Marrying Mike...Again (25 page)

Officers were tense. So was the crowd.

And back in the police station, Sandra was finally beginning to sweat. Lieutenant Hopkins personally brought her a bullet-proof vest. He instructed her to wear it over a T-shirt for comfort, then cover it with her blouse. Standing in front of the mirror, she looked thicker than usual, but professional.

Sandra didn’t feel normal, however. She was unbearably conscious of the weight of the vest on her body. The stifling heat. The sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades. This was how she had sent her officers into duty every day for nearly a week. No wonder their nerves had been on edge.

At one forty-five, Sandra assembled her notes. Lieutenant Hopkins was waiting for her outside her office. Strange how she’d come to see him as an ally today. In the midst of a crisis, many things had changed.

Mike came running up just as she and Lieutenant Hopkins entered the parking garage. He’d obviously been working up to the last minute and was out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s okay. How did the background reports go?”

“Got it.” He held up a list of places Toby Watkins was known to favor. “Will pass it on to the sergeant at the press conference. Any news?”

“Nothing yet. It’s only been four hours, though. Where’s Koontz?”

Mike’s expression faltered. “He, um, he got held up.”

Sandra stopped walking long enough to give Mike a look. She knew what he meant. “I’m going to have to discipline him,” she said softly.

“Let me talk to him first—”

“Mike, this matter is too serious for a partner-to-partner chat. Times like this, officers have to be willing to put their personal feelings aside. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to put him on probation. It’s the only option I have left.”

Mike’s face fell. He knew as well as she did, however, that Koontz had crossed the line. Officers did not bug out when their city had just suffered a riot.

“Did you get to talk to him at all?” she asked.

He shook his head. “He’s not at home. I don’t know where the hell he went. Sometimes…man, what goes through his head?”

Sandra sighed. “We’ll have to deal with it. Just not right now.” She rubbed her temples, feeling anxious and tense again. She could tell by the look on Mike’s face that he felt the same. And for a moment she was tired of Koontz and the strain he’d put on her and Mike’s marriage. She wished Rusty would just go away.

Something must have shown on her face, for Mike’s expression immediately shuttered closed.

“Later,” she murmured.

“Yeah, later.”

Sandra climbed into the police sedan. She did her best to pull herself together. She was the chief of police. Besides, she had all of Alexandria’s police force working to protect her. Oh, God…

She was breathing hard by the time they arrived on the scene. Mike also appeared subdued.

“Security team?” he asked Lieutenant Hopkins.

“Went over every rooftop and building with a fine-tooth comb. Area is secure.”

“From Vee,” Mike muttered, and Sandra immediately saw his point. Several large groups of teenagers loitered at the edge of the news vans. They were geared up in gang colors and wore belligerent expressions as they stared at Sandra.

Lieutenant Hopkins and Mike exchanged looks. “Keep calm, keep cool,” Mike instructed Sandra under his breath. “First sign of trouble, we’ll hustle you right outta here. Got it?”

The clock hit two. Camera lights came on, and the mayor stepped out of his car, flanked by two bodyguards. Show time.

Mayor Peterson approached the podium first. He thanked the news crews and community leaders for attending the afternoon’s news conference. He spoke regretfully of the “tragic chain of events” that occurred last night and sent his heartfelt condolences to the families of Officer Brody and Charles Smith.

Then he stepped aside, and Sandra found herself in the middle of a circle of lights. For one moment, staring out at the sea of faces, some curious, some skeptical, some openly hostile, she lost her train of thought. She wondered if Toby Watkins was out there. She wondered if he was listening. She wondered if he was still scared, because she understood him better now. She was standing in the middle of this scrutiny, wearing a bullet-proof vest, and she was scared, too.

She said to the assembled crowd, “Alexandria’s police force has failed you.”

A small gasp rose up. The press, electrified by such a bold statement, started scribbling furiously. Mayor Peterson stared at Sandra as if she had lost her mind. Mike and Lieutenant Hopkins appeared to agree with him.

