"Detective O'Ryan?"

  "It's just Officer…whatever. Who is this?"

  "Sergeant Limos from Stygian Falls Township. I have Vic Ajax in my station and he needs a ride home."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Let me put it this way. You either come get his ass or I'm going to arraign him at eight AM."

  Frank rapped his knuckles on the Police Department's front door and waited. A tired-looking officer let him in and extended his hand. "Hi Frank. Sergeant Limos. Sorry about this."

  "What the hell happened?"

  Limos shook his head and said, "Your partner is in a real bind. He went to his ex-wife's house all liquored up, demanding to see his kids. His car is sideswiped to shit."

  "How many cars did he hit?"

  "No clue. We don't even know where that occurred. Hopefully they were out of town, if you catch my drift," Limos said. "I won't be offering any information on that aspect."

  "Are you going to charge him?"

  "Not unless I have to. The ex was pretty hot-to-trot when I left, but I'm hoping she cools down by tomorrow morning. One thing, though. He's not allowed back there, or I am going to lock him up. No seeing the kids, no going into the neighborhood, none of it until further notice. Make sure he understands that."

  "Jesus," Frank whispered. "What the hell happens now?"

  Limos clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Take him home and pray for the best. Hey, let me ask you something. How's the Chief holding up?"

  "Holding up over what?"

  Limos shook his head, "Has to be a terrible thing to lose one of your guys. All the time he's got on the job and nothing like that ever happened. Now, as he's getting ready to ride off into the sunset, tragedy strikes."

  "He seems to be doing just fine," Frank said.

  "Such a shame. I feel bad for the guy. All those years in police work with no problems, and then he has to deal with a tragedy like that. Let him know I was asking about him, huh?"

  "Heck's widow and kids are okay too, in case you were wondering," Frank added.

  "Sure, sure," Limos said. "Your partner's right this way."

  Frank followed Limos down the hall to the interview room and saw Vic sitting at the table, hunched forward. Frank opened the door and said, "Get your shit, let's go."

  Vic grabbed his coat and stood up, his face red and sullen. He shouldered past Frank down the hallway toward the front door. Frank unlocked his car and Vic got in and slammed the door behind him. Frank got into the car and started the engine. "Just don't say anything, all right?" Vic said. "I don't want to hear it."

  "Don't want to hear it?" Frank said.

  "That's right. I don't want to fucking hear it. I don't give a shit, so fuck off."

  Frank grabbed the steering wheel so hard he thought it might break. He gritted his teeth and yelled out, "You are a fucking idiot! You preach all this holier-than-thou bullshit about The Job and how great you are at it, and then you go and do something stupid enough to get fired and arrested. For what? Because your ex-wife is a cunt? Okay, she's a fucking cunt. The kids will grow up and see it for themselves someday, but now you aren't even allowed to see them anymore because you act like the dirtballs we deal with every day. You're supposed to be better than they are, Vic, not emulate them!"

  Vic didn't respond. He turned and looked out the window. "I don't care anymore, Frank. I just want it to end."

  "Good. Go end it then. What the fuck do I care?" Frank slowed the car down to stop at a red light and took a deep breath. "Listen, it's late and I'm upset. Let's just—"

  Vic grabbed the door's handle and popped it open. He was out of the car before Frank had time to shift into park. "Where are you going? It's the middle of the night and we're miles from your house." Vic was already off of the road, heading into the woods. Frank stood up from the driver's side and said, "Hey! Get back in the goddamn car, Vic! This isn't funny. My knee hurts. I'm exhausted. I will leave your ass here."

  Vic spun around and glared at Frank, his eyes red and streaming with tears. "I am sick of being used by everyone around me, Frank. I give everything I have to Danni, and she only ever wants more. It's never enough. I give everything I have to the Chief, and he only shines me on with promises that will never come true. The only time I feel alive is when I'm standing in blood and guts or talking to child molesters, Frank. Don't you see how fucked up that is? For one second, try and imagine how fucked up that is."

  "Maybe you need a different job."

