by Thierry La Noque

CHAPTER 5

Ray spotted them as he walked across the parking lot fishing his car keys out of his coat pocket with one hand, the other holding a white plastic bag weighted with half a dozen cans of specialty cat food from Co-Op Groceries. They might as well have been wearing neon signs that said police, the bulk of the Kevlar under their dress shirts was just so obvious. There were two of them. They walked briskly toward him, the young one with a hand close to his right hip and the bulge under his sport jacket. The older, dark complexioned cop, wide in the shoulders to begin with and a demeanor that left no doubt of his intent, was attired in a jacket that matched his pants, a cut long out of style, and like the comet Kohoutek, as Cissy liked to say, not due back in their lifetime.

Ray addressed the young cop as he circled behind. “What’s the deal?”

“Raymond Phillips? You Raymond Phillips?”  Now it was the dark cop talking. “Raymond, I’m Detective Sergeant Kovacs, Santa Rosa PD, and this is Detective Carson, County Sheriff. We’re with the Major Crimes Task Force.”

Ray hated being called Raymond. He was only referred to with that kind of formality when he was in trouble, like “go stand at the front of the class room with your nose to the chalk board, Raymond,” and listen while Sister Margaret Anne tells the entire class behind your back as if you weren’t even there, “Raymond is an example of how not to behave.”  It had scarred him.

“I gave at the office.”  He fit the key into the door of his Civic.

“Ray, you just flunked the attitude test.”  It was the young cop. He crowded Ray’s back. Ray held his ground. He knew the tactic.

“Raymond, we’d appreciate your cooperation.”  The detective sergeant’s eyes darted in assessment, making eye contact. “You might have information that would greatly help us in our investigation.” He spoke with a trace of an unfamiliar accent.

The young detective was breathing down his neck and Ray turned to catch the leering sadistic grin. It was a familiar face, topped by a blond crewcut and bracketed by pink ears. The blue eyes were cruel and the nostrils of the sharp narrow nose flared with a kind of sensual pleasure.

He felt the displacement of air and the force of the hand on the back of his head as his forehead was smashed against the edge of the Civic’s roof.

“You know what, Sarg, I know this fucking guy. Ray Philips, yeah, he was in the class ahead of me at the academy. Isn’t that right, Ray?”

Ray said nothing and turned his attention back to the dark detective. Now he remembered, Jack Carson’s kid, Junior, from a long line of cops and pricks.

“Raymond, we were hoping you could help us locate a friend of yours, Colin Knox.” The dark cop’s eyes focused on his reaction.

Ray shrugged. “Sorry, can’t help you there.” The young cop was close enough to climb into his back pocket and he caught a whiff of the sour curdled breath which reminded him that he had not eaten in almost twelve hours. His stomach gurgled. He took a step backward to get more personal space. He addressed the sergeant. “Get this fucking clown off my back. You got cause, arrest me. Otherwise, I got business to take care of.”  His bluff was accompanied by the sudden urge to take a crap.

The corners of Kovacs’s eyes drooped in disappointment. A wry smile formed on the thick lips under the sliver of dark moustache. “Raymond, if you attended Police Academy then you must realize that we are only doing our job. Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated.”

“Ok, now it’s all coming back to me. He got booted for putting Hoffmeyer down on the mat.”

Kovacs tried to repress a grin. “Lieutenant Hoffmeyer? Hulk Hoffmeyer? The head of the County Drug Interdiction Task Force?”

“Yeah, when he was still a sergeant, Hoffmeyer taught the combat module at the Academy. This wannabe Bruce Lee caught him with some off the wall kung fu move. Broke Hoffmeyer’s arm or wrist or something. How about it, Ray? I heard you were on the way out anyway. Blew the psych evaluation and thought you’d get your last dig in, isn’t that right?”

Ray kept quiet. Hoffmeyer was a fucking sadist who took great pleasure in beating up on the cadets, especially the women. He was of the opinion that the force was no place for pussies or faggots. He got what he deserved as far as Ray was concerned. And he hadn’t failed his psychological evaluation.

“Assault on a police officer, Raymond, that’s a pretty serious charge.”  Kovacs cloaked his face in an expressionless veneer. “Maybe I should assume from what Detective Carson is telling me that you are not, how should we say, police friendly? A problem with authority, perhaps?”

Now they were just fucking with him. He addressed Kovacs. “Hey, get this straight. I just came here to get some cat food for my girlfriend’s cat. I had a late night, not a lot of sleep, and I haven’t had breakfast yet. So maybe I’m not exactly mister personality. What of it? No, I don’t know where Colin Knox is. We’re not exactly running buddies.”

“But of course, Raymond,” Kovacs gave a weary smile. “Unfortunately we have conflicting information. I’m certain we can straighten it all out once we go over the details on Sonoma Ave.”

“Am I under arrest?”  He heard the metallic click of cuffs in Carson’s hands.”

