by Matt Abraham
“Black cape meat?” I snatched his jacket and lifted him a foot off the ground. “Listen pal, every last one of these people is somebody’s somebody, so answer the Aryan’s question before I tear off your jaw and use it as a doorstop.”
Dangling in my hand he looked Monday’s way. “Officer?”
The badge didn’t twitch.
“Ok, so that’s how we’re doing this.” He flipped through the pages on his clipboard and said, “Oh. Those two were released ten minutes ago. They’re probably halfway to Ayers Cemetery by now.”
I dropped the guy and ran for the door.
Monday was already there.
#
“Doesn’t this thing go any faster?” I said.
“Yeah, much.” Monday laid on his horn as we ran a red light. “But I want to conserve gas.”
“Cute. You got a siren in this thing?”
“No, it’s undercover.”
“Great.” I searched for the hearse that transferred black capes. Its armed escort would make it hard to miss. “You know if those bodies get buried we got nothing. They don’t exhume-”
“I’m aware of the Fletcher Act.”
I pointed to the next on-ramp. “Take the highway.”
“I-93’s under construction.”
“Right. Well at least give her some gas.”
Monday mashed it down dutifully sending the car screaming into high gear, and even though we were at least twenty minutes away, thanks to the swift wheel work we turned onto the road to Ayers Hill in less than ten. I looked out my window. The sun was still climbing. It was pretty early. But black capes don’t wait to get planted. They go in the moment they arrive.
I started bobbing my knee. “Come on come on come on.”
Monday said, “We’re almost there. Look.”
I followed his gaze to the top of the hill where the bone yard’s green grass was framed by white clouds. “We’re going to make it.”
“Maybe not.” We skidded to a stop in the middle of the next intersection. “Road work.”
Monday was right. Halfway up the next block a team of four workmen were snaking a manhole.
I looked left. “Turn down there.”
“That’s Red Forge Road, it doesn’t run to Ayers.”
I turned to the right. That way was worse. It was like looking down a ski jump. We were at the top of Hillimanjaro, Gold Coast City’s highest, longest, and most treacherous incline. And at the bottom was Bittenbach Bay.
“To hell with this,” I said, “let’s ditch the boat. We might make it if we run.”
“Great idea, while we’re at it why don’t we-”
An explosion from Monday’s side sent glass flying across my brow like buckshot. I turned away and covered my eyes as our car pitched over and rolled onto its roof. When we came to a stop I was still in my seat, thanks to the belt, but now I hung upside down like a side of beef. It took a few seconds, but when my bearings returned I looked out my window. And was staring at the bumper of a massive, black truck. The thing was maybe a foot from me, with its engine still idling as it sent the thick smell of gasoline into our car.
I turned to Monday. “Hey, you alright? I think this pickup T-boned us.”
He just hung there limp as a thick line of blood wormed its way from behind his collar. It slithered down his face, and dripped onto the roof.
“That looks serious,” I said. “We got to get you to a-”
The truck’s engine growled. Then it roared. And the metal brute lurched forward, plowing into us for a second time. My door crumpled in. And the roof ground against the concrete as we slid sideways. Towards the edge of Hillimanjaro.
I reached out and jabbed the truck’s bumper. “What the hell you doing, Jack?”
But it kept coming. And pushed us right over the peak.
Monday and I took off down the hill like a greased toboggan with the beast shoving us fast. One block flew by. Then another. And the smell of burning metal filled the car as our roof spat sparks in our wake. Reaching through them, I dug my fingers into the road to slow our descent. But the asphalt may as well have been warm chocolate cake for all the good it did.
At this pace we’d be at the bottom in seconds.
Unless…
If I could just get ahold of the truck and latch on, I could use it as an anchor. So I reached out my window as far as I could. And grazed its bumper with my fingertips.
Just a little closer. Another inch tops, and I’d have him.
Grabbing the side of the door with my free hand I pulled myself farther out. And felt the truck’s cold metal. I clamped down on it with everything I had, tethering us to our attacker. But the truck hit its brakes. It slid to a halt.
