Loose Ends

By Amos Gunner

After a simple sting goes bad, the world of cops and criminals unravels, and everyone involved learns that the best laid plans are no match for the whims of fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amos Gunner
• Release date: Oct 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465832818

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: ZEKE

What version do you want, short or long? Short goes: I broke a lot of laws and got busted for some of them. But that’s not my story. It belongs to everyone. Well, almost. I should make an exception for the blind souls in our world who claim to be innocent and tell a different tale.

You are? Sorry.

Unless you can think of something better to do before dinner, why don’t I spin you my own story, which happens to be the long version?

In the beginning, the Lord created the heavens and earth in six days. Then he took a nap. Too long? Well, a shorter take goes: some night forty-eight years ago, my drunk dad neglected to pull out of my slut mom. Later, I was born.

Okay. Still too long. I’ll start with the day I shot this kid and take it from there.

In the morning, I paid a visit to my ex-partner, a gentleman named Gavin Quinn. He lent me his suit, a black Brooks Brothers thing. Felt as good as it looked. Should’ve taken a photo. Hm. This isn’t very interesting, is it?

Fast forward to Lucky’s Motel. Ever hear of it? Most people haven’t. It looks like a bombed-out slum and smells like an armpit. But it’s quiet and out of the way. Perfect for stings. I always had good luck there. Ha ha, right? Well, the place had an appropriate name as far I was concerned.

So I’m there posing as a traveling businessman itching to buy some blow, ten ounces if I remember correctly. We want to build a case against this wannabe gangster and the transaction’s meant to be the first brick. Well, there’s more to it than that but I don’t want to overwhelm you with information so early in my story.

A scrawny, dopey college kid we called Digit, he sets up a mic in the lamp and a digital clock on the nightstand. But the clock’s really a camera, dig? And it’s only good as a camera because the lab geniuses had crossed the wrong wires and the thing gave the time as zero-zero o’ clock. Digit asks if the glitch worried me and I go, No. I’m worried I’m gonna sweat so much I’ll end up looking like you.

Digit laughs. He might’ve been stoned. He yells to Sutler, who’s observing me in action through from the next room over. The department must’ve set aside all the good equipment to bust a senator or something. Yeah, why did Digit yell to Sutler when there was a mic in the room? I dunno. But he does. Yells at him to bang on the wall if the image is okay. I hear these wussy taps.

Oh, Adam Sutler. How can I introduce that dead subject? To call him a mother fucker is an insult to incest. When I think about the honors they bestowed on that boob, I get sick. I mean, I once wasted a few minutes regretting his death, but I never got to the point of wanting to honor him, for the simple fact he was never honorable. He wasn’t actively evil either. Most of the time he was just there, inert. But he’ll have to butt into my story now and then. No way around it. After all, he was my new partner, a total rookie to narcotics. For now let’s just say he represents my opposite and leave his character description at that.

So Digit packs up his equipment and I tell him if he wants to be useful, he’ll fix the air conditioner. I’d been twisting and pulling that ancient contraption but all I got it to do was cough up some lukewarm dust. I give it a kick to teach it a lesson, then try the window, but it won’t open past an inch. Man, if someone wants to jump out a window, that’s their deal. If someone gets thrown out, they probably deserve it. But no. The rest of us have to suffer. Am I right?

Digit takes this as in invitation to jabber about the weather, how it’s hot today but was freezing the day before, blah blah. Throws out that line, If you don’t like the weather in Columbus, wait five minutes and it’ll change. Now, I’m a good liar, but not good enough to act like I’m the least bit amused by his witless chatter. At the door he tells me good luck and I say I don’t need any and he goes, Then I take it back.

So I have ten minutes or so before the curtain goes up and my one obligation is to take care of the clock. I haven’t come up with a way to knock out the mic, which makes me a little nervous. But just a little. Worse comes to worse, I figure I’ll clearly say, Whoa, mister. Put the gun away. I’m with the police.

