K Street Blues
Aaron Coplend got a lot of shit about his name. It could be worse. The phone rang and it always was. He was a member of the family in good standing, even though at this moment he lay in bed, listening to the first drone of a helicopter coming closer.
He answered and swallowed, he always imagined that one day someone on the other end would say boom and that would be it. What he heard was, “Roof.”
The helicopter was almost directly over head and he did not bother to dress. There would be clothes waiting for him, so he grabbed a robe put on his slippers and went upstairs to the roof.
There was no official heliport on the roof, but generally speaking the neighbors knew not to complain when the rare one swooped out of the sky.
A few minutes later he was dropped still in his slippers and robes at the airport. He was ushered into a room and a large black sheet was thrown over his head and he was walked towards an airplane hanger. He could hear the other two beside him, and he did not know yet if he was to get the real assignment or if he was a decoy. Then he heard the engines of the jets and realized what he was getting onto, one of three custom supersonic stealth bombers.
Copland sat, waited for the door to close and took the sheet off his head. Moments later he was pushed back in his seat as the jet launched from the runway.
They were at a cruising altitude in a matter of minutes and Copland turned on his net book. He reached into his robe and took out a usb memory stick and plugged it in.
Violet eyes. One survivor. No id. In police custody.
They could just have easily written that on a note of paper, Copland thought.
Copland made a phone call to the Valencia st. Police Dept. A few minutes later he hung up the phone. The situation was a disaster, but they had a witness, or at least a potential witness and why send him there? Nothing would happen for the next hour and it would take almost two to cross the country. Copland scowled and snapped closed the screen.
“Is there at least someone interesting on this plane for me to fuck?” he asked loudly. He heard and affirmative behind him and looked to the back of the plane where they kept the sleeping quarters.
Copland opened the door and looked at the women inside, and nodded approvingly.
“Interesting indeed.”
It wasn’t easy being a Christian Copland thought as he humped away. He often marveled at God’s wisdom in granting him the ability to do his best thinking while fucking. It made a certain sense to him, Jesus is love, after all, and he did hang out with a whore, so there was no doubt he was somewhat Christ-like as he pounded away trying to make sense of the situation.
A guy goes walking through a park, gets mugged, and suddenly Violet comes out guns blazing, a couple of cops get killed along with a couple of presumed spooks. Something wasn’t right beyond the obvious. He was getting closer to the truth and he pounded harder. He could see it, the scene, he cried out, “Jesus Fucking Christ,” and collapsed on the bed.
“Hey,” one of the girls said, “we’re Christian girls. We don’t appreciate that sort of language.”
“My apologies, ladies,” he said, “Now remind me, which one am I allowed to shit on?”
After his shower and shave, Copland dressed and readied himself for the landing.
His priority to was to get the witness away from the police. That was the one thing that bothered him more than anything. He shot the kid point blank and threw his gun down in disgust. It’s not like they were playing tag. He looked at the first mug shots of the witness, mostly a bloody pulp, the finger prints came up as an empty flag. That didn’t make him happy either, but it was filling in the profile he was forming of this asshole. Despite the evidence of this evening, it isn’t easy to get a human being to kill another one. But he hadn’t killed the ones on the hill, that was the work of Violet. Something happened, something changed.
The pilot called in a request. Copland thought it over.
“Yes, to the Bay Bridge, no to the Richmond.”
Moments later they flew along the delta into the bay, made a shape turn, and flew under the Bay Bridge, made a sharp turn, decelerated rapidly and landed behind a commercial jet.
The stealth bomber landed and still rolling the door opened. An open bed vehicle pulled along side and Copland stepped onto it and into the arms of his two body guards.
The vehicle verred off and the stealth jet’s door closed and it accelerated and took off.
Copland got into the town car and they drove off the runway.
Copland looked at his body guards, he had worked with them before. It was a small club.
“Did you get the package for the exchange?”
The guard nodded, “we were faxed the photo…..”
“Good enough for government work,” Copland said.
The guards smiled.
“One would hope,” the guard said, “he’s already made one trip to the hospital tonight.”
Copland froze and thought over the report. Violate as far as anyone knew, had not touched the witness. That was good news.
A few more minutes and Copland stood in front of Cameron.
Copland looked severe.
“This man needs to see a doctor,” Copland said.
“He’s been to one,” the sergeant said.
“He’s going again,” Copland said.
“No, he’s not,” the sergeant said.
Within a few minutes and one phone call later, Cameron had left the building.
An hour after that, a police car with the suspect was returned to the police station.
Ten minutes after that, the President of the United States received a phone call.
