Chapter 2 - Piss Mist

Yes Baby Yes -Mo Horizon's

“What were you thinking? A high-speed chase through the inner city with a minor at gunpoint? Over two hundred thousand dollars of property damage alone! Not to mention the fact that you dumped an entire building into the harbor!” huffs Lt. Inspector Hector Ignacia, the Dog Catcher.

“What is it with you? Every week this year, something new! Another explosion. Another gunfight. Another disaster nearly averted but with massive cost to the taxpayer!!”

“That building was condemned anyway” I state, “I handed Deltiglio to you on a silver platter.”

“After you kicked him out a window!”

“Yeah, he can thank me later,” I say with the kind of heavy voice that makes me wish I still smoked cigarettes.

Hector here used to be in the internal affairs bureau and had put plenty of dirty cops off a pension and another big round number of them in jail. So many that the system had decided to get him off their collective asses by putting him on the babysitting detail for yours truly. Over the past few years, Wolfmen Investigations has had its fair share of high-profile cases. Many of them pushed past the brink of chaos and into violence to end up on the front page. My brand of action had, over the years, increasingly come with a certain amount of disregard for the property values of high end real estate and City owned buildings. It’s all in the pursuit of true justice, and the more we faced the more I found myself justifying. Most of what we at Wolfmen Investigations do involves representing people who are otherwise powerless against corruption, whether that be a standard crime or the exploitative means of production and control used by both the corporations and our fair municipality. When there’s extreme crime or corruption you have to go to extremes to eradicate it. Years ago, Don and I were publicly deputized for our role in thwarting the plot of a supervillain and the formation of our investigative agency had been the result. Our Benefactor, who at first gave us the real estate to become a headquartered operation had, after our first few adventures, Beware the Canella Cartel and Operation Dragonfire, decided to double down and invest a substantial amount of money into our burgeoning social enterprise. It’s amazing what someone can get done when they don’t have to worry about money and can focus on what’s really important.

What with all our muckraking, and the ensuing explosions that typically went along with it, the City had tasked the Police with assigning us am attaché. Hector, or as I liked to call him my accountant, to keep track of all the public damages that I tended to accrue. Additionally, the continued existence of Wolfmen Investigations would have been more socially problematic if it wasn’t for the weirdest referendum in municipal history. In the last year of Mayor Blasse’s first term, he and his campaign team had turned us into an issue creating a public vote over whether or not Wolfmen Investigations should be allowed the authority to operate not within the Police; but as an extension of the Police and serve as public ombudsmen with Police like authority—something like the Police Special in San Francisco. The vote passed and we were fully deputized. The serving law enforcement officers had been seriously pissed at the idea that we would be allowed to conduct investigations with our own authority and limited oversight, all while having access to their tools and knowledge bases. The compromise had been Hector. The Police as a whole had been happy to take the hardest, tightest, Captain America, boy scout, mother-lover and put him squarely up our asses. The tradeoff had resulted in a hilarious truce between us and the operating cops. I did things with near bulletproof immunity and Hector gained a few gray hairs and a couple more wrinkles in his brow, though he needn’t have worried, son of a bitch looks like a young Omar Sharif. Our insurance policy, which had initially started as a lark of standardized insurance for a PI group, had quickly turned into a multi-million dollar quandary for those issuing our coverage. Good, those insurance bastards deserve a good flogging.

“Wolfe, I know you think this is funny—” Hector starts.

He’s right, this is a joke to me. We’re on the third-floor office of Wolfmen Investigations. I’m sitting cross-legged on my desk wearing my official black Wolfmen tank top, black high-top Vans, and black shorts. I chew gum and drink a can of no-name-brand soda water. I can’t help smirking. Anything that declares itself as any sort of actual authority over society seems like a joke to me. I have seen chaos. I know what politicians, preachers, promoters, patrons, and people in general are up to. The systems at be are boundaries for those either sensible or scared enough to stay inside them. I’ve always walked pretty loosely on that border, often taking metaphorical beer runs into the danger zone before returning home with the heat on my heels. Some people might call me a cowboy, as a derogatory term. I don’t care. The world still needs a few cowboys. I know that Hector is just doing his job and by and large I don’t dislike the guy, but he’s square. The type to get a bug up his ass about someone burning some weed. Kinda guy who couldn’t have made it undercover to save his own life. Incorruptible. Still, for the pain in the ass that he is, that’s how I know I can trust him.

