RCC03 - Beneath a Weeping Sky

by Frank Zafiro

  Sergeant Shen looked around the table. “I guess he figures that these assaults are a pretty serious issue, that’s all.”

  “Everything we deal with is serious, Sarge,” Kahn said.

  “So it is,” Shen agreed. “Is anyone interested in volunteering for this task force?”

  No one looked at Katie, but she felt the attention of her entire platoon on her. Warmth rushed to her face. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  Don’t ask me to do this. Ask me anything else, but not this.

  She licked her lips. Since coming on the job five years before, she’d been involved in a variety of sticky situations. An armed robber fired shots at her once in a dark construction lot. A drugged out wife-beater threatened her with a bloody knife. And, of course, she faced the unwinnable situation the previous spring on the Post Street Bridge.

  She faced every one of those situations head-on. She pushed through them. She survived.

  I don’t want to do this.

  Besides, how many rape reports had she taken? Dozens, at least. And how many rapists had she arrested? Ten or so? More? She’d never been afraid of any of them. So why was she afraid now?

  I do NOT want to do THIS!

  A couple of her sector mates had turned their eyes toward her during the brief silence following Shen’s question. She looked up at each of them, then at Shen. The sergeant regarded her calmly.

  I don’t want to do this.

  I don’t-

  “I’ll be the decoy,” she told Shen. Then, clearing her throat, she repeated, “I’ll do it.”

  Sergeant Shen nodded his thanks.

  Katie MacLeod, who sometimes hid but never ran, nodded back.

  2127 hours

  Sergeant Miyamoto Shen closed the door to the sergeant’s room behind him as he entered. Lieutenant Saylor sat reviewing and approving patrol reports. He glanced up as Shen entered and set aside the stack of papers.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Did anyone volunteer from the other two sectors?” Shen asked him.

  Saylor shrugged. “A few cover officers.”

  “But no decoys?”

  Saylor shook his head. “There’s all of three women on graveyard right now. One of them is MacLeod, who’s yours. The other two females weren’t interested. One of them is going on vacation tomorrow and the other one...well, she just wasn’t interested.”

  “MacLeod volunteered,” Shen said.

  “I figured she would. She’s got grit.”

  Shen nodded thoughtfully. “She’s a warrior, I agree. But everyone has limits.”

  Saylor looked closely at Shen. “You don’t think she’s up to it?”

  “I’m sure she is. That’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what?”

  “It’s just that she’s been through a lot in the last couple of years. I don’t wonder about her ability to handle any one incident, just about how she’ll handle the cumulative effect of all of them.”

  Saylor considered, then shrugged. “That’s the life of a cop.”

  Shen pressed his lips together in obvious disagreement. “I just don’t want to lose a good troop because we push her too hard or ask too much of her.”

  He may be right, Saylor thought.

  Nonetheless, he reached out and clapped Shen on the shoulder. “Relax, Sergeant. We ask too much of these men and women every day. At least, we ask them to face the possibility of paying too much. They can handle it. MacLeod can handle it.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Shen said, but his voice had a hint of a doubtful tone.

  “I am,” Saylor assured him. “Now, who should we assign as cover officers?”

  “As soon as she volunteered, Battaglia and O’Sullivan offered to serve as cover officers.”

  “Are you all right with that?”

  Shen nodded. “Both are good cops, if a little immature at times. And they like MacLeod. They’ll take the job seriously.”

  “Who’s your number three, then?”

  “I’m going to assign Chisolm. The first night of operations for the task force is tomorrow and he’ll be back from his days off. He can rotate through with Battaglia and O’Sullivan.”

  Saylor nodded his approval. The presence of a veteran officer like Chisolm would keep Battaglia and O’Sullivan grounded.

  “Good choice,” he agreed.

  “Let’s hope they’re successful,” Shen said.

  God willing, Saylor added silently.

  2319 hours

  He felt it in his chest. It was like a burning pain at times. Other times, it felt more like a cold knife. No matter what, it welled up inside like a tsunami, forcing against his throat, his limbs, his mind.

  It made him rock hard.

  It made him tremble.

  Hookers weren’t helping anymore, he discovered. He tried to go with one earlier in the day, but had to stop. He felt the energy, the power, surging inside him. He didn’t know if he could stop himself once he started. He didn’t believe that River City would care much about a dead hooker, but he didn’t want to waste his power on such a worthless target.

  He wanted...no, he needed a real woman.

  Someone who was closer to her.

  He pulled in a deep breath of the cool night air. Sitting on a bench in Riverfront Park, he enjoyed the quiet of the night around him. The Looking Glass River flowed gently through the center of the park, located just on the fringe of downtown River City.

  He liked it here. It was quiet, with only the light hiss of nighttime traffic in the distance. The air was cooled by the river. The coolness felt good on his face, eyes, and as he drew it into his throat. Although he’d been able to wash out all of the mace that woman had sprayed him with, a light burning remained.

