by Derek Blass
But Sandra noticed that the camera was still moving and it dawned on her what Max had done. “It's on his foot,” she said.
Diego paused the video and turned around, “What is?”
“The camera. Look at how it keeps jostling around.”
Diego restarted the video and almost as soon as he did, the computer player went black and displayed an error message.
“What the hell!” he swore. Diego clicked on various things to try to fix the problem. He pulled another disc out and inserted it into the computer. It played fine. “I have no idea what just happened.”
“It's almost like the file is corrupted,” Alfonso said.
“That's what I was thinking too,” Diego responded. “Who got this drive?” Diego asked.
“I did,” Sandra answered.
“From who?”
“From the cameraman himself.”
“Well, let's go talk to him.”
Sandra looked at Cruz. “We can't...he's dead.”
“How do you know that? I haven't seen anything about it on the news.”
“I was at the cameraman's apartment when it happened.”
“My God, did you see it happen?” Diego asked.
“No, I was hiding in the closet when it happened. The cameraman, Max, contacted me to give me the drive. He wanted to make sure someone else had the drive in case something happened to him. When I was over there, Shaver came to his apartment and...well, he shot him in the head.”
“How did you know it was Shaver if you were hiding?”
Sandra was starting to get exasperated with all of the questions. The trauma of the murder still tormented her. “Because Max said his name, all right?” Cruz noticed Sandra's distress and put his arm around her.
“Let's just move on.”
“Well, we can't because we have no video,” Diego said. “Without that, what's next?”
“I think we need to talk to Martinez. I have a feeling there may be more than just this copy,” Cruz said.
“What makes you think this was a copy?” Alfonso asked.
“For starters, I don't think any cameraman would simply give up a video of this magnitude. I think Max made a copy and that when he did something became corrupted. And what if Max didn't have the original? If I was Shaver, I sure wouldn't let that drive get way from me—we may need to get the original from him.”
Diego rolled his eyes and laughed, “Get the drive from the police officer and murderer? Good luck with that!”
“Fucking listen here!” Cruz bristled. “You said you were going to help. A negative attitude is about the last thing we need. You're either in or not!”
Diego's face turned red and Alfonso squared his shoulders to Cruz. “You need to watch how you talk to me, hijo. I understand your frustration and fear. But, you're in my house and you need my help. That's the last time you disrespect me in my fucking house in front of my fucking son! Got it?”
Cruz felt his pride well up in his throat. He took a deep breath and told himself to swallow it. Diego was right. They needed his help. Any more fighting and Diego wouldn't help them at all. He backed down and both Diego and Alfonso pulled back a bit.
“I still think we need to find Martinez and see what he knows,” Cruz said.
“Okay, I agree. I've got some friends who are investigators. They can tell me where Martinez lives. You and Sandra will start there once I get the info,” Diego said.
* * * *
Martinez squinted his eyes as dirt and dust kicked up around the motorcycle. He didn't look down at the speedometer—it probably would have scared the hell out of him. Objects were flying by so fast that any change in focus could certainly spell death. As he struggled to see ahead he caught the vague outline of a train about a mile in the distance.
He lowered his body to become more aerodynamic. Shaver was still somewhere behind him, and Martinez knew that jumping on a train was an imperfect plan. But, he needed a chance to rest, even for the slightest time. His leg throbbed with every strained heartbeat. If he didn't stop the blood flow soon it would mean big trouble.
As Martinez closed in on the lumbering train, specks of debris flew back at him and pelted his face. He clenched his teeth and pulled up alongside the last car of the train. The roar of the wind almost completely drowned out the sharp, metallic sound of the train churning along its tracks. The first car Martinez came alongside didn't have its doors open but the next one did. He pulled forward and steeled himself for the jump. One slip, the slightest hesitation, and he would die.
Martinez drew the bike as close to the swaying car as he could, planted his left leg on the motorcycle's peg and pushed off. To Martinez it seemed like he floated slowly in the air. His hand reached out for the handle on the car's door. His left foot caught the step going up to the car. Just as it did he grabbed onto the handle. Martinez's body swung open from the force of the wind and slammed against the car. Nearly every ounce of his energy had been drained in the pursuit. As he mustered what was left, he saw a plume of dirt shoot up behind the train. The headlights of Shaver's SUV first spun horizontally and then they started to tumble end over end. It was a spectacle. Light shown through shattered glass. Martinez's motorcycle was spit out to the right of Shaver's SUV. He swung himself into the train's car and collapsed onto his stomach.
The taste of dirt caked onto his teeth and permeated his mouth. His eyes were blurry and stinging from the debris swimming in them. Martinez rolled over and put the safe on the floor. He took off his hoodie and shirt, tore the shirt and tied it tightly on the upper part of his calf. Searing pain shot down his foot and made his toes curl. He screamed out, “Goddammit!!” Martinez threw himself back and tried to focus on the ceiling of the train car.
The car steadily swayed from side to side, like a giant metal crib. He turned his head and looked at the passing landscape. The sun had almost set, leaving only the faintest glow to illuminate passing buildings. Streetlights shed a faint yellow on industrial structures and lit up vehicles as the train plodded eastward. The swaying of the car and double thud every ten seconds gently led Martinez to sleep.
