Up From The Deep by Vaughn Jackson (highly recommended books txt) 📕

“What am I looking at here?” the inspector said, leaning into the computer.

“The messages,” Devonte whispered, “they’re all gone.”

“Can you explain without them?”

“Yes, but…”

“What?”

“Now there’s no guarantee you’ll believe me.”

“Let’s assume that I will,” the inspector said, placing a firm but comforting hand on Devonte’s shoulder. “Start from the beginning.” He took out a notepad and a red fine point pen and scratched the date at the top of the first blank sheet.

He must have noticed the worried look that crossed Devonte’s face, because he said, “Don’t worry, my memory just isn’t as great as when I was your age. This is just to help me keep the facts straight.”

The worry didn’t leave Devonte’s face.

Inspector Dehane chuckled. “And besides, I’m not a San Francisco detective, I have no jurisdiction here. I’d just like to help, if I can.”

Devonte felt a little less tense. “Okay. It started at about 6am this morning.” When the inspector’s pen stopped moving, he continued with his story. He left out the bits about giant monster theories and hacking into the NASA satellite system. The inspector said he wanted to help, but Devonte thought it unwise to admit to federal crimes and kaiju conspiracies in front of a law enforcement agent.

The Inspector, Raymond, as he asked Devonte to call him, nodded sagely as he finished his story. “That is quite distressing.”

Devonte ran his hands through coarse hair. “What am I gonna do?” The words all came out at once.

“We should return to your apartment. Search for clues. And you in particular should stay calm.”

“My apartment?” Devonte said, his eyes wide. “Uh, I’m sure there’s nothing there worth checking.” He wasn’t about to just let a random man, of the law or otherwise, into his apartment, even if he claimed to be trying to help.

Raymond raised an eyebrow. “I am not here to bust you for any crimes you may or may not be committing. If your friend was kidnapped, that is a more serious matter in my mind.”

Devonte drummed his fingers on the table with one hand and held his head with the other. Do I have a choice? He sighed. “Okay. For D-Base.”

“Hm. Good, shall we?” He slid his chair away from the table and stood. “Oh, and when we get outside, please hand over your gun.”

“What? Why?”

Without turning his head, Raymond glanced at a woman in the corner of the cafe. “Because I believe someone may have called the police. And I’ve seen the news lately.”

Devonte felt his pulse quicken, a fast, but heavy throbbing in his chest. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.” He packed his bag as fast as he could and scooted his chair back. It scraped noisily against the floor, turning a few heads. The woman Raymond had pointed out narrowed her eyes. Every fiber in Devonte’s being wanted to flip her off. He resisted with an equally potent scowl.

The two of them exited, making polite excuses to the people in the line as they pushed through. When they were outside and no longer in view of the glass door, Devonte pulled the gun from his waistband and handed it to Raymond. He muttered something about “terrible gun safety” and slid it into a spare holster at his waist.

“Not a moment too soon,” Devonte whispered.

A police cruiser, an old Mustang, whooped and rolled up beside them. The car stopped and they did as well. Two officers, a man and a woman, got out of the car. His badge read “Johnson”, and hers, “McGee”. Devonte let out an unconscious sigh of relief when he saw that at least one of the officers was black. The man towered over both Devonte and Raymond. The wrinkles around his eyes pinched together as he rubbed at his receding hairline.

“You two come from the cafe back there?” His voice sounded like concrete dragged across hot asphalt. He gave them a tired look that carried all the gravitas of a man who’d been to war.

“They match the description, Lieutenant,” McGee said. Her hand went to her hip. To her gun, Devonte thought. He tensed.

“Please don’t cause me any problems today,” the male cop said. “Just frisk the kid.” He turned to Devonte. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Devonte knew it would be easier to comply. He tried to lighten the tension in the air with a joke. “Just try not to get too handsy down there.” Are you fucking stupid?

As soon as the words left his mouth he cringed. McGee scowled at him and took a step forward. Her hand no longer on her gun, Devonte felt himself relax, if only a little bit.

“Now, I believe that is unnecessary,” Raymond said, stepping between Devonte and the female officer. His badge was in his hand, on display for them to see.

“Interpol. And you’re a Chicago detective.” It was a statement, not a question. The lieutenant looked Raymond up and down. “We received a call about a suspicious black kid and an older, disheveled looking Caucasian gentleman.”

Raymond checked his trench coat and rumpled burgundy suit, then looked back at the officer with a mixture of horror and a deep sense of offense.

“If you don’t mind, the caller seemed to be quite afraid of the fact that the young man had a gun. The frisk?” The lieutenant continued, either not noticing or completely ignoring Raymond’s reaction.

“Ah,” Raymond said, composing himself and refusing to move from in front of Devonte. “A simple mistake.” He opened his trench-coat, revealing both his revolver and Devonte’s Beretta. “I am the one with the gun...guns.”

Lieutenant Johnson gave a heavy sigh. “Sir—”

“If you would like to see my licenses,” Raymond continued. “I do believe I happen to have both of them on me.”

Devonte shot him a confused glance then quickly fixed his face when he caught the other officer staring him down.

She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a loud musical chime. She frowned and looked at the detective.

Raymond pressed a hand