Hush

 

With smooth hands, which flowed along with the wafting smoke, she passed the pipe on to the next in the circle.The guy, his name was Jacob, grabbed it like a lifeline.He rammed it into his mouth, and took a series of quick puffs, like a virgin giving a blow job.Much of his smoke was wasted, and Diana watched longingly as it billowed up to the ceiling in clouds that reminded her of some comedian she'd seen as a youth.Clay, his name had been Dice Clay.

The pipe would take its time to work around the circle, so Diana lay back to take advantage of the rush.She was staring at the ceiling when it began to entice her; where her mind had been swimming the moment before, it was now sharp.The colors of the rooms brightened, and her whole system began to speed up, intensify.

And then she was floating again, only this time much higher.Had this been what it was for Robbie, she wondered?

The question stuck in her mind for a moment, and then fluttered away like a leaf in the mental wind brought on by the drug.Diana was twenty-five years old, and had been through all the popular phases; ice, crank, croak, and all the new, synthetic shit, the new generation of addiction, she thought to herself, giggling.But her drug of choice was still crack.You could smoke it, chew it, swallow it, snort it, shoot it, rub it into your gums, ingest it anally; it didn't matter.

There were six of them in the abandoned hotel room.The place was a hole called The Four Star that had burned back in the '80's, but most of the rooms were still livable, or at least serviceable.A fair portion of the neighborhood junkies, or crackers, as the locals called them, ended up crashing at the Star.It was the Holiday Inn of crackers.

Eventually, they would all end up in a pile on the floor spaced.The rocks had run them forty each, but it would keep them gone for the rest of the day.

Jacob passed her an appraising glance she pretended to ignore.The man reeked, and resembled a walking cancer, but she didn't fear him.Crack did a job on the male libido.Jacob would be lucky if he could stand up, much less get up.

She could still draw attention from men, even though her face looked like shit about fifty percent of the time, she had retained her high school figure, even after giving birth.Sometimes a little physical appeal could do a lot to change a dealer's mind when the cash was low.

There was movement at the door of the room, as if someone had just walked in, and now stood at the threshold of their mental orgy.Diana was drifting too well to open her eyes and check.The cops never came by here anymore, too slicked by the dealers to care.Why should they be frightened of a bust when Steve, one of Detroit's finest, was two seats away on her left?At most, it was another cracker hoping to buy or beg their way into the party.

"Robbie," she said under her breath, trying to hold in the hysteria that fluttered within her chest.

The boy didn't answer, and the only reply she received was from Old Man Gruff who was mumbling about getting the brat out of here if she knew him.Diana wasn't listening to him though, her eyes were fixed on the child.Robbie had always been light, after all his father had been Caucasian, and she wasn't all that dark herself, but if his eyes were not such a startling blue he could have easily passed for an albino.

Her baby had come home to her.A sob heaved in her chest, and she found herself choking on all the things she wanted to say to him about how sorry she was, and how she never meant for it to happen.Most of all, she wanted to get up and embrace him, get him away from this evil place.But the boy wasn't showing any jubilation, and something within his eyes kept her in her place.The initial, chilling fear she'd felt upon his appearance had lingered, and now gestated and intensified under his gaze.

He hates me, Diana realized.The blue eyes his father had given The drug within her was intensifying her own fear, her heart was running away within her own chest, and her skin was flushed.

She was crawling away from him in what her grade school gym teacher had called the crab walk, that is, scuttling on her elbows and feet with her back still facing the floor.The child followed her, keeping the distance between them a constant, as if his contempt kept him from drawing too close to her.But that was fine with Diana, for if he drew too near, she was sure she would be able to see the needle marks in his arm, dotted along his veins like tiny black and blue craters.

Her heart was pounding away and she could actually feel the hot blood pumping though her.The groans and utterances of the other junkies, along with the street noise became incomprehensible, and the only sound within her mind was the coursing blood in her veins.

Her elbow collapsed beneath her and she struck the floor, knocking the wind from her.When she looked up, Diana saw that Robbie had stopped as well.She was crying openly now, and screaming hysterically.

"What do you want?!!" she yelled.

"Kill yourself," he said, without even waiting for her question to die in the air.

Raising his hand to rub his temples, Scott Cloud exchanged a private glance with his partner, Paul Edwards.The latter had been watching the scene through the rim of a vodka tonic, while sitting on the corner of his own desk, adjacent to Scott's.Paul nodded, picked up a handkerchief off his desk, and walked over to comfort the squealing Diana.She quickly snapped up the offering and buried her face in the cloth.

Paul ventured Scott a sympathetic glance and Scott shrugged his shoulders.Paul knew as well as he, it was always the hardest when you knew the client.Scott had already thrown a wall up around himself, trying not to let his own feelings dictate his responsiveness, but the wall had sprung leaks.Robbie was his godchild, and his father, Robert Petry Sr., had been Scott's best friend in high school.Rob had gotten married right out of school, and Scott was a stand up at the wedding, just as four years later he would be a pal bearer at his funeral.

