by BL Burke
James left, his arm popping out.
“Paid vacation, that’s all you get, damn bureaucrats,” Austin said from the same window. James ignored him and walked back through the halls. “You’re a piece of shit, Jimbo.” Grab your bag, get out of here, leave this alone, he thought.
“I’m gonna miss your coffee,” Austin said as they walked away. They passed the now open kitchen door. James glanced in and saw Leroy and Conroy listening at the wood table. Two other firefighters, Zeke and Lawrence were next to the sink. “It’s the only thing you’re good at around here, isn’t that right, retard.” James kept walking, he felt his face turning red again. He ran his palm through his light brown hair. Stay calm.
“Just go home and cry yourself to sleep you, little puss,” Austin said. James’ arm cracked. The one thing his old man taught him, like in school, the prison yard or the fire house: you don’t back down.
James flipped a one-eighty and eyed Austin. “Why don’t you go kill yourself like your stupid wife?”
The building went silent.
He could see the anger bellow in Austin’s face. James clenched his jaw. Austin’s punch came across his face harder than he’d been hit in a long time. He fell to the floor, the world spun around him.
The next thing he knew Austin was on him, a fist flew down and crashed above his eye. Austin swung again and James slid his head sideways, it whistled past his ear. Austin screamed as his fist hit the floor with all his anger. Leroy threw his arms around Austin.
“What the hell!” Conroy yelled running up to them. Zeke and Lawrence started to pull Austin off.
“James, get out of here! Austin you too before he comes out of his office.” Conroy said disappearing out of the hall.
“It’s broke!” Austin said. “My hand, you bastard!” His eyes stabbing James.
Conroy was back with a pair of breakable ice packs. He gave one to Austin and tossed a second to James.
“Go,” Conroy said.
A door slammed from down the hall, seconds later the chief twisted around the corner.
“What the heck is going on out here!”
“Austin sucker punched James,” Leroy said.
“That bastard,” Austin said, “said shit about Mary,”
“Enough.” Chief said taking charge. “James, you just lost your pay. Austin, you got two days suspension. Now get the hell out of here.”
“You’re going down, Jimbo,” Austin said. “You’ll never see it coming.” James turned around. The ice pack on his face ,he walked away. A crazy man like this could be bad.
Chapter 5
“Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous! This undermines the entire premise of the office; he’s a police officer! They’re on our side!”
“It upholds it, Kate. Someone breaks the law, we prosecute,” Cindy said, her jaw was clenching as she blew a small strand of hair from her face. Sometimes Kate could just hate her.
“Officer Calloway was within his rights to discharge his weapon. In the statement it says…”
“The statement is bull. The guy is trying to cover his own craziness; you can see that, can’t you sir?” Cindy said, looking at their silent observer.
Leaning back and watching, Z. Walter’s face was passive, like he didn’t hear a thing.
“She only wants to get him off because this killer is cute,” Cindy spat.
“No!” Kate argued, waiting for her boss to side with her. He didn’t say anything. She respected him as a man; one of the few good ones. Why was he not agreeing? It was clear cut. The Milwaukee County DA stared blankly at the wall as his supposed two favorite assistants blew up at each other.
“Cute?! I thought you knew me; guy looks like a broke Mickey Rourke, now not 9 ½ Weeks,” Kate said. “And I don’t do broke.”
“I’ve seen some of the guys you date.”
“And he’s a cop,” Z. Walter said. “My policy, we don’t date cops.” Kate and Cindy looked away.
“Sir,” Cindy said, “you read the same report I did; he shot through a closed gate.” Z. Walter nodded. “The suspect wasn’t anywhere near where they were searching.”
“It was a manhunt,” Kate said.
“His radio worked. The gangbanger was spotted half a mile away, at least a minute before,” Cindy said.
“It was called in after he shot…”
“That’s what he said, but not Officer Peterson.”
“She’s a snitch,” Kate countered. “Probably lying.”
