When I'm Gone
(The Characters of The Shield do not belong to me. They are property of FX Network and their creators. )
Detectives Claudette Wyms and Holland "Dutch" Wagenbaugh started their day off with a bang. Literally.
The two police detectives for Farmington Division were getting coffee from a curbside vendor, who had terrific Columbian coffee and croissants that weren't too bad, when they heard the three pops. It sounded like fireworks or a car backfiring, but to the trained ears, they were identified as gunshots.
It wasn't close enough to make them dive for cover, but Dutch did slosh coffee on his shoes.
"It's a little early in the day, isn't it?" he complained, as they climbed in the unmarked police issue sedan to cruise around the block where the shots seemed to have come from.
"Never to early for murder or mayhem," Claudette said wearily.
They drove around, eyes searching for anything out of place, either someone running, someone down, someone looking for a cop. When they saw no storeowners running out of their business, nor fleeing gunmen, Claudette pulled to a stop in front of Chavez Park, which was the only other place the shots could have come from. They got out, weapons drawn, but held at their sides.
The park was empty so early in the day. The children's play area vacant. They wandered deeper into the large grassy oasis in the concrete and steel jungle.
"Look," Claudette pointed. In the thick trees, one stood out further back in the wooded area.
Dutch glanced around for any people among the trees, but saw nothing. He walked closer to the tree. It was riddled with bullet holes; not just the three shots they'd heard a few minutes ago.
"I'm no tree hugger, but it didn't seem to deserve all this," Dutch remarked. He examined the bullet holes, both old and new. ". 38 caliber, .45, .22; this sure is someone's favorite target." Dutch walked around the tree. He found a carving on the other side.
"Yeah, and only a couple hundred feet away from making some kid into a target," Claudette said, shaking her head. The playground was just a short way from this 'shooting tree'.
"Well, whoever's been shooting out here must come here a lot, and was just here a little while ago." He walked around the trees. He found some numbers and letters carved into the tree: 420HTRZ. He wrote it down. It could be a gang signature, but he'd never seen it before.
"Lets poke around the neighborhood awhile. I don't want to come back here for a body later."
* * * *
Officers Julien Lowe and Danielle "Danny" Sofer were patrolling not far from Chavez Park when they got a call. Edward Ortiz Middle School- the principal had confiscated a gun from a 13-year-old student.
"Man, when I was 13 I was still playing with Barbie's," Danny said. "I couldn't even imagine someone bringing a gun to school."
Julien shook his head. "Where I went to school, it was the norm, not the exception. The principal probably had more guns and knives than a pawn shop."
They pulled up at the school and went inside.
Principal Zach Davis met them in the hall.
"The kid is Mark Kosac, a seventh grader. He was showing to a friend. He says it's not his, that he was just holding it for someone, but he won't tell us who. I figured I'd let you handle that."
Danny and Julien went into the private office where the youth was sitting, looking nervous.
"Mark, I'm officer Sofer, this is Officer Lowe."
He looked up and his pulse raced.
"I didn't do nothin' with the gun. I wasn't gonna use it," the kid immediately began.
"That's not the point. You had it at school. That's a crime," Julien told the boy.
"The principal says you were holding it for someone. Is that right?"
The boy nodded, lowering his eyes.
"If you tell us who gave it to you, maybe we can work something out so you don't have to go downtown with us," Danny told him.
The kid didn't know whether to be more scared of going to jail or being a rat. Danny knew that.
"Look, Mark, if you tell us now, we won't tell who ever it is that you told us."
"But I promised," he insisted.
"Well, then I guess you'll have to go down to the police station and we'll have to call your parents to pick you up there," Danny shrugged.
That didn't sound appealing at all. "His name is Pete. We ride the bus together. He's in high school. He wanted me to keep it today because the police and the dogs were going to be at the high school. He wants it back this afternoon."
"Pete have a last name?"
Mark shrugged. "I don't really know him that well."
"Can you tell us where he lives?"
"Yeah, I guess so. What about when he wants it back this afternoon?"
"Well, you won't be going home on the bus. I think your parents will be waiting for you."
Mark paled. "But I'm not going to jail, right?"
Danny gave the scared kid a little smile. "No, not this time Mark." Then more sternly, "But if we have to talk to you again, it won't be this easy. And next time someone asks you to hold something for them, just say no, okay?"
Mark nodded.
Danny and Julien got a roster from the principal for Edward Ortiz High, the adjoining high school and then tracked down the bus route Mark Kosac took. They quickly found out 'Pete' was Peter Riggs, a 16 year old.
"Okay, lets go have a talk with this one," Danny said, as they drove from the mid school the few blocks to the high school office.
* * * * *
Vic Mackey was more than surprised to receive a call on his cell phone from Dutch. He and Shane were watching a house where a major player in the drug trade was supposed to be staying. So far they'd come up with squat.
"Hey, Dutchboy, what's happening?"
Shane gave Vic a look with a raised eyebrow.
"Um, listen, Vic, I need some information. Claudette didn't exactly want me to call you but."
"But you need the info and you know to call Dad. Look, what Claudette doesn't know won't hurt her. What can I do you for?"
Dutch cleared his throat. He was making the call while his partner was in a business asking questions.
"I found a tag on a tree in Chavez Park." He read out the numbers and letters to Vic. "Is that a gang signature?"
Vic wrote what Dutch said on a paper. He showed it to Shane.
Shane shrugged.
"Nah, I never heard of any 420 hitters," Vic said.
"Might be connected to the Brotherhood," Shane suggested.
"What's that?" Dutch asked.