"Why didn't you contact me when Robbie first disappeared?" Scott almost shouted at her.His obvious anger brought on another spout of balling.

"Calm, Scott," Paul advised him while returning to his drink."You sure you don't want one?" Paul enquired, saluting him with the frosty glass.The proffered drink was tempting, especially in their oven of an office, but Scott declined, he made it a rule never to drink in front of clients, even if they were old friends.

"What about you, Mrs. Petry?"She stopped long enough in her belabored tears to nod enthusiastically.

As Paul moved off to the little bar he maintained next to his desk to prepare the drink, Diana began to dab at the last of her tears with the handkerchief.

"This smells funny," she informed Paul's back, holding out the cloth.Paul looked over his shoulder and shrugged.

"Probably, I use it as a coaster on my desk."

Ignoring the exchange Scott leaned forward again.Some of the anger in his voice had died, but he now was emphasizing every word he said by tapping a pencil on his desk.

"Have you informed the police?" Five taps.

She shook her head, while accepting the drink Paul had brought her.

"They don't even patrol down near me, what good would they do?"

Scott felt his face flood with anger again.Did she even care that Robbie was gone?Diana had changed, she let her life fall to shit after Rob died, and now she was just another blank eyed drug zombie more worried about her next fix than about her own kid.He didn't care about the rest of the city committing suicide, but he hated to see someone he knew fall apart.

"They would do a lot more good than you do sitting around in some goddam crack dive having hallucinations," Scott was on his feet now and pacing the short distance between his desk and the door."At least then they might be able to identify him when he turns up chopped to pieces in some garbage dumpster, or if your lucky, maybe in a bust on some kid porno set up!"

Paul threw his arms up in the air, walked over to Scott, and put his hands on his partner's shoulders.

"Fine," Paul breathed heavily, and Scott could smell the vodka."Then she's a friend who has come to you because she needs help.She came here because she trusts you.Don't go banging her head on the wall because of what she's already done.You can't lecture an addict, man, understand?"

Over Paul's shoulder Scott watched Diana putting an end to her knew bout of emotion, and straightening herself up in her chair.At least she had some of her pride left.The Diana he'd known hadn't been a punching bag, she was a fist.If Scott had yelled at her five years ago she would have most likely kicked him in the nuts rather than burst in the tears.

"Now you are going to sit down, and listen while I go through the preliminary interview.OK?"Paul was insistent, and Scott knew he needed time to cool down.

"OK?" Paul repeated.

Scott nodded, and returned to his desk, sitting down hard like a reprimanded school boy.

Paul grabbed the chair from behind his desk, and placed it in front of Diana's so that he was facing her.

"Alright, Mrs. Petry," he began."You aren't related to the old Tiger's pitcher, Dan Petry, are you?"

Somewhere beneath all the pain and confusion, a smile worked its way across Diana's face.From behind his desk, Scott felt like he was far, far away from the both of them, and he realized he'd been handed another prime example of how much better Paul was at handling people than himself.

"Well," Paul continued."The first thing we're going to have to do is call a friend of mine down at missing persons named Bill Robinson, and later on, he'll probably want to talk to you in person.But for the time being, where were you staying at the time Robbie disappeared?"

As it turned out, She and Robbie had been living off ADC and what little insurance Rob Sr. had left them after his death.It had been three weeks since she'd last seen Robbie.At the time she'd been living with a guy named Rufus Browne at his house.She hesitated when she mentioned Rufus, and Paul reminded her that it would make everything much easier if she just told them the truth.

"We're not cops, and we aren't going to judge you, we're just going to help you find your child."When Paul said this she passed a hesitant look at Scott, and then continued.

Rufus wasyour regular welfare rider, except that he liked to augment his government freebies with non-taxable income.They had met a at a cracker den, when she'd been burying herself in the places after Rob's death.Rufus had been kind at first, he took the money from her government checks, and in return let her stay at his house.As long as she slept with him there were no problems, he kept them fed, and gave her the shit she needed.Rufus dealt drugs on the side, "just for spending cash", and when things got really tight, he would force her to "entertain" friends of his.

Paul looked back at Scott after that one, but Scott was swallowing it all without even blinking.

"How long did you stay with Rufus?" Paul asked in his sympathetic manner.

"About three years, I guess, you kinda lose track of time.We moved in with him about six month after Rob got killed."

"How did Rufus treat Robbie?"

Another pause.

After they were through, Diana looked exhausted, and was slumped into her chair.When she had come down, the energy had visibly seeped from her body.

"Diana," Paul had worked his way into a first name basis."This is real hard for me to bring up, but you don't look as if you have much money, unless it's stuffed in a mattress someplace, or some relative is about ready to drop dead.I don't see how you can afford to pay us?We aren't expensive, but our minimum is four hundred a day."

She took it in stride; she didn't scream, yell, or beg.All she did was raise her eyes to Scott, but Cloud had already reached a decision.

"We'll take it, Paul," he said."We'll take it and we can worry about payment later."