“Let’s not dwell on technicalities, shall we, Raymond. We would like to ask you a few more questions in a less distracting atmosphere.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the charge?”  He could sense the razor edge of tension. Carson’s breathing had accelerated. In an ordinary situation he could probably have taken both of them down. But it wasn’t an ordinary situation.

“If you would like to be charged, fine. How about domestic violence?”  Now the dark cop’s looks turned sinister.

“Domestic violence? What the fuck you talking about?”

“Raymond, you have the welt of a handprint on your cheek and a serious scratch on your chin. Have a fight with your girlfriend? I don’t imagine she got the better of it with a bruiser like you. Martial artist?”

Fucking Sherlock Holmes. “This is bullshit!” Ray saw that he’d lost the battle. They were going to take him in no matter what. “Alright, lemme just put the cat food in the car.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them.”  Carson had moved back a step with his hand on his Glock.

Ray swung the door open and bent to drop the bag in the space behind the driver’s seat. “Hey, my back’s to you, Junior, isn’t that the County Sheriff’s preferred target?”

He felt the displacement of air and the force of the hand on the back of his head as his forehead was smashed against the edge of the Civic’s roof.

“Jack, Jack, enough, enough.” Kovacs stepped between them and turned Ray around, still a little dazed, to examine the damage. “Ok, the skin didn’t break but you’re going have a nice goose egg.”  He produced his own set of cuffs and put them on Ray’s wrists. “This is for your own safety.”

“Hey, he was resisting arrest. I saw him reaching for something.”

“Not now, Jack, we’ll talk about it when we get to interrogation.”  He picked up the keys that had fallen from Ray’s hand. “You’ll want this locked up right?”  And turned the key in the door, then dropped them in Ray’s pocket and walked him to their sedan and settled him, carefully, in the back seat.

Ray looked out the window, the pain on his forehead throbbing like a flashing light, and noticed that a small crowd had gathered as they pulled away.

CHAPTER 6

Ray was hustled through a squad room unusually active for a Saturday morning. Not normal weekend shift staffing. Something big was going down. It didn’t take a rocket scientist. He was part of it the way he was eye glommed by the crew of detectives, shirt sleeves rolled up to their elbows, pausing in the chatter, phones to ears.

Kovacs opened the gray metal door with the small square of wire reinforced glass peep hole at eye level and steered him into the tiny room, sat him in the metal chair and cuffed him to the metal table, again casting a concerned eye on the welt rising from Ray’s forehead.

Carson had entered the room with him. “Give me your fucking cell phone.”

Ray glowered at him and didn’t move. “Get a search warrant.”

“The fucking cell, asshole.”

Kovacs intervened. “Surrender your cell phone, Raymond. You know as well as I do COMM Act allows law enforcement access to the data on your phone. Make it easy on yourself.”

Ray didn’t know any such thing but reached into his coat pocket then slid the flip phone across the table, his eyes boring large caliber bullet holes into Carson’s head.

“What the fuck is this?” Carson smirked picking up the phone and turning it over in his hand. “It’s a fucking paper weight.”  He laughed.

“Just dump it.” Kovacs ordered, “and get a printout.” Then turning to Ray. “Are you hungry, Raymond? Get you something to drink?”

Ray nodded. “Yeah to both.”

“Ok, let me see what I can come up with.”

The lock made a loud metallic click as it closed behind the detectives.

Ray dropped his head to his chest. He cleared the mucous built up in his throat, coughing “fuck!”  Spit on the floor where so many others had or swallow, the wide two-way mirror a reminder that someone was most likely watching. He raised his head and tilted it so that he was staring at the shadow of the light above the top of the door. Fucking Cissy just couldn’t let it be, had to drama queen freak. If she hadn’t he wouldn’t. He pictured himself wrapped in the bedcovers and sinking into weary sleep. He drifted, confused for a succession of moments, grasping to regain a grip on the thread. They wanted to know where Colin. Fucking Colin, handing out shit and ducking out when it hits the fan. It had to be a drug thing. That much for sure. But why? He hadn’t seen or talked to Colin in months and then only random run-ins. They moved in different circles. Especially since he’d moved in with Cissy. Why was last night different?

Ray raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Shit, Junior, what do you know, you’re a soccer mom, too.”

Kovacs backed through the door, a coffee cup and manila envelope in one hand and a pink pastry box with a soda balanced on top in the other. He set the box on the table in front of Ray. “Power rings.”  He indicated the two and a half deep fried cake donuts. “Nobody eats them, they’re too dry.” He set the soda can on the table. “Cola. Everybody drinks artificial or decaf. This is all they had left.” He set the large envelope on the table and sipped from a squat white porcelain diner cup that had ‘Commie Pinko Spy’ in red letters written on it. “Or you can have coffee, if you want. Fresh pot.”

Ray shook his head, popped the can and glugged it down. “Naw, this’ll do the trick,” pausing for a breath and broke a donut in half, tearing at it, bite by bite. He did the same with the other half.

