by Jay Nadal
“What just happened?” Rivera demanded. “Who was that guy?”
“Dispatch. This is unit two-zero-one. Ten-twenty-two.” That was the code to disregard the last assignment. “We’re continuing with patrol. Out.”
The dispatcher acknowledged him, and Cade replaced the handset in its cradle.
“Those were gangbangers, right?” Rivera demanded. Her face was flushed, mouth a tight line. She was angry. “And that woman and her family needed protecting from them. Since when do we leave that in the hands of locals?”
“That wasn’t just some guy who lives across the street. That was Moses Mohammed. For the last twenty years, he’s run this part of Houston for Frank Nelson. You’ve heard of Frank Nelson, right?”
“Of course. He was a gangster, back in the nineties.”
“Well, Mo ran the South Side for Frank. And he still keeps an eye on the place. A guardian angel. Like fuckin’ Batman. They call themselves OG’s.”
“OG’s?” she asked.
“Original Gangsters. Older, semiretired. They think that in their day, there was some kind of code which the kids don’t know about and don’t care about. The OG’s wouldn’t touch dealing. It was considered dirty. They preferred to stick to extortion, prostitution, and just plain stealing. You see? A code.”
“And they keep the gangs in check.”
“Gangs like the D-Kidz, yeah. We were lucky. The Kidz are local only and all young. If those boys had been affiliated with something bigger, they may not have backed down so quick, even for Mo. We could have had some trouble.”
She nodded. “I saw the tats. I just didn’t know which gang they signified.”
He gave a short huff of a laugh, but it was more in understanding than amusement. “You will.”
They passed the next hour without incident. Cade found himself warming to the rookie. She had the usual idealism, but there was a streak of cynicism there, too. That would help if she was going to last at the job.
Hard as she tried, there was no way around her pretty looks and soft voice. It would let her build a connection to people in a way Cade couldn’t easily. He also noted an undercurrent of genuine steel. Yep, she may just stick around for a while.
At around midday, they pulled into a Starbucks, which stood alone amid a swathe of devastation. A row of older buildings had been demolished and the remains fenced off. Signs had been nailed to the fencing proclaiming the retail opportunities of the land. So far, Starbucks seemed to be the only takers.
The coffee shop was shiny. They were in the shade of the awning that ran around the store. Cade’s coffee was jet-black, and he took regular gulps. His eyes were still moving. Assessing. Recording. He held the coffee in both hands, leaning on a sanded wooden railing. Everything in his body language suggested tautness.
“Do you like this job, Cade?” Rivera asked. She had taken one of the black plastic seats, her cappuccino on the table in front of her.
Cade paused before answering, as though considering whether to give a genuine answer or just a stock response. “Sometimes. Sometimes, I get home, and I think I did good today. The world is a little better for me doing this job. Just a little. Sometimes.”
“And the rest of the time?” she asked.
There was a brief pause before he answered. “The rest of the time, I just want to blow the whole thing to hell.”
“So why stay?”
He shrugged. “For the sometimes, I guess. Or maybe this is what I was made to do. What else is an old cop any good for?”
“You’re not that old.” She smiled, letting her face soften. Cade had to admit it would be difficult to maintain a bad mood in the face of that smile.
He gave a small reserved smile in return. “I’m old enough. So, what made you want to be a cop?”
“My great-papa was a federales back in Mexico. That gave me the idea. Kind of a tradition going back to the old country. But mainly it was to be the first Hispanic female Commissioner,” she replied with pride.
“So, this is a career for you?”
“Isn’t it for all of us?”
“No. It isn’t,” Cade said firmly.
There was an uncomfortable silence. It stretched as they both watched the neighborhood. Dilapidated housing projects. New housing projects, predilapidation. Heat shimmered in the distance and apathy was all around them.
“Cade. I didn’t mean to offend you, but I’m not going to apologize, because I see this as a way out of where I was. You have no idea.”
