Shaker

by Scott Frank

  The Walther in his jacket pocket, loaded with Harvey’s homemade hollowpoints. Rippers. That’s what Harvey called them. Roy just now remembering this at the same time he heard Science let out a soft whistle.

  “Check it,” he said.

  Shake and Truck turned to Science as he held up the gun. The jogger stopped moving, stared at the gun in the boy’s hand, then at Roy with a new look on his face. Truck stared at the gun with that one good eye, and then at Roy. Circumstances had suddenly changed and Roy got the feeling that Truck wouldn’t let the game go on much longer. He was the one Roy worried about.

  Science reached once more into Roy’s jacket pocket and came up with the live round Roy had ejected and then the spent shell casing. Science barely looked at the shells before handing them to Shake, who dutifully stared at them sitting there on his palm, then tossed them over his shoulder.

  Science poked the muzzle into Roy’s kidney. “What you doin’ with this gat, cuz?” Roy turned around as Science held it up and clicked off the safety. “And like who the fuck are you?”

  Shake said, “Yeah, son, like who are you? I don’t see no badge, so I know you no po-po. Not with that piece.”

  Roy didn’t answer. He looked at the jogger, the man now asking the same question with his eyes. Behind him, up in a second-story window, Roy thought he saw the curtain move, as if maybe someone had been there a minute ago.

  Science smiled that beautiful smile at Roy. “He’s like Mr. Freeze, you feel me? Look at him. He’s like so fuckin icy.”

  L, no longer looking so baked, took out his own gun, a scratched, taped-up nine-millimeter, and walked up to Roy, put the gun to his head, and said, “I’m a blow this dude up.”

  Shake said, “Yeah, splash the motherfucker.”

  But it was now Science who couldn’t take his eyes off Roy. Something was making him uncomfortable. “My boys, they wanna do you.”

  Roy watched the jogger, the man on the ground and once again on all fours, looking a lot like Martin Shine did half an hour ago.

  “I heard.”

  Science smiled. “You the real truth, motherfucker?”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  Science laughed, was waving the gun no more than a foot from Roy. His finger was on the trigger and Roy wondered if it would go off. It would be no problem to take it away from the kid. If he did it now. L had that old automatic at his temple, but Roy wasn’t worried about L.

  Truck stood apart from the group, his leg shaking like he couldn’t control it, the one wide eye glued to Roy.

  Science waved Roy’s gun, said, “You a fuckin’ badass?”

  “No,” Roy said. “I’m not a badass.”

  “Maybe you just sprung?”

  “I don’t know what that means either.”

  “Fuckin’ crazy.”

  Roy said nothing to that one.

  “On your knees, like this other Herb.”

  Roy didn’t move.

  Science smiled at the others. “He’s so fuckin’ icy, am I right?” And then he walked to where the jogger was on all fours and said, “Eyes up, doggie.” And when the jogger looked up, Science put the gun to the man’s forehead, looked back at Roy, and said, “You icy enough to watch me do him?”

  The jogger said, “Please.”

  Science said, “You don’t get down, and I’m sayin’ like right the fuck now, I’m gonna blank this old Herb, you feel me?”

  The jogger looked up at Roy. Please.

  Roy said, “Take my money and go.”

  Science stared at Roy. “What you say?”

  “You heard me.”

  Science looked at the other three, then burst out laughing. Shake joined him.

  L and Truck didn’t move.

  Science said, “You think I’m like stressin’ for loot, motherfucker?” He walked back to Roy, reaching into his own pocket with his free hand. “You think this poor nigga needs your help?” He pulled out a thick wad of cash and threw it at Roy’s face, let the bills flutter to the ground without looking at them. “I got the fat bankroll, son.

  “I’m not here for your money,” he said, once more pointing the gun at Roy’s face. “I’m here cuz I’m here. That’s all. You feel me?”

  “I feel you.” Roy said, then slapped the kid on the side of the head, popped him hard on the ear, and said, “You feel that?”

