In Too Deep Page 2

  My mom keeps staring out the window, not responding, not even noticing me. Her nightgown rises and falls with each slow breath.

  “I think I’m ready,” I tell her, “to go to Point Blank.” I glance out the window and see that gargantuan stain on the skyline. PharmaChem. I pull my eyes back to her. “I want to do it tonight. I’m tired—I stayed out all night again tonight—but I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m ready for this. I’m ready to finally do it.”

  Still no response. I don’t know why I was expecting anything different. Maybe it’s because I’m scared. I look in her eyes a moment longer, then give my mom’s hand a squeeze and set it back down on her lap.

  “I’ll go fix us some breakfast,” I say, and I stand up, heading out of the room, shutting the door softly behind me.

  I walk down the hall and turn into the kitchen, the last of the three doors along the same wall. Opening up the fridge, I take out some bread and jam for myself, and some applesauce for my mom. Putting on the kettle, I get a cup of instant coffee ready while the bread toasts, and when that’s popped I spread first butter, then peanut butter, then jam onto it. I just finish getting my mom’s applesauce ready as the kettle comes to a boil. Pouring the hot water into my mug, I give it a quick stir and then carry everything with me back into my mom’s room.

  Our meal is eaten mostly in silence. Some days I talk to my mom as I spoon food into her mouth, but today I’m silent. I’m thinking about Point Blank, the bar that belongs to the Bullets. I told my mom that I’m ready to do it tonight, and I am. But just because I’m ready doesn’t mean I’m not worried about what might happen.

  I remember the day my brother Sal died. It’s been almost eight months, and still the thought of it brings me to tears. It was during that gun fight between the Chains and the Bullets—the one that nobody at the station knew about until it was too late. There were no hints, no lead-ups that indicated something was going to happen between the two gangs. It just sort of happened, out of nowhere.

  I was devastated when they listed the casualties. I had to take a sick day from work, although I didn’t give the real reason. Nobody at the station knows that Sal and I were brother and sister, just like how he never told anyone in the Chains that his sister’s a cop. It would have been too dangerous for either of us. And besides, we were cut from two different cloths. We always have been, ever since we were kids.

  But of the two of us left, the person who took Sal’s death the worst was our mom. She must’ve found out when they reported it on the news, because when I stopped crying long enough to call her I didn’t get an answer. And when I rode over to her house I found her lying on the kitchen floor. For a terrible second I thought she’d died too, that everybody in my life had died and I was left all alone. But I saw she was breathing, and after trying unsuccessfully to get her to respond, I took her to the hospital. Forty-eight hours later they released her, telling me she was in shock and that she would get over it soon.

  That was eight months ago.

  I pop my last bite of toast into my mouth and pick up my mom’s bowl of applesauce. Only a couple of spoonfuls left. But an itch in my brain tells me that something’s missing. My mind clicks into place and I shake my head.

  “Oh, Mom, I forgot your pills,” I say to her. I must be really distracted, or really tired. Probably both.

  My mom doesn’t say anything as I put the bowl back on the nightstand and get up, heading into the kitchen. Opening up the fridge, I take out three orange pill bottles off of the door. Walking over to the counter, I set two of them down, twisting the cap off the third one. As I do the label comes into view, and with it, the infamous PharmaChem logo.

  PharmaChem.

  I hate using their products, but what else is there? I think about Will Silver, how he’s probably sitting in his big chair right now, looking out over the city from the top floor of that building and laughing. Laughing at how easily he’s taken us over. Become the single provider of pharmaceuticals in the entirety of Santa Espera.

  And maybe his son Craig is standing there with him, laughing as well. The thought makes my upper lip curl. It took me a lot of time researching and asking around before I found out that he was at the shootout where Sal was killed. And it wasn’t long after that that I pieced everything together.

  That’s when I came up with my plan. That’s when I knew what I had to do.

  A shiver runs over me and my vision clears, the kitchen coming back into focus.

