The Singularity

1. Day Off

Day Off

It was a quarter past nine in the morning when the first call came through.

I didn’t answer. The phone buzzed to life on the coffee-stained nightstand next to me.

I wasn’t expecting a work call on my only day off, but here we are.

The lights are off, and the room is dark.

Pitch black almost. I reached out to the nightstand carefully so as not to topple a half-empty bottle of scotch.

The phone hadn’t stopped vibrating. It must be serious.

“This is Detective Hernandez. Go ahead,” I groaned into the receiver. Several voices jumped out at once. Like being in a nightclub, I could barely make out what the person was saying. “What? I can’t understand —.”

“We need you to come in!” The man yelled into the phone, his voice overshadowing those around him. “I’m sorry for calling you on your day off, Detective Hernandez, but it’s important.”

“That’s fine. What’s going on? Where do you need me?” I replied as I stumbled to my feet. My head was throbbing and my legs felt heavy. Sluggish. A night of moderate drinking will do that to you.

“It’s Micah. We need you downtown by the park. A jewelry shop was hit last night,” Micah said.

“By the bay? You must be joking. They opened a new station across the street. And they got away?”

The line went silent, and for a second, I thought he’d hung up.

“We called in Detective Paul. He’s already on scene, but he asked me to call you in as well.”

“Why the hell would he suggest—” I replied with angst.

“He said he’d explain when you got here. Said it’s important and that you’d understand,” Micah said. “He said it’s related to the Collins case you’re working on.”

I stumbled into the kitchen where I whipped up some instant coffee in a can.

Its aroma was stronger than the other brands and sported quite a kick, too.

Perfect for helping to mask the alcohol in my breath.

I took a sip and swished it around like mouthwash.

The taste was foul, but it got the job done.

“Collins? Alright, I’m on my way,” I said, hanging up the phone.

I just got that case last month. I haven’t even updated the captain; how did he find out about it?

I pondered as I dressed myself quickly, grabbed my standard-issue Glock and other personal items before heading to the front door.

I had hoped to leave without being noticed, but the old bastard’s hearing was sharp as ever.

He slowly made his way to the door and stopped short of the entry mat; he didn’t like the prickly feeling on his paws.

“Fred. I need to go,” I said, bending down.

He was a spry old dog. Hardworking in his youth, now comfortably retired and living with me.

Fred had spent most of his life working in narcotics for the county; German shepherds are great K-9’s for drug work.

But when he got too old, he was placed in a foster home, only to be returned to the city the next day.

Apparently, he didn’t get along with the other dogs, too anti-social and combative.

My captain immediately thought of me when he learned of the dog and suggested I care for it.

I couldn’t refuse, unfortunately, as I owed him a favor after a little dust-up in a restaurant downtown.

“Ruff!” Fred barked, baring his teeth at me. He approached slowly with a devilish grin and sniffed my hand before giving it a sly lick. Then went off into the kitchen to stuff his face in the chicken and liver kibble I bought him the night before.

A chill hit me as soon as I stepped out.

Even though it was December, the temperature was unusually comfortable here in Miami.

Still, I grabbed my oat-colored light jacket before I left, hid my service pistol, and tucked my badge under the palm-adorned shirt.

The neighborhood was abnormally quiet today.

There was little traffic and seldom did I see a bicyclist or runner.

As I drove down Key Biscayne, its streets lined with palm trees, the thought of taking a vacation crossed my mind; the captain won’t be too happy about it.

Having moved in only two months prior, I was still getting used to the area.

My old man left me the home he retired in after serving thirty years in the military, and now it was up to me to fulfill his dying wish.

Made me promise him I’d never sell the home.

Stubborn old man, he was. Fred reminds me of him in some ways.

And maybe that’s why I’ve taken a liking to him. Regardless, I appreciate his company.

I wove through traffic in the old Ford cruiser they gave me last week after the previous car was totaled.

It wasn’t my fault. Though the captain still hasn’t let up about it.

After spending the better part of an hour stuck in traffic behind an obnoxious tourist, I made it to the crime scene.

The streets were all closed in every direction.

Cordoned off by yellow tape with a police cruiser behind it.

I parked up the road behind a TV station van that had arrived moments before.

The reporter was rummaging through her bag, and the driver was messing with the camera as I strolled on by.

There must be a connection to the Collins robbery last month if Jean called me in.

He knew I was off today, but I’d make an exception if it involved the punks who did the pawn shop on Collins Road.

Initially, the Collins case looked like a normal strong-arm robbery when I arrived.

That was until we opened an old safe, rusted and black, in the office area.

They had robbed the place of everything valuable: cash, jewelry, weapons, and stuffed the owner into the large safe.

It looked like one out of a western, the type you’d see at a railroad station or an old bank.

We even had to get a specialist to open it.

That’s where we found the old man. Dead.

Apparently, he suffered a heart attack from the entire ordeal and passed away some time later.

Ever since then, I’ve been on the lookout for the trio that hit the pawn shop.

Two weeks after that robbery, they hit a little jewelry store on the outskirts of the city.

In and out in less than five minutes. They moved the snatched items in stolen cars.

Dressed in all black, with ski masks, and sporting weapons likely stolen from the pawnshop.

How’d I get into robbery? Well, it’s what I enjoyed doing the most. When I was a kid, I had my bike stolen, and it pissed me off to no end.

I really liked that bike; unfortunately, I never saw it again.

Although the criminals I’m dealing with today have evolved from petty crimes into something more nefarious.

Working in teams, coordinated by larger international criminal groups, they prey on people and businesses throughout my city.

To make matters worse, the city’s budget was cut after a new mayor came in and forced departments to downsize, leaving me drowning in cases, struggling to stay afloat.