Right Here Right Now

right here right now

christina lightfoot’s burgundy ’88 maxima barreled down interstate 210, the needle of the speedometer creeping past ninety. moby’s techno version of the james bond theme blared from the cheap twenty watt speakers propped up against the rear window. she slapped her hand against the fuzzy steering wheel to the beat of the music. a grin showed on her face. she swerved around a tanker truck and blew past the route seventeen onramp. the lights of a highway patrol car flared to life. she glanced up at the rearview mirror, frowned then pushed the accelerator to the floor, squeezing her car between a mini-van and a silver tiburon. the police car followed, catching up to her as she crossed the bridge over black water river. christina reluctantly let off the gas and pulled over. officer lyle brighton, a young slender built man stepped out of the brown and white cruiser and slowly started toward the car, his hand resting on the revolver holstered

at his side. "driver...," a voice shouted. "put both hands on the steering wheel." brighton glanced back at his partner sitting in the car, the mouthpiece of the radio pressed against his lips. he shook his head then turned and crept toward the car. "with your left hand, turn off the ignition and drop the keys out the window." officer brighton wiped the sweat from his face with his shoulder. "step out of the car please," he yelled. christina sighed heavily, shut off the car then reached through the window and opened the door. she was a tall, athletically built girl was dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of tight fringed denim shorts. her shoulder length blond hair was pulled back from her round freckled face. "turn around and place your hands on the hood of the car," brighton said. she turned and laid her arms on the roof of the car burning herself in the process. "what did i do?" she said and winced. officer brighton walked toward her. "you know what the posted speed limit is around here?" he said then hesitantly ran his hands over her wide hips. "i was only speeding?" officer brighton spun her around to face him. "only speeding," he said, a frown creasing his boyish face. "ma’am, it’s fourth of july weekend. there are more fatalities on the highway this time of year than any other because of people like you who were ‘only speeding’." christina fluttered her pale blue eyes at him. "i’m sorry," she said softly. "sorry doesn’t cut it with loved ones when someone’s killed because someone else was only speeding." he backed away from her and wiped his brow with his sleeve. "license and registration please." she stared back at him, a hint of panic in on her face. "ma’am...." "it...it’s not really my car," she stuttered then reluctantly slid back into the driver’s seat. officer brighton stepped back from the car as he watched her open the glove compartment.

"i borrowed the car from my mother." she jiggled the latch to the glove box and the door fell open. a stack of papers spilled out along with a silver .22. "hands on the wheel," officer brighton shouted nervously. christina looked up, saw the barrel of his gun pointed at her then glanced back at the .22. "now, ma’am." she quickly grabbed the steering wheel. "my mom gave it to me…for… for protection." she closed her eyes and shook her head. officer brighton stepped sideways, putting the door between them. he glanced back at his partner in the squad car, gestured for him to step out of the car then turned his attention back to the girl. "pick the gun up slowly, by the handle and toss it out of the car." christina’s hands shook as she reached for the gun. she picked it up and tossed it out of the car. it landed in the dust beside her keys. officer brighton stepped around the door, kicking the gun away. "ok, now," he said, the nervousness seeping out his voice. "hand me your license and registration." officer poole cautiously walked toward the car, his gun drawn. "out of the car," he barked. "now." brighton glanced back at his stubby middle-aged partner then at the girl. "what do we have, poole?" brighton said. he grabbed the papers from her as she stepped out of the car and quickly looked them over. christina turned and laid her hands on the car, burning herself again. "this car was reported stolen two days ago back in yuma arizona," officer poole said. "shit...." she hissed and tried to look back at the officer. "i can explain...." the pudgy policeman stepped toward her unhooking his cuffs from the pouch on his belt. "you’ll have plenty of time to explain." he snatched her arm from the hood of the car and locked a cuff around her wrist. "i’m sure it’ll be a good one." he pulled her toward him as he headed for the cruiser. officer brighton picked up the gun, checked the clip and found it empty. a smirk crossed his lips. he grabbed the keys, locked the car and followed them.

***** the crystal clear cordless phone sitting on the faux stone butcher-block kitchen counter rang. sharon wilson pushed aside the glass door leading to the patio and quickly hurried across the terra cotta tile floor of the kitchen and grabbed the phone. "hello...," she said and climbed onto one of the wrought iron and wicker stools by the counter. she glanced at the caller id box and saw the familiar merrill lynch number scroll across the screen. a smile spread across her face. mattie, her hyper, year-old golden retriever, came bouncing through the door and took a seat in front of her. "hey, sweetie," the voice on the other end of the line said. "hey yourself," sharon said. "what are you doing still there?" "i just have a little more paperwork to finish up and i’ll be right home," he said. "tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch and i won’t have as much time to get everything done." sharon caressed her tanned, basketball shaped belly protruding between her tiedyed t-shirt and the bottom of her purple bikini. "well, hurry up, the little one misses you." david chuckled. "yeah...ok," he said. "when is everybody supposed to get there?" "i told chuck and ver to be here around five, five thirty...." her attention turned to the thinly built teenaged girl walking across the living room. she was dressed in a tight black and white tank top and a tighter black spandex skirt. she glanced at sharon, holding her gaze a beat then turned and headed for the oak double doors. "hold on, baby." she set the phone on the counter and slid off the stool. "aimee...." the girl stopped and turned to face her. "what...?" she groaned. sharon stopped abruptly and glared at the girl, watching her settle into an apologetic posture. "where are you going?" aimee sighed. "over to tina’s," she said. "we’re gonna go hang out at the mall." sharon brushed a few strands of her auburn hair from her face and sighed. "well, don’t stay too long," she said. "we’re having a cookout and your mother’s stopping by to see you." aimee rolled her eyes and turned away from her. "big whoop," she mumbled.

a slight smile curled the corner of sharon’s mouth. she stepped toward the girl. "she really wants to see you," she said, looking the girl over. "ok." "so when is this nightmare supposed to happen?" sharon chuckled. "around seven, we’re all gonna go down to the river and watch the fire works." again, aimee rolled her eyes. "it’ll be fun." she nodded sarcastically. "go...have fun." she turned and headed back to the phone. "thanks, sharon." aimee said. she spun on her heels and quickly ran out of the house. sharon grabbed the phone as she climbed back onto her stool. "your daughter just left to go hang out with her friends." silence. "hello...." "yeah...," david said. "oh...sharon, what’s up?" "aimee went to the mall with her friends." "she coming back for the party?" she nodded. "she doesn’t seem too interested in seeing her mother." the sound of two fighter jets passing overhead filled the house. she looked up at the ceiling, shook her head then turned her eyes to the dog pacing nervously. "hurry up and get here," she said softly. christ, it was hot. the air-conditioner in the dirty white crown victoria was doing nothing to abate the growing stuffiness filling the car. detective wallace crane pealed off his black pinstriped sport coat, tapped the button on the door and the window slid down into its sheaf. in the distance, beyond the radio antennas and tree tops, a plume of black smoke spiraled toward the cloudless sky. wallace sighed angrily. this same scenario happened every year. an explosion at a fireworks factory. a couple years back, a disgruntled employee dropped a lit pack of

matches into a crate of what he thought was just sparklers. turns out it was a crate of gunpowder. this explosion was slightly different. the gun powder explosion had produced half a dozen bodies. when the employee realized what he’d done, he turned himself in before the fire was even out. this fire, there was just one body and no guilty party waiting to turn himself in. wallace followed a haz-mat truck into what was left of the gravel parking lot and pulled to a stop beside a brown and white chrysler sedan. a tall slender built black man dressed in jeans and a baggy white t-shirt made his way between the half dozen emergency vehicles toward the white caprice wiping sweat from his bald head. "detective wallace...?" he said to the stubby brown skinned man stepping out of the car. "crane...," he corrected. "you wilks?" he looked past the man at the smoldering structure that used to be bam’s fireworks supply company. the man nodded. "yeah." "you wanna tell me what made you bring my black ass out here in this heat," he said, trying to force a crooked smile to his face. "to investigate a fire?" chauncey wilks stared back at the man a moment then grinned. "this way," he said. he turned and lead the detective between the fire trucks from station 22. "this same shit happens every year," wallace said, eyeing the crew working to contain the blaze that had ignited a thicket of trees. the young arson investigator looked back at him and smirked. "it’s a ritual." he lead him through the rubble toward a clearing beyond the rear of the building. "we almost didn’t find him." wallace could see the flies beginning to swarm over the charred patch of grass. the sweet stench of decomposition filled the air. lying in the grass was the upper torso of what appeared to be a dark skinned man. his flannel shirt had been burned off.

