Superbia 3 (22 page)

Together, they reached into the car and started to pull on Paul Moses's corpse to get it upright.  Fluids splattered the center console and stained the seat cushions that were already covered in cigarettes.  There were water bottles filled with grey murk scattered throughout the vehicle,
layering the air with the stifling odor of decaying flesh, garbage and ashtrays.  Reynaldo puffed on his cigar more and more until the car's compartment filled up with smoke and he started to get light headed. 

They finally yanked the body from the driver's seat and dropped it on the gravel driveway without ceremony.  A car swerved as it passed, the driver seeing the swollen and purple face of a dead body from the corner of his eye right before the men standing over it let it fall on the ground.  Bill Limos
reached down and scooped the maggots out of the dead youth's eyes with his gloved finger and flicked them into the woods, then he threw a sheet over the body and said, "Let's get him on the stretcher and into the cooler." 

Reynaldo grabbed Moses by the shoulder and turned him sideways as Limos stuffed the orange body bag under the corpse, digging into the ground like a gopher to sink it in beneath the body.  Reynaldo let go and could hear the sound of fluids sloshing, but he was unsure if it was inside of the body or himself and neither idea seemed altogether pleasant. 

They hefted the body onto the gurney and rolled it to the back of the Coroner's vehicle.  Limos popped the rear hatch and opened the refrigerator door within.  They loaded the gurney into the cooler and shut the door quickly, glad to be rid of it.  Reynaldo plucked the cigar from his mouth and tossed it into the woods.  It was wet and had begun to taste of maggots and intestinal fluid. 

Limos went back to the car and reached into the space between the driver's seat and the center console and said, "There's the culprit.
"  He fingered through the empty wax baggies and flattened them to show Reynaldo the heart stamped on each of them.  "We had six overdoses this week, starting with that kid you had the other day, remember?  Same stamp.  The goddamn Dominicans stepped on their last shipment with fentanyl but they put too much in.  Junkies are dropping like flies.  All our lab results are coming back off the charts with fentanyl poisoning."  He found a half-bundle of baggies that were still full in one of the car's cup holders and handed them to Reynaldo, "Here you go.  You just saved six junkies meaningless lives by getting rid of this shit."

Reynaldo took the bundle from Limos and dropped it into a brown paper bag.  "I'll get it tested
," he said.  "Maybe it will help someone track down the supplier."  

"
Yeah right, good luck," Limos said.  "Anyway, I'm gonna get Mr. Moses back to the freezer before he starts to stink up my car.  Take care, Big Rey." 

By the time the evidence was bagged and the car was towed, Corporal Donoschik's traffic detail had closed down and either moved to another location or finally decided to answer the backlog of calls being held by dispatch.  Reynaldo drove to the station with the evidence in his front seat and carried it inside, sitting down at his desk to photograph it, mark it, write up an evidence slip for each piece and then tape it shut.  Someone was vomiting in the bathroom. 

A wet, coughing sound, followed by spitting.  The bathroom tap came on and ran for a long while, running while someone cranked the handle on the paper towel dispenser and wiped their face and hands.  Aprille Macariah came out of the bathroom with her face wet, still glistening with the water she'd washed over it.  She'd slicked her hair back as well, trying to keep it out of her face.  "Sorry," she said sheepishly. 

"It's okay," Reynaldo said.  "Are you sick?"

"Some kind of stomach bug," she said.  "What do you have?"

"Evidence from an overdose." 

Aprille picked up the wax baggies of heroin, inspecting their contents.  She counted the baggies and squeezed them, hoping some would spill out onto her fingers.  "Awesome," she said. 

"Not really. 
You see that heart stamped on them?  The dead guy got it from these Dominicans, who have been−"

"Officer Francisco," someone called out from behind Aprille. 

Reynaldo looked up to see Deputy Superintendent Tovarich coming toward him.  "Corporal Donoschik said you failed to meet your recommended traffic performance target last week."

"Yes, sir," Reynaldo said.  "I was making it up today on the detail, but got called away to investigate a dead body."

