Shred of Evidence

One shot, center mass, and down he went.

Just in the last three years, I’d been forced to move five times as police department after police department switched to voiceless dispatching. Although my equipment was top of the line, it still couldn’t intercept communications sent out over secure IP networks.

Slipping through a perimeter containing more holes than a junkie’s alibi, I withdrew from the scene of the robbery in progress, hearing pandemonium erupt behind me.

Luckily, budget woes kept everybody from adopting the new technologies as soon as they were available, and I was in no danger of running out of US cities besieged by violent crime. Eventually, lawmakers would mandate that all departments upgrade, but I was counting on some entrepreneur developing a back-box scanner long before that happened.

The gun went into a thick plastic bag that went into my right-hand jacket pocket.

None of the perps had offered me a clear shot, but I’d settled for a vulture, standing on the edge with hungry eyes. Bam. Now instead of armed robbery, the perps would be charged with murder.

The gloves went into a second thick plastic bag that slid into my left-hand jacket pocket.

I never shot at cops, of course, and only at leeches if no perp or vulture presented a target. Back when I was first starting out, I’d popped a member of the media, and the resulting coverage threw the wrong spin on my message.

Nobody watched as I pulled away from the curb, leaving time on the meter.

If the media really cared about telling human-interest stories, they would have covered the dozens of memorial golf tournaments I’d played over the years, the tens of thousands of dollars raised to support the families left behind by officers killed on the job.

Keeping my speed at the legal limit, I followed a circuitous route out of the area. Bad guys always bolted in straight lines.

Actually, now that I thought about it, moving from city to city probably worked to my advantage. Once the leeches got a whiff of a possible serial killer, forty-year-old white males would become the focus rather than the deadly cost of easily accessible weapons.

The plastic gloves went into a convenience store trashcan at least twenty blocks from the scene.

The message must remain clear. Any collateral noise, and all my efforts since retiring would have been for nothing.

Five blocks east, the gun went down a storm drain.

From time to time, I let a weapon find its way back into the system. A gun linked to several crimes became characterized as a sociopath. Every little bit helped moved my crusade along.

The plastic bags went into a dumpster behind an apartment building.

Your average person had no idea what it meant to protect and serve, the price paid to keep civilization civilized. They didn’t know and they didn’t want to know, just as long as they weren’t touched by violence themselves.

I parked behind Eddie’s, entered through the back door.

He looked away from the television. “Vodka double?”

“Is there ever a cop around when you need one?” Certainly not here. The place was empty, deep in the mid-afternoon lull, patiently waiting for the next shift change.

Eddie laughed, placing my drink on the bar. “Hey, here’s a real ball buster for you. I heard this story last night from a reliable source.”

“I’m all ears.” The first shot went down like silk.

“New guy. He responds to a possible suicide. Thing is, before he gets there, she suddenly wonders why she should die alone, decides to drive over to her ex-boyfriend’s.”

“The ex-boyfriend’s certainly not alone.”

“Exactly.” Eddie replaced the bottle in the well, maybe because he liked the exercise. “New guy gets to her apartment, and a neighbor says he saw her stagger into the elevator.”

“He doesn’t check to see if she needs help.”

“None of his business.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Anyway, the rookie checks the parking lot for her vehicle, and when he can’t find it, he starts a mobile sweep. Sees the car weaving all over the road about three blocks away.”

“Another life saved.”

Eddie leaned forward. “Yeah, but get this. After he requests an ambulance, he writes her a ticket for crossing over the center line.”

“That is just wrong.” I shook my head before knocking back the rest of my drink. “New guys. Letter of the law.”

“Damn straight. Course we were all there once.”

“A long time ago.”

Eddie grunted, refilled my empty glass.

I toasted his work ethic. “Who was the original reporter?”

“She called it in herself. Said she didn’t want to lay there undiscovered until the rent was overdue.”

“The smell would have taken care of that.”

The ballgame was interrupted by breaking news, and both of us turned to watch news of the latest depravity.

Swift and courageous police action had foiled a robbery downtown, and three men were in custody. The innocent bystander shot during the fourteen-minute standoff had been identified as a tourist from out-of-state, an off-duty police officer.

The room spun before I threw up all over the bar.