"Shane thinks it might be related to the Arians."
"Why's that?"
"Well, 4/20, you know, it's Hitler's birthday."
"Oh, yeah," Dutch tried to sound as if he'd known that.
"It's a date that the Arians sometimes use. Maybe for a hit, could be anything."
"So maybe the 420 Hitters is an organized group. Possibly connected to the Arian Brotherhood."
"It's possible," Vic told him.
"Okay, well, thanks. And uh, if you see Claudette."
"Yeah, I get it. Mum's the word." He disconnected.
"What'd old Dutchboy want?" Shane asked, looking through binoculars at the still peaceful house.
"Some kind of tag he found on a tree over in Chavez Park. Any movement?"
"Nah. I think this is a dead end. We've been sitting on this place for two days. All I've seen is some really skanky bitches and an ugly dog."
Vic chuckled. "There's a difference?" he wisecracked.
* * * * *
Detective Stefanie Knight was sitting in her doctor's office. Ever since she'd gotten off the painkillers she'd been addicted to, she'd been having a lot of pain from her old gunshot wounds and the damage they'd caused in her back. And not to mention, lately she'd just been so tired all the time, she was starting to think she was anemic or something.
She'd changed doctors the same time she'd gotten off pills. Her old doctor had been glad to keep her on the narcotics for five years. She'd found a new physician, a woman, who'd immediately sent her to physical therapy and found other ways to help her deal with the pain. But some days it wasn't enough.
Dr Kennedy had done some routine blood work and Stevie was waiting for the results. She always felt uncomfortable sitting in the exam room with all the bright lights shining on her.
Dr Kennedy came back into the room. She was a middle-aged woman with short red hair. She gave Stevie a reassuring smile. "We'll get you out of here shortly," she said, knowing Stefanie was not at home here.
"Well, am I gonna live?" Stevie asked.
"Most defiantly. Your were right on the money about being a little anemic. Your iron is really low."
"Great, so vitamins can fix that right?"
Dr Kennedy nodded. "Have you had any other symptoms, nausea, vomiting, anything like that?"
"Well, now that you mention it, sometimes when my back pain is really bad, I have been getting a little nauseous."
"Well, to tell you the truth, something else showed up on your blood tests."
"What?"
"From the HCG levels, you're pregnant."
Stevie blinked twice. "What?"
Dr Kennedy shrugged. "The levels are in the positive pregnancy range. I'm assuming that there is a possibility you could be pregnant. You are sexually active?"
Stevie, still in shock, was numb. "Well, yeah, but.Look, Dr Fenn said that because of the trauma from the gunshot exit wounds, I would probably never be able to conceive."
"Well, we'll know a little more with a physical exam."
While Stevie numbly disrobed and put on the paper gown in the changing room, her heart raced.
"So I'm assuming this is unplanned," Dr Kennedy continued from the adjoining exam room.
"To say the least," Stevie confirmed.
"Well, would your boyfriend be supportive, you think?"
Stevie gave a slight hint of a bitter laugh. "I don't have a boyfriend." She thought of Shane. In all the time they'd been spending together, she still didn't consider him a boyfriend any more than he considered her a girlfriend. They were friends. They were friends who occasionally shared a bed. Friends who relieved stress and found comfort together. Nothing more. This was not a good thing.
"In your file it says your periods aren't regular. Since the shooting?"
Stevie came back into the room. "Yeah. That's why I never even gave it a thought when I skipped. I never know."
Within a few minutes into the exam, Dr Kennedy was able to positively confirm.
"You're defiantly pregnant. I'd say about 14 to 16 weeks."
Stevie lay quietly on the table.
Only the doctor snapping off her gloves, as she was finished, brought Stevie back. She sat up.
"That's like 4 months," she finally said.
Dr Kennedy nodded. "I'll order an ultrasound to confirm the dates," she said, jotting notes on Stevie's chart. She looked up and saw the look on Stevie's face. She laid a kind hand on the younger woman's.
"There are alternatives," she said softly.
Stevie just nodded, her mind not even comprehending.
"I'll give you some literature if you'd like."
Stevie just nodded.
She left the doctor's office a little later, in her purse a prescription for iron pills and vitamins, a card for another appointment, an order for the ultrasound, and pamphlets on abortion and adoption.
* * * *
Claudette had come up empty in the local businesses around Chavez Park. Several shop owners had of course confessed to hearing shots over the past few days, but like frightened mice, they kept to themselves and ignored it, hoping it would go away.
When she returned to the car, Dutch had tried to think of something other than the fact he'd called Vic Mackey. He knew how she felt about the other cop. He didn't always approve of the way Mackey operated either, but he knew Vic was a good cop, and always had useful information. He'd never known Mackey to be anything other than a co- worker, but he knew Claudette and Vic had some issues that he'd rather not get involved in.
"I called a guy in the gang task force," he told her. "He thinks the 420 Hitters have something to do with the Arian Brotherhood."
Claudette nodded. "That sounds reasonable." She looked at her watch. "Today's April 18. Could there be something planned for April 20?"
Dutch nodded. "That's what my guy thought too."
"Well, we'd better get moving on this."
"You get anything from the shop owners?"
"A lot of them report hearing gun fire over the past few days, but they don't remember seeing anything."
"Scared?"
Claudette nodded, pulling away from the curb. "More than likely. The vendors are starting to set up in the park. Lets go talk to them, maybe at least find out if there's any familiar faces they remember."
* * * *
Danny and Julien struck out trying to talk to Peter. They found out from the teachers he'd shown up for homeroom and then somehow gotten off school grounds between science and American History.
