A DARKNESS PALE

LIEUTENANT

Lieutenant

Irie soloed Thai Chi in the cramped gym. All was quiet and still in the Specialized Assistance Station, South East Division, except for her grunting and the creaking of her joints. Her thick, strong body still mostly functioned. What didn’t was the result of the damage she’d incurred that night, eight years ago in the downtown hive, back in L.A. Her right knee now required a permanent brace. She’d lost her left eye, her spleen, and hip. A mottled assortment of scars spiderwebbed across her face and up into her white crew cut. The bullet she’d thought had drilled her liver had actually blown apart her gall bladder.

The only reason she was still alive was Motown, who’d gotten the attention of some cops who gave a shit. Irie spent nearly two years in the hospital and as soon as she was released Toula had moved them up here to Portland, saying she wanted to get back to where she was from. The only sort of law enforcement opportunities in Portland were with Specialized Assistance, which was part of the reginal social/political LIFE NOW movement, which had grown out of LIFE MATTERS.

LIFE NOW proclaimed that with all the life-threatening challenges created by the Big Dip, all life needed to be preserved. Community was everything. With S.A., if someone broke the law – an act which S.A. called an occasion – it was understood they had a legitimate need, and whoever in the community they were directly affecting was considered equally in need of not having not implicitly or explicitly met the instigating need in the first place. Both parties needed direct support. Instead of Berserkers, S.A. used mediators who supported both parties in addressing their need gaps. Instead of jails, there were support camps where the two parties were sequestered until the gaps were filled and the community was strengthened.

The only ratshas in this system were those in law enforcement or legislative administration who exploited the best interests of the community.

Irie was the lieutenant of the acute cases division, which handled occasions involving physical aggression. The Thai Chi was for non violent de-escalation, and in six years Irie had become so proficient she’d earned her instructor belt.

She heard the locks on the front door slide back and poked her head into the garage and saw one of her new hires checking out the station truck, a big hulking Chevy that always reminded her of her childhood, the sort of vehicle some of the fruit pickers who worked the orchard harvest used to travel around in, except this one had tank treads instead of wheels. The new hire was tall and coal black. When he removed his vinyl cone his hair was short and precise. His strong, broad shoulders were flexed back declaring to the world he had yet to be broken .

“Hey,” Irie called out.

He looked around and when he found her his eyes narrowed. “You the boss?”

“I’m your supervisor. Irie Baglavitti.”

“I don’t see no horses. This truck steam?”

“Uh huh.”

His face constricted with disbelief.

“I know,” Irie said. “That’s why we only use it for emergencies. I don’t think we can afford to fix it if it breaks.” She chuckled.

He checked out her dilapidated desk and broken file cabinet, then looked out her office window. Irie looked out too and saw a bright red Mustang carriage being hauled by two horses over Burnside Bridge. The red contrasted garishly with the blue snow. There was also a work crew using boards and ropes to stamp the new snow down along the sidewalk. A few people clomped around in snow shoes, but most of the traffic came from skiers. A few wore masks.

Irie felt relaxed from the Thai Chi and another afternoon of doing virtually nothing. She was sure if she sat down she’d start yawning. “You can have a seat if you want. I’m going to stand. Sometimes it’s better on my knee.” She scooped up the onboarding paperwork from her desk. “You’re Roderic, right?”

“Roddy.”

“Oh okay. Roddy. Got it.”

“Roddy Tot.”

Irie blinked, looking at the form for the first time. “Roddy Tot Tauton?”

“Roddy Tot. You black or Chinese, or what?” His tone was accusatory.

“Black and Thai. I don’t identify with either. Welcome to the South East Division. You have any idea where your partner is? You guys usually show up together.”

“I ain’t got nothing for you about that, black. When I was up at central, the copier broke, or some such thing. That’s why I’m late. Roddy Tot ain’t late. The fucking copier’s late. I don’t know nothing about no one else.” He produced paperwork from a wrinkled backpack and stuck his chin out. “Listen, I got something to say. I took this job cause I saw a poster at the Gresham YMCA. This cause I need a little consistent income, you dig, black? I ain’t all about LIFE NOW. You want to talk my passion you talk bygones.”

“Bygones.”

“Treasures, if you got the eye. I got the eye. Checking out your desk.”

Irie regarded her desk. “Huh?”

“Uh huh. It’s a Christopherson. Handmade outside Eugene. Gimme a weekend refinishing, you got people who’ll cough up three, maybe four grand for that shit.”

“No shit.”

“Don’t black me, black, I’m not done. I’m gonna work harder than anyone you know – that’s who I am, but some motherfucker try to put hands on me, I’ll take that bitch down.”

“No doubt. But, just so we’re clear, according to LIFE NOW that would make you a ratsha.”

It was clear he didn’t care. He was eying her suspiciously. “Damn, you on the posters. You’re the poster child for that shit.”

“It’s true. S.A. uses my story a lot. I was a L.A. operator with AES for thirty years. Now I do this.”

“You’re a believer.”

“I follow the rules. When the rules change we gotta change.”

Roddy Tot snorted and Irie tried not to smile. She wondered how long he’d hang around. The S.A. mediator position was a revolving door due to the ultra low pay and generally boring and unfulfilling nature of the work.

“Truth is,” Irie said, “the chances of you actually being in an occasion where someone is violent, or has a weapon… Well let’s just say that since I’ve been here it’s come up once.”

“Cause most people all zombie over that Moluxhc shit, and then the ones that still got some jump in their game know after you whack some motherfucker all you got to do is strip and dump that shit in the forest.”

“So there you go. Nothing to worry about.” Irie said cheerfully, “How’s your Thai Chi?”

…Toula delivers bad news with the aid of a drift counselor…