52stories

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Trent Wood stepped into ‘bull pen’, the open area used by his co-workers, San Francisco’s finest. His left arm in a white sling he stood out for the first time in his life. All eyes turned to watch, then thunderous applause filled the air. As some red warmed his face, Trent held up his good arm, and proclaimed his thanks.

“Trent, Chief wants to see you. Oh, and good to see you back. Well done.” Sandy Perkins continued walking by after giving him the message. As quickly as the fanfare began, it was over, and everyone was back to work. Phones rang, keyboards clacked, and a general murmur continued to infect the area.

In the past two weeks, Trent learned how to avoid hurting his arm further. That usually meant not bumping into furniture, and sleeping very, very carefully. Getting through the bustling room was akin to stepping though an area seeded with landmines. Trent made it, and rapped softly on the outside of the Chief’s door, hoping he wouldn’t be called in, but knowing the confrontation was inevitable.

“YEAH?” The voice boomed through the frosted glass, clear permission to open the door. Trent did, and before he could speak the Chief began his rant, “GET IN HERE. SIT DOWN YOU MUCKY MUCK.”

Trent complied, sitting ever so carefully in the old wooden chair facing the desk. He knew at this moment his friends outside the office were using any justification to get close to the Chief’s door and have a listen. He’d done it himself many times. A good reaming should be a shared experience.

“The mayor wants to give you a medal.” Chief Brown resumed his normal tone, still his deep baritone could loosen the bowels of most mortal men. “I suppose you feel pretty satisfied with yourself, eh, Wood?”

“No, sir.”

“I SHOULD THINK NOT! JUST WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? NO WAIT I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT. I DON’T WANT TO LOSE IQ POINTS BY LISTENING TO YOUR DRIVEL! YOU SHOULDN’T GET A MEDAL, BUT A BRAIN TRANSPLANT BECAUSE YOU ARE TOO DUMB TO LISTEN TO ORDERS! NO, WAIT, MAYBE I NEED THE TRANSPLANT BECAUSE I TOOK YOU ON AS A DETECTIVE.”

Trent dared not speak, nor wipe away the spittle that now rested on his cheek. It was best to ignore that kind of thing, and not move until the Chief was done.

“Do you know how much paperwork I’ve had to do because of your stunt? Taking a bullet for the Mayor, man, I just don’t get it. If it wasn’t for this award he wants to present, your butt would be flung outta here a long time ago. But there will be press, and we can’t have a policeman fired for the very reason he is getting honored. Still, Wood you’re riding a desk until after the ceremony, and you get all green on your medical review. How is the arm, anyway?”

“Should be back to normal next week.” Trent didn’t smile. Even with all his bluster, the Chief did care. Some.

“Wood, there are two types of cops. Some are the brains, some are the brawn. I think we know where you fit in. Now get out of here. I don’t want you to darken my door unless you’re bringing me resignation papers.”

“Yes, sir.” Trent slid forward, and using his knees pushed himself up. He left the office to find no one in particular lingering, listening, but he knew, there had been some, and he’d catch it all day. Still it felt good to be home.

After slowly making his way to his desk, Trent sat. His computer showed a total of seventy messages awaiting his attention. Some were voice, some were video, and the main thrust of them text based. One actual package rested on the corner of his desk. It has been delivered by ExePost, which meant it had been scanned for biological or explosive threats. In short it should be safe to open.

Trent’s partner Howard Milligan stood off to the corner watching the vid-cast. More than a few others were joining him in the act.

“Howard?”, Trent asked the obvious question.

“Oh, hey man. Welcome back, hero.” Milligan gave Trent a small punch, thankfully in his non-injured right arm. “It’s Kisoto. Killed in a park yesterday. Where you been in a cave?”

“THE Kisoto? The Triad hopeful? God. Who’s assigned to that cluster-nut?”

“Critical Case, Homeland and Gang are all vying for jurisdiction. Even the Feds are sniffing around.” Howard smiled, “Even your name got bantered around, or so I heard. You hit the jackpot, my friend.” Howard had been applying for a job with the FBI for months. It seemed unless you knew someone inside, or had a connection, you couldn’t get a job. Perhaps if Trent made headway…

“Yeah, pain pills in the morning, and later so I can sleep. Every freak with half a brain sending me crack-pot mail, because they think, ah, who know what those nut-jobs think?” Trent sighed. “I wish we could just go back to busting homicide cases. Now I’m in such hot water with the Chief…”

“I heard he gave you the ‘there’s only two kinds of cops’ speech’.” Howard moved to his own desk, the one affixed to the other side of Trent’s desk. Don’t sweat it man, it’s your first day back, take it easy. We’ll cover for you.”

