and people die. People die, and we move on to the next dangerous thing.
The sooner that lesson sinks in, the better chance we have of surviving.
― Veronica Roth, Divergent
Roz
The neighbours are asleep in their beds, oblivious to the drama beyond their walls. They lock their doors, thinking they’re safe behind fragile windows. But teenage gangs don’t respect life.
Crips carry Glock 17’s—eighteen rounds that go off far too easily after the first shot.
One stray burst and there’s a massacre.
That’s why Roz and I are out here to make sure the neighbourhood stays safely sleeping—that’s what detectives do, and if we fail, we both end up in the Big Sleep
I’m figuring on Lex and one or two others. One as sentry, one as backup. Lex as shooter. If I’m wrong, someone’s gonna die.
I hear Maize’s soft whine from the front door. I touch Roz’s arm and we move out and melt into the shadows—I take the front and she takes the back.
Steve, down the street, is a night shift worker at Dawe’s Glass. I hear him come out of his house, crank up his old Honda, and back out of his drive.
The sounds seem amplified in the stillness. I see his profile glowing in the dashboard lights as he drives past me and turns at the bottom of the street.
I spot my first Crip—it’s Diego. Diego’s a weasel who hangs around schoolyards—no way he’s carrying, so he’s gotta be sentry. I take him easily—my gun to the base of his skull, cocking it to let him hear.
“No noise—move!”
I push him, muzzle to the nape of his neck, and guide him back to the car. Once there, I cuff him, throw him in the back, and duct tape his mouth shut.
I make my way back to the house.
A shadow glides from Steve’s house toward mine. From the outline, the guy’s short and skinny—probably, ‘Cuzz’—one of Jose’s most trusted guards.
I stay in the shadows watching the figure crouch near a bush and then swing effortlessly over my neighbour’s privacy fence. Roz is in back waiting. An icy minnow of fear wriggles up my spine—tingles at the back of my skull and I fight the urge to go back and protect her.
I can’t see Lex.
Minutes pass—an eternity—too long for a quick kill. I move along the dark perimeter and scale the fence, dropping soundlessly to the grass on the other side.
The yard is pitch black, save for a distant orange window square. I glance up at the sky and can barely discern a gray patch of moonlight swallowed up by dark clouds. I move forward stealthily.
Just as I round the corner of the porch, a flashlight snaps on and I hear Roz command. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”
I see Diego on the porch, his hands in the air, blinking and blinded by the light. I’m about to move out and join her when I notice a movement behind her back.
The moon breaks through the clouds and sails serene in a starry rift. Lex is standing, his arm extended, gun pointed at Roz’s back. I draw and fire in one motion and watch him topple in a heap.
For the second time tonight, I come home, sit on the edge of my bed, peel off my socks and come apart.
I’m angry because that’s how I push away feelings— and it’s worse than normal tonight because I shot another boy.
He was facing Roz, gun pointed—prepared to take a shot. I fired and now he’s dead.
Maize, my collie, senses my mood. She comes over and leans her body against my legs. I wonder if the kid ever had anyone who cared about him like I care about Roz. I figure he didn’t.
I lie back and stare up at the ceiling. There’s no sadness this time—just relief. I shiver picturing that Glock aimed at the back of Roz’s head. I turn over onto my side and drape my arm over her sleeping form.
“You’re one tough broad,” I whisper.
She murmurs and I hold her tight.
Bravo, bravo, what an end! I rescue all that last part. I loved it. It's as if by repeating his actions with the dog, you are confronting us with an everyday life, with a custom, only in this case it has been different: in one day he has killed two boys. But in this last murder he is relieved to imagine that the boy could have killed his companion. In one way or another he justifies the action and now the death of the boy is less of a burden, it is a relief. A hug for you, @johnjgeddes.
Thanks, Nancy. I appreciate your comment and your support.
This left me shocked. Detective work is not easy, it's a risky job. Once again the detective feels remorse for what has happened, has killed another boy, although surely it was not what he wanted was forced in the midst of fear and fear of losing Roz. On this occasion, duty accomplished minimizes any guilt. Good end, @johnjgeddes.