Cigarettes & Mirrors - Chapter Eleven

Four body armored cops at my door, guns drawn.

That’s not good.

I pull my phone out quickly as they hammer on my door again. Gotta text Carla, quickly. “Cops at my door, getting arrested. Need some help. Lova ya.”  I toss the phone on the coffee table, and steel myself. If I don’t open the door, those motherfuckers will just kick it in, and be even more pissed. They must have seen the dashcam footage. Shit!

I take a deep breath and walk to the door and yell “Who is it?”

“Newark Police! Open this fucking door right now!”

Another deep breath. Thank fucking god for the Xanax I just popped. 

Here we go…

I unlock the deadbolt and open the door. Before I can saying anything I take a face full of mace and a kick to the back of my leg, dropping me to my knees. Another blast of mace and the blows start raining down on my head and shoulders. I put my arms to my face to protect myself but they just start kicking me in the legs and back while screaming random nonsense at me. I hear the words “cop killer” a few times. Finally, the blows stop as I curl into the fetal position, my entire body aching. Blood and drool is leaking out of my mouth and nose, and I think my tooth went through my bottom lip. I feel hands roughly grab me under the arms and haul me upright. A cold pair of cuffs go around my wrists, as my vision finally starts to clear, just in time to see the pistol coming towards me. It cracks against the top of my head and my vision goes black, my entire body sagging.

Carla was sitting on her couch, boots on the coffee table, relaxing with an ice-cold martini in her hand. The buzz of her phone going off on the table grabs her attention as she takes a sip. Who could that be? She thinks to herself. A quick glance and she sees it’s from Erich. Opening it, she quickly reads “Cops at my door, getting arrested. Need some help. Lova ya.” Fuck! She sat up quickly and set the martini down on the table roughly, spilling some of it in her haste. Fuck, that’s not good. Calm yourself girl. Where would they take him… Even in her business as a drug dealer, she mad managed to keep off the police radar in the years she’d lived in Newark. She’s at a loss for a few minutes, feeling completely helpless. Where is he? Is he okay? Fuck, what can I do? Aimlessly, she got up off the couch, smoothed her dress and readjusted her boots, and downed the rest of her martini. But then she has an idea. She may not know where the police took Erich, but she knows who certainly would know.

Mr. Silas.

Mr. Silas was a quietly acerbic type of man who possessed a razor-edged wit and had his tendrils into Newarks underbelly. Currently, he was a stage actor, an accountant, and a private investigator, and probably many other things. But Carla knew him as an information broker. If you needed to know something, he knew it already, or could find out. He had hundreds of contacts throughout the city, thanks to his wildly varying lines of work. Politicians, cops, hot dog vendors, the Russian mafia, chemists, dock workers, cab drivers, bankers, and many others. He knew many things before even the press knew, sometimes before even the mayor knew. Carla knew that he might have information on Erich’s whereabouts. But she needed something to grease the wheels a bit. Throughout her dealings with him she had supplied him with his favorite vice, the prescription drug Carphedon, which is a non-stimulant memory and cognition enhancer, primarily made in Russia. She acquired a supply of it for a song from the Russian Mafia once upon a time. She walked into her office/storage room and grabbed a bottle of it on a shelf in one of the storage lockers. She walked out of the room, taking care to lock the steel security door behind her. She grabbed her bag from the floor, and tossed her phone and the pill bottle into it, then slung it around her neck.

She walked into the hallway and closed her apartment door, locking both deadbolts securely. Can’t trust any of the Asian hoodlums living in the building. One brisk walk down the stairs later and she was out on the sidewalk. She lit a cigarette with a flick of a match, and made for the mile and a half walk up to the Performing Arts Center, where Mr. Silas currently operated from. I’m surprised that place hasn’t become a crater yet… she thought to herself as she prepared to take a left at Halsey and Hill Street, headed east towards Broad Street. Newark was interesting in that no matter how many terrorist bombs or police shootouts or crashed airliners might have blown apart buildings and streets, Broad Street was still the central vein that it had always been.

