Shattered Glass

by Dani Alexander

  “Could Mr. Dyachenko have been shot before he blocked the doorway?” Hutcherson asked.

  I glared at him. For the briefest of seconds, I considered punching him in the gut and asking him to run down the hallway. I chose the diplomatic route instead. “Are you an idiot?”

  “I have to ask—”

  “Have you ever been shot?” He shook his head. “Give me your baton and let me jam it into your stomach.”

  “Point taken, sir.”

  People had better quit calling me sir.

  My pocket began to ring again, pulling me out of disturbing images. This time a classical ringtone played. Rachmaninoff maybe. It just had to be Cai.

  Peter’s hand twitched and pointed at my pocket. I shook my head. “No you can’t fucking talk to Cai.” I should answer it, though. But not while cops were here. I wasn’t trusting anyone on the force right now.

  “Code,” Peter rasped though his oxygen mask. I waited until the ring had stopped; then I crouched and handed him the phone. He punched in the code and folded my fingers around the plastic. “Please.”

  “Even if I wanted to, I can’t leave. I’m a witness.”

  “It’s okay, Detective Glass, I think we have everything for now,” Hutcherson said.

  Bigmouthed asshole.

  Down the hall Dave’s ringtone brought my phone to life. My attention was splitting in too many directions. I didn’t feel like a cop right then. I had zero interest in pursuing leads or hearing evidence from suspects or chasing teenagers. Peter was my only concern. “All right. I can go. But I don’t want to.” I looked at our hands, caked and coated in red, but entwined. The pristine moment when they were clasped like that earlier in the day seemed weeks ago.

  “Clean.” Peter said.

  “Can I get a water bottle or something to clean his hands?” I scanned the crowd. He drew my attention back to him with a pull of my hand.

  “No,” Peter said. “I’m…clean.”

  I had missed who Peter was until that very moment.

  I had called him names and treated him callously. I had read every micro expression in a vacuum of how it related to Austin Glass. And in return Peter had cared for my wounds, treated me tenderly and assured me that he was HIV negative while bleeding out in a hallway of strangers.

  I broke. It wasn’t a visible fracture. I didn’t sob or explode into anguish. I didn’t give in to my vomitus urge that came from the burst of self-loathing. But I shattered nonetheless.

  “Well, you look filthy,” I said, hitting redial on his phone and jamming it to my ear. “I’ll find him.”

  Can’t Anything Just Be Easy?

  Cai’s voicemail clicked on immediately. His phone was either turned off or dead. Mine began ringing again. Letting go of Peter’s hand again was difficult, but I had to. I dodged the other gurney, snatching my cell off the floor before the wheels could roll over it. I didn’t have to see the caller ID to know it was Luis.

  “Guess what I found,” I said with fake cheer while staring at Leila’s unconscious form.

  “Your career?”

  “Is everyone getting wittier, or am I getting more stupid?”

  “I’m here with the captain.”

  “Great. You can both guess! I’ll give you a hint. It has big hair and a bad attitude.”

  “Leila.”

  “Ding. Ding. Ding! Wait, were you really guessing?”

  “Buchanan called, gave a few names.”

  “And then poofed?”

  “That kind of thinking proves you’re not getting stupider. I was just explaining to the captain how this case needed two detectives not one. And how there’s only one I know who’s not part of this shit.”

  I backed out of the way as the paramedics raised the gurney. Peter’s eyes were fighting to stay open, but in the end they fluttered closed and stayed that way. He looked paler than usual against the dark grey blanket.

  “I might actually hump you next Wednesday, Luis. Were Mick and Dick among those names he gave you?”

  “Yup. Top of the list. You all right?”

  “I’m covered in blood. I watched Peter get shot in the stomach and then the head. Mick and Dick probably have his brother and are torturing or murdering him as we speak. I don’t have my gun or badge, and my best friend is a criminal. Sure. I’m doing great. Thanks for asking.”

  “The boy okay?”

  “If you mean Peter, I don’t know. They’re getting ready to wheel him out now. I can’t even go to the hospital with him because he’s an asshole and insisting I have to find his brother—his probably dead brother. And I have no badge and no gun. I mentioned that, didn’t I?”

