by Alex Cage
The guy didn’t reply, looking down towards the pavement.
The other looked at his partner, briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head. He then looked at Black. “We’re on a… special assignment. We believe you may have some information that can help us on our case.”
“And what case is that?”
“There was an attempted bombing yesterday.”
Black nodded.
“We received information that suggested you might’ve been there.”
“I was.”
“Okay, good, good. Did you see anything?”
“Yeah, a lot of people running scared.”
“Did you come in contact with the suspect?”
Black rolled his eyes up to the left, retracting his lips. “Hmm,” he gestured, shaking his head and then hunching his shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s possible.”
“Did you see him drop anything?”
Black stood quiet, poking his lips out.
“We know at some point you were in possession of the bomb,” the slick-haired man chimed in.
How did the local PD get so much information so quickly? Black pondered. “Oh, you mean the bag I threw over the pier, thus saving a lot of people’s lives.”
“Yes. Thank you for that; it was very brave,” the other guy said. “Did you get a good look at the suspect?”
Black said nothing.
“I’m sure he did. He remembers. Enough of this!” the slick-haired man said, reaching behind his back.
The blond man raised his palm to his partner. “Wait!”
Black rushed him, ramming him into the slick-haired guy and against the car. A gun dropped to the pavement. Black delivered a punch, connecting with the eye of the blond-haired guy and following through by hitting the other square in the nose.
Both fell to the pavement.
Black picked up the gun, aiming it at the two men as he removed their side pieces, SIG Sauer P226s, and then throwing these off the bridge.
The men squirmed around in pain. Black patted them down and found no other weapons on either. He then removed their wallets and stepped back, keeping the gun aimed at them. The two men slowly sat up, leaning their backs against the front of the Honda.
Black inspected the wallets, memorizing the information on the licenses. He tossed the first wallet at the feet of the man with the messy hair. “Nick Reeves.” He did the same for guy with the slick hair. “Kevin Guo. So, which one of you wants to tell me what’s going on?”
Both men were silent.
“Well, don’t you both speak at once,” Black said, waving the gun between the two. He observed scratched alloy on the slide and breech of the firearm—a Glock 19. Would you look at that? “So no one wants to answer that question. How about you tell me instead why a cop would need a gun with the serial number filed off. You have your standard issued guns—or you had, rather. What, were you planning on killing me?”
“Aw… if it came to that,” Reeves said.
“It sounds like a good idea now,” Guo added.
“You two are beginning to try my patience. Like I said, you’re not good at your jobs and considering how shady you are, you don’t deserve to be cops. I have ways of making you answer, and using them won’t bother me one bit. You two are not real cops.”
A few cars passed by on the other side of the bridge. The breeze which stirred the men’s hair carried with it the sound of approaching oncoming traffic. Black listened and heard the faint sound of sirens. He looked down the bridge and spotted the flash of red and blue lights.
He looked down at the two pieces of scum sitting on the pavement.
Reeves grinned, throwing his head in the direction of the sirens. “Good luck telling them that,” he mocked.
Black’s eyebrows lowered, his eyes narrowed, and he exhaled, glaring at Reeves.
Reeves’ eyes widened. He looked away briefly, quieted.
Black smiled. “I’ll see you two later.”
The sound of the sirens drew closer and the red and blue lights reflected off the Honda. Black swiftly turned and entered his car, lay the gun on the passenger seat, shut the door, and threw the car into drive. The Viper’s tires spun against the road, launching the car forward like an arrow from a bow. It was a straight shot down the bridge. No traffic ahead of him. By the time he reached the final gear, he had fully crossed the bridge, leaving the flashing lights and echoing sirens far behind. He continued on the road, turning into a right curve, and then a left, and again a right. On either side of him were grassy hills. He zoomed through a tunnel, meeting the morning light on the other side. A sign welcomed him to Sausalito, along with a view looking over a mountainside suburb and out to Richardson Bay.
He continued on the road, checking his rearview mirrors every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t being followed. About fifteen minutes passed and he was turning right onto Interstate 580. The highway became a bridge. He drove across a large body of water for five minutes before reaching land and heading south. The morning traffic began to crowd the roads, bringing with it the sound of horns, the smell of exhaust, and a feeling of annoyance. Black found a parking lot in the northwest portion of Oakland. He looked around. There was not one piece of litter in the parking lot, every car looked shiny and new, and the buildings looked modern. Farther up the street, graffiti was on the buildings, trash rolled across the pavement, and people were standing on the corners.
Black shook his head. He put his car in park and moved the gun from the seat into the glove compartment before reclining in his own seat. “Looks like another fine mess you got yourself into, Black,” he sighed. A few moments passed and his stomach growled. He looked across the street and saw a small restaurant nestled between a bookstore and an ice cream shop. He stepped out of the car and crossed the busy street, entering the restaurant. Inside to Black’s right, people were lined up at a register placing their to-go orders and moving on with the business of their day. Running the register was a woman. Her attention was split between the customers and the kitchen. She would take an order and then yell to someone in the kitchen, greeting every customer with a smile.
