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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.”

The agent opened the door and went inside as Frank stood there, watching the trash blow from the street to the sidewalk, and up against the walls of the building. The gates to the shipping docks were closed and locked and the rest of the street was empty. Frank walked back to his police car and sat down with both hands on the wheel. He gripped the wheel as hard as he could but could not stop them from shaking.

14

The station was dark by the time he returned. There was a vehicle in the parking lot that made Frank’s eyebrows raise. He’d never seen the Chief’s car there so late. He backed into Unit 6’s assigned spot and got out, limping across the lot. He opened the station door and turned on the hallways lights. The Chief’s office door was open.

“Chief?” he said. He walked down the hall toward the office and as he looked inside, he let out a burst of air like someone had punched him in the gut. There were spots of discolored wallpaper where various framed pictures and certificates had hung for years. The desk had two pens and a blank notepad sitting on top of it with a large imprint of where the Chief’s desk calendar had been. Even the damn horseshoe was gone.

The station door creaked opened, and Frank did not turn to see who it was, but the sound of labored breathing made it unnecessary. Staff Sergeant Erinnyes came waddling down the hallway carrying a large cardboard box of his belongings. He frowned at Frank’s proximity to the empty office and said, “Can I help you?”

“I take it I missed something.”

Erinnyes smiled thinly. “Welcome to the brave new world. You’ll appreciate it once you get used to it, Frank.”

Frank ignored him and said, “I needed to tell the Chief something important about Vic.”

Erinnyes’s eyes flashed and he said, “I am all ears.”

“He’s missing. I haven’t seen him since yesterday and have been trying to reach him all day. He’s not answering his phone and I think something’s wrong.”

“Very funny, Frank. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to drop this off so I can go home.”

Erinnyes pushed past Frank to go into the Chief’s office and Frank said, “I’m not kidding, sir. I’m really concerned.”

“Vic was sitting in his office this afternoon when I left, Frank. I was able to give him the good news in person and deliver him a fresh new pack of traffic tickets.” Erinnyes’s face lit up, “You should have seen him. I’ve been waiting to have that conversation for over five years.”

“He was here?” Frank said quickly.

“Still is, I think. His car is still parked in the same spot. Didn’t you see it when you came in?”

Frank turned and bolted down the hallway, ignoring the spike of pain in his leg.

“I told him to get his uniforms ready, effective immediately,” Erinnyes called down the hall. “Make sure you do the same. You’ll be doing high-intensity traffic details first thing Monday morning! From now on, we will be focused on real police work!”

Frank grabbed the handrails on the steps and swung down three steps at a time like a gymnast. He reached the landing below and started hopping on one foot to make it the rest of the way. “Vic!” he called out. “You son of a bitch, you scared the shit out of me. Vic?”

The detective’s office door was open and the light was on. Something familiar stung his nose as he approached, like the burner on a stove left on for too long. Gunpowder. There were a dozen brand-new traffic tickets scattered on the floor in front of the door. Frank called Vic’s name again as he stepped over the tickets and came around the corner.

Detective Vic Ajax was sitting upright at his desk. His eyes were turned up to the ceiling in wide, unblinking amazement. His mouth was open. Dried fluid had crusted under his nose and dripped from his lower lip onto his shirt.