  "Do you know why I became a cop? I was curious," Vic said. "I wanted to peek behind the curtain of evil, but what I saw can't be unseen, Frank. No matter how hard I try. All I had to hold onto was the kids, and without them, it's like the lights have all gone out."

  Frank balanced on the roof of the car, breathing sharply to try and fight through the pain, "Just get away from it then, Vic. Quit. Go find something that makes you happy. I'll help you look."

  "And do what? Stock shelves? Ring a register? The only thing I'm qualified to do is make a seventy-five year old feel good enough about raping a child that he confesses to it. My whole life is a sick joke, Frank, and I'm done. I'm just done."

  "You're not done," Frank said. He moved to close his door and barked in pain as his knee gave out. "Hang on, Vic," Frank gasped. He climbed on the asphalt to get to the front bumper, pressing himself up against the hot headlights. "Vic? Vic!" He worked his way across the hood, hand over hand, limping to the passenger side of the car. He caught a glimpse of Vic in the distance, running into the woods, going toward the darkness.

  13. There was a boatman standing on a dark shore, holding a lantern. The lantern's flame flickered in the wind as Frank approached. He walked across the grey shale and it crunched like bones under his feet. The boatman was hooded and long flowing robes covered his frame. He extended a hand toward him and Frank stopped walking.

  "What do you want?" Frank said. "Why am I here?"

  The boatman did not respond. Shale cracked and broke behind him and Frank turned to see a man approaching the boatman. "Hi, partner."

  Frank's mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. "Heck?" he finally whispered.

  "In the flesh," Joseph Hector said, smiling. "Well, not really. You get the idea."

  The boatman turned his hand toward Hector, and Hector snarled, "You already got my money, you son of a bitch. Get your hand out of my face."

  The boatman turned back to Frank and presented his open hand again. His lantern's light cast strange shadows on the shore as the black sea splashed against the sides of his boat. "Is that what he wants?" Frank said.

  Hector put his arm around Frank and said, "Not from you my friend. Go back that way."

  Frank looked back across the gray dunes. "There's nothing out there."

  "Just keep walking until you find something."

  Hector turned to leave and Frank grabbed him by the arm, "Don't go. I have so much to say to you. So much to ask."

  "I can't go with you, Frank. I have to stay here." Hector made a fist with his right hand and blew into the center of it, producing two small pieces of wax in his palm. He took Frank's hand and dropped them into it and said, "Put these in your ears and never take them out."

  Something was coming over the dunes toward him, crunching the shale as it walked. The winds rose, blowing dust into his eyes and bitter saltwater from the black sea into his mouth. He lifted his hands to block his face, trying to see who was coming, but all he could hear was the sound of something coming closer.

  Then he woke up.

  The sun was out as Frank pulled into the station's parking lot. Vic's car wasn't there. He parked and got out, feeling his heart beating harder with every step toward the door. Both the Chief and Staff Sergeant's cars were there. Is that normal? Aren't they normally in later than this?

  They came in early to initiate the firing of one cop and the indefinite suspension of his partner for not reporting it, he thought. That son of a bitch. If I survived getting shot just to lose my job over your bullshit I'll kill you. His heart pounded so fast now that he thought people would be able to see his shirt move.

  Frank punched his code into the door and went in. The hallways were empty. He headed for the Staff Sergeant's office. Empty. He went to the Chief's office. The door was shut.

  They're in there. No doubt about it. I might as well clear out my shit now and get it over with. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He turned toward the squad room and headed for the water cooler. Jim Iolaus was sitting at the computer terminal typing up a report. He looked up at Frank in surprise and said, "You all right?"

  "What is that supposed to mean?" Frank snapped.

  "I mean, are you all right. You look like shit."

  Frank wiped his forehead and nodded. "My leg hurts. That's all. What's going on around here? Anything? The bosses in? I checked their offices but the Chief's door's closed." He knew he was speaking rapidly but was too busy searching every inch of Iolaus for information. "Any clue what's up?"

  "How the hell should I know?" Iolaus shrugged. He turned back to the computer and started typing.