I light a cigarette. I check the window and rub the tweed curtains. The stench from a thousand scum guests clings to my fingers. In the bathroom, I’m sort of transfixed by this trippy black mildew design on the floor tiles. Looks like Michelangelo or Andy Warhol or whoever had spilled a bottle of ink. I run water over my fingers. The soap dish is empty. I’m afraid to touch the towels so I shake my hand. In the mirror, I watch myself blow smoke from my nostrils. It looks like I have thick, menacing tusks growing from my face for a few seconds, but then they break apart. A thumb nail of ash scatters down Gavin’s suit. I try to clean it off, but I end up working the ash into the fabric. Never was good at cleaning. I take a few more puffs and toss the butt into the crapper.

Because I’m trying to paint a picture, okay? I’m shitting out a silk thread for you, man. What, you got a hot date? Gotta cast a crucial vote at the UN? Might as well listen. We aren’t going anywhere.

So I come out and the wallpaper catches my eye. It’s off. I mean, besides the fact it’s been stained to a light brown. I puzzle out the fuck-up in no time--the dainty flower heads are pointing to the carpet. Can you imagine the overworked, underpaid moron who hung it upside down? Just takes a moment of inattention to ruin something forever. Well, I’m sharper than he was. I’m sharp and I’m ready.

I open the leather satchel and stuff my head inside. Have you ever smelled a ton of money? You have? Sweet, isn’t it? Has a slight earthy afterscent. You know--like aftertaste. Anyway, they oughta bottle that fragrance.

One could argue my best move would’ve been to grab the satchel and make a mad dash for the border. Maybe this is the point I messed up, when I had a clean escape route and didn’t recognize it, didn’t take it.

Well, no regrets. A regret’s like an appendix--totally useless and it can swell with puss and kill you unless you cut out. Besides, I eventually earned a reservation in heaven. From that angle, I’d be a fool and a sinner to regret one second of my entire life.

I closed the satchel and went for the clock.

CHAPTER 2: BOBBY

In my heart? He shot me through my heart.

Darryl and I to the motel. His bullet in my heart, and Darryl and I are walking to the motel.

It’s not like watching a movie. It’s like remembering a movie. It’s like remembering a movie in order but also at once, the voice in my head on the soundtrack. The I. The I cannot die. I’m not dead. I’m dying. Am I? Whatever’s happening, it’s not flashing before my eyes. They lied. Before my eyes, everything’s going blurry.

The sun was cooking the litter, and the heat and the stink kept nearly everyone inside. Darryl was hungover and quiet.

The school had air conditioning. The school had friends, at least Wendy. It was Darryl’s fault I wasn’t there. I don’t mind saying that. Even now.

He trailed me. Shouldn’t be this hot.

I waited for him to catch up.

He swung the black duffle bag over his shoulder. How’s come no one offered us a ride. That’s some rude ass shit.

We walked on. You still don’t get it. This is a test. He was behind me already.

I know.

So of course we’re not getting a ride. Thanks to our promotion, we can expect less help.

Besides, when did we ever get a ride, Darryl? We knew the COTA routes like we knew our way around our apartment.

He said, Duh, but he didn’t get it. Not really. Whatever. No biggie. Cooper brothers unstoppable. Slow down.

I wouldn’t have to if you pulled up your pants and walked normal.

I walk normal.

You walk like a mo-fo gangsta.

I am a mo-fo gangsta. It’s the bag.

You got me into this, you have to carry it.

Whatever.

He didn’t get it. I don’t think he got very much. I know I didn’t. There’s a logic bigger than my own that I could never follow. Maybe now it’ll all spread out before me and I’ll be able to make sense of it, if only once. Is this why this is happening? A parting gift from life? The last chance to get it?

I stopped in front of a payday advance place. An old lady in leopard print tights was giving heck to the cashier. I wondered if the sad girl’s job was worse than ours. Our job was as meaningless and unfulfilling as that girl’s must’ve been. We had to deal with jerk customers, too. But our boss was crazy. Hers was most likely just mean. And even between Darryl and me, we didn’t earn enough to help out Mom. She works two jobs without any support from dad. Not fair. The paydays wouldn’t let me be the man he never was. If I ever had any romantic illusions about the job, actually doing it snuffed them out. I decided the girl had it better. Now I’m sure of it. She got to work behind bullet proof glass.

What you looking at?

We walked on. Nothing.

Darryl leaned back and looked inside the store. That ho? Wendy not doing it for you anymore?

Watch it.

You hit that shit yet?

You don’t hit a girl.

That ain’t-- Man, you will never be cool.

