Superbia 2 (9 page)

Frank laughed and climbed up into the driver’s seat.  “You shouldn’t kid around like that.  Somebody might take you serious and cause all sorts of problems.”

She didn’t answer. 

Frank turned the van on and started to drive. 

“Maybe he just needs more time to work it out.  I know he’s up to something,” Marcus said.  “Could he be letting you get back on your feet before he brings you into it?”

“So I can sit around reading policies and not responding to calls?  I think he has no clue what to do.  This department needs a full overhaul by the AG’s office, or some kind of civilian oversight board.  If people only knew what goes on there, they’d be up in arms.”

“Not really.”

“What do you mean, not really?”

“I deal with police dep
artments all over the East Coast, and as hard as it is to believe, your little corner of the world is no different than any other.  Some are worse, some are better, but the fine median line is that all of you operate in a state of complete fuckery.”

Aprille laughed and said, “And here I am out to dinner with a defense attorney.  We’re all going to hell in a hand basket.”

“A black defense attorney, no less.”

“You’re black?  Shit. 
Now
you tell me.”

Marcus snapped his fingers, “I normally hold off on that one until the second date.  I just felt this connection with you, so I let my guard down.  Guess I let the cat out of the bag.”

Aprille shrugged, “Well, if this all goes well, I can always convert.”

“Get you some afro puffs
, and you could pull it off, I think.”

Aprille leaned forward, “Do you go to a black church?  I’ve always wanted to go to one.”

“What’s a black church?  You mean with the gospel singers and James Brown doing splits up on the pulpit?”

“Yes!  That is exactly what I mean!”

“Sorry.  Never went to church.  My parents were both atheists.”

“I thought all you people were big into church.”

“Sorry.”

“What the fuck, Marcus?  Next thing you’ll be telling me that
other
thing about black guys isn’t true.  I can only take so much disappointment in one night.”

Marcus took a sip of his beer and said, “That one’s true.”

***

In the darkness, he followed the lantern’s light. 

The rolling mist swirled around the gas lamps hanging over the wide, empty street.  Frank looked at the blue billboard overhead that read
Piedmont Cigarettes: The Virginia cigarette
.  He kept walking, following the man with the lantern past a closed
Gulf Refining Co. and Supreme Auto Oil
building made of red brick and ornate wooden windows. 

Headlights broke through the fog, coming directly at them.  Frank hurried to the left to get out of the way, just as the driver of the truck reached over and squeezed the rubber horn mounted to his driver’s side door.  The front end of the truck was like a Model-T, but the back was a ridiculously long
flat bed with sidewalls that read
Amoroso’s Baking Company Hearth Baked Bread and Rolls. 
The truck stopped in front of a house and the driver ran around the back to grab a loaf of bread that he threw into a small metal box outside of the front door. 

“What the fuck…” Frank whispered. 

He looked up at the street sign.  Broad Street and W. Hunting Park Avenue.  There were no painted lines in the road.  No barriers.  Just a wide, flat surface.  Frank watched a milk truck drive past with the driver actually dressed in a white shirt, white pants, and white hat. 

The lantern was almost a full block ahead of him.  Frank ran, trying to catch up.  The man’s
dark clothing made him nearly impossible to see until the headlights from the milk truck revealed his long woolen uniform coat and hat.  The truck turned suddenly, heading right for him. 

Frank screamed out for the cop to move, but there was a sickening crunch and the jolt of metal crashing and tires screeching.  The lantern flew into the air, spinning around and around before it shattered on the ground.  The milk truck driver got out of the truck, moaning, “Oh God, oh God, no!  Why the hell weren’t you looking?”

“Hey!” Frank shouted.  “Hey!”

The milk truck driver cried out at Frank’s approach and dove back into his truck, throwing
it into gear and racing away.  “Stop, you son of a bitch!” Frank hollered. 

“Help me.”

The voice was a whisper. 

“Help me.”

It was nothing but mist and shadow everywhere he looked.  “Where the hell are you?”

“Frank.  Help me.”

“Vic!” Frank screamed.  “Vic!  Vic!  Vic!”

“Hey!” Dawn said, shoving him on the shoulder. 

Frank jerked awake, clutching the covers around his chest.  “Christ almighty,” he gasped. 

“You were tossing around like crazy,” Dawn said.  “You’re covered in sweat.  I’m soaked over here.”

“Fuck.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.  Are you all right?”

Frank took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know.  I think I’m cracking up.”

Dawn ran her fingers through his hair and said, “It was just a bad dream, honey.”

“Okay.”

“That didn’t sound very convincing.  Tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s too stupid to say.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before?”

Frank laughed lightly.  “I think Vic’s haunting me from the grave because he wants me to do something, but I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it something bad?”

“That depends.”

Dawn sighed and said, “You have a family to think about, Frank.  You can’t go doing something stupid just because you feel guilty.  It was a terrible accident that killed Vic, but there was nothing you could have done.  Look at how good you’ve been to his children since he passed.  I’m sure, if Vic was here right now, he’d tell you how much he loves you
and that he’s doing just fine.”

Frank nodded and said, “Okay, hon.  Thanks.”  He rolled over and thought,
You don’t know that mother fucker like I do.

***

Frank handed Reynaldo the keys to the patrol car and said, “You drive.”  He threw his duty bag into the trunk and pointed at the hat on top of Rey’s head, “Give me that.”  Frank tossed the hat in the trunk and slammed it shut.  He got into the passenger seat and said, “Okay.  Now we’re ready.”

