Sweet Dreams (7 page)

The sound of the fire trucks and police cars could be heard in the distance. Mark's head ached; he could not get his ears to stop ringing. He could see the blue sky through the smoke, with the same lumbering clouds floating off in the distance; they seemed to smile,
why were they smiling?

Then everything went black.

________________________________________

DREAMS

51

KIRK SAT IN THE parking lot of Simco Foods, which was a big metal warehouse with a little office stuck to the front like a tumor. The bulk of the building was covered with rust and the small office and the parking lot were as neglected as the rest of the building.

Taking out his gun, he dropped the clip, made sure that it was full, and then slid it back into place. Pulling the slide back, he put a bullet into the chamber. Kirk was never a boy scout, but he was always prepared. Being a detective had taught him that you never know what people will do when their backs are against the wall.

After locking the car, he went through the front office door. The receptionist was an older woman with gray speckled hair and more wrinkles then a bulldog. She looked to be in her sixties and when Kirk entered the dingy office, she looked up at him through her horn-rimmed glasses.

"Can I help you, young man?" Her voice quivered just like he remembered his grandmothers did when he was a boy. He loved going over to his granny's house, she always had a dish of M&M's on the coffee table.

Kirk pointed to the Detroit Police Department badge on his hip belt and flashed her a half grin. The FBI had issued them all identification but he didn't want to use it if he didn't have to. No one ever looked at the city stamp on the badge anyway.

"I'm detective Weston and I am investigating a homicide and would like to ask you a few questions."

"Well I don't know if I can help you with that, we don't get much excitement around here." She fumbled with the tiny chain that hooked to her glasses and went around her neck.

"Your company delivers to David's Island don't they?"

Kirk looked around at the faded pictures on the wall of a mountain lake and one of the ocean. They looked to be over thirty years old and the rest of the office was dated just the same. Kirk tried to sound like he was half-interested in the answer so as not to alarm the poor old woman.

"Yes, we deliver to the prison every Friday. Now, let me see..." She shuffled through some papers that unlike the office were filed and stacked in neat rows on her desk. The phone was clean and a small photo of a little boy probably her grandson sat just right next to a pencil holder. "Here it is. Yes, Gus was the driver this last Friday." She handed him a paper with a photocopy of his driver's license. Kirk took the paper and looked at it with his eyebrows down. "Is he here? I need to ask him some questions."

"Hold on. Let me check..." pulling out what looked like a time sheet, she glanced at it and nodded. "Yes, he should be out back cleaning his truck. You can go talk to him if you like." She pointed to a door behind her. Kirk thanked her and headed toward the door.

Kirk looked over his shoulder and asked. "Besides food what else do you deliver to David's Island?"

"Just that, we are a food servicing plant, we provide anything edible, but that's it."

Kirk nodded and pushed through the swinging door ignoring the mandatory safety glasses warning and walked into the huge open warehouse.

The small office was a different world compared to where Kirk stood now. The structure had metal beams stretching across to metal columns and even the siding was metal. It had to be forty feet tall and well over two football fields long but

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Kirk could not see all of it. Loading docks ran along the east wall, and to the west were huge walk-in freezers. Forklifts drove in and out through hanging thick plastic that groaned and popped each time a driver went through. They were honking and driving like lunatics stocking shelves and unloading trucks. Shelves loaded with frozen food went from floor to ceiling. Most of the forklift drivers had on winter gear to keep from freezing in the iceboxes that were from twelve below zero, to twenty below.

Kirk saw a stocky Hispanic man who was probably in his mid-thirties with thick black hair and a thin mustache. He was sweeping a long eighteen-wheeler at the fourth loading dock from the end. Kirk double-checked the picture he was holding. It was Gus, all right.

Gus Martinez looked up from his broom. He could tell that Kirk was a cop from the badge on his belt and the way he walked.
All cops walked the same way, with that swaggerer as
if they owned the world or something
. He shifted his feet nervously as Kirk approached.

"Are you Gus Martinez?" Kirk asked

Gus nodded in the affirmative but didn't say anything.

