. Like a deal with the devil. It’s not like that. The cops and politicians, they’re as worse as us. You worked for them. You know. If you want to do good in Auction, you got to join the outlaws.”

  “Who will kill me if I don’t.”

  “I didn’t say it was a perfect arrangement.”

  CHAPTER 15

  During a city council meeting, a large rat ran through the hall. It scurried from one corner to another searching for a means of egress. Each council member casually ignored the large rodent. No one said a word, their silence implying that no one wanted to potentially insult the relative of one of their colleagues.

  —Attributed to Auction City Intelligencer newspaperman Sam Faulk (1964)

  Pilar left the room. Andy counted to ten and tried the door. Locked, of course.

  He paced, looking for anything that might help him. He grabbed some chalk from the chalkboard and put it in his pocket. Andy didn’t have any plans for it, but having chalk was better than not having chalk. He found it comforting to have more than lint in his pockets. Mess with Andy Destra and you might get chalked.

  He had no options. The one-armed woman was right about that. He’d murdered a man. Maybe one option. Running for his life. Escaping. He was desperate, but that didn’t mean he was going to blindly trust a bunch of criminals, a fake hobo, or a stranger claiming to be his father.

  He flipped over a chair and kicked at one of the metal legs, thinking he could forge some kind of crude weapon from it. He managed to bend it, but for all the working back and forth, he couldn’t detach it. Sweaty and angry, he ceded and torqued it as close to its original shape as he could.

  Andy picked up the film can next to the projector. The edges of the metal were rusted. More time and he could file it down to make a Frisbee-type throwing star. Andy noted his level of desperation.

  A faded sticker on the outside had the Floodgate symbol and a handwritten message that read:

  Floodgate: The Last Line of Defense ©1969—If Lost Return to 6243 Holt Ave., Auction City—$5,000 Reward, if left unwatched. Unwatched. We Will Know.

  Andy took the film from the projector, put it in the film can, and shoved the saucer-size disc down the front of his pants. If he got out, he wanted hard evidence.

  He paced the room. Andy was concerned for his own life, but his worry was for Champ. Not knowing where she was or if she understood what was going on did not sit well. The thought of her being scared made him want to fight. He needed to get out of there.

  Andy wasn’t ready to address the issue of this man, Rocco, claiming to be his father. What kind of name was Rocco for a real person? The kind of person who might name his son Andrea.

  He would wait for hard evidence, but it bothered him how empty it felt. Even the possibility that it was true and he had met his father generated nothing. He had always imagined a heartfelt reunion or a fistfight to work out their differences. All he saw was the man who had abandoned a baby that turned out to be him. To be fair, the murder scene dampened the moment a bit.

  He didn’t usually trust cinematic hobos for historical fact, but he accepted that everything in the movie was true. He knew it. Andy could slot the scenario into his knowledge of the city and see how neatly it fit. He wished he had his files. They would confirm the concept of the syndicates’ alignment and Floodgate’s existence. By applying the existence of collusion to Auction City’s criminal history, he could authenticate the hobo’s veracity. Now there’s a phrase you didn’t hear every day.

  Everything about Auction City’s crime statistics suggested a puppet master running the show. Drops in street violence that made no sense. The strange migration of crime. Plenty of small drug arrests, but only big busts for operators based outside the city. It made the strange plausible. An outsider might call it coincidence, but most Auctioneers accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of the city would give a knowing nod.

  The appearance of competition by rival organizations that were actually allies created an effective model for an oligarchy. It operated with the illusion of choice. Hell, it was how the US government worked. Everybody knew that criminals existed, but we expected them to be at war with each other, not just with society. Knowing that they weren’t made it unseemly. How dare the bad guys cheat.

  Andy sat down, forgetting that he had the film can in his pants. It jammed him in the beans, smarting his nethers. He took the film can out and slid it along the long table. Andy exhaled and let his head fall back. He stared at the cottage cheese ceiling.

  What else could he do? He was locked in a room with no shoes and only chalk to defend himself.

  A half hour later, Cardinal Macklin strolled into the conference room. The archbishop of the city wore a simple collar and a smile. He placed a cup of coffee in front of Andy and opened a briefcase.

  “Your holiness,” Andy said.

  “Call me Mac.”

  “I take cream and sugar.”

  “Well, today you become a man,” the Cardinal said, sitting in the closest chair. It collapsed underneath him. Macklin sprawled on the ground. He winced, sat up, and angrily grabbed the chair. The broken leg rolled away from him. “Did you try to break off this leg and forge a weapon out of it?”

  “Maybe,” Andy said.

  Macklin stood up and gave Andy a long stare. He threw the chair to the side, grabbed another, e
xamined the bottom of it, and sat down.

  Andy smelled the coffee. “You slip me another mickey? Knocking me unconscious seems to be your guys’ MO.”

  “The coffee is unsullied,” Macklin said. “In regard to the other incidents, I prefer not to micromanage the decisions of the team.”

  “Is there a box for comments? I have a few.”

  “You murdered Al Gray,” Macklin said. “The deputy police commissioner. The team has spent hours on damage control. Rocky’s insistence on your usefulness has created an option for you. The only option you have.”

  “Thanks, but I know my options. I go to jail. Or I go on the run,” Andy said. “No matter who you people are, you don’t have power over those choices.”

  “Of course we do.” Macklin laughed. “Pilar showed you the film.”

  “Criminals control the city. The Church keeps them marginally honest. Floodgate is their army or police or whatever,” Andy said. “Gray’s still dead. Doesn’t change anything.”

  “Weren’t you a cop? You only killed the man if there is evidence that shows that you did. Without evidence, you didn’t kill anyone. That’s the way truth works,” Macklin said. “After you left, the team created a credible crime scene. Burglary gone bad. A few false leads. A credible suspect. Some interesting documents complicating Gray’s reputation were leaked to cooperative press. That should create a diversion. We’ve made the narrative work to our advantage. And to yours. Nothing points the police toward you.

  “The team started going through your files. Interesting stuff, they tell me. Your knowledge of the city and its players could be valuable. Some of your theories are barmy, as wrong as they are right, but there’s good work in there, too.”