David Jackson - The Helper

‘So do you think you’ve made your point?’

‘Oh, I think so, don’t you? Look at how you floundered when you didn’t have me to help you. You needed me, Cal. You needed my information. Without me you were nothing. Those murders would still be taking place now if it wasn’t for me. You didn’t solve those murders at all. It was me. Jesus, the rest of the NYPD didn’t even know they were connected — that’s how dumb they are. That’s why they should have accepted me, Cal. Their loss.’

Acceptance. That’s the crux of it. A sad and lonely misfit craving some kind of acceptance. And then the deadly ramifications when he doesn’t get it.

‘It wasn’t the right way to do it, Gonzo. There are better ways. You could have told us about Everett from day one. And we would have looked up to you for that.’

‘Sure you would. Or maybe you would have taken all the credit and then locked me up for computer crime. I know how you guys work. You don’t want to be made to look stupid by some kid fresh out of college. Well now I’ve shown you. I’m not a jerk. I can do things you can’t. Now you know.’

‘Yes, I know. But nobody else does, Gonzo. This bomb you dropped has limited impact. Was it worth it?’

Gonzo laughs, but there’s no humor there. Instead, he sounds almost weary.

‘Yet again, you disappoint me, Cal. It doesn’t matter what they know. I was doing it for me, not them. I was proving the point to myself.’

‘And now that you’ve done that, what’s next? Where do you go from here?’

‘What’s next? I told you a million times, buddy. It’s all about helping. Now it’s my turn.’

Gonzo raises his arm so that it comes into shot on the monitor. In his hand he is carrying a Glock pistol.

Doyle levels his own sidearm, and feels foolish when he realizes he’s drawing down on a computer.

‘What are you doing, Gonzo? Where did you get the gun?’

‘I work at 1PP, Cal. The building is full of these things. Somewhere there’s an embarrassed cop who still hasn’t admitted losing his weapon.’

‘Put it down, Gonzo. It doesn’t have to be like this.’

‘It does, Cal. You know it does.’

Around Doyle, all the monitors come on again. All showing the same image of Gonzo lifting the gun and pressing its muzzle to his temple.

‘Gonzo!’

For the last time, Gonzo slips back into his high-pitched geek voice.

‘So long, Detective. I enjoyed working with you.’

The explosion, blasting out from every computer speaker in the room, is deafening.

On the monitors, the side of Gonzo’s head erupts. His eyes cross as a geyser of blood spurts from his skull, and then he slumps forward, out of sight.

Then, one by one, the monitors go back to sleep. One by one, the lights on the computer towers blink and die. The whirring fans wind down and their noise fades.

All is silent.

On his way out of the room, something catches Doyle’s eye. It’s taped to the inside of the door. A little memento. He takes it down and slips it into his pocket.

And then he leaves.

Three days later. Doyle at home, enjoying the peace and tranquility. Enjoying life with his family.

Tucked up in bed, Amy asks, ‘You catch any bad guys today, Daddy?’

Doyle strokes her forehead, pushing strands of hair off her face. ‘Not today, hon. Today was pretty slow.’

‘Then tomorrow you’ll have to catch lots more. Hundreds of them. Or maybe even dozens.’

Doyle smiles. ‘I guess I will. It’s gonna be a busy day.’

‘I’m gonna be busy too. I hafta draw two pictures for Miss Olefski.’

‘Mrs Lefty?’

‘No, Daddy! Miss Olefski. My teacher.’

‘Oh! I thought you said Mrs Lefty. Like maybe she has only one hand. And the other arm has a big crab claw at the end of it. And she has a big hump on her back. And one of her eyes has a-’

‘Daddy, stop it!’ says Amy, even though she can’t stop giggling. ‘I’m gonna tell Miss Olefski what you said about her.’

Doyle puts his hand to his mouth as though he’s terrified at the prospect. ‘Oh, no. Please don’t do that.’

‘All right, I won’t. I’m not a tattle-snail, are I?’

‘No you’re not a tattle-snail.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Hey, I got something for you.’

‘You have? What is it?’

‘It’s been in my pocket for days. I keep meaning to give it to you. Here. .’

He slips his hand into his pocket and takes out the object he found taped to Gonzo’s apartment door. It’s the button. The one with ‘Captain Awesome’ written on it. The one he pinned on Gonzo.

He says, ‘Shall I put it back in your shiny box?’

‘You don’t have to. You can keep it if you want.’

‘Can I? I’d like that. Thank you. It means a lot to me.’

‘That’s okay. Can you turn out the light now? I’m tired.’

Doyle gives her a goodnight kiss and then switches off the light. As he leaves, he closes his fingers tightly around the button, then drops it back into his pocket.

In the living room, Rachel is at the computer again, working on her photographs. As he strolls over to her, music starts playing over the computer speakers.

‘Why Does It Always Rain On Me?’ by Travis.

Doyle stops in his tracks. Rachel turns to face him.

‘What’s the matter? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

A ghost? Yeah, something like that.

‘What? No. It was just. . the music. Took me by surprise. After me asking about it the other day.’

‘Actually, that’s what made me dig it out. I haven’t listened to this in ages. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No.’ Although he does mind. He could happily live the rest of his life without ever hearing this song again.

Doyle steps closer to Rachel. Standing behind her, he looks at what she’s working at on the computer. He sees the same image he saw a couple of weeks back: the old black man sitting on the stoop of his apartment building.

‘Whatcha doing?’ he asks.

‘A local magazine saw my photo. They want to use it on their cover. Only they don’t want any product placement.’

Doyle leans closer. ‘What product placement?’

Rachel grabs the mouse and makes a few clicks. Another window opens alongside the first. The same man on the stoop again.

‘Spot the difference,’ says Rachel.

He sees it then. In the original photograph, there’s a can of Dr Pepper on the step at the man’s feet. In the new image, it’s gone. Not a trace of it ever being there.

‘The soda can,’ says Doyle. ‘Where’d it go?’

‘I took it out.’

‘You can do that?’

‘I can do anything I want. The wonders of technology. I can turn him into the President, or Mickey Mouse. The media do it all the time. The newspapers take people out of photographs and they put others in. Foreign governments put their dead leaders in situations that make it seem they must still be alive.’

‘I guess so. That private eye I was telling you about? He musta done something like this to fake a photo of Mrs Sachs’s daughter.’

‘See? Happens all the time. Never believe what you see on an image that’s been through a computer.’

A call of ‘Daddy’ comes from Amy’s bedroom.

‘I’ll get it,’ says Rachel. She gets up from the chair.

Doyle continues to stare at the computer screen.

Never believe what you see. .

‘By the way,’ Rachel says. ‘You might need to get your pal Lonnie to come and look at that machine. Amy says it’s been doing funny things when she’s talking to Ellie on it. She says it keeps showing her pictures of a weird guy with red hair and glasses. I haven’t seen it myself, but that’s what she says.’