Short Stories

'Actually, there are two victims. But we're not very likely to get that from either one.'

'They're afraid?'

'No, both got shot. During the robbery. One's dead and last we heard, the other wasn't going to make it either.'

The boy felt the air go out of his lungs. Not because of what Mendez said, though that certainly put a different inflection on things. But because he had suddenly realised what the running man had said before being put into the patrol car.

'He said, "You're dead." When he saw me. He said, "You're dead," didn't he?'

'Don't worry, it's bullshit. He was trying to intimidate you but he was too late. He's going to be in lock-up until you're an old man. He can't get to you.'

'What about his friends? Is he in a motorcycle gang or something?'

'Not hardly. He doesn't even have a bike. Why do you think he was running when you saw him?'

Mendez turned round and started the car.

'Let's go downtown now and see the detectives.'

He put it in drive and the car lurched forward. He reached over and punched his partner on the shoulder. 'We got it, McHugh. We got the arrest.'

McHugh didn't answer.

'What about my car?' the boy asked.

'What about it?' Mendez replied. 'It's in a safe place. Someone will take you back to it when you're finished with the detectives.'

' I need to call my dad.'

'We can do that at the station. First thing.'

Fifteen minutes later the boy was sitting at a desk in the detective bureau. Mendez handed him the phone and told him to dial nine first to get an outside line. Mendez said the boy could tell his father to come to the station if he wanted.

The boy dialed his home number but after ten rings the old man didn't pick up. He hung up. He thought it was strange that there was no answer. His father had not said anything about going out. If he had gone out for cigarettes or beer it seemed as though he would have done so earlier. The boy dialed the number a second time but once again got no answer. He hung up the phone.

'Pop's not there, huh?' Mendez said.

'No answer.'

'Okay, well, the lead detective on this case wants to talk to you so we're going to move you into one of the interview rooms and then he'll be in to see you as soon as he's free. We've got to get our paperwork done and then get back out on the street.'

He followed Mendez and McHugh to a small room with a table and two chairs. There was also a mirrored window that the boy figured led to a viewing room. He'd seen it on Kojak before.

They left him there and an hour drifted slowly by while the boy thought about what the running man had said before they shoved him into the patrol car. Then the door opened and a man wearing a suit stepped in. He had fiery red hair and a grim smile. He said his name was Sonntag and offered his hand. The boy said his own name as they shook and the detective, for just a moment, stopped shaking then started again. He then pulled out the chair and sat across from the boy.

'Where do you live, kid?'

He gave his address and watched the detectives face turn grimmer.

'What? What's wrong?'

'I need to ask some questions first. Who lives there with you? Your mom and dad?'

'Just my dad.'

'Where's your mom?'

'I don't know. She's been gone a long time. What does this have to do with anything? I saw a guy running. What does it matter where my mother is?'

'It doesn't. I'm just asking questions. Tell me about the man you saw running.'

The boy repeated the story he had told the first two cops. He added no new details, believing the less said with Sonntag the better. The detective asked no questions until the story was finished.

'And you are sure the man they took into custody was the man you saw running?'

'I don't know. I guess so.'

'You guess so?'

'Well, so far, I haven't gotten to look at him, except from the car.'

'We'll take care of that in a minute. Now you said you saw this running man coming from the direction of the drawbridge, right?'

'Yes.'

'Did you see him on the bridge?'

The boy didn't know what to do. The one lie he had told had cascaded. Now he had to keep lying to stay clear. He wished he could talk to his father.

'You either saw him on the bridge or you didn't,' Sonntag said.

'I didn't. Can I use the phone again? I want to call my father.'

Sonntag stared at him a moment before speaking. 'Not yet. Let's get the story down first. So you didn't see him on the bridge but you're pretty sure he was coming from that direction.'

'Yes.'

'We're having trouble locating the weapon, Is it possible that he threw it into the river when he was coming over the bridge?'

'Yeah, I guess so. It's possible.'

'Did you see him do that?'

'No, I told you, I didn't see him on the bridge.'

The boy knew that Sonntag was trying to trick him, or get him to agree to seeing something he didn't see. The boy sat frozen. He knew that now was the time to tell. Tell about the gun and try to explain it. But he couldn't.

'I want to talk to my father.'

Sonntag nodded like he understood and would arrange for the request right away. But that's not what he said when he opened his mouth. 'Your father's name is Edison Chambers, correct?'

'Yes, that's right,' the boy answered, his voice rising with suspicion. 'Is he here?'

'No, I'm afraid not. I feel awful about this, kid, but I have to tell you. It looks like your father was one of the people this dirtbag shot.'

The boy's mouth shot open. He felt the room and the bright lights crashing in on him. He heard Sonntag still talking.

'Edison Chambers. We got the ID from his wallet. He was in the store, getting a six-pack from one of the coolers in the back. He bent down to get it from the bottom and we guess the shooter didn't see him in there. He came in and went to the register. The woman there, he probably shot her first. That was when your father stood up. The shooter saw him then…'

Sonntag didn't have to finish. The boy leaned forward and put his face into his hands. In the blackness he heard the detective ask him if he had any other family living in the area.

'My aunt and uncle,' he said.

'We need to call them when we're finished here.'

'I want to go to my house.'

'We'll release you to your aunt and uncle and the three of you can decide.'

The boy didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say or to think. He suddenly flashed on the gun in the glove box. He wanted to get back to his car.

'We're setting up a line-up,' Sonntag said.

The boy straightened up. Tear trails marked both sides of his face. 'What do you mean?'

'We're putting the suspect in a line-up of men and we'll see if you can pick him out. Don't worry, he won't see you. You'll be behind a mirror.'

But he already did see me, the boy thought but didn't say. He just nodded his head. A plan was formulating. He concentrated on it instead of thinking about his father.

'You ready, then?' Sonntag asked.

'I guess so.'

'Okay, then. Let's do it and then we'll get your aunt and uncle on the phone. Let's go do this thing for your dad.'

The boy stood up and followed Sonntag through the door. He was taken to a dark room where a window looked into a well-lighted room. The far wall was white and spotless, except for the hash marks that marked feet and inches so an observer could gauge height. After a few minutes six men were led into the well-lit room in a cue and they stood facing the boy against the wall.

'They can't see me?' he asked.

'No,' said Sonntag. 'It's one-way glass.'

The boy looked at the men in the line-up. Only two had beards. And one was the running man. He could tell. He was looking at the man who had killed his father. Thoughts blasted through him with sounds like waves crashing on the beach. He felt weak in the knees but strong in the heart. He felt a tear slide down his soft, whiskerless cheek. He wiped it away and heard the waves replaced by his father's voice. Time to be a man.