  His mind flashed to the front seat of the teacher’s car. She reminded him so much of Mrs. Reed, or what she would probably look like know. Sure, he hadn’t gotten the chance to fuck her –

  Bitches ruin everything, don’t they?

  —but he definitely laid the whammo on her, didn’t he? She got a good finger-banging first, then a good old fashioned beating. And if his eyes and throat hadn’t been burning like hellfire, he would have finished the job.

  He smiled.

  The park was nice for other reasons. People felt safe in this park. The wide paths and frequent lighting gave them a sense of security. Unarmed patrols of rent-a-cops bicycled through periodically, heightening that perception of safety.

  But it was all an illusion.

  No one was safe from him.

  That made him smile even wider.

  He’d been watching them pass by for over an hour now. Short, tall, fat, thin, beautiful, ugly. Didn’t matter. They were all bitches, every one of them.

  Every womb of them.

  He chuckled to himself, despite the burning anger in his chest. Was that really what he was doing? Showing every one of these bitches what he should have taught his mother instead? He would have, too, if she hadn’t been put in the ground by cancer before he got the chance.

  How many of these surrogate sluts would it take before he could believe that his mother got the message? How long before she heard the news in hell?

  He drew in another deep breath of the cool night air that was stroked by the river. Maybe it didn’t matter, he decided. Every time he did it, the pressure went away for a little while. Sure, it came back even stronger, but there was still some relief.

  And there was something else. The first time, it was all about relief. But after that, he realized something was happening. Only a little at first, but it grew by leaps and bounds, until it was now even stronger than that pressure in his chest.

  He liked it.

  He liked the power. Their screams. The begging. He liked to inflict pain. To control the fate of the bitch in front of him.

  It made him strong.

  Important.

  Hell, if he believed in God, he might even believe that he was one with God in those moments.

  But si
nce he knew there wasn’t a God, what did that make him in those moments?

  His cheeks ached. He realized that he’d been smiling so hugely that the muscles in his face were fatigued. With purpose, he relaxed his face into what he hoped was an open expression. He pretended to stare out at the river while watching for women walking through the park.

  But inside, he answered his own question.

  It makes me a god.

  The frequency of foot traffic had dwindled significantly since he first sat down. He’d seen a few candidates pass by, but none were quite right. There were a variety of reasons that might be. He was smart and not about to make a mistake that would allow the clueless police department to catch him. So if there were too many people around to see, he let the ones pass who were otherwise perfect. He let the ones with too much confidence pass on by, too. He’d learned from the teacher not to underestimate anyone.

  The river flowed lazily in front of him. It had the help of a small dam at the west end of the park. In the distance, though, he could hear the rush of water. Most of the park was really an island, bordered on the north by the river in its true form, crashing over rocks with a powerful current. But the south side of the park enjoyed the quiet, slow roll of the part of the river controlled by man.

  Eventually, though, after the waters passed the island park, they flowed back into one crushing current, tumbling over the rocks and headed toward a waterfall just before the Post Street Bridge.

  He was like the river, wasn’t he? Some things nature controlled, some things he controlled. He could channel the river, his hatred. He could bottle it up and slow it down. Make it beautiful for others to see. But eventually, the fork in the river flowed together again. It always did.

  He changed his thoughts, moving more toward the moment at hand. The park was good for other reasons, more practical ones. While there were several footbridges that provided access to the island, there were escape routes from every part of the park. All of the city streets that bordered the one hundred acres were arterials. They all had places to park a car. Bus stops were a dime a dozen. A man could slip out of the park and melt away into the city.

  The light clacking of footsteps roused him from his philosophical contemplation. A short woman came into view on the other side of the river. Her quick steps brought her to the wide foot bridge and headed in his direction. She carried a folder of some kind under her arm. The footbridge was well lit, so he was able to see her conservative business attire easily.

  Probably a secretary, he thought. Working very late. Maybe with the boss, the slut.

  She continued north across the footbridge. He couldn’t see her features exactly at this distance, but as she drew nearer, he gave a small gasp.

  Jenny.

  His girlfriend.

  Ex-girlfriend, he reminded himself.

  Dark anger rose up in his chest. Who did she think she was, anyway? Breaking up with him? Like she was something special. She was just another stupid, worthless bitch. Just like—

  He glanced at her again.

  It wasn’t Jenny. She was built the same, had the same hair, but it wasn’t her.

  Still...

  When she reached the end of the footbridge and turned his direction, he made his decision.

  He rose from his seat and walked up the pathway eastbound, approaching the huge clock tower that reached upward into the night sky. At the clock tower, he could continue east or turn north. North led up a small rise and another path. East led to the Washington Street overpass about thirty yards farther on. Under the overpass was about fifteen yards of darkness.

  He turned left and headed north, up the hill.

  Trying not to appear like he was hurrying, he took long strides. His ears strained for the click-clack of her heels. He canted his head slightly and searched for her out of his peripheral vision.

  She continued east.

  Maybe she was headed toward the bus stop on Washington. A steep set of winding stairs led from the park path to the street above. He had marked that earlier as an excellent escape route. Now, it might just be her destination.

