Detective D. Case (18 page)

          This was
something when it came from the same man who sunk into his laughter, practically
drowning in it. One day he’ll surely die from it, if not sooner. “You did? I don’t
recall you telling me this.”

          “Well,
I did, dammit!” Lake pinned Abel against the stone wall. “You think you can play
dumb?”

          “This is
a misunderstanding, Lake. I’m not playing dumb. Rather, I’m questioning.”

          Lake wasn’t
buying it. “So what are you saying?”

          “What I’m
trying to say is this: there is no Advert to go to. When D. finds out, he won’t
go to the police department like a kiddie goes to mommy. I don’t believe it for
a minute. You know what will happen? The old detective will find out what happened
to the McDermotts – the true version and not the one I put up – and he will go to
the McDermott family to corner them. More importantly, he’ll make his way to not
only me, but to Paul, too.”

          “But Paul’s
dead, Lake.”

          “You’re
really gullible, are you? Paul never died. No one died during this goose chase,
Abel, understand? The only people who died would be the officers in McDermott penthouse,
and some of them were our people. Even the search going on right now in the police
department isn’t real.”

          “Then why
are the police so frightened of you? They seem to get their fingers everywhere nowadays.”

          “I made
them do that. For all they know, I’m still the criminal, the outlaw.”

          “Not to
also mention a rapist, too.”

          Purple
bubbled from Lake’s face. “I WAS ACCUSED!” his voice roared. “NEVER DID I TOUCH
THEM, NOT EVEN ONCE! IT WAS JUST . . . A . . . DRESS!” He landed on the cold floor,
crying to himself. Lake had truly lost his mind, but what made things worse was
that he couldn’t find it.

          “I understand,”
Abel said. “Please, stop crying and tell me what we are to do next?”

          Lake trembled
as he regained his ground. “Don’t worry about it, Abel. I got everything in motion
and under control so people like you won’t fret. D. will look for me – well, why
shouldn’t he? I’ve been toying with him all this time, like I’ve done with all the
P.I.s; nobody spoke a word so nobody knew of the game I played with them. Harm was
done, yes, but no deaths to count for any of my sins, thank you.”

          “So what
do I do now?” Abel wondered. “Or have I done my part?”

          Lake took
a step closer. “You aren’t done yet, Abel. There is one more thing left for you.”

          “And what
is it, exactly?”

          He pulled
out a revolver, pressed it to Abel’s cheek. The bullet popped and he was dead. “It’s
not like I needed to tell you what I need to do. Sometimes surprises are worthy
of presence.”

          Suddenly
the lights had become the paparazzi, flashing their bulbs everywhere no matter where
the subject went. West Lake crouched so he could see the face of Paul McDermott
shine through the lights. He pressed a hand onto the man’s skin; it was smoother
than a child’s. Rich people had it made, but not in the same terms when someone
like Lake was involved. He hid the revolver in case McDermott shot a glimpse at
it. The young man needed to feel safe with no foul weapons or language – that way
he could make his entrance when he returned to the public view.

*****

Chief Advert came
back like a ghost when he clicked on the flashlight.

          How the
hell did this happen? One minute in darkness and then, just when Officer Colton
flicked his flashlight open, this came up. Not something pleasant to see, if you
saw what he saw.

          The chief’s
mouth was wide open, screeching wide and terrible like its jaws were breaking. His
teeth had been dipped in blood or something else the color of red. Colton inched
the flashlight a little closer and realized the chief had no tongue anymore. Somebody
cut it off, he supposed, but when and why? He was assigned to searching the chief’s
office, the place that nobody wanted to go for some reason, but he thought them
sissies. Come on, it was just an office, it wasn’t like something like this would
be happening! Apparently, though, it did for the sake of comforting him with this
thought. How lovely.

          Chief Advert
also wasn’t wearing his usual police uniform, and he always wore it. Replacing the
usual was a shirt that had hundreds of letters printed on it in jumbled heaps. Numbers,
too, clogged up the canvas of the shirt. Phrases and puns filled up the rest that
wasn’t gibberish or nonsense. Even looking closely at it you wouldn’t be able to
decipher the spiral enigma, which shouldn’t be missed for sure. It surprised Colton
even more that, unlike most films he saw, he hadn’t dropped his flashlight. Whereas
most would scream, he stood there paralyzed, holding it like a lifeline. He pulled
the chief’s skin to make sure the man was still alive, but unconscious. Just a tight
little squeeze, nothing that will do no harm . . .

          Colton
pinched.

          He held
for a second, fingers pressed tight. Lumps garbled in his throat like lottery balls.
But the chief didn’t move no matter how hard he pressed.

          “Uh, chief?”
he asked to the howling face that burned a hundred scars. “Can you speak?”

          It was
a frozen performance, almost a painting; the chief didn’t budge.

          He’s dead,
Colton thought without surprise. He should’ve known for obvious reasons.

          And then,
moving back now, Colton bolted for the nearest person in the department.

          He was
running in the dark, blinded by the nonsensical bewilderments in the other half
of life. Both legs pumped with pain, blood pulsing in places. In case he hit a door,
Colton kept his arms stretched out, palms facing outward. Sure enough, the door
slammed onto him, gratefully onto his palms and not his face. Imagine the bruises,
blue and pulsing. Colton squawked, some kind of feverish bird, always looking back
in case something lurked past his field of vision. Nobody liked surprises when they
weren’t in on the act with no one to notice.

          A little
farther and he could see the light – bleak and little, but it was better than running
again in the same place like looped music. It got brighter and Colton wore a smile
on his face. An outline of a door formed – he had no idea where he was going.