Junior glanced down at the drug baggies in Aprille's hand and said, "Just another junkie?"

"Yes, sir," Reynaldo said.

"Flush it down the toilet and get back to work."

"What!" Reynaldo said.

"We're not paying for that to be analyzed.  It comes out of my budget."

"We can't just flush it down the toilet!  One, it will pollute the water supply and two, it's probably illegal. 
Two, it has to go to the lab."

"We're short staffed," Junior said.

"I'll do it," Aprille said.  When she spoke, she shifted slightly so her hips were angled toward Junior and she even managed to smile. 

"Fine," Junior said.  "Get it analyzed, but tell them to only do the minimum amount required.  No need to test every damn bag."

"No problem," Aprille said.  "I'll tell them to get rid of the rest."

"Thanks," Reynaldo said.  "All the paperwork is filled out.  Just make sure you ask them to do a full screen."

"Absolutely."  She watched Reynaldo head past the Deputy Superintendent who glanced back at her without trying to make it obvious he was looking.  Aprille picked up the heroin baggies and they were like hot cinders in the palm of her hand that burned and ached and whispered in a strange chemical tongue that only she could hear, demanding to be snorted. 

Frank's cellphone buzzed and he leaned forward on the couch to look at who was calling.  The girls were watching their third episode of Spongebob and Frank was glad for the distraction.  The number was blocked, but he picked it up anyway and said, "Hello?"

"It's Dez.  You busy?"

"No.  What's up."

"I'm sorry about yesterday.  I know it must have seemed weird." 

"A little, yeah," Frank said.

"Truth is, things have been strange for us lately and I've had to play it safe."

"Okay," Frank said.  "Everything all right?"

"Yeah.  Just some misunderstanding.  It's all straightened out now.  Anyway, are you still interested in us helping you out?"

"Sure."

"Good.  I'm actually up in your area.  How about I come over your place and we'll talk?"

Frank looked at his girls and said, "Actually, that doesn't work for me.  My wife gets home in
a little while though.  Can we meet somewhere?"

"How about the old
Hilltop Train Station?  It's been closed for years.  Nobody will bother us back there."

Frank paused for a second.  Reynaldo still hadn't answered any of his calls or texts that day.
  He wanted to surprise the kid with some good news when they finally spoke again.  "Sounds good.  I'll see you there."

"Perfect,"
Dez said. 

Later on, when he finally heard a car door slam in the driveway, Frank jumped up from the couch and waited for
Dawn to come through the door.  "I have to go out for a little while."

She looked at him skeptically.  It was the old look, the where are you really going one he'd seen so many times and never recognized. 

He told her a half-truth.  "Dez called me about helping Reynaldo with his case.  We're all going to meet up and as soon as it looks like they've got things under control, I'm out of there.  I'll be home before its time to put the kids to bed."

He left out that Reynaldo wasn't coming.  He left out the old train station.  He imagined it would sound too weird for her to believe.  Lying, it seemed, remained a skill at his disposal like a razor-sharp knife left in the bottom of
a toolbox.  Old, reliable, too easy to misuse. 

"Be careful with those people," Dawn said.  "From everything you told me, Dez is a sneaky piece of shit."

"I know, I know," Frank said.  "But he's not that bad when it comes to stuff like this.  He loves the job and will see that it gets done."  The words tasted like someone else's pre-chewed food in his mouth, so he spat them out quickly, then put it out of his mind and kissed his wife again. "I'm off this weekend, you know.  I'm off every weekend now.  Let's go camping."

"We don't even have a tent."

"We'll buy a tent.  Or we'll sleep under the stars.  Or I'll take you up to Potter County to see the Claytons.  I'm tired of sitting around and I finally feel free!  God, I feel free and I want you to feel it with me."  He wrapped his arm around Devon and kissed her forehead, "We'll go horseback riding and shoot tin cans with a bb-gun."  He stuck his hands under Cory's arms and scooped her up into his arms and kissed her on the mouth, "And we'll build campfires and cook hot dogs and eat beans.  Whatever it is, we will do it together.  Okay?"