The two cops split up, going to talk to several of Pete's teachers to find out who he hung out with and if any of his other friends were absent today. When they met back up, they both had two consistent names: David Hall and Jeff Weber. Both had also shown up for homeroom and both were now nowhere to be found.
"So all three of them are probably together," Danny surmised.
"I got all three addresses from the principal. We can follow up."
"Yeah, lets try the homes. If these kids had one gun, chances are they've got more."
* * * *
When Vic and Shane got back to the Barn, they found someone was waiting for them. A large man wearing a leather jacket, with long hair and old jeans waited in the waiting area by the desk sergeant.
Vic recognized him immediately.
"Hey, Skeeter, that you under all that hair?"
The 6 foot 5 hulk stood up with a grin for Vic.
"Yeah, hi Mackey," he said, taking his greasy oil stained baseball cap off and offering a hand to Vic.
"What are you doin' down here? I thought after you'd got out, you'd never want to see the inside of a police department again."
"Well, I think I might need some help."
Vic raised an eyebrow. "Come on back." He nodded to the desk sergeant who buzzed them through. They went to the private office Vic and the Strike Team used.
The man called Skeeter, who's real name was Roy Hall, took a seat at the table, Vic and Shane opposite him.
"What's up that'd make you come all the way down here?" Vic asked.
Skeeter had been involved in several bank robberies about ten years ago and Vic had arrested him, sending him to prison for seven years. But Skeeter had always respected Vic and they'd struck up some kind of friendship during the course of the arrest and trial. Skeeter had always been respectful and gave Vic credit for being able to bust him.
"It's my kid, man. David."
"Yeah, what's he now, about 16?"
Skeeter nodded. "Yeah, and a hell'uva lot more trouble than I was at that age."
"I doubt it, but okay."
"Look, since I got out, I been tryin' to do right for my boy. I been working steady at the bike shop, makin' sure he's got things he needs. His ma' split while I was in the joint. He's been real pissed at me cause of that. "Anyway, lately, he's hooked up with these guys. I'm not sure what they're into, but I've been finding a lot of stuff that I know he shouldn't be into."
"Stuff like what?"
"Racist stuff, letters, magazines, talking about Nazi shit. I found some shells in his room too. I don't know where he got a gun, if he's got one. Hell, I get caught with a gun in my house and I'm back in the joint, you know that."
Vic nodded.
"You ever heard him talk about or seen written 4-20 HRTZ or hitters?"
Skeeter nodded. "Yeah, they've got it on some tee shirts they painted themselves. And Davy's got it carved on his desk in his room. I don't know what it means. I thought maybe him and those other two were starting some kind of gang or something.
"Last couple of days I know he'd been ditching school, being real secretive like. I think something's up, be he won't talk. And he ain't even been home more than maybe a couple of hours. He snuck out this morning before I even got up. I ain't seen him. I called school and they said he showed up this morning, but then took off. Him and his buddies."
"Who are these friends, you know 'em?"
"Pete and Jeff. Pete was a pretty okay kid, but that Jeff, he always seemed messed up."
"Messed up how? Drugs?"
Skeeter shrugged. "Maybe. That and he was always coming over all beat up, clothes ragged, all that. An he's got a big one o' them swastika tattoos on his chest. Nah, I never liked him much."
Shane and Vic looked at each other.
"These kids hang out at Chavez Park maybe?"
Skeeter nodded. "Could be. It's right near where that Jeff lives."
Vic shrugged, "Well, we'll hit the streets, see if we can't pick 'em up. What'da you want me to do with your kid? You want him locked up for a day or so? Sometimes it does some good."
Skeeter nodded. "Shit, Vic, last thing I wanted was for my kid to end up like me."
"Maybe it's not too late. We'll do what we can," Vic promised the big man.
Skeeter stood up and shook hands with Vic and then Shane. "I sure appreciate this," he told them.
"I'll give you a call if we turn up your kid. You at the bike shop?" Vic knew Skeeter was a mechanic for a Harley Davidson motorcycle shop downtown.
Skeeter nodded.
"Thanks," he said again, and left the office.
"Think maybe his kids mixed up in whatever Dutch is working on?" Shane asked.
"Sounds like a good place to start."
* * * *
Dutch and Claudette talked to several of the Park vendors who spent much of their day in the park selling everything from soda to hotdogs and snow cones. There seemed to be a common theme among the vendors: three teenage white boys who hung out in the park and sometimes bought food or beverages from the vendors. Claudette and Dutch thought these might be their 'tree shooters', at the least. At the most gun toting kids who were a danger to themselves or someone else.
* * * *
Danny and Julien had no luck at either David Hall or Pete Riggs' homes. Both boys lived in run of the mill average homes. David's might have been a bit more run down than Pete's but still, just average working collar homes in decent neighborhoods.
They had only one more lead to check out, then it was going to have to be back to patrol and hope that the delinquent boys didn't find some other kind of trouble to get themselves into.
They drove to the home of the third kid, Jeff Weber. He lived in a trailer park in a run down area of Farmington. The park was mixed race, mostly white and Hispanic. This wasn't a black neighborhood by any stretch of the imagination. Julien noticed several racial slurs painted graffiti style on the tin sheet metal fencing.
They located the Weber's trailer. The file from the high school said Jeff and his father lived alone. Danny parked the squad car out front and radioed in where she and Julien were.
"This Unit 10-20, 1436 Luna Drive. Possible armed suspect."
They went to the door of the trailer and knocked. "Police department," Danny called.
