The car pool

Standing out of sight in the shadows of the garage, Stone hoped it would stay that way and that no one would notice him. He hadn't bargained for the underground station parking lot to be that busy. Out of uniform, he felt conspicuous, but the guy at the security booth looked too busy to be paying him any attention. A guy in greased up overalls walked over to car fifty-four. Stone stepped out from behind the concrete pillar and greeted him with his badge in his hand.

"It stinks of gasoline. It must have a leak," Stone said

"Yeah, that's what it says on the ticket." The guy knelt down a looked under the car. "It's not the petrol tank or the line to the carb. Can't see anything dripping unless the tank's empty."

"Give me the key. I'll check the gas gauge and pop the hood for you," Stone said.

The mechanic scrambled to his feet and handed him the key. Stone opened the door, placed the key in the ignition, then pulled the lever for the hood.

"Fire it up, will you," the mechanic called out. Stone turned the ignition, switched on the dash cam and entered his pen drive to begin transferring the video file.

"See anything under the hood? There's half a tank of gas," Stone said.

"No, nothing leaking under the hood."

The mechanic dropped the hood, just in time for him to withdraw his pen drive.

"I can smell it in here. Take a look. See if you can smell it for yourself."

Stone removed the key, then climbed out of the seat. The mechanic slid onto the driver's seat. He hurried around to the trunk and released the catch. Rummaging inside, he found what he was looking for. Teasing his cell phone from his pocket, he took a picture.

"You smell it yet?"

"Guess there's a faint smell. I haven't gotten time right now. I'll try it later and tighten some of the connections."

Stone sniffed at the rubber pipe he'd found in the trunk, and then pushed it under some rags.

"You do that. We don't need it until night shift," Stone said, then closed the trunk and gave him the key.

Head down, he set off outside along the ramp to the street. He'd parked his car just outside the exit. "Damn." Stone ripped the parking ticket off his windshield. He opened his door and climbed inside, stuffing the ticket into his glove compartment with the rest of them.

His eyelids were heavy. But then it was no wonder with his body clock messed up from working the graveyard shift. In desperate need for a caffeine infusion, he set off the five blocks to his favorite coffee shop.

Upon arrival, he took a window seat and called out "the usual" to the server, who brought him a steaming cup of black coffee. With a clear view of the television, he watched the opening credits of the news roll up on the screen. Stone was halfway through his coffee and watching a report about a local celebrity committing suicide, when she arrived with his bacon sandwich. Taking a bite, he almost choked when an image of his burned-out car appeared on the screen, being dragged onto a tow truck.

The news anchor appeared on screen and adjusted his tie. "These are the images of the aftermath of a riot that took place in the early hours over at South Los Angelis in various locations."

Stone gulped, and sensed his cheeks flush. The screen turned to showing nighttime images of shop windows going through and police battling with rioters and protesters.

"Our sources claim that the incidents were sparked after an earlier attempt at an operation to cordon off a corridor either side of Vermont Avenue, by a multi-agency task force for them to make gang arrests in the Westmont area. Police battled to restore order, finally managing to bring the streets back to normality at five this morning."

The presenter signed over to Doug James, an outside reporter.

"I'm here with Reverend Leroy Brown of the Crompton black rights movement, who is leading a demonstration with members of his movement outside the county sheriff's police department headquarters. Tell me Reverend Brown, why demonstrate, when all the police were doing was to protect the citizens of Compton, by rooting out the gangs that terrorize the area?" He put the microphone close to Brown.

"Well let me make this clear, there are no terrorists in Compton. The operation was designed to intimidate and to stir up racial tensions. As the saying goes, 'ye reap what you sow.' Our rights to freedom of movement that every citizen should enjoy were taken from the good God-fearing people of South Los Angeles during the early hours. They hemmed us in like pigs in a pigsty, and herein lies the problem. If you treat people like they're animals, then they'll rightfully act like animals to throw away the shackles of oppression for the freedom that they deserve, and for what Martin Luther King fought and died for. The whole operation was racist in nature. Not one white or Hispanic gang member was a target of the police in the operation that went down. Now we have two innocent black youths murdered by the police for doing nothing more than demonstrating for their rights. We want answers."

Reverend Brown began to cough and splutter. Someone dressed head to toe in black hustled forward through the crowd and grabbed the microphone. There was a scuffle with the camera temporarily facing the ground, when a voice called out. "And you wonder why white cops are getting killed. There'll be a lot more after this. Mark my words. I'll guarantee it."

The reporter grabbed back his microphone, to a crescendo of chants behind him, and the intruder disappeared into the crowd.

"As you can see, tensions are running pretty high. We've had no word from the police as to the circumstances surrounding the two youths killed in the riots, but we are told we can expect a statement shortly. This is Doug James handing back to the studio."

The presenter shuffled a stack of papers, then forced a smile.

"Well, it does seem that tensions are running high. In a statement from the governor's office received by e-mail earlier, we are told he is to call for a full enquiry regarding the whole operation, which in effect produced no targeted arrests, but tragically ended in the deaths of the two youths once the operation terminated. The e-mail does point out, that there are no witnesses to the unfortunate deaths of two citizens. With no police coming forward to report an incident, we can't say who killed them, in what appeared to be an execution style killing, normally attributed to gang hits."

Stone pushed back in his chair and rolled his eyes. He wondered if he'd be called in to a tribunal to give a verbal account of what happened surrounding his car getting torched. He expected word to get around that it was his vehicle they attacked and he'd be the butt of jokes. His thoughts were distracted when he saw an image of the gas station where the shootout happened.

"In an unrelated incident, police walked in on an armed robbery in progress at this gas station late yesterday evening. Unofficial police sources say that shots were fired, and in the process, an armed white female was shot and killed by an unnamed black police officer. We understand that he has been placed on administrative leave pending investigation."

Stone swallowed the last of his sandwich, and then drained what was left of his coffee. He dropped some bills on the table to cover the check and with enough for a tip, and then rushed outside for some air.

Settled onto his car seat, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. There was an ideological war of prejudice going on out there and he was in the thick of it, like it or not. He decided the sergeant was right. He needed to be part of a team for his own safety. They wouldn't all be like Granger and his cohorts. He wondered if he should take up the sergeant's advice and become a regular at Lou's bar. But then he knew he wasn't one for regularly propping up bars, or garnering friends since leaving college. There hadn't been time. Those he did have at one time were all now settled with families, or like him, concentrating on a career.

He turned the ignition key and drove off, thinking he'd give it a try over at Lou's after a decent sleep. If nothing else, loose beer talk, and someone running off at the mouth might shed some light on who and what was behind them torching his car.