Street Justice (7 page)

              “Yeah, yeah, I got this,” Mario growled, never taking his eyes off the road.

              “OK,” Russ continued, “Because I was just asking, I mean I can come down and take the wheel if you don’t think you can handle this.” Russ was grinning ear to ear as he continued to chide Mario but at the same time he held onto the turret’s rim, trying to keep him from banging too hard on the edge as Mario made the truck do things it was never designed to do.

              “Shut up before I come up there and kick your ass while driving with my feet. Hell, I’d drive better with my feet than you could.”

              “Probably,” Russ agreed and quieted down, letting Mario get back to what he was doing.

              Clayton’s voice came over the radio, ”Where are you guys?”

              “Thirty seconds,” Mario said jerking the wheel left, “Any chance you can get him to take a left in the next few blocks? This part of the city is a straight grid, I can adjust once I know which street he’s on.”

              “You got it,” Doug’s voice came over the radio.

              “You heard the man,” Doug shouted to his driver, “Go drive him.” Before he finished his statement, Doug’s back was pressed a little deeper against the back of his turret. The engine note went from a roar to a howl as the turbos spun to full capacity. The suspension thudded and chattered across the road surface. At thirty miles an hour, the pavement would seem smooth but at eighty every bump and seam was magnified.

              The big vehicle picked up a bit more speed. The wind whipped off the side of the buildings on either side of the narrow road and slapped back at Doug. Doug ignored the tiny pecks and concentrated on the road ahead. He was looking for a road on which they could take a left, to drive the Peugeot to Russ and Mario but there did not seem to be much ahead. There was a small alley, much too small for the Hummer and they’d lose too much speed trying to make the corner. As his eyes shot further up the road his body shot right. The right side of his abdomen, where there was no body armor, slammed into the Hummer.

              The tires shrieked and started to bounce up and down like jack hammers. The entire vehicle started to rotate and the tire’s traction broke free. The front and rear corners of the giant truck barely missed two cars parked on either side of the road. Doug’s head snapped right as if someone had dropped a sack of cement on it from the side. He held on with both hands.

              As the big vehicle slowed just a bit, the wheels regained traction. Doug relaxed a tiny bit. With traction restored they would drag to a halt quickly. He would figure out what went wrong first, then start yelling. But Doug’s moment of relaxation was quickly snapped. Rather than hearing the engine continue to lop along, idling while the car drifted to a stop, the engine suddenly came to life with a building rush of energy. The wastegates popped like little fire crackers and pebbles pinged the walls behind the them.

              Suddenly the wheels bit and the car shot forward. Initially Doug thought they were headed at the store fronts until he realized their objective was actually the tiny alley Doug had discounted as being too narrow. The wide truck hurtled at the narrow gap that did not seem to be widening as they headed toward it. As they slid between the buildings the driver’s side of the hood scraped the corner, then both side mirrors were flattened to the side of the vehicle with a loud crash and a spray of glass. Finally the passenger side rear quarter panel grazed the wall and the truck aligned itself with the alley. They fit, not by much, but they fit.

              As they hurtled down the alley with inches on either side, Doug’s driver pushed the truck even harder. Within seconds they bounded out of the alley, a few car lengths ahead of the 505. The brakes squealed for a brief moment scrubbing off some speed then the car darted left. Clayton’s Hummer, which was close behind, made the same left clipping a light pole and sending it to the ground. Doug was slammed forward and his Hummer’s brakes clamped down and the truck scrubbed off speed. Doug could hear cursing from inside as the Hummer hit and ran up onto two cars parked on the far side of the road.

Finally the engine cut out and it seemed almost too silent. Doug heard more cursing from inside the cab. He ducked down and said, “Listen, you did a good job, you got him turned left. Few others could have made that turn down the alley and who knows how long it would have been waiting for the next road. You drove him left, which was all that was asked of you. Great job.” He patted his driver on the shoulder, “Will this thing still drive?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course it will,” the driver said.

“Then let’s fire it back up and let’s head over to see the victory,” Doug said. The Hummer rolled back off of two cars, the front of a brick red sedan and the tail of a puke green compact. The owners could file a grievance with the US Army to have the damages paid for. The truck hit the ground with the sound of scraping metal and a large whump. It bounced for a second on its suspension but after a quick check, it seemed no worse for the wear.

“Where is he?” Russ asked.

