The drive was hell.
I fought back waves of panic that whispered worries of death and dismemberment and failure. I saw his face with a thousand awful expressions ranging from agony to terror to eyes-rolled-back succumbination to unconsciousness, always pale with blood loss, blood which was no longer flowing under cardiac power but slowly oozing from one or more orifices or wounds.
((He’s dead. If they actually know we’re on their trail, they should know the smartest thing for them to do is feed him to the fish, quietly and without delay. This is a homicide case, now, Andrea. Accept the unpleasant truth, be honest with myself. Geraldine is going to hate me even more than she already does. She’s gonna be beyond devastated, and she’s gonna despise me for being a worthless no-good pig. And there’s nothing I can do to help her except retrieve his body to make his funeral possible, so that she can have the closure she deserves.))
We parked around the corner from the Ulysses TransPacific Solutions container terminal and, darting from cover to cover, peeked through the iron bars of the fence to check for anybody looking our way then cased the fenced perimeter. We split up and inspected each of the four truck gates quickly; upon checking the fourth I discovered that it was unlocked. Bingo. I motioned to the others to fall back into cover. “(This one’s unlocked,)” I whispered. “(Safety check?)” Doll and Koko nodded. “(Looks like we’re complying with the Fourth Amendment tonight… assuming the judge agrees there’s a chance someone could have wandered in there and put themself in danger.)”
Amidst the sound of the Ocean Pacific raging against the sea wall, we stepped between the shadows of parked trucks and unladen 20-foot trailers until we reached a labyrinthine holding area for shipping containers, the only place besides the container crane’s operator cabin bearing any resemblance to a base of operations. While doing our best to keep out of sight of the cabin, we checked for unlocked containers, but every one we came across was locked.
Without warning the crane began to slowly creep towards the pile of containers, causing me to jump out of my skin. Christ! We looked at each other in alarm. ((Someone’s operating that thing! It has to be them!))
I motioned to my girls to follow me, and, taking token care to remain concealed, rushed the crane’s stairs. Tiptoeing was unnecessary under the noise of the crane’s busy motors and hydraulics, so we ascended as quickly as we could while maintaining a tight formation, by which time the pick-up mechanism had been positioned more-or-less above one of the containers we hadn’t gotten to, where it hovered patiently for reasons that were beyond me. As we reached the door to the cabin the crane resumed adjusting itself and its arm so that the pickup mechanism was sitting squarely above the mystery container. I gave Koko and Blue the sign to stay back, prompting them to nod and make room for the women who still had badges and guns—then motioned ‘on three’ to Doll. By the time I got to ‘two’ the pickup device had descended within arm’s reach of the container, and as my fingers wrapped around the knob and turned it, the claw clamped onto the container’s four corners.
I swung the door open, and Doll and I strolled in to find two black suits working the crane, a blonde bun at the controls and a black crew cut holding up the user’s manual for a Hymore B102 ship-to-shore crane for the other’s reference. They looked up from their activity and froze.
“Good evening,” I began as I flipped open my badge wallet. “Santa Virginia Police Department, Detective Bachman, this is my colleague, Lieutenant Buchanan. We noticed that one of the gates to this facility was open and unsupervised, so we decided to make a safety check to ensure that no unauthorized persons had entered this area without proper supervision and personal protective equipment.”
They continued to stare at us.
“Are one or both of you employees of Ulysses TransPacific Solutions?”
Panic wafted out of their eyes like thick columns of smoke billowing from a burning oil rig.
“Is that a ‘no’?”
No ‘yes’es, no ‘no’s, no shakes, no nods. Just frozen, deer-staring-Death-in-the-headlights silence.
“Would you mind explaining to us why you are operating a crane after hours and out of uniform?”
No response.
“How about telling us your names?”
Not a syllable in reply.
“Two people out of uniform and clumsily operating a crane with the user manual open in their laps, who are refusing to identify themselves when asked if they are authorized to be on the premises. This is not a good look.”
The man snaked his hand inside his coat—but our guns were drawn and aimed before he could lay a finger on what he was reaching for.
