Lil Black Book

Getz ran knowing he could not outrun the reaper’s grasp for long. He ignored his dry throat and throbbing leg, where the bullet lodged. He knew this would be his last night to run, to breathe air, to think. To think. To think of what it took to turn them in. Every one of them. He had what they wanted and witness protection was not coming soon enough. The train station was not that far but he knew it was not close enough. He grasped the key tightly and headed toward the alley behind the bookstore. He could not go in and draw attention to himself knowing he needed to buy just a little more time. Someone would come by and he would do the right thing. He dropped behind the dumpster and noticed a half empty water bottle. Never in life would he have thought to take a drink but in death, nothing matters. The cool water was a godsend and gave him a few more moments of hope.

Shanna took a shortcut through the alley so she could run into the bookstore for a coffee on her way to the train station. She never went this way but since she was anxious to get home, this could buy a little time. She tightened her jacket and held her head high. She took a self-defense course and knew that an air of confidence may deter would-be-assailants if they could not see her fear. She was ready to look in their eyes and give the look. The look. All her rage gathered into one stare. She was ready even though it took just a minute to cross this alley. Her thoughts raced. Her rage for the gang that took control of this area. For the gang that took control of her at a nearby bar. Tears welled in her eyes. She bit her lip. Fifty more feet to the end of the block and she could regain her real confidence.

Holmes darted quickly between the night stragglers. He clutched the .22 in his pocket. He chose this gun since it small and it would fit in his pocket. He did not realize it would kick as hard when he fired it. The kick. The kick that knocked his arm up and the surprise that made him lose concentration. He lost sight of his target. He did not know the man. Never met him. He was just doing what he was supposed to do. Do it or die. He tried to get out of this town and the hold that kept him here. He called his cousin to ask about visiting soon. He could visit forever and escape the life he fell into as a stupid kid. He lost sight of who he was. He lost sight of his victim.

The stench of the dumpster made Getz sit up and wretch. Shanna jumped. He reached up and sputtered. “Help me please!” he moaned. She hurried past and stopped. She remembered the stranger that helped her. She turned around and kneeled beside him. She saw the blood and gasped, reaching for her favorite silk scarf around her neck. She swiftly tied a tourniquet just below his knee. She lifted his arm and took his pulse. Still strong but she better hurry into the bookstore for help. “Wait!” he gasped. “Take this. It is a key to a locker in the train station.” He passed out. Shanna ran into the bookstore and stopped at the register. “Please call the police right away. There is a man back there. He needs help!” She did not want to use her own cell phone. She was still afraid.

Every step he took hit the pavement like thunder. Holmes kept swiping his forehead with his arm but sweat continued to rain down his face into his eyes. He coughed and choked as the saltiness touched his lips. He ran. He did not care anymore. He would do the right thing. The right thing. He would turn the gun and the names over. He would take the train to Jefferson and go to the police station. He would hand over the .22 and ask for immunity. He knew the risk. He knew that if his victim was dead, he might not get it. It did not matter. He just wanted his life back. He prayed his victim would get his life back too.

Shanna skipped the coffee. She just wanted to get out of this scene. She did not want to be questioned, sitting in a cold room on a cold folding chair, remembering the details. The fog was starting to resettle. The fog. The space that choked her and left her gasping until the sound of the ambulance woke her. The ambulance horn in the distance startled her and she picked up her pace. She kept bumping shoulders as she walked past the night commuters. “Hey! Watch it!” She yelled at the sweat-drenched man that nearly knocked her over as he ran past. She went into the train station. What is with this key? She walked over to the lockers. She looked at the key’s number. 217. She scanned the second row, found the locker, and entered the key. Her ears rang. She had not thought about what could be in the locker until now. What would she find? Money or drugs or worse?

Mendez sipped his cold, black coffee as he stared toward the window. It would be another long, quiet night. He hated this night shift and this desk duty. He wanted to finish his investigation. His investigation. The case that could no longer belong to him after two years of becoming one of them. He was trusted. He belonged until he tried to protect the snitch on a heated night. The snitch ran and he took a .38 in the chest. He woke up two weeks later in the hospital, thanking God for his vest. He thanked God for this night shift and for this desk job. He could not sleep at night anymore and this was a good diversion.