Me? I grew up in the streets. I didn’t live on them, but I know people who do. I went through my youth more or less on my own. I had to keep my eyes in the back of my head because I knew there wasn’t anyone else looking out for me. I didn’t become the person I am by raving and spending my twenties on a beach in Thailand. I didn’t go to college. I didn’t work a nine-to-five. I was a hustler and a rogue. I never got married or had any kids. For a long time, I never met a beer I didn’t like and there was no situation too hard-boiled to get under my shell. Most people don’t walk into a room and read every person through to their obituaries in the time it takes others to take off their sunglasses. I can’t help it. It’s what I do. It’s not always a nice feeling, but I can deal. I thought I wanted off the streets, turns out its where I’m meant to be.

“—but considering the amount of fiscal damages you’ve managed to cause since January, the City, despite your public endorsement, has had no choice but to suspend your driver’s license without appeal.” I sit up and take notice of this as Hector finishes admonishing me for the moment.

“What? What do you mean? If we hadn’t taken action and chased those scumbags down, that little girl would still be a kidnapping victim.” I blow a bubble with my gum and when it pops I point my finger at Hector.

Don, wearing black shorts, a black Wolfmen t-shirt, and Air Force 1’s, is standing beside the desk I’m on and he crosses his arms. “Sorry Hector, I’m not all that pleased with m’man at the moment, but he’s right. It’s not like anyone else was doing anything to make sure that Kathleen Qui was safe.

“Look if you two don’t think that the City Police were doing enough you’re welcome to file an official appeal of complaint concerning their handling of the investigation. But I should warn you that City Hall has asked me to advise you that such infighting and scrutiny of operational responses would open Wolfmen Investigations up to considerable criticism from both the City Police and members of Municipality. This isn’t a laughing matter.”

Don and I roll our eyes in unison. Fuckin bureaucrats.

“That’s where you’re wrong Hector, I think this is hysterical. You’re saying that if we don’t keep our mouths shut about how badly the real cops fucked the dog on this one you guys are gonna put us in the kennel.” I snort, leaning my head over onto my hand, elbow balancing on my knee.

“I think the idea is that they’d like to send you to a farm upstate,” Hector sighs. “Look Wolfe, I know you two are doing the work. I know that you’re somehow useful in the grand scheme of a more thorough type of justice, but don’t think for a second that I believe that you and your license to snoop are necessary to the facilitation of a proper society. I’m asking, on behalf of the Police and the City, to keep a lid on it for a while. We’re all very grateful” I know this is total bullshit because the institutions hate my guts, but I let him continue. “But you will be kept in check here. We can’t have any more high-speed chases like this. The amount of fruit and windows that have been destroyed alone…” Hector looks to the ground weirdly shaking his head at the idea of the damaged produce and panes.

Don and I exchange a glance and then the door to the office bursts open and through it marches Karen Kane, our Co-investigator and office manager. She shoots me a look that makes me swallow my gum. Formerly Lt. Kane of Pearl Harbor Naval Base Hawaii, she’d been honorably discharged for over two years before Don, who she knew from a former Navy/Police combine, hit her up to come work for us as our Office Manager and dedicated liaison to the municipality and the Police. As part of Wolfmen Investigations, Karen has the autonomy to conduct her cases however she sees fit. I wasn’t her boss, if anything I was answerable to her. Despite my need to operate with more or less total autonomy, I recognized that if I didn’t have someone I trusted to put me on a leash every now and then I was likely to eventually chase myself under the wheels of a mail truck. I am not a structured person. I do not live a normal life. I am not traditionally organized. Don can only do so much and it’s a strain on our partnership to have him try and reign me in. So in desperate need of someone to keep us on time, we invited the six-foot Polynesian brunette to join our posse. She could have been a pro surfer and along her path in the Navy, she’d seen special detachments for cross-sectional agency training at Quantico, Langley, Arlington, and Coronado with the SEAL Teams. I’d never asked why she’d left the Navy and Don had never bothered to tell me. Didn’t matter, it isn’t like I won’t figure it out eventually. Her military precision keeps us running on time and her diplomatic skills help keep Hector off our ass, plus she’s one hell of an investigator herself. Over the past year and a half, she and I had developed a relationship founded on common ground of goals and intentions but victim to the friction of our priorities and personalities. I broke the rules because that’s what happens when you have to work outside them, but that’s my job. It was Karen’s job to interface with many of the people whose rules I’d broken.