Yep. Point for Darryl.

Three blocks away, he stopped and leaned against a brick wall.

I think I’m gonna be sick.

He looked like it. So pitiful, I didn’t give him crap about drinking with the boys, even though that was what made him sick.

It’ll be okay. We’re almost there.

Why don’t we quit?

And go back to school?

No. You did good in school. Not me. I was thinking McDonald’s. Suppose Marcus’ll give us a good reference?

I thought that was funny. I still do.

We’d make more.

Nah. Know how much Sampson makes?

No. Neither do you. Besides, you’re fourteen. How many years you want to wait to be second-in-command?

He thought about it. Or didn’t. The color returned to his face. He pushed himself from the wall and we walked on.

Know what Marcus’ first words were? ‘Fuck you, ma.’ Swear.

I get that Marcus is a legend with the crew and I get how stories grow up around legends. It helps that Marcus stays locked in his office all the time and sends messages into the world through Sampson. Makes him more mysterious. But the stuff the guys tell each other and sometimes believe is amazing to me. Like, the one about how Marcus chewed off his sister’s ear because he worried her earrings made her look easy. Never happened. Or how he cut off a debtor’s foot; how Marcus decapitated the car dealer who sold him a lemon; how he killed this woman and her kid and then burned them in a warehouse for I don’t know what reason. Sick stuff out of slasher movies. Except unlike those movies, the stories were all kind of plausible. Lies, sure, but not the worst lies I ever heard.

We were getting close. Darryl moaned about the heat again. I told him to take off his cap.

You don’t like the Reds anymore?

It keeps the heat in. You’ll stay cooler if you take it off.

You learn that in school?

Doesn’t matter. What if I learned it from a show? Thing is, it’s true.

He took it off and tested the difference. Can’t tell me what to do. He put it back on.

The sign for Lucky’s Motel loomed ahead. We didn’t speak the rest of the way.

I should’ve said something. I don’t know what. Maybe I should’ve admitted I was scared. I bet he was scared too. Or maybe I should’ve told him I loved him. He’d come back with a joke but that would’ve been okay. I loved him for his jokes.

I remember how I said it once, years ago. All I wanted for Christmas was a skateboard because everyone else had one. Darryl bought one for me. Mom told me he had shoveled snow in front of a few businesses near our place. I’m sure they didn’t pay him much but he was determined and shoveled a bunch. I unwrapped the skateboard and got so excited I told him I loved him. He smiled so wide it stretched his face and he had to squint. I think. Mom cried, I remember. I had to wait till it got warmer before I could use the skateboard, but even then there weren’t many places I could skate. I wasn’t very good. I hurt myself a lot. I blamed the skateboard, which must’ve been the cheapest one on the market. I can’t remember what happened to it.

So I said it once, but maybe I should’ve said it again.

CHAPTER 3: ADAM

Now I see. I can’t, but I do. Zeke’s now in color, no longer a grainy black and white shade.

Lieutenant Marner told me to watch. That was his order. Watch and learn. I couldn’t have watched any better. My nose was an inch from the black and white monitor, my ears wrapped in the headphones. The learning, though, that’s what I botched, that’s why I’m dying.

Digit skimmed a surfing magazine. His shirt read, I Got Lucky in Kentucky. I wore my short sleeve powder blue button up and creased khakis.

I don’t want to remember this. Why can’t I spend the last of my life holding on to the first time I kissed Brenda? Try.

Zeke image swelled on the monitor as he approached the camera. He picked up the clock and his image jiggled.

Can’t control it. It is before my eyes, like they said. But it’s not my whole life? Just this week? The worst week of my life?

Zeke brought the camera close to his mouth and spoke. I couldn’t hear a word. I asked Digit what was wrong. He closed the magazine and tapped his headphones. He cranked the dial on the receiver. Hiss roared, but I still couldn’t anything from the other room. Digit fiddled with the wires, then banged on the receiver. I banged also. He batted my hand away.

Don’t do that.

Sorry.

Bit I didn’t turn from the monitor, didn’t stray from my orders.

Zeke seemed to be repeating the same words, the same sentence. I asked Digit to decipher Zeke’s message.

Digit pulled a cord from the back of the receiver and plugged it back in. I don’t read lips dude.