The door was opened by a disheveled man wearing a rages tee shirt and faded jeans. He had long hair and about three days worth of a beard. He smelled of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke.
"What'da you want?" he bellowed.
"Are you Mr Weber, father of Jeff Weber?" Danny asked.
"What the hell's that little shit done now?" the older man asked, slurring his words.
"Well, we think he might be with some other boys, ditching school, among other things. We just want to ask him some questions."
The older man began to laugh. "Is that all? Well, you come back when you got the little bastard locked up or something. Get the fuck off my Astroturf." He laughed maniacally,.
Danny and Julien looked at one another.
"And take that fuckin' lawn jockey with you," he gestured at Julien.
"Sir, that's really not called for. So Jeff isn't here?"
"I told you no, you damn monkey lover."
Danny was starting to get hot. She really wanted this guy to step off his porch and take a swing or something. There wasn't anything more she'd like to do than thrown him on the ground and snap cuffs on him.
Julien, who'd put up with racism all his life, wasn't as affected as she was. He gestured to her that they should go.
"Get on!" the man yelled, still laughing, going back inside the rancid smelling trailer.
"What an asshole," Danny muttered as they went back to the squad car.
"The world's full of them," Julien told her.
"Yeah, but how do they live?"
"They'll be judged someday," he said quietly.
Danny didn't go in much for his religion stuff. She thought people like Weber should be judged in the here and now, not the by and by.
"Well, so much for catching up with the gun toting ditchers," she said.
"Maybe we'll spot something on patrol."
Danny radioed in that they were 10-11 (on duty) patrolling 17th street area.
* * * * *
Vic and Shane had a few more resources when it came to finding someone on the street. Near Chavez Park, they found an older Hispanic man selling Churros and Comic books; he was a snitch the Strike team used regularly to keep up on who did what in the neighborhood.
"Hey Chico, que pasa?" Vic greeted.
The partially lame older man gave Vic a smile, showing more than a few missing teeth. "Buenos dias, Senor Mackey. What can I get for you?"
"Lemme have a couple of Churros and some information."
The old man handed Vic two of the cinnamon and sugar dipped bread sticks.
"I'm looking for three white boys. About 16. Probably shaking down vendors, maybe shoplifting from the stores, hanging out in the park. Might be shooting somewhere in the back."
The old man nodded. "Si I see your boys. Come to the Park early, before too many peoples. They shoot. I hear the shots."
"They been around today?"
He nodded again. "Early."
"Any idea where else they hang out?"
"Si. I hear they do mas malice in the old Cemetery," he crossed himself then.
Vic paid for the food, giving the man a hundred for the information.
"Thanks Chico. Keep the change."
"Muchas gracias Senior Mackey."
"That old cemetery isn't even used anymore, is it?" Shane asked.
Vic shook his head as he bit into the sugary bread while they walked to the truck. He offered one to Shane.
"You know I hate that sugary shit," Shane reminded him.
Vic shrugged. "More for me."
* * * * *
Vic and Shane found the old unused drive that went up to the Cemetery. They parked the Durango and hopped the wrought iron fence that surrounded the old graveyard.
"Man, this place gives me the creeps," Shane said, looking around at all the old headstones and crypts.
Vic shrugged. "We're all gonna end up in one of these someday."
Shane shook his head. "Not me. I'm getting cremated."
"Oh yeah, that's much better. Get your old ass fried so your poor old grieving widow can set you up on top of the TV where you'll be subjected to reruns of Jeopardy for the rest of eternity."
Shane didn't appreciate Vic's humor. "Yeah, and I suppose you've got a plot all picked out?"
"Actually, yeah. My old man didn't have much in life, but he sure as hell had a great final resting place. Plenty of room up there for me; mountains, trees, a view of the lake."
Shane didn't know much about Mackey's family, even as long as they'd been together as partners, but Vic didn't seem like he was going to elaborate further.
They came across some shell casings scattered on the ground. Vic picked out the target, a tree some fifty yards away.
Shane knelt to examine the casings. "They've got more than one gun. .38, .45, .22, a regular potpourri of brass down here."
Vic looked around a bit more. When he got closer to an old crypt, his sense of smell led him on. He detected the coppery scent of blood. Inside the cement mausoleum was where they discovered the body. Shane went to the corpse, laying face down on the concrete floor of the violated crypt. A pool of blood was coagulating under the body of a teenage boy. Shane tried not to disturb anything as he first felt uselessly for a pulse, knowing he would not find one. The body was cool to the touch, but not cold.
"He's probably only been dead a few hours," Shane surmised.
"I wonder which one of our junior Nazi's this is. Check for ID."
Shane fished a wallet out of the boy's back pocket.
"Shit," he said, looking at the student ID. He handed it to Vic.
It was David Hall.
"Damn," Vic said, staring at the ID, then the body of the teen, who'd been shot in the back and then the back of the head.
Shane stood up.
Vic had already turned and left. Shane caught up with him half way back to the Durango.
As Vic used the radio to call in the crime, Dutch and Claudette pulled up in their department issue Ford.
"What are you two doing here?" Claudette asked with a sour ring to her tone.
"Looking for a kid," Shane said.
"Find anything?" Dutch asked.
"Yeah. His body."
After coming to the conclusion that they were all working the same case based on different reasons, Claudette reluctantly shared information with Vic and Shane. In return, Shane explained about David Hall's father coming to them for help.
While the crime scene investigators took over the scene, Dutch took careful notes.
"Well, we better round up the other two pretty quick," he surmised. "They're either suspects or targets."