The radio crackled, followed by Clayton shouting, “Not sure. Doug is one street over and in position to drive him over but there’s no place for him to cut across. I’m right behind him, I’ll see what I can do.” Kneeling a bit, he shouted into the cabin at his driver rather than use the intercom, “It doesn’t look like Doug is going to be able to steer this guy left, we’ll need to do it, go get ‘em.”

The driver already had the throttle of the Hummer nailed to the floorboard but somehow found a few more millimeters of travel. The driver headed up on the left side but the 505 darted right before they could nose around. The Hummer hit the 505 in the rear but it didn’t even dent the bumper of the legendarily stout Peugeot.

Clayton’s driver dropped back and tried to get around to the left with similar results. Dropping back yet again, Clayton’s driver feinted up the left side then at the last moment zigged right. The ploy worked, the Peugeot didn’t move right and the Hummer’s nose came up on the right side. Then Clayton and his driver realized why the Peugeot hadn’t moved right. It wasn’t because they’d been fooled but because a 1970s Volkswagen Beetle was parked half on and half off the curb.

“Christ,” the Clayton’s driver cursed as he jerked the wheel left. The nose of the Hummer did succeed in ripping off the plastic cover to the 505’s bumper but didn’t cause any real damage and didn’t slow the car’s speed. The Beetle did not fare as well. The right corner of the Hummer clipped the left rear of the tiny car. Being rear engine and rear drive, all the weight was in the rear, so as the Hummer spun the back end, the car pivoted around the rear and the nose slammed into the rear wheel of the Hummer. The truck bounced and it rolled up and over the nose of the Beetle.

“That’s going to leave a mark,” Clayton joked as the large vehicle bounced back to earth. A couple of the team members eked out nervous chuckles. “OK, now what?” Clayton asked his driver.

“I don’t know, I’m thinking,” Clayton’s driver snapped back a bit harsher than he meant to.

Clayton looked forward at the speeding Peugeot trying to form a plan when the road fifty yards ahead suddenly filled with what looked like a wall. In the split second it took Clayton to realizer the wall wasn’t a wall but Doug’s Hummer, his driver was already slamming on the brakes. The 505 locked up its front discs for a brief moment too. Then the driver of the more agile car released the brake, gunned the engine and cracked the car hard down a side straight.

“Well that will work,” Clayton said, the big Hummer’s engine surged to follow the little car. The truck aimed for the small road to the left, clipped the far wall and continued the chase. Clayton shot a quick salute to Doug’s Hummer which was now sitting high on two cars that had the unfortunate chance to be parked across from the alley.

“They are coming to you,” Clayton said into his mic as a small grin crossed his face. The wind picked up speed and the dust bit his cheeks a bit more but he didn’t care. He knew this was coming to an end, they were going to get their man.

Russ’ radio chirped, “They are coming your way.”

“Did you hear that Mario?” Russ asked.

“What? Was I supposed to be listening to the radio?” Mario replied with heavy sarcasm, “Of course I got that. Now, how much finesse do I need in the stop?”

“None, just get him stopped, but don’t put them in the hospital, we need the alive and able to talk,” Russ replied.

“Sure thing boss,” Mario answered. Mario scanned the road ahead and saw about half a block up the road from where the Peugeot would enter, were two cars double parked. He drifted off the gas a bit and the Hummer’s engine deepened a little.

“I said we still need to catch him. Why are you backing off?” Russ asked.

“You want to drive?”

“No.”

“Exactly, now let the surgeon work. 3…2…1.” Then Mario gassed the engine again. Mario swung the large truck over to the right hand side of the road then aimed at the double parked cars. He pressed slightly harder on the gas and the truck picked up a few more miles an hour. Just as the Hummer passed in front of the small feeder road, the Peugeot shot out of the narrow opening. The driver saw the Hummer, jerked the car left and gunned it. Because the Hummer was on the far side of the road the Peugeot easily made the run without hitting the Hummer’s side.

The driver of the 505 mashed the gas pedal and the Peugeot picked up speed but the Hummer was already moving so rather than the little car shooting past the lumbering Hummer, they matched speeds. But Mario’s path wasn’t parallel to the road, instead the nose of the hummer was aimed at an angle towards the double parked cars. Because the cars were matched in speed, the Peugeot couldn’t simply skip in front of the Hummer and escape. Too late the driver realized he wasn’t going to make it and he crammed the brake. Mario did the same.

