Narrower Steps Page 5

  “He’s definitely a man who’s been through fire, rain, and fire again. But what’s your point, Henny?”

  “It’s staring at you right in the face. The hate, the rumors, the sexism, and hairstyle racism.” His eyes survey her hair, dreads in a bundled ponytail. “They know that I favor you above all the rest. And that’s because you, even minus Linda, who’s a tough high-hell wearing brunette, doesn’t dilute unworthy information unless you have to. Catch.”

  Henny flicks the penny to her and she steadily catches it between both palms. It rests on her right hand and she takes a look at the coin; the face upon it is Shaka Beans. A grunt comes forth from her nostrils, trapped and unexpected. “So, he had his own currency after all?”

  “It had to be cleaned and shined. But a bunch of these was found in the debris with his insipid glare upon them. We’re doing some research to try and trace where he could’ve fled to. It’s a good find. You said something about him making his own bronze and silver.”

  “Any silver found?”

  “No. But this links him to the bronze,” Henny falls silent and his pupils wander to his office window. “Draw those curtains for me now, please?”

  “Sure.” Lee gets up from her seat, wanting to massage her ass but thinks that might be a little to massage-esq for now. When she goes to draw in the curtain she sees Lotan by the bin again, accompanied by the chirpy and quirky Hans with his toupee looking head top and his golden-brown hair that always look untidied. Hans is round on all corners; jaw carrying too much fat and his forehead not big enough.

  His suit is too tight by the ankles, and his arms too long that plenty of his wrists are visible. Lotan might be similar in appearance, although slimmer and more at home in his skin, but he’s not a bad looking older chap compared to Hans whose specs adds to the extra strange-a-cal word that Lee invents for plenty of them here and it fits neatly into its definition.

  They both catch her gazing at their stimulating conversation coming to an exclamation mark. Hans acts fidgety and walks over the blue line, and Lotan plays it off, acting like Hans is going to get him a cup of something strong with a fake request for one and follows him. Lee figures they were speaking about her and that’s a hard thing to shake-off your knuckles.

  She can always tell when words are flying in the shape of butterflies and dandelions as they begin to float in the air. They travel all the way to her and either land on her desk before her; or flutter beside her ears giving her an inkling that she should be on her guard.

  It sometimes gets to the Beetlejuice and she has to drink it with defeat. Even having a couple of cool cats who will jump to her defense slips when they leave her alone. It’s never enough to fully deplete it all. Lee draws the curtain with a couple of harsh tuggers to hurry it along and then nearly jumps out of her flesh when Henny is standing at least 3-paces behind her with that green file that went missing.

  “File C. And I want you to take-a-look.”

  The green file is outstretched towards her and she amply takes it from him with a sharp concentration and no faltering when it comes to keeping her eyes on him until she has it firmly grasped. Then Henny returns to his desk and wheels it back into its proper position with a couple of faint squeaks heard from Lee.

  “Have you had lunch?” He’s still wheeling that desk until he’s satisfied it’s back in its right place. Lee comes over to Henny sieving through the opened green file. “I’m sure you haven’t had time to have breakfast?”

  “I had a couple of buttery croissants and jam before I came in.” Lee becomes tight-lipped and sits down without realizing she has. “I ... I ... is this a ... are you giving me a ... What in the ... Henny, is this official?” There’s a far-off tone from Lee and Henny drifts on it when he replies.

  “It’s under my windpipe and I’m giving it the blow-ahead. Are you on the 2nd page?”

  “Uh.” Lee finds herself and at the same time the 2nd page. “Yeah.”

  “And, what do you think?”

  “I think I’m a little underqualified to take this on. You’ll need the double green and fog horn to go ahead with something so undercover.”

  “Then you’ll have the double green and fog horn to do it.”

  “It says top secret.”

  Henny adjusts his two knighted pen holders tidily, “It’s more than top secret. It’s a case that has been bugging and yanking on ugly pigtails for a while. And what might even spark a bigger interest for you is that Shaka has allegedly done some business over there with a few shrouded in the deep citizens. But as you’ll guess, it involves that face you see.

