“A murdered gang member turns out to be an undercover cop.”
Mari’s mouth twisted up as she watched the news report, her legs tucked under her so her soft gray robe covered her bare feet. The chilly room bothered her more than the news today, and the story was as normal as any: someone died. Just because she knew the victim didn’t make it any more interesting. Sure, she liked Jester well enough. His sense of humor lined up very nicely with her own. She hadn’t known him for more than a few months, though. She hadn’t had time to get attached. It was easier that way, she learned. If she didn’t get close with the new members, she didn’t have to grieve much when some inevitably messed up.
She picked up her mug of coffee, finishing off the bitter drink in a few quick mouthfuls. It woke her up faster than anything else could. With a groan, she uncurled her legs, set her feet on the floor, and stood up. She had half a pot of coffee to work her way through, and it wasn’t going to drink itself. She shuffled her way to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes with her free hand and glancing at the clock. Almost 7:00. The sun had already set, but she needed to wait a few hours for the night to really take hold. People would still be awake for a while. She couldn’t hardly break into a home with the owners walking around! She stopped at her kitchen counter, pulling the coffee pot off of the machine to pour herself another mug as the news anchors droned on in the background.
“…Suspected drug deal gone wrong….”
That didn’t surprise her. Drug deals were just about the only thing Jester volunteered for. He got excited about those, for some reason. If they needed him for anything else, Corey had to demand that Jester do it. Mari set the coffee pot back on the maker and picked up her mug, blowing at the steam that curled off of it. She sipped it as she started back for the living room, wincing as it burned her tongue. She let go of the mug with one hand to brush some brown hair out of her face, then set the mug down on the mass-produced coffee table, not even bothering with a coaster. She plopped down on her couch with a huff, tucking her feet up under her robe to warm them up again.
A police officer was on screen now, standing behind a podium while cameras flashed. He looked all official-like between his short hair and uniform. He was reading a speech, glancing between the paper on the podium and the crowd of reporters. She wanted to roll her eyes at the whole thing. Cops always had something to say. There was a spiel about catching the people responsible, and she stopped listening about halfway through. She doubted they cared enough to actually look into a situation like this. It would end with barely an investigation, nobody would be caught or charged, and life would go on.
She picked up the remote from the coffee table. She was about to change the channel when the officer on the television caught her attention again.
“It’s always tragic when an officer is killed in the line of duty-“
An officer died? She didn’t hear anything about that earlier. She furrowed her brow, still holding the remote up. If Jester got an officer killed somehow – or worse, killed one himself – that might cause trouble for the rest of them. The last thing anyone needed was a bunch of cops asking questions around the neighborhood.
“Officer Darryl Melson was a good man, and he will be missed.”
Mari’s eyes widened, her fingers tightening on the shaking remote as she stared at the screen. Ice spread from her stomach up to her chest, and there was no robe or coffee could chase that chill away. They trusted him. She trusted him. Jester never struck her as a cop. How much had he fed back to his friends? He’d seen so much! Were officers on their way here right now to drag them all in for questioning? She didn’t doubt the gang would catch the blame for this. It would make so much sense for them to have done this, if he’d somehow been caught. Who would believe a bunch of criminals if they said that they didn’t do it?
She flinched and released the remote at a loud buzz. The remote clattered onto the coffee table, the back popping off and the batteries bouncing out. Mari sucked in a breath, her eyes landing on the phone as it buzzed again on the coffee table. Letting the breath out, she picked the phone up. A text icon was flashing on the screen, the sender changing every ten seconds or so as each new message came in. Delia, Corey, Mitch, Delia, Delia again, Corey, Delia, Minor, Tom, on and on. She wasn’t the only one who watched the news tonight. That sped things up. The less explaining they had to do, the faster they could plan.
Mari blew a breath out between her teeth, finally opening the group message to read the barrage of capital letters and strings of profanity. A plan, they would need.
