District 3 Debriefing

Role Call:

“Miller.”

“Here.”

“Reed.”

“Here.”

“Thompson.”

“Present, sir.”

“And, Cunningham.”

“Yes, sir.”

“OK. Four on tonight. I’ll take Stevenson through J Street in the SUV. Miller and Thompson, take the perimeter, and Cunningham, continue to search for our main subject in the usual spots. You take the unmarked car. Reed, you stay close to the station. Be on stand-by.

Each of you has his photo, aliases, associates, and familiar locations. As far as we know, he hasn’t left the area and is still recruiting for both distribution and to hunt us down.

Understood?”

The sergeant scanned the room. There were no questions and everyone looked on with a confidence that hadn’t been seen in the force for 10 to 15 years.

Despite the notoriously high crime rate in District 3, winds of change were in the air. Robberies, assaults, drug offenses, all down for the third straight quarter. And there hadn’t been a murder in nearly eight weeks.

“OK. Let’s go get the bad guys. Remember: Cunningham is armed with it tonight. Cunningham, as always, use that old-fashioned detective work and police instinct. Do not jump the gun.”

The pun drew a snicker from the squad members as they filed out of their seats and into their cars.

**

The streets were becoming safe again, all attributed to a new weapon—one which had criminals skipping town, expanding their enterprises, and warring with other gangs. Their goal was simple: find it. New recruits joined the small handful of crime syndicates barely surviving with promises of escape and lucrative payouts. But none of them knew where it was, let alone how to get a hold of it.

On the other side, the lure to rid the city of all violent criminals was overwhelming, not only to District 3 but also to the handful of scientists, high-ranking political affiliates, and small number of law enforcement agents who knew of its existence. A normal shift in the past would require anywhere from 25 to 35 uniformed officers. Tonight, there were just five.

They only used it when they were on. A lingering fear of deception in the ranks was more than prevalent. Confidentiality was of utmost importance. No one outside of the department’s night beat sergeants was in the know. The chief still ran the risk of bent loyalties and the potential for promising rewards from those on the dark side.

Meanwhile, only minutes from the station, Travis Hill staggered down Main Street, trudging against a cold, blustery arctic wind. The broken sidewalks hindered his progress, forcing him to limp along like a wounded animal searching desperately for a hole to comfort him so that he could die in peace.

With his nearly frozen arm stretched out of his makeshift shawl, he did his best to tuck his shirt in. An oversized waistband hung loosely from his hips, nearly exposing his filthy skin.

“I just need a quarter. Only a quarter. Can you spare some change?”

Keeping to themselves on the opposite side of the sidewalk was an elderly couple, walking arm in arm, ignoring him as fast as they could. They hastily picked up the pace and adamantly refrained from making eye contact.

A blast of wind chilled the saliva nestled in the corners of Travis’s lips and blew the old man’s hat off. Travis bent over to pick it up, but the old couple kept walking, abandoning the hat and not looking back to watch Travis place it on a nearby bench. They trudged on.

Several blocks away, the once vibrant storefronts and renovated apartment buildings gave way to the ornately molded mansions of yesteryear’s millionaires. The Topcoat Gym was nestled in between a large blue Victorian and brick Colonial. It wasn’t your typical fitness center. With columns as wide as the sidewalk and an oversized front door broad enough for a tank to pass through, it rivaled an early 1900s private social club.

Dean Mabry threw his gym bag over his shoulder and slammed the trunk closed. Two beeps echoed through the vastly open underground parking garage available only to the gym’s VIP members.

Dean reached into his suit pants pocket, took out his VIP invitation, and punched a four-digit code into the security system, making sure to look all around him, including over his head.

A large metal door opened slowly, inviting Dean in, sort of like an honored guest. Two security cameras overhead led him to the staircase leading up to the back entrance.

“May I help you, sir?” a young man, not exactly the gym type but thin and rather vanilla, greeted him brightly. The shine of his smile rivaled the LED lights proudly displaying containers of supplements under the glass counter.

“Yeah. I’m here to look around,” Dean replied.

“Have you been here before, sir?”

Dean’s stare was meant to make the man feel uncomfortable, and he hit his mark. “Why would I wanna look around if I’ve been here before?”