“Whatever you have in there, it better not have a trigger. Show that empty hand.” He obeyed. “Put the book on the table.” He did. “Come here, stop 5 feet away from me.” He approached me and stopped. I patted his chest, felt something, and reached into his inside pocket. It was a very familiar shape, made of metal and checkered wood; my guess from the shape—snub nose .38 special—turned out to be on the money. “We aren’t the shoot-first types, friendo, but you very nearly got yourself killed. Hands up and against the wall.” I cuffed him. “Hey, lady, you wouldn’t happen to have any surprises, either, would you?” She nodded timidly. “Up, over here.” I patted her down and pulled a compact 9mm from her waistband before cuffing her. With our quarry restrained, we holstered our pieces. I told them their rights before adding, “I’m not promising immunity or a plea bargain, but the first one of you to confirm whether the body is in that crate you just picked up gets a kind smile and a good word with the DA.”
“He’s alive,” they said in unison.
“He’s alive?” I exclaimed. “How alive is he?”
“Just a few scratches,” claimed the bigger one.
“Is there a lock on the container?”
“We threw away the key,” said the less-big one.
“Shit… Doll, let’s get these fuckers outside and get a look at the lock on that container.”
On the way down the stairs I keyed the radio on my work phone. “Oscar-14582 to Dispatch.”
“Go ahead, Detective.”
“I have an adult male in unknown medical condition locked inside a shipping container at Ulysses Transpacific Shipping Solutions.”
“Copy, can you give more precise coordinates?”
“I’ll be at the container in 60 seconds.”
“Copy. Please stand by.” There was a short pause, then “EMTs and Rescue Squad dispatched and homing on your coordinates, ETA less than 5 minutes.”
“Thank you, I also need a CSI team, tow truck, and transport for two perps.”
“Is this for an existing case?”
“Affirmative, case number is mike papa 24-301.”
“Stand by.” Keyboard clattering in the background. “Missing Person, Alexander Brookvale?”
“Affirmative.”
“Copy, I’ll log this call in your CaseCloud momentarily. Keep us apprised of any developments.”
“Roger, thanks, out.” As we arrived at Alex’s steel coffin, I inspected the padlock. “Shit, it’s a disc detainer—and I left my disc detainer tool at home.”
Koko cleared her throat. “Hand me your picks.”
“O-kay…” I obliged her, unsure of what she had in mind.
She stuck one end of a tension wrench into the lock and gently jiggled it. “Never seen this brand, looks Chinese. This particular model tensions on the first disc, though, so you can use pin tumbler tools to pick away.” She got to work rotating discs.
“Ah. I feel like a dumbass for not bringing all my tools.”
“I’ll get him out. You should know how to improvise with the wrong tools when you don’t think to bring the right ones.”
I blushed. “And I feel like even more of a dumbass for not knowing how to improvise.”
She mumbled to herself as she worked her way back and forth and between discs, until—
The shackle popped free.
“Quick! Get it open!” I urged.
We unbarred the door and threw it open. Lying supine on the metal floor, facing the back of the container, was a man, hooded, naked, hands tied, and bruised. I thanked God when I saw the side of his chest expand and contract. “Alex.” I removed the hood. He made no sound. I gently shook his shoulder. “Alex, you’re free.” His head turned a few degrees. I cut his bindings and rolled him onto his back as I assured him, “Mister Brookvale, you’re going home. Would you like to talk to your wife?” I waved Blue to come hither, and she began inspecting him for injuries.
He slowly turned his gaze to my face, and looked me in the eye. After a pause, he asked through desiccated vocal cords, “Who are you?”
“Andrea Bachman. I started looking for you after a few days of the police not doing anything to find you.”
“Oh.”
“And this is Koko—um—Georgina Dominguez. And this is Andrea Buchanan. And Doctor Regina Klein is the one giving you a checkup. She’s… the best doctor I know of in her field.”