Sandra continued smoothly, “And you, the people of Alexandria, have failed us.”

Another shocked murmur. People shifted self-consciously on their feet. Sandra leaned forward and got into it.

“The mayor is right. Alexandria is in a state of crisis. We fear one another. In some cases, we hate one another. We look around and we see only our differences—white or black, rich or poor, cop or civilian. No one tries to look beyond that anymore.

“Ironically, I understand what happened. Economic differences began to divide the community, while standard policing procedure divided citizens from cops. There was a time when common wisdom held that police officers should be removed from the community in order to maintain their objectivity. But when officers only interact with citizens to make arrests, they come to see the entire community as criminals waiting to happen. When citizens only encounter officers when they come to take away their sons or deliver bad news about their daughters, they begin to see the entire police force as an unjust power to be avoided. So these practices bred distrust instead. That was our fault, an honest mistake, and now, we must move beyond that. Now, we must start looking at each other as neighbors again.

“Already, when I gaze out upon this crowd, I see similarities. I see community members who are worried about their town. I see kids who want to feel they have the same opportunities as other kids in other cities in other parts of America. I see lots of people, white, black, rich, poor, cop, civilian, who have been touched by letters written by a thirteen-year-old named Vee. How many of you out there have read those letters to the editor?”

A collective murmur arose. People nodded and seemed encouraged to find their neighbors nodding, too.

Sandra said quietly, “I’d like to tell you the rest of Vee’s story, what we’ve been able to learn. His story is our children’s story, and we must never let it happen again.”

Sandra glanced down at Mike’s background report. Then she slowly spun the tale of a thirteen-year-old boy growing up on the east side without a father, without a brother. A shy, quiet boy surrounded by gang activity. A boy growing up under so much pressure, his own mother collapsed beneath the strain. And she talked about his attempt to reach out and how, in the end, it sent events spiraling further from his control.

“We have reason to believe that Vee shot Officer Brody last night,” Sandra said finally, as the reporters continued to take notes. “We also have reason to believe he was acting under extraordinary circumstances. Speaking for the Alexandria police department, we are willing to take that into account. We are willing to do everything in our power to help Vee get the assistance he needs. Now it’s time to find out if Vee is willing to do his part by coming forward. It’s time to find out if you, out there, are willing to do your part by working with us to insure that other children don’t have to grow up like Vee. Are we willing to work together yet? Are we willing to be citizens of Alexandria, and not of the east or west side?”

Silence. People glanced uncertainly at one another. Still confusion and mistrust. Sandra leaned forward and continued almost fervently.

“Please, it’s not that hard. There are so many opportunities for us to join forces to improve our lives. Citizens can work with police officers in community policing. Police officers can work with citizens to clean up graffiti and reclaim the streets. We can come together on weekends and holidays, plant shrubs to brighten parks, sweep discarded needles off the sidewalks. We can make this city better and stronger. Help us try. We all desire peace.”

The reporters had questions. They drilled Sandra for more details about the shooting between Officer Brody and the teen. She told them, “No comment.” They demanded more information about this “community policing” stuff. She gave them as much as they could take. They asked her if she was being too optimistic. She said no. They asked her if the police were truly willing to cut a deal with a kid who had allegedly shot a police officer. Sandra ignored her officers and said yes.

It took until three-thirty to wrap things up. In the aftermath, Sandra discovered she was suddenly brutally tired. But then she looked around. The crowd had not immediately dispersed. Instead community members were lingering, seeming to look officers up and down. For a change, her men were not glaring back. They seemed to be regarding the citizens with fresh interest, as well.

People were considering her words. They were not convinced, but they were considering.

Beside her, Mike’s police radio crackled to life. He stepped aside and put the receiver to his ear.

Sandra took a seat next to Lieutenant Hopkins while she waited.

“Not bad,” he grunted.

“Thank you.”

“It’ll never work,” he assured her. “But it makes good PR.”