Getz woke to a garbled, overhead announcement. He could not understand why they cuffed him to the bedside ringers. He could barely reach the nurse’s button. He thanked God for the bright lights behind him. He could not feel his leg or anything else. He could only taste a bitter saltiness. The nurse entered the room. She checked Getz’ vitals and turned off the nurse’s call bell. “I get to make a phone call, don’t I?” Getz asked. “Of course you do but it can wait until morning,” she replied. “No! This is an emergency, please,” he pleaded. She picked up the phone and shoved it onto his stomach. “I guess I can dial for you too!” she snapped as she lifted the handset to his ear. “Yes, the number is on a card in my wallet.” He nodded toward the bedside stand. She placed the handset down and opened the wallet to find a few dollars, his ID, and a business card. Jefferson Police. Detective Mendez.

Shanna held her breath as she turned the key. She peered inside. A little black book. She reached for it and stuffed it into her bag. She hurried to her gate and jumped onto the train seconds before the door closed. She went up the steps and looked around. She thanked God it was mostly empty. A giggly couple in the front and a young man standing by the back door. She took a seat in the middle section. The young man exited the train at the next stop. Nothing else on the train existed for the giggly couple. She opened her bag and took out the small, black 3” X 5” Moleskine notebook. She flipped through the pages filled with names and dates. She could not understand why this notebook was so important that a dying man would give it to a stranger. It did not matter. She would drop it off at the Jefferson police station on her way home.

Mendez could hear pounding and screaming outside the front door. Mendez unsnapped the safety, cocked his gun, and headed for the door. He could see someone lying on his stomach, 20 feet from the door. He opened the door and stood in the doorway, aiming his gun at the man’s head. “What is going on? Why are you here?” Holmes sobbed, “Please, please, sir, please, help me!” Mendez grabbed his handcuffs, locked the man’s wrists with one movement, and returned his gun to his holster. The man continued to sob. “Please sir, please, sir, people are after me. Can’t you take me inside?” Mendez scanned the perimeter but saw no one, no lights, and no movement. He scanned his badge, lifted the man, and walked him to the holding room. He cuffed one arm to the table and let his other arm free. Mendez brought Holmes a cup of coffee and sat across the table from him.

Shanna was glad the train stopped at the parking lot of the Jefferson Police station. She would drop off the Moleskine and explain as briefly as she could about how she happened to have it. She was hoping she could leave her name and number and get a call back in the morning. She followed the afterhours instructions, rang the door buzzer, and called the number listed. It rang twice. “Hello. Mendez. How can I help you?” Shanna stated that she had something important to drop off. She heard the door buzz. She pulled the door open and Mendez greeted her. He walked her down the hall and opened a holding room door. She could see into the room next to her. She gasped. Mendez could see the color leave her face. “Do you know him?” Shanna started to sob.

Holmes did his best to answer the questions. The cold, black coffee soothed his raw throat. He described which trash can he dropped the gun in and the man he shot with it. He explained that he was too scared to keep looking. He described how he was told to kill this man he didn’t even know or else they would kill him. He listed off as many names as he could remember. Mendez struggled to keep up. Then they heard the front door buzzer. Mendez got up and told Holmes he would be back with another cup of coffee. Holmes rested his face on the cool table. Today he is free.

Shanna was grateful for the cup of coffee Mendez brought to her. “Tell me how you know the man in the other holding room?” Shanna held back more tears and described that night at the bar and the gang that waited for her to leave. She stated that one man from the gang fought with the others, telling them to leave her alone. She stated that she never forgot how they beat him, and then beat her. “Tell me about this notebook you brought to me tonight,” Mendez inquired. Shanna did her best to recall the details of the day. She sipped her coffee. Mendez sipped his coffee. “Well, Shanna, there is a $20,000.00 reward for this notebook. It is my notebook. I lost it the night that gang shot me. It details my notes when I was undercover. That man in the alley you helped today contacted me about the notebook he found. Then he slipped from our protection. He is recovering in the hospital right now.” Tears welled in Shanna’s eyes. She could finally get her life back.

Mendez finished his paperwork and vowed to bring in a better brand of coffee. He stood on the balcony facing the sunrise. He could see one small star refusing to grow dim. He nodded his head. “Yes, I know how you feel,” he whispered.