Paul looked as if he wanted to say something, but he remained silent.Finally, he said, "Is there someplace we can reach you?"

"The phones don't work, the Four Star was condemned ten years ago." She at least wasn't embarrassed by her life, she was quite frank about it.

"Paul," Scott said from his desk."Could you leave us for a few minutes."

Paul immediately opened his mouth to protest, but he knew that Scott would have to talk things out with her sooner or later.

"No fireworks?" Paul asked, downing the last of his third vodka.

"Nary one," Scott replied calmly as Paul grabbed his coat and made for the door.

Paul pictured about ten different scenarios of what might happen when he left.He went over each of them as he closed the office door behind him and made his way down the two flights of stairs to the street.O'Grady's was about half a block down the street, and Paul decided a beer and burger sounded like a well rounded lunch.

It was half an hour later when Paul returned to Street Cloud Investigations, and the scene that greeted him was not among his list of possibilities.

Scott and Diana were both standing and were embracing each other in a manner that appeared to Paul's glazed eyes as being a little more than friendly.

Paul cleared his throat.

Scott pulled away from Diana, but didn't even spare Paul a glance.Paul could see that Diana's eyes were dry, but the surprises weren't over yet.

Cloud reached into his pocket and removed his keys as Paul moved across to his desk, flopping his coat across the bar since his chair was no longer available.He watched as Scott slowly worked his house key loose from the chain.Scott then took Diana's hand, opened her palm, and pressed the key within.

"Thank you," Diana told him, Paul could tell from her voice that it was only a matter of time before the tears returned.

Scott didn't reply right away, he only nodded.

"No drugs," he said softly.

Scott turned around to his face his partner, and Paul was ready for him.

"First a temper tantrum, then charity, and now you're playing huggies and kissies in the office.Scott, as soon as I'm sure that there aren't any Body Snatcher pods around, we gotta talk."

Listening to Scott tell a story, Paul knew, was usually akin to reading the telephone book.Cloud had never been a very emotional person, ever since the two of them had met at the academy.Paul had met Scott's father, Inspector Gary Cloud, several times, and had decided that Scott had just inherited his apparent lack of spirit.It was strange, with all their similarities, that the most displayed emotion between father and son was an intense dislike for each other.

Paul had been shocked to see Scott's display of affection for Diana in the office, but what surprised him even more was Scott's explanation.

"You know that my dad and I moved when I was a kid," Scott began.

Paul told him yes.Scott's mother had died when he was young, and the Inspector couldn't stand living under the same roof so they moved around for a while.

"Well," Scott continued, issuing a long breath."We moved back to Detroit just before my freshman year of high school.It's hard to describe a school like McKenzie.What's the name of that place where you grew up, up north?"

"Luther," Paul answered, it wasn't a fact he was real proud of."Population 500, counting sheep."

"My graduating class had more than 500 kids in it."

The two of them had returned to their seats, and since it was nearing five o'clock they could afford to relax, their business day would soon be over.Paul leaned back to the bar and began to fix another drink, offering Scott one, and found that this was one of the rare occasions when his partner accepted his invitation.

"I hope this story leads to an explanation of why we're working on a milk carton case for free?"

"It does," Scott assured him."And we're not doing it for free."

Paul was hoping that Scott didn't mean what he was thinking.Good old Carnal Cloud wasn't accepting new forms of payment, was he?But he didn't have much time to ask questions because Scott continued his tale.

"I grew up in this part of town, but back then the lower west side was mostly white families, and most of my friends were white.But when Coleman Young was busy making Detroit the shithole it is, most of the kids I'd grown up with moved away.So here I was coming back, and almost everyone I'd known was gone."

"Let me guess," Paul chipped in with a ceremonial sip of his vodka."Everybody except Robert Petry."

"Everybody except Robert.He was my only connection to the rest of the school.He introduced me to everybody, taught me that black and Hispanics weren't the evil bogeymen my father had always taught me they were.If it hadn't been for Robert, I never would have adjusted."

"Rob didn't steal her away," he continued."She went to him.The two of them were much better suited for each other.Rob was more lively, I was just sort of there."Scott paused, and Paul could mentally hear him preparing to spout some line like, `It all worked out for the best' or `It brought us closer together in the end,' but neither of these were forthcoming.Scott simply stopped talking, as if he suddenly realized he was speaking of his personal life and sealed up the leak.

Finally, after nearly a full minute of silence, during which Scott stared off at nothing, he said, "She's staying with me because she used to be a friend of mine.And if we find Robbie we're going to get the two of them the fuck away from this city."

Paul watched his friend grow cold again, the only emotion in his face being the burning embers of anger tattooed across his cheeks.He scooped the glass away from in front of Scott, who had apparently lost interest, and downed it.

Paul returned to his desk on the opposite side of the window out which Scott now stared so intently, and began to nurse the bottle of vodka.

After about five minutes of nothing, Scott shot up from his chair.

"I've got to go pickup Diana and her things," he announced.Without even so much as a goodbye, Scott swung the door shut behind him.