“Yes, sir. Understood. Let me ask you this, what brings you here today? Are you looking to tone up? Lose some weight?”

“Does it look like I need to lose weight?”

This time, his response drew silence and shock. The man swallowed and asked softly, “Did you get an invitation?”

“Now you’re talkin’.” Dean tossed his invitation onto the glass counter. The four-digit passcode into the parking lot was smack dab in the center of the VIP card.

“Yes, okay. I’ll be right back, sir.”

The greeter disappeared into the next room where the beat gave the impression of a bodybuilding contest rather than a late-night workout.

“Hello, sir. I understand you’re here for a tour,” the owner said as he extended his right hand. “I’ll take it from here, Warner.”

Dean handed over his VIP invitation.

“Yes, you are. You must be Dean. Right this way.”

The bright lights and loud music quickly proved to be a façade. One slender woman gave a quick glance over, looking both men up and down, and continued through her workout.

“Machines. That’s what we have here. Lots of them. You know how they work. They do wonders to people. Make them feel good. Make them look younger. Sort of like taking them back in time,” the owner preached. “We have ‘em here alright. Just not the right ones.”

Dean listened intently. He knew what he came for.

“Care to check anything else out?”

Leading a life of crime since he was 15, Dean had the skills the boss was looking for. Through his career, he had learned numerous trades, one of them being the art of the hunt. But he would never do it without some insurance to seal the deal. “I wanna see your supplements.”

**

Several blocks away, broken windows, dilapidated stoops, and flickering streetlights peppered the neighborhood. Amongst a row of newly renovated crack houses, a small group of children played on the sidewalk, the oldest not a day over ten. It drew a smile from Cunningham. Things were looking better.

But where avenues turned to dead ends and broken stairs to total abandoned ruins, stood a park bench, and underneath it, amongst the smell of stale booze and old food emanating from the nearby garbage can, lay an exhausted Travis Hill, quarterless and cold.

“Let’s go, buddy. You can’t sleep here.”

Travis woke up, shivering to the deep, dark voice of a local cop.

“Let’s get a move on it, please.”

Before he could get on his feet, Sergeant Cunningham extended his large, beefy forearm close to Travis’s chest. Travis hesitated before noticing the officer’s open hand. He reached for it, allowing him to pull him up.

“Sorry to wake you, but there are two problems here. One, you can’t sleep on a public street. You know the rules. Two, it’s too damn cold to be anywhere outside. Why don’t you let me take you to the shelter?”

Travis glanced around. It couldn’t have been more than a half-mile away. “Thank you, sir. I… No thank you, Officer…” Travis rubbed his eyes and refocused. “Officer Cunningham. I’m almost there.”

“Almost where?”

“To Leonardo’s,” he replied.

“Leonardo’s? Are you talking about the old pizza place over on 7th?”

“Yeah! That’s the one!” Travis was thrilled to find out that someone else had known of Leonardo’s. It had been years since he was last there. “You know Leonardo’s?”

“You okay, son? That place, it… it hasn’t been open in nearly 15 years,” Cunningham answered.

“It doesn’t matter. I just need to get there,” Travis explained.

“Son, I practically grew up there. Folks had a place right down on Bennett. We used to walk there after school just about every day. I’m old enough to be your father. What do you need to go there for?”

“I’m trying to get my life back. My old life. A better life,” Travis replied.

Cunningham knew a down-on-his-luck junkie when he saw one. He’d been at it too long. But he also developed a heart—not only for the streets, but for the people, his people—the ones he was sworn to protect.

“That place has been closed for at least 15 years now. Maybe more. What does Leonardo’s have to do with getting your life back together?”

“I just want to see it. It was a better time. Things were a lot easier. Much easier than they are now,” Travis replied.

“Tell me about it. Everything was much better 15, 20 years ago,” Cunningham added. “But don’t you lose hope. We’re cleaning it up day by day. You know if you make your way there, you can’t go inside. I don’t want to make life difficult, but I’d have to take you down to the station and book you. Why don’t you let me take you to the shelter? A nice warm bed and maybe more.”