“No, I need to get back into it. Laying around these past couple days, enough to drive a man crazy.”, Trent grabbed a pair of scissors. “So, when did this get here?”

“This morning, a little before you did.” Howard explained, “You want me to help you open it?”

“No thanks.” Trent struggled with the mailing tape, but managed to get the parcel open. Inside was a small electrical device, a box about the size of a cigarette pack. It’s black shiny case looked like an iPod, but had only one button and no screen. Dangling loosely were two suction cups.

“What is this?” Trent asked. His question was finally answered two hours later, when the IT representative paid him a visit. The guy almost drooled from the moment he saw the unit.

“This is cutting edge, man. It’s mem-core. Only the truly rich have it. It records everything they see and hear, then can be replayed. Can I?” He wanted to try it almost as much as he wanted to know what sex felt like.

“Sure.” Trent was beginning to think it was sent to the wrong guy.

“It’s not working.” The IT geek popped the cups off his temples. “It must be DNA coded for only one person.” Trent sat down and let the tech place the connections on his skin. “This will override your seeing and hearing functions, so you won’t see or hear us in this room. However, when you speak, we will hear you, so tell us what you see.”

“What will I be seeing?” Trent asked.

“Only one way to tell.” The tech activated the mem-core, and everything went black.

Trent struggled to breathe, to focus and get his bearings. Gradually images became clear, sounds too, although very distant. Then in one instant, Trent found himself walking in a park.

“I’m in a park. I can’t control where I’m going.” Trent said, and Howard began writing.

In the memory, Trent was along for the ride. “I don’t recognize this place.” Whomever recorded this approached a stone picnic table, and placed a small bag on the concrete pad. A Japanese man was already there, several games laid out for play. The two men began talking. “I don’t understand what they are saying. It’s in Japanese.” The owner of the memory looked around a few times during play. Trent noticed some details, a few kids playing tag, a mother and daughter making lunch, a lone sun bather sleeping. “I think my guy is talking to Tehow. Kisoto’s right hand man. They’re talking in a whispered hush now. I don’t think it’s about the game.” Chess was not one of Trent’s specialties. He could tell who was winning however. “I think I’m in Kisoto’s head.”

“AHH!” Trent’s vision returned to sights coming into his own eyes. “That hurt.”

“Did you see who killed him?” Howard asked the obvious question, and wanted to get Trent thinking about something other than the pain. Besides, if they solved this case, they would become very popular very quickly. Trent may have saved the Mayor, but Howard was still a nobody in this town.

“No.” Trent kept blinking, trying to shake the feeling of having just died and come back to life. “But it had to be Tehow. He was the only one nearby. His motive is obvious, a simple matter of promoting oneself.”

“How will this ever hold up in court?” Howard wonder aloud. “Why would this be sent to you if we can do nothing with it?”

“Good point.” Trent stopped the tech from pulling off the connectors. “Can I watch it again, but from a third person perspective?”

“Now that you’ve gone though it once, yes.” The tech frowned, “But it’s not healthy. And three times is out of the question. Maybe you should rest for a while.”

“Do it.” Trent said, and laid back in the chair once more. When the replay began again, Trent found himself in the same orientation as before. This time he tried to step aside, and found it quite easy. The experience was different now. Only what the viewer saw made up the ‘universe’ and if Trent did not keep up, he was left behind in darkness. “It’s definitely Kisoto’s mind. He sure thinks a lot of his looks.” Trent noted that the way Kisoto’s mind created his face was much nicer than the reality of paparazzi photos. Still it was definitely him. Kisoto took his place again on the stone bench. Still, only the surface of what Kisoto saw had any depth. Stepping behind Tehow Trent could see no weapon, and his hand passed right though everything. He crouched nearby to watch the chess exchange again, and when Kisoto glanced about the area, the details of the park refreshed from what Kisoto imagined to what he saw.

“Oh my God.” Trent said getting a real view of the mother and daughter sitting on public seats, made up in a mosaic to look like giraffe skin. “It’s not Tehow. I’m sure.” The recording played out, and again Trent took a hit of pain as the connection severed.

“What? Who?” Howard demanded, while the tech pulled off the small suction cups.

“An assassin. Kisoto saw her, but never knew it, I didn’t even see it until the second time around. A girl and her mother were preparing lunch on the giraffe table and chairs, but the girl’s movement, the way she cut the pickle, which not many kids eat anyway, the way she handled the knife. I mean who gives a little kid a knife like that? I have no doubt, it was a professional dressed like a little girl. And unless I’m wrong there can’t be a long list of known killers made up of two women, one about four foot tall.”

“Good work. I’ll contact the Feds right away.” Howard dashed off with his bit of leverage. Perhaps he’d get that connection in the bureau after all.