2. Silver & Gold
Silver he let me pass.
The street had been emptied, and the only things at the center of the intersection were broken glass and spent shell casings.
Bullet holes riddled the store, and some even hit across the street.
“It’s a miracle no one died,” ran through my mind as I approached.
I looked around for any security cameras, speed cameras, or residents who lived nearby that might have seen something.
A street cop was taking notes from potential witnesses; and just across the street, a crime scene van had parked opposite the intersection, where the technicians were already busy snapping pictures.
There was no blood pool. No streaks or splashes of blood leading to or from the store. It looked like no one was hit outside.
“Detective Hernandez. Glad you could make it,” Detective Paul quipped.
He was older than me, but you couldn’t tell at first glance.
A triathlon champion, detective Jean Paul could run circles around me and still have enough energy to finish his shift.
Though I could never get used to his fashion sense.
He always dressed as if he were on vacation.
Fitted with colorful shirts adorned with palm trees and white linen pants.
Or shorts with a funky t-shirt and a straw hat.
Hard to take him seriously when he dressed for work this way, but he got things done.
And he was good at it, too. “Tell me, do you recognize this ride?”
He pulled out a photo that looked like a still from a security camera.
“Do you recognize it?” he said as the crime scene technician snapped a picture behind us.
It was a dark van. An older model Ford, like the work van used by plumbers all around town.
Except this one had black tinted windows and a spare on the front right tire.
They also scratched out a company logo on the side door haphazardly.
“Yeah, I do. That same van was spotted at the Collins robbery and at the jewelry shop near the airport that was hit last week,” I said, looking inside the jewelry store. The paramedics had finally finished stabilizing someone inside and were on their way out of the store. “Who’s that?”
“A worker. Poor guy just started last week too,” Detective Paul said.
“Did he see anything? Faces or tattoos, or maybe their accent. Were you able to get anything out of him?” I said as we approached the store. Detective Paul glanced down.
“No,” he replied. “It all happened so fast. He never saw the robbery suspects hiding nearby. They rushed inside when he buzzed a regular customer in and held him at gunpoint.”
“And then,” I said, glancing at the carnage inside the store.
Shattered glass was littered everywhere.
The display cases that once held hundreds of exquisite pieces of jewelry, like diamond rings and bracelets, were empty.
The walls behind the counter were riddled with bullet holes, and the main entry door was no more.
“The worker pressed the silent button as the suspects were clearing out the last case. Apparently, one of them saw him move and shot him in the shoulder. That’s when the worker grabbed his own firearm and returned fire from behind that display case right there and the register.
We counted over fifty spent casings in the store and outside; the worker is lucky to be alive. ”
“What about the suspects? Were they wounded? How many of them hit the store?”
“We’ve notified hospitals in the area to let us know if anyone shows up with bullet wounds. As far as how many suspects, I counted three on camera. I don’t know if they had help waiting outside.”
My throat tensed. I went over the past several days in my mind, trying my best to figure out if I had done something wrong.
If I missed some minor detail that would’ve helped me catch these thugs; if I failed to follow a lead through to its end?
They’ve grown bolder since their last hit.
They’ve already killed one person and now almost took the life of another.
This can’t go on much longer. The captain is already breathing down my neck.
Soon the mayor will get involved, and panic will spread throughout the city; it’s an open invitation to copycats who want a piece of the pie.
“How did you know? Who told you about the Collins case?” I said, shaking my head.
“The getaway van had a license plate tag on it. We ran it, not expecting anything, but it came back stolen and associated with one of your cases. I looked into it. They used the same car, with the same tag, to commit this robbery. So, I put out a BOLO for it.”
“Really? Not the smartest lot. Thank you, though, for reaching out. Since I’ve taken this case, it looks like we’ll be working together to catch the geniuses. I still have some work to do, but I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“Yeah, me too,” Detective Paul said, solemnly.
The crime scene technicians were wrapping up their activities, and the yellow tape was removed at one end of the street when I got a text from the captain. It read, “Emergency, come to the station. NOW!”
It was almost noon now. What could be so urgent that he’d just text me instead of calling me?
The only other time he did this was back when I had that minor disagreement at the sushi restaurant downtown.
The whole situation was overblown. Yet, he still blamed me for my car being totaled and the ensuing fire that erupted in the restaurant, consuming it whole.
I headed back to the car, and as I pushed through the crowds, the rows of people had their phones out, smiling and giggling, taking pictures and videos of the crime scene.
“Did you get it?” asked a teen girl near the front.
“Yes! I was live-streaming. Quick, hold the phone,” she replied blankly; then danced for the camera as the crime scene technicians finished packing the samples.
“Quick, ask ChatGPT how to take better pictures because yours suck,” said one to the other.
A life was almost taken, and yet the people here behaved as if they were at a concert.
Indifferent. The shootout had been turned into some sort of freak event for others to celebrate and generate likes.
Promoted by godless algorithms and financed by advertisements. A modern hellscape of indifference.