Three worlds collide, p.9
Three Worlds Collide, page 9
The hard sound of a door clicking shut and Hine’s head flicked toward Officer Street moving through the cubicles—a noticeable bounce in his step. A telling expression of mood he rarely saw from the well-reserved senior officer. Why is this guy so happy? Maybe he’s pleased with himself about making a drug bust. Well, he’s about to be disappointed. Hines sneered and a gleeful snicker snuck out undetected by the few others in the precinct. Oh, how I love running the chessboard. With a smug grin on his face, Officer Hines turned his attention back to Sarge and headed over for a quick word. He pulled a fresh toothpick from the box in his pocket, setting it between his teeth.
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Sarge had been a dedicated officer for many years, until an unfortunate gunshot wound to the hip forced him to take an admin job with the added responsibility of helping out the lieutenant as an assistant station manager. He often worked the desk and managed dispatch. At first, he’d taken his admin role seriously. But Sarge eventually became somewhat disgruntled because, after a few years passed, most of the newer officers showed little respect for his service and sacrifice. More than a few times he’d overheard wisecracks about the ‘internal paperwork police’ and ‘officer secretary’.
Hines, on the other hand, had recognized an opportunity and befriended the psychologically embattled Sarge, slowly gaining his trust. It wasn’t long before Sarge began ventilating his many frustrations and Hines had listened dutifully. Eventually, Hines took to inviting him out for beers. “Me and a few of the guys hang out at the 6in1 pub on Wednesdays. You know it?”
“Yeah, everyone does.” Sarge refused at first, but ultimately relented.
After one particularly painful day when he’d endured the latest insults from a new officer, Sarge agreed to go. It’d been too long since he belted a few down with the boys. He headed down to the 6in1 with Hines and got introduced around. Although he didn’t realize it at the time, Sarge had met Officer Hines’ band of corrupt cops that evening.
Sarge quickly settled in among fellow disgruntled officers. Ventilating their frustrations over cheap draft beer was more therapeutic than Sarge could have imagined. I finally found my people, he thought more than once. Things began to look up. The insults became fewer. Sarge figured maybe he would be able to make it to retirement after all. Disarmed by the camaraderie, Sarge went ‘on the take’ without even realizing it.
“This round is on our sponsor.”
“Let me introduce you to a girl.”
“If you need a coupla bucks, let me know.”
“That new guy giving you a hard time? Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”
And so on and so forth. Sarge drank deep. Too deep before he realized he was on the take. But by then, it was too late. ABCs eventually cornered him in the darkness one late night outside the 6in1. Sarge was reeling a little from the shots he’d intentionally been fed and was surprised by ABCs when he stepped down from the door of a monstrous SUV.
“We need to talk,” The Alphabet King demanded.
“Who are you?” Sarge asked.
“I’m your sponsor,” ABCs growled.
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After the encounter, Sarge confessed everything to his buddy, Hines. The memory made Hines grin as he arrived at Sarge’s desk. He had successfully recruited a senior officer, and in the process, earned a bit more respect, such that it was, from ABCs. His take became a little sweeter. More drugs. Better girls.
Hines hustled through the office maze like a rat searching for a treat. As he approached his desk, Sarge looked up. “Hey.”
Hines shifted the toothpick from one side to the other as he looked around cautiously. “We need to talk.”
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Pico circled the enclosure, seeking an opening. He paused at the corner again and pawed the chicken wire. He had broken through here before, but it had been refastened. His claws caught the thin wire and he pulled out the staples from the wooden post once again. The chickens inside the enclosure cackled, running back and forth nervously.
The bottom corner of the chicken wire broke free. A medium-sized mutt, Pico had to work in order to squeeze through. Once inside, the chickens erupted in a cacophony of noise. Quickly, Pico pinned one of them against the small ramp that led up to the coop and skillfully grabbed it by the neck. He almost made it back out of the coop before a man came charging out of the nearby dwelling.