*********************************************************************** *********************************************************************** ****************************
(The Characters of The Shield do not belong to me. They are property of FX Network and their creators. )
Detectives Claudette Wyms and Holland "Dutch" Wagenbaugh started their day off with a bang. Literally.
The two police detectives for Farmington Division were getting coffee from a curbside vendor, who had terrific Columbian coffee and croissants that weren't too bad, when they heard the three pops. It sounded like fireworks or a car backfiring, but to the trained ears, they were identified as gunshots.
It wasn't close enough to make them dive for cover, but Dutch did slosh coffee on his shoes.
"It's a little early in the day, isn't it?" he complained, as they climbed in the unmarked police issue sedan to cruise around the block where the shots seemed to have come from.
"Never to early for murder or mayhem," Claudette said wearily.
They drove around, eyes searching for anything out of place, either someone running, someone down, someone looking for a cop. When they saw no storeowners running out of their business, nor fleeing gunmen, Claudette pulled to a stop in front of Chavez Park, which was the only other place the shots could have come from. They got out, weapons drawn, but held at their sides.
The park was empty so early in the day. The children's play area vacant. They wandered deeper into the large grassy oasis in the concrete and steel jungle.
"Look," Claudette pointed. In the thick trees, one stood out further back in the wooded area.
Dutch glanced around for any people among the trees, but saw nothing. He walked closer to the tree. It was riddled with bullet holes; not just the three shots they'd heard a few minutes ago.
"I'm no tree hugger, but it didn't seem to deserve all this," Dutch remarked. He examined the bullet holes, both old and new. ". 38 caliber, .45, .22; this sure is someone's favorite target." Dutch walked around the tree. He found a carving on the other side.
"Yeah, and only a couple hundred feet away from making some kid into a target," Claudette said, shaking her head. The playground was just a short way from this 'shooting tree'.
"Well, whoever's been shooting out here must come here a lot, and was just here a little while ago." He walked around the trees. He found some numbers and letters carved into the tree: 420HTRZ. He wrote it down. It could be a gang signature, but he'd never seen it before.
"Lets poke around the neighborhood awhile. I don't want to come back here for a body later."
* * * *
Officers Julien Lowe and Danielle "Danny" Sofer were patrolling not far from Chavez Park when they got a call. Edward Ortiz Middle School- the principal had confiscated a gun from a 13-year-old student.
"Man, when I was 13 I was still playing with Barbie's," Danny said. "I couldn't even imagine someone bringing a gun to school."
Julien shook his head. "Where I went to school, it was the norm, not the exception. The principal probably had more guns and knives than a pawn shop."
They pulled up at the school and went inside.
Principal Zach Davis met them in the hall.
"The kid is Mark Kosac, a seventh grader. He was showing to a friend. He says it's not his, that he was just holding it for someone, but he won't tell us who. I figured I'd let you handle that."
Danny and Julien went into the private office where the youth was sitting, looking nervous.
"Mark, I'm officer Sofer, this is Officer Lowe."
He looked up and his pulse raced.
"I didn't do nothin' with the gun. I wasn't gonna use it," the kid immediately began.
"That's not the point. You had it at school. That's a crime," Julien told the boy.
"The principal says you were holding it for someone. Is that right?"
The boy nodded, lowering his eyes.
"If you tell us who gave it to you, maybe we can work something out so you don't have to go downtown with us," Danny told him.
The kid didn't know whether to be more scared of going to jail or being a rat. Danny knew that.
"Look, Mark, if you tell us now, we won't tell who ever it is that you told us."
"But I promised," he insisted.
"Well, then I guess you'll have to go down to the police station and we'll have to call your parents to pick you up there," Danny shrugged.
That didn't sound appealing at all. "His name is Pete. We ride the bus together. He's in high school. He wanted me to keep it today because the police and the dogs were going to be at the high school. He wants it back this afternoon."
"Pete have a last name?"
Mark shrugged. "I don't really know him that well."
"Can you tell us where he lives?"
"Yeah, I guess so. What about when he wants it back this afternoon?"
"Well, you won't be going home on the bus. I think your parents will be waiting for you."
Mark paled. "But I'm not going to jail, right?"
Danny gave the scared kid a little smile. "No, not this time Mark." Then more sternly, "But if we have to talk to you again, it won't be this easy. And next time someone asks you to hold something for them, just say no, okay?"
Mark nodded.
Danny and Julien got a roster from the principal for Edward Ortiz High, the adjoining high school and then tracked down the bus route Mark Kosac took. They quickly found out 'Pete' was Peter Riggs, a 16 year old.
"Okay, lets go have a talk with this one," Danny said, as they drove from the mid school the few blocks to the high school office.
* * * * *
Vic Mackey was more than surprised to receive a call on his cell phone from Dutch. He and Shane were watching a house where a major player in the drug trade was supposed to be staying. So far they'd come up with squat.
"Hey, Dutchboy, what's happening?"
Shane gave Vic a look with a raised eyebrow.
"Um, listen, Vic, I need some information. Claudette didn't exactly want me to call you but."
"But you need the info and you know to call Dad. Look, what Claudette doesn't know won't hurt her. What can I do you for?"
Dutch cleared his throat. He was making the call while his partner was in a business asking questions.
"I found a tag on a tree in Chavez Park." He read out the numbers and letters to Vic. "Is that a gang signature?"
Vic wrote what Dutch said on a paper. He showed it to Shane.
Shane shrugged.
"Nah, I never heard of any 420 hitters," Vic said.
"Might be connected to the Brotherhood," Shane suggested.