Dawn stopped to look at him.  To truly look at him.  "Okay," was all she said, but it wasn't said to placate or be agreeable.  It was the "okay" of understanding.

And this time, she kissed him.

Frank left them then to go to the train station.  He left them with a quick kiss that all men give upon departing.  It is the same kiss taken for granted a thousand times by a thousand wives and little girls, just another of many.  It is the same kiss scored on the memory of those who will never receive it again.
   

The road leading back to the Hilltop Train Station was overgrown with weeds that stood tall enough to brush his door mirrors as he drove.  Patches of gravel crunched under his car tires and Frank could see where other cars had recently driven through.  He expected the train station was accustomed to skulking visitors and that there were probably dozens of empty beer bottles, heroin needles, and discarded condoms strewn throughout its abandoned rooms. 

The station
was aptly named.  Frank felt himself pressed back against his seat as his car climbed the trail.  The train tracks once ran along the crest of the ravine, once giving passengers a clear, if wobbling view of the undeveloped valleys surrounding the city.  Now, the valleys had been paved over and filled with shopping centers and townhouses.  The tracks going in either direction from the train station only went ten feet before they were lopped off like cancerous growths. 

Dez's blacked
-out SUV and a battered Honda belonging to Skip Fitzpatrick were parked in front of the station and Frank squinted to see into the dark building through the open front door.  The sun was a blaze of gold and red as it prepared to descend from the valley and everything was in shadows.  Frank could make out one figure standing in front of the door as he opened it and said, "You guys are all dressed in here, right?  I'm not interrupting anything sexually deviant?"

"Very funny," Dez said.  The embers of his cigarette flared in the dark, silhouetting Dez's face.

Skip nodded at Frank and Frank nodded at Skip and Frank said, "Thanks for coming.  I appreciated it."   

"I wouldn't have missed it," Skip said
, his dark smile obscured by shadows.

Frank turned to peer around the rest of the dark lobby, "Is this everybody?  I can't see shit."

"There's another guy, he'll be around later," Dez said.  "We wanted to keep this intimate.  That trouble I told you about?  It's best to play it safe."

"I understand," Frank said.  "So like I told you, we've got a guy in town who is trafficking child porn, but he's using all this fucked up technological mumbo jumbo to do it.  We need to
−" his eyes tracked Skip walking around his back, moving toward the front door.

"Keep talking," Skip said.  "I'm just gonna prop this door open to give us more light."

Dez drew deeply on his cigarette again, filling the room with red light.  "I'm listening, Frank."

"Long story short, I'd like to have him talk to the rabbit.  Even if we don't get the codes from him, he might tell us about who he's selling it to or buying it from.  Really I just want to shake his tree hard enough and see what falls out."

Dez blew out the last of the smoke from his lungs and dropped his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with his boot.  Behind Frank, Skip slammed the door closed and said, "Whoops.   Wrong way."

"Did you come alone, Frank?" Dez said through the darkness. 

"Yeah, why?"

The air filled with a sharp whistle of round wood cutting a wide arc down on Frank's bad knee, cracking him just above the shin.  He dropped onto the dirty floor instantly, swimming in the rotting leaves and discarded cigarette butts as he screamed, his entire leg on fire with
pain. 

The door blew open again, allowing a sliver of light into the lobby as Frank lifted his head. Hot tears streamed down the sides of his face and
he heard someone breathing heavy, panting like they were making love.  He looked up into the large black eyes of a seven foot monster standing over him, its furry pink feet just inches from where he was lying crumpled. 

"It only seemed fitting, Frank," Dez said. 

Psycho Rabbit raised his orange nightstick and poked Frank in the shoulder, just enough to make him shift his arms, to taunt him, to hurt.  "What the fuck is wrong with you people," Frank gasped.

"You sold us out, Frank," Skip said.  "Tell us who you're working with and this stops now."

Frank laughed harshly, "I'm not working with anyone, you assholes."

