The rain fell steadily over the early morning city. Darkness still engulfed the streets, but the morning commuters starting their workdays at dawn would soon fill the downtown with life. Several brave cars scattered the urban roads with their windshield wipers sloshing the water from their view. Det. Cleveland was one of those cars as he sat at a red traffic light mulling over the captain’s misguided orders. He knew he should be traveling back to the precinct to offload all of the critical information he was collecting, but he knew it was a waste of time. As he sat at the traffic light, he studied his city map marked with areas to explore and areas already searched. The detective had spent over three hours driving the night streets searching for a man he didn’t even know how to recognize.
Det. Cleveland glanced at the sign reading “Eighth Street.” His eyes shifted from corner to corner hoping to find Roger. There were a handful of people roaming the water-covered streets, but they all had umbrellas and a place to go.
The rain had a hypnotic effect as it hit the sedan’s roof. The water seemed to form a distinct pattern as it fell, yet it was undeniably random. The resonance, however, worked on Det. Cleveland as he attempted to discover the impossible pattern. He felt disconnected from the world as he sat alone at the red light, physically protected from the water, but still exposed in the middle of the street. His eyes focused on the burning red light, and his ears heeded the sound of water. As the rhythmic aura thickened around him, a cell phone pierced through it and caused Det. Cleveland to bounce in his seat.
“Cleveland here,” he answered.
“Hey, it’s me. You found anything out there, Ray? It’s been hours,” Charlie said.
“What do you got, Charlie?”
“I um…got some good news and some bad news.”
Det. Cleveland’s right hand man was sitting at his desk in the middle of the bustling police station. The precinct was overlapped with the graveyard shift personnel and several day shift employees called to start the day early. There was another reason, however, that sparked the flurry of officers, desk clerks, and administrative personnel. It was due to a high priority, or “hi-pri” case the law officers commonly abbreviated, that was currently developing within the precinct’s jurisdiction. All cases had a codeword used to standardize the force’s efforts, and this particular case was classified solely as “Belkin.”
“What’s the good news?” Det. Cleveland asked.
The traffic light turned green and the detective pulled out.
“Well, the good news is that I have Lois’ sister, Carol, on the line. She just called in but she’s pretty frantic,” replied the researcher with a lukewarm tone.
“That’s great news! Put her through,” Det. Cleveland responded, widening his eyes.
He was excited to hear that a close family member had surfaced, as he wanted nothing more than to reunite the sisters. However, Det. Cleveland realized that Charlie had only completed half of his response, which made the excitement drop. What bothered the detective the most was not the fact that Charlie didn’t give the bad news; it was the way he had delivered the good—lacking enthusiasm.
“Wait. What’s the bad news?”
Charlie leaned in closer to his desk, a sign of something sensitive to come, something privileged. Even though Det. Cleveland couldn’t see his confidant, he knew from years of working together that something important was to follow.
“Roger turned up again. This time he was thrown out of The Hideaway restaurant on Fourth Street about an hour ago. The manager requested an officer, and he described two men causing a commotion when our guys arrived. One matched Roger’s description.”
Charlie’s words incited the detective. His focus shifted from the rainy street to the image of men tossing Roger out of their establishment. Then, a single word trumped the thoughts and images whirling around inside Det. Cleveland, “captain.”
“Does the captain know?”
“Yes, and he wants him stopped. Said to take whatever means necessary. Ray, I think this guy better watch out. If you don’t get him…well, I just don’t want this to end badly.”
Another light turned red. Det. Cleveland slammed on the brakes, preoccupied in the heat of the moment. The red traffic light burned into the cones of his eyes.
“God damn it, the captain is nuts if he thinks this guy is really dangerous. I mean, Christ, he was almost killed last night!” Det. Cleveland shouted. “Where is the captain anyway?”
“He’s not here. He’s at home.”
“He’s in his cushy bed and I’m driving these dark streets all night. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on!” Det. Cleveland roared.
Charlie sat back and ground his teeth. He tried his best to delicately deliver the bad news, and he couldn’t even imagine the emotions running through his boss’ mind. Charlie wanted to make sure the detective knew that he was still on his side, as he would always be through thick and thin.
“I know. I know. I’m just telling you what’s going on down here,” Charlie replied.
Det. Cleveland gripped the steering wheel tightly. He felt like driving to the captain’s house and barging in to argue the facts and to explain Roger’s case. His logical mind, however, deduced that that would undeniably not help Roger. He might get to prove his point to the captain, make him realize a different viewpoint, the right viewpoint, but it did nothing for the imminent danger the lost traveler faced. The situation needed to be resolved on the streets, the place that no desk jockey could truly understand. If he was going to end this situation, he needed to do it now, and do it quickly. Through his fury, Det. Cleveland realized there was a hint of light in the darkness in the form of the good news.
“Do you still have Carol on the line?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Put her through.”