“I’ve worked with her. A three-year vet, serving with distinction, or a rookie hot head.”
“Maybe he felt threatened,” Kate surmised, taking a sip of her cold Colectivo coffee.
“He shot through a locked gate.”
“He could’ve jumped it and attacked.”
“Oh, so now it’s a he? Officer Calloway is a psychopathic sadist who shouldn’t be wearing the badge or carrying a gun,” Cindy ranted. Three quick knocks at the door and it opened.
“Attorney Hollands?” a young man asked; Kate didn’t know him.
“Yes?”
“Urgent call for you, line three.” Must be one of the summer interns.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Z. Walter said. The intern nodded and closed the door quietly. Cindy was boiling over, ready to burst.
“What does his psych eval say? Does it say he’s crazy?” Kate asked questioningly.
“They can miss stuff. Shrinks aren’t scientists; they can’t be sure about everything and everyone,” Cindy said.
“Despite their best observations,” Z. Walter smiled as he waded into the discussion, “and let’s not go saying that scientists are always right either...”
Cindy took a deep breath. “I’m not... this man walked up and shot the Gutierrez’s dog and now nothing will happen to him?” Kate rolled her eyes and rubbed her finger on the cardboard grip of her coffee.
“It’s a dog. A dog! And not even a cute dog, a bulldog. How do you not get that?”
“It didn’t do anything wrong; it was well behaved and well trained,” Cindy said, her voice rising an octave. Kate looked over her colleague’s light brown hair, through the slit in the blinds she saw the rest of the office. A few curious faces were at the window, the entire floor had stopped to listen. Kate took a deep breath.
“So they say…” Kate looked back at Z. Walter. “Sir, if we prosecute every police officer that kills some animal in the line of duty...”
“Murders the animal... he should be put in front of a firing squad!”
“We’re not going that far, Cindy,” Z. Walter stated calmly, trying to get the situation more under control. “But the facts of the case are subject to interpretation. Can we prove that he shot it for no reason?”
“We should. His partner…” Cindy started.
“Will she testify?” Z. Walter asked. “If we go forward, I’d want a grand jury to hear this.”
“I can get her to, I know it. I want to go after him.” Cindy said.
Kate chimed in her opinion. “I don’t. Even if he just shot the dog, who’s going to care? It’s a dead dog, what does it matter?”
“The Gutierrez’s will.” Kate looked up at Cindy, her only real friend in the office, more like an older sister than a friend. Cindy’s eyes turned red; she wiped away tears. “You’d be quite surprised who else would, Katherine.”
At the use of her full first name, Kate swallowed. “I don’t think we should prosecute,”
“Let the police handle it… internally,” Z. Walter said. Kate noticed the kid staring through the window, his whole face screaming. Z. Walter acknowledged it. “I bet it’s my wife,” he muttered and left the girls alone. The argument was over. Kate smiled, but for some reason she didn’t feel like she won.
Chapter 6
“What a shit hole,” Marshall unnecessarily observed, looking up at the faded yellow home. “MS, Latin Kings… is that a Blood’s tag?”
“Looks like it,” Perry said, staring looking across the street at Rondo�
��s Nines and Dimes. It was still early; the sun hadn’t gone over them yet, but it was starting to push out a nice heat. Marshall looked down the block. A group of kids were walking, there was a basketball but no backpacks.
“It’s Friday right?” Marshall said.
Perry nodded. “Come on, let’s see who’s home.” Marshall looked at the address from the van. The place was boarded up with green plywood, a municipal job.
“It’s owned by the city.”
“Doesn’t mean someone ain’t making it their abode.” Perry stepped up to the sidewalk and down the path to the single tier step.
“I’ll check around back,” Marshall said.
“Watch your six.”
“You’re not in the army anymore,” Perry gave him the hard glance. “And I always do.”
Perry knocked loudly as Marshall started to walk the side, more boarded up windows… but a small light was peeking through from a window by his feet.
