"Sehor, llene las formas."
The Hispanic guy was sent over to a chair to sit and fill out some forms.
The man stood, dabbed at his upper lip again, went to the desk sergeant.
"Can I help you?" the desk sergeant asked. Didn't sound like he meant it.
"Yes. Yes, I think… I hope you can."
Just a little, but the desk sergeant looked relieved. Relieved that the man spoke English. It wasn't that the desk sergeant had anything against Hispanics. He wasn't like that. For LAPD the sergeant was nearly forward thinking. It was just nice, on occasion, to be able to talk to someone in his native tongue.
The man said: "I'd like to make a report."
"What kind?" The sergeant opened a drawer filled with papers, poised a hand to take out the appropriate form for the information he was about to receive.
"Well, I'm not exactly sure. I've never made a report like this before. I've never made any kind of report, for that matter. And what I saw, maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's nothing. But, well, it was odd. I… I think it was odd."
"Why don't you just tell me what happened. You tell me what happened, and we'll figure out what kind of report to make."
"That seems like the way to do it. Well, I was over in… I guess I should tell you my name is Theodore. Theodore Kopeikin. I guess you'll need to know that at some point, so I might as well tell you now."
"All right, Mr. Kopeikin—"
" 'Ted' is fine. I know my name is kind of a mouthful. Thought you might need my whole name, but Ted is what everyone calls me."
"Ted, then." The desk sergeant's hand was still poised to grab up a form."Tell me what happened."
"First thing I should say is I work in real estate. Now, I'm not some kind of big tycoon, I'll tell you that right off and have no problem doing so. Just being honest. You should know I'm honest. You're going to… I'm going to want you to know I'm an honest man. But I do work in real estate."
The relief that had come to the desk sergeant when he first talked with Mr. Kopeikin was fading. Maybe they both spoke the same language, but he seemed to be getting less from Mr. Kopeikin than he did from the Hispanic guy.
"Does this have anything to do with what you're reporting?"
"Yes. In a way, yes. I was looking at some property in Northridge. You see, I deal in low-value property. We like to call it undervalued, it sounds better, but it is low-value property. Land near freeways, near dumps, condemned and tenement housing. I'm only telling you that because I'm not selling to you. Believe me, if I was selling, undervalued property; that's what I'd be—"
"If you could just get to what it is you're—"
"I only want you to know I'm an honest man. Taxpayer. I'm sure you get a lot of crackpots off the street, and when you hear what I saw, I don't want you to think—"
"You're an honest man. Yes, sir." Below the desk, above the drawer, the sergeant's hand balled into a fist."If you could just go on."
"Well, as I was saying, I was looking at some property here in Northridge. Apartments where the management has had some troubles, gone out of business. Abandoned, I guess you'd say they were. Now, while these buildings are sitting vacant it's not unusual for squatters to move in."
"Squatters. You want to report squatters." The sergeant was already looking for his trespassing forms.
"No. Not exactly." Mr. Kopeikin found a clean spot on his handkerchief and blew his nose."I'm out looking at some property, as I said, some condemned property, when I see this man up on the eighth floor of the building. He's out on the fire escape laying out some clothes to dry. I think that's what he was doing. Anyway, he was out on the fire escape doing something, and it gave way. The fire escape gave way. As I said, these properties are old, abandoned. He shouldn't have been there in the first place."
"And the man?"
"Well, he fell. Fell straight down to the ground. Straight down and headfirst."
"So you want to report an accident." The desk sergeant started reaching for a new form.
"No. No, I… well, here's why I'm so… The man fell, and I thought that's it. He's dead. Eight floors straight down, on his head; he's dead. But he hit the ground, he lay there for just a moment then… then he got up."
The desk sergeant suddenly got unbored with the story."You said he…?"
"Hit the ground, lay there for a moment and got up. Got up like all he'd done was nicked his toe on a rock. He looked around for a bit, in a strange manner, as if he were afraid someone might have seen what had just happened. After that, well, after that he went back into the building."
The desk sergeant got himself up from where he sat and he was quick about it."I want you to stay right here," he said to Mr. Kopeikin, and said it in a way that would make it stick."Stay here, and I'll be right back."
Mr. Kopeikin started to say" Okay," but the sergeant was already gone.
Wasn't even a minute and the sergeant returned. With him was another cop who had even more stripes on his uniform.
The desk sergeant introduced him."This is Captain Lanning. I want you," the sergeant directed,"to tell him what you told me."
"Well, I work in real estate—"
"The man you saw; just tell him about that."
"I appraise low-value property. Now, normally we call them underval—"
"He saw some guy fall from a eighth-story window." The desk sergeant did the storytelling for Mr. Kopeikin.
"Fire escape," Mr. Kopeikin corrected.
"Fell on his head, right?"
"Yes. And it was onto concrete. I don't think I—"
"The guy fell, and got up like nothing happened."
"An invulnerable?" Lanning asked.
"I couldn't… well, I couldn't say," Mr. Kopeikin said."When I saw it happen, I thought: That's one of those superpeople. Has to be. I couldn't be sure. Never seen one before. Not in real life. But a man takes that kind of fall…"
Captain Lanning looked square in Mr. Kopeikin's eyes and was very serious about things."Mr. Kopeikin, in all likelihood you did see a metanormal human. It's very important we make a record of everything you witnessed, do you understand?"
"I think I—"
"Everything. Even the slightest detail could be important to us later."
"All right. I'll… I'll certainly try."
"I want you to wait here with Sergeant Harris. I'm going to get someone from DMI—"
"Those are the special policemen, yes?" Things were happening fast now, too fast for Mr. Kopeikin.
"Division of Metanormal Investigations. They handle situations like this," Lanning explained."And if they determine we are dealing with a metanormal, they'll issue a warrant and send an MTac element after it. I'm going to bring someone from DMI out here, and then you're going to tell him everything you saw."
"Yes. Yes, of course."
"Sergeant?"
The desk sergeant, Harris, practically snapped to."Yes, sir?"
"Make sure Mr. Kopeikin is comfortable."
"Yes, sir."
Fast, Captain Lanning disappeared back into the station.
Harris gave Mr. Kopeikin his full attention."There anything you need? Something to drink, if there's someone you need to call…?"
"Actually" — Mr. Kopeikin went back to work on his upper lip—"if maybe you could find a tissue for me. For some reason, this never happens to me, just never, but I seem to have the worst nosebleed."
MTac funerals are the best. Not as good as they used to be, not like the first few in the years just after San Francisco, but they're still better than what most cops get sent away with. They were the best for two reasons. One was because a whole lot of show went into the services, kind of like Viking funerals. At least like the Viking funeral I saw in that one movie. The other reason they're so good is 'cause they've had a lot of practice burying MTac cops. A lot of practice.