Sergeant Carlo Forelli was bored. He had been assigned guard duty at City Hall along with 40 other officers, thanks to the explosion in the West Ward earlier. The Mayor was a paranoid man thanks to an assassination attempt last Christmas, and had taken no time in securing extra security for City Hall. Ten officers patrolling the perimeter, snipers on the roof, two gunships on standby, four surveillance drones floating above the city, and a SWAT team staged in the small bank building next to City Hall. Forelli took the last puff of his cigarette and flicked it into the gutter, noticing an extremely pale girl a little way down the opposite side of Broad Street. It was hard to miss her, she almost glowed she was so pale. Something about her felt... off. A rumbling in his gut, something he never ignored. He frowned and pulled his radio from his coat. Feinberg was on the roof of the bank building, right?

“Feinberg. Copy?”

“Yeah Sarge, I copy.”

“You're up top the bank right? You got eyes on the pale girl just down the street?”

“Yessir, I see her. You want an officer to tail her?”

“Yeah. Something about her is off, I'm sure of it. Pull a plainclothes from your crew and I’ll have him relieved. Have him keep eyes on her but not too close, yeah?”

“That’s a 10-4 Sarge, sending him out in a bit. Out.”

Forelli replaced his radio and kept an eye on the girl as she walked by. Shortly after she passed, a plainclothes officer in a trenchcoat emerged from the bank and jogged across the street, and started following the girl at a respectable distance. Satisfied, Forelli lit another cigarette and went about on his rounds.

Carla noticed the cop on the sidewalk in her peripheral vision immediately as she passed City Hall. He heard him mutter something into his radio and assumed it was about her. Fuck, now what… She kept walking, but felt a presence behind her. She intently listened behind her as she walked, and slowed down minutely. She heard the footsteps behind her slowdown in tune with her own. Tail. Great. She kept walking at her normal pace, lighting another cigarette to calm her nerves. She went past Market Street and noticed the McDonalds a little bit off Broad was still open, so she crossed the street and walked inside. This McDonalds was special compared to most McDonalds locations, which were usually poorly constructed shitholes. It was in an old pawn shop building, with former apartments and empty space above it, mostly used by the restaurant for assorted storage.

She walked across the street, flicking her cigarette onto the parking lot and headed inside. She ran a hand through her hair and walked up to the counter and ordered a coffee, pulling out a few singles to pay for it. She heard the door open again and in her peripheral vision saw the cop in the trenchcoat come in and stand in line behind her. He was trying to look inconspicuous but he was failing miserably. Carla had excellent cop and narc radar, especially useful in her trade. Warning bells were going off in her head. She got her coffee a moment later and walked across the restaurant, seeing her friend Haley at a table by herself, eating. Carla sat down in the seat across from her and smiled. She looked up, eyes half open and grinned. “Carla, heeeey girllll…” She said languidly. Haley was a streetwalker, bedecked in a white leather coat over a black tanktop, a criminally short skirt and 8-inch platform heels. She had been in and out of rehab for several substances in the past few years and was one of Carla’s best customers, currently having a taste for Xanax. Carla didn't normally associate with her customers, but Haley was good for eyes and ears on the street. Haley pulled an orange pill bottle from her pocket and popped one of the pills inside into her mouth, swallowing it down with a sip of soda. Carla smiled. The girl put down bars like they were Skittles. Carla leaned her head in close and Haley did the same, munching on a few fries. In a low voice, Carla looked Haley in the eyes and said, “Haley, do you see the guy in the trenchcoat sitting by the counter? He’s a cop, he’s been tailing me.”

“Nooo waaay, what’s he on you for girl?”

“No idea, but I think I know how we can skip. Is that ceiling tile still loose in the bathroom?”

“Uhhhh, yeah girl I think so. I stashed some stuff in there last week, it was all good then.”

“Right, finish your food and we’ll head in there, yeah?”

“Okay girl, it’s on.”