  Come on, Trista. Keep your head in the game.

  I shake out my mom’s pills and close up the bottles, putting them back in the fridge. Pouring her a glass of water, I take it all back into the bedroom and give them to her, trying not to spill any water as I help her drink from the glass.

  When that’s all done I pick up the dishes and take them with me back to the kitchen, dropping them off in the sink. I’ll wash them later. I go back to clean out my mom's bedpan, flushing the contents and scrubbing it out in the bathtub. I put it back in place, my mom not making any notice of me. I'll give her a sponge bath tomorrow, after I get back from the Bullets.

  If I get back.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I head to my room again to clip my gun to my belt, put on my boots, and check the time again. Six thirty-five. I walk back to my mom’s room to find her sitting in the exact same position, staring at the exact same spot.

  “Okay, Mom, I’m leaving for work,” I say, walking over to her.

  She doesn’t respond. I purse my lips together as I look at her. Bending down, I give her a kiss on the forehead and then leave the room, closing the door behind me. I stride down the hall and descend the stairs, leaving by the front door, locking it behind me. Then I climb onto my bike, taking my cap off and stowing it away in one of the bike panniers. Starting up the engine, I kick it into life and then leave for work.

  The sky is brighter now and the city is more alive as I ride through the streets. Most people see me in my uniform and look away, but some wave to me and so I wave back. My shadow stretches out in front of me as I make my way west. When I arrive at the station I pull into the parking lot and park in my usual space. I take my cap out again, fit it snugly on my head, then swing my leg off my bike and walk to the front doors.

  The air-conditioning is already on, moving a cold chill right through my clothing and into my bones. I pass by the front desk, saying hello to Geoffrey sitting behind it, and stride into the back toward the office, and my own desk.

  That coffee from this morning isn’t doing the trick, and I’m already considering getting another cup even before I’ve sat down. But as I walk into the office I can’t help but notice that nobody’s at their desk. I blink, looking around. Dim voices float to my ears and I stand there, listening to them, before my sleep-deprived memory catches me up.

  The meeting! I forgot there’s a meeting!

  I quickly move through the office toward one of the hallways and down to the meeting room, only to see the door open and, through it, every chair filled with police officers. The voice of Captain Hartridge becomes louder as I finally reach the door.

  “… reports from Internal Affairs that”—she turns her head as I walk in—“ah, so nice of you to join us, Officer Pearson. Please take a seat like everyone else.”

  I give the captain a nod.

  “Good morning, Captain. Sorry I’m late.”

  “If you could try to remember to be here early when we have our meetings, I’m sure the entire precinct would appreciate it.”

  I spot an empty chair and go sit down, facing forward along with everybody else. Deputy Captain Mackenzie, standing at the front beside the captain, gives me a sly smile, but I ignore him.

  “As I was saying before Officer Pearson chose to grace us with her presence,” the captain says, eyeing me for a second, “we’ve had reports from Internal Affairs that some of our officers have been … let’s say less than faithful to the duties of their jobs. Reports of numerous officers being paid off by gang members have
come in, and in some cases we’ve heard of officers actively assisting with crimes.

  “I want to remind everybody that if you suspect anyone—anyone—of foul behavior such as this, please come forward and file an anonymous report. There will be no penalty for any such reporting, I want to make that clear. Deputy Captain Mackenzie and I take this matter very seriously.”

  The mood in the room is tense as Captain Hartridge looks over her notes. I’ve heard about these rumors, and even heard some names being bandied about. But so far nobody’s gotten fired or transferred out of here. Maybe they’re just rumors.

  “The second order of business,” the captain goes on, looking out over the crowd, “is regarding the recent surge of drug busts we’ve had as of late. I’d like to personally thank Officers Kelly and Williams for their incredible work in this matter.”

  Applause as Dave and Cassandra look around and smile, nodding in thanks. I put a smile on as I join in the applause. Dave was one of the officers rumored at being paid off.