          Colton
leaped through the door like at the finishing line of a marathon. There, illuminated
in the light, he crashed into Officer Woolf, a lean man with a grey walrus mustache.
He always recognized Woolf from his repetitive habit of twisting his mustache around
like a brush to toy with. Of course, there was that and the slouched, lousy posture
he attained. Now, meeting him on the floor, Colton tried to speak as fast as he
could; it was hard to do it when you’re still gasping for breath.

          “Officer
Woolf!” he cried, still heaving. “Did you see – the chief . . . ?”

          “Chief
Advert?” Woolf stood up. “He’s still here?”

          “No!” Colton
sounded mad, but he went on. “No, it’s not like that. He’s here, yes, but . . .
it’s different, very different. I don’t think he’s breathing.”

          “You’re
saying he’s dead?”

          Colton
nodded, although he was not really unsure if Woolf saw him or not. But he understood,
so . . . he did?

          “Look,”
Woolf said, “I’ve believed some wild things a while back, but this has got to be
the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. Y’know he went on vacation, right? The case
was pulling his mind apart. And now you’re telling me he’s dead, here, in the police
department?”

          “I’m not
lying –”

          “Then you’re
toying with me. Is this some kind of prank, huh?”

          “No, it’s
not!” Ugh, sounding like this made Colton sound like a little kid. Well past twenty
and being treated like this? “What the hell’s wrong with you, Woolf? When I saw
Advert, by God I nearly pissed myself.”

          “You did,
didn’t you?”

          “It’s the
truth.”

          “The most
honest people are truthful in their lies,” said Woolf, glaring.

          Colton
smirked. “Where’d you get that from, some new book you’re reading?” But as soon
as he said it, he really wished he could take it back.

          “If you
want me to take you seriously, you better stop poking fun at everything!”

          Colton
rose, and faced Woolf. He might have been smaller, but he could appear sinister
when needed. “How about I show you in case you’re that skeptical about the whole
damn thing?”

          “I’d appreciate
it.”

          They walked
off, Colton feeling like a tattletale in some way. It felt weird. No one was getting
in trouble, right? He kept moving. Without turning back – he needed to face the
dark for what it was and not run into it like some kind of adventurer – he spoke
to Woolf:

          “You
think Advert’s on vacation, huh? So wait until you see this . . .”

          At the
deep end, there came whistling, although Colton didn’t know where it was coming
from. “Hey, Woolf, did you hear –?”

          Something
– although he assumed it was someone – toppled over, it came crashing to the floor
in a loud tumbling. Colton moved back, whiplashing the flashlight to the other side.
It was useless, obviously, since the light was coming from the other end, but he
saw the fallen body of Officer Woolf. The tall man had dropped, just like that.
It was like in those stories, where the men who appeared so little tackled down
the fierce giants (usually tripping them with rope and/or wires). Colton slapped
Woolf, waking him up, saying needless words that did not add up. Things like wake
up, wake up mixed in with nonsense. Somehow Chief Advert’s howling corpse had a
lasting influence on Colton, whether he realized it or not.

          “Woolf,
get up!” Colton was pleading now. He turned Woolf over, finding a tiny dart
thin as a needle puncturing his back, almost close to the back of his shoulder
blade. It was that close, huh? When the idea dawned on Colton--the idea that they
weren’t the only ones left in the police department and someone was going after
him--another whistle whizzed by. This one hit Colton right in the neck. Dizzy, images
of motion multiplying through the seemingly insect-like vision of sight, Colton
toppled. His hands didn’t save him this time, however.

*****

They pictured the
bright, white light which everyone deemed uncommon in fire. That didn’t mean it
never existed, but nobody used flames of burning white for their arson plan. 

          The police
department was juicy food, the type to dwell on its juiciness. Bishop licked his
lips, rubbing his hands together villain-style. But they weren’t villains, of course,
despite them planning to burn down a police department and the chances of killing
multiple people. Already officers and investigators were clogging up the entrances
like moths to an electric streetlight no matter how lousy it looked because the
crime was always there. Well, who’d blame them? It’s their goddamn jobs!

          “Thinking
again?” said Queen.

          Bishop
nodded. Yeah, he was trailing off like drool.

          “Don’t
worry about it. We’ll get it down, like we always do.”

          Choppers
swung overhead. Queen and Bishop witnessed the procedure; they knew the steps from
memory, memorized it all like ink on paper. In the beginning, the helicopters will
form a circle common to them as the Circle Formation Scene. When ready, the copters
will separate into vertical lines, erect as a provoked phallus, and dive in. Rapid
fire and destruction would follow, the police department casting its soon-to-be
wild white fire net of Death. Thing was, the two – Queen and Bishop, that was –
were supposed to have a helicopter (no, two helicopters!) for themselves, twin ladders
coming down for them to climb. They watched the skies, saw the formation, but no
helicopter was to be found. It even was supposed to be in a different color to distinguish
it in the dark. And now there was nothing but the two of them wearing heavy dark
armor and blending clothes looking like idiots.

          “Where
the hell is Johnny?” Queen wanted to know. “He’s late.”

          But Bishop
shook his head. “Not only that, but he ditched us.”

          Queen,
shocked, covered her mouth. “That slimy . . .”

          “. . .
Helluva bitch!” finished Bishop. Like siblings, they finished each other’s sentences.
Some people thought that odd, but natural to Queen and Bishop.

          Fumed,
that’s what they were now, like churned rocks from the steam of a boiling pot. “Change
of plans, I guess,” Bishop said. “Maybe that’s what happened. They must’ve forgotten
to notify us.”

          “Of course,”
Queen said, “they would forget to notify every single one of us taking watch on
the department building. Foolish! Little brother, you take things too innocently.
We’re going in – now.”