Super Meals: Part Ten

Mimi made a mental note of the gentleman waiting outside of the coroner’s office and filed it away in the back of her head, along with the date, time, and location. It was a habit she’d been taught in the police academy and it always came in handy when she was eventually asked to identify a suspect in court.

She wasn’t at all thrilled with what Jane had told her about the dead homeless guy; an inexplicable medical condition at the time of death would require further investigation on her part…and Jane’s. It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in Jane, quite the opposite. But the first time they had to work in close proximity to each other they ended up dating.

The last time they had to work in close proximity to each other, they broke up.

Mimi could already hear her captain’s voice in her head, yelling at her to get her ass back on the street (while the guys in the station snickered) and figure out what the hell happened to this guy, so she decided to go check out the encampment where he was found and see if there was anything that was missed.

She drove her unmarked cop car towards the scene where the body was found, and as she rounded the corner facing Washington Park, she noticed a group of guys huddled around the swing set. She knew that Washington Park was claimed territory of The Niners, a local gang founded by toughs in the neighborhood around North Ninth Street. During daylight hours they left people alone (rumor had it that several of them had kids at the local school), but after nightfall, when the street lights came on, the only people who went to the park were either causing trouble, or looking for it.

And, based on the scene, some poor bastard had found it.

The crime scene was going to have to wait.

She pulled over and parked on the street well away from the play-area where the gang had gathered and closed her door as quietly as possible. Whatever these thugs were doing, they were occupied with it – they didn’t hear her coming at all.

Halfway across the grass she reached into her pocket…and found her bottle of scotch. Then she remembered that she actually had her gun with her, and it was where it belonged, for once, in its holster.

She saw the gang physically recoil and step back as one, which created enough of a break in their circle for her to see that there was a guy on the ground in the middle of them all, on all fours. A couple of the gang swung kicks at him as she sped up her approach to a trot and pulled the .357 from the holster. She heard someone on the far side of the circle say “Bitch, you crazy? I oughta stab you for even thinkin’ ‘bout swingin’ on me. Maybe I put my initials on your face so you remember you don’t do that no more” and decided that was her cue.

She cocked the hammer of her revolver and said “Surprise, boys, it’s the police.”

Everybody had frozen in place at the sound of her gun, but when they heard the word “police” several of them sagged. One of the guys, the one closest to her, turned and said “Come on, cop, you know this our park. Why’n’t you fuck over and leave us ‘lone?”

“Sounds good, you let my friend up and we’ll be on our merry way. Deal?”

The one with a knife against Walter’s face spoke up then, saying “S’our park, copper. We’s just defending us’selves.” He said these last four words in a singsong voice, mocking her, but she didn’t take the bait.

“Cute. But he’s unarmed and surrounded by known gang members with a knife up against his face. I’m pretty sure I could kill at least you and the judge would rule it justified,” she said, smirking.

The gang members got deadly serious then. Any traces of smiles were gone. Mimi recognized the body language and attitude shift – they were getting ready for a fight.

“Look guys,” she said, “I’m not here for you. It’s your park, you’ve made your point, lemme get this guy outta here and we’ll all call it square, huh?”

The gang members all exchanged looks, but their gazes all came to rest on the one who initially spoke first. After at least a minute, he spoke again.

“All right, cop. Get your boy and get outta here.”

That was all Walter needed to hear. He stood up, nursing his side (kidney punches really hurt, he discovered), and started walking towards Mimi. He would have made it, too, but several hours previously he passed out with his foot in a swing.

Passing out with his foot in a swing made it fall asleep.

A foot that’s asleep is not only numb, it can’t support weight.

A foot that can’t support weight makes you stumble as soon as you try to step onto it.

Stumbling makes you flail your arms about wildly to try and catch your balance.

Flailing your arms about wildly while surrounded by punks and gangbangers makes you accidentally slap someone in the face.

Accidentally slapping someone in the face makes them angry.

Angry gangbangers want to stab a bitch.

So really it was the swing’s fault, but the lead thug didn’t care. As Walter stumbled over his dead foot and swung his arms out to try and catch himself, he slapped the guy in the face, knocking him aside.

The world went slow-mo.

Mimi muttered “Oh shit…” to herself as Walter hit the ground and the guy he’d slapped spun on the spot. Mimi rushed forward, grabbing Walter by the arm and hauling him upwards as the gang leader recovered from the slap by pulling a knife out of his back pocket and flipping the blade open. He swiped at Walter with it as he and Mimi started running towards her car.

Time resumed.

Mimi and Walter were sprinting to her car when he sputtered “Don’t…you…have a…gun? Why…are…we…running?”

Mimi, who was in much better shape, physically, wasn’t even out of breath. She replied “Because I hate paperwork and I counted at least eight of them back there, so unless you’ve got a box of ammo somewhere on you, I couldn’t even take them all if I wanted to.”

They could hear the gang chasing after them and while Mimi had no problem speeding up, Walter almost fell over himself trying to run faster. She reached the car first thumbed the remote start button on the keyfob, thankful to hear the engine roar to life. She opened the door and Walter fell face-first across the front seat, blocking her from getting in. “Fuck me,” she muttered as she put a foot on his ass and shoved him the rest of the way over onto the passenger side before climbing in after him.

She had just gotten the door slammed shut when the thugs caught up to the car and slammed into its side. They pounded on the windows, shouting for Mimi and Walter to get out, but she slammed the key into the ignition, put it in gear, and floored it. The bad guys all fell away from the car, but not before they cracked a couple of windows from hammering on them with the butts of their knives.

Walter gasped in the front seat, trying to get his breath back, and Mimi said “Well fuck, now I’m gonna have to explain that to the assholes in the motor pool.” When his voice came back to him, Walter finally said “Thank…” *pant* *wheeze* “You…”

“Save it,” said Mimi. “I was just doing my job.”

“You got a name?” asked Walter.

“Spatchcock. Detective Spatchcock.”

“What kind of a name is ‘Spatchcock?’”

“The kind that just saved your ass, moron.”

“Fair enough. I’m Walter. Elliot.” He extended his hand and Mimi shook it.

“Walter? That’s funny, I would have pegged you for a John or something—“

“More boring?” he finished for her. She smiled, but didn’t answer. “So, like, what happens now, Detective Spatchcock?”

“Well, I was on my way to investigate a crime scene, but instead I get to take you home. Like I said, I’m not a fan of paperwork. And I’m already working on one case, I don’t need to file an assault report, too.” She glanced over at him. When she first saw him in the park, she tried to make her mental notes as always, taking in his height, approximate weight, hair color, and distinguishing features, but nothing stuck. Seeing him, now, in the passenger seat of her car, he looked new to her again. Not in any exciting kind of way, he was just so terminally ordinary that none of his attributes were worth remembering. Every time she tried to take him in, it was like her brain was saying “There is no fucking way I’m wasting energy on remembering this boring bastard.”

(Mimi had a filthy mind that went out of its way to be rude since she was never allowed to express herself honestly as a cop)

“So, Walter Elliot,” she finally continued. “Where do you live?”

“304 South Second,” he replied. “Can I ask you one quick thing, though?”

“Sure,” she said.

“Can we hit a drive-through on the way? I’m starving and could really go for a burger.”