But it was too late. The much smaller Peugeot slammed into the back of the double parked car. The Hummer screeched to a halt next to the Peugeot. Before the Hummer had stopped rocking, Russ swung the double barrel Browning to the left and aimed it down into the rear section of the roof and squeezed the butterfly triggers. The finger sized .50 caliber bullets punched through the car like it was tissue paper. Russ drove a line back through the trunk, trying to instill as much shock on the occupants and damage to the wheel drivetrain as possible.

“Go, go go,” Mario screamed. He was pinned in and unable to exit the Hummer. The other members of the crew piled out of the passenger side doors and raced around the ends of the Hummer. The soldier that had been riding shotgun raced to the nose of the Peugeot and aimed his assault rifle toward the occupants. Both occupants looked dazed and bloody. The passenger had a crisp red line across his forehead that seeped blood. The driver had been sitting quite near the steering wheel and the impact caused blood to gush from his nose and mouth.

The other two soldiers hopped up on the truck of the car and aimed their guns in toward Zemal and Ajmar. Russ immediately rotated the Browning skyward and flicked the safety. “All right Mario, back us up,” Russ said smacking the top of the truck. Mario threw the Hummer into reverse. The nearly unstoppable behemoth lurched backward. The air filled with the teeth gnashing sound of wrenching metal. The Hummer held up for a second, until Mario gave it a bit more gas. The Hummer jumped backward, peeling off the rear quarter panel of the 505 like it was opening a can of Spam.

The soldiers repositioned themselves in a semi-circle around the car. The other two Hummers pulled up behind Russ’ and soldiers streamed out. “Get your hands up,” the soldier in the front of the car yelled repeatedly. Finally Zemar and Ajmar regained enough of their wits to understand where they were and the full depth of their situation. Even though neither understood a lot of English they would have been able to figure out what they needed to do without understanding any English at all. They wearily raised their arms with the hands open and up.

Russ looked back at the two other Hummers, “Goodness, Doug, your Hummer looks worse than mine.”

“I do not think the Motor pool is going to be too happy with us,” Doug replied.

“But we got the job done and now someone is buying me multiple beers,” Mario’s voice crackled over the radio.

              Katie Verd pulled the wilted flowers out of the small, green glass vase that stood on her worn wooden desk. She threw the wilted flowers in the trash and replaced them with the bouquet she’d picked up at the QFC Supermarket on her way in to work. She then pulled a Tupperware container from her reusable grocery sack and placed her lunch on the small fridge in her office. The fridge was battered and worn but it meant she didn’t have to store her lunch in the large communal fridge in the break room. Since she usually ate at her desk rather than in the break room this worked fine. Plus this way she knew her lunch would be there when she was ready for it rather than being pilfered by a stranger or co-worker.

              Katie was a small, black woman in her mid-forties. She lived with her mother, and while Katie tried to eat healthy, her mother was a traditional cook from the south, so maintaining her weight relied as much on her jogging habit as much as a good diet. A simple headband held back her straightened shoulder length hair. Her clothing was a conservative, gray skirt suit and flats. She dressed conservatively because it fit her reserved personality and because it helped ensure her style never went out of fashion since money for new clothes was hard to come by.

              Her office was on the second floor of the Health and Human Resources building in downtown Seattle. It was not a large office but it did have a window, Katie noted with pride. Offices were given based upon seniority and having a window showed she had been working as a probation officer for juveniles for longer than most. The daylight streaming in the windows made the chipped paint on the walls look sea foam green. The desk was a dark wood and had been in the office when Katie moved in years ago. It was beaten and battered, but was sturdy and had many years left in it. Katie appreciated her desk.

              She grabbed her coffee cup and headed down the hall to the break room. She reached the coffee maker to find whoever had drank the last of the pot had not made more. She dutifully made another pot and waited for it to brew then poured herself a cup, taking it black and without sugar. She carried the mug in both hands, letting the heat warm her hands a bit, on her way back to her office. She sat at her desk, reached to her right and opened the top drawer. Inside was a small construction paper note, in beautiful colors that said, “I love you Mommy.” She kept the note in her drawer so it could not be seen by anyone ells, especially her clients. It was department policy but one with which she agreed. Her cheeks broadened in a smile, she enjoyed the moment briefly, then closed the drawer.

Leaning left, she pulled open the bottom drawer. The drawer held hanging files. She let her fingers walk across the tops of the files until she found “Tylor, Devon.” She pulled Devon’s file and started glancing through it, though she knew every word. Devon had been in and out of her office so many times she could nearly recite the contents of the file from memory. He was a good kid, Katie thought, but he just travelled with the wrong crowd and put himself in bad situations. For all his troubles, Katie felt she still had a chance to get through to him, to break his habits and set him on a better path.