"oh,

jesus christ," he said. wilks looked back at him then down at the body. "looks like he got tossed from the building," he said. "or at least part of him. so far we haven’t recovered anybody else." he ran his hand across his head. "no sign of the rest of him yet either."

detective crane knelt beside what was left of the body. "what makes you think this is a homicide?" he said, studying the smoldering remains. "we just deal with the fires, detective." he backed away from him covering his nose and mouth. "it’s up to you and the me to determine whether it’s a homicide or not." detective crane looked up at him and shook his head. "with an attitude like that...," he started, his eyes scanning the area. he stood abruptly and stepped past wilks heading toward the building. "what else do you guys know about this place?" he glanced back at the body then rubbed his eyes. wilks shrugged. "fly-by-night fireworks dealer...." "any idea how the fire got started?" "not sure yet," he said. "we’re still in the preliminary stages." "owner been contacted yet?" he sighed. "we haven’t been able to get in touch with him." wallace stared up at him a moment. "who is he…what’s his name?" he turned to see a white range rover bouncing over the lumpy terrain heading toward them. he stepped away from the arson investigator and headed toward the suv. "he’s got a funky name," wilks said, following him. "hezekiah safawi." wallace glanced back at him with a puzzled look on his face. "what is he…an arab or something?" he said and continued on toward the truck as it came to a stop. a short middle-aged white woman slid out of the truck carrying a leather banker’s box. "do you fellas know how hot it is out here?" she barked as she strode toward them. "ellen...," detective crane said, grinning. "i though you’d be upstate by now." "i would be," she grumbled. she pushed past the detective and the arson investigator and headed toward the patch of charred grass. "well, what have we got here?" she stooped over the body and opened the box. riley oster, a tall thin red-headed man, stood behind the water-scarred counter of the aces & 8s tavern polishing shot glasses. he looked up startled and turned his attention toward what sounded like a dog barking. sitting at the far end of the bar was a haggard, blond haired man nursing a bottle of budweiser. he was dressed in a dirty orange and black t-shirt and jeans. his fist was pressed against his lips as he continued to cough.

"you alright, buddy?" riley said and cautiously started toward the man. he glanced over his shoulder at the skinny brown-skinned waitress making her way across the cramped, dimly lit bar. jason caldwell sighed heavily, calming the cough. he swallowed another gulp of beer then turned his tired blue eyes to the bartender. "i’m fine," he grunted and stroked his stubbly beard. his gaze shifted to the crowd. an american flag had been strung up across the entrance of the bar. someone had pinned multi-colored letters across it spelling out united we stand. jason shook his head. "cheer up, man," the bartender said. "it’s the fourth of july...celebrate." "celebrate what," he mumbled. he coughed again, this time bringing up a glob of yellow phlegm. he caught it with one of the red, white and blue napkins. "i just got fired." he crumpled up the napkin. riley sighed and shook his head. "sorry about your luck." he grabbed another bottle of budweiser from the cooler and slid across the bar toward him. "on the house." jason looked up at him and nodded. "riley...." he turned to see the waitress leaning against the bar waving a slip from her order pad at him. "i need a heine’, a guinness and two amstel lites." jason smirked. "does anybody drink any normal beers around here?" he mumbled and turned the bottle up to his lips "coming up," riley said. he glanced back at jason then turned to the cooler. she slid onto the stool beside the man, eyed him a moment then tossed her braided blond hair over her shoulder. "hi...." he looked back at the pretty brown-skinned woman and nodded curtly. riley set the two bottles of amstel lite on sheila’s tray along with a pair of pint glasses. "so what kinda work were you doin’?" he asked, filling a mug from the brass handled guinness tap. jason chuckled. he looked up at the bartender. "i was deliverin’ fireworks for some towel-heads," he said. he turned the bottle up and swallowed a gulp then stood. "thanks

for tha’ beer." riley added the mug of guinness to the tray. "happy fourth," he said. jason turned and headed for the door. he glanced up at the flag, stared at it a moment then raised his fist, middle finger extended. the traffic along jefferson avenue had slowed to a crawl as the cars diverted from main street for the fourth of july celebration on monument square jostled for openings in the north-bound throng. a cream colored acura nudged its way out of the center lane past a gray mini-van and pulled up to the gate of the garage beneath the plaza one tower. the driver’s window slid down and a ruddy-faced middle-aged man sat behind the wheel, a cell phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. “sir...,” a voice said. the man fumbled his pass-card out of his wallet and started to swipe it through the card reader by the gate. he glanced over at the scrawny white boy swaggering toward the car. he was dressed in a pair of khaki bell-bottoms and a baltimore ravens jersey. his dirty gaunt face was framed by a mass of shoulder-length blond dread-locks. he shook his head and turned away. “sir...,” ronnie said again, rubbing his stomach. “you got any spare change?” his gaze fixed on the man. “i haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday.” “you’ll live...,” the man said. he quickly passed his card through the reader and the acura slipped into the garage. he stared at the car angrily as it disappeared down the ramp. he turned away, his eyes scanning the stalled traffic and sprinted across the street, weaving his way between the cars. a thickly built girl with cranberry colored hair sat atop one of the warped wooden picnic tables in morgan park sipping from a liter size bottle of mountain dew. a hand rolled cigarette was pinched between her thin fingers. she passed the bottle to the short hispanic boy sitting behind her and watched as his head bobbed to the music blaring from his headphones. she quickly looked past him at ronnie running toward them then slid off the table. “hey...,” she said, taking a long drag on the cigarette.

the hispanic boy looked up at them and pulled off the headphones. “ese...,” he barked and stood. “sup’, raphi?” ronnie nodded and took the cigarette from the girl. “so how much did we get?” raphael said. ronnie took a puff on the cigarette and shoved his hand in his pocket. he pulled out a fistful of change and crumpled dollar bills. “i don’t know, man,” he said, holding the smoke in his lungs. “count it yourself.” he laid the stash on the table then turned back to the girl. “where’s greg?” she shrugged and took her cigarette back. “i don’t know.” she slid back on the table, glanced back at the raphael then grabbed the bottle of mountain dew. “shit...,” ronnie hissed, exhaling a cloud of pungent smoke. “where the fuck is he?” she swallowed another gulp of soda then brushed the strands of her hair from her face. “he said he had somethin’ to take care of.” she pinched the cigarette between her lips and took a slow drag. “fifteen bucks...,” raphael said. ronnie looked back at him. “not bad,” he mumbled. “we could get a little somethin’ with that.” “that’s everything...,” he said and rose up from the bench. “including mine and gillian’s...minus the dew.” “fuck...,” ronnie grunted. “where the fuck is greg?” the short slender boy skipped across the stone bridge over the duck pond at the center of the park. he crept through the grove of evergreen trees and found the rest of the gang waiting for him at the picnic tables. “what’s up?” greg said, bouncing toward them. he stared at gillian’s curvy frame a moment then abruptly turned his attention to ronnie. “where the hell have you been” he barked. he fished a wad of folded bills out of the pocket of his jeans and tossed them onto the table along with a dime bag of marijuana. “don’t worry about it,” he said. a smile lit across gillian’s face as she stared at the bag of marijuana. “thirty bucks...,” raphael said as he unfolded the bills. “where’d you get this?”

“i said, don’t worry about it.” an awkward silence passed through the group. he nodded toward the bottle in her hand. “let me get a sip.” she looked down at the bottle then handed it to him. “keep it,” she said and winked at him. they stared at each other a moment. he took the bottle and swallowed a quick gulp. “let’s head down to the river….” ronnie stared at greg a moment then shook his head and turned away. “…before the amberzombies show up.” raphael scooped up the money and shoved it into his pocket. “shouldn’t we get some fuckin’ food first?” “get what you want,” he grumbled. gillian followed ronnie with her eyes as he started up the cobblestone walkway. she glanced back at greg, curling her pale lips into a crooked smile then followed him out of the park. captain cummings’ hand shook as he filled the glass mug from the pot of tepid coffee. he set the mug down, flexed his fingers then picked it up again. he took a deep breath and walked out of the break room into the maze of desk cluttering the squad room. a skinny brunette sat at detective harris’ desk, her slender wrist shackled to the top drawer. she was dressed in a dirty denim skirt and a bright orange ruffled halter top that looked to be a size too large. she turned her eyes from the detective to the tall lean man walking toward them. detective harris looked back at the captain then stood. “domestic dispute,” he said walking toward him. he combed his curly black hair with his fingers and glanced back at the girl. “says her boyfriend came at her, cracked-out, tried to hit her with a marble elephant....” the captain nodded as he sipped his coffee. “she countered with a baseball bat,” he continued. “he’s over at martin-brooks now.” he looked past the detective at the girl. specks of dried blood dotted her shirt. she stared back at him a moment then turned her eyes to the floor. “how is he?” he said,