**

As the Topcoat Gym emptied out for the evening, Dean and the owner returned to the front desk, where a canister of supplements and a new set of car keys—left by the only woman working out—sat on the brightly lit counter.

Dean shook the whey protein container, assessing its weight. “Just one?”

“Let’s establish our trust first,” the owner replied. “There’s at least 100K in there. Half of it’s yours.”

That drew a smile from Dean… the first one since receiving the invite.

“As tight as things have been around here, I expect that to be gone within a week. I have associates all across the region. My enterprise is worth more than every structure combined on most of these streets. You know what I want, and I heard you’re good at what you do. You know what I’m looking for.”

Dean nodded in assurance. He said nothing.

“Word on the street is there’s a guy trying to clean up his act. Name’s Hill. Washed-up junkie. Sleeps in vacated places, under park benches. Wanders late at night. Keeps searching for the Time Machine.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, woke up to silence, knowing already who he was from a past life.

“I don’t want him dead. I just, you know, wanna chat with him a little. See what he knows, and if he can lead us to what we’re looking for. There’s, uh… also a possibility that he’s the guy ratting everyone out. You know, he’s trying to recover and leading whoever is out here doing the local cops’ dirty work. If either one of you can bring me back whatever it is—or whoever it is—putting a dent in my business, let’s just say there’s a handsome reward for ya.”

Dean gave nothing away. Instead, he shook hands with a promise to keep his end of the bargain. With the way things were shaping up around town—high-ranking lifetime members disappearing, the people taking back the streets—he’d be back alright, but not with a junkie in tow.

**

Travis walked along the shoulder. At some point, businesses and apartment buildings had been replaced by abandoned storefronts and empty lots.

As he turned the corner, a lonely streetlamp from years past stood idly with an orange halo glowing above it. He noted its beauty, but quickly grimaced after seeing that the others had been taken down or vandalized beyond repair.

The same could be said for Leonardo’s. What appeared to be a dimming and aged motion light clicked on without any noticeable movement and clicked off just as easily. The cursive sign above the painted Italian chefs was partially red, partially faded pink, and partially dirty eggshell white. Every window was boarded up and the padlock on the front door was broken.

Cunningham had checked out for the night and traded his patrol car in for his own vehicle. Prior to heading to the highway, he made a sudden U-turn and headed straight for Leonardo’s.

He crept up slowly, watching Travis from a short distance. “Don’t go in there. Don’t do it. Get your shit together and stay outta there.”

Dean Mabry knew all too well who Hill was and what the Time Machine was. Why Travis would be going there—to Leonardo’s, like they did as kids long ago escaped him. But that didn’t matter now. If Travis could get him closer to becoming a leader himself, he could start to build his own empire. But if there truly was some secret weapon that disappeared everyone, he wouldn’t make any deals with anyone.

His bright yellow sports car came to a screeching halt right in front of Leonardo’s.

Travis looked as though he had seen a ghost… not a friendly one either.

Cunningham watched closely.

“Well, well. If it isn’t an old-time friend from years past! How ya doin’, old pal?” Dean remarked.

Travis refused to answer.

“What’s the matter? Someone cut your tongue out? Or are ya too messed up in the head?” Dean began convulsing in a mocking manner, thinking that Travis would snicker, at least a little.

But Travis stared… at Leonardo’s. He had no plan other than to sleep and dream about the way things used to be.

“I’ve got a fresh supply. Just picked it up. Maybe we can go inside for old time’s sake. Check out the Time Machine. I’ve got some quarters… somewhere.”

Travis knew going inside with Dean meant that he wouldn’t come out.

“No thanks. I’m cleaning up, Dean. No more junk. No more lifestyle. I’ve given that shit up. All of it. I’m just looking to get a good night’s rest and skip town… for good.”

“Oh? Well, I don’t see that happening anytime soon. Let’s go.”

Guns were nothing new, but turning to the other side—the safe side—was.

Cunningham snuck up slowly. “Early retirement for this one,” he whispered to himself.

The once-lively pizza parlor, immersed in scents of garlic, parsley, mozzarella, now reeked of stale urine and animal feces. Spray paint adorned the walls, and tiles in thousands of pieces carpeted the floor.

