Dark Moonlighting (8 page)

“Starside isn’t a big enough city to make a
show about. There’s not enough exciting crime to fill up the
episodes. Besides, we don’t have the name recognition of the big
cities like Chicago or Los Angeles. Most people don’t even know
that Starside exists,” I countered.

“I don’t know,” the rookie argued. “I was
looking at the statistics the other day, and we do have the largest
number of unsolved homicides per capita in the entire—”

“Anyone give this rook permission to talk?”
asked my partner as she walked into the briefing room.

“Sorry, J.J. I was just—” Crockett
started.

“J.J?” my partner boomed. She feigned disgust
as she glanced at me and then back to the newest addition to the
police force. “Are we on familiar terms? Are you and me best
buddies, rook? You gonna make a basket full of delicious treats and
meet me in Roosevelt Park for a picnic?”

“No, Officer Johnson,” Crockett fumbled.

“Oh so now it’s Officer Johnson,” my partner
pressed. “You don’t want to be close personal friends with me? You
could come over later and rub my poor feet. Maybe you and me could
hop in the shower and—”

“Jasmine!” I interrupted as I fought back a
laugh. “Leave the poor kid alone. He doesn’t know you’re
kidding.”

Jasmine shook her head as she took the seat
next to me. “I wasn’t kiddin’. I’d love to get me a piece of that
fine little white boy.”

“Don’t mind Aunt Jemima over here,” I
explained to the rookie. “She turns into a raging stereotype when
she’s bored… or excited… or mad.”

“Or lookin’ for some sweet, sweet lovin’,”
Jasmine added. She stared into my eyes, rolled her shoulders a few
times and then burst into hysterics.

Officer Jasmine Johnson, unlike the new women
who were popping up in my life at the time, was a close friend. We
had been partners for almost two years, and we had formed a bond
that officers who patrol the streets together often do. She
frequently adopted a cliché persona to amuse herself in the
predominately white city where she worked. In reality she was
nothing like the voice she used. Jasmine was skinny and athletic,
which was much more than could be said about the bulk of the
Starside Police Department. She was an educated Negro and was
familiar with every aspect of police procedure. Oh my God, I just
realized I referred to her as a Negro. There are going to be people
reading this book who hate me more for that description than all
the murders I committed. I am writing this on a typewriter so it is
difficult to make corrections. I could rewrite the entire page, but
I think it is better if I leave it the way it is. After all, I did
say I wanted this book to be honest. You have to understand that
for a long part of my life I did not have any contact with people
of African descent. I was almost two hundred years old before I met
my first black person. The accent and slang I used always changed
to fit the location in which I settled. The old ways of thinking
were much harder to update.

“You know, the sexual harassment policy is
clearly posted throughout the station,” I scolded her.

“They aren’t going to fire me,” Jasmine
responded in her real voice. “I’m the only minority hire on the
force.”

Her stereotypical act had elicited the
desired response from the rookie. Crockett had worn a mixed look of
puzzlement and fear. Now that Jasmine had returned to normal,
Crockett had begun to understand the joke and calm down.

“What do you think about all these murders,
Officer Johnson?” Crockett cautiously inquired.

“You can call me J.J, rook. I was just having
fun with you. The Urinator’s murders don’t bother me much,” Jasmine
responded.

“They don’t?” Crockett asked in disbelief.
“But all of the recent murders have occurred within Illinois or
just outside the border. All the victims were found within a 300
mile radius of Starside. I’d bet good money that The Urinator lives
in our city.”

“The Urinator is a problem for the detectives
and the feds,” Jasmine countered dismissively. “You should concern
yourself with drug dealers and wife beaters. Besides, if you ask me
The Urinator isn’t all that bad as far as serial killers go. He, or
she, is targeting the scum of the state anyway. The Urinator is
more of a vigilante than a serial killer.”

The debate between my partner and the rookie
went on for a few minutes as more officers flooded into the
briefing room. I remained conspicuously silent on the topic. I had
tried to spread my victims throughout the state of Illinois, but
even the rookie cop had figured out that pattern. I was confident
that those in charge of investigating the serial killings had
already guessed that The Urinator lived in Starside or a nearby
town. This was not an immediate threat to my anonymity, but it was
certainly not a good idea to let the authorities narrow down where
they were searching.