watching her legs bounce nervously. again, harris glanced at the girl. “stable...for now.” the glass doors at the far end of the squad room swung open and detective wallace crane walked in. the captain nodded to him then turned back to harris. “you buy it?” he shrugged and sighed. “she’s got a long list of priors,” he said. “mostly assaults and petty theft....” “captain...,” wallace said, gesturing toward the office. he stared at the detective a moment then started toward his office. “get miss broadus over here,” he said and took another sip of coffee. “see what she thinks.” he turned away from harris and hurried across the squad room. wallace leaned against the mahogany desk, his gaze turned to the floor. he stood up as the captain walked into the room and rubbed his tired eyes. “what’s up?” he looked back at the door, considered shutting it then turned to face the captain sliding into the leather chair behind his desk. “we don’t have an id on the body yet.” he looked back at the door again. “the owner of the factory is some guy named hezekiah safawi, i haven’t been able to run down anything on him.” captain cummings set his mug on the desk. he caught wallace glancing at the door then nodded. he pushed the door closed then turned back to the captain. “maybe i’m just being paranoid,” he started. “but...with everybody on high alert since nine eleven, this has got me more than a little spooked.” the captain looked down at his twitching ring finger then sat up, resting his elbows on the desk. “we know what caused the fire?” “wilks is still working on it.” “where’s this mister safawi?” wallace stared back at the captain a moment then shook his head. “haven’t been able to reach him.” “he got an address?” he nodded.

“check it out.” “i’m gonna need some paperwork, cap’n.” “don’t worry about it,” he said. “i’ll check with the local feds...see if they have anything on him.” detective crane turned and walked out of the office. he ran his hand across his forehead, wiping away a film of sweat then quickly headed for the glass doors. “wally...,” detective harris said. he spun around to face the short stocky man. “yeah...? “gloria called.” a slight smile split his weary face. denise marquez fastened the sterling silver clasp of her beaded hematite and ruby choker then winked at her reflection in the mirror of her brass vanity. she stood, stepping into a pair of black suede kenneth cole mules and walked out of the cramped bedroom. “honey...,” she said, reaching for the zipper hidden in the seam down the back of her strapless black bustier dress. she stopped as she walked into the living room and glared at randy sitting behind his desk. his dusty blue vans were propped up on the edge of the walnut colored desk while he pecked at the keys of his laptop. he stared at the neon green screen of the computer trying to find the mate to the red dragon at the top of the pyramid of mahjong tiles. he found it tucked into the corner at the bottom of the stack. “is that what you’re wearing?” she said as she slowly crossed the room toward him. she glanced at the tv. the evening news was playing footage of the staff of paytonville general practicing emergency response drills. he looked up at her startled then quickly tapped the touch pad. the mahjong game disappeared and was replaced by a blank word processing document. “zip me up,” she said and turned her back to him. “you gotta get dressed, sharon and her husband are expecting us in an hour.” randy sighed heavily. “go without me.” he grabbed the tab of her zipper and pulled it up. she turned to face him, a scowl spreading across her tiny brown face. “get

dressed.” “i don’t wanna to go,” he said and went back to pecking at the keyboard. “besides, i’m working.” she glared at him angrily. “randy, that excuse is getting old....” the phone rang, cutting her off. he looked past her at the phone lying on the kitchen counter then sat up and turned his attention back to the computer. denise reluctantly turned away from him and snatched the cordless receiver from its base. “hello....” silence. “hello....” silence. she stared at the phone a moment then switched it off and looked back at randy making an effort to keep his eyes on the computer. “get dressed,” she said again. “i’m not going,” he mumbled. she watched him, his fingers slowly moving over the keyboard. he looked up at her and their eyes met. “fine...,” she said and slammed the phone on the counter. “i’m leaving.” she turned away and walked out of the apartment. the door closed with a thud behind her. randy sat back in his chair and exhaled his frustration. he stared up at the ceiling a moment then let his eyes close. the phone rang again. he sat up quickly then pushed himself away from the desk. “hello...,” he said, hesitantly. for a moment, there was silence. “is this a bad time...?” christina said, her voice barely above a whisper. “chrissy...,” randy said surprised. a smile lit across his face. “it’s me...,” she said and giggled nervously. “can you come get me?” “what...?” she took a deep breath. “i...i got pulled over.” “where are you?”

“some place called middleburgh,” she said, trying to stay calm. “i...looked it up on the map, it’s not far from where you are.” “chrissy....” “i gotta see you,” she said, tears seeping into her voice. “come get me, please.” randy’s heart hammered inside his chest. “chrissy...,” he sighed. “please....” “ok,” he said and glanced around the room. “i’m on my way.” the john h. patterson high school marching band stormed onto monument square, drums pounding, horns blaring. the troop split creating two ribbons of crimson and gray as they wove their way through the crowd gathered in front of the stage. the music stopped abruptly and the crowd broke into a lackluster round of applause. sandy lewis brushed his graying brown hair with the palm of his hand and sighed heavily. he fondled the gold toned watch in the pocket of his beige linen blazer, took it out and flipped it open. taped to the inside of the lid was the picture of a little girl, smiling a gapped-tooth smile. he quickly closed the watch, shook his head and walked out onto the stage. he was a fairly handsome-brown skinned man who was just a little taller than the microphone stand. “is this thing on?” he said and cleared his throat. a crooked smile crept across his face. an echo of laughter trickled across the crowd. “happy fourth of july.…” a sudden roar of applause rippled through the crowd. sandy’s smile widened. he glanced over at the budweiser truck parked by the waterfall fountain that was the centerpiece of the square. “i see the beer truck’s doing brisk business today.” another roar of cheers. “but seriously...,” he started. “it’s been a rough year for all of us. so have a round on me.” he watched as a pair of f-16 screeched overhead then peeled off heading in opposite directions. “in the light of the events on september eleventh, i feel we have grown stronger as a nation. and we need to stay strong.”

a rumble of agreement rippled through the crowd. “not just today, but everyday,” sandy continued. “and we need to recognize that the person next to you, though he or she might be of a different race...religion or whatever, we are one nation and we have to stand together.” “that’s right,” shouted a woman dressed in a black tank top and camouflage pants. “if we don’t stand as one,” sandy said. “then the terrorist will win.” he reached back into his pocket and felt the watch again. “and we can’t afford to let that happen.” the sound of applause rang across the square. “lets all join hands in a moment of silence to remember all of those who lost their lives in new york, pennsylvania and washington.” a hush fell over the crowd. a thin blond haired woman quickly made her way through the crowd heading for the beer truck. she glanced at the stage as a young-looking boy stepped up to the microphone, a tattered fender guitar slung over his shoulder, then continued on toward the truck. “jessica...,” a voice said. the boy on stage ripped into a blistering solo. the rest of the band followed suit, playing a funky blues number. “jessica...,” the voice said again, yelling over the music. the blond woman stopped in her tracks and turned to see a pale slender built man dressed in a pair of bermuda shorts and a muscle shirt with the jaguar logo printed on the front. she stared at him a moment then smiled. “roland....?” he nodded as he stepped toward her. “yeah...,” he said. “jeeze, you look great.” “you too.” she threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly. “how have you been?” “i’ve been good,” roland said and smiled. he looked her petite frame over. “you… you haven’t changed a bit.” she shrugged and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the edge of her hand. “how long’s it been?” he said. “almost twelve years.” she looked over her shoulder at the truck. “you know, when

you didn’t make it to the class reunion, i thought you might be dead.” he grinned and shook his head. “i’ve changed a lot since high school.” “i see....” she said, her gaze shifted to his hairy muscular legs. “what about you?” roland said. “what have you been up to?” jessica shook her head and turned away from him. “you don’t wanna know,” she mumbled and headed toward the crowd in front of the truck. roland followed her. “jesse....” she looked back at him and their eyes met. “buy me a drink.” he nodded. “yeah...sure,” he said and followed her across the square. sharon tightened the knot in her blue paisley print pareo then scooped up the bamboo platter of horsd’oeuvres and headed for the patio. a tall brown skinned woman dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a baggy white linen shirt met her at the door with a grape margarita slush in her hand. “here...let me help you with that,” she said in a soft baritone voice. she glanced down at the tray of chick-pea canapés and black bean tacos and a crooked grin curled the corner of her mouth. “girl, how do you find the time to come up with these?” “this is nothing, ver,” she said and smiled. “yeah, but with that goin’ on too….” she nodded toward her smooth round belly as she took the tray. sharon chuckled. “i’ll be out in a minute to put the chicken and veggies on.” the wail of a muted trumpet whispered across the house followed by the peal of a symbol and the lazy plucking of a stand-up bass. chuck collins rose up from in front of the stereo and turned to see sharon walking back to the island in the kitchen. she swayed gently to the music as she threaded a corkscrew shaped skewer through an assortment of vegetables. he took a deep breath and started toward her. “nice choice...,” she said, not bothering to look up at him. “miles is my favorite.” he looked back at the stereo. “so where’s david?” she set the full skewer aside and glanced at him. “he should have been here by now.”