While we kept going.
And all I had in my hand was a small piece of jagged metal. Then our car shook. We’d hit the pier, and were skittering across the wooden planks towards the bay.
But suddenly everything turned peaceful. Floaty. There was nothing outside my window but blue ocean horizon. While the inside was filled with a gentle breeze.
Then dark water burst through our windows. I thrashed against that white, roaring surf and tried to scream, but the bay, cold and brackish, filled my nose and mouth. Desperate to taste the air I fought for a breath. But before I got a single one the sea had swallowed us whole.
Chapter 16
The icy water’s pressure built as our car raced, grill first, towards the bottom of the bay. I struggled against my belt. But it had me locked in. So I grabbed the latch and ripped it free.
Right as we crashed into the ocean floor.
I lurched into the dashboard. And spat out what little air was left in my lungs. Then our car toppled forward onto its roof. We were upside down again. Only now it was on the seabed.
If we didn’t get moving fast this crappy car would be our tomb. So I tore Monday’s seatbelt off with one hand. And grabbed his jacket with the other. Then I drew my legs in, put my heels on his seat, and launched us through my window like a pair of torpedoes.
A few straggling bubbles came with us, and made a break for the surface. As fast as I could I followed them up.
The pressure eased. The water became clearer. But then a pair of talons clutched the back of my eyes. I needed air. Or we were going to die. But the surface was easily forty yards away. I kicked harder. And looked back. Monday’s limp body dragged behind me like a corpse. It was slowing me down. If I dropped him I might have a chance. All I had to do was let him slip away. Nobody’d blame me. Nobody would even know.
Instead I tightened my grip and kicked as rough as I could while clawing with my free hand towards the surface. It was thirty yards away now. My temples were burning like lumps of coal. The shallow water blackout was creeping in.
And we were still so far. We weren’t going to make it. Not on my strength alone.
Reaching into my jacket I pulled out Lois. She brightened right up and lashed herself to my arm. I didn’t know if this would work but I had no other options. So holding Monday tight I aimed my Kapowitzer at the bottom of the bay. Then I said a prayer.
And fired.
The pistol exploded loud and bright, even underwater. And it launched me and my anchor upwards. We breached the surface like a pair of dolphins, and came crashing back down in a cold splash. Floating there on my back I sucked in as much air as I could. Monday was bobbing nearby like a buoy. Lois was now glowing bright red. She wouldn’t be ready to fire again for another six minutes and forty-seven seconds. So I holstered her, then swam to my pal. Snaking one arm over his shoulder I looked to the dock where a group of people were waving and pointing. I yelled to them, “Toss me a line.”
One said, “We need rope.”
Another asked, “Where can we get one?”
“Maybe if-”
“Hey!” My voice stopped them. “There’s a life preserver on the corner of the dock. Get it.”
The nearest man ran towards the flotation device and snatched it from its perch. He hurle
d it towards me, and brother, that guy must’ve thrown discus in college because even with a nylon rope fluttering behind it the white donut landed mere inches away.
Keeping Monday tight I slipped my free arm through it and said, “Now pull.”
The land dwellers got in a hasty line and started to yank us towards the shore, and we were under the edge of the dock in seconds. The topside team kept pulling, but their plucky grit couldn’t hoist all four hundred plus pounds of us out of the drink. Not completely.
So I said, “That’s enough, anchor the rope.”
A bald guy peeked over the edge. “How?”
“I don’t know, loop it around something.” I looked over at Monday. “Hang in there copper, we’re… uh, that ain’t good.” The water around us was an unnatural purple, with swirls of crimson here and there. Wherever Monday was bleeding from it was bad. And getting worse. I yelled, “Hurry up.”
Another second passed and Clean Dome poked his head out again. “You’re good, we got you anchored.”
Holding the rope tight in one hand I put my foot inside the life preserver like it was a stirrup, and stood up. Everything above my knees was now out of the bay. With my free hand I grabbed Monday’s belt, and lifted him up like Lady Liberty’s torch. “Here, take him first.”