"What's that?" Dutch asked.
"Shane thinks it might be related to the Arians."
"Why's that?"
"Well, 4/20, you know, it's Hitler's birthday."
"Oh, yeah," Dutch tried to sound as if he'd known that.
"It's a date that the Arians sometimes use. Maybe for a hit, could be anything."
"So maybe the 420 Hitters is an organized group. Possibly connected to the Arian Brotherhood."
"It's possible," Vic told him.
"Okay, well, thanks. And uh, if you see Claudette."
"Yeah, I get it. Mum's the word." He disconnected.
"What'd old Dutchboy want?" Shane asked, looking through binoculars at the still peaceful house.
"Some kind of tag he found on a tree over in Chavez Park. Any movement?"
"Nah. I think this is a dead end. We've been sitting on this place for two days. All I've seen is some really skanky bitches and an ugly dog."
Vic chuckled. "There's a difference?" he wisecracked.
* * * * *
Detective Stefanie Knight was sitting in her doctor's office. Ever since she'd gotten off the painkillers she'd been addicted to, she'd been having a lot of pain from her old gunshot wounds and the damage they'd caused in her back. And not to mention, lately she'd just been so tired all the time, she was starting to think she was anemic or something.
She'd changed doctors the same time she'd gotten off pills. Her old doctor had been glad to keep her on the narcotics for five years. She'd found a new physician, a woman, who'd immediately sent her to physical therapy and found other ways to help her deal with the pain. But some days it wasn't enough.
Dr Kennedy had done some routine blood work and Stevie was waiting for the results. She always felt uncomfortable sitting in the exam room with all the bright lights shining on her.
Dr Kennedy came back into the room. She was a middle-aged woman with short red hair. She gave Stevie a reassuring smile. "We'll get you out of here shortly," she said, knowing Stefanie was not at home here.
"Well, am I gonna live?" Stevie asked.
"Most defiantly. Your were right on the money about being a little anemic. Your iron is really low."
"Great, so vitamins can fix that right?"
Dr Kennedy nodded. "Have you had any other symptoms, nausea, vomiting, anything like that?"
"Well, now that you mention it, sometimes when my back pain is really bad, I have been getting a little nauseous."
"Well, to tell you the truth, something else showed up on your blood tests."
"What?"
"From the HCG levels, you're pregnant."
Stevie blinked twice. "What?"
Dr Kennedy shrugged. "The levels are in the positive pregnancy range. I'm assuming that there is a possibility you could be pregnant. You are sexually active?"
Stevie, still in shock, was numb. "Well, yeah, but.Look, Dr Fenn said that because of the trauma from the gunshot exit wounds, I would probably never be able to conceive."
"Well, we'll know a little more with a physical exam."
While Stevie numbly disrobed and put on the paper gown in the changing room, her heart raced.
"So I'm assuming this is unplanned," Dr Kennedy continued from the adjoining exam room.
"To say the least," Stevie confirmed.
"Well, would your boyfriend be supportive, you think?"
Stevie gave a slight hint of a bitter laugh. "I don't have a boyfriend." She thought of Shane. In all the time they'd been spending together, she still didn't consider him a boyfriend any more than he considered her a girlfriend. They were friends. They were friends who occasionally shared a bed. Friends who relieved stress and found comfort together. Nothing more. This was not a good thing.
"In your file it says your periods aren't regular. Since the shooting?"
Stevie came back into the room. "Yeah. That's why I never even gave it a thought when I skipped. I never know."
Within a few minutes into the exam, Dr Kennedy was able to positively confirm.
"You're defiantly pregnant. I'd say about 14 to 16 weeks."
Stevie lay quietly on the table.
Only the doctor snapping off her gloves, as she was finished, brought Stevie back. She sat up.
"That's like 4 months," she finally said.
Dr Kennedy nodded. "I'll order an ultrasound to confirm the dates," she said, jotting notes on Stevie's chart. She looked up and saw the look on Stevie's face. She laid a kind hand on the younger woman's.
"There are alternatives," she said softly.
Stevie just nodded, her mind not even comprehending.
"I'll give you some literature if you'd like."
Stevie just nodded.
She left the doctor's office a little later, in her purse a prescription for iron pills and vitamins, a card for another appointment, an order for the ultrasound, and pamphlets on abortion and adoption.
* * * *
Claudette had come up empty in the local businesses around Chavez Park. Several shop owners had of course confessed to hearing shots over the past few days, but like frightened mice, they kept to themselves and ignored it, hoping it would go away.
When she returned to the car, Dutch had tried to think of something other than the fact he'd called Vic Mackey. He knew how she felt about the other cop. He didn't always approve of the way Mackey operated either, but he knew Vic was a good cop, and always had useful information. He'd never known Mackey to be anything other than a co- worker, but he knew Claudette and Vic had some issues that he'd rather not get involved in.
"I called a guy in the gang task force," he told her. "He thinks the 420 Hitters have something to do with the Arian Brotherhood."
Claudette nodded. "That sounds reasonable." She looked at her watch. "Today's April 18. Could there be something planned for April 20?"
Dutch nodded. "That's what my guy thought too."
"Well, we'd better get moving on this."
"You get anything from the shop owners?"
"A lot of them report hearing gun fire over the past few days, but they don't remember seeing anything."
"Scared?"
Claudette nodded, pulling away from the curb. "More than likely. The vendors are starting to set up in the park. Lets go talk to them, maybe at least find out if there's any familiar faces they remember."
* * * *
Danny and Julien struck out trying to talk to Peter. They found out from the teachers he'd shown up for homeroom and then somehow gotten off school grounds between science and American History.