“That so?” he asked.
She nodded, her eyes staring into his. “Yeah, that’s so. You’re white.”
“So white people can’t be poor?”
“Oh, they can be poor, but for poor whites there’s always someone worse off than them.”
He sighed. “I’m not saying anything about that. This means more to me than just a job, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well.” Rivera stared out at the passing traffic. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re right. Poor white trash like me can always look down on the blacks and Hispanics.” He broadened his accent, playing the Southern redneck to the hilt.
A moment passed before he spoke again. “I grew up in a place called Liberty, in Midland County, West Texas. Liberty was just large enough to have a sheriff’s office, and that was my first experience of policing. He knew everyone, and everyone knew him. Hell, I only saw him actually wearing his gun once. He just plain didn’t need it. That guy, Pino his name was, Sheriff Pino. He was half Karankawa. Anyway, that guy made a…”
He hunted for the right word. “He made a profound difference on everyone’s lives. One man.” He held up a finger in emphasis. “Just him. And when I grew up, my daddy was a no-good drunk. We moved to Odessa when I was about five. And that sheriff, he impressed me, I can tell you.”
“So, he inspired you to become a cop,” she said.
“No. I stole a car in Midland, and he was the one who caught me. Never had been in trouble with the cops before. He didn’t bother arresting me. Just beat the crap out of me and told me to join the Army or the police force to learn some discipline. Or he would personally make sure I did some hard time. I chose the police.”
“Wow. That’s quite a story. I wish I had such noble intentions.”
Cade ignored the sarcasm in her voice.
“So, I’ve turned down the promotion I’ve a right to because I can make a difference right here.” He pointed, finger stabbing toward the street.
“I want to make a difference, too. I just think the best way is for me to make the most of my career. Be high profile. Inspire the Latino community.” She shrugged. “You can’t inspire someone by staying poor yourself.”
“Well, then here’s to you becoming HPD police commissioner,” Cade said gravely. There wasn’t a smile on his face when he said it, just a straight brow and unsmiling mouth. Rivera studied him quizzically.
“Well, I’ve made a great first impression. Offending my partner on day one,” Rivera said in a low, muted tone
“Don’t worry about it. I dislike most people.” Deadpan.
There was a pregnant pause that hung in the air.
“You’re so full of it.” Rivera laughed suddenly. Cade’s lips twitched. “So, onto a safer subject. What kind of music do you like? Let me guess, John Mellencamp and Garth Brooks.”
“Well now, that’s just plain offensive. You think because I’m a Texan male of a certain ethnicity I’m going to be a country fan? Actually, Charlie Parker and Bill Evans.”
“I don’t even know who they are,” she said with a brief shake of her head.
“It’s jazz, rookie. The only real contribution to world culture this country’s ever made. What about you?”
“Metal. Metallica. Slayer. The harder the better.”
“I have one problem with that,” he said.
“What?”
“I don’t understand a single word you just said.” Cade actually laughed.
3
They didn’t see the two cops. The one who seemed to be fleeing tried to cross the street but was forced to jump back because of traffic that wasn’t stopping. The other caught him, and they immediately went down onto the sidewalk in a flurry of punches and kicks.
Cade started moving as the two came together. He jogged toward them. Neither appeared older than fifteen. They wore shin-length shorts, sneakers, and sports jerseys. Just kids. As he neared them, Cade put on his cap.
“Hey. Break that up!” he yelled as he approached. His voice was a rough bark, and it made them both glance up at the same time. Blood dribbled from a nose.
Cade reached the pair and grabbed the one on top by his afro. The boy screeched as he was hauled to his feet by his hair. Cade gave the other a nudge with his boot.
“Get yourself up off that ground. Come on now, son, on your feet.”
The boy got up, ignoring the blood that dripped from his nose and spattered his Astros vest.
“Would one of you boys care to explain what’s going on here?” Rivera asked as she came up to stand beside Cade.