One of the reasons I first became interested
in law enforcement was the desire to spy on those who were out to
capture me. There was the obvious benefit of learning more about
how modern authorities operated. This allowed me to carry out my
hunting more carefully in the age of DNA and forensic science. In
addition to this though, I was also able to gather information on
my specific case. I heard the rumors around the water cooler and
listened to the lead detectives as they talked about The Urinator.
If they ever got close to discovering me, I would have an early
warning.

The debate came to an abrupt conclusion once
The Chief entered the room. He was a fat, old, gray-haired Irishman
with a penchant for yelling. His outbursts often seemed
disproportionate to the situations that caused them. He was well
liked by no one, and had managed to boot a significant number of
officers from the force despite the almost Godlike power of the
police union.

“Good evening, men… and Officer Johnson,” The
Chief began after taking his place behind the podium in the front
of the room.

“Good evening, Chief,” all the officers in
the room besides one answered with various degrees of
enthusiasm.

“Evening, douchebag,” Jasmine muttered under
her breath.

“Very mature,” I whispered to my partner.

“I try,” she responded.

“There’s not much new tonight so I’ll keep
this short and sweet,” The Chief began.

I had researched The Chief’s genealogy on a
whim shortly after joining the force. I had not gone back too far
through his family tree, but I was confident he was at least
second-generation American. Despite this, his accent was thick
enough to make a leprechaun roll his eyes. I found this to be
particularly amusing given that I had grown accustomed to changing
my accent every decade or so. It really was not that hard to do, so
I always found The Chief’s voice to be perplexing.

“We’ve got reports that a new shipment of
cocaine is being distributed around,” The Chief said as he scanned
over a few sheets of paper. “McMillan & Wife Construction
reported a theft of copper wire last night. That makes three thefts
in as many weeks so pay close attention to any industrial sites in
your patrol area. What else? Oh, Governor Kojak has offered a free
steak dinner to any officer who manages to take down The Urinator.
Apparently he doesn’t think all the murders are incentive enough to
find this guy. Well, if you happen to stumble across The Urinator
feel free to, uh, shoot him in the face I suppose.”

The briefing room filled with laughter at the
absurdity of the situation. My laugh was the loudest in the
room.

“All right, we’re screwing with the patrol
routes again because of that dumbass policy they rammed down my
throat three months ago. Isles and Rizzoli you’ve got sector A.
Benson and Stabler take sector B. Tubbs take your rookie to sector
C—”

“Polk Heights?” Officer Tubbs asked
diplomatically. “You don’t think it’s a little early to be taking
the rook out there, Chief?”

“No I don’t,” The Chief answered flatly.
“He’s been on the force almost two weeks now, he’s overdue to fight
off a junkie with a dirty needle,” he added with a cruel smile.
“Friday and Gannon you’re on D. Lacey and Cagney you’re on E. Last,
and possibly least, Johnson and Whittier are on sector F. That’s it
people, let’s roll.”

The assembled officers grabbed their cups of
coffee and filed out of the briefing room unenthusiastically.
Jasmine and I were almost out the door when The Chief stopped us in
our tracks.

“Hey, Johnson. I almost forgot, come here a
minute,” The Chief shouted abrasively.

“Yes’m. I be coming right away for you
mister,” Jasmine started as she turned back into the room. “I sure
don’t want no trouble. I just wanna be a good house nig—”

“Whittier, what are you doing? I don’t need
you,” The Chief said, completely ignoring Jasmine’s persona.

Much to The Chief’s annoyance, I looked
towards Jasmine for confirmation. She nodded her appreciation
before motioning towards the door. I made a quick pit stop in the
bathroom before exiting the station and taking a seat on the trunk
of our police cruiser. Jasmine met me at the car a few minutes
later.

“Sexual harassment complaint?” I guessed.