"snoitagitsevnI duolC teertS" the door which swung back at Paul read.Slowly Paul got up from his own seat and prepared to go.Somewhere out there in the sprawling, deserted streets of Detroit, there was a barkeep that knew something about Rufus Browne, and Paul intended to find him.

* * *

The razor glided across his chin, fleecing him in a well-practiced motion. Just as Scott's appearance belied his conservative nature, so did his shaving equipment.Scott's father had used a hand razor, for all Cloud knew he still did, and Scott would never abandon the feeling of a smooth face, soft with cologne.And even more importantly, it gave him a chance to think in privacy a couple of times a day.

Stretching his face to accommodate the angle of the razor, Scott found himself staring into his own eyes.Diana was busily unpacking her few possessions and shelving them away in his living room closet.He could hear her scuffling about, trying to make room where there was none.His gaze held itself, and he laid the razor down on the sink.Scott was twenty-five years old, but if he looked hard enough, he could still see his high school self buried within the extra flesh and scars that had marked his aging.

Scott quickly followed her gaze to his living room window.It was dusk outside, and the street lights were painting the night with shadows.But there for a second, in the time it took him to blink and take a better look, there had been a tiny, pale face in the window.It hadn't really looked much like a child; it was the kind of nightmare image an insane man would etch if asked to draw the face of a young boy.

Diana had collapsed against the wall behind her, and was now hysterically sobbing, clutching at herself.Scott had to make a quick decision as to whether he pursue the creature in the window, or help Diana.He pulled her up on her feet, and then led her to the couch.Scott had never been much with words, and he was always more apt to panic and withdraw when confronted with a hysterical woman.Instead of speaking, he gingerly put his arm around her, and pulled her toward him.She fell against him sobbing, and he held her tighter.

After a few minutes she was finally able to manage a few words between sobs.

"You saw him, didn't you?" she asked."I'm not crazy, you saw him too."

Scott paused before replying.

"I saw someone, or at least I think I saw someone," he silently swore at himself for being so cold, Diana needed support.

Then he looked back out the window, or more precisely, at the window itself.

She stiffened as he took his arm from around her, and arose to walk over to the glass. 

She asked him something but Scott was paying little attention to her now, his mind had flipped back to the first time he'd held the tiny body of his godchild in his arms, the delicate little face, and the tiny little hands that attempted to grasp onto his fingers.

Scott's body had turned cold, and he felt as if his mind was ripping free from its prison of flesh. Etched on the glass was the bloody imprint of a child's hand.

* * *

Somewhere around his sixth bar and his seventh tequila sunrise, Paul began to start losing hope about finding out anything about Rufus Browne.Paul was well acclimated to the inner city, but when it passed the midnight hour, and you were white, alone, and bar hopping, not even the police issue .38 he wore made he feel all that safe.

Seeing that he'd gained Paul's cognizance, the bum took his left hand, adorned with a weathered, bare fingered glove, and blew his nose into his palm.

Disgusted, Paul quickly turned his head back to James, certain the bartender would make haste with the vagrants departure after the man's display of personal hygiene.But as far as Paul could ascertain, the bum's bugle blast had gone undetected by the other patrons.

"Rufus Browne," the bum exclaimed in a gravely, bass croak of a voice.

If Paul had been sober, he would have fallen out of his chair, but drunk, the best he could manage was a fifteen degree list.The men's eyes met, and Paul could see the bum was sober just as surly as he was crocked.

As Paul slid off his barstool, and began making his way to the end of the bar, using the tarnished brass bar rail as a support and guide, his world had become a glossy kaleidoscope ride, and his legs threatened to buckle underneath him.

The detective mounted the barstool next to the bum with the graceful ease of Roy Rogers slipping into a saddle, sometimes being well practiced can pass for sober.

"What do you know about Rufus?"

The bum frowned, as if he'd been expecting something more than a cliché question from the detective.

"Buy Gus a drink first," the bum burbled like a Jabberwocky.

"Who's Gus?"

"Me," Gus said this while pointing at his chest as if assuming Paul couldn't discern his answer with out a visual aid."The barkeep here won't serve me my own."

Too drunk to ponder Gus's remark, Paul called James over and ordered two beers.James passed Paul a confused, almost nervous, glance, and then filled the order.

After the bum had serviced his lips, he answered Paul's silence.

"Rufus Browne likes hitting little kids with baseball bats," Gus declared, and before Paul had a chance to ask him how he knew, the bum continued."He also likes sticking knives in people when he's cracked out, better than sex, he says."Gus was on a roll now, and he only paused to take drags of his Busch.

"Rufus Browne likes little kids, he likes getting them hooked on drugs, and then he likes making them pay for their new found habit by doing favors for him.Do you know what I mean by favors, Mr. Edwards?"

Gus just smiled, and shook his head.

"Thanks for the beer," the bum said as he stood up.Gus's clothes were nothing more than torn rags, and through the tattered fabric of the bum's shirt, Paul could see the decaying flesh of the man's belly.Gus's whole stomach was a gaping picture, framed by gray, bloated flesh, and filled with rot and the bare bones of his rib cage.