  “The brother isn’t dead. Mick and Dick just put a BOLO out on him.”

  I covered the mouthpiece and tapped Hutcherson on the shoulder, pointing at Peter. “You with him. No one, not even other cops, get to him without you watching. Leave his side and you’ll have to repatriate to Canada to avoid me. Got it?”

  He nodded and gave me a wry grin. I really didn’t have the authority to order him anywhere. I went back to my call.

  “They haven’t caught him then?” I said it loudly for Peter’s benefit. His eyes were closed, but I sensed he was listening—or trying to listen between all the chatter from the paramedics and the people around us. His body relaxed, and he attempted a deep breath. I lowered my voice. “Oh, good. Now every dirty cop can Be On The Lookout, armed and ready. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “Thought the kid was a genius?”

  “He is. But he’s also having issues with his medication. I don’t know if he functions well without it.”

  “We’ll find him.”

  “Before they do?”

  “It’s what we do best.”

  “Finding people is what you do best. Interrogating them is what I do best. And I may have mentioned that I have no badge or gun!”

  “You do now. I’m on my way there with them. Captain is reinstating you. Give me your loc.”

  Stepping into the elevator with Peter and the paramedics, I looked down at my clothes and sighed while considering my options. If I stopped at a store I’d have to deal with checkout lines. If I went home, it’d be fifteen minutes out of the way. Jeffrey’s was two minutes from me. I rattled off the address of my tailor.

  “You’re buying suits?”

  “I can’t even see the color of my shirt through the blood. Press is at my house, it’s lunch hour downtown, tailor’s less than two minutes from here with my wedding suits. You have a better idea?”

  “I’ll be there in ten.”

  Never had I been so grateful for Angelica’s fastidious wedding choices.

  Peter was out cold by the time the elevator hit the lobby. We all rushed out when the doors opened. Another elevator opened, more paramedics sped by me. On the gurney was, unfortunately, a still-breathing Leila.

  Officer Hutcherson and I jogged close behind. Digging into my pocket I fished out my wallet and gave him a business card. “You call me with news. Leave a message if I don’t answer. Do not leave him,” I repeated. We split up. He followed Peter out the regular doors, and I veered right, pushing through the revolving ones, running for my car.

  Would Penis Bullets Hurt?

  Darryl was sitting in the driver’s seat, phone against his ear. I tapped the glass, heard the door unlock and climbed in. Darryl’s jaw dropped when he saw me. My pocket rang again. His eyes flashed to my pants. “Where’s Peter? Where’s Cai? Whose blood is that? Why do you have Peter’s phone? Was that them with the ambulances?” I yanked the back of his pink hoodie as he tried to open the door.

  “Drive. I’ll—”

  “Drive? Drive? That’s your explanation? Peter would never give you his phone unless… Two people wheeled out of there, and you think I’m just going to leave without Peter and Cai? Where are they taking them?”

  “I’d boot you out of this fucking car if I didn’t need you. Get in and drive. Stop arguing with me. Cai is on the run. We need to find hi
m before they do. And by they, I mean the bad guys. And they have the advantage of the GPS on his ankle bracelet, whereas I just have you.” That shut him up. He took another look at the ambulance as it drove off. “Three blocks down make a right.”

  He started the car. “That’s a one-way. You can’t turn right.”

  My God I hated this area. “Get me to 16th and Market.” He threw the car into drive and pealed out. I winced and stroked the dashboard lovingly. “Drop me off and go park the car. Text Peter’s phone with where you are, and stand by the curb.” I started to pull everything from my pockets: wallet, a yellow bandana, the phones. Darryl glared at me between each stop light and pedestrian walkway.

  “Whose blood is that?”

  “If Cai calls you, tell him to keep moving.”

  “Whose. Blood. Is—”

  “And to get rid of the anklet however he can.”

  He jerked to a stop. I braced against the dash, this time protecting myself from going through the windshield. “Two seconds to answer, or I will beat you until you do.”