The car's floor was uneven and a raised beam in the floor pressed into the middle of his back. That discomfort, even with the cold graininess of the dirty car floor, was not enough to keep him awake.
S E V E N T E E N
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Shaver gasped for air and cracked his eyes open. Light flooded his right eye, which immediately closed. His left eye felt dead. A voice came from somewhere far away.
“Sergeant? Sergeant Shaver, can you hear me?” Shaver groaned and turned his head from side to side. Then, as if a light was switched on, the pain kicked in. It ripped up and through Shaver's chest. He opened his right eye again and realized that he was actually upside down. The passenger seat was empty.
“Wha…where's Tomko? What the fuck what happened...” Shaver asked in a strained voice.
“Sergeant, my name is Clive Toussel and I'm an EMT. We're going to get you out of there in just a moment. You were involved in a significant vehicular accident. Your partner, Tomko, is out of the vehicle and doing okay. We found a motorcycle about one hundred feet behind your vehicle but have not found the...”
“What the hell is wrong with my eye? I can't feel my left eye and I can't see out of it.”
“Sergeant, you have sustained serious injuries...”
“I fucking know that!” Shaver screamed out. Pain started to stand out in localities around his body. The pain in his left knee was excruciating. Every time he took a breath it felt like someone was stabbing him between the ribs. But his left eye was the most alarming to him. He still couldn't see out of it. “What the hell is wrong with my left eye!” Shaver could feel liquid running down his face and over his lips.
“Let's just get you out of here first, Sergeant.”
“I want to know now!” All of a sudden Shaver heard Tomko's voice come from his other side.
�
�Sergeant, no mincing words. You're a mess,” Tomko said.
“I can fucking feel that, Tomko. Bones will heal. I'm worried about my eye.”
“I don't know what to say...” Tomko took a deep breath. “It looks like some debris embedded in your eye. Honestly, there isn't much left there.”
“Sergeant, we have an ambulance here ready to transfer you to an emergency room just a mile away. We have to unbuckle you first...”
“You mean my eye, it's gone?”
“Excuse me, Sergeant.”
“It doesn't look good, Sarge,” Tomko said.
The EMT chimed in, “Doctors really can perform miracles these days, you never know. Maybe they can fix it.”
Shaver screamed out and started thrashing his arms. The EMT called for something and Shaver barely felt a pinch on his shoulder, then everything went black again.
* * * *
The Chief ground his teeth as he watched the news. A helicopter provided an aerial shot. Its high-powered light focused on an overturned, black SUV. A reporter was relaying some facts the Chief halfway paid attention to.
“Appears to be a city vehicle…two survivors motorcycle involved…no apparent survivor from the motorcycle...”
The Chief sighed and turned off the television. His hand steadily increased its pressure on the remote control until he hurled it against the wall. The shattered remote drew his wife's attention.
“Honey, you all right in there?” Hearing no answer but a grunt, and having learned to leave that temperamental man alone after twenty-two years of marriage, she returned to what she was doing.
The Chief picked up his cell phone and walked outside.
“It's me and it's time. I want you to go to 76th and Delmuth. Confirm for me what I already know—that Shaver and Tomko were in the accident. I'm going to go back to the office to deal with this fucking disaster. I'm sure those two were already taken to the hospital, so make that your second visit.”
The Chief hung up the phone and set it on the window sill behind him. His slight storm was now a hurricane.
* * * *
It was about seven at night as Cruz and Sandra set out for Martinez's home. Earlier that day Diego used his resources to trace the address.
“You remember that time you and I got arrested while marching downtown?” Sandra asked with a knowing smile. Again, Cruz took in more than just Sandra's words as he listened. There was a new intensity to how he thought of her.
“Uh, yeah. That almost got me disbarred.” Cruz answered.
“Really?” Sandra asked.
“Yeah! I had to go before the Office of Attorney Regulation. Those bastards grilled me for three hours before they let me go.”
“I'm surprised you took it that long.”
“Well,” Cruz paused, “my Dad always told me people have to earn your respect. But, he also taught me that pride can be a great motivator or a great destroyer. Sometimes you've got to swallow it, just like you and I did by seeing Diego. My license is worth too much for me to piss it away on some notion of pride.”
“It's a strange balance,” Sandra mused. “Having to check your pride when you need something. And yes, I had to check my pride—hard—when we went back to Diego.”
“Your control surprised me. When he and your father got into it like that, I figured it was the last time we would ever see Diego.”
“It probably would have been except there was no one else to turn to,” Sandra said, her sentence trailing off at the end.
The conversation stopped as they pulled up to Martinez's address. It was dark now and the home was eerily quiet. Cruz and Sandra got out of the car and walked up to the house. Nothing stirred in or around the area. The deadness made the hairs stand on the back of Cruz's neck.
“Feels weird,” he said.
“Feels like someone left in a hurry,” Sandra said as she stepped through the open front door. “Hello?” she called out.
Cruz put his hand on Sandra's shoulder and stepped in front of her. He stepped forward and felt glass crack under his foot. “We need to find a light switch.” Both Cruz and Sandra slid their hands along the narrow hall walls as they moved forward. Cruz's hand touched something slick and cool.