  “Now, the work they’ve done is wonderful,” Captain Hartridge says as the applause dies down, “but we’ve still got a long way to go. We’re just now discovering numerous small groups—sometimes only two or three people in a basement—peppered around the city, making and selling drugs. It’s our mission to get rid of these dealers. We’ve found a lot of them are situated in the up-and-coming neighborhoods—the suburbs—which could lower the market value of new houses and seriously affect the economy. So we’re going to make that area our priority over the next few months.”

  Two or three people at a time? I raise my hand and see Captain Hartridge look at me.

  “Yes, Officer Pearson? You have a question?”

  “Captain,” I lower my hand, “is it really worth spending our efforts focusing on so many small groups? If we could find out who their suppliers are, we could cut them all off at the source. I think that would make more sense than trying to chase down a bunch of small-time dealers.”

  Captain Hartridge stares at me, and Deputy Captain Mackenzie looks tense.

  “Officer Pearson … are you trying to tell me how to do my job?”

  My stomach drops. I feel the color drain out of my face.

  “Um, no, Captain. I’m sorry. I just thought that—”

  “What you thought was that I’d overlooked such a glaringly obvious solution. Tell me, Officer Pearson, are you in charge of drug enforcement at this precinct?”

  I swallow. “No.”

  “And what is it, exactly, that you’re in charge of?”

  I feel my face glow with heat, but I force myself to keep looking her in the eye.

  “Petty theft.”

  “That’s right. Petty theft.” She looks out at everyone. “It’s important for each of us to remember his or her place in this station, otherwise we’d just have officers running around trying to do everybody else’s jobs.” Her eyes settle on me again. “Is that understood, Officer Pearson?”

  I nod.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” She turns back to everyone. “As I was saying, Officers Kelly and Williams will spearhead the next few months focusing on getting rid of these small-time dealers, making the neighborhoods—and the people inside them—safer. Now, on to our next item …”

  The meeting goes on for another fifteen minutes before the captain adjourns it and everybody gets up. I leave with the others, heading to my desk to get started on my paperwork. I don’t speak to anyone, or really make any eye contact. Seeing my desk makes me feel tired all over again, and I decide to get another cup of coffee first. Veering away, I head into the break room, the smell of a full pot of coffee guiding me in like a Siren’s song.

  I’ve been working at this station for just over nine years, yet even so I’ve never really felt at home. I wanted to become a police officer for what I thought was the same reason everybody else wanted to become one: to help stop crime; to make the world a better place. I turns out I was way off.

  Most of the cops here don’t really take their jobs seriously. They only work hard whenever they know Captain Hartridge is watching them. The rest of the time they just relax, playing solitaire or talking with one another. And now Internal Affairs is coming down on cops getting paid off? That means it’s really happening. It makes me almost wonder what’s the point of being a police officer anymore.

  “Pearson,” comes a voice. “Nice job contradicting the captain.”

  I stop in the middle of stirring my coffee and turn to see Deputy Captain Mackenzie leaning against the break room doorway. He saunters over to me, a smarmy smile on his face. I have to force myself to smile back.

  “I just wanted to make sure we were covering all our bases,” I say to him as I turn back to my coffee. He stops beside me—too close—and takes a mug down out of the cupboard.

  “Well, the captain’s been pretty stressed lately over these drug raids,” he says. “You know she doesn’t want anybody fucking around with them.” He pours some coffee into his mug and puts the pot back with a thunk. Turning to face me, he says, “If you wanted to fuck around with somebody, that somebody should be me.”

  It’s a struggle to keep smiling as I turn my head to look up at him.

  “Listen, Deputy Captain—”

  “Devon,” he interrupts.

  “Devon,” I acquiesce. “We’ve had this conversation before. I’m flattered, but I’m not looking for any sort of relationship right now.”