“he had to work today?” she shook her head annoyed. “he said he was just gonna get caught up on some stuff for tomorrow.” she turned back to the bowl of marinated cauliflowers, mushrooms and peppers and started another skewer. “and he leaves me here alone, knowing his exwife’s gonna be here.” a small smile tugged at chuck’s thick lips. he looked around the cluttered counter then turned back to her. “you need help with anything?” his gaze lingered on her petite breast. “could you hand me that towel…,” she said and nodded to the dish rag draped across the sink. she bobbed her head as the beat of the song picked up. she dried her hands on the towel then reached for her glass of pinot gregio. “i can’t wait to get this catering business started.” his smile widened. “you really gonna do it.” he reached for one of the skewers and began threading it through a mushroom. for a moment, his gaze dropped to the tarnished gold band on his finger. “with david’s bonus money next month,” sharon said. “i’ll have enough to get the rest of the equipment i need.” she glanced back at him staring at her. she grabbed the towel, quickly wiped her hands then turned away from him. “then…then it’ll just be a matter of finding some help.” the patio door slid open and ver walked back in followed by a young brown skinned girl. “the grill is ready,” she said, tussling the girl’s stringy brown hair. chuck looked up at her startled. “mom…,” the girl whined and brushed her hair from her face. she climbed onto one of the stools at the counter and rolled her eyes. “great,” sharon said and turned back to chuck. “could you make me about four more of those while i go put the chicken on.” he nodded quickly. she took another sip of her drink, tightened the knot in her skirt again then grabbed the pan of chicken breast and slipped out onto the patio. ver stared at chuck as he went back to his task. “tiara, go help aunt sharon with the grill,” she said and ran her hand through the girl’s hair again.

the girl spun on her heels and followed her. ver snorted. she took a sip of her margarita then started toward the counter. “need any help?” vivienne yeo’s silver honda crv pulled up to the curb in front of the ranch style house on bartlett court. she flipped down the visor and checked her face in the mirror. she licked her fingertip, dabbed at the smudge of mascara on her eyelid then reluctantly pushed open the door. she slid out of the suv and headed up the cobble-stone sidewalk, admiring the manicured hedges. sharon held the stone platter and watched as tiara placed the last of the chicken breast on the stainless steel propane grill. she glanced down at her watch and shook her head. “where is he?” she muttered to herself. the girl looked up at her. “what’s next?” she turned back to the girl. “oh…well,” she said. “the fish is next, but that doesn’t take as long to cook, so we’ll put that on last.” she laid her hand on the girl’s back. “if you want, you can help your mommy put the kabobs on the grill.” tiara nodded her head quickly and a smile spread across her face. “ok…,” sharon said, smiling back. she turned and followed the girl into the kitchen. chuck finished threading the last of the kabobs as sharon and tiara walked through the door. “denise called,” he said. “she’s running a little late. she stopped to get some drinkage.” “ok…,” sharon said. “where’s ver?” he stared at her a moment. “she went to get the door.” sharon took a deep breath then turned to see ver walking back into the room followed by a tall slender asian woman. she brushed the strands of hair from her face and forced a smile to her lips. “hi…,” she said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. vivienne smiled back. she stepped past the stocky black woman and extended her hand. “hi, i’m vivienne,” she said as they shook. “nice to meet you.” sharon stared up at her a moment then took a clumsy step backward, bumping into

tiara. “excuse me,” she mumbled and turned back to vivienne. “would you like something to drink.” the woman stifled a chuckle. “yes, please. a glass of wine would be great.” she watched as sharon turned to the cabinets above the sink. “you have a beautiful home.” “thank you.” she filled an ice blue flute glass with the last of the pinot gregio and set it in front of her. “did chuck tell you that denise called?” ver said. sharon looked up at her and nodded. “she said randy’s not coming.” “what a surprise,” she mumbled. “so it’s just me?” chuck said and smiled. “until david shows up?” vivienne set her glass aside and glanced at the man on the far side of the island. “where is david?” “he’s on his way,” sharon said quickly. she shook her head and smiled half-heartedly. “just like him.” she picked up her glass again and took a quick sip. “is aimee here?” “she spent the afternoon with some friends,” sharon said and sighed. her eyes met vivienne’s. “she…she’s really looking forward to seeing you.” vivienne arched her eyebrows curiously and took another sip of her drink. “tiara, why don’t you take the kabobs out to the grill,” sharon said. “yeah…i’ll help you,” ver cut in. she glanced over at her husband and nodded toward the door. “come on, chuck.” she stepped around the table and sharon handed her the platter of vegetable kabobs. hezekiah safawi lived in a one bedroom apartment in a small red-brick building on ducane avenue. detective crane parked his caprice classic behind a battered grand am across the street and stared up at the building. he took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes and laid his head against the steering wheel. it felt cool against his skin. after a moment, he pushed open the door and stepped out of the car. the apartment manager, a small wrinkled faced man who’s complexion was almost ghostly, met him at the glass doors of the building. wallace flashed his gold shield at the

man, then covered his mouth as he started to cough. “evenin’ officer,” he said, opening the door. “how can i help you?” “i’m detective wallace crane,” he said and cleared his throat. “i need to see apartment two-sixteen.” “why…is there something wrong?” wallace inhaled deeply. “i just need to see the apartment,” he said. “please.” “mister safari ain’t here,” he said and stared back at the detective. “you got a warrant or something?” “there was an explosion at his business,” wallace said. he covered his mouth again as the coughing came back. “i need to search his apartment.” the man stepped back from the door and sighed angrily. “help yourself.” the apartment was dark. wallace walked across the sparsely furnished room, the eyes of the building manager boring holes in his back. he snatched a paper towel from the roll on the counter by the kitchenette and used it to open the cabinets above the sink. all three were empty except for a scattered collection of coffee mugs and a pair of plates. “what you looking for?” the man asked. wallace glanced over his shoulder at him but said nothing. he turned his attention to the refrigerator. the musty odor of spent freon smacked him in the face. a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal sat on the top shelf. aside from that, it too was empty. he slammed the door and turned to face the old man standing in the doorway. “did mister safawi say where he was going?” “no…,” he said. “i don’t think he did.” “he say when he’d be back?” he shook his head. detective crane stepped past the man and glanced at the open door to the bathroom. “did he have any visitors?” he said. he slowly walked across the apartment toward the makeshift office in the corner of the room. “no…,” he said. “none that i know of.” he sat down heavily in the straight back chair and rubbed his eyes. there was a

clear square space in the film of dust coating the tiny student’s desk. half a dozen books sat on the corner of the desk between a pair of metal bookends. the pager clipped to his belt chirped. he pulled it out of it’s pouch and read the number scrolling across the led screen. “shit….” he reached inside his jacket for the cell phone tucked in his pocket and quickly dialed. the phone on the other end of the line rang twice then a man’s voice answered. “yeah…?” “detective crane…?” he slid open the bottom drawer of the desk and found a rack of over-stuffed file folders inside. “who’s this?” he grabbed one of the folders and laid it on the desk. “detective wilks from arson,” the voice on the phone said. “you find out anything on the body yet?” “still waiting on the me.” “well the chance of it being a homicide is pretty good. that fire was deliberately set.” “jesus christ,” detective crane groaned. he wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear and thumbed through the collection of dog-eared carbon receipts inside the folder. “anything else?” wilks cleared his throat. “yeah…,” he said, wheezing. “but you’re gonna want to see this yourself.” “what is it?” “they had more than just fireworks in there.” he closed his eyes and shook his head. “fuck...,” he hissed. “meet me downtown.” he dropped the phone back into his pocket, scooped up the folder and headed for the door. “what’s going on?” he whirled around and saw the apartment manager standing behind him. “lock this place up,” he barked then doubled over. “you alright?” “yeah,” he gasped. he looked back at the man, ran his hand across his lips and quickly stood up. “don’t let anybody in here without police permission.”