A baseball card, candy, and gumball machine were all empty. But not Travis’s favorite: the Time Machine.

A tiny smirk lifted him into another world, an escape into a magical time of imagination and wonder. Just one quarter was all it took.

The top, still candy apple purple. The chrome quarter slot, shiny as the day Leonardo himself set it down and ripped the plastic off. A thick black felt covered the prizes.

No one ever knew what they would get because no two prizes were the same. Ever.

A plastic dinosaur enclosed in a clear plastic bubble. With it, a tiny scroll: Extinct? Just wait. Soon, the T-Rex will be the main attraction at the zoo.

A cubic zirconia ring in a tiny gift box. A lonely Bavarian prince couldn’t find a princess. The one who finds it will have 10 years of good luck!

A tiny pyramid with a door. Inside, a bronze toy mummy holding loosely onto scripted “authentic” Egyptian paper: Mummy will look for you when it gets dark out. Hurry home.

“Here. Put it in.” Dean tossed a quarter on the floor. “This is a machine with toys. This can’t be what we’re looking for.”

“I have one in my pocket. I found it on my way here.” Travis’s voice shook and cracked. Tears rolled down his cheeks and fell to the mud-stained floor.

“So put it in. Let’s see what the magic is,” Dean replied.

“Put the gun down!”

Dean turned his gun on the intruder. A loud blast echoed through Leonardo’s, immediately followed by a magnetic field Travis had never seen, even in the wildest of toys dispensed from the Time Machine. Dean fell hard onto shredded tile, disappearing entirely upon impact, leaving his gun and clothes behind.

Travis turned to Cunningham. The barrel of what he could only see as a different type of weapon—not a gun, but similar—pointed directly at his face. He shook nervously, squinted hard, trying to regain his hearing, his hands held up high.

“I have nothing.”

“Put the quarter in.”

“What?” Travis replied.

“Put it in, I said. Before I change my mind,” Cunningham directed.

Travis slowly dropped it into the slot, tears rolling down his cold face.

“Go ahead. Turn the knob. Get your surprise.”

Two loud cranks snuck through the ringing in his ears. A clear plastic ball rolled into view down a mechanical maze and rested abruptly against the metal door.

“Go ahead. Take it out,” Cunningham instructed. Use old-fashioned police work. Instinct.

Travis squeezed open a set of faux gold earrings with tiny imitation pearls. Pearls are made through oysters and are very rare. The one you love will wear them forever.

“Now go tell your mother you love her,” Cunningham said with no emotion.

A blast echoed through the cold night.

**

An 8-year-old boy ran through the damp streets, just beginning to dry off with the hot sun coming out of the clouds.

Sweat beaded up across his tiny face as he scurried around corners, through shortcut alleyways and neighbors’ yards.

A broken single mother of four heard the loud footsteps on the front porch. She slid her stash under the couch and started to the door.

“Mom! Look what I got you! Close your eyes!”

Letting out a sigh, she reluctantly played along. After hearing nothing else, she instinctively held out her hands.

Travis gently placed his 25-cent gift into her palms, touching them at the same time with his tiny fingers. She opened her eyes… and sighed again. This time—joy.

“I love you, Mommy.”

Tears began forming in her round black eyes. The wrinkles and shallow coloring beneath them would soon disappear. The pills would be emptied into the toilet, and three part-time jobs would merge into one. Both would have a new shot at life. Now, under different circumstances.

Seventy-five miles away, Dean Mabry was awoken by the slamming of the thick steel-barred door. He hurriedly sat up and looked around his cell, grabbing his orange pajama top and staring at it in disbelief.

“Let’s move. Breakfast doesn’t last all day. You know the rules, Mabry.”

Dean tried desperately to wake up, to figure out how long he’d been there. The hair on his arms was gray; his knees felt like they needed to be oiled.

Back at Leonardo’s, Cunningham holstered his machine and wiped his hands clean. He had never before used it on an innocent civilian. Nor had he used it on two people in one setting.

“Yep, I’ll be fired… unless I keep my mouth shut.”

Leonardo’s certainly had seen better times. Something told Sergeant Cunningham that it would see those times again. Maybe even better.

Eventually, the whole city would. And then more.

Transmission Ended

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