“No, Mr. Smarty Pants,” Jasmine answered with
a fake sneer. “The prick informed me that I volunteered to lead a
diversity seminar. Apparently it’s because I’m the only thing
resembling diversity at this station.”

“That’s not true,” I said feigning offense.
“I’m pretty sure Officer Willows is 1/64th Cherokee.”

Jasmine shoved me off the trunk of the
cruiser and walked towards the driver’s side. “Could be worse I
suppose. Look at poor Crockett. He’s probably going to get shot
before sunrise.”

“Oh, he won’t get shot. Might get stabbed
though,” I argued as I opened the passenger door.

“You’re going to be a wonderful partner and
come offer your moral support when I do this diversity presentation
next week, right?” Jasmine whimpered.

“Hell no,” I answered immediately. “Not
unless you do the whole thing in your Mammy voice.”

“Deal,” she agreed with a smile.

It was a short drive to our patrol area. We
had patrolled all of 200 feet of our designated sector when Jasmine
pulled the police cruiser into an all-night convenience store. This
practice had become standard operating procedure only a few weeks
after we became partners. We liked to joke that we took our first
break as soon as we started. Although she was accustomed to the
night shift, Jasmine still required coffee to keep her senses
finely tuned. I had no need for the stimulant effect of caffeine,
but partook in the ritual for a sense of camaraderie.

“Your turn to buy, right?” Jasmine asked as
we exited the parked car.

“Nice try,” I countered. I motioned towards
the entrance of the convenience store with my thumb.

Jasmine shrugged her shoulders in defeat and
entered the store. I remained outside and braced myself against the
biting wind. Vampires are not cold-blooded like many people think.
The virus actually helps to keep our body temperature more constant
than a normal human being’s. We are, however, still susceptible to
the cold weather. I pulled on the zipper of my official police
jacket and buried my chin in my chest. Since I was technically in
my patrol zone, I glanced around the vicinity to make sure no one
was getting murdered in the immediate area. It was, not
surprisingly, all quiet in this particular neighborhood. Though it
was still early in the night, the area was almost completely
deserted. It was for this reason that the man who crept around the
side of the convenience store stood out to me.

He had come from the dark alley on the side
of the store, but my keen eyes were able to pick him out
immediately. After a few paces I could tell that he was not so much
creeping as he was staggering. He was an elderly gentleman, or at
least looked old due to the self-inflicted damage to his body. As
he emerged into the area illuminated by the lights in the parking
lot, he slowly rolled his head towards me and locked on my eyes. I
did not need my heightened senses to smell the drying vomit that
covered his clothes. His body odor was pungent enough to put a
skunk to shame. This bum was more disturbing than most, and I would
have recoiled in disgust if not for my police training.

“Are you all right, sir?” I asked. It was
more of an accusation than an inquisition.

The homeless man opened his mouth and hissed
at me through rotting teeth. “You reek of death!”

“Okie dokie,” I responded. A rational
conversation with the mentally ill man was clearly out of the
question. “I’m going to have to ask you to move along. There’s a
shelter two blocks down on 16th Street. Why don’t you head down
there and get a good night sleep?”

The bum turned his gaze towards the ground
and started to waddle past me. I held my breath and turned my head
to avoid the stench as he passed. I was just starting to feel
guilty about unloading the hideous creature on the good people at
the homeless shelter when he suddenly lunged at me. Having not
expected the decrepit man to be able to move so quickly, I was
momentarily caught off guard. He grabbed the collar of my jacket
and pulled me within an inch of his face.

“The creatures of the night feed on the
vermin who walk the streets of Starside!” he shouted into my face.
“Your loneliness is a lie. Your brother and sisters who share the
sickness also call this town their own. The streets can’t run red
when the red is all consumed!”

I froze in fear as I processed the man’s
words. He continued to glare into my eyes for a few seconds before
suddenly being pulled away from my face. Jasmine grabbed the bum by
the shoulders and threw him into the side of the store with more
force than was necessary. He groaned pathetically, crumpled to the
ground and grabbed his right arm in pain. Jasmine pointed her
canister of pepper spray at the man as she glanced back at me.