A dozen hands reached down, grabbed Monday, and pulled him over the ledge. Then I jumped up, got ahold of the dock, and pulled myself out.
Monday was lying still with some dame’s ear on his chest. She said, “He’s not breathing.”
“Out of my way.” I pulled her off and knelt down next to the cop. I pinched his nose, stuck my mouth on his, and pushed a breath into his lungs.
But it didn’t stay long. And it didn’t do much.
So I gave him two more, then placed a hand on his sternum and pumped. Once. Twice. Three times.
But Monday wasn’t moving.
I breathed into his mouth again. And hit his chest. Again.
I was cold from the dip, but the sweat on my face was as hot as rain forest dew. I wiped the warm slick off my brow and put an ear to his heart, listening for a healthy beat. More nothing’s all I heard. “Come on,” I said, “I don’t need another dead cop on my sheet.”
Then a gusher blasted from his mouth. And Monday rolled to one side, retching out a barrel’s worth of Bittenbach Bay.
The crowd cheered loud.
That bald guy slapped my back. “Nice work.”
“You saved his life,” another said.
I leaned over Monday. “You ok, copper?”
He sounded a little froggy. “First rate.”
“Good. Stay here. I’m-”
“Hey look,” someone said. “The cops.”
I looked up to see that, just a few yards away, a couple of GCCPD cruisers were inching by. I waved to them. “Hey, over here.”
But they drove past. And took the turn up Hillimanjaro. There was a black van tight on their tail. With Gold Coast City Morgue painted on its side.
“Monday, that’s them,” I said, “that’s Thermite and Firewall.”
“So go already.”
I took off running after the van. How would I stop it without causing a ruckus? No clue. But I’d think of something. Maybe if-
“What’s that in his hip?” a woman said.
I glanced back as I ran.
“It looks like a pipe.” One of the Samaritans was pointing down at a stumpy, hollow tube that poked out of my pal’s flank. And from the open end poured a whole lot of blood.
Damn it.
In all the excitement I’d forgotten about that cherry punch in the bay.
“Hey lady,” I said, “how long until the ambulance gets here?”
“We called when you guys went in, so five minutes I guess. Maybe ten.”
Five maybe ten? The van was already halfway up the hill. Meanwhile Monday looked like a tapped maple. Who knows how much blood he’d already spilled? But lots of guys lose a few pints and survive. And if I let that van leave then the evidence I needed to save my agency would be buried. Everything Carl built would be gone. Besides, I just met this cop. I owed him nothing.
“What’re you doing?” Monday said.
I knelt down next to him and tore off a piece of my jacket. Then I wrapped a hand around the hunk of shrapnel. “Hey,” I said, “you think the Prospectors’ll make the playoffs this year?”
“Huh?” Monday looked up at me. “Why’re you asking-”
In one smooth motion I pulled the metal from his body.
Monday screamed and twisted like the Chubby Checker fan club as more blood gushed from his open wound. But I clamped the torn cotton from my jacket down on it, turning the stream into a trickle.
Monday struck my shoulder. “You shouldn’t have pulled that out, it was acting like a plug.”
“It was acting like a spigot,” I said.
“Whatever. Let one of the citizens handle it now, and get up that hill.”
“Unless one of these regs can press a few tons I don’t think they’ll have the strength to Dutch boy this dam, so I’m not going anywhere until the ambulance arrives.”
“But the bodies.”
“There’ll be one more if I don’t hang back.”
“That means…” He winced. Then lay still. “Never mind. Thanks.”
I stole a peek up Hillimanjaro. The police cruisers were nowhere to be seen. Neither was the van. I looked down at Monday. He was a good man. An honest cop. I said, “Shut up.”
Chapter 17
A few minutes later the paramedics arrived and had Monday field dressed quicker than a lawyer tells two lies. But as they loaded him in, three patrol cars pulled up and five cops got out.
“Get moving,” Monday said from inside the ambulance, “they’re going to want to question you.”