Charlie moved to patch her through, returning the silence. The rhythm of the rain calmed Det. Cleveland, massaging his rage into a manageable sensation. The water brought him back to the clarity he had felt at the previous traffic light. While the view at his stopped position on Tenth Street seemed similar to his previous stop, the red light appeared more intense. While it meant “stop” on the road, it didn’t mean anything else. In fact, he didn’t even have to stop. It was a law, but he was the law. Det. Cleveland looked up and saw the sign marked “Tenth Street” through the rain and recalled Charlie’s words. He had mentioned a restaurant, a restaurant on “Fourth Street.” Det. Cleveland glanced into his rear view mirror and punched the throttle. His tires spun as he whipped the car’s tail around. As his engine roared through the night, the phone clicked again.
“Hello? Hello?” filled the detective’s ears.
It was the sound of an overexcited woman. Carol had been patiently waiting to talk to someone, anyone. She had received the news by chance after a late-night flip of the television dial. Normally, Carol was a heavy sleeper who could snooze through the sound of a tractor-trailer’s horn, but tonight was a restless night. Not speaking with her sister had made her mind uneasy, and an uneasy mind was one that didn’t want to drift away to sleep. Just as importantly, not having her crutch, the man with whom she had vowed to spend her life, only added to the emptiness that had already overwhelmed her. These facts culminated in Carol tossing and turning through most of the night, which made her hand coast to the television remote. She remembered the feeling that was indescribable for anyone to receive. There, plastered on the main channel, was a picture of her sister. At first, she was in shock, curious about the reason for her sister’s exposure, but then the newscaster explained the damning details. Her woman’s intuition had proven correct. The knot that had tightened in her stomach as the day progressed had pained her for a reason. She grabbed a pen and pad and wrote down the phone number provided, as well as the location of her sister, “Southern General Hospital.” Carol sprang from her bed and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Her dog, Lucy, aware of the danger, followed her closely until Carol reached the garage. As she jumped into her car, s
he dialed the number on her cell phone. Carol raced through the wee hours of the morning toward Southern General Hospital. The drive would take her about twenty minutes if the Pleasant Place Bridge was open. Fortunately for her, it was.
“Yes, ma’am. This is Detective Ray Cleveland. I am on your sister’s case,” Det. Cleveland replied as he sped through the rainy city.
“Oh, my God! I just saw the TV. I knew something was wrong.”
It was not raining where she drove, but as she neared the lights of the city, she could see water pouring over the downtown.
“Where are you now?” he asked.
“I’m on my way to Southern General. Oh my God. Lois,” Carol replied as she fought tears.
She was more energized than emotional, but the simple pronunciation of her sister’s name caused her to cry.
Det. Cleveland juggled the phone as he sped down the street. He knew he should have engaged his police light, but following protocol took a backseat to “getting it done.” He could hear the anguish in Carol’s voice and wondered whether she sounded like the woman who everyone had sought to awaken. He felt electrified, free from the all-encroaching storm.
The Pleasant Place Bridge came into Carol’s view. Its tall, ominous structure reached for the night sky as clouds consumed the top of its pointed suspension posts. As Carol took in the sight, she flinched as rain pounded her car’s windshield. She was now entering a place that housed an isolated man with only a few allies.
The detective’s voice commanded her attention. “Lois is on the fifth floor. Ask for Nurse Ann. She will take you to your sister.”
Carol pressed the pedal farther and dodged the cars sprinkled on the early morning bridge. Her mind no longer pondered the location of Lois, and her journey to the hospital was the only obstacle that stood in the way of reuniting. As Carol passed the marred surface on the bridge from the accident, she realized the detective had failed to mention one crucial element of the situation, half of the situation, in fact.
“What about Roger? Is he okay?”
“Well, I’m working on that. He, well…he is on his way to see her,” Det. Cleveland tactfully replied.
“Is he injured? Is he checked into Southern General?”
Carol’s questions incited the detective even more. He suffered the same emotional charge that had energized Carol after hearing her sister’s name. He dug his groomed nails into the leather-wrapped steering wheel and saw “Sixth Street” enter his view. Up ahead, the red light mocked him, but he didn’t slow down. He kept his right foot pressed on the accelerator and hovered his left foot on the brake pedal. He darted his eyes left, and then right as he approached the intersection. Headlights emerged from the right.
The left foot or the right foot? he asked himself.
Then, almost without thinking, he firmly pressed a foot to the floor—the foot that sent his body back into the seat.
The encroaching car blasted its horn. Its tires locked. Det. Cleveland jerked the wheel to the left. Somehow, he cleared the car.
“Are you still there? Is Roger injured?” Carol repeated.
Det. Cleveland took a breath as he passed the “Sixth Street” hurdle.
“It’s a long story. I will give you the details at the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just ask for Nurse Ann and only her. And be careful!”
“Okay, okay. Thank you,” Carol replied as she passed the bridge.
She heard the click from the phone as she regained control of the wheel. Carol adjusted her wipers to the highest setting. Her view was cloudy, but at least her eyes were wide open.
Chapter 21