“why…?” he said. “what the hell’s going on?” the sound of country music drifted down to the riverbank. greg lay back on the grass watching the laser lights crisscrossing the sky above the river-walk. he sat up as the music reached his ears and watched gillian and raphael stagger over the rocks trying to square dance. he chuckled to himself then turned to ronnie sitting on a piece of driftwood. “let me hit that,” he said. ronnie looked up at the boy and stood. “so where’d you get the money?” he said,handing the boy the butt of the cigarette. greg took a long drag and held it in. he turned his eyes back to the light show and shook his head. “i stole it.” “yeah right,” ronnie grunted. he sat beside the boy. “look…you don’t wanna start down that road.” he exhaled a cloud of smoke then looked back at him. “what road?” “come on, man,” he said. “i know what’s going on.” “what?” “greg….” the boy pinched the joint between his lips and took another drag. he glanced back at ronnie then stood and headed for the river’s edge. a streak of white light cut through the laser display. as it reached it’s apex, it burst into an array of red sparkles. another streak went up then came down in a shower of blue. the third streak of light burst and a cascade of red, white and blue light rained down on the crowd gathered on the river walkway. “wow…,” gillian breathed. she stared up at the sky as another salvo of fireworks lit up the sky. a dozen rockets shot into the sky then pealed off heading in different directions. the explosion of color formed the shape of a small dragon. greg watched as a smile spread across the girl’s face. he smiled himself then brushed the back of his hand against her arm. she looked over at him and he handed her the cigarette. “this is some good stuff,” she said and took a hit on the joint. “where’d you get it?”

he looked up at the sky. “some guy over on washington street.” gillian stared at him a moment then let the smoke in her lungs seep out through her pursed lips. she turned her gaze to the river. the reflection of the fireworks sparkled on the surface of the water. raphael kicked off his battered airwalks and waded into the water. he knelt down and splashed the muddy water on his face. greg let his hand brush against gillian’s. he glanced back at her then slowly closed his hand around hers. she looked over at him and smiled. “what are you doing?” “nothin’,” he mumbled. he gently pulled her toward him. their eyes met. he hesitantly leaned toward her. “greg…,” gillian said. “stop.” “what?” “cut it out,” she giggled. “’sides…i don’t know where them lips been.” she let go of his hand and backed away from him. “you are definitely blunted out.” greg stepped toward her. “you know i care a lot about you.” “greg…,” she said and looked back at him. “i’m serious,” he said. she smiled uneasily. “come on, greg,” she said, punching him lightly on the arm. “gillian….” he caught her arm and held her hand. “i’d do anything for you.” “greg…,” she sighed. “i…i don’t feel that way about you. you’re like my little brother.” she watched him a moment, her smile slowly fading. “i like you, but…not like that.” he let go of her hand, glanced over at ronnie lying beside the driftwood log then backed away from her. “greg…you ok?” she said and took a cautious step toward him. he shook his head angrily then turned away from her. gillian sighed. “greg….” he looked back at her then started running, heading for the steps leading up the side of the levy to the street.

a burst of fireworks lit up stillwater park. blue light washed over the throng of kids dancing in front of the steel mesh platform that served as the center stage. dj bizzy fingaz had worked the crowd into a frenzy. the thin brown skinned girl stood behind her mixing board tweaking a frantic japanese drum beat speeding up the rhythm to as frantic pace. dj redrum leapt onto the stage as the fireworks died down. she looked over at the stocky, bald headed boy as he slipped behind his custom made triple deck turntables and snapped on his sony dx-90 headphones. a smile lit across her face. the pounding drum beat came to an abrupt halt and emperor kuzco’s voice broke through the silence. “you threw off my groove,” he scolded. dj redrum laid a disc on the center turntable and cued up aqua boogie by parliament funkadelic. the funky bass line came on and the crowd roared with cheers. “i came to party,” a throaty woman’s voice blared through the marshall stacks scattered around the park followed by the lush beat of computerized drums. he laid another disc on the technics turntable and cued up a tribal beat. bizzy fingaz filled out the beat with the sound of screeching monkeys. a crowd of kids gathered around the red and black mr. whippets ice cream truck parked beside stillwater lake. the tall, gangly white man dispensed neon colored balloons filled with laughing gas at five bucks a pop. aimee wilson stood in the crowd by the stage grinding her bony hips against a tall lanky boy dressed in cargo pants and a camouflage tank top. he jerked back and forth to the beat, his hands slapping against her hips. “beware of the groove….” she raised her arms above her head and spun around to face him. his hands caressed her hips and pulled her toward him. the tempo of the music sped up and the pounding japanese drum beat returned. another round of fireworks lit up the sky, this time showering the crowd in red and green light. “the groove…the rhythm in which he lives his life….” aimee watched as the colors fell back to earth. she staggered away from the boy, dizziness washing over her. “beware the groove….”

a bright pink pacifier dangled from the corner of tina cowan’s lips. her tanned face glistened with sweat, reflecting the rainbow of fireworks. the brown-skinned boy dancing between her and michala grinned, his eyes fixed on her breast straining against her tartan’s t-shirt. michala’s hands slid around his waist and grabbed the bulge in his denim shorts. “don’t throw off his groove….” a trio of hispanic boys dressed in florescent windbreakers leaned against a maroon impala parked by the pier passing around a thickly rolled joint. one of the boys, a short, muscular boy with a ring of tattoos around his neck, nodded toward the crowd. the other two turned to see a gang of asian boys making their way through the crowd. the three of them pushed away from the car and followed them. “boom baby….” dj redrum cued up queen’s bicycle race looping freddy mercury voice singing, “i want to….” “boom baby….” aimee staggered away from the boy with the dreadlocks. her jaw clenched tightly, grinding her teeth. the music was ringing in her ears. her eyes glazed over and the crowd seemed to disappear. her head hurt. stevie ray vaughn’s solo from david bowie’s lets’ dance ripped through the wall of sounds. the pacifier slipped from tina’s mouth as she abruptly lunged toward michala and her boyfriend. his grin widened. she quickly recovered her balance and an angry scowl crossed her face. she turned to see three boys in bright green jackets hurrying through the crowd. another fireworks display lit up the sky in the shape of a pyramid. aimee closed her eyes. heat washed over her. the boy she’d been dancing with took a hesitant step toward her, a puzzled look on his face. “boom baby….” tina started after the boys. the rain of fireworks lit up the crowd. through the crowd, tina saw aimee stumble backward and fall. she quickly turned

back to michala and grabbed her by the arm. drums and a shrill keyboard riff followed the stevie ray vaughn solo. a wave rolled through the crowd. aimee struggled to get her eyes to focus on the boy kneeling over her. he grabbed her by her arms, shook her, slapped her. he was saying something, but his words were lost in a fog of dull noise. freddy mercury wailed, “i want to ride….” tina grabbed a fistful of the boy’s dreadlocks and yanked, abruptly pulling him away from the girl lying in the dirt. a kick from michala’s stumpy legs sent him tumbling onto his back. she started after him again then abruptly stopped as his gaze turned to aimee. the girl lay motionless, her eyes wide open staring up at the lights dancing across the sky. tina picked her up. she looked back at the boy and the two of them quickly headed for the lake. “i want to ride….” michala ran ahead of tina, clearing a path. tears streaked through her eyeliner. another explosion of color lit the night sky. the crowd by the mr. whippets truck turned and gawked at the girls sprinting toward the lake and burst into laughter. tina staggered into the cool water. she brushed the tears from her face with her shoulder and looked back at the boy. they gently lowered aimee into the water. “i want to ride….” her eyes fluttered. her jaw unclenched and she gasped for air. tina dropped to her knees. aimee’s head dropped below the water. she shut her eyes quickly then bolted upright. michala knelt beside her and the three of them wrapped their arms around each other. a fat hispanic woman sat on the metal bench at the back of the holding cell. she

was dressed in a dingy t-shirt with the puerto rican flag painted on it and a pair of dirty denim jeans that looked as if they were about to burst at the seams. her thick, curly black and gray hair was tied back with a red bandana. she glared at christina sitting on the floor by the bars nervously tapping her feet. a lustful grin spread across the woman’s face. she brushed the purplish bruise on her cheek with the back of her hand and winked at the girl. “fuck off,” christina grunted. “yeah, i’m gone get some o’ that tonight,” the woman said and ran her hands along the inside of her thighs. her tongue flicked out over her lips. the skinny brown-skinned woman leaning against wall looked down at the girl and chuckled. christina looked up at the woman then turned her eyes back to the hispanic woman. she blew the girl a kiss and waved. “i said, fuck off,” christina sneered. “you been at it for the last four and a half hours and it still ain’t funny.” “oh i ain’t tryin’ to be funny” she stood and started toward the girl. “see what you done got y’self into,” the skinny brown-skinned woman said. she pushed away from the wall and slowly stepped between her and christina. “an’ fa what?” christina stood, tossing a glance back at the hispanic woman. she was taller than her by almost a foot, but the woman looked like she could handle herself against just about anybody. she took a deep breath, step backward and clenched her fist. “leave her alone, brenda.” the hispanic woman looked over at the short stocky brunette woman staring at her from the far side of the cell and flashed her an angry glare. “mind your business, puta.” “four hours you been sittin’ here…,” the brown skinned woman said. she glanced over at brenda and nodded toward her vacant seat. “it’s obvious he ain’t comin’.” “he’ll be here,” christina mumbled. she glanced over her shoulder again at the metal doors leading out of the lock-up. “yeah, well…,” the brunette started. “i wouldn’t be makin’ no plans.” the girl looked over at her but said nothing. the brown skinned woman leaned against the bars. she eyed the girl a moment then looked over at brenda again. “you just betta’ watch ya’ back.”

