In Our Darkness - 7. Chapter 7: Insomnia

Jack was not a good sleeper. With each year passing by, he progressively got less and less sleep. It just seemed like time was slipping by, and he couldn’t afford to waste time. Not at his age. After all, as the famous rapper once said, sleep was the cousin of death. And Jack wasn’t ready for that, he still had scores to settle and cases to solve.

In order to stop himself from going to the liquor store and getting sloshed on vodka, he decided to do a bit of his own personal surveillance. He wasn’t on the clock, but this job was his life, whether he was getting paid for it or not. It wasn’t even that he loved it, he just couldn’t live without it. It was a permanent part of him, like his voice or his eye color. It’s what he thought about when he woke up and what he tortured himself over at night while everyone else was asleep. It overshadowed every relationship he ever had, any hobby he tried taking on and even his love of alcohol. The emotions he sometimes felt while performing his duties were stronger than any love or drug. More important than his parents, his wife, and even his son.

He had accepted it now and had long stopped feeling guilty about it. He got in his car and drove around looking for anything out of the ordinary, hoping to find a tiny clue into the Andrews case. It was a Hail Mary, most likely a waste of time, but he had no other ideas and he needed to do something, anything, to feel like he was moving the case forward. Even if it was as futile as driving around hoping to find a needle in a haystack.

The Andrews’ were not coping well, not that he expected them too. No couple could go through this ordeal and cope well. Jack figured if they managed to make it through the next year or two and stay together, it would probably be a miracle.

He knew his nightly search would most likely yield no new information, but he had nothing to lose at this point. And he hated that look on Bryce’s face. That look of disappointment that would shadow her more and more frequently now. Every cop went through it. The phase where you go from idealizing your work as the savior of the city, to realizing you’re not saving anyone, that you’re at best keeping things at bay, and at worst trying to put puzzle pieces together after the fact. That you have no real power to prevent any of the horrific tragedies that take place every single day. The hopelessness of that feeling; the letdown of it all…he couldn’t bare to watch it all play out on her expressive face. It was like having to watch your child learn that there is no Santa Clause. Poof, gone was the fairytale. All that was left now was grim reality. He didn’t want to watch her spark go out in a cloud of disillusionment.

He drove through the city aimlessly, the task growing more futile by the minute. The dark and dirty streets with the homeless sleeping covered in rags and boxes. How could anyone think a city life was beautiful, he wondered. There was nothing more ugly and depressing than concrete man made buildings, housing a few, while others slept on the stoop. He grew more demoralized by the second, when all of a sudden an idea struck him. And this one wasn’t half bad. Definitely might yield more results than aimlessly driving around. And once he had a purpose, he was like a hound on a scent.

He pulled up at to an old warehouse. This was the spot. Homeless, criminals, druggies and dealers. Someone here might know something about a busted up grey Honda being torched. It was at least worth a try. This area of the city was dangerous, and Jack didn’t take any chances, his Glock firmly planted on his hip. Jack was not above shooting or hurting someone in self-defense. He believed in God, but he also believed humans could become less than human very quickly. He went inside of the place through a tarp door. The stench inside was palpable. Urine-stained concrete floors, bodies sprawled out in rags, used syringes, beer cans, old food. This was the trashcan of humanity. This was the devil working overtime. And then, a familiar face.

Jack walked up to him cautiously, not wanting to frighten the large man.

“Ronnie,” he called out gently. Ronnie was a homeless veteran suffering from PTSD. Only 33-years old, but his cocaine and booze addiction had wreaked havoc on his features so that he looked closer to 50. When he heard his name called his head turned with a paranoid quickness.

“Jack-a-roo,” he responded as his shoulders eased up and Jack released an internal sigh of gratitude that the man was sober enough to recognize him, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“How you doing brother?”

“Hanging in there man, hanging in there. What else is there to do?.”

“You know I’m always a phone call away man. Ready to take you to the shelter, to rehab, or any other safe place.” Ronnie smiled wistfully, and for a second Jack saw a young man again.

“You know as well as I do, there ain’t no safe place in this world,” he replied, and the young man disappeared. Jack nodded.

“Listen, I was wondering if you might help me out with something.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I’ve been working on this case for a while, and I’m coming up short. A pregnant woman was hurt very badly, and I’m itching to find the son-of-a-bitch who did it. Do you know of anyone driving around a busted up grey Honda? Or anyone talking about getting into a car wreck recently or wanting to sell or burn a car?”

“This again? Man, this must be one important case,” Ronnie mused.

“What do you mean?”

“Well a guy just came through here about 20 minutes ago asking about the same shit. It was bizarre, seeing him here. I thought it was a prank.” Jack was immediately on high alert.

“What guy?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t catch his name.”

“What did he look like?”

