The Viking Funeral

Chapter 14

AND SINCE I think this guy could be dangerous," Shane said, "I'm not going to take a chance on what happened last time happening again."

They were driving to the airport. Chooch was heading off to quarterback camp. His duffel was stuffed; his helmet and pads were on the backseat.

"No way what happened last time can ever happen again," Chooch said.

They were talking about the Naval Yard case, when Chooch had been kidnapped in an attempt to get Shane to back off.

"So why didn't you give Alexa the ring?" Chooch asked, to change the subject.

"Don't worry about me and Alexa. Things always happen for the best."

"Shane, you're screwing this up."

"Maybe, but you don't have all of it."

"So, tell me."

"No."

"Why?"

"'Cause I haven't got it completely figured out myself yet. And you may be right. I may be screwing it up, but you've gotta let me and Alexa work it out. This stuff can't be forced."

"You know, I love her, too," Chooch said.

"I know. I know you do."

When they arrived at the airport, Shane left his car parked at the LAPD substation. He got Chooch's stuff out of the backseat, and they walked to the Southwest Airlines terminal. Security was intense since the World Trade Center disaster; it took almost two hours to get to the counter. Shane helped Chooch check in and get his seat assignment, then they sat outside the metal detector in the lobby while people milled around, full of their own life's worries.

"Chooch, look, I'm not gonna mess it up. Okay?"

"She's the best person we ever knew, and I'm urging you-shit, man, I'm begging you… Give her the fucking ring."

"Don't swear so much," Shane said. "Your mouth is getting terrible. Swearing doesn't make you an adult."

Chooch smiled. "Okay," he finally said. "I'll work on it, but give her the frickin' ring."

It was time for Chooch to go, and his son stood. Shane was surprised lately to see that he and Chooch were exactly the same height. At six feet, they were eye to eye when they gave each other a hug.

"I love you, man," Shane said.

"Me too, Dad." Then Chooch grabbed his pads and helmet, which he had elected to carry onto the flight, and walked to the end of the line. Shane stood and watched as he got through the entrance, then turned back. "Give her the ring, Shane," he said once more.

"Is that your last comment on the matter?"

"That's it." Chooch smiled, then he was gone.

After that a strange series of events occurred.

As Shane was standing in the parking lot by the substation, about to get into his car, he noticed that on the trunk lids of most of the squad cars was a fine black dust. It reminded him of the black dust he'd seen on the trunk and hood of Jody's Charger as he looked over and saw his "dead" friend speeding along next to him on the San Diego Freeway Friday morning. Most dirty cars had brown dust, not black.

A uniformed police officer, a sergeant, moved past him on his way out of the substation, and Shane stopped him. "Hey, excuse me, Sarge…"

The man turned.

"I'm Shane Scully, detective three at Robbery-Homicide," he said as the man turned and walked toward him. Shane dug out his badge and showed it to the man.

"I heard about you. You got a lot of ink last year."

"Right." Shane smiled, trying to disarm what seemed like a negative attitude. "I notice all these Plain Janes here have a black dust of some kind all over them."

The sergeant wrinkled his brow. "You working for the motor pool now?"

"No," Shane said. "I was just wondering what it is."

"It's burned jet fuel. These jets take off every minute or so, and they spew black exhaust. Gets all over the cars that live around here."

"No kidding," Shane said, looking at a plane that was just taking off, climbing out past the terminals, trailing dark smoke out of four huge engines. "Got it," he said. "Thanks."

Shane got into his car and pulled out of the parking lot. He didn't know what he was looking for, or even what he was doing. Maybe it was just the vast amount of free time he seemed to have on his hands these days. He drove aimlessly around the Los Angeles airport, picking neighboring streets, looking at cars parked at the curbs. The ones that looked like they'd been there for a while all had the same layer of black dust on their hoods, trunks, and windshields.

Then Shane saw the green-covered fence.

It was at the end of one of the streets near the airport and seemed to run for several blocks. He parked, got out, and moved up to the chain-link, which was covered with Highway Department green plastic so you couldn't see through it. He took out his pocketknife and cut a hole in the plastic.

Inside the fence was a vacant neighborhood, just like the one he was in, only there were no cars on the street, no tricycles or toys strewn around on the brown, unwatered lawns.

"Whatcha doin'?" he heard a voice behind him demand.

Shane turned and saw an old man with a long, string-bean neck. His Adam's apple looked like a ball bouncing up and down on the end of a rubber band when he spoke.

"What is this place?" Shane asked.

"Noise-abatement area," the old man said. "They condemned all a'them houses 'bout two years ago, 'cause they sit right at the end a'the runway and the people who lived in them was all the time complaining about jet noise. Not that it's any better out here," he said. Then, as if to make his point, a jet took off, rising overhead, its engines screaming, trailing black exhaust.

"See," the old man shouted over the racket.

"Shit, that's loud."

"They say you get used t'it, but y'don't. Fuckin' drive y'nuts. Can't never sell these here houses 'cause only a deaf moron would buy 'em. We built here in the thirties, 'fore there was an airport."

"So, nobody lives inside this fence?"

"Nope," the old man said. "Three square blocks, empty as a hooker's heart."

"Nobody ever goes in there?" Shane asked.

"Once or twice, some cops. Showed us badges; said they was using the neighborhood to practice clearin' barricaded suspects house to house. Only seen 'em go in there a couple a'times."

"Any way to get in?" Shane asked.

"There's a gate right up the street on the Florence side, but it's all padlocked."

Shane nodded, thanked him, then got into his car and drove up the street to have a look.

What he found inside that fence defied all reason, as well as most of the core values he believed in.