Miles to Go Page 3

  Miles spoke briefly with the woman, who handed him something, and then returned quickly to the patrol car. A second later, Delta pushed down the on the gas pedal and drew away.

  “I think it’s time you did some explaining, Miles.” Delta’s emotions were caught between anger, fear, and curiosity. This time, he would answer all of her questions, or she would return to the station and dump him at the door.

  Before answering, Miles picked up the mike and told the dispatcher they were all clear.

  “Miles?”

  Turning his body as best he could with his seatbelt on, , Miles grinned as he looked at Delta. “I’m on to something big. Really big. But it’s too early to unfold it all to you. I have most of the bits and pieces that are just now starting to come together. I want to tell you Del, and I will. As soon as I know exactly what we’re up against.”

  Delta suddenly jerked the car into a vacant parking lot and turned on him. “You’ve never kept a secret from me. Why now? What’s so dangerous that you would keep it from me? Or is it something else? Are you doing something you shouldn’t be?”

  Miles reached out and placed a hand on Delta’s right forearm. “I swear, that’s not it. Right now, I’m just collecting pieces of a puzzle. I’m not about to jeopardize you or anyone else until I’m sure of what I have.”

  “What puzzle? What are you doing that’s keeping you out on the streets at all hours of the night? Tell me. Give me something I can handle, but don’t lock me out. Are you working undercover? Is that it?”

  Miles shook his head. “Not officially. Look, Del, I really want to tell you—”

  “Then do!”

  “I can’t. It’s too soon to tell.”

  “I take it that woman is a part of it?” Delta’s voice came out heavy on the word “woman.”

  “You sound jealous,” Miles responded, grinning.

  “Maybe I am. You trust a hooker for God knows what, and you won’t let your own partner in on it? Come on, Miles, how would you feel?”

  “If you asked me to trust you Del, then that’s what I’d do. I would know that no matter what you were doing, you had my safety first and foremost in mind because you care so much.”

  Delta turned her face away. She hated when he turned the tables and was right.

  “Trust me.”

  Delta raised her face and looked hard into his steel blue eyes. “Would I really be in more danger if I knew what it was you were up to, rather than being kept in the dark like this?”

  Miles nodded. “Possibly. I’m not going to take that chance.”

  For a moment, the two officers locked eyes as they had done so often in the past when fighting to understand each other. Delta wanted to pry it out of him, but respected him too much to push him into a corner.

  “Trust me?”

  Delta acquiesced. “Of course. That goes without saying. When you’re ready to tell me, I’ll be ready to listen.” Delta returned her hands to the steering wheel and dropped the gear into drive.

  As she pulled out of the parking lot, Delta wondered how soon it would be before Williams put Miles on the threatened desk duty.

  * * *

  Finishing off her meal, Delta leaned back in the booth and turned her radio up. Nothing could warm her in the frosty winters like Val’s homemade chili, and as usual, she’d enjoyed every bite.

  “Did you see L.A. today?” Miles asked, pushing the remains of his burger away. “They’re getting better. They might even make the playoffs.”

  Delta smiled. He was setting her up for this one. “Maybe a woman can own and run a professional football team after all?”

  Miles groaned. “Not that again. Come on Del, she got it by default.”

  “Her husband might have died Miles, but you can’t take away what she’s accomplished since because of how she got there in the first place. She’s taken that team farther than he ever did.” Delta waited for Miles to parley that into his own rhetorical assault, but instead, his attention had been drawn to the window, where he watched a blue van coast by.

  “What is it?”

  “That’s the third time that van has made a pass at this place.”

  “Got a number?”

  Miles squinted. His night vision wasn’t the greatest. “Yeah. Zebra Adam Peter, nine one four.”

  Delta hastily scratched it out on a napkin and called the number into dispatch. “Think they’re casing?”

  Miles shrugged. “Who knows? Let’s wait for dispatch before leaving without dessert. It might be nothing.”