“Officer Iolaus said I need to have my hat on every time I get out of the police car.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not in uniform if I am not wearing it, he said.”

“Four years ago a cop in Maryland was killed walking up to a house for a routine alarm call.  He never saw the person who shot him because he was busy putting on his hat.  When you work with me, the hat stays in the trunk.  If we’re directing traffic or something, I’ll tell you to put it on.”

“Ok.”

“How many arrests have you made so far?”

“None, sir.”

“Tickets?”

“Two
hundred.”

Frank looked at him and waited, “Uh huh.  Seriously, how many?”

“Two hundred and five, sir.”

“What the hell were they for?”

“Parking violations.  Officer Iolaus sent me out last week with a ticket book and told me to write as many as I could find.  I came back in two hours and needed another book.  He sent me out four more times.”

Frank squeezed the bridge of his nose and shook his head.  “Do you know why he sent you out there?”

“Because we enforce the parking?”

“Because we keep the entire fine from parking tickets.  It’s a huge revenue booster for the Township.  He’s trying to impress the supervisors while you’re out there walking all over hell and creation.”

“It made people very, very angry too.  They came out screaming at me.”

“Look, any idiot can write a traffic ticket.  Iolaus is the kind of guy to write somebody for a red light violation on Christmas morning.  There is a time and place for traffic enforcement, as long as it’s done with a purpose.  You want to write people for speeding in a school zone?  Fine.  Going around school buses?  Good.  Running stop signs in residential areas where families walk?  Perfect.  You want to sit on the highway and
trap people doing twenty miles over the limit, you’re working with the wrong guy, and we will not get along very well.  Understand?”

“I understand
, Officer O’Ryan.”

“What’s your name?”

“Reynaldo.”

“Mine’
s Frank.  And I need coffee.”

***

Reynaldo pulled a stack of manila envelopes for the Township Supervisors from his patrol bag and said, “I have to deliver these before it gets to be too late.”

Frank took the stack and thumbed through them.  “I’d rather do it in the middle of the night so we don’t have to see any of these people.”

“Chief Erinnyes told me that the Supervisors are complaining about someone tossing the envelopes on their front lawn like newspapers and he wants them hand-delivered.”

Frank’s smile widened, “Who on earth would do such a thing?”

“So now I have to write up an incident report saying what time I take each envelope to each person.”

Frank handed him the first one and said, “A rewarding career of non-stop action and intrigue.  That’s what it said on the recruiting poster, yeah?”

“Recruiting poster?”

“Just drive, Reynaldo.”

After an hour, the deliveries were almost done.  Reynaldo had assembled a stack of incident reports with the times of each delivery and the names of the person he’d made the delivery to.  Frank picked up the last envelope and read the name
William Osric.
 

“Mr. Osric is going to
have to wait until the morning,” Reynaldo said. 

“Why?”

“He likes to go
out
in the evening.”

“Out?”

“To the bar.”

“What bar?”

Reynaldo shrugged, “I don’t know.  Officer Iolaus said that it was best to stay away from his house after the bars close, though.”

Frank tapped the envelope against his chin and said, “I’ve got a better idea.”

***

Reynaldo wiped his eyes and tried to stifle a yawn.  The streets were empty and they’d spent the past hour sitting in an alleyway, watching the VFW’s parking lot.  Finally, the doors opened and the last customers came outside.  Frank sat up in his seat and said, “That
’s the one, the Cadillac.  Let it get out of the lot before you turn the car on.”

“Why don’t we just give Mr. Osric the envelope in the morning?” Reynaldo said nervously.

The Caddy backed out onto the street and paused, its taillights illuminating the surrounding brick buildings.  It pulled forward slowly, navigating the turn wide, taking too long to get righted.
  “Okay, turn the car on,” Frank said.  “Once he gets out of our sight, catch up to him.” 

“I really don’t think this is a good idea, Frank.”

“Let’s go,” Frank said sharply.  “He’s got a few miles to go before he gets home.”  They saw the Caddy speeding ahead, and Frank said, “Match his speed for the next quarter-mile.”   

Reynaldo looked down at the speedometer.  “Sixty-five.”

“Perfect.”

The Caddy braked at a red light briefly, just long enough to bring the car to a complete stop, then kept going through the intersection. “That’s a keeper,” Frank said.  “Hit your lights.”

Reynaldo felt his pulse quicken, making the vein on the side of his neck throb.  He flicked the lights and gripped the wheel with both hands, trying to keep them from shaking.  The car in front of them did not stop. 

Fran
k pushed the air horn button three times, then turned the siren on.  The Caddy stopped suddenly, making Reynaldo slam on his brakes.  Frank jumped out of the car and hurried toward the driver’s side, pausing long enough to push down on the trunk of the car.  He shined his flashlight into the car and said, “Roll down your window, sir.”

The operator squinted in the flashlight and said, “Who is this?”

“License and registration.”

“Is that you, Frank?”

Frank nodded and said, “Yes it is, Mr. Osric.  Can I see your license and registration, please?”

“Listen, I’m right down the street from my house.  Let me just park my car here and you guys can give me a lift the rest of the way, okay?”

“License and registration, sir.”

Osric chuckled and shook his head, “
I’m not trying to be difficult.  Really, I’m not.”

Frank stuck the flashlight in his face and said, “Please give me your information, sir.”