“It’s been a while since I had a patient that wasn’t stiff from rigor mortis. Can’t say I like it when they start asking for me to give an explanation of their condition that they’re not gonna understand or give medical advice they’re just gonna ignore, but being able to ask them questions about their medical history is nice.”
I grimaced at Blue’s remark. “Yeah, uh… Anyways, they’ve helped me rescue you. So did my other girlfr—a couple of my other friends. Are you ready to talk to your wife?”
He nodded. I dialed her and put my phone to his ear.
“Geri. I’m safe.” I could hear her talking loudly but couldn’t make out her words. “I love you, too. — I don’t know. Andrea, where are we?”
“The Ulysses TransPacific Solutions container terminal, South Bay. We have an ambulance on the way, and as soon as we know which hospital they’re taking you to, I’ll notify your wife.”
“Ulysses TransPacific Solutions container terminal in South Bay. — Andrea Bachman. — She has been? — Geri says, ‘Thank you.’”
My head became lighter than air, and all the tension in my body evaporated, to such an extreme that I nearly fainted; Koko and Doll caught me. “Clover! Are you alright?”
“(Yeah…) Yes. I’m okay. I’m… happy to have been of assistance to you and your wife, Mister Brookvale. Thank you for staying alive throughout this. And I hope you can forgive me for taking so long.”
“I’m alive,” he replied dismissively.
“I… can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”
Blue pinched his bicep; he ignored her and me in favor of his wife. “Geri, can you make that meatlessloaf from last Tuesday for dinner when I get out of the hospital? — Yes, I think the homemade ketchup improves it. — She said she’ll call you with the name of the hospital as soon as she finds out where they’re taking me. — Really, now…?” He eyed me. “You’re a cop, Andrea?”
I bit my lip. “Despite my conscience’s objections, I decided it was necessary to become a Crimes Against Persons Detective in order to rescue you.”
“Do you think it was worth it?” He grimaced and grunted as Blue palpated his side.
“Yes. No, wait—it’s complicated. Actually… it isn’t up to me to decide whether saving your life justified me doing any of what I did. The only person who can know whether it was justified is the person whose life was at stake.”
He smiled through pain as Blue felt his hands and fingers. “That’s where you’re wrong, Andrea. It was your decision to become a cop, not mine. It’s up to you to figure out whether it was the right one.”
“Are you saying you have no opinion, either way, whether I did the right thing or should have left you for dead?”
“I have an opinion, but my opinions are not a substitute for your introspection. You have to examine and constantly re-evaluate your own values, tweaking them as you learn more about the lived experiences of others, to determine whether the actions they drive are ‘correct’. No-one can tell you whether what you’ve done was truly righteous.”
“Okay—but—do—do you think I did the right thing?”
“I have far too much respect for you to decide for you whether your actions have been good or evil or amoral. Now, if you don’t mind, I was chatting with my wife.” He resumed talking on the phone.
I wanted to scream.
((All Cops Are Bastards)). I am a bastard. I used my resources and powers as a bastard to save the life of a community leader, a revered light illuminating a brighter future, a beloved husband, and a human being deserving of dignity and life and good health. I am, nonetheless, a bastard, because All Cops Are Bastards. Other bastards are sending me death threats, making it clear to me that I am not a fellow bastard. I am, nonetheless, a bastard, because All Cops Are Bastards. No matter how often I may risk my life, no matter how many sadists I catch, no matter how many lives I save, no matter how compassionately I may fight for the well-being of society’s most vulnerable communities… I’m still just Another Cop, Another Bastard.
((Fine. They can call me a bastard)). I won’t argue with them. From their perspectives they aren’t wrong, and, given the poor character of the average cop, they have no reason to like me at any point in our relationship, no matter how sincere may be my efforts to gain their trust. People don’t have to like me right off the bat, people don’t have to like me ever, people don’t have to tell me I’m a good person for me to follow my own conscience.
((So, yeah. It was worth it. I would have sold my body, if it had been the only way to save him. I might have even sold my soul.))
((…))
((In a way, I did.))
“How is he, Doc?” I asked, with the aim of changing the topic in my head.