  The face Lee zooms in on is a fair-skinned woman with her hair straightened down behind her ears that fall all the way down to her back. It’s a face-shot, but the long hair Lee can identify. The eyes are vividly wide and out of focus. She wasn’t ready for the picture, or worse, ready for the shot on the left cheek with the brutal cavitation and hole.

  “As dead as I’m still able to know. But, here’s the story, some claim she’s still alive. And this picture was taken as a warning of what the next cheek will witness. There’s not much to go on. And if she’s tied to Shaka then it would be even better for me and this unit. I don’t think we’re the only team on it, so be cautious that information may leak that is different from what I’m giving you.”

  He walks around to his seat but doesn’t sit. “All I have to give you is a promotion. And that’s for the best. Nobody will know. Except for me and you. And there may very well be others from the unit going undercover to do this.”

  “Why all the secrecy?”

  “Let’s just say Shaka is a top priority and this girl might be on that list too. Who knows? It’s the detective's job to sift through the laundry.” He sits down now. “Do you want that responsibility?”

  “How long do I have?” -

  “As long as you need.” He waves his ring finger at the file. “Page 3, there’s a meeting point out there and I need you to liaison with him only when you need to. Not the sort to be friends with.”

  Lee gives page-3 a snuffle and sees an image of a Caucasian man looking more downbeat and busted than a man who’s just received 30 lashes on his back. His face favors bomb patrol and probably got massacred by one. Nothing polite or pleasant to take, he just seems ready to bake all his problems in an open fire. “Nice bloke.”

  “Charming. If you meet him, you’ll see that you want him close. Smart as nails. I wouldn’t say smarter than you, but close enough to be an asset. A private cop, not a detective.”

  “Hmm.” Lee goes to page 4, it’s just some basic notes on Shaka and Eric. She reads through Eric notes; 5-foot-10, Spanish, type 1-diabetes, asthma, lung palpitations. Lee runs her finger down through a few more notes: his religion says, Christian. Lee scoffs to herself when she thinks of the number of brothels and strip clubs Eric pandered into. If he was religious, it would be for the shaking-ass kind of believer.

  She quickly skims through the file. She knows it all. She goes right to the bottom and finds a little something that she didn’t know though, “Eric had congress with Shaka about an oversea business arrangement.” Eric had never shared this with her when asked about his dealings.

  She brings herself away from the file and notices Henny patiently waiting for her to finish her snoop. “You’ve landed on the bottom of that file. That’s something I only found out yesterday. I can’t reveal the source, but it’s another hunch to go on in finding out what Shaka is doing out there.”

  Lee shuts the file closed and leans forward to lay it on the desk. “Is that business still valid?”

  “That’s your job to find out,” he says this politely. “I won’t rush you. But let’s just say that Shaka never rests and the longer we wait, the slippery his trail will go.”

  Lee thinks it’s all slippery already. Pieces. That’s all he’s given her. Not the kind she would attempt at a jigsaw puzzle either. It’s a murky business to clean up. She recalls the truth behind what Shaka is, a single needle wit
h the largest point that pricks you enough to know that he’s there. But you never end up finding him.

  Lee watches Henny get back up to draw the curtain. He’s walking heavier on one foot, and he ends up patting and rubbing his leg with a wince on his entire face. He gets to the curtain, but a knock on the door deters him and he responds to it at once.

  It’s Darren, whose deep – stetted eyes peer over at her with a questioning frown.

  “Lotan said you wanted to see me.” He talks to Henny with the same sunken eyebrows when he tears himself away from Lee to look at him.

  “Good timing.” He turns his neck back to Lee. “I think you can catch a break. Report back at the end of the day, Lee.”

  Lee wagers between the two men. It’s all happening so fast that when she gets up, she nearly misses her step. But she regains her footing just in time to spot one of the black bags isn’t tied properly, and she swears that it looked like a bunch of Irish notes that has to be counterfeit.