She had expressed that I, in particular, cultivated an energy of anarchy and disregard for peace. When I’d agreed with her she’d just scoffed and told me “I’ll keep doing this job, the money’s good and I’ve worked for worse people than you, but just because you’re one of the good guys, Tom, it doesn’t mean you’re a good guy. Keep up with your attitude, one day you’re gonna get in over your head and you’re going to have burnt so many bridges and pissed off so many people that you’re going to be all on your own out there with nowhere to go.”

That was two months ago.

“You on your own now,” laughs Don in my ear.

Karen, wearing faded blue jeans, low-top flower patterned sneakers, and a blue and pink checked button-down shirt, marches across the office towards us. Her long brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Her sidearm, a desert brown Smith & Wesson .45 semi-auto 3.3-inch barrel, jostling on her muscular hip. I raise my face and try to smile at her but she won’t even look at me as she raises a large hand as if to cover my face and then crush my skull. She glances over at Don before stepping over to Hector.

“Hector, is this about the other day already?” She raises her hand to her forehead.

“Karen, what do you think?” He looks up and crosses his arms, settling back.

“Well, I was in the process of completing an audit of the situation when you called me in here, couldn’t this have been done over the phone? Besides, you’re required to give me at least a week of analysis before the mandatory submission as we’ve stated on several occasions in the past year.”

Hector sighs, “This is only tangentially related. Besides, you’re going to want to hear this. As I was just telling your colleagues here, The City has decided to revoke Mr. Wolfe’s driver’s license until a report has been completed on his driving and insurance statistics. As once more passing a hazardous driving training exam.”

Karen opens her mouth and then hesitates before closing it. She turns to look at me with a twinkle in her eye and this time it’s her that smiles. A long curved scimitar of a smile that bobs up and down looking at my neck before she begins to laugh through her nose before turning back to Hector.

“Hector, I for one think that’s a great idea,” she says, allowing the edges of her smile to dull slightly for the Officer.

“Y-you do?” He says exhaling a breath that I hadn’t seen him hold. He’s used to bringing us the damages and Karen operating in our defense citing the lack of initial Police involvement. Today it looks like both he and Karen are are getting what they want.

“Sure, let's take away the Wolfman’s wheels for a while and see how much trouble he can get into.” She says turning back to me, raising her eyebrows with a little how you like them apples.

I groan and sink over, hanging my head between my crossed legs. “Is that a dare?” I mutter.

“Look, I’m going to be cleaning up your last stupid mess through the weekend and I’d appreciate even a chance to get to Tuesday without you tearing another hole in the City. It’s not going to kill you to get around on foot or ask for a ride here and there. You know how to take the bus right?” She laughs at this and then can’t stop chuckling as she speaks. “I’m sure the City will eventually settle your insurance tab and you’ll get your car back but for the time being just give it a rest.”

“This is some bullshit,” I say, sitting up straight and getting off the desk. “But you know what, screw it. Take my license. I can get more done on foot in an afternoon than anyone else in this City anyway. Buncha deadbeat losers.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Lovely attitude Tom. Look, Hector, is that all? Do we need to sign a receipt or anything?”

“No, but I will be required to take Mr. Wolfe’s physical license,” shrugs Hector.

I sigh and root in my back pocket for my wallet, digging out my license and throwing it across the room, the card slicing through the air. He snags it and nods at me.

“Thanks, Tom.”

