HEIRON part 2

That alley stank.

Gasoline. Dog shit. Cigarettes. Open sewers.

It was on the north side, mostly trailer parks and single-family tear-downs full of people who bled anger. Did I want to be there? No. Was it my job? Yeah. I was on for 16 years.

The day I started I wore a dress. Can you believe that shit?

That morning in the alley you would've thought I was a crackhead ex-Marine with my crew-cut and barely hitting the scale at 100 pounds.

Looking at pain every day changes you.

I drove slowly down the narrow alley of mud puddles, loose gravel, wood fencing and peeling garage doors. I stopped the car 20 houses in, rolled down the window and listened for a moment. Heard a radio. A car alarm went off somewhere behind me. A tracked garage door on my right rolled up a few inches and then back down again.

I put the car in park, left the engine running and climbed out. Kicked some gravel and clapped my hands for warmth. I took a few steps up and down the alley.

At what I knew later was Wendy’s back gate I hesitated.

A stray dog suddenly appeared at the north end of the alley and took an ugly wet shit. I laughed, pulled my badge and waved it at the dog.

"That's public indecency, you little bitch!"

The dog pissed, sniffed some garbage and disappeared.

I walked back to my trunk, popped it and took out a half-empty bottle of vodka. I cracked it, guzzled it and hook-shot it into a garbage can. Then I got in my car and drove away.

I tried to read the inspirational message on the high school’s welcome sign, but my eyes were fucking blood-shot.

"Kick a cannon in the balls? That can’t be right. I need glasses."

I took a sip of congealed coffee and nearly gagged as I swallowed the jelly-like slop. A densely powdered pack of white donuts and a fried brick of hash browns cooked on her dashboard.

"Breakfast of losers."

I looked at the plump, pink-faced teacher sitting at her desk and then all the young, fresh, hopeful students’ faces. Written on the blackboard behind me were the words Active Shooter Drill. I felt an overwhelming urge to lie down on the floor and go to sleep.

"Detective Jenkins?"

Pink pig-lady gave me a friendly little wave.

"Yeah?"

"The students are waiting."

"Yeah, right, thanks."

I turned to the students and their boredom was fucking palpable.

"It’s pretty simple. If you hear a loud bang, and you’re trapped in a classroom, you play dead. If you can reach out and grab the gun, do it. Fighting gives you a chance. Doing nothing is suicide. Any questions?"

The smiling pink ball pushed me out of the room and closed the door.

"Uh, okay kids, stay safe…"

It was cute how the soft lump of dough confronted me in front of a bank of lockers.

"What’s wrong with you? Are you trying to scare my kids?"

I grabbed her silly-putty throat and backed her into the lockers. "No, I’m trying to scare you, because you don’t know what I’ve seen. Those kids are yours. You don’t know!"

I walked away. She looked like she was about to cry. After a few steps, I punched a locker, breaking a knuckle and bloodying my hand. Another teacher, this one looked like an albino fly, appeared in the hall and I screamed at her.

"Trust me. If you don’t know what’s coming, you run!"

I presses my damaged hand against my hip as I crossed the parking lot. When I got to my car I squinted and stares at the high school welcome sign again.

"Shove a flagpole up your pee-hole? That can’t be right."

Then a line of police cars shot past the school’s entrance, traveling north at high speed...