  For a moment, none of them did a thing. They were all in a kind of shock they’d never experienced before. Truck, he could see, wanted to do something, but was right now staring at Science as the smaller kid shook his head, tried to get the ring out of it. Even the jogger stared up at Roy, having, for the moment, forgotten about his own sad predicament.

  Science held the old gun on Roy, looked like he might cry now.

  “C’mon, motherfucker,” Roy said. “Let’s get this done. Shoot me. Blow me up or whatever the fuck you wanna do.”

  Roy watched Science, the kid feeling the others waiting on him to do something.

  And he did.

  Science looked up at Roy and pulled the trigger.

  Roy listened to the hammer fall on the empty chamber with a flat click, was reaching for the old Walther, but Truck was already ahead of him, had that machine gun up on Roy and Roy realized that his moment had passed, thought And down I go when Science shouted, “Wait!” and once more everybody froze, though Truck kept Roy locked down.

  Science looked up at Roy and said, “I’m a do this motherfucker, not none a you.” He then carefully racked the slide back on the Walther, chambering a new round but instead of pointing it at Roy, he once more put the gun to the jogger’s head, looked at Roy and smiled.

  “But first, you need to know, this dude here’s on you. I was gonna let him pass, but now, he’s fuckin’ got, you feel me? It’s all you.”

  Roy said, “Wait—”

  The gun went off loud in that little alley. L was the only one who didn’t jump at the sound. Science’s arm jerked slightly from the recoil as the jogger’s head snapped back ahead of the rest of his body, which was knocked backward into a sitting position. Roy turned his head as a thin red spray hit him in the eyes.

  For a moment, nobody moved. There was just the sound of the music and the smell of burning hair.

  And then Shake, realizing his down vest was covered with blood and brain matter, started backing up like he could somehow get away from it. “I got fuckin’ Herb all over me!” He started ripping the vest off in a panic.

  Science stared at the small, black hole on the front of the jogger’s face, saw the back of the man’s head was entirely gone. Science then nudged the body with the gun and watched it fall over.

  Roy cleared his eyes, focused, and saw Truck staring at him down the barrel of the little MAC 10. Roy was waiting for the shot to come when they were all bathed in light.

  They all fell back against the walls as the Valley West patrol car pulled deep into the alley, nearly running down Shake, scattering the rest of them. L spun around and shot off rounds in every direction as Truck fired the machine gun through the car’s windshield and then took off running after the others.

  The security guard bailed out of the car, hitting the door against a wall, his own black automatic already clear of his holster and squeezed off half a dozen rounds at the four dark shapes now just beyond his headlights.

  Roy came off the wall and started moving, got maybe a foot before he felt a red hot wasp sting him in his left side, then another in his left thigh and fell to the ground beside the jogger. He could feel the slick warmth of the other man’s blood under his cheek and tried to sit up, but felt another, hotter, pain this time in his chest. His hands felt warm with his own blood while the rest of him seemed to be shivering from cold.

  Roy was vaguely aware of the security guard screaming into his radio, but couldn’t make out what he was saying, his ears still ringing from the gunshots and a new sound, a roar that came from above. Roy rolled over onto his back and was immediately blinded by sunshine. H
e squinted, registered the shape of a helicopter now floating overhead. He closed his eyes as the tips of his fingers went numb, his whole body shivering as if cold. He had to get up and get out of there.

  He rolled onto his other side as the chopper now played its spotlight over the area around the alley, illuminating for a split second what looked to Roy a lot like a white Ford Fusion parked just across the street. He was thinking that he would have to tell the little black lady behind the counter about the broken radio when he passed out.

  Kelly Maguire had just sat down to some sushi from Vons, eating healthy tonight as part of the “New Kelly” routine, when Randall, the watch officer, called her from downstairs.

  “I got a walk-in down here, I don’t know what to do with.”

  “I’m code seven.”

  “You’re in the building.”

  She looked across the room at another detective, a few years younger, bent over in his chair, head on the blotter, sound asleep, the only other body up here right now.