  Delta waited for the radio to crackle. Dispatch announced that the owner of the vehicle had no outstanding warrants, and that the vehicle registration appeared clean. Nothing out of the ordinary, yet Delta’s stomach twitched as the van made its fourth swing by the restaurant.

  “That’s it,” Miles grunted, tossing his napkin on the table. “Let’s roll.”

  Jumping into the passenger side, Delta looked around the dark, nearly deserted streets. Many of the cops in the department hated this beat because of the macabre sensation that swept through the many dingy alleys and tiny one way streets; dark and shadowed, even during the day. But Delta loved it. There was something surreal about their beat. The night seemed darker, and the cold more biting than other areas in the city, yet the people who owned the city when the streets got dark seemed to glow like the neon signs. They were the alter egos of the businessmen and women who tromped up and down the sidewalks during the day. And although they weren’t wearing business suits and skirts, their safety was every bit as important to Delta as the businessmen and women’s was to Officer Cornelius of the day shift.

  “Where did it go?”

  “South on East 14th, I think.” Pushing the pedal to the floor, Miles burned out of the parking lot and followed the van.

  “This is S-10-12,” Delta barked, her palms began sweating as she gripped the mike. Instinctively, her foot reached for the button on the floorboards and pressed it to release the shotgun. A slight click could be heard as the sturdy iron gate snapped open. Delta did not take the gun out, but rested in the fact that it was ready to go. “Vehicle is heading east on 14th past Johnson. Request backup unit between Poe and Woolf Street.”

  “S-10-12, is vehicle in sight?” came another voice from the radio. Delta looked around. She felt the beating of her heart in her temples. This adrenaline rush, this collaged moment dangling precariously between fact and fiction, was what so many cops lived for. This ten minutes of pants shitting fear made the other seven hours and fifty minutes worth doing. In these ten minutes, one experienced emotions that ran the gamut from fear of losing one’s life to fear that they might not get there in time. It was the reason they loved their job. But even reason warned her that a suspicious vehicle was as dangerous to them as an armed man in plain sight.

  “Negative,” Delta responded, just before looking in her rearview mirror. “Ten twenty-two. Suspect vehicle is now behind us.”

  Miles’s eyes grew wide as he checked his own mirror. “I’ll be damned.”

  “S-10-12, ten nine. Did you say behind you?”

  Miles and Delta exchanged curious glances. “Ten four.”

  As the radio came to life with various communications, Delta turned uneasily to Miles, who had slowed down considerably.

  “I don’t like it,” Delta said, eyeing the van. “Wait for backup.” Miles shook his head. “Come on, Del. They obviously don’t think we suspect them of anything or they wouldn’t be behind us. Relax.” Before Delta could respond, the van made a quick U-turn and dashed back down the street away from them.

  Instantly, Miles jammed his foot on the accelerator, sending the patrol car rocketing forward and Delta back into her headrest. In the same instant, he turned the car into a perfect 180 degree turn and made quick gains upon the speeding vehicle.

  “This is S-10-12. Suspect vehicle is now heading west. Request backup.”

  The van made a sudden turn down Wilde Street. Delta frowned, not liking the way the
people in the van appeared to be calling all the shots.

  After flicking on the lamps and siren, Delta and Miles both reached for the spotlights on either side of the patrol car.

  Delta felt the ball of adrenaline gnawing on her stomach. Although she took her job to protect the people of the night seriously, she often found that she was protecting them from themselves. The city at night was much like a foaming ocean; turn your back to it for any length of time, and it would devour you.

  “Don’t let him get to the freeway!” Delta shouted as they pulled up behind the van. Picking up the mike, she radioed dispatch to let them know their new location.

  Positioning the spotlight on the two back doors of the van, Delta played on loop what her Sergeant in the Academy had warned her about.

  “Vans are the worst. They can see you, but you can’t see them. They have the definite upper hand all the way. If the back door starts to open, you’re shit outta luck if they’re packing. That’s their advantage. They know we’re loaded, but we have to wait to see the weapon before blowing their fucking heads off. So be extremely cautious when pulling vans over. If you ever doubt your position of safety, stay in the car until every fucking advantage is yours. Whatever you do, don’t get caught with your pants down.”