“Don’t mention it, Hector. Well if that’s all?” I snort, and then gesture to the door with my arm.

He manages a polite smile. “Karen, Don.” If he was wearing a hat he would have tipped it, instead he just turns, walks across the room, and leaves our offices through the main door.

“Glad that’s over,” I sullenly muttered.

“Don’t even start,” replies Karen without looking at me, raising her hands up and around to her hips before lifting and her gaze to the ceiling fan.

“What? Come on Karen, as far as things we’ve been involved in—”

“No Tom, as far as things you’ve been involved in.” She’s not laughing anymore.

“I had to act. I wasn’t going to wait another minute and let those lying pieces of shit twiddle their thumbs while that little girl got taken on a death-ride two thousand.”

“Spare me the self-righteous bullshit. Sure you’re right, the Police weren’t listening to the Qui family, dragging their heels. But what the fuck did you think I was doing while you were off playing cowboy? Huh? Jackass?”

Karen has crossed the room towards me where I’m leaning against the edge of a desk. I’m not short but she’s almost as tall as I am at the best of times and from my position I have to look up at her while she jams her finger in my face.

“You are supposed to be a great Detective. A master of reading the room for fuck’s sake! You are supposed to seek out the truth rather than just blow shit up. You’re supposed to be better, or at least that’s what I was told. While you’ve been busy antagonizing people, I was down at City Hall playing ball with those leeches and glad-handers. I was getting the media involved. Things I know you know how to do because I’ve seen you do it. I’ve watched you wrap a situation like this around your little finger and bleed it for every ounce of shine-on for you and shame-over for those on the receiving end of your grief. You have been the one who slowly plays the case, you know all the angles before we even go into the situation. I’ve seen you do it, pull the rug right out from under everyone. You used to keep the peace and your cool, and that’s why people liked you, and that’s why you earned the right to do this. But for the past six months, you’ve been acting more like a lethal weapon than a detective. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Get your finger outta my fuckin’ face,” I say so hard that I’d swear I split my lip doing it. She does. “The fact of the matter is that I didn’t feel like letting Decpacito and his crew set a precedent for how this kind of stuff is going to play. If we keep letting it slide? If we don’t push back? It’s only going to get worse. You’re right, they probably weren’t gonna kill her anytime soon, but they weren’t going to let her go for anything less than the compromise of this entire City’s integrity.”

“Always so melodramatic.” She scoffs and takes a few steps away from me.

“Th’hell you talking about?” I glare at her. “This is what we do.”

“No Tom, this—mayhem and destruction— how many times do I have to say it? That’s what you do.”

“Well I’m the leader of this team and I—”

“If you’re the leader of this team then maybe you need to start acting like a leader again, instead of just some hot head, macho tough guy with more balls than brains.”

“Pfft. You don’t have to like my methods but don’t nag me when I get results.”

“Nag? I’m not your mother, I’m not whatever aggrieved girlfriend you might have had in the past; I’m your fucking manager. You hired me to keep everything in line and that’s what I’m doing, even if that means getting you in line. I get that you’re some sort of magic bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out trouble, but your particular ability to sensationalize and aggrandize every action you make, like you’re actually some sort of hero? Or some goof with a license to kill? That shit is starting to wear thin. We’re special investigators and we’re still beholden to the letter of the law, even if you are good at acting like you don’t even know your ABCs.”

“Now who’s being melodramatic.” I snort and cross my arms.

She crosses her arms back and takes a thoughtful pause before speaking. “Ok, how’s this for melodramatic? Go fuck yourself you arrogant prick. I’m not gonna stand here and take your shit because you’ve got a chip on your shoulder that I know nothing about. I don’t see unpaid emotional labor in my fucking contract, you dickhead. I’m going back out there to finish my fucking job. Maybe you should take the weekend and consider investigating where your respect has gone. Don—” She says and then turns to my partner, who’s remained silent throughout our exchange and he just waves. She leaves through the front doors of the office.

In the past, this is where I’d normally light a smoke, have a drink, or maybe twelve. I don’t do either anymore so I dig in my pocket for a cigar-sized vape pen and give a few pulls off the device before I shake my head and blow the odious vapor towards the ground, landing in a leaning seat against the desk.