  She dismisses it. As trying to make out the face upon it is unsayable from where she stands. But it’s a man that she’s never seen on the bank of Irish note before. She tells Henny she’s ok when he comes to help her stabilize. “I’m fine.” He takes her word and lets her leave.

  When he shuts the door to speak with Darren, a lightbulb goes off in the top of her head that just won’t switch off ... I got the fucking promotion!

  Chapter 4

  LEE CATCHES THAT BREAK with a jog around the vicinity in her plaid exercise shorts and uniform stated tank top with the initials of HHQ, the acronym for Henny Head Quarters, boldly written in the middle. It’s a coincidence. Henny never knew his name would be reinstated before he joined the force.

  He pisses on his territory when he wants to. As she jogs around the block with a few other officers who are behind and before her, each male and female in the same colored tank and the bottoms being the variance. She can smell his odor all the way from the outside.

  Lee goes for one more lap. It can’t hurt, her lungs are still operable, and her legs still push through the soreness of the muscles that start to clam-up and shut down. She does stop for a quick-fire breather and adjusts her dreads that are falling from its bun.

  As she is jogging, she sees a Toyota pull up to the side of her, and stops, she hears the engine still running. She starts to jog with her eyes glancing to the side as she advances 10 paces, ... 15 paces, ...50 paces, till she comes to the end of the block and turns, her head switching between the car and the concrete path ahead. The car trails all the way. She can’t make out who’s in the driver’s seat even as she strains too.

  She knows it’s a police-mobile so it’s nothing to pull out a gun for. She isn’t packing so she’d be fucked anyway. Two guys overtake her who look like twins with their matching joggers and cylinder head shapes. As soon as they turn the corner and go out of sight, Lee hears, “Lee, come into the car?”

  It’s in a hushed tone but she knows the coolness of that voice. In a fire, it would reassure you that all is well, and you’ll get out alive. It’s Saul who swings open the passenger door for her. Lee looks down both sides of the street and sees no officers. She strides over to the black Toyota and shuts the door. Saul immediately drives off when she straps herself in the back.

  ...

  He stops after riding a few corners and then down a straight road, stopping by a huge tree that lingers at the edge of the road and offers an ample shot for the birds to poop down on and splatter that car. It’s a neighborhood with simple houses of 1 or 2 bedrooms. The street itself has familiars who pop-by occasionally with a word for Henny who forgets that HHQ isn’t your everyday police station. But he’s happy to flag it down to the desk jockeys who take it on call or priority.

  Saul parks up and leaves all his windows wound down. It must be unimportant she thinks. She waits for him to speak as he pats his chest pocket to the side of his cotton gray trouser. Pat...pat... nothing in there. Pat...pat...nothing in the other. It must be significant as he appears frustrated after nothing shows.

  He then unbuckles his belt and looks at the seat across him, then by the footrest and then underneath. Lee joins in with no idea what she’s looking for when she sees him rummaging through the glove department that has a sat–nav, a bunch of rusty keys, some actual gloves, a dried-up orange and unfinished pack of digestives. And still not what he wants in there.

  He shuts it agitated. Then slams his hand upon the closed glove department, “I can’t find what I wanted to give you. He must’ve taken it when I wasn’t looking.” He double-checks his freshly washed shirt pocket.

  “What was it?” Lee gives up the search at the back as she only finds a bag of Saul’s work shoes and an empty original Lucozade bottle.

  “It was a photograph. And an incriminating one at that.” His tongue makes a tutting noise before he says, “shit!” He then fixes his rear mirror to see Lee inquiringly glaring back at him and clearly wanting to know more about this.

  “If you got promoted. Which I think you did, then you’ll need to know that the photograph was of Lotan and Eric. Taken from a perspective where neither wanted to be identified. Don’t ask me how I got wind. But me disappearing back at the outdoor bar was confirmation of a certain ass-licker having bigger balls than brains. Not Bennie. He’s got brains. It’s another man who’ll crop his head into your business when you least expect it.”

