Superhero (4 page)

“Jack?”

He looked up to see Detective Yates standing in front of him. Yates’ hair was gray at the temples and the potbelly was new.
He looks tired
, Jack thought. Tired and burnt out.

Jack rose and the two men slapped hands and embraced quickly.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m now a former DEA agent. I quit a week ago.”

“Seriously? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I wanted to come down and see you—Detective.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, got bumped up a few years back.”

“What division are you in now?”

“Robbery-Homicide. Pay’s good and I don’t have a huge caseload. Definitely better than busting hookers with Vice.”

“Congrats, Will. I mean that. I can’t think of anyone that deserves it more.”

“Thanks. Hey, what’re you doin’ for lunch?”

“No plans right now.”

“I know a place. You gotta come with. Lemme grab my jacket. Hang on.”

Jack waited by the entrance. He could hear the man with dreadlocks shouting in his cell.

“He’s comin’!” he yelled. “He’s comin’ and all you’s gonna pay! He’s comin’ for Armageddon.”

One of the officers banged his nightstick against the bars. “Shut the hell up in there!”

The man laughed. “You, I’ll remember you when Armageddon comes.”

“Yeah? Remember this,” the officer said, jabbing the man in the nose with the tip of the stick.

The scene made Jack uncomfortable and he walked outside through the double doors and waited off to the side. The sun was bright and a thin gray haze blanketed the sky. He remembered it from when he was a kid but it wasn’t like this. It looked like the clouds had been filled with dirt and clung to the sky from stickiness.

“You ready?” William said, stepping out as he slung his suit coat on.

“Lotta commotion in there,” he said as they walked to his Viper.

“See that guy with the dreadlocks?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s them. They’re calling themselves Myrs. It’s a gang. All of ‘em have tats and dreadlocks; that’s kind of their thing. Looks pretty silly to me compared to the cartel or the Tres Locos but these guys are a level of violence we haven’t seen. They’ll shoot up an entire bus just to take out one person. And they don’t seem to care if they get arrested. One guy did a hit in a McDonald’s and then sat down and started eating the dead guy’s burger.”

“Sound like tweakers to me.”

“No, not at all. Not a single one, at least up here, has ever even gotten a drug charge. They seem to just sell the stuff, but never use. Holy crap, is that yours?”

“You like?”

“I would give my left nut for a car like that.”

Jack threw him the keys. “It’s yours.”

“Jack, I’m not taking—”

“You’re my oldest friend, William. You’re my only friend. Let me do this. Money sitting in a bank account is worthless to me.”

“I can’t go around in a car like this on a cop’s salary, I’m sorry. Buy me a Honda or Buick and you got a deal.”

“Well at least drive then.”

“That, I will gladly do.”

They peeled out of the parking lot and onto Hudson before getting onto Fountain Avenue. William hit the gas and they reached eighty miles an hour before he slowed down, a massive smile on his face. Jack decided he would leave the car on William’s driveway tonight with a bow on top.

After going through various neighborhoods, they took a turn underneath a freeway bridge and passed a hospital and a strip mall before coming to a shack with a drive-thru. It had no more than four or five tables inside and only three employees but William swore it had the best burgers in Southern California.

Once they were inside, Jack ordered a chicken sandwich and a salad and William got two double cheeseburgers with fries. They sat down by the window and Jack watched the traffic outside. He was unaccustomed to being himself. Usually, he was playing someone else in a foreign country where nobody knew him or wanted to know him. Now it was just him and he thought about how odd it was that he should feel weird in his own skin.

“So?” William said.

“So.”

“So why’d you quit the DEA?”

Jack shook his head. “They focus on things they shouldn’t be focusing on while major things slip past them. The cartels murder dozens of people and the DEA doesn’t lift a finger. Some poor guy with cancer opens a medicinal marijuana dispensary and the feds raid it like he’s Al Capone. I can’t take the hypocrisy.”

“What’dya think government work is, Jack? You think you go out there and do the most efficient thing to achieve your goals? No way. Government’s not run for profit so no one cares how much money you’re spending. At least until election time when the pinheads on the hill gotta start talking about budget cuts.”