  When he reached to top of the short hill, he turned east himself, following another path. His heart thudded in his ears. Excitement caused his fingers to tingle.

  A slutty secretary. Or maybe some hoity-toity business bitch. Either way, he was going to lay the whammo on her. He was going to lay it on her so hard that Jenny would feel it wherever she was. And his mother was going to feel it from her ringside seat in hell.

  As soon as he believed he was out of her line of sight, he sprinted. There was no overpass at the top of the hill because Washington became a three-block tunnel. He hurried east. Once he’d gone far enough that he was sure he’d passed over the tunnel below, he cut south through the low, trimmed bushes. He had to get to the east side of the overpass below before she did. That would be the best place.

  The bushes became larger as he continued south. The neatly trimmed standard fell by the wayside, with chaotic natural growth taking its place. He scrambled through them and around a few trees. This would be a better place, but how was he supposed to get someone into this thicket? He could see the river below, but not the overpass yet.

  She couldn’t have made it through yet, could she?

  He looked further along the eastbound path below and saw no one.

  She had to still be coming. Had to be.

  He ducked beneath a tree limb and around a thick shrub. He was definitely on a downward slope now. The few trees gave way again, leaving only bushes in his way. He continued forward.

  The steep set of stairs came into view, thirty or forty yards ahead, by his reckoning.

  No sign of her.

  He smiled. He was going to make it. He was going to peek around the corner into that dark underpass and see her shadowy form coming toward him. Her clicking heels would echo under there. He’d wait until she was three quarters of the way to him, then he’d charge her. One crack in the mouth and she’d be quiet. Then he’d push her face into the wall and nail her.

  And then—

  The natural growth gave way to manicured bushes again. Right at the edge of the bushes, his foot struck something heavy and he tumbled forward onto the grass with a grunt. He was able to get his hands out to break his fall. The damp grass was slippery enough to cause him to slide several feet.

  “What the hell, dude?”

  He looked up. A tall, thin young man sat near the edge of the bushes. The kid was a flurry of movement, which took him a moment to understand.

  He was pulling on his pants.

  The smaller, shadowy figure beside him drew the blanket up to cover herself.

  “What’s your problem, perv?” she asked in a shrill voice.

  “I’m gonna to kick your ass,” the young man said, kicking his feet through the bottom of his pants.

  He sat still for a moment. Down below, he recognized the distant echo of clicking heels on asphalt.

  The young man pulled the trousers over his hips.

  “I’m just out for a jog,” he told the young man, disguising his voice slightly.

  “Bullshit,” the kid said, scrambling to his feet.

  “I was.”

  “Bullshit. Who jogs through the bushes with all these open paths?”

  “Yeah,” the girl said. “And at night? You asshole pervert.”

  He looked down at the overpass. The secretary or whatever she was emerged from the underpass and started up the steep stairs. To safety.

  Goddamn it.

  He’d missed her.

  “I’m gonna kick your ass,” the young man told him again.

  He turned back toward the skinny little bastard, anger coursing through him. He stood up and growled, “You ruined everything.”

  “I’m going to ruin your face, asshole.”

  The young man stepped toward him confidently, his fists balled at his side.

  The anger turned cold inside. He had to be smart. He didn’t need any attention.r />
  The tension in the young man’s body was obvious, even in the moonlight. He bounced with every step he took forward.

  He waited patiently for the punch to come.

  When the young man loaded up his punch and prepared to throw it, he was ready. Hell, he could have been ready three times over, it took the kid so long.

  The punch came and the kid’s whole body behind it. If it landed, he’d probably be knocked out. But it wasn’t going to land.

  As the punch neared his head, he slipped to the side, ducking out of the way. The young man’s fist whipped past his ear, but did not connect. The forward momentum carried the young man past him, causing him to slip on the grass and tumbled several yards down the hillside.

  He didn’t wait for the kid to recover. Like a jackrabbit, he bolted back up the hillside, cutting through the bushes and around the few trees. Behind him, he heard a shout, but he kept on. When he broke through the brush and onto the path, he turned sharply to his left. The path yawned out in front of him. He took off, running with long strides that ate up the ground.

  Even with a head start, he wondered if the kid might catch him. He was tall and thin, so he was probably a good runner. Still, he had no shoes on. That’d slow him down, whether he chose to run barefoot or paused to pull on some shoes.

  As he reached the bottom of the sloping hill, the path split into three directions. He glanced over his shoulder for anyone in pursuit. No one.

  He cut to the right, making for the footbridge that led off the island and into the parking lot where his car was safely parked.

  Even if the kid was still chasing him, he didn’t know which way was the right way to turn. And he had the girl to get back to.

  To finish with.

  Like he should have finished that office bitch.

  He pushed the thought of failure out of his mind and kept a steady run. His throat still burned with the after-effect of the mace. It seemed like his own body was mocking him. Calling out to him.

  You’re nothing.

  You’re worthless.

  You’re like your father.