Sandra smiled wanly. Then she noticed Mike. Standing at the back of the speakers’ pavilion, he had gone pale. And suddenly, Sandra had a horrible chill.

Slowly she rose to her feet. Slowly she crossed to him.

“Vee?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Koontz.”

“What?”

His arm dropped to his side. His dark eyes were hollow and bleak. “Some officers found his car abandoned six blocks over. It was smashed up and rolled behind a Dumpster. They think it’s been there since last night. They think he was probably attacked by a group of rioters when he tried to head home. I shouldn’t have let him leave like that. I should’ve made him wait for me. Oh, God, Sandy, there’s blood all over the front seat.”

Chapter 13

V
ee stood in a side alley, stubbing his toe on the ground. He’d been running for so long, he didn’t know where he was. In gangland turf that was a dangerous thing.

Cops had poured in last night. Black brothers gathering. Vee had read the signs and gotten the hell out of there. Ain’t nothing good gonna happen when homeys strap on their colors. Later he heard windows breaking. He heard sirens and car alarms and store alarms as everything busted loose.

He kept on truckin’, his head ducked low. Even if he had BGF money in his pocket and two hand guns beneath his shirt, he still be a homey without a hood. No telling what some gang do to him.

Now he was alone and unsure. He be a straight shooter now. He kept waiting to feel different. He didn’t.

Mostly his stomach hurt. He wanted to go home.

He guessed he wouldn’t be doing that no more. Man like him had to take care of himself. He had money. He could sell a gun for good dough. Live like a king in some junked-out building. No one to answer to but him.

He slouched against the alley wall. He closed his eyes, and he saw his mama in his mind. His big, strong mama, yelling at him to grow up straight.

Vee pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes to make the tears go away. Then he heard a noise.

Big kids approaching. Five or six. They be decked out in thick down vests and low-slung jeans. Vee looked around. Had to find some place to hide. Bigger, older homeys be the most dangerous kind. They’d beat the crap out of a small brother like him just for lookin’.

Then Vee noticed something else. Kids be walkin’ funny, like they pullin’ weight. And they had a half-mad, scary-funny gleam in their eyes. They be laughing and pushing each other around. They be looking mean.

Vee heard a moan. He finally understood. The homeboys had themselves a toy.

White guy. Punked-up good. Bangers be dragging him along by the collar of his shirt. Dude’s face was covered in blood. He had that green look people got when punched too much in the stomach. Red froth foamed at his mouth.

Now the brothers be discussin’ the best way to kill their cop. They’d been playin’ all night and it had gotten old. Time to send a message, the lead banger said.

They came upon Vee. Gave him the stare. He faded into the background, like the little black kid he be, and finally they trudged on, still talking about what to do with their catch.

Cop woke up. Eyes fluttered opened as the brothers dragged him by.

Vee stared at the beaten-up white man and it was too late to turn away. He saw bitterness. He saw rage. He saw a need to fight. Bound and beaten, the man was still pre pared to war. He be the kind that go down hard. Like Vee’s brother, before he became a white coffin with eighteen bullet holes in his back.

Vee looked at the older kids. He thought of his mama, his sister. He thought of how much they’d cry when they knew what he’d done last night…what he would probably still do. Ain’t no going back. His brother had taught him that, too. Ain’t no going back.

Least not until ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Vee stepped back out of the shadows. He said, “Yo. I be Vee.”

The other kids stopped. The other kids turned and stared. Leader finally said, “Righteous.”

Vee could come over to play.

Three hours later, Mike and Sandra were back at the police station. Mike was pacing the debriefing room with a raw, savage energy that had everyone on edge, especially Sandra. They had gone straight to Koontz’s car after receiving the call. CSU was already there, piecing through the wreckage and diligently documenting the scene.

Nothing had been good enough for Mike. He wanted to know exactly when the car had been attacked and exactly when Koontz had been kidnapped. Why hadn’t he radioed for assistance? How many kids would it take to roll a car behind a Dumpster? Couldn’t they identify any tracks leading away from the wreckage?