Don sighs before speaking “What the fuck flavor is that?” breaking his silence and stepping forward to sit beside me.

I turn to face him and see his grimace. “It’s American light tobacco.”

“Nah, bruh they should call that shit piss mist, ‘cause that’s what it smells like.”

“You’re tellin’ me I’ve been walkin’ around for the past week and a half with breath smelling like piss?” I responded.

“You may want to get a second opinion, but yeah man that stuff is no good.”

We both take a beat to laugh at the exchange and then we turn to face each other.

I let out a large sigh. “I should probably apologize to Karen, huh?”

“What because you’re an asshole or because of your piss breath?”

“Ho ho.”

“Apologize? Yeah, you probably should, but you also might want to get your fuckin’ head on straight so this shit doesn’t keep happening. ” He tilts his head and gives me a half-hearted smile like a bigger brother.

“I…fuck man…I just—” I shake my head because I can’t articulate what I’m actually feeling.

“Well, you know she’s right. That’s why we hired her. But, she’s right about more than just the Qui case Tom. I told you we were gonna have a little talk later.”

I groan and lean my head back while raising my hands onto my forehead.

“C’mon man, cut the shit.” He says to me shaking his head. “I don’t have the time for it today.”

I ease up on my petulance and stand up, squaring my body to him. “Well, what you got?”

He looks like he’s going to struggle to get all of it out but it doesn’t take long before he lets out one tremendous exhale and starts talking.

“Look man, you have been clean and sober for the better part of a year and a half and I’m proud of you man, lotsa of people are, but ho-lee shit you’re gonna have to back off the gas pedal. Y’feel?”

“What do you mean Don?”

“I mean. Ever since Kit left and well, you had your fill of a for a bit let just say that, then there was that thing with the Doctor—”

“Hey, man… let's just leave all that alone. You know that’s not why I went and got sober.”

“Yeah I know man. I got you. I don’t give a damn why you did it really. I just mean…”

“Don, for a long time the vices were the only thing slowing me down. Shit for a while there I used it so I’d have a solid excuse for doing nothing when I felt like it. But now, man I changed the game on myself. I, I don’t sleep. Y’know I can’t shut it off? I just lay there and my brain is goin’ a mile a minute thinking of all the trouble out there in the world. So I get up and go do something about it.”

I’d stay up for several days at a time. Thank god for our gym. If I didn’t crank out a couple of solid workouts on the days when we don’t have cases I’d probably lose my mind. The more physically sturdy I became, the more emboldened my actions became. The less distracted and altered my mind, the more efficient I was.

“Sure, Tom I get it, this business is your life now. But you haven’t had your own apartment since well, since Kit left and you cleared out a storage room and hung up a hammock and a duffle bag. N’sure I’m fine with that on principle if a man needs some space and time at sea to clear his head, but you’ve been living that way for too long.”

“What if I like it?” I responded.

“Partner I could care less what you like right now, you’re a damn fine detective but sometimes you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

“What’s that?”

“That you’re going too hard. You used to put all the pieces together, make a complete picture, and answer whodunit, now you’re kicking guys out windows.”

“Some people deserve to be kicked out windows,” I mutter.

“Granted, but how much longer do you think you can go if you keep living in the red like this? I know Karen said it but now I’m sayin’ it too. You keep pushing the limits of what you’re capable of, sooner or later you’re gonna go around the wrong corner and catch it between the eyes, never see it coming.”

“Don, I can’t help it. I gotta push it as hard as I can. Now, with everything so clear in my mind I can’t, no, I won’t ever let up. I know we’ve all got limitations, but I haven’t found mine yet. Even when I do I want to annihilate them. I do the stuff we do and I put an edge on man. For a long time, I’d take that edge off… but I don’t do that anymore, besides, I realized I like having that edge, I like staying sharp.”

“I get it man. I’ve known you long enough to know just how far you gonna take things most of the time. We didn’t get where we are because you’re a reasonable guy. But for fuck’s sake, try and get a life. You don’t have to lose your edge but you can sure as shit sheath it, put it back in your fuckin’ pants. Just go on a date or something. When was the last time you even went on a date?”

