So Deaf
by Cormac Brown

“What?”

“Where you at, Hewitt?”

“What?  I’m off, that’s where I’m at.”

“Yeah, like you’ll get any tonight.  I can see it now, ‘Dear Out House, I never thought this would happen to me, but I was at a jazz club and this woman flung herself at me and wouldn’t let go.’”

“How do you know where I was going, Chen?”

“How do you think you got that ticket?  The show has been sold out for a month now, and your partner borrowed money from me to score it online.”

“So, let me enjoy it in peace on my only day off this week.”

“Look, I’ve got a 187 and I’m 99.8% sure the trigger man is hanging around here.  Just swing over here real quick and take a look at these guys; it’s on your way.”

“Where is this?”

“On Jackson, near Geary…and Hewitt?  Hurry it up; I don’t want Homicide spooking these guys quiet.”

Sgt. Hewitt pulls up two minutes later, certainly looking out of place in a suit and French collar shirt that was to attract phone numbers at the jazz club five blocks away and not the stares he is getting over here.  Usually when he’s in this neighborhood, he’s wearing the standard thug-wear of the Gang Suppression Unit, with the exception that the pants do not sag to that baggy excess.

Officer Chen is standing at the crime scene as his partner and two other uniforms tape off the area.  The entire neighborhood is watching: some out of curiosity, some out of sheer boredom, and some because they want to go home, but the sealed-off perimeter keeps them out.  Another group of people are here to celebrate the murder of the victim and five of them are here to gloat about it.  This is why Officer Chen called on Sgt. Hewitt; to separate the wheat from the chaff, and the haters from the killer(s).

Sgt. Hewitt glances over the crowd once and walks over to the scene.  It’s a van inside an open garage, and Officer Chen nods to Hewitt.  Sgt. Hewitt takes it in; there are bullets in the seats, in the victim, and spider web patterns in the windshield.  There are several shell casings in the back, and up front, the glove box is open where there’s a gun in there that the victim almost got to.

“You have a pretty good idea who did it, don’t you Chen?”

“Honestly?  I have no idea.  Too many of these little shits have been bouncing around with glee ever since we got here.”  Officer Chen points to the victim, “and you know how much they all wanted T.J.’s corner.  All the rich Pacific Heights kids bought their crack from him because that way they can spend the least time around here possible.”

Sgt. Hewitt looks at where the shooter’s shell casings landed, then he leans into the van, without setting foot in it and he lets out an odd bark.  The bark resonates, and the sound bounces around both the van and the garage.  He turns to Officer Chen.  “You know, my nephew is one of those idiots that plays his car stereo so loud that I can hear him a block away before he even knocks on my door.”

Officer Chen tilts his head as if almost gets it, then Sgt. Hewitt whispers in his ear and Chen nods assuredly.  Officer Chen then talks to two officers who have just arrived on the scene, and the three of them walk towards the crowd across the street, spreading out as they go.  The body language of the crowd changes, most of the people hesitate and the tension is almost visible.

Sgt. Hewitt has slipped in behind everybody and he stations himself behind seven kids that are wearing green silk bombers with dragons on the back, which the servicemen that were stationed in Korea used to wear.  They stand out on purpose, since gangs usually do not fly colors on this side of town and sticking out like this will help them get a reputation.

Sgt. Hewitt yells at them, giving each a word from the following sentence-

“Green…
Dragons…
are…
a…
bunch…
of…
bitches!”

Each grimaces, each flinches and each turns his head and glares…except for the gangster that Sgt. Hewitt yelled “of” at.  Sgt. Hewitt pulls out his off-duty pistol and all of the other officers converge on the Green Dragons with their guns drawn.  Things manage to get even more intense as the crowd goes on one huge emotional swing.  Do they panic?  Do they flee?  Do they riot?

Three minutes later the worst seems to be over, as the crowd has reassembled on the periphery, and the Green Dragons are being handcuffed.

Officer Chen takes Sgt. Hewitt and asks him, “Are you sure it’s him?”

“I’m positive that it’s Ray-Ray and careful how you read him his Miranda rights; he can’t hear a damn thing.  When he shot T.J. in that van, it was just like being at the range without any headphones or earplugs.”

“It was probably more like a cricket setting off firecrackers in a coffee can,” muses Officer Chen.

“And these idiots never take their jackets off, so there will be plenty of gunshot residue on him.  Now there are only four problems.”

“What’s that?”

“How do I get my get my lone off day back?  How are you going to get the band not to leave so that I can see them?  How am I going to get my gas and bridge fare back?  And how much overtime are you going to have to work to make this financially right?”

Officer Chen mulls it over and says, “What’s the difference?  You just would’ve struck out anyway.”

“Not if you fix me up with your ex-wife, I won’t.”

Officer Chen laughs heartily.

“No, I’m serious.”

The End
 
 
BIO: “Cormac Brown” is my pen name.  I’m an up-and-slumming writer in the city of Saint Francis and I’m following in the footsteps of Hammett…minus the TB and working for the Pinkerton Agency.  Some of my stories have appeared at Powder Burn Flash, Six Sentences, Flash Fire 500, Astonishing Adventures Magazine, and Crooked Magazine.  You can find me at Cormac Writes.