Nocturnal

Nothing to See Here …

Bryan followed Sammy Berzon into the alley. He felt like he was returning to the scene of a crime — a crime he’d committed.

But he hadn’t done this. Couldn’t have.

Sammy held up a hand showing Bryan and Pookie where to stop. Then he pointed down. Not with a single finger, but with a palm-up, sweeping gesture that said take a look at all this.

“I can see how you guys missed this one,” Sammy said. “I mean, any bigger and it wouldn’t fit into the friggin’ alley, eh?”

On the pavement were two drawings, done in tacky dry blood clotted with dirt, pebbles, bits of flesh, pieces of trash and even a used condom. Each drawing was about fifteen feet wide, as wide as the alley, large enough that Bryan had mistaken the bigger picture for random, individual streaks of blood. Two big circles, both with lines through them, and was that … a triangle?… lines also running through that, maybe …

The image clicked home. Clicked hard.

Bryan knew one of the images all too well, because he’d made it himself.

And there was a second drawing, one he didn’t recognize.

“Interesting,” Pookie said. “Isn’t that triangle drawing interesting, Bryan? It looks familiar to me, but I couldn’t say why.”

Bryan said nothing. He had to force himself to take a breath. He’d sketched that same thing, and here it was, done in the blood of a murder victim. His body hurt. His face felt hot. He just didn’t want to think about any of this for one minute longer.

“You two are great observers,” Sammy said. “I mean, these drawings are only fifteen fucking feet across, eh?”

“Piss off, Sammy,” Pookie said. “Not a good time for sarcasm.”

Bryan stared at the two symbols. They were different, but both had that curve with the two slashes. What did it mean? What did any of it mean?

“And there’s two drawings,” Sammy said. “But anyone could have missed them, right? I mean you two geniuses could—”

Pookie turned fast, grabbed the shoulder of Sammy’s coat and shook, jostling the smaller man. “I said, shut up, Sammy. You got it?”

A shocked Sammy nodded. Pookie let him go.

Bryan looked around. All cop conversation had stopped. Everyone was staring at Pookie. Pookie, who never lost his cool. Pookie, who never said an angry word.

Pookie saw the other cops looking. He turned, glared at Bryan, then walked off to talk to the uniforms.

Bryan walked back out the black gate, careful not to tread on the blood drawings. He stood on the sidewalk, alone, wondering if Pookie was already regretting the decision to believe in his partner.

If so, Bryan couldn’t blame the man.

He felt a breeze on his face. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead — he was sweating. Finding the body had brought on a big blast of adrenaline. Now that the surge was fading, his nausea, aches and chest pain once again fought for attention. He felt ten times worse than he had that morning.

Pookie returned. He was smiling, but Bryan could see it was fake — Pookie was putting on a show of normalcy. As far as the other cops would see, it was just good-ol’ Bryan and Pooks, working the case and doing their thing. Nothing to see here, please move along …

“The driver’s license picture,” Pookie said in a whisper. “You recognized that kid, didn’t you. You knew that face.”

Bryan thought of lying, but nodded. “Yeah.”

“From?”

Bryan shrugged. “From my dream, man. I don’t know what else to say.”

Pookie pursed his lips and nodded, an expression of anger, of frustration. “Go home,” he said. “Just for a couple of hours, okay?”

“But I have to help you with this, I have—”

“I’ll finish working the scene,” Pookie said. “We’ll have to talk to friends and family, so I’ll come grab you before it’s time to bang on doors. We’re not that far from your place, so just walk. I think it’s best if you’re not here right now.”

Pookie’s stare was hard and unforgiving. This wasn’t open to debate.

There had to be an explanation for this, but neither of them had any clue what that might be.

Bryan turned and started walking.