A young waiter approached Black. “Good morning, sir. How many will be dining this morning?” He looked to be nineteen or twenty, wore a belt with his shirt tucked in, sported a faded haircut, and was well spoken.
“Good morning. Just one,” Black answered.
“Okay, follow me, sir,” the young man said, grabbing a menu and leading Black to the other side of the restaurant, which had far less activity. There were a few booths and tables, all unoccupied.
“Will this work for you, sir?” the young waiter asked, gesturing at a booth.
“This will work just fine,” Black said, sliding into the seat.
The server laid the menu on the tabletop. “What can I start you off with to drink?”
“I’ll have a glass of water and a cup of coffee, black.”
“Okay, take some time to look over the menu and I’ll be back with your drinks and take your order then.”
“Thank you.”
Black opened the menu and after a couple minutes of looking, knew exactly what he wanted. He folded the menu, laying it on the table in thought. “Think, think, think, think,” he whispered to himself. A moment later the server approached again, setting the water and coffee on the table.
“Sir, have you had a chance to look over the menu?”
“Yes.”
“I forgot to mention, but we also have vegan options if that’s better for you,” the young man said, producing a small notepad and pen.
“No, that definitely won’t be necessary. I’ll have your three-egg scramble, bacon, grits, and rye toast.”
The young man jotted it down. “Okay, I’ll get this in for you.” He picked up the menu and walked towards the kitchen.
Black sat quietly sipping his coffee in thought and watching the morning crowd slowly die down. The waiter returned with his food. He cleared his plate and continued thinking.
Moments later the woman who was running the register eased up to his table. She placed one hand on her hip and ran the other across the wrinkles on her face and up through her grey hair, rubbing her forehead.
“Are you all done, son?” she asked.
Black nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“How was everything?” she asked, grabbing his empty plate from the table.
“Delicious.”
“Good.”
“Are you the owner, ma’am?”
“Yes. Me and my husband. He’s in the back now.”
“You guys had quite the crowd this morning.”
“It’s like that just about every morning. But with the help of a couple hired cooks and servers, we manage. Also my grandson, whom you’ve met, helps out too.”
“Seems like a good kid.”
A smile arched on the woman’s face. “Yep. He was raised right,” she proclaimed proudly.
At that, a group of young men entered the restaurant. The first guy was short, black, and sported a low-fade haircut. The second was a chubby white guy with brown hair, and the last was a tall black guy with a short afro. As they entered, clamor and misbehavior followed them from the other side of the tracks.
“Ah… unlike this unruly bunch,” the lady remarked, walking back towards the register.
“Hey, Mrs. G. What’s up?” the short guy giggled as she walked by. The other two in the group whispered to one another before laughing loudly.
“Good morning, young men,” she responded without looking their way.
The server who had taken Black’s order came from the kitchen and walked towards Black’s table.
The chubby guy eyed him, pointing in his direction. “Who’s he supposed to be—Urkel?” he blurted, fist-bumping the tall guy as the third jeered.
The waiter placed the check in front of Black. “How was everything, sir?”
“It was great.”
“Good,” the young man smiled and started towards the register.
“Hey, kid,” Black called.
The server pivoted.
“Don’t let those knuckleheads get to you. They’re just jealous. Keep up the good work.”
The young waiter shrugged. “I know,” he replied, continuing to the register.
Black grinned, impressed with the kid’s confidence. He watched the group of hoodlums as they ordered their food and paraded out of the restaurant. Something caught his eye as they did. All three had their pants sagging, but as the tall guy exited, the back of his shirt lifted and exposed the butt of a gun. Black was certain it was a Glock 19, the same type of gun he had taken from the cop on the bridge.
“Whattaya know,” Black whispered, laying cash on the table and following the noisy trio outside. He kept his distance and trailed them two blocks up the street. The young men crossed a street and posted up on a graffitied wall near the curb. Black took cover behind a corner on the other side of the street. The group ate their food, joked and laughed, and slap-boxed. It all looked like fun and games until a gold sedan pulled up. The tall guy stood at the curb while the chubby one walked to the far end of the wall and grabbed something from inside a small crack in the wall. The short guy followed him, looking out as his partner removed a small bag. The chubby guy then walked to the gold sedan and craned in towards the driver before stepping back on the curb. The gold car pulled off. The guy looked around, easing a wad of cash into his pocket.
Black stepped from behind the corner and paced across the street.
6.
THE TALL GUY was leaning against the wall. His two friends were walking toward the opposite end of the block.
Black approached him. “So, whatcha got for me?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.
“Excuse me,” the guy shrugged, looking Black up and down. “Do I know you?”
“No. I’d say you know me just as much as you know the person who was driving that gold car.”
The guy looked away, chuckling while twisting a piece of hair from his afro, before turning his attention to Black again. “I don’t know you, man. You better bounce before something bad happen to you,” he said.
“I just wanna know whatcha have.”
The young man pushed from off the wall and stepped closer to Black. “Yo, are you deaf? I said, kick rocks,” he demanded, pointing to the other side of the street.