Paul passed out, face down on the bar.

Only to be shook awake.

Paul slowly lifted his head off the bar, his skin momentarily sticking to the beer soaked Formica.The arms shaking him belonged to James.

"Jesus, Paul," he exclaimed."You look like someone pissed in your Corn Flakes."

The conversation with Gus leapt into Paul's waking mind, and he stumbled off of his barstool.James quickly reached over the bar, and with one tree trunk of an arm, kept the detective from giving in to his buckling knees.

The bar was empty now, and Paul's sobering mind tried to estimate the time; two thirty, three thirty?He had to find the bum again, find out where Rufus was.

"You ain't going anywhere but home," James informed him, watching his fidgeting."I called you a cab about twenty minutes ago, they'll be out front." James was motioning toward the door, and even though he was still a little toasted, Paul could still take a hint.

"What happened to the guy I was talking to?" he asked the barkeep, who had turned to begin counting the till.

James laughed, and without sparing Paul a glance, answered.

"The only one you talked to all night long was the wall, My Man.You were fucked up really good."

As Paul guided himself through the door on still wobbling legs, the cool night air baptized him.His head cleared a little, and it was almost a relief to trade the beer and smoke odors of the bar for the smells of the street.

The taxi hadn't arrived yet, and Paul had a moment to gather his thoughts.He didn't like the idea of leaving his car in the Cass Corridor, but there was no way he could drive.Of greater concern to him was what Gus had said, that is, if Gus had really said anything.He'd heard it said that drunks don't lie, and he'd also heard that the dead didn't lie.So wouldn't he be a fool not to trust a dead drunk?

"Oh my God," he managed to sputter, stumbling backwards.

And they came forth like a wave.The little girl was first joined by a boy who crawled out of the darkness, unable to walk, because his legs had been roughly amputated.And there were more, stumbling out of the alley.An army of small pale faces, with the same empty eyes.Some came forward carrying babies that were strangely silent.

His grip on sanity began to loosen as the dead children just stood before him, staring.Slowly, though, his fear began to die itself, as he looked upon the sea of sad faces.It was at first replaced by pity, and then by anger.He knew who they were, and he knew why they had shown themselves.These were Rufus Browne's children, not the fruit of his loins, but the fruit of his twisted mind.

Without thinking, Paul bent down and embraced the little girl who'd first come forward.She was cold and horribly light in his arms.Overcome with his emotions Paul slowly began to weep, and as he released the girl, she walked over to a section of the wall that was well lit from the street.

She bent down and scooped up what appeared to be a piece of chalk, and began to scrawl on the wall like a child standing at a blackboard in a mythical classroom that none of these children would ever see.

Finished, she dropped the chalk and stepped back.Paul came forward and read the address she'd written; 1126 Copper Street.When he looked back at the girl, her mouth opened.

"Kill him," she whispered.

"Kill him," the rest of the children joined in.

"Kill him," they chanted together in macabre harmony, the babies crying, unable to express the pain in any other way.

He stood there listening to them until the taxi's horn blared from the street.Slowly, the children stepped back into the darkness, but even after they were gone, he could still hear them.

"Kill him."

Praying that Robbie's had not been among the sea of faces, Paul did one of the hardest things he'd ever done, turning his back on the children, and ran out into the puddle stained street to catch his cab.

* * *

Scott Cloud was beginning to give up hope as the phone droned on in his ear; Paul wasn't home.It was two-thirty in the morning, and his entire night had turned out to be an empty search.Diana had been hysterical for about an hour, as he awkwardly held her and tried to bring her around.Finally, after much soothing talk and a few codeine tablets he'd been able to coerce her nerves into letting her doze off on the couch in a twitching slumber.He was just thankful that her crack withdrawal symptoms hadn't set in yet; her stopping was a prerequisite to their living arrangement.

Too neat.

Too clean.

"Scott," it was almost a whisper.He elevated his head abandoning the pretense of sleep, and saw her there in the doorway of his bedroom; cleanly illuminated from the night light he'd left on in the bathroom (he'd seen enough of the city to trade his macho image for something to keep the monsters away).Obviously the codeine hadn't been enough for Diana, as she wandered, none too gracefully, into his room.

He could sense his own tension building.It had been a long time since a woman had even set foot in his bedroom, much less a long legged beauty who was clad in nothing but one of his oversized shirts.Scott could even smell her soft scent as she silently crossed the room to his bedside, and certain parts of his latitudes began to stir.He knew what her skin would feel like, he even knew how her lips would feel against his own.Without protest to his fantasies, Diana eased into the bed beside him.

"I can't sleep," she whispered, cuddling up next to him, her smooth legs caressing his own.

"It's alright to talk out loud," he told her."It's not like your parents are in the next room anymore.We're adults, this is my bedroom, and I want you here."