Spooked by the man stomping toward him, Pico panicked and tried to get out quickly but got stuck in the opening he’d made. The wire had folded back and dug into his fur and skin. The man came around the corner and caught him by the collar. He yanked him out, causing Pico to yelp and drop the now-dead chicken. The man looked down angrily at the dog, recognizing the collar. He tightened his grip, picked up the dead chicken and dragged the animal two houses down.
He stood before the door, banging and yelling, the dead chicken flopping around in his hand as he hit the door. Little Armando opened the door a little. “Si?”
“This is your dog?” the man asked.
Armando loved Pico. Weeks had passed since the rangy mutt had befriended him the day after his mother was taken. To his father’s dismay, he began feeding the animal table scraps and the dog wound up following him everywhere. The animal’s presence had helped to soothe the pain of his mother’s disappearance. One day, he fashioned a colorful collar from scraps of fabric left behind in his mother’s closet.
“Si?” the boy replied.
The man held up the dead chicken and began to speak but Armando’s father pulled the door open wide and interrupted him. “Why are you banging on my door so early?”
The man recoiled at the liquor smell on his breath. “It is not so early, as you say. And your boy’s dog has broken into my chicken coop again.” He held up the dead bird. “This time, you must pay.”
“It is not our dog,” his father lied.
“You lie! Your boy just admitted it. Besides, I recognize the collar he put on it. They walk by my house together every day.”
Armando’s father looked down at him. “You make a liar out of me?” Eyes half-lidded, he lazily backhanded the boy, knocking him back on his butt. “Get back, I’ll deal with you later.” Then he looked back at the man. “I will fix this.”
“You will pay me for my chickens!”
“Build a better pen,” Armando’s father snapped back before he reached into his pocket for a coin. He handed it to the man. “This chicken will be mine now, si?”
“Yes,” the man replied.
Armando’s father looked down at the dead chicken and snatched it from the man, then dropped it to the ground in front of the dog, who eyed it hungrily. He grabbed the dog by the collar, wrenching Pico away from the man’s grip. “Now, leave us.”
The man scoffed then stepped back, pausing to watch.
Clutching the dog by the collar, Armando’s father reached inside the door and pulled a small section of thin rope he used as a belt before he had his suspenders repaired. Kneeling before the dog, he spoke softly as he wrapped the rope around his neck. “So, you are a little thief, are you? We will fix your taste for chickens.”
He tied off the rope and left extra on the end, then jerked the dog toward him and tied the end around the neck of the chicken. Pico backed up, trying to bend his head down and clamp the chicken in his jaws but could only get a feather or two. He continued struggling, walking backwards, growing more confused and distressed. Standing up to admire his work, Armando’s father looked after the neighbor as he turned to walk away. “He will not bother your chickens anymore.”
The man glanced down at the dog struggling to move with the weight of the dead bird around his neck, then shook his head and hustled away.
“Papa, no!” Armando yelled from inside.
“Shut up,” his father replied, then gave the dog a kick in the gut for good measure before he slammed the door shut. Turning to Little Armando, he pointed a crooked finger, broken many times by angry men who did not receive payment on a bet. “As for you...”
Armando cowered in fear.
“You will learn. Someone has to pay,” his father snarled as he reached for his thick leather belt.
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Jackie returned to the room to find Clay sitting up on the bed, legs dangling over the side. Sean held his left arm to help him keep steady. A nurse stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed.
Elena stood nearby, looking down at his feet. “You have funny-looking toes, Mr. Clay, like different size peanuts,” she giggled.
Clay wiggled them for her. “Looks like they work pretty good for a buncha peanuts,” he said.
Elena shuffled her feet, swinging her arms in a little dance as she laughed out loud.
The nurse chimed in, “okay, that’s enough. You need to lie back down.” Frowning, she pointed at the bed. “Too much movement too soon is not a good idea.”
Jackie admired her spunk and noticed her name tag, ‘Charlotte’.
Clay raised his free hand in submission. “Okay, you’re right. Will do.” Charlotte gave them a doubtful look, shot an annoyed glance at Jackie, then left with a huff.