“That’s the funny part. He was tall, white, looked like an actor from a show or something. I don’t know what he’s thinking coming here, he’s gonna lose that fancy watch he was wearing if he’s not careful.”

“Fuck,” Jack replied. This couldn’t be happening. What the hell was he thinking. “Thanks man,” he said to Ronnie and ran through the entire warehouse in search of the tall man. At the other end of the building was another tarp entrance. Jack walked through it onto the courtyard outside, to the sight of the trashcan bonfires and a scuffle on the ground. At the bottom of the scuffle was none other than David Andrews.

Jack took out his gun, “Everyone, back the fuck off!” he yelled out. His voice carrying a tone of madness and authority. As soon as they saw the gun the men scurried off, all but one. The man kept trying to kick David off of his leg, but David clung on, battered and bruised as he was. “He knows something!” David yelled out to Jack, looking like a complete lunatic. If it wasn’t so pathetic Jack would have found the whole thing quite comedic. The handsome and tall David Andrews, clinging to the leg of a homeless guy and playing detective on his off time.

Jack shook his head. He put away his gun and walked towards the guy. He looked young, and newly homeless. His clothes were still somewhat clean.

“Let go of him,” Jack commanded. David unhappily listened, and slowly made his way up, wiping the blood from his nose with the sleeve of his crisp white button up.

“With all due respect, what the fuck are you doing here Mr. Andrews?” Jack spat out.

“Your job,” David spat back at him. Jack stood there reeling. One part of him wanted to punch David for his arrogance, but another part of him was impressed. Here was a man who wasn’t going to sit around and wait for anyone to bring him news. He saw a little bit of himself in David. All this time he only thought of him as a handsome man in a suit, but David had earned some of his respect with this stunt. The important part now was to figure out exactly what the hell he was talking about in regards to the homeless man.

“Talk,” Jack barked, turning to the young man.

“I ain’t got shit to say,” he replied. His pupils dilated. His arm twitching. His breath reeking of alcohol. This guy was high and drunk out of his mind. Nothing he would say now could be valuable.

“He knows something!” David yelled, going at the guy again. Jack restrained him.

“I don’t know nothing man!”

“Do you want money? I’ll pay you,” David offered. Jack cussed internally.

“No, he’s not paying you shit,” he replied, knowing they would get an avalanche of false trails the second David started paying for information. This is why people who weren’t trained shouldn’t be doing detective work, Jack thought. He took out his gun again and placed it at the young man’s temple.

“Talk, motherfucker.” High and drunk as he was, the feel of the cold gun barrel pressed against his skin made the man still. Meanwhile David gasped like he was witnessing a murder in progress. You wanted to play detective, you got your wish, Jack thought to himself.

“Alright, alright, chill man. I know a guy who knows a guy,” he started.

“Oh, perfect. That’s always a reliable source. A guy who knows a guy. Go on, dickhead,” Jack knew it, another dead-end trail.

“My guy said the guy who buys from him came by for a fix, started bragging about how he ran over some rich guy in a Mercedes. How he was doing society a favor and evening out the playing field. Some weird bullshit like that. That’s all I know man.” Jack could see David’s eyes gloss over with tears. They couldn’t afford this now, they had to continue digging for information.

“Did he say the guy’s name?”

“No, man, I didn’t even believe him. I thought he was high and talking out of his ass.”

“Okay, then what’s your guy’s name?”

“What do I get for this information?” the young man asked more brazenly now, forgetting that there was a gun to his head.

“You avoid a bullet in your brain, how’s that for a fucking gift?” The guy shook his head annoyed.

“His name is DP. He hangs by the hangars on 3rd and Lowell.” Jack knew the location well. He removed the gun and told the young guy to scram. Then he looked at David.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, I’m fine,” David replied while actively bleeding from his head.

“Okay, in that case I’m going to take you home Mr. Andrews. This isn’t a safe place, and you need to stop playing detective in your spare time. This is why we’re here. This is our job.”

“You’re not taking me anywhere except for 3rd and Lowell. And if you won’t, I will go myself,” David replied stubbornly.

Jack stared him down, but he could see in David’s eyes that his mind was made up. Finally, he shook his head and started heading back around towards the car, David following right behind him.

“If he’s there, let me ask all the questions. And under no circumstances are you to offer him any money, do you understand?”

“Got it.”

“How did you even find this warehouse?” Jack asked, curious.

“I asked around.”

“You don’t seem like the type who has drug addicts as friends,” Jack continued.

“I was at a bar, made some new friends.”

“You’ve been hitting the bar a lot lately. Your wife is worried.” David looked at him annoyed.

“I’m glad you’re up to speed on my whereabouts, maybe if you put half that effort into finding the killer of my kid we’d be somewhere by now.”

“Mr. Andrews…”

“Just call me David.”

“David, we want this guy just as badly as you do.”