  Since that talk, Delta hated pulling over vans, hated knowing that they had the edge, and hated feeling vulnerable the moment she stepped away from her vehicle.

  Watching with vague surprise as the van pulled over and slowed to a stop, she turned to Miles and forced a grin.

  “I know,” he said, smiling back at her. “You hate vans. I’ll take the lead.”

  Delta felt a pull in her stomach. The Sergeant’s words echoed. “Let’s wait for backup.”

  “Why?” Miles asked, reaching over, flipping off the siren and turning on the loud speaker. “They pulled over, didn’t they? Come on, Del, this is the most excitement we’ve had all night.”

  Delta shifted her gaze to the van. It was very still and quiet outside and of the three street lamps towering over the road, only one cast a dim pallor on the concrete below. To either side of them stood old warehouses and a rundown railroad depot. Nothing moved.

  “Besides, backup’ll be here in a jiff. Relax.” Without waiting for her indecision to transform, Miles opened his door, picked up the mike, and called to the driver.

  “Put both hands out of the window so I can see them.”

  Delta opened her door and watched carefully as the passenger also put both slender arms out the window. Miles had angled the car so that their right headlight beamed at the middle of the van, so Delta couldn’t see the driver’s side. This did nothing to ease her growing apprehension.

  Where in the hell is that backup? For a second, her fingers flexed and she reached for the shotgun, but withdrew her hand when the arms on the passenger side started to move.

  “Now reach your right hand out and open the door from the outside.” Miles's voice crashed through the silence like thunder. Maybe that’s what bothered her so. Why weren’t these people saying anything? Usually people responded when they were given simple orders by a cop, no matter who it was. Most people were scared that the cops would accidentally shoot them.

  Delta heard the slow click of the driver’s door as it opened.

  “Hey man, couldya turn those lights down? You’re blindin’ me here.” Delta heard the deep, resounding voice of the driver and knew it was a male. The passenger on her side did not move again.

  “Let’s just ID these punks and run ’em through,” Miles said out of the corner of his mouth, not taking his eyes off the driver.

  Delta nodded, still unmoving from behind her door. “Be careful.“ She must have said those two words to Miles at least a thousand times since they became partners. It amused her in a strange sort of way; her mother had always said those words to her as she headed off for school.

  And now, as a grown woman of twenty eight, she echoed the same sentiments every time Miles left her side. It had become their standard trademark; one that many of their colleagues teased them about often.

  Watching Miles maneuver around his door and toward the front of the police car, the bright beam from the spotlight shone across his broad shoulders. The light seemed to come alive as he entered it, and for a split second, appeared as an intense, dreamlike aura around his body.

  In that fraction of a second, as the two back doors of the van loudly burst open, the world suddenly slowed to a sickening pace. Delta reached for the shotgun lazily reclining against the seat, but it took forever before her fingers finally reached the cold metal barrel.

  Grasping the shotgun, Delta yanked it to her, but in her gut she knew it was already too late. She knew, by the crashing end to the silence and too still surroundings that the night had turned on them. The van’s back doors noisily flew open, and the gleaming barrel of a shotgun kicked toward the sky as a luminous orange blast reverberated through the air like the sound of a crashing avalanche. The flash from the barrel made the spotlights appear as two twenty watt bulbs, so bright and fiery was the explosion. As the reel of film in her mind’s camera ever so slowly clicked each frame away, Delta heard her own horrified scream echo through the night as Miles’s body lifted like a broken marionette dangling by invisible guide wires.

  In the harrowing moment that followed, his body was suspended for an instant, still captured by the aura of the spotlights, before violently slamming to the cold pavement below.