“This is different. They put me in places, Will, that you wouldn’t believe. It was almost like they wanted me to get killed. Like it boosts morale or something. I just couldn’t handle it anymore.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re home.” The burgers came and William took a large bite, grease mingled with mayonnaise dripping down his chin. “So,” he said with a mouthful of burger, “what you gonna do now?”

“I was thinking of opening up a Hapkido dojo.”

“No way? Really? I’d love to see that. I always thought you’d be good at running a studio. No money in it, though. Some of the other studios charge so little you can’t compete with them.”

“It’s not about the money for me. It helped me when I needed it most. I think it can do it for other kids.” He took a bite of salad. “So what’s going on with you?”

“Same old same old. I’m working the high-profile cases now. I don’t know why, but someone up in Command liked a few things I did. Hopefully I’ll get bumped to Lieutenant soon and can get outta RH.” He took another bite of his burger and then a bite of a fry before sucking down some soda. “This one case, though, I gotta show you the video; it is something else. The Myrs I was talkin’ about? The dreadlocks? They robbed a bank. First time ever I think. And their leader, or something like that, walks in. Well, ‘walks’ isn’t the right word. Barrels his way in. He bent the doorframe. There are holes in the stone floor where he walked. The guy had to be at least seven feet, seven five, somewhere there. And built like a tank.”

“How much did they get?”

“Quarter mil. Never seen anything like this guy, though. He was throwing around police cruisers like they were toys.”

“I had a case once where I had to take down a distributor who was a PCP addict. When we went in for the takedown, he was so high he started running into a wall to get away. He threw his body into it so many times he finally broke through. Busted every bone in his body, but he got through.”

William shook his head. “This is something different. I’ve never seen a guy like this before.” He waited a few moments and said, “I could sure use some help on this.”

“William…”

“What?”

“I’m not LAPD.”

“I bet the commissioner would be psyched if you got back on the squad. Look, opening your own dojo would be fun and all, but think how much good you could do out here. With the knowledge you got locked away in your head? You could clean this town up.”

“I’m not a cop anymore, William. I don’t think I ever was.”

He nodded. “Well, that’s a shame. For the city.”

CHAPTER 6

Jack spent the day taking his niece out shopping. He told her he would buy her whatever she wanted but their deal was that she had to catch him up on everything that had been going on with the family.

After they were done shopping he took her to Universal Studios. He remembered the place vaguely from his youth. Something about seeing so many children running around comforted him. In the places he had been, there were no children. Or they were locked away where no one could see them.

It was nearly evening by the time Jack dropped her off. He gave her a hug and she thanked him before running off to the door with her bags from Neiman Marcus and Tiffany’s. Jack waited until her mother answered the door, waved, and then sped off.

He went to the car dealership and bought another Viper, telling them to drop this one off at an address uptown. With a colorful bow if possible. When Jack went home, he thought about taking a shower but was too tired so he lay down, and was asleep in minutes.

When he woke it was dark outside and the moon was out. It was nearly ten and he realized he was late. He quickly jumped in the shower, put on a gray pinstripe suit with no tie, and ran out the door.

The Red Salamander—a bar in Santa Monica—was packed to the brim when he arrived. He had to find parking across the street before heading inside.

The bar was dimly lit but clean. It had a post-modern feel to it, mostly glass and chrome.

Jack spotted William and several other detectives at a large booth and he came over. William shouted something like, “This is the guy I’ve been telling you about,” and introductions went around before Jack sat down.

Ricardo Hernandez walked in to the Red Salamander and noticed the ladies on the dance floor. The music was turned up so loud you couldn’t hear yourself talk and that’s the way he liked it. He stared at the women a while, his three men behind him waiting until he had his fill, and then they made their way to a bouncer guarding the entrance to the back offices.

The bouncer nodded to them and let them through. Walking down a short hallway, they turned into a large office. A tall man with a bald head and a shiny shirt counted out cash behind a desk. A small amount of cocaine was laid on a mirror in front of him next to a straw cut in half.