At that time his two buddies started making their way over.
“Yo, Jay, what’s up?” the chubby white guy called as they approached.
“Nothing. Just somebody don’t listen too well, that’s all.”
“Well, put ’em in check,” the short guy boasted.
The two guys approached Black on his left as he faced Jay.
Black threw his head in their direction. “Who are these guys?”
“Those my boys. That mean they got my back.”
Black pursed his lips, nodding sarcastically.
The chubby guy looked at Black’s feet, slowly raising his gaze up to his face. “Yo, you buying something?”
Jay briefly moved his sights to his chubby white friend. “We don’t know him,” shaking his head in disapproval.
The short guy stepped forward, circling to Black’s front, stopping between him and Jay. “Oh, he’s here to buy. I say let him buy,” he said, staring up at Black.
“He could be a cop, dummy,” Jay said.
The short guy looked over his shoulder at Jay then back at Black. “Hey, you a cop?”
“Do I look like a cop?”
The young man was quiet for a moment. “What are you looking to buy?”
Jay sucked his teeth and shook his head.
“We have the rock, the flour, and if you really want to go on a trip, the water,” the short guy continued.
Black shook his head. “I don’t want any of those,” he said. “I want a gun.”
The group stood silent for a second before bursting into laughter.
“My man, yo, you in the wrong place.”
“That’s what I’m saying. We don’t know him.”
“You want a gat? Get gone, bro. We don’t sell guns,” the short guy laughed, waving Black away. “That’s like trynna get a car at a grocery store.”
Black didn’t move or say anything.
“Make tracks,” the guy said again.
“I just want to know where I could buy a gun.”
“Yo, son, this guy might be a cop,” the chubby one said.
Jay’s eyebrows dropped and wrinkles formed around his nose. “You wanna gun, I got one for you,” he shouted, pushing his short friend aside and raising his Glock at Black.
Black caught his wrist and quickly bent it, taking control of the gun. His other hand crushed into his attacker’s stomach.
Jay hunched over, coughing painfully.
Black used the same hand he punched him with to push his head back.
The young man stumbled back. His afro hit the wall, followed by the rest of his body as he slid down onto his butt on the sidewalk.
The short guy launched at Black.
Black delivered a side kick to his chest, sending him flying into the hands of the third guy.
The chubby guy caught his friend and fell to the pavement, back first. Grunts and the sound of fabric against concrete scratched through the air.
Black haphazardly aimed the gun at the two guys laying over each other on the pavement. “Do either of you have a gun?” he asked.
They shook their heads simultaneously.
“Well, Big Boi, I suggest you get out of here. And take Vanilla Ice with you.”
The two staggered to their feet and raced up the sidewalk.
“Let’s get out of here!”
“Yo, move it, son!”
Black shook his head, directing his attention back to Jay, who was sitting against the wall. “‘Your boys.’ ‘Got your back,’” he mocked, inspecting the gun.
The serial number was filed off, just like the other gun.
Jay shook his
head. “Aw… whatever, man. You won’t get away with this.”
Black looked at Jay, raising the gun about chest height. “This is a dirty gun. Where did you get it?”
“Did you hear me? You won’t get away—”
“Shut your mouth! I wasted enough time with you. So you’re going to tell me what I want to know or I’ll make you,” Black glared at him.
The young man was quiet, but he nodded.
“Where did you get this gun, kid?”
“I—I don’t know her name.”
“You got it from a female?”
“That’s what I said.”
“What does she look like?”
“I don’t know. Nice body, long red hair, and she spoke with some type of accent.”
“Okay. And where can I find her?”
A beige car slowly crept up the street.
Jay sighed. His eyes followed the car as it drove off. “I met her at one of those units out at Pier 40. It was near that joint where people sail—The Spinning Sails or whatever. Look, that’s all I know, okay? Now can you leave? You’re costing me money.”
“How did you hear about her?”
“Around,” Jay groaned annoyingly.
“Around where?”
The young man shook his head. “You ask too many questions, what do you care? There’s a few people around the way that use her for… for supplies.”
“What do you mean, supplies?”
“Guns, drugs, fake IDs—”
“Explosives?” Black interrupted.
Jay shrugged. “I guess.”
Black briefly looked up to the sky in thought. “Jay, is it? You need to stay off the streets, especially for the next couple days.”
Jay lifted himself from the concrete. “Look, I never met my father, but I know for sure you’re not him.”
“If you never met him, how can you be so sure?”
Jay cast a stern gaze on Black. “What did you say?”
“Stay off the streets.”
“Pfft,” Jay gestured, looking away and shrugging his hand at Black.
“Let’s try this a different way. If I see you out here again, you and I are going to go another round.”
Jay said nothing.
“I’m taking this with me,” Black said, waving the gun before tucking it in the back of his pants. He then crossed the street and made the two-block hike back to his car. There he carefully placed the gun in the glove compartment, positioning it so he could easily distinguish it from the other gun. He then drove out of the parking lot and took off down the street.