Psycho Rabbit raised his foot and kicked Frank in the face, the hard soles of the boots he was wearing under the costume cracking him in the jaw hard enough to send an explosion of stars shooting through his head. 

"Who are you working with?" Skip said. 

"No one!" Frank screamed.  "I came to you for help."  He could taste blood in his mouth and ran his tongue along his teeth to make sure they were all there.  The stick had missed his knee.  It hurt like a bitch but in the darkness, the rabbit had missed.

Frank slid sideways on the floor to try and put distance between the rabbit and himself. 

Dez took off his suit coat and laid it across one of the benches near the ticketing counter.  He rolled up his sleeves and unhooked his watch band as the enormous rabbit circled Frank like a guard dog, slapping the long oak baton into the palm of his paw. 

"What the hell happened to you, Frank?" Dez said.  "You should have just stayed in the fold, but no, you weren't happy.  You just had to go your own way, and now look at you.  This isn't the sort of thing you just walk away from Frank.  Did you seriously think you could?"

Frank slid another inch toward the far wall where fading sunlight glimmered through the rotting wooden frame surrounding the rear emergency exit.  He pressed his hand on his knee and squeezed, checking for any new pain.  His shin was intact.  It hurt like a
mother fucker, but the bones were intact and he could probably even walk on it if he had to. 

Frank pressed his palms against the floor and leapt up to break for the rear door, hobbling wildly, but the rabbit was too fast.  Psycho Rabbit skipped forward and swung his leg around to sweep Frank's feet from under him, sending him crashing to the ground with a thud.  The air leapt out of Frank's lungs like popped tires and he wheezed trying to refill them. 

"Who are you working with?" Dez said again.  "You know what, fuck it.  Hit him again."

"He can't breathe," Skip said.  He looked down at Frank's crumpled form and felt his face twist in disgust, "Just give him a second."

"I don't care anymore.  I'm sick and tired of these suburban assholes."  Dez nodded at the pink bunny and said, "Have fun."

Psycho Rabbit raised the stick in the air with both paws like he was about to chop down a tree and aimed for Frank's head, swinging like he was about to cave it in.  Frank looked up at the descending stick and closed his eyes.  He saw his children receiving a folded flag just after the goddamn helicopters flew over. 

The sharp, deafening report of a gunshot barked inside the empty station, stopping Psycho Rabbit in mid-swing and making the other men clutch their ears instinctively.  Dust and splinters rained down on Skip from where he'd fired a hole in the roof of the station and he lowered his gun at the rabbit and said, "Give me that fucking stick."  He snatched the baton and walked over to where Frank was laying and said, "Are you selling us out?"

Frank's ears were ringing and felt stuffed with cotton but he'd been able to make out enough of what Skip was saying to mutter, "No."

Skip got down on his knees and put the barrel of the gun to Frank's temple.  It was shaking in his hand and the metal was hot against Frank's skin from just being fired.  Skip's voice knotted in his throat and he said, "Are you fucking selling us out, Frank?"

Frank turned and looked him directly in the eye, his voice firm and steady when he said, "No.  I came here for help."

Skip bit his lower lip and lowered the gun, "Get up." 

"What the fuck are you doing, Skip?" Dez shouted.

"Shut the fuck up, Dez!  I swear to Christ I will kill every single person in this room if I have to." He watched Frank struggle to his feet and said, "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Frank said. 

Skip held out the stained orange baton to Frank and said, "I'm leaving.  Do you understand?  I'm getting the fuck out of this shithole, and I was never here."

Frank took the baton from him and said, "Okay.
  Let me walk out with you, Skip."

Skip raised the gun at Frank and said, "
No!  That's between you three.  All you know is that I was never here.  Say it."

"You were never here." 

Skip backed away from them all, now turning the gun on the others.  "You fuckers can sort this out on your own.  However you want.  I don't give a shit if you all kill each other."

"You're a piece of shit," Dez s
pat.  "You're finished.  I hope you get AIDS from some fucking crackwhore in the twenty-ninth district, cocksucker."