“Light on in basement!” Marshall yelled to his partner. “Someone’s home.” He got into the backyard, more tags, and a lot more elaborate ones. “Someone’s a pretty good artist,” Marshall observed, looking at the Milwaukee skyline, US Bank, Courthouse, Federal building.
The dog ear fence surrounding the yard was broken in multiple places, while the yellow garage in front of the alley seemed like it was about to cave in. Weeds poked through the zigzagged cracks in the concrete.
The plywood was ripped off and thrown to the ground. He tried the doorknob, it turned.
Drawing his weapon, he stepped inside. To his left was the kitchen, a few cabinets, but nothing else; an open door on his right showed an empty room. A paneled door stood in front of him. Slowly he made his way through the kitchen into the living room, stained hardwood floors, a few holes in the walls. Perry rapped on the front door again.
Marshall waited to see if anything stirred, no sounds. He stepped through to the front door and twisted the knob.
The door burst open and something hit his chest. Marshall’s gun clattered to the floor and he flew into a wall with a crack. Looking up he saw his partner lowering his gun.
“Sorry, call out next time.”
Marshall tried to move, he couldn’t. He was sitting in the wall. “What the hell?! Pull me out.”
A smile moved over Perry’s face. “Your ass broke the wall?”
“Come on,” Marshall said, reaching out toward his partner.
“Just a sec, I need a picture of this,” Perry said as he reached for his phone. Marshall started to struggle, a sharp point poked a cheek. Perry held out the phone.
A rough sound came from behind Marshall, a sort of unnatural scratching.
Perry grabbed Marshall, yanking him from the wall, debris collapsing around his feet. Marshall glanced through the opening, a set of stairs leading down.
“Basement,” Marshall whispered.
Marshall picked up his gun and followed Perry toward the rear. Perry reached the door and slammed it open.
The door crashed into the wall. No one faced them. They went through, Perry first. The creaking steps seemed to grow louder as they descended. He heard scratching again, it was faint but definitely from the basement.
“Police,” Marshall yelled. Perry turned quickly on the stairs and put his finger to his mouth.
“Not the place,” Perry said. Marshall shrugged.
A scratch, then a whimper, though it was barely audible. Perry got to the bottom and disappeared around the side of the stairs. Marshall hit the bottom and followed. The dirt floor had marks of a large group of residents. Shuffled feet, beer cans, a few bottles of alcohol. Marshall saw the same gin brand in the car.
“More gin,” Marshall said glancing over toward Perry. His partner was on a knee looking at something.
“It’s okay,” Perry said quietly. “We’ll get you some help.” Marshall walked toward him. Perry had stepped over some wire of a weird octagon.
Marshall followed the outside of the makeshift arena and saw what Perry was looking at. A snout. He saw the dogs eyes look at him. It was ripped up worse than the one before.
“Christ, is that the other fighter?”
“Get the blanket from the car,” Perry ordered. “We need to get him out of here.”
“He’s not going to make it.” Marshall could see part of the dog’s guts on the floor. A patch of skin hung from his shoulder like a flap of loose fabric.
“Now!”
Marshall ran up the stairs and out the front door. He looked for the kids, maybe they’d know something but no one was in sight. He reached the back of the UC and grabbed the blanket from the trunk and jogged back.
Less than a minute and he was back at his partner’s side.
“Quick enough,” Marshall muttered. Perry laid the blanket next to the dog, gently placed the dog on it, and wrapped the wounded warrior like fallen hero. Perry wiped his eyes, leaving small streaks of blood on his face like an Indian’s war paint. Slowly Marshall and Perry lifted him. He didn’t struggle, but he whimpered and let out a series of pained cries.
Marshall followed Perry up the creaking stairs. Perry was walking gingerly on his toes. They turned through the kitchen and back toward the front door.
Three men stood inside the front door, two of them pointed guns. Perry’s hands were full, Marshall had his gun holstered, outnumbered and unarmed.