"Hold me," she asked of him, and his arm gracefully slid around her, across her bare stomach.Their bodies fit together perfectly, they always had.All those years ago he'd been denied what he could have now, a chance to make up for a mistake he'd made that had lingered as one of the largest 'what if's' in his collection of regrets.Female companionship was something he craved, and something he fell into easily, his tall, dark features giving him ample opportunities.Something about just holding her felt fulfilling, and even more satisfying.There was a wonderful comfort in just knowing what they could do, would do.Something that was miles away from Rob Sr.'s death.

For the moment, just having her there in his arms was enough.They slept.

...and awoke.

Scott's eyes flickered open; there was someone else in the room.He lay there motionless, not wanting to draw the attention of whomever it was.By her even breaths, Scott could tell Diana was still out, but he had always been a light sleeper, it kind of went along with the insomnia, which went along with the territory.

Most people would have jerked away in horror, but this was where Scott's coldness, his ability to just detach himself from his emotions came in useful.His own actions seemed to be slow, but they were not hesitant.Scott had seen enough blood and death to let either of them disguise the boy who hid beneath their trappings.

Scott reached over the sleeping Diana, and let the child grab hold of his index finger with his chilled grip.Carefully, using his free hand, Scott dislodged himself from the sheets, and edged his away around the child's mother, being sure not to wake her.Robbie gently led him along, tugging at his finger, until the two of them were alone in the living room.

Scott didn't attempt to say anything, he waited for Robbie.What did you say anyway when confronted with the dead child of your dead best friend?The boy had come this far to single him out, and undoubtedly he had something on his mind.

As Cloud perched himself on the end of his dark green sofa that shone black in what little light filtered into the room from the street, he realized that all the popular cinematic trappings were absent.There was no hazy fog, slow motion, or ghoulish soundtrack groaning in the background.The room was silent, and his mind was clear; the only thing out of place was Robbie who stood before him like an apathetic bag of broken flesh.

"Unka Scott," Robbie stammered, his obviously busted jaw twisting and contorting to form his already childish diction."Kill her, Unka Scott."

So much for suicide, Scott realized.Now it was time for homicide.

"I can't do that."It was a simple enough truth, and one that any dead four year old should have been able to grasp.

Robbie didn't throw out any of the anticipated norms of the denied four year old; there was no foot stomping, crying, or holding of breath, just the ghoulish, dispassionate stare.Scott returned it with his own cold demeanor.It was a stand off between the cold, uncaring dead, and the cold, detached detective.

"Scott," he began to rave."We gotta get outta here..."

Cloud held a shushing finger to his lips, and then stepped to the side, allowing Paul to see Robbie in all of his disenchanted glory.

"Aw shit!" he moaned."Not another one."

Of the multitude of reactions Scott could have anticipated of his partner, this would not have been one of them.

"What do you mean another one?" Scott asked.

"Never mind, I'll explain in the car.I've got an address on Rufus, and I'd like to nail the scrotum scratcher before he skips out again."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"No," Paul chirped hastily."I have it right here." He pulled back his coat to reveal the fifth of Jack Daniels which was resting momentarily in the inside vest pocket of his overcoat.

"But what about..." Scott turned to look at the child who had observed their exchange with all the intensity of a world-class chess tournament.

Paul shrugged.

"Toss him in the back seat, I always loved tearful reunions."

After a hastily scribbled note to the sleeping Diana, they were out the door, and into the night.

Paul's Escort was swift if not speedy, and Copper Street was just downtown, not more than a few blocks from the Four Star.Interstate 94 was a graveyard at three-thirty in the morning, and the easy driving gave them a chance to exchange quick notes on their respective evenings.

"So let me get this straight," Scott summarized."We're speeding across town following a tip you got from a dead bum and a shitload of ghosts you encountered while on a drinking binge."

"Something like that."

"So what do we do when we get there?What if we find Rufus?We were hired to find Robbie," Scott turned as if to make sure the apparition in the back seat hadn't vanished."Why don't we let the cops do the rest?"

"Jesus Christ!" Paul exploded."This guy butchers your godson and Lord knows how many other kids, he fucks over your late best friend's wife in more ways than one, and he's a crack dealer.What'll we tell the cops, that Robbie the Friendly Ghost came back from the dead to give us the name of his murderer?They'll have us making ashtrays and doing group therapy at Battle Creek."

Scott understood his friend well enough, and he was right about Scott's feelings toward Rufus, but there was some underlying, compulsive madness to Paul's vendetta.What had Edwards lost or gained?And his first question still remained; what were they going to do when they got there?Cloud didn't know if he trusted ghosts enough to act as this man's judge, jury, and possibly executioner.

The house was a simple single story, five room domicile, a shape that was cloned a thousand times throughout the west side.The lawn was an untamed jungle and the front windows were boarded, but the house's abandoned facade was belied by the front door which was locked and refused to give way under Scott's gentle prodding. 

"So where from here?" Scott shot at Paul, wondering if his partner had reached the point of breaking and entering yet.Apparently shaking off the tone of the comment, Paul reached up one rain soaked arm of his coat and rapped solidly on the door.