“Armand,” Ricardo said, holding out his arms. Armand rose and they embraced. “How are you?”

“Bien. Y tu?”

“Can’t complain. So, where are our guests?”

“Not here yet.”

Ricardo sighed. “This new generation, they have no respect for anything.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.”

After a commotion outside, the bouncer ran in. “They’re here. They wouldn’t give up their guns.”

“That’s fine. Send them in,” Armand said.

Within a few moments, several men with dreadlocks walked in. They were giggling and didn’t attempt to hide their guns at all. One of them had an assault rifle strapped to his back.

“My friends,” Armand said, “welcome. Please, have a seat.”

Although there were several couches and chairs around the office the men didn’t sit down. One of them, a short white man with greasy blond dreads, stepped forward.

“You wanted to talk. Let’s talk.”

“And you are Agamemnon?”

The men chuckled. “No, I am not Agamemnon.”

Armand exhaled loudly. “I was hoping to speak to someone in charge.”

“You can speak to me. I’ll tell him whatever you want me to tell him.”

Armand’s face grew dark. Ricardo knew he had sent a personal invitation for Agamemnon so they could speak like civilized human beings rather than shoot it out on the streets. But if they didn’t want to be civilized, Ricardo also knew no one was better at being uncivilized than Armand.

“I want you to tell him,” Armand said, “that if you filthy pieces of shit don’t stop selling glass in my neighborhoods, we’re going to have a problem.”

“And how are they your neighborhoods?”

The vein in Armand’s temple flared. The men did not know him well enough to know what that meant but Ricardo did. Ricardo took a step back and put his hand on the Smith & Wesson tucked in a holster on his hip.

“They are my neighborhoods,” Armand said, walking around the desk, “because I say they are mine. I’ve seen a lot of filthy beggars like you come along and they all fizzle like oil in a pan. You are no different. I’m giving you one chance to leave. Not just the city, the county. I don’t want you anywhere near my people. You have one week to do as I say. If not, I will hunt you down one by one until this is finished.”

The men chuckled again. Ricardo was amazed by the insolence.

“I can tell you Agamemnon’s answer now if you like?”

Armand held out his arms. “By all means.”

The man flipped a sawed-off shotgun out from underneath his jacket. Before anyone could move the boom echoed through the office, as if a shelf had fallen to the floor. The other men spun around, turning on Ricardo and Armand’s men.

Ricardo jumped behind a couch as the man with the assault rifle started firing. Bits of wall were flying off behind him and hitting him in the head. Ricardo covered himself, the gun by his temple. A small amount of space let light through underneath the couch and the floor and he pointed and shot at the man’s ankle, turning it into red, slick flesh as the man stumbled forward and fell.

Then, all hell broke loose.

Jack listened to one of the detectives tell a story about how they had arrested a senator once and their captain had forced them to let him go when he heard the first gunshot. He knew by the sound it was a shotgun, sawed-off for greater spray. No one in the club did anything, as they weren’t used to hearing gunfire and they probably assumed it was something falling.

“That’s—” William began.

“I know,” Jack said.

Jack pulled out his weapon as a series of pops came from the back. People knew what it was now.

Screams filled the space as the music was shut off. As everyone sprinted for the doors, one woman got knocked down and people began to trample her. Jack ran for her, pushing everyone aside. A big guy in a biker’s jacket took a swing at him and he ducked low, upper-cutting him in the groin and sweeping his legs out from under him with his arms. As the man fell, he ran to the woman and helped her up, guiding her to the line leading out of the exit.

He saw William and the other detectives up and running for the doors. They had all left their firearms in their cars since they were drinking.

“Jack,” William shouted, “come on!”

The door to a backroom opened and the sounds of gunfire overtook the screams. A man in dreadlocks ran out onto the dance floor, two pistols in his hands, firing into the back like he was in a Wild West movie.

Jack ducked low. The lights weren’t turned up yet and darkness shadowed the walls. He put his back to the wall and slid toward the man who was hollering and emptying his revolvers. When he was out, he pulled out some quick-loaders.