“Really? Then why was I at the warehouse before you? Why are you the only one roaming the street at 1am trying to find out this information?” Jack was stumped, the man had a good point. He remained silent. Taking David along was probably not a good idea, but what choice did he have now? They drove through the night until they reached 3rd and Lowell. It was even grimier than the warehouse. The street lights were knocked out, and they were covered in a blanket of darkness. David pointed to an ugly structure that appeared to be a hangar.

“You really should stay behind, I’ll handle this,” Jack pleaded.

“Like hell you will,” David answered stepping out of the car and heading for the hangar. Jack sighed heavily and followed the tall man. Inside, they found more darkness. Jack switched on his flashlight. The place was empty, except for a few sleeping bags.

Jack went in on the closest one.

“Wake up,” he said, shining the light straight into his face. The figure on the floor moved and groaned, but his eyes remained closed.

“Wake up,” Jack said and gave the man a swift kick in the ribs. David backed up a few steps and muttered “Jesus” under his breath.

“What the fuck man!?” the sleeping figure asked, finally opening his eyes.

“Where’s DP?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Where’s DP?’

“Who?”

“DP, the guy who sells here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about man.”

“I think you do. Where is he?”

“I don’t know man.”

“You don’t know? Think harder or I’ll take you in,” Jack said flashing his badge.

“Oh fuck, I knew you had to be a dickhead cop. For what man? This is police corruption. I haven’t done shit.”

“Let me ask you one last time, before I lose all my fucking patience and you’re left swallowing all your teeth, WHERE…IS…DP?”

The man in the bag glanced over at David, watching to see if he would intervene or help.

“Don’t look at him ugly, he can’t help you. Answer my question.”

“He was here two days ago, but I haven’t seen him since. I don’t know where he’s been, I swear!”

“Do you know where else he hangs out?”

“Sometimes he’ll hang out by the shelter on 24th. That’s the only place I know of.”

“Well, you were a big fucking help,” replied Jack as he moved on to the next sleeping figure. They questioned everyone in the place but didn’t get any additional information.

“Listen, we won’t find shit right now, it’s almost 3am. Why don’t I drop you off at home?” Jack asked David after they walked out of the place.

“What are you gonna do?” David asked, none too sleepy.

“I’ll stake out the shelter, wait for DP to turn up. I’ll update you as soon as I know anything.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“That’s really not a great idea. I’ll just be sitting in the car, most likely for hours on end.” Jack was trying to spare both of them the misery of each other’s company.

“Aren’t we past this yet? I’m coming with you.” David replied and made his way to Jack’s car. Jack sighed in frustration, this would be a very long morning.

They stopped off at 7/11, grabbed some snacks and coffee, and then parked in front of the shelter and waited for morning.

“Isn’t your wife going to wonder where you are?” Jack asked.

“I told her I was following some leads. She’s stopped questioning where I am a while ago,” David replied, glumly.

“This kind of thing…it can be really hard on a marriage. There’s no shame in getting help,” Jack offered. David glared at him.

“I’m tired of hearing everyone say that. The only help we need is finding the man responsible for all this. Then we can go back to living our lives.” Jack remained silent. He knew that people didn’t just go back to living their lives, not after something like this. But he wanted to believe that it would happen for David. He was a good man, David Andrews. He fought for his son. Jack felt a sting of guilt in his soul. If only he had been more like David in his younger years, if only he had fought harder for his son maybe he wouldn’t be such a fuck up now.

Jack knew he hadn’t been around for his son. He didn’t know how to explain it, his job did take up most of his life, but there was something about his own child that made it hard for him to bond. He didn’t understand why. After all, he loved children. He fought for children every single day of his life. And people who hurt kids were lower than scum to him. But somehow, he just couldn’t connect to his own flesh and blood in a meaningful way. He was a very colicky baby, always crying. Jack would pretend he had to work just so he didn’t have to be home. And when he was home, he would drink so he could drown out the high-pitched cry of the baby.

Jack thought things would improve with age. Maybe men just didn’t connect well with babies. But when he was old enough to throw a ball or talk to him, they would have an easier time. He would take over for his wife. Except that didn’t happen. He felt more distant from his son the older he grew. There was something uneasy about him, a strangeness that Jack didn’t enjoy being around. The thought made him feel awful, but he didn’t know what else to do. So he threw himself into work and tried his best to pretend everything at home was okay. But it wasn’t, and Jack felt immense guilt about it. This was his biggest personal failure. That’s why he wanted to help David so much, even though the man irked him. He was a fighter, someone who went to great lengths for his son. Jack respected that quality in him.

They continued sitting in strained silence, staring out and watching the world slowly wake up. Once the shelter opened in the morning hours, the two men walked in and inquired about DP. To their utter disappointment they were informed he had overdosed the previous night.

Another dead end.