“Huh, wonder what that was.”
“What?” Sandra asked.
“Just felt something strange on the wall.”
“Now we really need to find a switch.”
They struggled through the home until Sandra cried out, “Ah-ha! Found one.” The light switch clicked and illuminated the kitchen. The condition of the house was startling. Cruz looked down at his hand in dismay as he saw that the slippery substance he felt was half dried blood. He quickly washed his hand in the kitchen sink while Sandra continued to poke around.
“Wow, there was quite a struggle here,” Sandra said as she moved a chair out of the way to get to a living room. Cruz dried his hands as he took in the blood-splattered broken glass, the plants lying on their sides, the hole in the wall. Cruz followed the path of destruction into a back bedroom that appeared to be the master bedroom. He flicked on the light, which dimly lit the room. One of the light bulbs was broken in the melee.
Cruz stumbled upon a cubbyhole in the closet while moving around the room. A tile was removed, but there was nothing in the space below.
“Hey Sandra, come check this out.” Cruz heard Sandra crunching in his direction.
“Check out this little hiding space,” he said, pointing to the empty hole.
“Yeah?”
“Looks like whoever raided this house got what they wanted.”
“You think someone made this mess searching for something?” Sandra asked.
“Possibly. I mean, what if I was wrong, and it wasn't Shaver with the original?”
“But look at all of the dressers and storage in the house. Nothing else is touched. If this really was a raid to find something, we'd see drawers pulled out and closets ransacked—not the neat removal of an inconspicuous tile.”
“Well, maybe they knew where it was.”
“Hmm, I don't know Cruz. I think Martinez was here when this happened.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You may be right about Shaver not having the original.” Cruz looked at Sandra. Going on, she said, “This doesn't look like a ransack—it looks like Martinez had to fight to get out of here. The blood on the wall and glass in the hall. The hole in the drywall. Overturned plants. Furniture on its side. This all points to a struggle and not a search.”
“And Martinez had to get something out of his hiding place?” Cruz asked, jumping onto Sandra's theory.
“Yes, look at that hiding space. A camera certainly wouldn't fit in there.”
“The video...Martinez has the original copy...”
“That's what I'd say,” Sandra answered. “And Shaver has the most to lose from that video.”
“But...” Cruz started before they heard a noise by the front door.
“Did you hear that?” Sandra whispered. Cruz nodded and started to move in that direction. Cruz picked up a chair leg and crept as quietly as he could through the debris. They heard a sound again and froze.
“Who's there?” Sandra called out. They remained frozen and strained for some sort of response. Cruz resumed moving forward until he reached the end of the hall. The front door was on his right, about fifteen feet away. He held the chair leg behind him and peeked around the corner.
“Oh, shit,” Cruz said with a bit of a laugh. “It's a damn raccoon!” Cruz straightened up and moved around the corner. Sandra stepped out to his side. They watched the raccoon scurry out of the front door. What they both missed was the man watching them from the darkness.
E I G H T E E N
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Tyler arrived at the scene of the accident. He was a tall, lanky man, whose ghostlike silence and pale complexion made him deathly. He had dark black hair and black pools for eyes. A worn, black leather duster swamped his
wiry frame. He slithered past an officer who jumped when he caught Tyler's shadow on the ground.
“Damn! You can't come in here!” Tyler flashed a badge the Chief provided him for just these occasions. “Oh geez, sorry Detective.”
“What happened here?” Tyler asked. Even his voice was icy enough to make the young officer shudder.
“Well, this black SUV must have rolled six to seven times before it came to a stop on its roof. Pretty amazing the two officers inside survived.” Tyler surveyed the torn body of the SUV. A tow truck was in the process of loading the SUV onto its bed.
“Do you know the names of the officers in the vehicle?”
“Yeah, Shaver and Tomko,” the young cop answered. “Say,” he went on, “you work in our department? Never seen you around before.”
“Pretty big city, wouldn't you say?” Tyler said as he turned and gave the cop a stare that was enough to cut off further prodding.
“So, yeah. Shaver and Tomko. Tomko walked but Shaver was in pretty bad shape. They said he was gonna make it but, man, losing an eye probably. That's horrible, don't you think?”
Tyler didn't answer. Instead he crossed the train tracks and looked back. Remnants of the SUV were strewn along the tracks in the dirt stretching away from him. The young cop followed Tyler.
“The tire marks go back about a quarter-mile or so over there,” he said pointing to a group of bushes on an embankment, “That's where we found the motorcycle. Well, what was left.”
“How'd the rider of that bike turn out?” Tyler asked.
“Shoot, we haven't found him yet. You figure no one would've been able to survive an accident like this on a motorcycle. They'd have to be Jesus to walk away.”
“Yes, Jesus indeed,” Tyler echoed. “Where is that motorcycle?”
“Over by the tow truck.” Tyler walked back to the tow truck with the young officer still at his heels. The accident had reduced the motorcycle to essentially two wheels and a metal frame. He took out a pad of paper and wrote down the motorcycle's vehicle identification number, then went back to his car and got in.