It had been long enough that I couldn’t remember. Although I’ve never had a problem attracting them, most women’s desire for me usually evaporates after they have to come to grips with the heated and unpredictable nature of who I am and what I do. I’m a strange guy. I chase problems most people run from. I’ve been shot, stabbed, broken bones, and been burnt in more ways than one. I’ve jumped out of and on-to moving vehicles, including helicopters and airplanes. I’ve torn down politicians and corrupt business people, and that makes a lot of powerful enemies. I’ve dismantled gangs and I bounty-hunted bail jumpers when I’m bored. Although many women find these roguish traits initially appealing they typically lose interest after I blow off enough dates chasing down leads, or they stop and consider the prospects of being attached to a man who attracts as many wounds and bombs as I do. As such I’d taken to avoiding any sort of explanation of who I am and what I do to women who didn’t already know. There was little shallow enjoyment in the pursuit of one-night stands and I’d had enough of my fair share to feel like most of the time it just wasn’t worth it. I couldn’t fake who I was to make someone like me anymore. Most days I just wanted someone to fall asleep on top of. There is an isolation that comes with being me. There are days when I wish I didn’t have to be alone, where I could feel like someone could accept me as I am, but no, these days aside from my team, I’m a lone wolf.

“Yeah exactly.” Says Don after I had left a considerable space in the air. “You got women barking up the tree. Or do you never listen to the office messages? Rae is still leaving you messages.”

“I’d rather not talk about that,” I say, raising my index and middle finger to my furrowed brow.

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Fuck, fine. What about that other lady…what was her name? From that case a month or so back?”

“I don’t wanna date Jennifer from Sabrebrook Village.”

“Why the hell not? She already loves you because we figured out it was her ex-husband that was embezzling out of the Yacht Club’s charity, we also proved that he was using that money to pay for the high-priced lawyer that he was retaining to screw her outta alimony. Oh yeah, and she’s like a ten on a bad day!” scoffs my man Detective David, slapping me on the back. “Jesus Christ Tom, are you sure you aren’t dead already?”

I sigh and try to find the words. “Ah, it’s just. She’s real nice and all but—”

“What?”

“What’s she gonna think when I inevitably get the shit kicked out of me in our next rumble? Or when we’re in the middle of a nice steak dinner and next thing you know I’m disappearing because I saw something suspicious going down by the lobster tank? Or what about when I go to that cocktail party with her and I bump into a wealthy friend of a well-connected guy that I’ve put in the slammer? How’s she gonna feel when I have to introduce her to some dipshit who’s gotta pick his teeth outta the punch bowl five minutes later?”

He laughs at me and leaps up putting me in a headlock and yelling in my ear. “You’re never gonna find out if you’re dead! Besides, you’ve found women that put up with your so called madness before, you’ll do it again.”

“Leggome!” I shove him off. “Look, this just makes sense to me. I’m in my stride. I’m picking up speed. I don’t want a relationship or anything anyway. It’s just…I’m not ready for that yet Don.” I sigh.

He beams at me, trying not to laugh. “This mother fucker right here. Take a bullet for a dog, too scared to talk to girls.”

“Hey, Fuck you man.”

He laughs. “ ‘Aight man, you play your game. Do you. But deadass I am off the clock this weekend, so I don’t wanna be getting any late-night phone calls hearing that you got your ass stuck in a serial killer’s basement or some other patently Tom Wolfe bullshit.”

“Why, you got plans?” I sound a little desperate.

“Yeah, man. I got a couple of days off with my lady.” He scoffs and shakes his head at me.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“Go, get some exercise. Find a new flavor for your vaporizer so I’m not giving rides to a guy who smells like he’s been using urinal cakes for breath mints. I don’t give a shit, just gimme a few days so’s I’m not sick of your face next time I have to see you.”

He slaps me on the back heading towards the office doors, turning back to me one last time before he leaves. “Just try to stay out of trouble and be careful.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” I shout after him as the door closes and I am left alone.