Want to take a shot?

Digit, easily exasperated like most people his age and younger, sighed, but donated a moment of his time to carefully study the monitor anyway. I don’t know. Eye fawned Euro wave?

I fought your wife?

I fucked or weighed?

I still have no good idea. My idea is not good.

I turned to Digit for a second, just a second, and asked if I should go over. He shrugged. I looked back.

Gotcha. Zeke’s laugh, loud and distorted, exploded in my ears. My hands cupped the headphones. The image shook.

Digit adjusted the receiver. Bastard.

So everything’s working?

Yeah. Everything but his brain. Digit picked up his magazine and leaned out of my periphery. I’m not laughing. Are you?

Zeke set down the clock and the image stabilized. It pointed toward the curtains.

Look. It’s all wrong. What do we do?

Hard knocks from Zeke’s room thwarted Digit from answering.

I pulled closer to the screen. My nose brushed against the glass. The door opened. A young voice: Cop! I felt the vibrations from a thud through my shoes.

Then, nothing.

I watched the curtains. Well?

Well what?

I tapped my thumb against my thigh. The end had begun, and I tapped my thumb against my thigh.

Watch and learn. Lieutenant Marner was explicit. He gave an order. I had to obey orders. If I dismissed them, I could expect punishment.

And then, I asked myself the most side-splitting question I had ever put forth in my life, possibly the most riotous question ever posed by anyone. What if Zeke needs my help?

I threw off the headphones and launched from my seat. In the hallway, I heard the first gunshot. In the lobby, the second. Past the front door, in the middle of the street, the splayed body of a young man, face down, a black duffle bag by his right hand, a wet crimson circle on the back of his white t-shirt. It looked like a stop light.

Zeke stood over the body. He pointed his smoking gun to the motel and yelled at me to call it in.

The old man emerged from behind the front desk as I passed and asked me, Is everything okay?

CHAPTER 4: BOBBY

My brain shut down and I ran. Later, much later, when I was close to Conrad’s, a destination I hadn’t even consciously aimed for, I slowed to a jog. I tasted bitter bile and the eggs I had for breakfast.

I landed on the bench in front of the bar and sucked in gales of air. That got my brain ticking a little. I made a plan: tell Sampson what happened, quit the job, start over and build a normal life. I’d never even think about jaywalking ever again.

I stood. My legs didn’t want to carry my weight. If I could feel them now, they’d still be sore. I wobbled to the door and looked in. I saw my reflection.

Inside, I had to hang out in the doorway until my eyes adjusted to the black. During the day, I think the night hangs out at Conrad’s until it’s time to do its thing. The tables, four small, wobbly tables made out of splinters, came into focus. Lucas shot me a glance from behind the bar sparsely stocked with watered down bottles, then went back to his newspaper. Never saw him serve a drink. Then again, never saw a customer. Why didn’t Marcus call his place Go Away?

I made out Sampson’s beanpole frame in the shadows, back at the pool table. I don’t want to know what favor he must’ve done for Marcus to allow a pool table. But before I saw Sampson, I heard Benny’s evil cackle.

Benny’s killed people. But he’s killed because he wanted to, not because he was pressured. I know. But even if I didn’t know, his dead eyes would’ve given him away. He’s crossed the line and proudly wore the mark of a killer like it was his birthright.

I went behind the bar. Lucas, engrossed in his crossword puzzle, wasn’t going to budge and didn’t indicate he noticed me reach around him and get some water. I emptied the glass in two gulps. I heard the click of the cue ball followed by a thunk. Sampson laughed. I put the glass in the sink and went over.

Sampson nodded to me. I need the nine and eight. Benny needs a miracle. He lined up the shot, steadied his cue and completely missed.

You’re bad luck, kid. Yeah. Me. Not the frayed and warped table. Where’s Darryl?

We need to talk.

Benny aimed for one of his striped balls. He sunk the eight. Man, these sticks curl like my pubes. Let’s go again. I’ll kick your ass.

Sampson chalked up. Man, you suck.

Benny revealed his gold tooth. Suck like your mom.

That’s Marcus’ sister.

I don’t give a fuck.

Whatever. Total’s now two twenty-five. Sampson puffed on his stick, making a light blue cloud. Talk about what?

I’m getting a refill.