The two cops split up, going to talk to several of Pete's teachers to find out who he hung out with and if any of his other friends were absent today. When they met back up, they both had two consistent names: David Hall and Jeff Weber. Both had also shown up for homeroom and both were now nowhere to be found.
"So all three of them are probably together," Danny surmised.
"I got all three addresses from the principal. We can follow up."
"Yeah, lets try the homes. If these kids had one gun, chances are they've got more."
* * * *
When Vic and Shane got back to the Barn, they found someone was waiting for them. A large man wearing a leather jacket, with long hair and old jeans waited in the waiting area by the desk sergeant.
Vic recognized him immediately.
"Hey, Skeeter, that you under all that hair?"
The 6 foot 5 hulk stood up with a grin for Vic.
"Yeah, hi Mackey," he said, taking his greasy oil stained baseball cap off and offering a hand to Vic.
"What are you doin' down here? I thought after you'd got out, you'd never want to see the inside of a police department again."
"Well, I think I might need some help."
Vic raised an eyebrow. "Come on back." He nodded to the desk sergeant who buzzed them through. They went to the private office Vic and the Strike Team used.
The man called Skeeter, who's real name was Roy Hall, took a seat at the table, Vic and Shane opposite him.
"What's up that'd make you come all the way down here?" Vic asked.
Skeeter had been involved in several bank robberies about ten years ago and Vic had arrested him, sending him to prison for seven years. But Skeeter had always respected Vic and they'd struck up some kind of friendship during the course of the arrest and trial. Skeeter had always been respectful and gave Vic credit for being able to bust him.
"It's my kid, man. David."
"Yeah, what's he now, about 16?"
Skeeter nodded. "Yeah, and a hell'uva lot more trouble than I was at that age."
"I doubt it, but okay."
"Look, since I got out, I been tryin' to do right for my boy. I been working steady at the bike shop, makin' sure he's got things he needs. His ma' split while I was in the joint. He's been real pissed at me cause of that. "Anyway, lately, he's hooked up with these guys. I'm not sure what they're into, but I've been finding a lot of stuff that I know he shouldn't be into."
"Stuff like what?"
"Racist stuff, letters, magazines, talking about Nazi shit. I found some shells in his room too. I don't know where he got a gun, if he's got one. Hell, I get caught with a gun in my house and I'm back in the joint, you know that."
Vic nodded.
"You ever heard him talk about or seen written 4-20 HRTZ or hitters?"
Skeeter nodded. "Yeah, they've got it on some tee shirts they painted themselves. And Davy's got it carved on his desk in his room. I don't know what it means. I thought maybe him and those other two were starting some kind of gang or something.
"Last couple of days I know he'd been ditching school, being real secretive like. I think something's up, be he won't talk. And he ain't even been home more than maybe a couple of hours. He snuck out this morning before I even got up. I ain't seen him. I called school and they said he showed up this morning, but then took off. Him and his buddies."
"Who are these friends, you know 'em?"
"Pete and Jeff. Pete was a pretty okay kid, but that Jeff, he always seemed messed up."
"Messed up how? Drugs?"
Skeeter shrugged. "Maybe. That and he was always coming over all beat up, clothes ragged, all that. An he's got a big one o' them swastika tattoos on his chest. Nah, I never liked him much."
Shane and Vic looked at each other.
"These kids hang out at Chavez Park maybe?"
Skeeter nodded. "Could be. It's right near where that Jeff lives."
Vic shrugged, "Well, we'll hit the streets, see if we can't pick 'em up. What'da you want me to do with your kid? You want him locked up for a day or so? Sometimes it does some good."
Skeeter nodded. "Shit, Vic, last thing I wanted was for my kid to end up like me."
"Maybe it's not too late. We'll do what we can," Vic promised the big man.
Skeeter stood up and shook hands with Vic and then Shane. "I sure appreciate this," he told them.
"I'll give you a call if we turn up your kid. You at the bike shop?" Vic knew Skeeter was a mechanic for a Harley Davidson motorcycle shop downtown.
Skeeter nodded.
"Thanks," he said again, and left the office.
"Think maybe his kids mixed up in whatever Dutch is working on?" Shane asked.
"Sounds like a good place to start."
* * * *
Dutch and Claudette talked to several of the Park vendors who spent much of their day in the park selling everything from soda to hotdogs and snow cones. There seemed to be a common theme among the vendors: three teenage white boys who hung out in the park and sometimes bought food or beverages from the vendors. Claudette and Dutch thought these might be their 'tree shooters', at the least. At the most gun toting kids who were a danger to themselves or someone else.
* * * *
Danny and Julien had no luck at either David Hall or Pete Riggs' homes. Both boys lived in run of the mill average homes. David's might have been a bit more run down than Pete's but still, just average working collar homes in decent neighborhoods.
They had only one more lead to check out, then it was going to have to be back to patrol and hope that the delinquent boys didn't find some other kind of trouble to get themselves into.
They drove to the home of the third kid, Jeff Weber. He lived in a trailer park in a run down area of Farmington. The park was mixed race, mostly white and Hispanic. This wasn't a black neighborhood by any stretch of the imagination. Julien noticed several racial slurs painted graffiti style on the tin sheet metal fencing.
They located the Weber's trailer. The file from the high school said Jeff and his father lived alone. Danny parked the squad car out front and radioed in where she and Julien were.
"This Unit 10-20, 1436 Luna Drive. Possible armed suspect."
They went to the door of the trailer and knocked. "Police department," Danny called.
