Dead City. Joe Mckinney

      

DEAD CITY

      DEAD CITY

      JOE MCKINNEY

      PINNACLE BOOKS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       www.kensingtonbooks.com

      The new world may be safer, being told

       The dangers and diseases of the old.

      —John Donne

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 1

      There’s an empty parking lot near the corner of Seafarer and Rood where I used to go to fight with my wife. Most district cops have some hidden little spot where they go to escape all the crap that comes with working patrol, and that parking lot was mine. From there I was pretty much invisible and I could still make almost any call in my district in less than five minutes.

      My wife, April, and I were going at it at least once a week back then. When she’d call with that pissed-off tone in her voice that said I was in for a long one, I’d head straight for Seafarer and Rood. There, I’d pull under the canopy of an enormous oak tree near the back of the lot, and hunker down for an earful of whatever I’d done wrong. I used to watch the curves of its trunk and branches while she yelled at me, and even now, when she grows impatient with some little thing I’ve done, and the old familiar tone creeps back into her voice, I think of the dry, dusty smell of oak.

      Six months before that, she’d given birth to a beautiful baby boy, our first. We named him Andrew James Hudson, after his grandfather. That little guy changed my world. After he was born, I’d tell anybody who’d listen that being his daddy was what I was put on this Earth to do.

      Before Andrew, I worked the dogwatch shift, eleven at night till seven in the morning. That was back when April and I were first starting out. It wasn’t the best for getting time together, because we only had a few hours during the evening to spend with each other. But I got an extra $300 a month for working at night, and that part was good.

      Then, when April got pregnant, we started trying to plan the way things would work, and arguments kept flaring up.

      One day she had a long phone conversation with her sister, who had two kids already, and that night she told me, “I’m gonna need you here with me at night. The baby’s gonna be waking up every few hours to feed, and I can’t do that alone.”

      So I asked some of the guys at work what I could do and found out I qualified for a hardship transfer. That’s how I ended up on the second shift, 3 to 11 pm with Wednesdays and Thursdays off. April wasn’t happy about me working on the west side, because it was a rough part of town, but when you put in for a hardship transfer, you have to take what they give you.

      And hardships are only good for six months. After that, they move you back to wherever they need you, which is almost always on dogwatch.

      On this particular evening, we were fighting about me going back to nights when Chris Tompkins pulled up next to me. He rolled down the window of his patrol car, and I gestured to him that I’d be a minute. I kept on listening. April was doing all the talking.

      “Eddie, just tell them you need to stay on second shift,” she said. “Why can’t you just tell them that?”

      “It doesn’t work that—”

      “What do they think? Now that the baby’s born you can just go back to working nights? I need you home now more than ever.”

      “I know, sweetie.”

      “The whole reason you got the transfer is so we can take care of Andrew together.”

      “I know.”

      “I’m sure you’re not the only one with a baby at home. Just go in there and tell them you need more time.”

      “But, sweetie, it doesn’t work that—”

      When she started up again, she was so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. I looked at Chris and rolled my eyes.

      He smiled uncomfortably and gestured, Do you want me to go? He was cool that way, a good guy with a wife of his own. I hardly ever saw him outside of work, but if someone had asked I would have told them he was good people.

      I shook my head, still listening for April to take a break.

      Chris leaned back and turned up the volume on his car’s stereo. He was listening to a news station, and I heard the newscaster say something about the flooding down in Houston. Then I heard something about volunteers from the Red Cross being attacked and beaten by the flood victims they were trying to save.

      I didn’t really catch it, because April was still going strong. Something about how I had had plenty of time to talk to them about staying on second shift, and the fact that I hadn’t yet made her wonder if I really cared about how hard this was on her, staying at home with Andrew all the time.

      I put my hand over the phone and said, “What in the hell are you listening to?”

      April barked at me.

      “Not you, sweetie,” I said. “The guy next to me is listening to something on the news.”

      Chris turned it down.

      “Thanks,” I said. To April I said, “Go ahead, sweetie.”

      Just as she started up again, the dispatcher interrupted her. “52-70.”

      Chris sat up, waiting for me to respond. 52-70 was my call sign. Chris was 52-80.

      When I didn’t answer, the dispatcher called again. “52-70, Officer Hudson.”

      I said to April, “They’re calling me. Hold on a second.” April was still talking when I found the mike and said, “Go ahead, 52-70.”

      “52-70, take 52-80 with you. Make 318 Chatterton, 3-1-8 Chatterton, for seven to ten males fighting. Complainant says they look intoxicated.”

      Chris dropped his car into gear and waited for me to do the same.

      I waved my hand at him and said, “Hold on.” To the dispatcher I said, “52-70, ten-four. I’ve got 52-80 with me.”

      Chris