  “Peter’s. Don’t!” I jerked up the emergency brake before he could turn the car around. “You can’t do him any good pacing a hospital waiting room. He’s probably in surgery. I need you to help me find Cai.”

  “Did you shoot him?”

  “With what? The bullets in my penis?” I was shouting again. “Just get me to 16th and Market and do what I said.”

  “We’re here already, dickwad!”

  Oh.

  I scrambled out.

  Breathe and think—(Of 1001 Ways to Shut Darryl Up)

  Besides distance, convenience, and a large bathroom where I could clean up, there was another reason I chose Jeffrey’s shop. It was isolated enough that if Luis was part of the conspiracy, the little tailor shop would be a perfect place to ambush me. My plan was to take some time in the bathroom and see if someone showed up. It wasn’t the most foolproof of experiments, but I wasn’t in a position to be picky. When an impatient Luis called after waiting a few minutes, I knew my gut instinct about him had been correct.

  “You got blood on your neck,” Luis said as I filled the passenger seat of the unmarked car.

  I flipped the visor and tilted my head, rubbing at the spot. “Thanks, dad. We’re picking up a third party.” I told him where to get Darryl. He handed me my badge and gun, then hung a U-turn. “We need to find the kid, “I said. “He has something they’re after.”

  “Any idea what?”

  “Whatever is in that safety deposit box.”

  “Nope. Box contained only the clothes he was assaulted in.”

  “They got into the box?”

  “Nah, they used x-ray vision.”

  I ignored his sarcasm. Angelica’s quash hearing hadn’t gone her way, apparently. That explained the sudden rush to get Cai. Whatever they needed was probably in the box. “He left the clothes there as a message,” I ventured.

  Luis pursed his lips and leaned against his door, thumb tapping the steering wheel. “Makes sense. ‘I was here. I have what’s in the box.’ Regular dicks would assume he was keeping it as evidence. Anyone involved in the wrong end of the case would wonder what he may have taken from it. Now the why?” I pointed, and he pulled over. Darryl plopped in the back seat with a glare, crossing his arms.

  “I’ve been waiting here forever. You didn’t answer any of my texts, dickwad.”

  “Your texts were all the same damn question, the answer being: I don’t know how Peter is. When I hear, you’ll hear.”

  “Glass?”

  I glanced at Luis. “Yeah?”

  “What the fuck are you wearing?”

  “The only thing he had hemmed,” I said, looking down at my tuxedo. “Subject at hand, please. Cai put the clothes in the box—”

  “What clothes? What box? Who is after him? Which hospital is Peter at?”

  “Darryl, open your mouth again, and I’ll cuff and gag you. He obviously—”

  “Go on and try, dickwad. We’ll see who ends up on top.”

  Luis rubbed his forehead and the bridge of his nose. “The clothes are an interesting choice to leave in there.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “He knew it’d be cops, Peter or his lawyers getting in that box.” I tapped my finger against my knee. “Whoever the clothes were a message for knew that whatever he took from that box, he took after he was assaulted. It wasn’t Peter, wasn’t Angelica and it wasn’t Mick because he drove Cai to the house and installed the bracelet. Cai would have panicked back then. We have more dirty cops out there.”

  “Raped!” Darryl kicked the back of my seat. “Assaulted makes it sound like he got hit. That’s not what happened. Don’t dumb it down. So cops knew he was raped.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with Darryl. He was stressed and worried, not to mention bitter and angry. “The only time he would have been able to put the clothes in the box was Saturday morning.”

  “Our bank is open until four on Saturdays,” Darryl said.

  “Okay, but when I picked up Peter at three, Cai was there. Actually he was upbeat. Maybe he thought he was free and clear?”

  “Sugar and his meds. He gets like that when he’s high, too.”

  I turned around and stared at Darryl. “Cai does drugs?”

  “What do you think? His best friend is a smack addict. He’s bipolar, and his meds rarely work right. He’s sixteen. He self-medicates.”

  “How bad is his habit?”

  “He doesn’t have a habit yet. He mostly scores uppers and downers.”

  “Smack?”