  “Ronnie’s up next.”

  There was a pause. “I don’t think he can handle this one.”

  “I’m eating.” She put a piece of fish in her mouth and said, “Hear that? That’s me chewing.”

  “Don’t be that way.”

  —

  The woman stood barely five feet tall. Walking over, Kelly had put her age somewhere in her fifties, but as she reached out to shake her hand, Kelly realized she was much younger, somewhere closer to her late thirties. She wore blue jeans that were too big, belted at the top, a gray sweatshirt, and dirty white Keds. Shelter clothes. Kelly had seen lots of women like this, their lives stamped on their ruined faces. This lady had dark black skin, covered with acne scars. Her eyes had the yellow burn of an animal and she couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with her hands, one of which held a rolled-up manila envelope.

  Kelly figured her to be a junkie once, maybe still.

  She said her name was Ruth Ann Carver and then asked, “Are you a real detective?”

  “Wanna see my shield?”

  “I only ask because I been here two hours, they keep passing me around to fools in uniform. I need a detective, somebody can do some digging for me.”

  “After midnight,” Kelly said, looking at Randall, the cop all of a sudden super-busy at his computer, “it’s slim pickings around here.”

  “I couldn’t get here sooner. My shift goes to eleven, and the bus went a different way on account of that hole in the middle of Vanowen, took me nearly a mile the wrong way before I could get off.”

  “You want some coffee?”

  “I’ve had plenty coffee, no thank you.”

  “Why don’t we sit down over here and talk.”

  Kelly led Ruth Ann Carver to a couple of plastic chairs that sat outside the watch commander’s office. It was quiet here, everybody at a 7-Eleven on Lankershim on what had begun as a robbery before quickly progressing into a kidnapping and, finally, a double murder. Everybody but Kelly anyway. Still curbed after her little outburst a month earlier, Kelly got to deal with the walk-ins and other assorted and sundry late night bullshit.

  She smiled the best she could at Ruth Ann Carver and said, “What is it I can help you with?”

  “You dye your hair.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know hair and I can see you ain’t really that black, or that straight.”

  “Ma’am—”

  “But them green eyes are real. They pretty.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And that’s a real smart blazer you have on.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It looks good, you wear it with jeans and the white blouse like that. Simple. I used to work in a office, the ladies all dressed like that.”

  Kelly nodded, let the woman fidget with the envelope some more before she finally said, “I need you to find my son.”

  “He’s missing?”

  “He was stolen from me.”

  “When?”

  “Eighteen years ago.”

  “Ma’am—”

  “But I saw him on the street two days ago.”

  “You saw your son?”

  “I saw my husband.”

  Kelly’s stomach growled. “Mrs. Carver—”

  “Miss. Jared’s father is dead. Got kilt in Soledad twelve years ago.”

  “Jared is your son then.”

  “Don’t know what he’s called now. You have a cigarette?”

  “No ma’am.”

  Ruth Ann Carver just nodded, didn’t seem disappointed.

  “Two days ago,” she said, “I’m walking up Vermont, near Eighth. You know it?”

  “You live in Koreatown?”

  “There’s a hair salon there, does weaves, I go over there sometimes, they give me work sweeping up or helping the girls out. I told you, I’m good with hair. Used to work in a salon myself, a good place on Hoover, but…” She shrugged. “That was a while ago.”

  Like with the cigarette a moment earlier, she didn’t seem disappointed. Just a fact.

  Kelly wanted to ask Ruth Ann Carver if Koreans were getting weaves now, but didn’t want to distract the woman from getting to the end of whatever it was she needed to say, so that Kelly could get back to her shitty dinner and, more importantly, feeling sorry for herself.

  “The other day, I’m about to walk into the salon, I look across the street and I see my husband waiting on a bus.”

  Ruth Ann Carver then opened the envelope she’d been twisting and took out a wrinkled photo of a black man, barely a man really, he was eighteen or nineteen with a shaved head and held a baby.

  “You say this was this man you saw?”