              Devon was her first appointment this morning and while most children came in with a parent, Katie knew Devon’s mom would not be bothered and his father wasn’t around, so Devon would come alone. At nine exactly, her phone rang. She answered it, and the receptionist let her know that Devon had arrived. Katie said to send him back down the hall to her office. Katie would go escort any newer cases but Devon knew his way and she trusted him to find it. A few minutes later, Devon knocked on the door to her office and waved through the window with a large smile.

              Katie smiled back and motioned for him to come in. 

              Devon opened the door just enough to slip through, then closed it behind him. Devon was dressed in his work uniform. He wore dark blue jeans, that bunched around his lower legs and the waist sat around the middle of his rear end, showing several inches of underwear. He wore a long white tee shirt that was tucked into the front of his jeans. His baseball hat was skewed to the right, brim straight as a board and the sticker declaring it an official Fifty-Nine Fifty cap still in place. His white and blue shoes shone as if they had just come out of the box.

              “HI Ms. Verd,” Devon said as he sat down. The wooden chair creaked as it took his weight.

              “Hello, Devon, how are you this morning?”

              “I’m fine,” Devon replied looking down at his hands rather than at Katie.

              “Devon, look at me, please,” Katie requested. Devon raised his eyes to meet hers. She continued, “You seem nervous, what’s going on?”

              Devon mumbled a reply but did not look away.

              “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Katie prompted.

              “I’m sorry,” Devon answered louder this time.

              “What are you sorry for?”

              “Ma’am, I told you I wouldn’t be in here again,” Devon said, looking back down at his hands.

              “So what happened?” Katie thought about reminding him of eye contact but she knew Devon legitimately felt bad and she didn’t want to be too hard on him. Devon was a good kid, he had a good heart, just no direction or support. His mother was usually partying, hopping from one self-serving pleasure to another, and his father had never been around. Katie was not even sure Devon’s mom knew for certain who his father was.

              “I don’t know, I was just hanging out with some friends, and you know…”

              “No I don’t.” Katie needed Devon to walk through his own decision process so together they could identify steps where he could have done something different that would have kept him out of her office.

              “I needed to gets a present for my mom. It was her birthday and I ain’t got no money,” Devon started to explaining. Katie noticed how his speech and mannerisms changed as he talked. The more he talked about what he did on the street, the more he slipped into the character that he played while out in the streets. That he had to play when he was out on the streets. Gone was the well-spoken, polite young man she knew he could be. Instead he became just another grinder slinging dope.

Devon continued, “So I needed some ends. Then a friend sez to me he’s picked up some extra product…”

“What product?” Katie knew. She knew Devon’s past history if it wasn’t in the file already, but she wanted Devon to acknowledge what he was doing.

“Product? Oh yeah, blow.”

“What’s that?” Katie pushed.

“Cocaine,” Devon said, though a bit quieter than he’d said either euphemism.

“Continue with the story,” Katie directed him back on track, “how did you get here?”

“Well, like I said, my boy said he had some extra product , so he sez to me, “help me move this and I’ll give you five percent,”  Devon looked up and caught Katie’s eyes as he said, “But I told him, I wasn’t gonna be sellin’, I’d watch out or something but not sellin’. Usually we give that to the little kids but he knew I needed the bones so he agreed.”

“So what happened?”

“So we got to my boy’s corner and started grindin’, you know sellin’. Well, I’m down at the corner and I have to take a piss. So I signal I’m off, they send some kid to cover my post and I goes down the alley and piss. As I’m finishing up, I see the boy they had watchin’ for me race past the alley entrance. So I hustled back to the corner and the po-po got my man all jammed up against the wall.

“Well, I notice that it’s all going down at the far end of the block. But I knowed my man stashed the drugs at my end. So I figured I’d do him a solid and grab the stash and take off. That way, either they can’t finds it and has to let him go or they bust him, but at least he doesn’t lose his stash. So I goes and grab the bag, turn to run and run right into some cops legs. He’s sneaked up behind me. He grabbed me before I could run and now they pinned this on me when all I was doing was trying to help out a friend. That ain’t right.”

“But Devon, do you see where your problem rests?” Katie asked.

Devon shifted in his seat, thought for a moment then protested, “But ma’am, I was just trying to have my boy’s back. You’ve got to on the street. He has my back, I have his.”

