Blind Justice

Prologue Gary, Indiana— 1980 “Tell me what we’re doing here.” The officer leaned against the passenger door of the squad car, face smashed against his hand. He was clean shaven with a square jaw, mid-20’s, with close cropped hair. He looked bored and annoyed. The officer at the wheel took a large wad of tobacco and tucked it between his bottom lip and teeth with a slurp. The older man had a few more wrinkles around the eyes, but his face was softer, cherub-like. “We’re keeping an eye on the streets because there have been a lot of complaints about this block of town.” The younger officer rolled his eyes. “What are you, 32, McMann?” His southern accent emphasized the “2.” “35.” “So you’ve been on patrol for what, 13 years now?” “That’s right.” “That’s freaking depressing.” Officer McMann sighed. “What is it with you, Denton? You wake up on the wrong side of the bed today? I happen to be very thankful for my job. I protect and serve our citizens every single day.” Officer Denton laughed. “Good speech, man. Do you rehearse that in front of the mirror each morning?” McMann didn’t reply. He was watching the people on the sidewalk, but his eyes never strayed too far from the convenient store across the street. “Is your wife proud of you?” Denton asked with a sour smile. The words came out in a sneer. McMann didn’t look at Denton. “No.” “Sounds like a fun marriage.” McMann remained silent. “So when did it end?” “When it did.” Denton laughed again. “See, that’s my point.” “What’s your point, Denton? I wasn’t aware there was any point to your hollow chatter.” “Man, I haven’t been on the force one year, and it’s apparent we’re the butt of a very unfunny joke.” McMann sighed and scanned the rear view mirror. Some teenagers were laughing and pushing each other at the corner of the street. He tried to ignore the comments from his partner. He told himself not to take the bait. “And you just take it. Sit there and act like nothing’s wrong. We’re taking a rigged test. Can’t help but fail.” McMann’s knee ached from sitting in the car so long. He finally broke. “What is the joke, Denton?” he asked, throwing his hands up in defeat. “What is it?” Denton sat up and became very still. He stared out the windshield. “Over there, we had everything. You name it, we had it. Blank check. Flame throwers, M-16’s with M203 attachments, M60’s, light, heavy, specialized, you name it. We had it. Only problem was,” he turned toward McMann, “we couldn’t find the freakin’ Gooks!” He laughed. “Special forces with special training and special equipment, and we’re crawling in holes and tunnels on our hands and knees. We’re getting eaten by ticks as big as your thumb, and we see a lot of jungle. I killed Gooks, but it’s like trying to kill ants in the grass. But over here,” he gestured outside the squad car, “they’re out in the open. Homicides, up. Drug running, up. We’ve got Chicago gangs doing work here in Gary. And they’re out in the freaking open—broad daylight. We know who they are, and where they are, and we can’t do a damn thing about it. If you do arrest someone, good luck getting a conviction. If they’re sentenced, they’ll be on the street again in a year. And if you run into the true scum, we have these. Pee shooters. Against full auto and shotguns. What the hell is this supposed to do against those? It’s rigged, McMann. We’ll never come out on top. We can’t.” McMann pushed up on his hat and scratched at his forehead. He thought for a moment and then added, “Guess we’ll never be out of work then, huh?” Denton dismissed the coy response with frustration and sank down into his seat, closing his eyes. McMann began to say something when a brick slammed into the back window, shattering it. He looked at the brick laying in their back seat, and then opened his door to confront what must have been the hooligans on the corner. He felt a hand grab his wrist violently from inside the car. Denton pulled back as hard as he could, causing McMann to lose his balance and fall to the pavement outside the car. The rapid cracks of gunfire pelted the door, bullets missing McMann’s head by inches. Denton was already leaning over the center console, firing his pistol through the windowless door, while McMann scrambled back inside the vehicle. Two of the teenagers had stayed behind the vehicle, using the brick as a distraction. The other three teenagers were crouched behind cars on the other side of the street firing a pistol, a shotgun, and an Uzi. “Where the hell did get that?” screamed McMann. Denton rapidly replaced the empty chambers in the revolver, snapped it shut, and fired off more rounds. McMann, practically lying underneath Denton, fumbled with the radio and managed to call for backup amidst the blasts from the revolver in his ear and the shards of glass littering the car’s interior. Denton cursed, and McMann saw the red splatter on his partner’s shoulder. McMann worked his way to the passenger side, firing out of open area where the windshield used to be. He felt a sharp pain in his calf. He twisted around to see the two teenagers standing ten feet from him holding pistols in their hands. Their eyes narrowed as they aimed their weapons. Denton appeared, fired twice, dropping the assailants. McMann tried to shake his head clear, get some sort of picture of what was taking place. He looked back at the two boys--no they were men he told himself--but they weren’t moving. They had shot him in his calf. The pain returned with the acknowledgement. They would have killed him. Denton saved him. Denton had already been hit, too. McMann thought he remembered it being in the shoulder. Denton cried out again, this time clutching his stomach. His revolver clicked empty. McMann stood up, aiming over the car roof. The bottle was green, semi-transparent. The flaming cloth sticking out about 4 inches from the mouth of the bottle. It arced through the air, landing on the hood. The impact of the bottle shattering sent gasoline pouring over the entire hood and in through the open windshield, igniting the car in flames. McMann didn’t hesitate. He reached in the car and dragged Denton out by his left arm. Denton’s whole right arm and torso was engulfed in flames. McMann ripped off his uniform and smothered the flames with the shirt. He heard the teens yelling as they kept firing. McMann grabbed his gun, while still trying to pat his partner down and stop the bleeding from multiple wounds. Denton gasped and labored to inhale. McMann began to pray and prepare for his final stand when the cars and sirens screamed around the corner. The teens fired off a couple more shots and took off running. McMann heard two cars race by, he assumed they were in pursuit, while others stopped in front of his shredded squad car. He looked back at the teens, lying in crimson pools on the sidewalk, and then back down as Denton’s hand squeezed his arm, chest rising and falling in shallow tremors. We’re taking a rigged test. Can’t help but fail. Chapter 1 Avon, Indiana— Present Day The humidity was almost unbearable. Condensation formed on the inside of the gas station's windows. The asphalt in the parking lot melted into distorted waves, and Marla was fading into a heat induced coma. How long had she been working her shift? It seemed like forever. She almost dreaded looking at the clock hanging above the restroom doors. She knew that time crawled during the summer hours, and the sun was only just beginning to make its way toward the horizon. One hour and twenty five minutes. She swore under her breath. She still had six hours to go. Six hours of sticky, hot, miserable work. More than once, Marla had thought about putting her head underneath the ICEE machine.