“Hematomas everywhere, 4 fractured fingers, 3 fractured ribs…” She felt his nose and he yelped in pain. “Nasal fracture…” She spread his mouth open and looked inside. “…2 missing molars, and mild-to-moderate dehydration. He’ll be fine.”
“Thank you for the good news.” I quickly relayed her diagnosis to Dispatch. “Koko, getting that lock open was very heroic. He might have asphyxiated if we hadn’t gotten him out so quickly.”
She pointed at a series of slits on the side of the container. “Vent.”
“Oh.” I blushed as I realized this was the sort of detail Columbo would have noticed immediately and effortlessly. I turned to the two perps in black in order to distract myself yet again. “So you two weren’t planning on suffocating him.” They were silent. “But were you gonna bury him at sea?” Not a peep. “Here’s your first chance to either confess your sins or take them to the grave. Were you or were you not in the process of drowning him?”
She grunted, at which he hissed, “Don’t.”
“Good choice. Silence is your best bet right now. I ain’t a priest, so I have no obligation to keep your misdeeds between us. Still, I gotta get your names.” Doll and I patted them down for ID, but there were no drivers licenses in their wallets. “Who are you?”
Silence.
“You’re under arrest. Failure to identify yourselves can result in charges of obstruction under California Penal Code Section 148(a)(1). You want another year in jail on top of whatever trouble you’re already in?”
More silence. Maybe they knew their rights. Maybe they knew it was only a 148(a)(1) PC if they refused to identify themselves during booking. Maybe they knew I was lying. Maybe I was dabbling in the timeless law enforcement pastime of stretching the truth or outright making shit up when explaining the law to laypeople. Maybe that wasn’t entirely ethical. Power is a greater pleasure than heroin and thanks to all the power fantasies I indulged in throughout my life, I had been addicted to it since childhood, even before they gave me that badge. Maybe I was weak. Maybe I had no business carrying a badge and a gun.
I wasn’t thinking about any of that, though. I was in the moment. I was enjoying the rush injected by my conquest of these two wicked human beings.
“Fine. There’s nothing we can do to get you to talk, so I guess we’ll just have to wait for your lawyers to give us your names.”
The squad car arrived first and took them away. One SecreText debriefing and 2 minutes later, the EMTs picked up Alex. I immediately called Geraldine to notify her that they were whisking him away to Cottonwood Lodge Memorial Hospital. The ambulance drove off into the night, sirens blazing, leaving the 4 of us to each other.
“Good job, Clover.” Doll gave me a kiss, and Koko and Blue followed her example. “He’s alive. He’s safe. And he’ll be home once they’ve taken care of the fractures and given him some fluids. You can relax.”
“Well… I… I’ve been fucking around the whole time his life has been in danger.”
“But not to excess,” said Koko. “You didn’t fuck around so much that you lost sight of your objective.”
“I dunno… I spent an awful lot of time doing freaky shit with my girlfriends when I could have been interviewing witnesses and gathering clues.”
“Shush,” said Blue. “Work-life balance isn’t made-up bullshit. If you work 24/7 without intermittent rest and recreation, you’ll suffer increased anxiety, fatigue, sleep issues, and stress. Take a break—doctor’s orders.”
“Hm. If you say so.”
“We can use your break time to celebrate your victory,” suggested Doll.
“I’m feeling pretty jittery from all the action, I think I’d like to… chill. Calm down. Then take care of the paperwork in the morning, bright and early.”
“Then get chillin’, catcher of villains,” urged Blue with a smile. We all kissed each other good night and went our separate ways. ((I did it. I saved his life.))
Sleep came easy. But there would come a night, very soon, when sleep would be hard to come by, when one of the very pairs of handcuffs I slapped on these kidnappers would be cinched around the wrists of one of my lovers—
Because they had laid in wait for him. They had stolen him out from under the light of the sun and into the shadows of terror and suffering. They had delivered him into the hands of torturers and would-be killers.
And I would be the one taking that lover’s freedom.