The Patrolman - 30

 

 

30.

 

 

 

They had watching and waiting eyes, patient and careful, disdainful eyes. Cops' eyes. There were two of them. Detectives. She didn't like the lead detective. The younger one was tall, dark, and mysterious. Handsome. If they'd been in a bar, June Hartsfield might've let him buy her a drink.

They had brought her up to Interview Room #1 and left her there. She didn't feel any safer, but the door was in front of her at least. She had called out for some water. An hour had passed before the old one brought it. He didn't say a word.

The next time, he brought the younger one with him and they went to work on her. No, they hadn't used the phone book. They walked around in circles, standing over her, showing her their guns. There were no questions about the holding cell attack. They weren't interested in that. No. They wanted to know her name.

'No such person as Jane Doe,' the older one had said.

June Hartsfield said nothing. She still liked the look of the younger one.

The interview room was small and stank of urine. The walls were plaster and there was a single bare wooden chair and table for furniture. Behind her was the only door, which had a tiny peephole. There were a few bare pipes along the ceiling that dripped now and then. The corroded edge of the linoleum floor was chalky from the moisture. There were no windows - not even one with bars. It was tiny, twelve by twenty at most. She had some fear that it was to be the last room she ever inhabited.

The men went out again and the younger one came back alone - no more conversation.

'Hands in front,' he said.

She didn't argue. He cuffed and helped her up. There was a gentleness to it. Taking the cuffs, he led her out of the interview room, through two sets of doors, and escorted her to the ground floor. They didn't go out the same way she came in. No. At the top of the stairs, they made a right turn and headed through another exit.

'Good job,' he said.

'What?'

'Keeping your mouth shut. You can't trust Houlihan.'

They walked through a narrow hallway flanked by offices with pebbled glass windows. She couldn't see who was working away inside them. She followed the young cop. He stopped at the exit and kicked the door open.

Sunlight. Harsh. Blinding. She tried to lift her hands to her eyes, but he didn't let her. They got outside. He put a cigarette in her mouth and lit it for her.

'Carruthers said you were a tough cookie.'

'You his guy?'

‘Sure.’

When her eyes adjusted, they were in an alley. Narrow and sketchy. Dumpsters overflowing on both sides. Up ahead, morning traffic idled, business as usual. Pedestrians waded through the trash of last night's riots like it was nothing. Her wedges clacked against the concrete. Echoing. Over her shoulder, she saw two bluesuits duck around a corner. 

There was a navy sedan parked ahead.

The cop let her walk out front.

'This is your ride,' he said. 'Carruthers is signing your release papers.'

And just like that, everything turned.

The car wasn't Georgie's. When June Hartsfield realized that, she knew right away what this was. Her stomach dropped. If she still had the .38 in her bag, she would have gone for it. He kept walking. She followed. The trunk stood wide open. Her steps dragged. This was wrong. All wrong. From the side, she saw the lining. Dark and thick plastic. No mistaking it. This wasn't a ride, it was a coffin.

Her coffin.

They reached the back. Her heart hammered. Every instinct screamed.

She turned fast, ramming into him with her shoulder. Hard.

That’s when she felt it.

The wire slip around her neck.

Pulling tight.

She took a quick step to go around him but it didn't work. Instead, she grabbed the wire and hunched her shoulders. Planting her feet, she sprung backward. Throwing them both into the brick wall of the station.

The cop cursed and groaned.

She held onto the wire, raising her knee and driving her heel down onto his right foot.

He screamed.

She repeated it until he spread his legs apart. Then, with his weight centred, she closed her eyes and dropped to her left knee. A tear squeezed out of her eye. It hurt. She elbowed him with her left and with her right shoulder, twisted up and over. Using her body weight to fling him over her shoulder.

It didn't work as well as she had hoped.

He rolled away, no worse for wear.

She needed to get the cuffs off.

But the wire was no longer around her throat.

She ran straight for him. She grabbed him by his lapels and kneed him in the balls again and again. Before she landed a solid knee, he arched his head back and brought it down on hers.

A dirty headbutt.

She landed on her ass.

The cop straightened up to full size and sucked in some air. 'I like girls with some fight.' She could see the terrible face, its eyes shining violet, the teeth bared. He drew his sap and laughed. He wasn't in any rush now.

A noise. Something on her left. She looked. 'There's a --'

He whipped around in time to see the front grill of a speeding Lincoln. Then he got knocked off his feet and thrown through the air, slamming into the sedan and landing on his back.

The Lincoln screeched to a stop.

The passenger door flung open.

'Get in.' It was Lacey.

She didn't hesitate, she grabbed her bag, and ran toward the car. Lacey clambered over the seats into the back. She jumped in the front with Carruthers and slammed the door behind her.

The cop was struggling to his feet.

'Reverse!' Hartsfield could hear herself screaming.

The cop lifted something.

Bullets slammed into the windshield. Spiderwebbing.

The Lincoln screeched around the corner, tossing her sideways into Carruthers' lap. Then she fell back into her seat when he gunned it straight. His foot pinned the gas pedal to the floor.

From behind, more gunshots. But they went wide.

Carruthers rode eighty for a half dozen intersections.

'What do we do now?' he called into the back.

Hartsfield's hair was blowing all over the place and she had no idea where they were going.

'I know a place,' Lacey said.

 

 

 

They arrived in a pleasant neighborhood near Inglewood - manicured lawns, sun-bleached bungalows. Calm. Too calm. June had never strayed this far south of Little Tokyo. Lacey gave the directions, and Carruthers took the turns.

He pulled off the main road into a minor street and stopped outside a low-slung bungalow with a wide front lawn.

Her wrists were sore from the cuffs, but Lacey had got them off. He got out, crossed the grass, and disappeared inside. A minute later, he returned with a woman.

She waved at them, Carruthers got out, and she followed.

The woman was close to her age, a redhead with sharp cheekbones and cool gray-blue eyes. The resemblance was immediate.

'June,' he said. 'This is my aunt, Evelyn.'

'Good to meet you,' Evelyn said.

'A pleasure.'

'If you're comfortable with it,' Lacey said. 'We can keep you safe here. Besides the Captain, no one knows where I live. You'll be safe.'

Hartsfield hesitated. But Lacey had already saved her life - three times now. Once during the bank robbery. Once outside the hospital. And once just now in an alley. She trusted him more than most men.

'This is only temporary,' he said. 'Until we figure out what to do. Hope that's good with you.'

Hartsfield nodded.

With that, Lacey and Carruthers headed back to the Lincoln and pulled away.

'Coffee?' Evelyn Lacey asked.

 

© J. A. Stapleton 2025 - Image Source: Wikimedia Commons