Despite the nurse’s crabbiness, Jackie smiled as she stepped around Sean. The mood in the room quickly lifted her spirits. “Anybody want coffee?”
“Sounds good, but I usually drink tea during the day,” Clay said.
“You probably shouldn’t have any caffeine right now,” Charlotte said as she came back into the room with a covered tray of food. “And what are you doing still sitting up? Lay back down this instant. I’ve brought some food.” Everyone stepped back as the nurse fussed and helped Clay get situated. She rolled his tray table over and set the covered platter in front of him.
“Thank you, I’m definitely hungry,” Clay said.
“That’s a good sign.” Charlotte smiled down at him. “Anything you need, just press the button. Make sure you finish that hydration drink I made you,” she said and hurried off while checking her watch.
Clay, Sean, and Jackie looked at each other with broad smiles. Apparently, word of Clay’s deed had gotten around the hospital and just about every nurse on the floor had dropped in to check on him. “Best hospital I’ve been in,” Clay remarked as he removed the cover. His expression soon turned to disgust. “But I should have told her I’m vegetarian.”
Jackie perked up at the comment. “You are?”
“Yeah, sorry. You and Sean can have it.”
Jackie looked over at Sean. “You take it, I’m vegetarian too.”
Clay looked up with a grin in recognition of a kindred spirit. Her eyes seemed to shimmer slightly as the sunlight through the window reflected off her golden hair, mesmerizing him for a second. That must have been one hell of a bump to my head.
Their eyes met and they held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Jackie tilted her head slightly to the side, the sincerity of her polite smile hinted around her eyes. The features of Clay’s earthen good looks became apparent to her. His green-blue eyes looked back at her from a tousled shock of thick shoulder-length light brown hair. The lines of his lean face peppered with the rough stubble of a two-day beard.
The moment was shattered when sparks flew out of one of the machines standing idle nearby. Monitors went haywire. Beeps and alarms distorted in an electronic seizure. Sean and Jackie reared back in surprise while Elena yelped and curled up in her chair, covering her legs defensively. Nurses and a doctor rushed in seconds later.
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As Sally walked back from the elevator, she saw the commotion around Clay’s room. She hastened her pace with the tray of coffees and muffins balanced deftly in her hands. She arrived at the room and peeked in to see a doctor and several nurses bustling about, unplugging the malfunctioning monitors and equipment. Sean and Jackie stood out of the way with Elena. Clay sat on the edge of the bed.
“What’s happened?” Sally exclaimed.
The nurses looked up and frowned, but otherwise ignored her. The doctor squeezed by her as he exited the room, careful not to bump the coffees. Jackie caught Sally’s attention. Sally met her gaze, eyebrows gathered in, then closed her eyes and hung her head with a downturned mouth. Jackie knew an apology when she saw one. “We don’t know. The monitors just went crazy. They think it’s some sort of power surge,” Jackie replied.
In a fluster, Sally walked in and set the tray down on a side table. “Good grief, as if this day couldn’t get any worse.”
Sean looked over. “Yeah, right.”
Sally handed him a coffee and pointed to a bag in the center of the tray. “Muffins in the bag if you want one, dear.”
“Thank you,” Sean said and, after examining his options carefully, reached in for one. He settled back into a chair and sipped the coffee as he regarded the muffin.
Sally offered one to Jackie. She accepted with a nod. “Elena, do you want a nibble?”
“Okay.” Her sing-song reply melted the last bit of tension in the room. With the equipment finally quieted down, the nurses filed out. Each one gave Clay a smiling glance or an affectionate pat on his shoulder with comments like, “It’ll be okay, big guy.” Clay smiled politely at each one, watching as they left the room, enjoying the attention thoroughly.
Jackie frowned slightly and narrowed her eyes. “Hey. Lover boy,” she said flatly.
Clay awoke from his daydreaming to hear Jackie continue. “You interested in one of these, Heff, or should we send for champagne?” Jackie held up a cup of coffee. The last nurse out looked like she might object but decided not to.
Clay chuckled, eyes smiling. “Well, maybe just a sip. Those muffins look good too.”