"Always worked for me," Edwards informed him.

Paul's second knock was answered by the sound of stirring from the rear of the house.The bedroom, Scott realized.

Cloud turned to motion Robbie to stand behind them, but the boy had vanished.Scott tapped Paul's shoulder, but the former=s attention was held raptly by the front door whose locks were being worked from the inside.

The door opened about four inches before a thick chain lock halted its progress.Scott's first thought was that no one was going to confront them, but then he looked down.A small Hispanic girl of no more than eleven stood in the door crease.Her eyes were glazed with the caress of drugs, and the only garment she bore was a man's ragged T-shirt.

"What do you want?" she asked meekly.

Paul had turned pale. and was obviously thrown aback by the girl's appearance, so Scott took the initiative.

"Tell Rufus we're looking for some dime bags."

The girl nodded and disappeared behind the door once again.As the solid oak frame slid shut, the locks slid back into place with a concert of thunks and whirrs.

The house was silent from the inside, and Paul took advantage of the moment my dipping his hand into his coat and withdrawing the Jack Daniels.With shaking hands he took several desperate gulps of the whiskey.

"Jesus Christ," he stammered."Did you see that kid?She's just a fucking baby..."

Scott didn't know how to reply to his friend.He too was aghast at the ramifications implied by the girl's appearance, but they already knew what kind of animal this Rufus was, and Paul was not going to let the horror of it all impede upon his ability to perform.

There was a loud slapping noise from inside, followed by an abrasive baritone voice screaming.

"Mother fucker!" the crazed man yelled, swinging the shotgun to bear on Scott.

Cloud had him beat though.He took careful aim at the man's shoulder and depressed the trigger, only to be greeted by a dull thud.He'd left his safety on.

Rufus smiled wide, affording Scott with an excellent view of a mouth filled with broken teeth.There was a fire burning within the crazed man's mind, and Scott could see it reflected in Rufus's eyes.There were even little trails of frothed spittle hanging off the man's open maw.Rufus was no more than four feet from Cloud, and the detective was staring up at the shotgun waiting to die.

The dive into the bushes and the shotgun blast shook Paul from his dazed state.When the little girl had answered the door, he'd realized that what Gus had said in the bar was true.That innocent little face in the doorway and the resounding sound of the slap, which Rufus had dealt her, were proof enough.It was one thing to contemplate such horrors, but it was another to have the sediment act carried out before your eyes.

Paul had set himself in standard kneeling position just as he'd been instructed at the academy.His arms were extended, and his pistol's line of fire was drawn from his left eye.

"Rufus!" he shouted at the giant from behind.As Browne turned away from Cloud, distracted by a new target, Paul breathed a sigh of relief for his partner.

"Drop the shot gun and put your hands behind your head," just like the academy, Paul had decided.They would do the arrest by the book, but still there were voices chanting in the back of his head, repeating their simple, singsong homicidal chant over and over.

As Rufus again smiled, and began to raise his shot gun to bare on Paul, Edwards realized that the man was not going to cooperate with standard procedure.

Paul did not forget the safety.

Rufus's right knee exploded in a bloody mesh of bone, blood, and ligature.Any normal man would have crumpled, but Rufus had enough high octane crack circulating in his system that he just shrugged off the wound and favored his left leg as he brought the shot gun up once again.

Scott fired at him from behind at nearly point blank range, taking off much of the man's left shoulder which ended up spraying across the porch and the side of the house.

The impact of the .38's slug propelled Rufus forward.The man stumbled back through the now non-existent door and into the house.

"Are you alright?" Scott shouted down to Paul.

Edwards sprung up, brushing at his coat and it's fresh new layer of red polka dots.

"I'm fine," he shouted back."But I think that last shot of yours probably did more damage to my wardrobe than it did to him."

"If he let go of the shot gun, he must have something better waiting for us back there," Scott whispered to him.

Paul nodded and pointed at the bathroom.Scott agreed with a nod, and positioned himself just within the door.Paul slipped forward and flattened himself next to the door.

"I can hear you out there!" Rufus screamed from the back room."I hear you sneaking around out there, thinking you gettin' ol' Rufus down.Well, just come and get some of what I got, white meat."

Paul could tell the man's voice was belabored, Rufus had probably lost a lot of blood, but he and Scott were in a Catch 22.It was a blind alley, if they were to charge, Rufus could pick them off one at a time through the doorway.It was more likely that he and Scott would just have to play a waiting game, hoping that Rufus would eventually just pass out or try for some sloppy grandiose escape.

And that's when they came.

Scott saw them first as they paraded through the front door with Robbie in the lead. The children had come home.

There were over sixty of them, and even more were busily crowding through the front door.They pressed forward into the hallway with their staring eyes and white empty faces.Scott stood his ground as they passed.

Without hesitation Robbie pushed open the door of the back room, only to be greeted by a shower of bullets.The bodies of the children were thrown back like bloodless rag dolls by the hail of fire.Paul edged even closer to the wall as part of the door frame was blown away.It was some form of automatic weapon, Edwards realized, probably an assault rifle.