“He started it…” one of them said sullenly.
“I don’t care who started it,” Cade cut him off. “It don’t justify brawling in the street.”
The assailant was trying to recover some kind of gangsta swagger, but it withered under Cade’s blue-eyed stare.
“We were jus’ playin’ that’s all.” He had long hair in dreadlocks, and a basketball vest from a local high school. Cade recognized the emblem on the vest.
“You boys from MLK High on Delilah Street? You.” He pointed at the one wearing the high school vest. “You play basketball for MLK?” The boy nodded, and Cade continued. “Yeah, I know the coach. Martin Green. Good man. Former Marine. School might be out, but how about I tell him what I’ve just seen here? Think he would have something to say to you two?”
There were only murmurs in response.
“I can’t hear you,” Cade barked.
“Yeah,” each of them replied, almost in unison.
“Yeah? And what?” Cade asked.
“Sir,” they both offered with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
“Think maybe I should make a couple of phone calls to your parents? Now, tell me you want that to happen.”
They looked to one another before responding to Cade. “No, sir.”
“You want Coach Green to kick you off the team next year maybe?” Cade asked.
“No, sir.”
With each word from Cade, they were pulling in on themselves. Their heads were hanging lower, and their faces falling, too. Cade glared at each of them in turn. He missed nothing.
“I have the right to arrest you for disorderly conduct. Which means a five-hundred-dollar fine for your parents. If you get the right judge, that is. If you don’t, you go to juvie for eighteen months.” He paused for a moment. “Now, you wanna tell me what all the fuss was about?”
“Ain’t nothin’, mister. I mean, Officer. He’s my cousin.”
“Fighting over a girl?” Rivera asked with a slight smile.
Cade glanced at her, suppressing a smile of his own. Of course they were. What else would two teenage boys be fighting over like a couple of stray dogs?
“That right?” he prodded.
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
“Well, if that ain’t the dumbest thing I ever heard of. You’re supposed to be family. In a neighborhood like this, if your family ain’t got your back, then who does? You run with the D’s?”
“No, sir.” The basketball player was vehement, looking Cade in the eye as he said it.
Cade nodded. “Good. Now shake hands. No girl is worth doing time for. Certainly not losing family for.”
The two boys looked at each other shamefacedly. Hands were shaken. Cade saw Rivera’s lips twitching, but she had the sense to keep her face stern.
“Now get going.”
The two boys turned and retraced their steps. They tried to brave out the incident, swaggering as they walked away. Cade took off his cap and walked back to the car. He was chuckling to himself. His mouth was crooked with a wry grin.
“Well handled,” Rivera commented. “You have kids yourself?”
The chuckle died, and the smile melted off his face. “No,” was the answer.
“Oh, I just assumed you would be…you know, married, with kids. Sorry.”
“Well, I ain’t,” he replied in a tone that suggested further probing would not be received well.
“Jeez, I’m sorry. Just making small talk. God, you’re prickly.” She slammed the door as she got back in the car.
“Yep.” Cade tossed his cap onto the dash. He pulled away from the sidewalk.
They continued to work westward, heading for the patrol boundary of Comal Street, at which point they would head south, back toward Reed Road and the Sunnyside police storefront.
“Why don’t you just give me a list of things that I can and can’t say?” Rivera asked with more than a hint of exasperation.
“Save it,” Cade replied. “Truth is, I’m divorced. For a year now. It wasn’t an easy separation. And I’m still a little sore about it. Okay? We had a daughter, Ellie.”
“I understand. I just like to talk, so I’m going to be opening my mouth and words just come out.”
“Got it,” he said curtly.
“It doesn’t mean anything. So, if I say the wrong thing, just do that whole silent-cowboy thing you’ve got going on there.”
“I surely will.”
“So, how old is Ellie?” she asked.
Cade shifted uncomfortably for a moment. “She’s dead. Leukemia when she was eight. That was two years ago.”