“he’s gonna come for me,” christina said. “he loves me.” the brunette let out a laugh. “he loves you,” the brown-skinned woman said and shook her head. “what do you even know about this guy, you said you met him on your computer.” she turned away from her. “he cares about me,” she said. “which is more than i can say about the rest of the assholes in my life.” “an’ what if he turns out to be another asshole…?” “he’s not like that.” “how do you know,” the brunette said. “he could be just like all the other dicks out there…lyin’ jus’ to get a piece a ass.” “he’s not,” christina barked. “you been in here four and a half hours,” the brown-skinned woman said and folded her arms across her chest. “waitin’ on him…puttin’ up with brenda’s shit….” she looked across the room and found the fat hispanic woman staring at her. “stole your momma’s car….” christina looked back at her. “i didn’t steal it.” “this guy love you so much, wouldn’t he be here by now?” she looked the girl over, glanced at brenda and smirked. “girlfriend, you better snap out of it.” christina stared at her a moment then shook her head and stared out through the bars at the metal doors on the far side of the room. chauncey wilks leaned against the row of rusted metal file cabinets and drained the last of his can of sprite. his head was throbbing. in fact his body ached all over. he rolled the empty can across his forehead in a futile attempt to cool off. he wanted to sit down, but he knew if he did sleep would surely follow. he pitched the empty can into the waste basket beside detective harris’ desk, wiped the sweat from his forehead with the palm of his hand and took a deep breath. a young olive-skinned man sat at detective wright’s desk, his left arm shackled to the top drawer. the heavy-set, middle aged blond woman sat at her typewriter with her back to him filling out his arrest report. he looked across the squadroom at the arson investigator and sneered then turned back to the woman.

wilks shook his head. he took the neon blue duncan imperial out of his pocket, slipped his ring finger through the loop at the end of the string and let the yoyo spin down the length of its string. he quickly jerked his wrist and it jumped back up the twisted string, looped over his hand and disappeared into his palm. “wilks…,” a voice said. chauncey turned to see detective crane striding toward him followed by a tall slender built man. he tucked the yoyo back into his pocket and pushed away from the file cabinets. “captain…,” detective crane said. “this is lieutenant wilks from arson.” captain cummings gave the man a quick nod. “you think the fireworks explosion was arson?” wilks nodded back. “definitely.” he wiped his head again then shook off a wave of dizziness. “but somebody wanted to make it look like an accident.” he glanced over at wallace then back at the captain. “in the rubble, shadow found traces of nitric acid….” cough. “excuse me…urea nitrate….” “shadow…?” the captain said. “k-nine officer.” he sighed. “and this nitrate stuff…?” “highly unstable explosive, it’s the same stuff terrorist used when they hit the world trade center in ‘93.” wilks said. “whoever did this must have expected the fire to destroy the evidence, it looks as if it was packed in with the fireworks.” he watched as captain cummings ran his hands through his hair and turned away from him. wallace looked back at the stack of folders on his desk. “that’s a lot of trouble to go through just to cover up a murder,” the captain said. “maybe it’s not just one murder,” wallace said. he looked back at the captain then snatched the folder from his desk and held it up. “invoices from everyone who bought fireworks from bam.” “you think they’re planning something bigger?” “only explanation i can think of.” wilks nodded in agreement. “get…,” captain cummings said and pointed to the folder. he stopped abruptly, his

eyes fixed on his hand. his ring finger was twitching rapidly. he quickly curled his hand into a fist then looked up at wallace. “find out where those fireworks went, i wanna know yesterday before this whole town starts blowing up.” “you ok, cap’n?” he nodded. “you get anything else from mister safawi’s apartment?” “he’s not coming back to it,” he said. “it’s cleaned out ‘cept for what he didn’t think he’d need.” “get wright and harris to go check it out.” “ok…any word from the feds?” the captain shook his head. “not yet,” he said and frowned. “damn…,” wallace sighed. he made his way back around his desk and dropped into his chair. wilks watched captain cummings slip back into his office then turned his attention to detective crane. “he gonna be alright?” he shrugged and shook his head. “whatever it is, he’s not talking about it,” he said and opened the folder. “help me with these, will ya’.” the flashing lights of a highway patrol car snapped david wilson out of his trance as he made his way north along i65. he let his foot off the gas and eased the pearl white stype jaguar into the passing lane. the speedometer slowly ticked backward from eighty. by the time he passed the trooper, who had pulled over a group of kids in a mustang, he was doing a comfortable sixty. “you have an incoming call,” the female voice of the dashboard computer said. he tapped the speaker button on the steering wheel. “yeah…?” “where are you?” sharon said, a hint of anger in her voice. “i’m on my way now,” david said. a small smile crept across his face. “how are things going?” “oh…just great,” she said, sarcasm replacing the anger. “adrianne showed up about half an hour ago. she’s now working on her third glass of wine. denise is here, pissed off because randy didn’t want to come….” she sighed. “and your daughter still isn’t back yet.”

“what?” “she said she was going to the mall with some friends,” sharon said. “she hasn’t been home since.” “you try her cell phone?” “no answer,” she said. “i left two messages.” david let out a long sigh. “i’ll head back toward the mall,” he said. “see if i can find her.” “hurry…,” sharon said. “i don’t know how much longer i can take this.” “alright,” he chuckled and switched off the phone. he took a deep breath then let it out slowly. above the amber glow of the city lights, an explosion of red, white and blue fireworks lit the sky. randy marquez felt sick. butterflies were swirling around his empty stomach. the palms of his hands were coated with sweat. a nervous grin played on his lips. he sat in the parking lot of the pike county police station behind the wheel of his silver mini cooper staring at the glass doors of the modest two story-redbrick building. he took a deep breath then stepped out of the car. a tall, wiry built man with a hard, pale face stood behind the weathered oak counter of the police station. he glared at the skinny black man as he crossed the slate gray marble floor. “can i help you?” he grunted. randy looked up at him. “yeah…,” he said and cleared his throat. “i’m here to bail out a friend of mine.” “your friend’s name…?” “christina lightfoot.” the desk officer gave him a suspicious stare. he turned to the file cabinet at the far end of the counter and drew out a form along with a clipboard. he handed them to randy then plucked a pen from his pocket. “fill this out,” he said. “and i’ll need to see some id.” the guard over the lock-up of the pike county sheriff’s station was a stubby redheaded woman in an ill-fitting brown uniform. a ring of keys dangled from the loop of

her belt just above her right pocket. a weary scowl was etched on her pale round face. she checked the list attached to her battered clipboard then pushed her way through the metal door leading to the women’s holding area. “christina lightfoot step forward,” she said, stopping just short of arms length from the cell. the girl looked up at her then leapt to her feet. “that’s me,” she said, walking toward the bars. “i’m christina.” “step back from the bars, please,” the guard said. she abruptly stopped in her tracks. a smile split her face as the woman opened the cell. she looked back at brenda and raised her middle finger. “bitch…,” the fat hispanic woman said. the guard glared at the hispanic woman and shook her head then turned her attention back to the girl. “your bail has been posted, you’re being released into the custody of one randall james marquez.” tears swelled in christina’s eyes as she slowly walked out of the cramped jail cell. the guard quickly slammed the gate shut. her gaze lingered on the girl’s thick tanned legs a moment. she stepped past her and lead the way back through the metal doors. “you are not to leave the jurisdiction pike county.” christina took a deep breath. her heart was racing. god, she needed a cigarette. she closed her eyes as she reached for the door. she missed and the edge of the door smacked against her temple. the guard looked back at her and frowned. “you are not to be in the company of any known felons,” she said and continued on down the hall. “you will be notified within ten business days when you’ll need to appear at the pike county courthouse for you formal arraignment….” a lump rose in christina’s throat. she could feel her body start to tremble as she followed the guard out into the nearly empty waiting room. a trickle of tears crept over the curve of her puffy cheeks. “if you fail to appear in court on your due date,” the guard continued. “your bail will be forfeited and a warrant will be issued for your arrest.” half a dozen people were scattered across the lobby of the police station. randy