  Frank limped dramatically over to the coffee machine and poured himself a fresh cup. He was about to turn when he caught sight of something bald and enormous waddling toward him. Here it comes. The old, "See me in my office, Frank." He set his coffee cup down and put his hands on the counter top to keep them from shaking.

  The Staff Infection came up behind him and said, "Just the man I was looking for. What is the status of the Lamia case I assigned you yesterday?"

  Frank turned slightly and said, "It's already down. We arrested the old man last night and put him in jail."

  "Last night? What the hell took so long?" Erinnyes said, his usual sarcasm tinted with humor. He leaned over Frank's shoulder and said, "I'll take one."

  Frank snatched a cup from the stack and filled it so quickly that it spilled over the ledge and burned the tips of his fingers. He ignored it and finished pouring, then replaced the pot and headed for the stairs as quickly as he could.

  "You talking about Peter Lamia?" Iolaus called out. "The seventy-five year old you put in County?"

  Frank stopped at the hallway and said, "Yeah. Why?"

  "His wife posted bail for him before he was even through intake. He was home in forty-five minutes."

  Frank cursed and kept walking.

  The office door was closed and it was dark inside. Frank pulled out his phone and dialed Vic's number, letting it ring until it went to voicemail.

  He ended the call and punched in a text message: Call me. Asap.

  He set the phone down on his desk and slumped down in his chair, and jumped up again when the phone rang. "Vic!"

  There was a snicker on the other end. "Not quite, Frankie. It's Dez. We grabbed Paris coming back to the house. I need you and Vic to get down here right away for when we interrogate him."

  Frank swallowed. "Vic sicked out today. Do you want me to still come down?"

  "Typical. Yeah, hurry up. You don't want to miss this."

  Frank tried to call Vic again and it rang until voicemail. He left another message telling Vic about the interrogation. Telling him to pick up. Telling him to call. He kept redialing as he went up the stairs to the hallway, and again as he walked toward the keybox. He opened the keybox and saw that the only set of keys left was for the marked unit Erinnyes had assigned him. Frank hung up the phone and took them.

  Frank parked his patrol car on the street near the shipping dock, ignoring the strange looks of truckers as they drove past. He hurried toward the unmarked door on the brick building and pounded on it, remembering to have his badge ready. Dez Dolos opened the door and pushed him back toward the street. "Did you come alone?"

  "Yeah."

  Dez looked up and down the street, checking for people. He handed Frank a balled up ski mask and told him to put it on when they went inside. "Under no circumstances are you to use anyone's name, agency, or other identifying information. Do you understand?"

  Frank looked down at the mask and said, "Are you being serious right now, or is this some sort of joke, because I'm seriously not in the mood."

  Dez leveled his eyes at Frank and said, "Vic told me you were a cop."

  "I am a cop. Things have just been a little weird lately, that's all." Frank went past the door and pulled the mask over his face as Dez did the same. The warehouse past the first door was lit by a single floor lamp that was plugged into the wall near a folding chair. A black man sat in the chair, hands cuffed behind his back, wearing only his underwear. Sweat dripped from his dark skin so profusely that a puddle was forming under his seat on the concrete floor. Frank adjusted his mask and the man turned to look at him with wide eyes that showed white all the way around the irises. Paris Deimos, Frank thought.

  Men from Dez's team stood around Paris in a circle, all of them masked.

  Dez walked in front of Paris and leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees so that he was looking directly in Paris's face. "So where were we?"

  "We was at fuck you, fuck these other muh fukkin' pigs, fuck yo mamas, fuck yo grandmamas, fuck yo kids, fuck yo skank-ass, scandalous ass, dick-sucking babymama, and fuck whoever the fuck it is you think I kidnapped because I ain't done shit."

  "Right," Dez said. He stood up and sighed, "Well, we tried everything else. Now that we're all here, I guess we should just get down to it."

  "Yeah, right," Paris sneered. "You bitches don't scare me. I ain't never scared, faggots."

  "Okay," Dez said. He looked over at the closed door of their meeting room. "You ready in there?"

  Something pounded on the door in response. Hard.