Haley quickly wolfed down the rest of her food while Carla chugged her coffee that tasted like it was from yesterday morning. They stood up at the same time and struck up a loud, bubbly conversation as they walked into the ladies’ room. Carla pointed to the deadbolt as the door closed, Haley nodded and locked it slowly. Carla opened the stall door and stood on the toilet, trying not to slip as she pushed up on the bit of broken ceiling. She gave a little shove and pushed it up and over onto the tops of the ceiling, grabbed the I-beam holding up the upstairs floor just above the drop-tile ceiling and hauled herself up into the dark room above, Haley quickly following a moment later. Carla leaned down and replaced the tile in its place and they both stood up and looked around. They were in an old one room apartment judging by the looks of it, with two dingy windows looking out onto the street. Carla walked over to the empty door frame and looked out into the other larger rooms, spotting the ladder to the roof in a large storeroom. She gestured to Haley, who snapped out of her spaced out daydream and walked over to her. “You first doll.” Carla said, pointing up. Haley mounted the ladder, struggling a bit. Platform heels are not the best footwear for climbing up ladders. She made her way up to the hatch not without a little difficulty, and pushed it open. Carla listened intently to make sure there wasn’t anyone else up there, hearing only her breathing and the noises of the ity outside. Satisfied, she climbed the ladder and made it up to the roof, closing the hatch behind her and placing a cinder block on it to impede any pursuit. 

“Girl, you’re serious about getting outta here huh?” Haley said, pulling her jacket close.

“Yes, I am. I gotta get out of here. A friend of mine is in trouble. Let’s get down to street level and take off okay?”

“Whatever you say girly, I’m right behind you.”

They both walked across the roof slowly to the ladder that led down to the parking lot, descending quickly. Looking around, Carla saw no one in the parking lot, and thankfully didn’t see the cop anywhere either.

“Guess this where we part. Stay safe Haley.”

“You too girl. Peace out.” Haley said, flashing a peace sign and a grin, and walked off towards Broad Street. 

Carla went the opposite way and walked up the alley behind the McDonalds and the row of buildings next to it, walking up to Clinton Street. She pulled out a cigarette from the case in her bag and lit it with a kitchen match, flipping the spent match onto the sidewalk and taking a deep drag, exhaling the smoke out of her nose. She sighed as the burst of nicotine flooded into her system, calming her nerves some. Right, enough dawdling. Gotta get to Mr. Silas, she thought to herself, taking another drag and sticking to the alleys behind the rows of buildings on the east side of Broad Street. Carla didn't want to risk the trenchcoat or any other cop seeing her, so the logical step was to head to the subway station.

She made it the Military Park station a few minutes later, breathing deeply from her brisk pace. She went down the stairs to the underground platform and sat on a bench, glancing at the clock on the wall. 4:37. Sunrise in just over 2 hours.

She tapped her boots on the concrete, anxiety coursing through her veins. The train arrived a few minutes later, much to her delight. Carla jumped up from the bench and ran inside, crashing onto a bench and letting out a breath. She looked up to her right and saw a uniformed transit cop looking right back at her, eyebrow raised. Carla momentarily panicked, then raised her left arm and tapped her wrist several times, grinning. The cop smirked and walked up the train to the next car without a word. Carla let out another breath again, her nerves on full nuclear meltdown status. 

Close call girl… she thought to herself. 

The train lurched and made its way to the next station on the line, the Performing Arts/Centre Street Station, which was only a few blocks from the PAC. Barely five minutes later the train made its way there and stopped with another sudden lurch. Carla rose much more calmly this time and walked out of the train onto the platform, walking up the steps to street level. Breathing deeply a few more times to calm herself down, she lit yet another cigarette and dragged on it as she walked up Centre Street right to the alley behind the building. The doors back here led to offices and the backstage area, where the actors entered and exited the building. She walked a short ways down and saw the correct entrance. She walked up to it, knocking on the chrome door five times quickly, and then three times slowly, just as Mr. Silas always instructed.