Detective D. Case by Neal Goldy Page A

me!”
    “There’s
evidence on this, Davidson! If you can just settle down, we can talk about it.”
    “How
do you know my name is Davidson? I never said my name, if you happen to remember.”
    “I
have information about you in the case, if you happen to remember.” Officer Lincoln’s
reply dripped with sarcasm.
    Davidson’s
anger raged inside the metal cage of his body. The locks were breaking, no matter
how sturdy he had made them. Sooner or later they’d break, and then whoever stood
in the same room wouldn’t be in good health. It was of no use, and Davidson let
the cage break open. His anger deteriorated the prison and he tackled the police
officer, the same anger whistling so loud that Davidson hadn’t heard two gunshots
going wild, barely missing both his ears, making them ooze blood and what was left
of his poor eardrums pounding to their little squeamish deaths.  Davidson’s wife
came much, much later. She made the mistake of fixing up her garden an hour earlier.
The Davidson garden went as far as a mile from the house, but that wasn’t an excuse
to go looking for her husband when something like noises and sounds of breaking
of furniture happened. That it occurred out of earshot would be a silly reason.
She pulled the two men apart, ending the fight, and Officer Lincoln put his gun
back into his belt. Wordlessly, he raced for the door with his notepad and pen as
well as other things he must have planned on using before this nonsense happened.
    The
wife, her heart too sweet to deal with these things, broke into crying wails. Her
hands masked her tear-stricken-like-the-rain face, and Davidson went over to the
kitchen to think. He knew he could help his wife later, but something else was on
his mind. Davidson’s thoughts wandered to what Officer Lincoln had mentioned about
the identical cases the police held. The police, he supposed, would have found this
out long before and not now, but maybe time had a reason for this. Interestingly
enough, Davidson had the impression of looking into a mirror of the same destroyed
past, like a parallel universe.
     
    *****
    Martin’s hair was
all over his eyes so people thought he was older than he usually looked. Right now,
though, his eyes – if the possibility of seeing yourself became a reality – popped
through the giant mat of long, curly hair like a 3-D movie. The real kind, not the
cheap converted knock-offs.
              Under his
breath, he muttered many things. The one that rang up the counter had to be the
phrase, “I’m going to jail.” Second place would be awarded to, “I’m so going
to jail” and “My parents are gonna give me hell!” finalized the third. While doing
so, he shook the wheel so hard he was afraid it might pop off just like his eyes
were about to do if he didn’t stop.
              Sitting
in shotgun was his half-drunk friend, Ray. No matter where, Martin never saw Ray
without a beer, scotch, or jack. One time his parents said that he was gonna drown
himself in his own alcohol. In return Ray said that those were the most powerful
pieces of poetry he ever heard.
              He was
wild, that Ray, but now he slurped his drink with lazy eyes. “Maybe he isn’t dead,”
he slurred.
              Martin
let his hands go. Just as he sort of predicted, the parts where his hands were on
the wheel crunched. When given the right pressure, Martin could transform into a
human Hulk if he wanted to. Maybe not precisely when he wanted to because it
only happened at the time the power seized him and not the other way around, but
you get the idea.
              Ray nudged
his shoulder. “Martin. Martin, you still there?” he asked.
              “Yeah,
still here.”
              “We should
get out of the car. See if the man’s alive or not.”
              Automatically
Martin’s hands went back to chewing the rubber off the wheel. “No way, man, no way.
What if he