Skip laughed bitt
erly as he backed away from them toward the door.  He worked the lever with one hand while keeping his gun moving from man to man with the other, until he had finally opened it enough to step backwards through.  He slammed the door shut on them, leaving them with only the soft amber light of the setting sun coming in through the cracks in the walls and ceiling to show as Dez Dolos calmly walked over to his folded suit coat and pulled out the Beretta 9mm he'd placed beneath it.  "Put the nightstick down and we'll talk, Frank."

There would be no talking, Frank knew. 

The Psycho Rabbit had begun to pace once more, stalking across the floor like a chained beast staring through its cell bars at Frank, just waiting for the moment to be unleashed.  Its mask a distorted pink mass of bucktoothed smile and black mesh eyes. 

There was nothing left but Dez and his gun, the maniac in the bunny suit and Frank with an old police baton. 

A dozen police academy cadets lined up on either side of him, all of them dressed in the same dark blue t-shirt and sweatpants, their hands squished in the damp Conshohocken soil, pushing up and down at the instructors command.  "Upppppppp, dowwwwwwn, uppppppp, dowwwwwwn," in a never ending sequence of pain.  The instructor looked out over the field of young men and shouted, "There will come a time when you are faced with insurmountable odds and have the option to lay down and die like a maggot or fight, do you understand?"

"Sir, yes sir!" the cadets shouted back at him. 

"There will be bullets flying in your direction or a horde of roving barbarians in your AO and it will fall to you to stop them, do you understand?"

Frank's arms were on fire and trembling with each pushup but he would not quit.  None of them would quit.  Not because it meant having to run laps or do extra work but because to quit was to die, and they were not there die.  Frank threw back his head and bellowed,
"Sir, yes sir!"

"You will be stabbed, you will be shot, you will be blown up by a motherfucking thermal nuclear explosion and what will you do?"

"Fight!"

"You will watch all of the people around you abandon their post and flee in terror, what will you do?"

"Fight!"

"Your wife and children will beg and plead for you to not die unless you do what?"

"Fight!"

"What do I expect
you to do?"

"Fight!"

"What?"

Fight!

"What!"

Frank opened his mouth and roared an incomprehensible battle cry
as he launched forward in the darkness, swinging the stick as hard as he could for the big pink target.  Psycho Rabbit threw his right arm up in time to block and Frank heard the distinct crack of wood on bone through the soft felt layer of costume.  Frank swung again and again, bashing the rabbit's arm and shoulder into strange formations like he was hammering steel, oblivious to the muffled yelps inside the helmet.  He kicked the thing between the legs with the ball of his foot, driving the point of his sneaker up as hard and deep as he could, hoping to hear its nuts pop. 

Dez was dancing frantically around in the darkness, screaming for Frank to stop or he'd shoot, but Frank bashed the rabbit again and again, chopping it on the knees and
head like a lumberjack, like a man trying to break out of prison. 

Dez's gun fired twice in rapid succession,
its barrel bursting with bright yellow flame that lit the room for a millisecond.  All of the muscles in Frank's body stiffened at the sharp sounds but he still had the stick and he hadn't been hit.  He thought of all the movies he'd seen where the hero gets shot and doesn't realize it until after the action was over and someone said, "My God, you've been hit!"  But Frank had been shot before and he fucking well knew it and when Dez's gun went off, all it did was tell Frank where the bastard was. 

Frank darted across the room and swung
wildly back and forth until he felt the baton crash into something that crunched.  Dez howled miserably and the gun clattered against the floor.  Frank swung his leg up as hard as he could and slammed his shin into Dez's bent over face, the pain of the man's chin and skull against his injured leg almost as bad as it was satisfying. 

The other men were down, Frank could see that much.  He gripped
and re-gripped the baton like a clean-up hitter and heaved for breath, feeling like he was about to vomit.  Whatever strength had possessed him to overcome them was now gone and he felt only sickness and disgust for what had happened.