  “Well, why the fuck not?” he asks, that smile of his washing away. “It’s not like you’re fucking anybody else right now. Tell me, when’s the last time you got laid?”

  Ah, my kingdom for a sexual harassment charge. The only problem is that the person I’d have to report it to would be him.

  “I’m not going to answer that,” I say, trying a firmer approach. “I told you, I’m not interested in a relationship right now.”

  “It wouldn’t have to be a relationship,” he says with a shrug, taking a sip of his coffee. “Unless you count quickies in the evidence room as a relationship. And in that case, I could be your boyfriend right now.”

  It’s a struggle not to roll my eyes as I pick up my coffee.

  “I have to get back to work,” I say, and I turn away from him. But his hand darts out and he grabs my arm, making me stop. I feel his grip almost bruising my flesh.

  “Listen to me,” he says, leaning in close to me. I can smell the coffee on his breath. “I want you. And I’m going to have you. If you ever want to get your little ass out of petty theft and start working with the big boys, then you better start playing ball. You understand me?”

  I look up at him and pull my arm from his grasp.

  “I have to get back to work,” I say, and I turn away again, leaving the break room. Glancing around, I see that nobody is looking at me. I walk back to my desk in silence.

  Deputy Captain Devon Mackenzie. He’s been hitting on me since he got transferred here. And no matter how many times I tell him no, he doesn’t seem to take the hint. Nobody here wants to help me. They act like it’s not happening, or like I don’t even exist. Sometimes I feel so lonely here, even though I’m surrounded by so many people.

  That’s why I didn’t ask the captain if I could infiltrate these biker bars. That’s why I didn’t ask if I could go undercover. I just did it myself. Because I knew she would shoot me down, and if she did then my chance at making things right would be gone. What I’m putting myself through is very dangerous. I know that. But I’m ready for it. I’m ready to do what needs to be done.

  I take the top theft report off of my inbox and start to read it, but even so my mind wanders to tonight.

  Tonight.

  Point Blank.

  I’m going to make a change in this city. I’m going to do something about this drug problem, and I’m going to do it my own way. Get the info, make the arrests. Take down every single one of the Bullets and put them behind bars for good.

  I need to do this. Because maybe if
I do, then I’ll finally be proud to be a police officer. And maybe if I do, then I’ll finally put my brother’s memory to rest.

  Flynn

  My cell phone buzzes on my bedside table and my eyes fly open.

  I was asleep, dreaming about biking through the streets of Santa Espera. It was all of us, together. And I was in lead.

  I think Elizabeth was there, and for a moment my heart pangs with hurt. But now I can’t remember.

  My jaw cracks as I yawn widely. I turn my head and see sunlight streaming through the open shades of my window. There’s an arm draped across my body, and as I follow it down I see some girl with long black hair, a small ring of metal pierced through her nose.

  Starla. Her name is Starla.

  Memories of the night before swirl back into my head as I look at her. I was at the bar. Drinking, talking, flirting. I heard an angry voice, and when I looked over I saw Starla up against a wall, in tears. There was this guy in front of her, yelling. He had a pretty tight grip on her arm.

  I excused myself from the group and walked over, grabbed him by the shoulder, and spun him around. I grabbed his fist when he tried to punch me. I think I remember feeling a few fingers break, but it doesn’t matter. He screamed so I grabbed his throat. Carried him over to the door, threw him out. He landed with a hard thud, then scrambled up and ran away, cradling his hand. When I went back in Starla was still crying, so I bought her a drink. Less than an hour later she came home with me.

  And the rest, as they say, is history.

  Starla stirs next to me and I feel her naked breasts press into my side. She’s beautiful. That guy had no idea what he was losing, treating her like that. My cock begins to grow and harden beneath the sheets, but I urge it to mind its own business. Moving slowly, carefully, I start to slide sideways out of the bed. But of course Starla wakes up, her eyes blinking a few times against the morning light. Her eyebrows raise up, almost comically, as she gives a wide yawn.