We cover a lot of bleak territory at the Gutter, but if you look inside
the cavernous heart of any villain, a policeman's may be just as dark.
the cavernous heart of any villain, a policeman's may be just as dark.
It Is What It Is by Jim Wilsky
 |
 |
“That ain’t the job Soto gave us. All we do is follow Moody,
then do him when the time is right. We take him and Cepeda out. Take the money
and drugs. Done.” Jensen sipped and grimaced at the taste. “She’s not a part of
the job, hero.”
“I know … but damn.”
“But nothing. That’s it. That’s all.”
“He’s gonna kill her. Just like the one he probably did
yesterday. You know that. We gotta do—”
“Poole, you got no say in this anymore.”
They both sat low, drinking their cold coffee and staring
ahead.
“It is what it is”, added Jensen. It was his stock answer
for everything.
Down at the end of the block, Moody was walking a stumbling
long-haired girl along an overgrown hedge that lined the driveway. At the
street he steered her to his car, glancing both directions, up and down the
rotting little side street of row houses. He was in no hurry, right out in the
open.
You could drag a dead cop to the middle of Delavan Avenue
and it would be a day before you might, might, have someone say something. Dead
and dying cars lined the curb like bad teeth. This north end of the township was
basically a cemetery. Each house like a big tombstone.
Moody leaned the girl against the old Buick with a stiff arm
to her chest and opened the passenger side with the other. Her head lolled up, staring at the cloudy sky
and then back down again like a broken doll. Her drugged look then settled on
Moody, her mouth opened and then shut. Like a fish out of water. She rolled her
stare sideways to her shoulder and finally down to the ground.
Then she was gone as
he slid her into the front seat, belted her in to keep her up straight and shut
the door. Looking at her through the back window, Jensen saw the round shape of
her head bob up and then disappear, then up again.
“She’s still alive at least.” Poole said.
“What’d I fuckin’ say, Jimmy? No more now.” Jensen dropped
his hand from the steering wheel and slid a frustrated look over at the man in the
dark blue uniform.
Poole lifted a chin towards the windshield. “He’s goin’ now.”
Moody had walked around the back of the car and got in. The rusted
Le Sabre cranked and whined in the cold crisp air. Finally it coughed and
caught. White exhaust billowed out from a muffler that was barely hanging on.
As Moody pulled away from the curb, he put their car in gear
and eased out. Jensen was hoping this shit was finally coming to an end. He had
put in for a couple of days off but didn’t have many left to burn.
It turned out Moody had a thing for killing young working
girls. And maybe it wasn’t just working girls. This was one was at the Xeno
Club last night when he hit on her. Rough place, but that doesn’t mean she was
a hooker.
Two girls in three days. This one wasn’t dead yet but she
would be soon enough. Yesterday, Moody had walked a staggering blonde into an
old meat plant and came out alone two hours later.
Trouble was Soto didn’t give a rat’s ass about these girls,
or anything else like that. Soto only cared about finding the elusive dealer Ezequiel
Cepeda, and Moody was the connection. Word was they met twice a week but nobody
knew where, always somewhere different. They had to hook up soon.
When that happened, Moody and Cepeda were gonna be dead. Soto
would have his revenge, the drugs and money would be a bonus. Jensen would be
paid his shitty little cut, that supplemented his shitty little salary, and
then it would be back to waiting for another job on the side.
“Think about your own daughter man. Think about Abby…” Poole
stared straight ahead as he spoke. His voice was weak, distant.
Jensen glared over at him and then back to the street. Up
ahead, Moody had stopped at a red light. He jerked back to Poole. “Shut the
fuck up Poole. Last warning.”
Poole held a hand up, started to say something more and then
decided not to.
They drove a few more blocks and Moody hung a left on
Oleander Road, heading to the edge of town. Same route as yesterday. He felt
the burning look that Poole was giving him from across the front seat.
Whether it was the cop in him—what was left of that anyway—or just pure guilt he didn’t know. More likely it was his partner Poole, his
partner who had been killed that night on the domestic call two years ago. He would
find Cepeda for Soto, just not now.
Jensen left Moody at the old plant with a bullet in the back
of his head. He dropped the girl off at a hack doctor that owed him. It felt
good but as always these days that had faded quickly. It just didn’t last
anymore.
Losing Poole had broken him for good. All he could do was
tap the brakes every once in a while on the long spiral down.
His old partner will leave him alone now. For a while
anyway.