“I’ll let you know what I find.”
The medic inside shut the door and they pulled away.
I turned towards the hill. I could still make it. Maybe. But I had to rush.
“Where you going? You’re a hero.”
I spun around.
It was Clean Dome. He was pointing at me and jabbering to the nearest cop, a tubby bag of bear claws who looked like he hadn’t chased a criminal since hoop skirts were raging.
“It was nothing, really.” I started walking backwards. “I was doing some laps when-”
“Hey you,” the cop said. “Get back here, now.”
Three other peace officers looked my way. One grabbed his radio. Another, his pistol.
I stopped where I was. I could blast away with my stunners, or knock each of their chops, but I doubt I’d do either before they raised a ruckus. And whatever backup they got would make getting to Ayers impossible. So I sighed, and returned.
“Is this true?” the cop said. “Did you save that guy?”
I looked at his badge. “Yeah, Officer Heralds. And that guy’s Detective Laars Monday.”
His face lit up when he said, “Son of a bitch, that was Monday? I always knew he’d end up at the bottom of the bay.”
The cops around us traded some smiles before going off to interview the other witnesses.
“Yeah,” I said, “Detective Monday. But I got to go.”
“Sorry pal, no can do. I need a report before you shake out.” Heralds pulled out a pad and pen.
“Sure thing. Monday and I got stopped by roadwork when a black truck T-boned us up there.” I pointed to the top of the hill. “The impact flipped us over and the pickup plowed us into the bay. I got to sign something or what?”
“Slow down,” Heralds said as he scribbled. “When did all this happen?”
“When?” You’ve got to be kidding me. “Early last week. It’s just with the road so dry we didn’t make it to the bottom until today.”
“You want to make jokes?” He poked my chest. “Or give me the straight dope?”
“Hey Heralds,” one of the other cops said. “We’re heading out. You got this?”
He looked me in t
he eyes. “Yeah, I can handle it.”
Both pairs of cops got into their cruisers and took off, leaving me and Heralds alone.
“Ok, so what’s your name?” he said.
“My first name’s Ow.”
Heralds stopped writing. “What?”
I grabbed his left ear and squeezed it like a lemon.
He dropped his pad and pen, and clamped down on my wrist. “Ow!”
“That’s right,” I said, “O. W. Last name’s He-tore-my-ear-off. You want I should spell that, too?”
His eyes were full of fear and anger. “Let me go.”
“Don’t think I will,” I said, and lifted him off the ground.
“Arrg.” He tightened his grip and jabbered, “Please drop me, I’m sorry, I won’t bother you no more.”
“Oh, you’re sorry, well in that case it’s fine.” I shook him some.
“Oh God oh God, let me go, I promise you can leave.”
I obliged, and dumped him on the sidewalk. “Now remember, you promised. But just to be sure.” I grabbed the radio on his belt and crushed it. “Now be a pal and sign that report for me. And if I every hear you bad-mouthing Monday again I’m going to squeeze both your ears, only this time I won’t stop juicing until I get a full glass.”
I turned from the cop and ran to the curb. A taxi was coming up fast. Putting two fingers in my mouth I let out a whistle that hurt every dog ear for miles. The cab screeched to a halt, I hopped in, and threw the driver a soggy hundred. “Ayers Cemetery, and don’t spare the whip.”
#
It didn’t take long before I was legging it through Ayers’ wrought iron gate and onto the vast, green field of fresh cut grass. All around were the gleaming, white angels and markers of everyday citizens. I ran past them, and took the long, sloping path of small rocks that led to the tall hill in the back. It was covered in tombstones that, unlike the ones around me, were identical, gray, worn down by time, and so tight knit there was barely an inch between them.
And instead of upright citizens the bodies beneath belonged to cattle rustlers, cowboys, and hooch happy mobsters, though all the fresh tenants wore the black cape.
I sprinted towards the hill, searching for grave men on the job. About halfway there I ran into one coming my way. He looked fiftyish, had on a pair of overalls, and was carrying a dirty shovel.
