Kai-Chung (Blogophilia 7.8)

The sign on the Holiday Rd said Kai-Chung Enterprises in blue and yellow script. It was a import-export company catering to the Asian restaurant trade. At least it used to be. Holes and cracks littered the faded plastic. The rust of neglect was everywhere. The red eviction notice swung tattered and lonely on the glass front door, owners lost in the breeze of time. Remains of box trucks covered in Chinese and English script were scattered like abandoned toys. It was a casualty of the recession and greed, another empty shell waiting for another occupant. 

Jackson and the Canine Units drove into the parking lot and went to  the back of the building to unload. It took a few minutes, but Jackson remembered where he was. The building housed the office supply company he worked for in high school and college. The owner, Mr. Shapiro, an older Jewish guy, was the third generation of the family to run it. He was fine as far as white folks went, always speaking respectfully and letting him off when he had tests and stuff. Of course, being black, they did give him the really crappy tasks, like cleaning the ink tanks. For a kid like him it wasn’t bad, with time to study between trucks and it kept gas in the car.  

Kicking a bent wok out of the way, he looked around. He wondered what had happened over the years. The white brick building had seen better days. The Graves abutted the property on the left hand side of the back fence, with undeveloped woods on the right. There was a small creek between the apartment complex and the fence and the building they were interested in was uphill from where they were. Jackson almost immediately knew which way he and gone. 

One of the handlers said it should be easy to spot if the suspect jumped fence, just look for muddy tracks.  Jackson nodded and thought it about a moment. 

“Naw. He didn’t come this way. He’s up in one the buildings, laughing at us.”

The shaved head man agreed with a smirk and gathered the teams at the base of the loading dock. More uniform officers came to join the search. Jackson could hardly hear his own thoughts over the din of energy. They were split them into three teams. The first was to work the warehouse itself, in case in the morning’s madness the suspect did come here to wait out the storm. The other teams were divided to the left and right of the target building to establish a perimeter around the complex. 

The only thing missing from the fox hunt was the bugler. It didn’t take long for one of the dogs to hit on a scent, practically climbing the fence just opposite of the apartment building. Lifting the dog over the rusted, jagged top, the handler whistled and the dog held ground until his humans were able to join him. Jackson followed the German shepherd and his handler as they worked around the right hand side of the building. It was always good to be right. Which abandoned apartment?  Grabbing the radio, he called in the progress.

“O 141. Handlers have a track. Coming around the buildings to your east. Repeat. The buildings to your east.”

Hudgins, Merrimack and Murray were at the monitor watching Hornback perform magic with the robot. The Commander gave the order to bust the back window of the Camry. The young man took the right hand stick and pressed the button at the top. The glass fell like a curtain of diamonds. It was at that point the radio message came through and everybody’s eyebrows rose immediately. Murray quickly looked across the parking lot.

“Cap. He’s over here to our left. Merrimack, let me see those glasses of yours.”

The Bomb Squad Commander pulled the tactical binoculars from the case and went back to watching the robot arm slide into the car. Tentatively, Murray began the reconnaissance of the three buildings, beginning from the car and working left. Since it was already 2:30, the sun was reflecting off of the windows.

“Do these have a glare filter on them?”

Without looking up, the Commander said: “Yeah, slide on the right hand side. You should be able to see in any of the windows.”

The arm of the robot had collected the duct taped mess and had begun traveling back toward the detectives.

Murray fumbled and found the slide, and it made all the difference. He could see shadows of people moving and the outlines of furniture. With any luck at all, he might be able to catch the sight of a curly head peeking around the curtains.

On the other side of the building, the dogs worked along the edge of the woods. The first two doors flew by with almost no notice. When they got to the third building, the dog stopped, confused a moment by the concentration of scent. Circling around, he went out into the woods about ten feet, and then came back. The handler gave a quick command and the dog circled again, then bolted towards the entrance of the third building.  The information was quickly relayed.

“O 141. Track stopped. Building directly to your east.”

Murray began the examination. Methodically, he looked for signs of movement. When he got to the top floor, he noticed the unit on the left was empty. Yeah, if it is anyplace, that’s it. He grabbed the radio.

“O 143. I think I know which unit he’s in. It’s going to be top floor on your right. Do not enter the building yet. Repeat. Do not enter yet. SWAT is on standby.”

Jackson replied.

“Roger, that. O 141. Will stand by.”  Jackson put down the radio and called back to the handlers. “Y’all pull back a bit. SWAT is going to take the entry. We’ll still need you to confirm which unit.

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Soon. 

Yes, soon. 

The Hounds of the Baskervilles were baying and scratching, ready to feast upon my flesh. No warning off these mournful messengers. Oh, no. There is none.

The end is coming. 

Psychic Sandy, the genius, the bitch, was right.

He was in the fields of gold, joining Sarah in the eternal embrace. 

Preparations! What needed to be done? There was a bathroom down the hall. The leaden echo of Mother stared back. Jeremy jumped back horrified. Ruck and wrinkle…is this what the old poem meant? The degradation of flesh for others had always been a given, but not for him. He was immortal and there will be no despair. He turned on the water of life. 

After washing his hands and face, he found a bottle stale perfume left in the medicine cabinet. With a prayer not even he understood, he slowly rubbed it in to his wet skin. He was the anointed before all others. The rot of time is reversed and Gethsemane has returned. Who was Iscariot? It didn’t matter.  

Ablutions complete, the paint can altar was moved from the window to the front door. Offertory and Communion will be performed in the Mass of his own mind. Bomb is placed on the can with a mumbled prayer. The cell phone detonator came to life with a press of the button. 

All that was left was the Congregation to arrive.  

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Topic-Heather Blomquist (Blair)

Pic- Jessica Brooke Miller

Pic Guesses-Fields of Gold (in blog),Golden meadow,Prairie Dreams, Spring, Wildflowers. Coneflowers, Love is in the air.