real bad, but I never saw it. Then we were going to do something to this old bum. I was still scared out of my gourd when I woke up. I had to draw something from the dream.”
Bryan pulled the sheet of paper out of his pocket, opened it and passed it to Pookie. Pookie looked at the image: an unfinished triangle with a circle slicing through the lines and under the points, a smaller circle in the center.
“Wow,” Pookie said. “Your father and I are so proud, honey, we’ll put it right on the fridge next to your report card. What is it?”
“No idea.”
“And … what happened after you drew it?”
Bryan shrugged. “The fear went away. So did most of the dream. But I think I remember
where
the dream took place.”
“You recognized the spot?”
“Uh-huh. Pretty sure it was Van Ness and Fern.”
“Crazy. You want to check it out?”
Bryan shook his head. “We have to get to the chief’s office.”
“We’ve got fifteen minutes to spare,” Pookie said. “Come on, this could be good material for our cop show. I can see the log-line now —
an overstressed rebel cop can’t escape nightmares of the hit man that got away
.”
“I didn’t dream about a hit man.”
“Dramatic license,” Pookie said. “Come on, Bri-Bri, this could be like a whole episode for me. Or even a three-episode mini-arc. You in?”
Bryan remembered the crawling sense of creeping death, the fear that had gripped his stomach even as he descended on the bum. But he didn’t feel that fear anymore. And besides, it was just a dream.
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s check it out.”
Pookie changed lanes again. He left angry honks in his wake, and — as usual — he really didn’t seem to care.
Van Ness and Fern
B ryan looked around the alley. So damn familiar. Maybe he’d been here before.
Had
to have been here before. He couldn’t know this place from a dream.
Pookie lifted the lid of a beat-up blue dumpster and peeked inside. Seeing nothing of interest, he shut the lid, brushed off his hands and adjusted his sunglasses. He kept looking around the alley. “So you saw a bum. And some kid wearing crimson and gold?”
“Not sure,” Bryan said. “The kid could have
been
crimson and gold. It was a dream, Pooks.”
“Yeah, but this is cool. Episode is practically writing itself. It’s rare for a dreamer to think of a specific spot and not have there be some kind of a connection.”
“And you know this because of your doctorate in dream-ology?”
“Discovery Channel, asshole,” Pookie said. “There’s more to life than reality TV.”
Pookie pulled out his cell phone and checked the time. “All right, we better get rolling. Can’t be late for your chitchat with Zou. Maybe the Brothers Steve already tracked down Joe-Joe. The Steves find Ablamowicz’s killer, and we go back on nights and can grab the Maloney case away from Polyester Rich.”
Lanza had made good on Bryan’s demand for a name. That name? Joseph “Joe-Joe” Lombardi, another of the guys who had come out from New Jersey. Bryan and Pookie had immediately turned that info over to the Brothers Steve. Was that Ablamowicz’s actual killer? Bryan couldn’t say, but it was a lot more information than they’d had twenty-four hours ago.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bryan said. “My stomach is a mess. If I have to smell that dumpster anymore, I’m going to blow chunks.”
They walked out of the alley back to the Buick.
“Pooks, you need to get with reality — Zou won’t give us the Maloney case.”
“The hell she won’t.”
“Polyester Rich and Zou go way back. I heard they both made inspector about the same time.”
Pookie got in and started the car. “Mark my words, young Bryan Clauser. You and I will get this case. And when we do, we
will
nail PaulMaloney’s murderer. I simply won’t stand for pee-freak vigilantes in my town.”
Bryan slid into the passenger seat. He looked back to the dumpster and saw something he’d
Bryan pulled the sheet of paper out of his pocket, opened it and passed it to Pookie. Pookie looked at the image: an unfinished triangle with a circle slicing through the lines and under the points, a smaller circle in the center.
“Wow,” Pookie said. “Your father and I are so proud, honey, we’ll put it right on the fridge next to your report card. What is it?”
“No idea.”
“And … what happened after you drew it?”
Bryan shrugged. “The fear went away. So did most of the dream. But I think I remember
where
the dream took place.”
“You recognized the spot?”
“Uh-huh. Pretty sure it was Van Ness and Fern.”
“Crazy. You want to check it out?”
Bryan shook his head. “We have to get to the chief’s office.”
“We’ve got fifteen minutes to spare,” Pookie said. “Come on, this could be good material for our cop show. I can see the log-line now —
an overstressed rebel cop can’t escape nightmares of the hit man that got away
.”
“I didn’t dream about a hit man.”
“Dramatic license,” Pookie said. “Come on, Bri-Bri, this could be like a whole episode for me. Or even a three-episode mini-arc. You in?”
Bryan remembered the crawling sense of creeping death, the fear that had gripped his stomach even as he descended on the bum. But he didn’t feel that fear anymore. And besides, it was just a dream.
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s check it out.”
Pookie changed lanes again. He left angry honks in his wake, and — as usual — he really didn’t seem to care.
Van Ness and Fern
B ryan looked around the alley. So damn familiar. Maybe he’d been here before.
Had
to have been here before. He couldn’t know this place from a dream.
Pookie lifted the lid of a beat-up blue dumpster and peeked inside. Seeing nothing of interest, he shut the lid, brushed off his hands and adjusted his sunglasses. He kept looking around the alley. “So you saw a bum. And some kid wearing crimson and gold?”
“Not sure,” Bryan said. “The kid could have
been
crimson and gold. It was a dream, Pooks.”
“Yeah, but this is cool. Episode is practically writing itself. It’s rare for a dreamer to think of a specific spot and not have there be some kind of a connection.”
“And you know this because of your doctorate in dream-ology?”
“Discovery Channel, asshole,” Pookie said. “There’s more to life than reality TV.”
Pookie pulled out his cell phone and checked the time. “All right, we better get rolling. Can’t be late for your chitchat with Zou. Maybe the Brothers Steve already tracked down Joe-Joe. The Steves find Ablamowicz’s killer, and we go back on nights and can grab the Maloney case away from Polyester Rich.”
Lanza had made good on Bryan’s demand for a name. That name? Joseph “Joe-Joe” Lombardi, another of the guys who had come out from New Jersey. Bryan and Pookie had immediately turned that info over to the Brothers Steve. Was that Ablamowicz’s actual killer? Bryan couldn’t say, but it was a lot more information than they’d had twenty-four hours ago.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bryan said. “My stomach is a mess. If I have to smell that dumpster anymore, I’m going to blow chunks.”
They walked out of the alley back to the Buick.
“Pooks, you need to get with reality — Zou won’t give us the Maloney case.”
“The hell she won’t.”
“Polyester Rich and Zou go way back. I heard they both made inspector about the same time.”
Pookie got in and started the car. “Mark my words, young Bryan Clauser. You and I will get this case. And when we do, we
will
nail PaulMaloney’s murderer. I simply won’t stand for pee-freak vigilantes in my town.”
Bryan slid into the passenger seat. He looked back to the dumpster and saw something he’d
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