Sean looked up after taking a bite, the muffin crumbling a bit in his hand. “Yeah, not bad,” he said with a full mouth. A bit more laughter echoed in the small room. With Sally welcomed back into the fold, at least for the moment, the makeshift family enjoyed the meal together. Sean and Clay wisely refrained from asking the obvious while Jackie picked bites from a muffin to give to Elena.
A few minutes later, an older nurse brought in bottles of water. “That’s enough coffee for you, mister.” With a flirtatious glance, she handed one to Clay.
“Okay.” Clay smiled back as he took it. Jackie watched the exchange, frowning slightly.
The nurse looked over to Elena. “How about you, dear, would you like some water?”
“Yes, please,” Elena replied with a smile.
The nurse looked down at her approvingly. “Here, let me pour it in a cup for you.”
Elena said, “That’s okay, I can drink it from the bottle like Momma does.”
Jackie relaxed a bit and smiled down at Elena, then looked up to give the nurse a nod of approval. “Sorry about all the trouble here. Any idea what happened with the equipment?” she asked.
“We aren’t sure,” the nurse said, flashing her a quick smile. With the warmth of a grandmother, she loosened the top and handed Elena the bottle, then turned to Clay, who looked like he wanted to say something. With a glance, she stopped him—the eye contact telling him not to object before he even had a chance. “Clay, we are transferring you up to the third floor here shortly,” she said.
“Is that really necessary? I feel fine,” he said. “I actually feel like I could go home.”
Grandmother Nurse leaned on one foot, pushed her hip out, and crossed her arms. Leveling her gaze, she spoke in the authoritative tone nurses naturally possess. “You’ve had a pretty rough day there, tough guy. Even though you are recovering quickly, it is best not to rush things.”
Clay considered what she said for a moment, then looked over to Sean, who looked back with an intent stare. Next, he looked to Jackie, who also crossed her arms in newfound solidarity with the nurse. He didn’t dare make eye contact with Sally. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”
Grandmother Nurse nodded once. “Hmph.” Then she spun on her toes and left with arms swinging in a triumphant stroll.
Jackie turned to Sean with a grin. “Nurses one, lover boy zero. Heh-heh.”
Chapter Six
Dewey sat in his truck outside the courthouse waiting to pick up John the driver. His skinny arm hung out the window of his shot-out S10 pickup truck painted some combination of blue, green, and primer. Over the years, he’d just touched up rusting areas with whatever paint he felt like, almost giving the truck a bizarre colorful camo appearance. Inside, the bench seat was torn in several places, sunbaked foam showing through. In a similar state as John’s diesel, it had trash scattered around the floorboard. He should feel right at home. Dewey scoffed at the thought of John’s filthy truck as he lit another smoke. Operation Ivy, Sound System, streamed from his phone. He shifted his feet and tried to relax, grateful to be wearing his favorite jeans, a beat-up Rancid t-shirt, and his worn Vans ‘Old Skool’ sneakers. All I need is a J and I could chill like this all day. He relaxed his head back and tapped the steering wheel in tune with the music.
While Dewey waited, John’s bond hearing went as expected. The case didn’t receive any special attention from the prosecutor. Officer Hines testified as to the events that occurred from when he arrived on the scene through to when he transported the prisoner to jail. Officer Street then testified as to the same, as well as the reliability of the evidence. The prosecutor tried to argue flight risk, but the judge dismissed the motion. Possession with intent was not an unusual charge in the county, nor was DUI. They would need to wait for the blood tests to come back and confirm. The judge set a hefty bail but arrangements had already been made to pay through a local bondsman.
When Dewey saw John emerge from the courthouse, he mused to himself at the clout ABCs enjoyed. “Probably has the judge in his pocket too,” he mumbled to himself. From Dewey’s perspective, as well as all the other devious minions around town that worked for ABCs, anything that went his way was judged to be a result of his growing influence, thus giving The Alphabet King a more powerful reputation than he likely deserved.
John opened the passenger door, sat down in the front seat, and slammed it shut as he let out a sigh.