Rivera put a hand to her head. She opened her mouth, but Cade forestalled her.
“Forget about it, okay? No way for you to know, and it’s the first question that occurs to anyone if you’re a parent. Make yourself feel better. Tell me about yourself a little, huh?”
Rivera’s cheeks were flushed, and she was smiling wryly. “Oooh boy, am I ever on form today. Right, I’m from the Heights. My dad is a grade school principal. My mom is a lawyer.”
“Tough neighborhood,” Cade commented with a crooked smile.
“Yeah, real mean streets,” Rivera replied.
“So, what did your folks think of you becoming a cop?”
“Not happy. My two older brothers are both lawyers. My younger sister is going to study to be a doctor. I’m the black sheep.”
“So, why make it hard on yourself? Why go against your family if they disapprove so much?” he asked.
“Because this is mine. My mom hoped to be a Supreme Court Justice someday, the first Hispanic female, but Sonia Sotomayor beat her to it. My dad is the teacher. Anything I do would just be compared to them. So, I went in a different direction.”
His brows furrowed as he thought for a moment. “No offence, Rivera. But that don’t seem like enough to me.”
“It’s not just about sticking it to my parents. I had a privileged upbringing, and I can help make things better for other kids out there by taking away the scumbags who ruin lives. The gangs, the dealers. All of them.”
“Those scumbags weren’t born that way. Lock up the adults, and the kids grow up without parents, and the whole cycle starts over again,” he said.
She looked over at him. “So, what’s the answer? Seems to me that we have to stamp out the cockroaches and give those kids something to aim for—without the gangs and the dealers to hold them back.”
“The answer is you win over the kids. You have any idea how many guys in jail right now have fathers or mothers with criminal records?”
Rivera’s reply was interrupted by a squawk from the radio. “Unit two-zero-one.”
Rivera picked up the mike. “Unit two-zero-one. Receiving.”
“We have a possible two-eleven in progress at Wheeler’s Discount Liquor at 9566 Scott Street.”
“Ten-four. Responding.”
Cade gunned the engine and hit the cruiser’s lights and sirens. Strobing red-and-blue light lanced out as the wailing siren bounced from the buildings around them.
4
“Unit two-zero-one. We’re getting nine-one-one calls about an attempted armed robbery. Now it’s a hostage situation. Gunman went in but doesn’t appear to have come out.”
“Do we know how many hostages, dispatch?” Rivera asked.
Cade was gunning the engine hard and weaving across both lanes as he powered south toward Scott Street.
“Unknown, unit two-zero-one.”
“We’re going to need backup,” Cade intoned.
“Dispatch, are there any other units en route?” Rivera inquired.
“Negative. We have a major accident with fatalities on the South Loop Freeway. All units are engaged.”
“We’re on our own,” Cade said.
“Ten-four, dispatch.” Rivera hung up the mike.
The store came into sight. It sat back from the road behind a parking lot. A bright sign proclaimed “Bargain basement prices” and “Discount deals” in bold lettering that was painted at a jaunty angle. The store’s name, Wheeler’s Discount Liquor, was red on yellow and sat above the store. In stark contrast was the shattered front window. It was a spider’s web of cracked glass. He tried to estimate how much visibility anyone inside would still have through that window.
There were a handful of cars parked in the spaces in the lot. A couple more were parked at odd angles, as though their drivers had stopped suddenly and abandoned them where they were.
Cade noted three people crouching behind the parked cars. More stood on the sidewalk holding up their phones. They swiveled to cover the cruiser as it howled onto the scene. Cade took a direct route, mounting the sidewalk and driving through some low shrubs that bordered the lot, rather than driving around to the entrance.
After pulling up in the lot, he and Rivera got out, scanning their surroundings and assessing the threat level. The liquor store was fifty yards away on the far side of the lot. Cade had pulled up so that the cruiser wasn’t in direct view of any of the store’s front windows.