“What the hell you doing back here, piggy,” the man in front with the suit on said. “I thought I told you never to come back.”
Chapter 7
Her motherly smile showed up on his phone. Her graying hair and kind eyes always said, ‘Hello!’ James lit a cigarette.
“Morning.” James greeted as he backed out of his unassigned spot.
“It’s afternoon, are you at the firehouse?” Renee greeted with a tense voice. James pulled out onto the empty road.
“Just leaving.”
James heard her take a deep breathe before continuing. “I need your help; I’m right by your station.”
“Where?”
“Just north of 29th and Keefe.”
He kept his eyes on the road while she talked. Tires squealed behind him and an engine roared. In the rearview he saw a familiar fire red pickup. “Dammit.”
“What’s wrong?” James knew this bastard was stupid enough to try something; he hit the gas.
“Did you bring anyone?” James continued, two blocks down. He spun the wheel quickly to the right.
“No, it was supposed to be easy, voluntary,” Renee said.
“Nothing’s easy.”
“Are you coming?”
“On my way.”
James made another turn and hit the gas again. Austin was always just behind him. This guy’s nuts.
He saw a small alley and slid into it going forty. It turned right. He followed, barely getting between two cars. He turned out onto the street, Austin’s truck too big for that maneuver. Lucky.
James turned down Keefe. He knew gangs ran the place like a commie country: they got all the money, a few businesses left on the streets got a little, and the general public lived off the government, perpetually in poverty.
This woman is going to get shot, James thought. Despite her older age, Renee was still going to too many rescues alone in places that don’t take kindly to outsiders butting in. He passed a tobacco and cell phone shop. In the sky in front of him he could see clouds started to move back in.
James turned down 29th. A pair of gun shots sounded to his right. They weren’t close. Maybe Austin got what he deserved, but he shook the thought out of his head.
He started to slow down while watching the address numbers rise. Surprisingly, some of the homes were in good shape.
When he heard a bark, James glanced out the passenger window. A small brown lab stared at him as he drove by, it wagged its tail even though it had a large chain attached to its collar. James should check to see if it had water, but Renee sounded nervous. James shook his head and prayed that the pup would be
okay, though the odds were not stacked in its favor.
“2702, 2815,” He said. The curb had old cars pulled onto it, Chevys, Fords, Caddys and rust covered imports.
Halfway up the block he saw the Sprinter van. Jackknifed in a half parking spot and sticking a good three feet into the road. The sign read ‘Brew City Animal Rescue.’ He frowned.
The rescue logo was a group of dogs and cats… including James’s best friend, a yellow lab with excited eyes and a bright smile.
He stopped behind the vehicle. James wiped his eyes, not here.
He flipped on his hazards and hopped out, hoping he wouldn’t get clipped. A quick breeze rolled through, would this spring ever come? James pulled down the back of his jacket to cover up his Ruger nine-millimeter at the base of his spine.
James thought about Leroy lecturing for hours that global warming was just another form of control on a free people from an oppressive government.
‘I wonder if the cavemen were crying as much as the global warming crowd at the end of the ice age.’ He would say. James didn’t care. ‘The left has it wrong with the economy and global warming, the right is wrong for tracking everybody and giving up our freedom for the illusion of safety... both sides try to control you with fear, division and diversion.’
He looked at the address, an old house and not in great shape. A large bungalow with a rotting wood porch, cracked windows square columns that were probably once white, but now stood as faded brown sores holding up the crumbling awning.
His foot sunk in to one of boards as he got to the front. James wondered if he should have a hazmat suit on as he stepped inside.
The inside shocked him, it was clean. The surroundings of a bachelor, a large box TV probably twenty years old, a blue leather couch looked worn in but still had its shine. The wooden sideboard looked polished, large photo frames of a family. A younger black woman in a graduation gown, another with the man and daughter together. No wife.
A voice grumbled between a loud cough. “She’s my girl, you ain’t taking her.” It didn’t feel angry, just defensive.