The door was opened by a disheveled man wearing a rages tee shirt and faded jeans. He had long hair and about three days worth of a beard. He smelled of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke.
"What'da you want?" he bellowed.
"Are you Mr Weber, father of Jeff Weber?" Danny asked.
"What the hell's that little shit done now?" the older man asked, slurring his words.
"Well, we think he might be with some other boys, ditching school, among other things. We just want to ask him some questions."
The older man began to laugh. "Is that all? Well, you come back when you got the little bastard locked up or something. Get the fuck off my Astroturf." He laughed maniacally,.
Danny and Julien looked at one another.
"And take that fuckin' lawn jockey with you," he gestured at Julien.
"Sir, that's really not called for. So Jeff isn't here?"
"I told you no, you damn monkey lover."
Danny was starting to get hot. She really wanted this guy to step off his porch and take a swing or something. There wasn't anything more she'd like to do than thrown him on the ground and snap cuffs on him.
Julien, who'd put up with racism all his life, wasn't as affected as she was. He gestured to her that they should go.
"Get on!" the man yelled, still laughing, going back inside the rancid smelling trailer.
"What an asshole," Danny muttered as they went back to the squad car.
"The world's full of them," Julien told her.
"Yeah, but how do they live?"
"They'll be judged someday," he said quietly.
Danny didn't go in much for his religion stuff. She thought people like Weber should be judged in the here and now, not the by and by.
"Well, so much for catching up with the gun toting ditchers," she said.
"Maybe we'll spot something on patrol."
Danny radioed in that they were 10-11 (on duty) patrolling 17th street area.
* * * * *
Vic and Shane had a few more resources when it came to finding someone on the street. Near Chavez Park, they found an older Hispanic man selling Churros and Comic books; he was a snitch the Strike team used regularly to keep up on who did what in the neighborhood.
"Hey Chico, que pasa?" Vic greeted.
The partially lame older man gave Vic a smile, showing more than a few missing teeth. "Buenos dias, Senor Mackey. What can I get for you?"
"Lemme have a couple of Churros and some information."
The old man handed Vic two of the cinnamon and sugar dipped bread sticks.
"I'm looking for three white boys. About 16. Probably shaking down vendors, maybe shoplifting from the stores, hanging out in the park. Might be shooting somewhere in the back."
The old man nodded. "Si I see your boys. Come to the Park early, before too many peoples. They shoot. I hear the shots."
"They been around today?"
He nodded again. "Early."
"Any idea where else they hang out?"
"Si. I hear they do mas malice in the old Cemetery," he crossed himself then.
Vic paid for the food, giving the man a hundred for the information.
"Thanks Chico. Keep the change."
"Muchas gracias Senior Mackey."
"That old cemetery isn't even used anymore, is it?" Shane asked.
Vic shook his head as he bit into the sugary bread while they walked to the truck. He offered one to Shane.
"You know I hate that sugary shit," Shane reminded him.
Vic shrugged. "More for me."
* * * * *
Vic and Shane found the old unused drive that went up to the Cemetery. They parked the Durango and hopped the wrought iron fence that surrounded the old graveyard.
"Man, this place gives me the creeps," Shane said, looking around at all the old headstones and crypts.
Vic shrugged. "We're all gonna end up in one of these someday."
Shane shook his head. "Not me. I'm getting cremated."
"Oh yeah, that's much better. Get your old ass fried so your poor old grieving widow can set you up on top of the TV where you'll be subjected to reruns of Jeopardy for the rest of eternity."
Shane didn't appreciate Vic's humor. "Yeah, and I suppose you've got a plot all picked out?"
"Actually, yeah. My old man didn't have much in life, but he sure as hell had a great final resting place. Plenty of room up there for me; mountains, trees, a view of the lake."
Shane didn't know much about Mackey's family, even as long as they'd been together as partners, but Vic didn't seem like he was going to elaborate further.
They came across some shell casings scattered on the ground. Vic picked out the target, a tree some fifty yards away.
Shane knelt to examine the casings. "They've got more than one gun. .38, .45, .22, a regular potpourri of brass down here."
Vic looked around a bit more. When he got closer to an old crypt, his sense of smell led him on. He detected the coppery scent of blood. Inside the cement mausoleum was where they discovered the body. Shane went to the corpse, laying face down on the concrete floor of the violated crypt. A pool of blood was coagulating under the body of a teenage boy. Shane tried not to disturb anything as he first felt uselessly for a pulse, knowing he would not find one. The body was cool to the touch, but not cold.
"He's probably only been dead a few hours," Shane surmised.
"I wonder which one of our junior Nazi's this is. Check for ID."
Shane fished a wallet out of the boy's back pocket.
"Shit," he said, looking at the student ID. He handed it to Vic.
It was David Hall.
"Damn," Vic said, staring at the ID, then the body of the teen, who'd been shot in the back and then the back of the head.
Shane stood up.
Vic had already turned and left. Shane caught up with him half way back to the Durango.
As Vic used the radio to call in the crime, Dutch and Claudette pulled up in their department issue Ford.
"What are you two doing here?" Claudette asked with a sour ring to her tone.
"Looking for a kid," Shane said.
"Find anything?" Dutch asked.
"Yeah. His body."
After coming to the conclusion that they were all working the same case based on different reasons, Claudette reluctantly shared information with Vic and Shane. In return, Shane explained about David Hall's father coming to them for help.
While the crime scene investigators took over the scene, Dutch took careful notes.
"Well, we better round up the other two pretty quick," he surmised. "They're either suspects or targets."
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