  “Miles!” Delta screamed, releasing the shotgun barrel she’d just managed to get a grip on and pulling her service revolver from its snug holster. In the second it took for her to duck out of the car, the van’s doors had closed, and it was screeching out of the cover of the lights and down Wilde Street into the enveloping darkness.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” Delta cried, jamming her revolver back in the holster as she scrambled around the front of the car. “Oh God, please, no, please.”

  Maneuvering around the grill of the car, Delta stopped at the feet of her bloodied partner and sobbed in anguish at the sightless eyes staring into the heavens.

  “No!”

  Rushing to his side, Delta knelt next to Miles. Shotgun holes riddled his upper body, arms, neck, and face. Most of the left side of his jaw had been shot away, and his hair was already a thick mass of blood and bone. Only his eyes and forehead were unharmed. Delta looked at the pavement beside him and watched his blood slowly drain onto the unyielding cement below.

  “No, no, no,” Delta murmured, reaching across his broad chest and feeling for a pulse. Struggling to maintain some tiny semblance of composure, Delta reached a now-bloodied hand and gripped the bottom of the car door to pull it open to give her better access to reach across the seat for the mike. This wasn’t happening, she told herself. It couldn’t be happening to her Miles. Not Miles.

  “Oh God.” Swallowing hard as she gripped the slippery mike, her voice shook. “Control, Stevens. Get some control.” Delta wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, unknowing of the bloody trail she wiped across her face. Inhaling deeply, Delta pressed down with her thumb and spoke hastily into the mike. “This ...this is ... S-10-12. We have ... a four oh six ... officer down. I repeat... officer down.” The radio sputtered as officers radioed their locations and their estimated time of arrival. “Suspect vehicle... Zebra... Adam... Peter... Nine… One… Four. Heading north on Wilde.”

  Letting the mike slip from her hand, Delta gently slid a hand under Miles’ head and cradled him close to her. “Not you, God . . . please, not you.” Unconcerned about the blood pouring from his wounds onto her uniform, Delta placed his head on her knee and stroked his wet, black hair. The night’s quiet stillness had returned, as if the end of time had come and left them behind. In the far distance of her fractured reality, Delta heard the radio voices yelling to her, asking her to answer, concerned for her welfare.

  But she could not move. She would not move. Gently rocking and crying softly into Miles’s wet hair, Delta wres
tled with the fear and anguish ripping through her. She felt the long, slow bleeding of a familial love that knew no bounds being violently and cruelly torn away from her. A long, hollow, echoing “No!” reverberated through her spirit, as she struggled to balance herself on the fine line between fact and a grotesque mockery of fiction. This was her worst fear and nightmare coming to life and dying, leaving a heavy shell in her arms.

  Delta wept.

  “Please don’t leave me,” Delta sobbed, leaning down and pressing her forehead to Miles’. “Please.”

  In another distance, she heard sirens blast their way to a scene that she knew had already come to its fateful conclusion. As the sirens pierced through the awesome stillness, Delta prayed silently to a God she wasn’t sure was listening.

  She lived a thousand lifetimes as she sat on the side of the road. Rocking, crying, praying, and cursing. In those thousand lifetimes, in those millions of grains of sand, Delta Stevens knew what it felt like for the world to come to a halt—leaving her totally, utterly alone.

  In those lifetimes, Delta understood just how empty the soul can become.

  * * *

  Connie passed a cup of hot tea into Delta’s quivering hands and pulled up a chair for her. Wrapping both trembling hands around the cup, Delta closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth seeping through the ceramic. It was the first real sensation she remembered feeling since she’d let go of the shotgun.

  Around her, the squad room buzzed as every available officer was put to task. Other than the heat from the mug, all that penetrated the gray, amorphous fuzz enveloping her mind was a dull murmur, like the busy hum of angry bees. Staring down into the tea, she thought of Miles’s blood as it slowly, evenly spread across the pavement. Steam had risen from it into the freezing air just like the steam rose off the hot tea. Quickly setting the cup down on the nearest surface, Delta lurched from the chair and raced to the bathroom, barely in time to lower her head into the cold porcelain bowl.