“Now Raymond I’m going to inform you of your rights. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney, if. . . .”

Ray felt the subtle surge as the sugar kicked in. He focused on Kovacs. “I know the drill. What the fuck do you want from me? I don’t know where the fuck Colin Knox is! What you’re doing here is bullshit. It’s intimidation. Put your fucking cards on the table. What is all this about? The sooner we get it straightened out, the sooner I can go home and get some sleep and you can go out and do your multi-agency drug sweep, arrest a bunch of guys to deport who’ll be back in less than thirty days.”

“Whoa, whoa, this isn’t a drug thing!”  Kovacs grinned wide enough to split his face like a Halloween squash. “You think this is about drugs?”

“Yeah, what the fuck else would it be?”

Kovacs stared across the table, dark, intense. “Mandy Goll.”

“Mandy, what? Wait, Colin, Mandy?”  Ray didn’t like the implications. “What about Mandy, she in trouble?”

“You mean you don’t know?

“Know what? About Mandy? No!”

“It’s been on the news since six o’clock this morning.”

“I haven’t seen TV. I didn’t turn on the news. I had a disk in.” The brain thumper Colin had selected.

“They found her shortly after midnight.”

“Found her? I don’t like the sound of that.”

Kovacs slid a form across the table to him and placed a pen on it. “Sign your name at the bottom that says you’ve been advised of your rights.”  He returned Ray’s stare. “Then we can talk more.”

Carson leaned into the room, grinning wide. “Ernie, you’re gonna love this. Check it out.”

Kovacs grimaced. Getting up, he pointed at the table. “Sign,” he commanded. “I’ll be right back.”

Ray finished off the remaining donuts and washed them down with the last of the cola. The carbonation made him belch and he didn’t hold back, pulling it from deep gut. The effort reminded him of what he had felt in the parking lot, the need to take a dump. The urge compounded by the pressure from the internalized gas pushed on his lower intestine and made him crimp his sphincter. He let the gas pass.

Carson stepped in with a digital evidence camera in his hand. “Oh, man! What did you do in here? Shit your pants?”

Ray gave a wry gotcha grin. “You guys put laxative on those donuts you fed me. I didn’t think you were that desperate to have me spill my guts.”

The detective advanced with a camera. “Ok, move your head a little to the right so I can get a good shot of the handprint. And the scratch.”

Ray ignored him, his stomach rumbling.

“Turn your head to the right, asshole. Don’t make me contaminate the evidence.”

Ray complied, squeaking out another, now worried that the pressure might not be contained.

“Ok, one more and. . .oh jeez, is that you? Fuck! Something crawled up inside and died!”  Carson pulled open the door and spoke to someone in the hallway. “Send a uniform over here. I got a perp needs to make a head call.”

Ray’s ears perked. Perp? Hell, he hadn’t even been charged.

“Why does it take two uniforms to go down and pick up the lunch order?”  Carson flicked the switch on the wall by the door to engage the ventilation fan. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll do it myself.”

“Ok, stand up, shit bag.”  The detective removed the cuff and led Ray out. “First door down the hall on your left. And keep the fan on when you leave.”

Ray’s gut collapsed in on itself like a cheap plastic water bottle. He groaned, at the effort and the relief. He passed a hand over his face and stared down at the pants around his ankles. The sugar had helped, but it wasn’t going to last long. He could feel a big weary nod coming on. He was going to hit the wall, that was a given.

What he couldn’t figure was all that about Mandy. So Colin and Mandy had had another one of their knockdown drag-outs. Mandy was a major drama queen. And she liked to get physical. He’d seen her crazed and combative at a house party. Around the time he’d left the Academy. Certain that Colin got a kick out of it, their slapping wrestling battles, crying mixed with shrieks of, if not pain, pleasure. Did it get out of hand? Colin had blown it off. Scratches on his face undoubtedly from Mandy but that proved nothing other than she got her claws into him. Nothing more about it on the ride out to the marina. This had potential to be a little more serious than just drugs. Considering that Mandy was Hector Goll’s daughter, the Goll of Goll y Geeze Mexican Restaurant chain and ubiquitous food trucks. Colin was in deep shit. He flushed.

Ray grinned at Carson out in the hallway. “What’s for lunch?”

“How about a knuckle sandwich?”  He pushed open the door. “Get in there!”

Kovacs stood by the table frowning and watched Ray be seated.

Ray pulled his hand away from the cuff and growled at Carson. “You don’t need them. I’m not gonna make a run for it until after lunch.”

“It’s procedure, asshole. You wanna play the game, you gotta follow the rules. And so far you got a dozen red cards for attitude.”

Ray raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Shit, Junior, what do you know, you’re a soccer mom, too.”

“Alright, motherfucker, you’re. . . .”

Kovacs intervened. “Ok, Jack, enough of that. We can settle those scores after we put this case down.”  And then to Ray. “You didn’t sign.”

Ray shrugged. “I’m still thinking about it.”