"I'm Detective Weston; I have some questions for you if you don't mind." Kirk was pulling out all of his nice guy charm and even said the sappy bull,
"if you don't mind"
--he was on a roll now.

"Sure, Am I in some kind of trouble?" Gus blinked at Kirk like a scared rabbit.

"No, no trouble I just had a few questions about your deliveries to David's Island?" He could see Gus shifting his feet and looking down at the floor, not a good sign so far.

"Um...what you need to know?" His English was broken, but still understandable. His dark hair was unkempt and had a streak of gray that ran through it. Kirk didn't see this gray before but up close he could see the spots and the large streaks making their way through the dark jungle. He shoved his hands into his pockets and fiddled with his keys nervously.

"Well, as I'm sure you know from the news, there was an incident out there on Friday, the same day you delivered food to the place."

"Some people got sick...I saw on news..." He looked toward the big rollup door and then back at Kirk, his eyes darting back and forth.

"No. They all died, Gus. The news was just trying to keep everyone from panicking, just in case it was an outbreak of some kind." Kirk's eyes narrowed, reading Gus's body language.
This guy is gonna run!
Kirk thought, though he hoped he would be wrong.

Gus looked like he had seen a ghost. "Died? But they said..." He took one more look at Kirk, and then bolted for the door.

"Aw, crap!" Kirk pulled out his gun, diving after him, missing his shirt collar by just a hair. Gus jumped down from the ledge where a trucker was backing up to unload. "Stop!"

Kirk yelled. Jumping down to the pavement, he sprinted after Gus. "Stupid...stupid, never run, man. This will only make things worse for you!"

Kirk had a bit of a temper, and it was beginning to rise. He could feel his heart kick in as a surge of adrenaline started to pump through his body. He could see his new little friend

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take off around the corner, heading for the parking lot. He was right behind him, about fifty feet or so. He hit the corner and put his shoulder into the cinder block wall to stop himself. With his gun drawn, Kirk whipped around the corner. Nothing...

He could hear a car start up. A pair of headlights came on and glared into Kirk's eyes like a panther ready to strike. A green paint chipped Caddy squealed out of the parking lot just missing a light pole as he rounded the corner and threw gravel when he hit the street.

Kirk grabbed his keys as he ran. Hitting the auto locks, he jumped into his own car, fired it up, and then took off out of the parking lot. The taillights of the runaway caddie were in the distance, weaving in and out of traffic like a drunk psychopath. Grabbing his cell phone, Kirk dialed 911.

"Yes, what is your emerg...?" He cut the operator off.

"This is Detective Weston. I'm in pursuit of a green Cadillac heading west on..."

The street sign whipped past him as

the driver of an oncoming car slammed on his brakes swerving out of the way. "...Fourth Street, I am in pursuit and we just passed Beacon Ave. Send some backup--Suspect is Hispanic, hundred and eighty pounds, wearing a dark jacket and gray pants." Kirk dropped the phone on the seat and grabbed the wheel with both hands. His arms bulged as he cranked with all his might, making a hard left and sending the phone over into the passenger side floorboard.

He caught up to the old beat-up caddy and remembered how glad he was that he was in a Crown Vic. Cars were flying by the windows like blurs of light. He could hear metal scrap-ing and the glass breaking behind him. Then it hit him. They were on the wrong side of the street!

"You
messed
with the wrong cop!" Gritting his teeth and swerving into the right lane, he pushed the gas pedal to the floor and the car surged forward. He could see the road up ahead was going to make a sharp right-hand curve and he knew this was his chance to gain the advantage. The two cars screamed down the industrial road, roaring like two lions in a fight to the death. Gus was ahead by just a nose, and Kirk had the front of his car directly next to the rear bumper of the Cadillac. As they started into the curve, Kirk jammed his foot to the floor, hoping to drop a gear and complete the maneuver. It was risky but Kirk had done it a few times in years past, so he was running on nerves at this point. The goal was to hit the rear of the suspect's car knocking his backend loose and causing him to spin out. Kirk waited for the gear to drop and then--
it did,
sending him smashing into the corner of his target like a bull who ran past the red cape and right into the matador. Then Kirk spun the steering wheel hard to the left propelling Gus into a spin.