stood by the door staring out at the night. occasionally a burst of fireworks would rise above the tree line. he pushed away from the door and started to pace across the entrance when he saw christina hesitantly walking toward him. she stared nervously across the room at the slender brown skinned man. he took a step toward her and a slight smile showed on his face. she smiled back. “do you understand the rules i’ve just explained to you?” the guard asked. christina nodded half-heartedly then bolted across the room. she threw her arms around randy and held him tightly. tears streamed down her face. “i’m so glad to see you…,” she whispered. “you’re all i’ve been thinking about.” he glanced around the lobby and saw the short red-headed guard staring at them. his eyes fluttered. he took a deep breath and swallowed the lump rising in his own throat. christina brushed the tears from her cheek with the palm of her hand. “i love you so much.” he reluctantly wrapped his arms around her waist. his eyes closed and he let his drawn breath escape. the reflection of the fireworks danced along the rim of vivienne yeo’s glass of riesling. “well…monday it’s back to london,” she announced and took a sip of her drink. she set her glass on the faux stone patio table and brushed the stray strands of hair from her face. chuck looked up from his slice of lemon cheesecake, a look of annoyance on his face. “for how long?” he said, feigning interest. “a week,” she said and glanced over at him. “then germany for two weeks and a stop in madrid.” she stroked the stem of the glass as she watched him finish off his desert. “i wish the stay in london were longer. i really like it there.” “london’s cool.” he shot a glance at sharon standing on the patio. “i spent a month over there setting up one of our offices.” sharon checked her watch again then glared at viviane over the rim of her glass. she rolled her eyes, swallowed the last of her drink then spun on her heels and headed back into the house.

“i know he’s cheatin’ on me,” the slender black woman grumbled. she sat at the marble island in the center of the kitchen cradling her half empty glass. “bastard.” verdine shook her head and watched denise stab the twisted neon green straw at the remnants of her grape margarita. “make him pay, ‘niese,” she chuckled. she looked up at sharon heading for the refrigerator and a small smile turned the corner of her mouth. “so how long is this…woman gonna be here?” she said. sharon shook her head in frustration and set her glass on the counter. “whenever her little brat shows up,” she mumbled. “where is that girl, she was supposed to be here an hour ago?” she and pulled another bottle of pinot gregio from the wire mesh wine rack. “her father’s not helping.” “hold on there, miss thang,” verdine said. she stepped around the island and grabbed the bottle of white wine. “you’re not drinking anymore.” “verdy…,” she sighed. denise spun around on her stool, a grin on her face. “have you forgotten about the little one?” sharon glanced over at her. “the doctor said it was ok,” she said. “i’m in my second trimester….” verdine glared at her. “girl, you know you better shut up now.” she slid the bottle back into the rack. “i was twice your size when i was carrying tiara.” sharon leaned against the counter and tried to fight the smile creeping across her face. the patio door slid open. she turned around startled and saw viviane standing in the doorway. “so where is my little brat?” she said, glared at sharon. “i…,” she started. “out with her friends,” verdine said and headed back to her stool beside the island. “like any other teenager.” viviane stared at her a moment. “david only got her because the judge thought he was the more stable parent.” she folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the door. “and by the way…where is he?” “working,” sharon said. “figures,” she snorted.

“at least he spends time with her,” sharon barked. “when’s the last time you saw her?” “who…,” viviane said. “my little brat.” “you know i didn’t mean it that way.” “but that’s what you said.” she stepped toward her. sharon sighed and ran her fingers through her curly hair. “viviane….” “i have a job, a job that requires me to travel a lot….” “and that’s more important than your daughter?” sharon said. verdine stood. “just calm down,” she barked then shot a glance at sharon. “you don’t need to be getting’ all worked up over nothin’.” her attention quickly turned to viviane slowly backing away from them. “and you ain’t gonna be talking down to my sister like that.” for a moment silence filled the room. “i didn’t…,” viviane started. she covered her mouth and let out a dry cough. “i didn’t come here to start a fight.” another cough caught her off guard. she shook her head and tried to clear her throat. “i was invited over for a nice dinner and to see my daughter….” cough. “neither of which i’ve done.” sharon started toward her then felt verdine’s heavy hand land on her shoulder. she looked up at the woman, jaw clenched and rolled her eyes. “just let it go, sharon,” she mumbled. viviane cleared her throat again. “so…,” she started, her gaze darting between the two women. “i guess i’ll be going.” she glanced over at verdine then stepped past her and headed for the door. a stream of tears trickled down greg’s face as he made his way east on monument avenue. his heart beat hard against his chest. behind him, a blast of fireworks exploded over the river. he looked back at the mushroom of color then down to the crowd spilling into the street from monument square. he shook his head, brushed the tears from his eyes and continued up the street. he slumped onto the bench of the bus stop on the corner monument and pine street bus stop, pulled the last of the dime bag of marijuana out of the pocket of his shorts and

stared at it. a tickle rose up the back of his throat. he lurched forward, coughing and dropped the tiny glassine bag between his legs. “fuck…,” he hissed as he caught his breath. he ran the back of his hand across his face wiping away a film of sweat and spittle and picked up the baggie. tears swelled behind his eyes. he fished a crumpled pack of zig zags out of his pocket along with a gold toned lighter. he unfolded one of the sheets of cigarette paper, creased it and sprinkled the remains of the bag into the crease. he quickly rolled the cigarette, pinching the ends together then licked the open edge, sealing it. the blue flame of the lighter sprang to life. as he brought the flame up to the cigarette, he caught his reflection in the silver lettering along the side of it. a fresh spring of tears crept over the rim of his eyes ran down his cheeks. another burst of fireworks lit the sky. greg looked up startled. he wiped his eyes then quickly lit the end of the cigarette and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with pungent smoke. his body bucked forward as another spasm of coughs came up in a puff of smoke. he cleared his throat again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing a trail of blood across his cheek. ***** jessica walton laughed, spilling the last swallow of her budweiser across the front of her dirty denim shorts. “oh fuck…,” she said then quickly covered her mouth. she looked over at roland sitting beside her on the edge of the fountain. “those were some good times,” he said. a boyish grin stretched across his round pale face. he glanced across the square at the band of middle-aged men on stage muddling their way through the beatles revolution. “well…,” jessica said and stood. she quickly brushed the beer from her shorts then ran her hand through her thin blond hair. “they wouldn’t have been without you.” roland looked up at her and smiled. “ok…,” he mumbled. “now you’re just being nice.” “no….” she laid her hand on his shoulder as she stepped over the edge of the fountain into the chilly pool of water. “if it weren’t for you i don’t think i would have made it through high school,” she said and sat down.

he shook his head. “you had bobbie” she glanced up at him, a puzzled look on her face. “bobbie…?” “yeah, bobbie pernot,” he said. “bobbie the brain.” jessica rolled her eyes. “oh…that little guy.” she smirked. “he was sweet.” she gave roland a slight nudge. “but you were fun.” he gave her a sideways glance. “you always wanted to study with him,” he said. “i was jealous.” “of bobbie…?” he nodded. a group of teenagers ran past the fountain waving sparklers. jessica chuckled. “look at you,” she squealed. “big time jaguar dealer.” “bobbie’s got his own web development company,” he said and glanced back at her. jessica glanced over at the stage then at the line by the beer truck. “how boring is that?” she said and slowly turned her attention back to roland. they stared at each other through an awkward moment. “you know,” she sighed. “i always liked you.” he arched his eyebrow surprised. “really…?” she nodded curtly then turned her eyes to the clay tiles lining the bottom of the fountain. the band on stage broke into is she really going out with him by joe jackson. roland’s gaze moved over the curves of her lean frame down to her long slender legs and her pink toes making circles in the water. he abruptly looked away and found her staring back at him. “you were the only one…,” she started then turned her eyes back down to the water. “you made me feel special.” a nervous smile flittered across her pale lips. she shook her head. “i…i kinda had a reputation.” “jessie…,” he groaned. she looked over at him again. “at least you didn’t make me feel like….” she glanced over at the beer truck again. “like i was the school slut,” she mumbled. roland laid his hand on hers and their eyes met. she leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek.

the color was slowly seeping from captain cumming’s face. the tremble in his left hand was getting worse. he set his cup of coffee on detective harris’ desk, rubbed his eyes then threw a quick glance around the squad room at the half a dozen detectives gathered around detective crane and the boyish looking arson investigator. “…a shipments of aerial repeater, mortars and fountain displays went to dallas,” wallace said. he thumbed through the stack of invoices then dropped them onto his desk. “the same type set-up was shipped to grand rapids, cleveland, freehold new jersey and atlanta.” the phone on detective wright’s desk rang. she quickly picked it up and wedged it between her shoulder and ear. “homicide….” wilks slumped into his seat beside wallace’s desk and hung his head. a cold chill swept over him. he ran his hand across his forehead, brushing away a film of sweat. “smaller shipments of the same type of pyrotechnics went to tulsa, san francisco and here,” wallace continued. he took a deep breath then cleared his throat. “a batch was sold to beanie enterprises and a batch was bought by the city.” “anybody contact any of those customers yet?” harris asked. wallace checked his watch. “it may already be too late to contact jersey or anybody on the east coast.” he handed the detective a handful of invoices. “i need you to contact everybody from grand rapids to frisco.” “and what am i tellin’ ’em?” “that they may have some deadly fireworks on their hands….” wilks let out a small cough. “i don’t think they’re shipping nitric acid,” he said, trying to clear his throat. wallace looked down at the arson investigator. “then what?” “nitric acid is too unstable to ship as cargo,” he said. “you’d need something like a tanker or something. these guys don’t seem like they’re that thorough.” “wally…,” detective wright said. “yeah…?” he said and turned to face her. “it’s the coroner.”