  Paris turned toward the sound and laughed sharply, "What? You think I never took a beating before? I've been getting my ass kicked by the police my whole life. This ain't shit. You hear me? You ain't shit in there, whoever the fuck you are."

  "I'd like to welcome you to a very special club, Mr. Deimos," Dez said. "Since the seventies, police have relied on one singular entity to gain information from subjects when all else failed. Not many people have ever seen him, but those that do never forget it. And I can assure you that neither will you."

  Paris had gone silent and was now watching the door.

  "Allow me to introduce you to a friend of mine," Dez said. He turned toward the door as it slowly opened to reveal a six-foot man in a dirty, blood-stained bunny costume. He came out of the office carrying an orange nightstick, heading directly for Paris. "This is the Truth Rabbit."

  Paris Deimos slumped forward against his seat and spat blood between his knees. He worked something inside his mouth with his tongue and grunted, then spat a piece of broken tooth at the Truth Rabbit. "I don't know where they at!" he screamed. His eyes were swollen shut and his black skin was covered in bloody welts flecked with pieces of orange paint.

  The rabbit turned toward Dez. The Special Agent nodded and pointed at two of the other men standing near Paris's chair. They grabbed the prisoner under the armpits and threw him face first onto the floor. His bare chest slapped against the concrete and he moaned and cursed at them as they pinned him to the floor.

  The Truth Rabbit walked behind them and kicked Paris's legs apart with his large fuzzy bunny feet. Two more men came forward and grabbed Paris's ankles, pulling his legs apart and holding them.

  Dez walked around to Paris's face and bent down. "What's the address of the house where you're keeping them?"

  "Fuck you!" Paris shrieked.

  Dez flicked his head up at the Truth Rabbit and Paris started screaming as the furry bunny fingers wrapped around the waistband of his underwear and pulled it off. "You're going to get a little practice for the Joint, Mr. Deimos."

  Paris cried out in terror as the bunny put the nightstick's tip between his buttcheeks, sliding it forward. "All right! All right! Stop. I'll tell you."

  The Truth Rabbit withdrew his stick, but held it at the ready.

  "They at my baby mama's sister house in Camden, on Tartaros Street," he whimpered. "The little girl is with my baby mama an' that junkie bitch wife of Billy's is probably shooting up in the bathroom."

  "Where's Billy?"

  "Chained up to the water heater in the basement."

  "How bad is he?"

  Paris closed both of his eyes and pressed his forehead against the floor. "I cut off two of his fingers because he wouldn't tell me who took my shit. He kept saying some bullshit like the police took it but didn't arrest him."

  "Anything else?"

  "No," Paris said quickly. "Not really."

  "Not really?"

  "Nothing even as bad as what y'all did to me today. Except he's gonna smell like piss when you go to get him, so take a bucket of hot water with you."

  Dez chuckled under his mask and said, "Why, pray tell, is he going to smell like piss?"

  Paris looked up at him and said, "Because…every morning I go down there and piss on him."

  Everyone else left after two cops smuggled a blindfolded Paris outside and dumped him in the trunk of a car. Frank listened to him pound against the inside of the trunk as they drove off, calling them all bitches, swearing to take revenge. The sun was setting, casting the trash and bottles littering the street in a soft orange hue. A man walked up beside him. "How in the hell are you going to arrest him now after all of that?" Frank said.

  "We're not," Dez said. "Not yet anyway. They'll dump him a few blocks away from his house after we pick up the Helens. I've got guys on their way over to Camden now acting on an 'anonymous' tip. After that, Billy can give us Paris and we'll get a warrant for his arrest. Pretty freaking cool, huh?"

  "Right," Frank mumbled. "Pretty cool."

  Dez clapped him on the shoulder, "You did your old man proud today. Ask him what he ever did with the old suit. We've got kind of a pool going, and I have twenty bucks that says it's still in his basement." He waited for Frank to respond, but when he didn't, Dez smiled at him and headed toward the door. "I know. It takes a minute for it to all sink in. Give me a call tomorrow or something. You're gonna fit in here real well, Frankie."

 

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