Katie took a deep breath. She knew this sense of mutual trust was a survival mechanism in Devon’s world. His traditional support roles, his parents, were not an option. His dad was unknown and his mom spent all of her time partying. So he formed a sense of family with those around him, those in a similar situation. But she also knew this was misplaced trust. His supposed friends would not hesitate to throw him to the lions if the situation called for it. They were older, more jaded, more self-serving. But that is why she wanted--no, needed--to help Devon, it was still early in his life, where Katie could make a change.

She took a breath and asked, “Devon, I appreciate your sense of friendship, but you know what choices you made that led you back here.”

“But it’s just some coke, it don’t hurt no one, everyone does it,” Devon continued with his defense.

“I’m not going to argue the validity of the law with you, whether or not it should be a law,” Katie responded. She’d learned in her years not to travel down this path. The kids she worked with had strong arguments for legalization, and even if she did not agree with the logic, attempting the argument would distract them for some time. “And not everyone does drugs. Devon, this is what I’ve been trying to teach you. You feel as if everyone does drugs but they don’t. Unless you find new friends, who don’t use or sell drugs, you will continue to get yourself in trouble.”

Devon sat in his seat, quietly, looking down at the floor. He mumbled something that Katie did not catch. She did not ask him to repeat it. She wanted to make her point.

“Devon, look at me,” Katie requested. Devon looked up and Katie could see defiance in Devon’s eyes, but that defiance was simply a thin shell over the sadness that filled him. She continued, “Devon, you’re better than this. You know as well as I do, that the judge gave you leniency this time but probably won’t next time. Then you’ll get tried as an adult and may have to do real time.”

“I ain’t scared of prison,” Devon said, the defiance in his eyes solidifying a bit.

“I know, but Devon, I’m scared for you, because you have so much potential. You can get out of this cycle, you can do more. But not if you go to prison.” She paused and looked at him. He looked back with an expression Katie couldn’t read. Katie sat upright in her chair and changed her tone to very matter of fact, “Fine. Part of the rules of your probation are that you need to get a job. I’ve arranged a position for you with Kid Valley.”

“I don’t want to work at no burger joint,” Devon protested.

Katie looked at him sternly and said, “You’ll work where we get you a job.” Then a little more softly, “Besides, I got you a job in the corporate offices. You’ll be helping out around the office, whatever they need. The office manager there is a friend of mine and she is doing this as a favor so be good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Devon replied returning to the polite man who had walked into her office.

Katie took a business card out of the file folder and handed it to Devon, “Here is Julie’s card. She is expecting you Monday at 9:30 AM.”

Devon took the card and said, “Thank you.” He got up to leave, Katie rose as well.

Devon headed for the door, and just before he closed it behind him, Katie stopped him and said, “Devon,” and when their eyes met, “You can do this.”

“I know,” Devon replied, followed by, “Thank you again, for the job and believing in me.” With that, Devon slipped out into the hallway. Katie watched him as he left and wondered which way this was going to turn out.

Steve sat in McGinties Irish Pub and slammed back another shot. The liquor they tried to pass off as bourbon in this state was not what he was used to in other parts of the country. It was sweet, darn near a rum. But it was cheap and did the same thing. He took a sip of the beer that sat in front of him on the bar. Adrian sat next to him. Adrian had declined the shot, and was nursing his first beer even though Steve was on his third round.

“So, what’s the story, my good man?” Steve asked Adrian loudly. Alcohol hits everyone a bit differently, but for most it lowered their inhibitions. While Steve didn’t have many inhibitions, he did try and keep his boisterous personality in check. He was loud and energetic, too much so for most people, so he had learned to run at about 75% speed and volume around most. But sitting on the stool with Adrian and having a few drinks, he let his guard down and the volume rose a bit. The volume had nothing to do with being angry and he wore the same cheerful smile that almost always adorned his face.

“You know: same old, same old,” Adrian replied. His more reserved demeanor was dampened even further by McGinties. Adrian did not drink much but when he did he liked going to well lit, clean establishments. He really liked chain restaurants, they were consistent and usually good value. McGinties on the other hand was in a rundown strip mall. Most of the windows were painted over but some were boarded over. Adrian’s shoes had stuck to the floor with each step and the crackling crunch each time he raised a foot was like nails on a chalkboard to him. “Do we have to drink here? Let’s go to the Applebee’s down the street. I’ll buy.”