  “Not a chance. And before you get all high and mighty deciding that addicts will use anything,” he rolled up his sleeves, “Cai’s the one who got me off it. He wouldn’t touch it.”

  The information put a perspective on where he might be. “You know his dealers?”

  Darryl’s face didn’t even flicker when he answered, “If I did, they’d have a bullet between the eyes. I know someone who can help. I called a few minutes ago, and she was there. She said cops already called asking if she knew where Cai was.”

  “Did she?”

  “She told them she didn’t.”

  I didn’t miss his careful wording. “She told them she didn’t. What’d she tell you?”

  “I’m supposed to trust you two?”

  “Who else you got?” Luis asked.

  He stared out the window. Luis and I waited while he decided. “Goth Nation. On 14th Street.”

  Cai is Going To Military School When This is Done

  We drove to Capitol Hill and illegally parked in front of the shop. Goth Nation was squashed in the middle of the street between empty buildings and a corner beauty salon. A rent-a-bike kiosk stood on one corner. An Indie record shop on another. And on the last corner, a coin laundry/convenience store. Most of the people milling about were twenty-somethings with band t-shirts, wide studded belts and jeans tight enough to outline tattoos. We followed two of them into the shop.

  Tiny, dusty, dark and moody was how I would describe the place. The shelves were black. The small square counter was black. So were the carpet, the clothes; the walls; the shoes; the door to the backroom—all black. The only spots of color were the “Legalize It” stickers haphazardly posted everywhere and the gold knob on the door behind the counter. Oh, and the pink-haired girl and blue-haired guy standing in front of us. The shop was also empty of salespeople.

  “Beat it,” Luis said, then flashed his badge at the teens. They shrugged and walked out. A tinkling bell signaled their exit. We all looked at the door behind the counter.

  “Stay here,” I whispered to Darryl while Luis and I pulled our guns and leaned against the door frame. He motioned me to turn the knob, signaling that he would follow me in. I nodded and signed a countdown from three. I twisted the knob, and we filed through the door as quickly and quietly as possible.

  Moving silently, we stopped at each row to check down the narrow walkways. We crouched and peered through shoeboxes and stac
ks of t-shirts in each before moving on to the next. Over a pair of four-inch platform boots, I spotted a figure. Luis motioned me forward. I darted across the row to the last shelving unit and pressed my back against the wall. Peeking briefly around the corner, I signed that I saw one person. I pressed my hand flat, then took a longer look from a crouched position.

  The girl, or rather her breathing, talking skeletal remains, was splayed on the ground, her neck propped by a metal shelf and the far wall. She was babbling incoherently. A puddle formed between the v of her legs. The stench of urine filtered through my adrenalin. I didn’t see a weapon.

  I heard Luis calling for an ambulance as I approached her. She wore black holey tights and a micro plaid skirt. Her mesh, long-sleeved shirt was pulled up on one side, revealing a piece of black rubber loosely ribboned around her arm. A syringe was pushed into a large angry red and bruised lump at the inside corner of her elbow. The t-shirt over the black mesh read ‘Daddy’z Gurl’ in neon pink.

  “Hey.” I squatted next to her and checked her eyes. Her pupils were pinhead small in the midst of brown. “She’s wasted. Darryl, come here!” I took off my jacket and folded it behind her head. I didn’t smell or see vomit, and her airway remained clear. I checked her pulse and breathing. Shallow.

  She dribbled spit as she slurred, “Cai, dun.”

  “Rachel?” Darryl rushed over. He bumped my hand out of the way and attempted to take out the needle himself.

  “Don’t,” I cautioned. “You might poke through skin.”

  “I know how to take out a needle.” He gently removed it and checked the plunger. “Rachel?” He tapped her face a few times and blew out a breath. “She’s no fucking use.”

  Luis checked his watch. “Forty minutes since the BOLO was called in. How long since you talked to her?”

  “Right after I parked the car. Maybe five minutes before you picked me up.”

  “Fuck.” I stood up and kicked the nearest object. Several boxes flew off the bottom shelf on the other side of us. My phone vibrated, bringing my tantrum to a halt. I looked at the screen. Text message from an unrecognized number.