  “I don’t say shit. I know it was.”

  “You saw your dead husband? The same dead husband who was killed in prison?”

  She shook her head at Kelly. “You just as thick as them others.” She jabbed the photo with her index finger and she said, “Wasn’t my husband I was looking at. Was my son. Eighteen years later.”

  Kelly looked once more at the photo. The boy holding a baby. An image she’d seen too many times. But this boy was familiar to her somehow. She tried to place him as Ruth Ann Carver went on.

  “I couldn’t move. I just stood there, watched him get on the bus and that was that, the boy was gone. But it was him, I know it was. Was a dead ringer for his daddy. Could only be my son.”

  Kelly studied the photograph a moment longer while she collected her thoughts. Maybe she didn’t know him. Maybe the guy just looked to her like every other thug with a baby.

  “You said your son was stolen from you?”

  Ruth Ann Carver took another breath. “You sure you don’t have a cigarette?”

  “Someone might,” Kelly said. “I could ask.”

  “It’s all right.” The tiny woman looked around, worked her palms into her jeans, back and forth, as if she was trying to rub something off.

  Kelly crossed her legs and waited her out. She could feel the little .22 inside her black boots pressing against her ankle. A Beretta nine sat upstairs. The Glock she usually carried on her hip was at home. Too big for the purse. And she wanted to wear the suit for the meeting she had earlier in the day with her union rep. She was wondering, given all that had happened, the kind of trouble she was in, why she even bothered to carry a gun anymore, let alone two, when Ruth Ann Carver started talking.

  “Was a Monday morning, eighteen years ago. I went to this bodega used to be off Florence a few blocks from our apartment. I was working at the salon and going to night classes at LACC to be a paralegal. I had a job waiting for me when I got my certificate. My husband was working a lathe at this machine shop in Torrance. They made radiator caps I think. And other parts. For old cars. You know, classic cars. Rich people can afford that kinda thing. We were making good money. The apartment wasn’t so bad even after the baby was born. Anyway, on that Monday, I’d run out to get some fruit. I was gonna start making his own food. I’d been reading about tha
t.”

  She saw the way Kelly was looking at her and knew what she was thinking.

  “I wasn’t always like this. We had a life. I could see me working for a firm downtown, my husband with his own shop. It was all good. Until I got distracted by the damn apples.”

  “The apples?”

  “I needed McIntosh, they the best for applesauce, but I couldn’t find any. That’s what I was asking the man owned the place, Manny I think his name was, where he kept ’em at. I had Jay in the stroller, so I walked to the end of the row to ask that one little question. When I turned back, maybe a second later, the stroller was empty. Was right there where I’d left it, but my baby was gone.

  “First I thought he’d fallen out and was crawling around the store somewheres. I wasn’t even panicked. The place wasn’t that big. So I started looking around. You know, calling his name. But he wasn’t there. I’m looking under counters and even in the beer and soda cases. But he was gone. Then I look in the back, could see daylight coming from a open door and I just knew. I ran out into the alley, and then I ran out into the street and started screaming.”

  She turned to Kelly.

  “You have babies?”

  “No ma’am.”

  “Then you might not understand how it was my life ended that day. Everything just died. My husband lost his job. Then he reconnected with some old friends and got busted. My job, my school—that shit was done. All of it went away with that baby. It was like another version of me was born right then. And that’s what I been since. That other version. My son was my life, and then he was gone. For eighteen years. Until I saw him the other day. And all a sudden I remembered who I was before.”

  She sat there, still no emotion in her voice. Kelly wondered if maybe she had none left.

  Kelly asked, “How did he look?”

  “Look?”

  “When you saw him that day. Did he look healthy? What were his clothes like?”

  “Oh.” She thought about that for a moment and then said to the floor, “Someone’s taking good care of him.”

  Ruth Ann Carver replaced the picture of the boy’s father in the envelope and handed it to Kelly.

  “You keep this.”

  Kelly took it and asked, “You remember the number of the bus he got on?”