The big green Caddy spun around as Kirk tried to keep his own car in control, dodging oncoming cars and trying not to lose Gus again. The world spun in slow motion like a special effect in a high budget movie and Kirk remembered thinking how he felt like some sort of super cop, in complete control of the spin and the impending outcome. However, that was just wishful thinking and he knew it, the two cars were now locked together in a dance that was not heading in the right direction. Gus stared wide eyed at Kirk for a brief second as a white mini van slid through the intersection and t-boned Gus breaking

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them loose from each other and then the old caddy turned and proceeded to flip over in a shower of sparks and grinding metal.

Kirk stood on the brakes, cranked the wheel to the right, and came to a skidding stop. The white mini van was stopped halfway on the curb to Kirks left, and there was white smoke boiling from the crunched hood. A tall dark woman stumbled from the van with a small cut on her cheek. Kirk noticed she was not dressed like a mini van driving soccer mom with a short black skirt and a white shirt but more like a sales woman about to visit a very rich client. The two car seats in the back said other wise and for a minute Kirk was drawn away from the scene that was unfolding in front of him.

The green caddy had come to a stop on its top and the back wheels still spun looking like a dog that was dreaming of running and even though it was asleep, pumped its legs onward still as if it was going somewhere. The road past the intersection and on all sides was what looked like a bad day at a NASCAR race or maybe a good day depending on what kind of fan you were. The mini van was one of many such accidents but Kirk was only interested in one at the moment. Kirk opened the door and stepped out taking his place behind the protection of the large Crown Vic's door. He had drawn his .45 but didn't remember when he had, was it when he was running or driving? It was not important now but he was sure after all this was over he would have a crap load of paperwork to do and a detail like that might be good to remember. Kirk could hear the whine and squealing of breaks as a semi truck full of frozen chicken locked up and jackknifed. He threw a glance over his shoulder, saw the semi turn over, and scraped the road clean like a huge snowplow. It stopped just shy of the end of what would be yet another mess made by yours truly.

"Gus? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Kirk said to himself. He could see movement through all the wreckage and Gus slowly crawled out from the smashed-up car, and hid behind the rear fender. Then without warning, Gus popped up with a handgun and opened fire, a bullet sliced through the door; hitting Kirk in the leg and sending a riveting heat through his body. Dropping to one knee from the impact of the bullet as it drilled into his flesh, Kirk fired back two shots that glanced off the rear fender where Gus's head was a few seconds before.

Kirk grimaced and looked down, seeing that the bullet had not hit an artery, and appeared to have gone clean through, he clenched his jaw and cursed. This was the time most cops would have waited for backup and nursed their wounds. However, Kirk Weston had what he liked to call a short fuse, and he was hopping mad.

"Okay, this is how you want to do this? Fine, just remember you called down the rain so don't gripe if you get wet!"

Kirk peered at the Caddy to see if Gus was up waiting for him to make an appearance and saw the little creep through the broken side window cowering like a whipped dog. Kirk shot at him so he would have more time and mustering all his strength, he jumped to his feet.

Kirk Weston ran ignoring the burning pain that ate at his leg and like a gunslinger, he held out his .45 out in front of him making a straight line for the overturned car. Gus jumped to his feet, looked into the wild eyes of Kirk

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Weston, and had a tinge of regret run through his mind. Only a crazy man would run across open ground gun drawn screaming like that. It unnerved Gus and he did what only a beaten man would do--he hesitated!

Kirk saw this flash of fear cross Gus's face and shot once hitting Gus in the right shoulder. Gus twitched and twisted around and fell backward landing on a bed of glass. Gus turned on his side as quick as he could to put a bullet into the pigs other leg, and when he looked through the glassless side windows of his mothers prize Cadillac, all he saw was the flash of a muzzle flare from the cop's gun.