The children kept coming forward, and those who had fallen simply stood back up and continued forward on their macabre odyssey.

"Mother fuckers!" Rufus bellowed as he let loose with another burst of fire.Paul doubted if the man even knew whom or what he was firing at.Once again the little bodies were thrown back, mutilated and desecrated by the awesome fire power of the rifle.Paul watched as the little girl from the alley marched past him with indifference, and caught a bullet in the face.She too, arose again, and where her nose and mouth had been there was a gaping hole that made Paul think of a broken China doll.

Paul never gave him the chance.

Once again the little voices echoed in his mind.

"Kill him," they said.

Paul shot him through his right elbow.

"Kill him."

Rufus may or may not have felt the pain, but he was screaming now all the same.His left knee followed the fate of his right.

"Kill him."

Rufus's left elbow disintegrated.

Scott grabbed Paul from behind and whirled him around.

"What the fuck are you doing, Paul!" he screamed."You'll kill him!"

"So?" Paul whispered back in a daze.

The children had begun to gather round the broken body of Rufus Browne.The man who had been their tormenter in another life lay there crying, unable to lift his shattered arms or regain his broken legs.All he could manage was to crane his neck and stare at the empty faces before him with his tear filled eyes.

If Rufus's mind had not broken before, it did so now.

The detectives turned to watch as an audience, there was little they could do.

Rufus cried, but through his tears he croaked a few words.

"My children..." he said.

The little girl from the alley, now with a broken face, had found the baseball bat.She knew how to use it, and she knew what it was for, Rufus had showed her.She reared back, and swung the bat forward.Rufus's nose shattered under the blow.

The girl let the bat drop, and bent down at Rufus's side.

"Elizabeth, honey, don't hurt daddeeeeeeee!" his screams now were for real, for Elizabeth had reached down upon his broken bleeding body, and using the strength of the dead, torn free that piece of his anatomy which had caused her so much pain.

As she held the bleeding organ high in the air, the eyes of the other children followed it.

Paul turned to release his dinner and the drinks from the bar, Scott just watched.

One by one they came forward to claim a piece of him.Somewhere Rufus's screaming ceased.By the time they were done, several of the man's bones had been bared, and only a shapeless, bloody mass remained.

The other children went their ways, till only Robbie remained.Perhaps because he'd been the last to die, or perhaps because he'd been the one who brought them here, he was the last in the pecking order, and the last to leave.

He walked over to Scott's side and held forth his piece of flesh.It was one of Rufus's maddened eyes, still connected to the optic nerve.

Scott looked down at his godson, and his macabre talisman.

Paul had watched the exchange while sitting against what was left of the door frame, next to the emptied contents of his stomach.

He had busied himself with killing the taste of the bile with the fifth of J.D.

"I hope you're getting a story ready," Paul informed him.The sound of sirens had filled the room.The Detroit Police were on schedule, they never showed up until the shooting was over.

* * *

Paul Edwards ended up crashing in his bed around ten a.m. that morning with a firm understanding from the D.P.D. that they would want to question him further, and a firm suggestion that he should not leave town.

He awoke, in a much better mood, about eight that evening at the insistence of his telephone.

"Paul,"

It was Scott, he of the great milk carton cases.

"I'm not working today," he told the receiver.

"Paul I just need you to come down to the office and sign some papers."

Arguing with Cloud had always been akin to tap dancing in a minefield so Paul had grudgingly accepted.

The sun was just sinking, and it was a pleasant day outside, even refreshing.Paul climbed the twenty-seven steps to their office with a spring in his step, and threw open their door to reveal a truly amazing sight.

Diana was sitting behind Scott's desk, looking ragged and drained, her face coated with the dried trails of tears.She had a mountain of paperwork in front of her and a pen in hand.

Scott stood over her left shoulder with his usual bland expression.His gaze rose to greet his partner silently.

But the third person was the surprise.The hulking figure of Detective Sergeant Gary Cloud stood directly at Scott's left.Paul swallowed hard, it was the closest he'd ever seen father and son near each other and would remain the closest he'd see them for quite some time.

"Good to see you, Paul," the senior Cloud greeted him in a business like manner."I'm going to need you to witness some papers here for some friends of mine."He motioned toward the seats that were usually reserved for clientele and were now filled by two well groomed men that stunk of the federal government.

"I need a drink he groaned," and made a straight line for the liquor cabinet.

"So nice to see you still have the same cordial manners, Edwards," there was spite in the detective's words.In fact, there was always spite in everything he did.Paul couldn't understand why Scott had brought them here, and he was about to suggest to the senior Cloud that he had carnal knowledge of his mother, when Scott came dashing around the corner of his desk to Paul's side.

"Diana's turning her testimony state's and federal evidence," he whispered quickly."She's giving them all the dealers, the whole framework of the west side drug market that she knows."

Paul was making light work with the wrapper of a Popov bottle.

"But what's your dad got to do with it?"