  “Did this somebody know I was getting promoted?”

  “He did. And that urged me to go and make a trade with the Mr. Private snap-snap, who catches a dirty rat.”

  Lee rolls her eyes, “You went to that hog?

  “Eric and Lotan’s name was in that man’s conversation. I had to.”

  “And the trade?”

  “A simple you-owe-me. I have plenty more with my Jewish friend,” he pauses, “they were in constant communication with each other. It’s all I have, but it can help you out there.” He pauses again, “Nobody knows you got promoted. But those who do are the ones who’ll be of no help.”

  Lee looks out of the window at a house with a high hedge and a front door clothes-lines. “Except for you.”

  She catches his sincere smile and moving lips in the mirror when her focus comes back. “Except for Saul.”

  She gives an accommodating grin to that. “It hasn’t even been a couple of hours yet and word is coming out amongst a selected few. Lotan and Eric, real murky from the get-go. I’m glad you know. I was going to tell you. And only you about this.”

  “Think of it as my welcome package to the service I can offer you. Wherever they send you, I’ll be able to feed you what you need. You can trust me on that. There’s no better woman on this force than you. I’m just man enough to let you know that you’re all of their equals.”

  Lee feels touched but composes herself. “We’ll have to work out a system for the back and forth information that you can feed me from back here. And that will be the greatest advantage I can have. And trace down that photo. I don’t want suspicious activity coming your way because it’s too early for any of that.”

  “My guesses are Aryeh or Shilton. The private photographer, or the mouth who speaks without thinking of who’s listening.”

  “Did Shilton track you?”

  “Somebody did. That’s why I had to opt for the overt patrol car and tinted windows. I lost them though. Gave them the slip. But we’ve spoken to long on this already. You’ll understand if I have to drop you a little further out from the station and you quickly get out?”

  “No problem.” She buckles up again. “If you can find anything more on Lotan then please do. That smug bastard is acting peculiar, and this could be one of the reasons why.”

  Chapter 5

  Lee jumps out and jogs all the way back. It takes her 15-minutes with the pace that she takes. And she figures that Saul and she spoke for less than 25. She keeps tracks of these things when it comes to accuracy. It’s the type of things that can make or break a case, so she tries to keep it com
partmentalized.

  Murky business! There’s no joy in having to repeat that over and over. The murkiness is the shades of gray from an already shady force. To go into this is weeds that need plenty of clipping.

  When she returns and makes her way to her desk, she sees Darren coming towards her before she tabs her entry code in. He pats her shoulder with the words, “Time for a quick brew? I need a coffee.”

  “I should get rea–” “The kitchen’s just there. And I only need a minute.”

  Jeeze! she thinks. How much more of this do I have to endure?” She gives a depleted nod and follows him. But Lucy interrupts them when she pokes her head out from the laboratory.

  “Henny wants you downstairs.” Then she shuts it again and Lee hears the tap running and splashing.

  “It will just tak-“

  But Lee dashes down the steps to speak with Henny, forgetting to apologize to Darren who’s forgotten the sight of Lee in her workout gear and can’t shake the attractive image from his nebular. An incy-wincy- sha-bang hits him. He always watches her leave with words unsaid on his tongue. And he kicks himself for it all the time.

  ...

  Lee knows that if Henny’s downstairs, then he must be in the ...

  “Glad you came at once! I was going to say you have a week to prepare. But that’s going to be fast-forwarded to 2-day time. It’s short notice.” He meets her at the end of the steps and then holds the door open as she passes through it with him following after, then letting it swing back.

  “I’m going to take you to the evidence room. Just received a package from Stevie Boy who thinks it’s worth taking a look.” They rush past the sounds of fax machines and typing. Bodies crossing each other to get to their desks, some with papers in their hands, others speaking on telephones and conducting themselves with inquiries. It’s always an ant’s desk on the lower level. They deal with citizens directly.