jason sibole could barely see the glittering fireworks display raining down over the city skyline. his pale blue eyes were nearly swollen shut. he let his dusty white pick-up drift across the center line along county line road until it came to an abrupt halt in the drainage ditch on the other side. he grabbed his .44 from the glove compartment and staggered out of the car. his chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. sweat poured down his face. “fuck ‘em all,” he hissed as he dropped to his knees. a burst of light illuminated the darkness above the grove of pine trees across the road. jason looked up startled. a crooked grin curled the corner of his mouth. he started to laugh and trickle of blood ran over his lips. he pressed the barrel of the .44 under his chin, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. the report of the gunshot mingled with the sound of yet another blast above the city. jason’s headless body rose up from the ground slightly then toppled over. ***** “what you got for me, ellen?” detective crane said, striding across the lime green tiled floor of the examination of the dunbar county morgue. he was headed toward the woman was hunkered over the charred corpse lying on the stainless steel table. she looked up at him and smirked. “you rushin’ me?” she glanced at the faded gold watch on her wrist. “i should be knee deep in crab cakes and fried okra by now.” she gave him another glance and a wink. “and working on my third coors light.” wallace grabbed a stool and pulled it up to the table. “you know...,” he said, grinning. “if i were forty years older....” ellen glared at him above the rim of her glasses then shook her head and turned her attention back to the body. “i heard about gloria,” she said and smirked. “how you dealin’ with it?” he sighed. “it’s been a long enough day as it is, ellen,” he said. “i was supposed to meet her…them three hours ago.” he let out a dry cough and ran his hand across his forehead. “what can you tell me about mister charcoal?” “well...,” she said and pushed away from the table. “your mister meerza didn’t die

as a result of the explosion.” she turned to face him. “what...?” he said. “look at him.” ellen took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “had he been killed in the blast, there would have been more blood.” she looked over at the body again then stood. “the heat cauterized the wounds, but the blood had already congealed, settling in his lower back.” detective crane stared back at her with a blank expression on his face. “blood...fluids drain to the lowest part of the body…blood congeals as the body temperature drops….” she said. “he was sitting up when he died or somebody propped him up afterward.” he leaned forward. “so...what was the cause of death?” “come here,” she said and stood. he grudgingly pushed himself up from the chair, walked over to the table and stared down at the naked torso. ellen pointed her gloved hands at a cluster of lesions across the right side of it. “what’s that look like to you?” she said. he shrugged. “i don’t know...blisters...from the fire…,” he said. “maybe scarring caused by the explosion….” she backed away from him and turned to the counter by the sink. a dictionary size text book lay open beside the basin. she thumbed through the pages then turned back to the detective. “my best guess is its tularemia,” she said. “what?” “rabbit fever,” she said. “it may take me a couple of days to know for sure, but all the signs are there…the lesions…abscessed glands along the jaw and armpits….” her gaze turned back to the body. “he’s been dead at least twenty-four hours.” “so…so…,” detective crane started. he sat back down. “how would he get it?” “it’s pretty common,” she said. “not around here, but it’s not unusual.” he let out another cough then sighed. “so….” ellen stared back at him. “it’s also on a list of bio-agents,” she said. “a terrorist weapon.” wallace sat up. he stared at her stunned. he backed away from the body. “is it

contagious?” she shook her head. “due to the extent of the damage to the body and the fact that he’s been deceased for some time, the risk of contamination is minimal,” she said then sighed heavily. “unless you come in contact with any bodily fluids.” she ran her forearm across her head. wallace stared at her then at the blood staining the front of her apron. “ellen…,” he said. “you ok?” she stared back at him then slowly nodded. “i’ll be fine, boy,” she said and flashed a weak smile. gillian lay on the grass beside the river bank and stared up at the fading display of colors. as the twinkling red, white and blue lights disappeared, a ribbon of stars appeared creating an arch across the black background. she smiled. a feeling of warmth washed over her. the arch of white lights turned to an explosion of fire, the flames falling down on the river like huge drops of rain. her lips slowly parted. “wow…,” she whispered. the fire swirled around itself matching the heavy drum beat of the music. the lights slowly burned out. gillian fluttered her eyes. “did you jus’ see that?” she said. she turned her eyes to ronnie and found him lying beside her. his arm was draped across her lap as he carefully undid the buttons of her cargo pants. “what are you doing?” she chuckled. he looked up at her. “nothin’,” he whispered and pressed his fingers to his lips. “shhh.” “ronnie….” “shhh.” he slid his hand inside the open flap in her pants. gillian pushed away from him. “ronnie….” “what…?” he said, grinning. “come on.” he grabbed her leg and flicked his tongue at her. a burst of green and white light lit the sky above the river. gillian scrambled away from him and stood. she looked back at the boy then staggered toward the levy.

“gill….” she bolted up the concrete staircase into the crowd of people gathered on monument square. dizziness swept over her. the noise of the crowd pounded inside her head. she pushed her way through the group of drunken revelers dancing in front of the stage, past a pair of clowns twisting balloons into the shape of animals. a trio of gypsy boys on silver bmx bikes cut in front of her. she stopped and watched as they darted out into the street, weaving their way through traffic. “greg…,” she yelled her eyes scanning the crowd. “greg.” detective crane draped his sport coat across the passenger seat of the crown victoria and slid behind the wheel. he slumped back in the seat and stared up at the dull white façade of the dunbar county crime lab. “fuck…,” he sighed angrily and slammed his fist against the steering wheel then dug the keys out of his pocket and started up the car. the cell phone in his jacket rang as he pulled out of the lot onto second street. he glanced over at it irritated then turned his attention back to the road. a lump rose in his throat. he took a deep breath, shook his head then reached for the phone. “yeah…?” he said, wedging it between his ear and shoulder. “wallace…,” captain cummings said. “i just got off the phone with the fbi.” “shit,” he hissed. “they’re on their way down here,” the captain continued. “we got a situation.” detective crane nodded. “yeah…i know.” a barrage of fireworks lit the sky painting the darkness red, white and blue. “it looks like the fireworks were being packed with something else,” the captain said. “we don’t know what yet….” “they’re bombs,” wallace said. the car bounced through the intersection of second and canada street. “what?” captain cummings said. he made a hard right onto prince avenue and headed for monument square. “bombs…,” he said again. “the fireworks were packed with some kinda disease.” he stared ahead as another array of light illuminated the crowd gathered on the square. “they

were packing the fireworks with a virus.” “jesus…,” he groaned. “they got us again,” wallace said and dropped the phone on the seat. he brought the car to a halt at the curb in front of hart’s photography studio then ran toward the crowd. a young girl dressed in a pair of dirty cargo pants and a dingy camouflage tank top bounced along the edge of the crowd. “greg…,” she shouted. detective crane pushed past her. he threw a quick glance at the band on stage as their song came to an end then headed toward them. he flashed his badge at a pair of uniformed police officers guarding the stairs leading onto the stage then grabbed the burly black officer with the shaved head and pulled him aside. “we’ve got an emergency situation…,” he shouted over another barrage of fireworks. he glanced back at the crowd. “we…we need to get these people out of here right now.” “what’s going on?” the burly young officer said. he looked out over the sea of people then turned his attention back the detective. he was doubled over, coughing. “you alright, detective?” detective crane looked up at him and nodded. he stood, regaining his balance. “we gotta get these people out of here,” he said and started for the stage. “what’s the problem?” the burly cop’s partner said. wallace turned to face him. “the fireworks…,” he gasped. a pair of rockets shot into the air twirling around each other. as they reached their apex, burst into an array of golden light. wallace climbed the stairs onto the stage. he stumbled over a tangle of cables snaking across the platform and grabbed one of the microphones. “ladies and gentlemen…,” he started. gloria stood by the railing over-looking the river. she was smiling as she stared up at the lights. her attention turned to the stage as she heard his voice. beside her was a stocky blond haired boy. she raised her hand, displaying the ring on her left hand. the microphone slipped from detective crane’s hand. he started to cough. he closed his eyes and began to cry.