Black Ice

Black Ice
Ebony roll over in her bed with a bad attitude. The bad attitude was not uncommon but the lack of sleep was. Her gift as her father called it kicked in. Fuck, she said as she put the pillow over her head as if she was drowning out some really bad music. She really hated when she used bad language even though she had a potty mouth. It reminded her of her mother Frances who also had a potty mouth. there was nothing in the world that messed up her day worse then being told or reminded or even thought to be like her mother Frances, not that her mother was a bad person, or that she treated her daughter badly, nor that she was a bad mother really. She was not Ebony's idea of what she would like her mother to be like but what kid gets to pick their parent. She smiled at that thought as she swung her feet over the end of the bed. She was not going to get any sleep so she might as well study for her impending exam. Who was she to complain when she had the most wonderful dad in the world. John G.Davenport was just the opposite of his wife. He was a man of few words. Given to much thought on even the most trivial subject. "How's the weather John," would get a slow hmmmm as he look up at the ceiling over the top of his bifocals as if the answer was up there. Then slowly he would give you the rosiest picture of the weather. Ebony once heard her dad describe a snowstorm so kindly that you wish you had been there even though most of the people that were there ended up in Herman Keifers. Herman Keifer was a very old hospital on the north side of Detroit. The sound of the phone brought her out of her musing.
When the phone rang, Lt.Frankie Davenport knew it was going to be bad, Very bad. Lt. Davenport premonition had been going off like an alarm for ten minutes now. She was getting paranoid. The same paranoid that had kept her alive for ten years on the force and two years in the toughest unit in the toughest precinct in Detroit’s east side. Lt. Frankie Davenport was a cop, like her father before her and all her uncles was now. Her name was Frances Unique Davenport, but everyone who still had their teeth and quite a few who didn’t call her Frankie. Her subordinates called her sir unless she could here them, then they called her mam. She preferred Frankie to Frances just as she wanted a boy when Ebony was born. She considered it a curse. Her father had wanted a boy just as his brothers had all had at least one boy to join the force. However, her mother had only produced one child. Her consolation to her husband was to name her Frances, which was as close to Frank as she cared to get. Frances Unique davenport wanted badly to give her father an grandson just as she wanted to be the son he would never have. But she had failed at that just as she had failed to measure up to her father dreams of having a son following his footsteps on the force. Lieutenant Davenport you have not kept our agreement. The voice over the phone was slow and deliberate. We must do something about that now musten we. In exactly thirty minutes Sacred Portals will be no more. Goodbye lieutenant. The phone clicked with the finality you get when no one is on the other end. She was in motion before the receiver hit its cradle. Her feet only touched every three stairs as she raced out the door and down the staircase. She swooped up her spare revolver as she ran. Once in the police garage she turned the key and picked up the mike in one fluid motion. A fluidity that only comes with practice. Much practice. One David one-she spat into the mike in her staccato like fashion. Her call sign signal to the dispatch that she was a lieutenant who last name began with a D, who was also a unit commander. She always wondered what would happen if someone else would have had her same last name grade and title what they would do. The dispatch brought her back as she answer immediately. Yes One David One. She spat her instructions into the mike whit her usual precise manner hoping the desperation would not show in her voice. John was in there. He had called her earlier and told her he would be there all day. Some stupid program he was running for the kids. Then he would grab a bite and study the rest of the evening. He was worse then the ecology nuts in the save the whale commercials except his all revolved around people. Not normal people but broke or homeless or addicts or whatever other type of slime he could find in the gutters of Detroit southwest side. If he ran ad on a t-shirt, it would sound something like this. “Save A whore for of such were some of us.Damn did he think he could save the whole world. She smiled at that. Yes he did. She turned the corner and handed down the expressway as she answered her own question. Yes he did. That was one of the things she loved about him in the beginning, his idealistic way of looking at life. It was so refreshing after living her whole life around jaded cops. She loved his big as a mountain heart; she loved the way he looks over the top of his glasses whenever he was in thought, which was often. She even loved the look he would get on his face when she said anything vulgar which was often. John never approved of vulgarity in any of its forms. He had no problem with drinking behind a prostitute who had given a million blowjobs but acted as if the world was coming to an end when she used the word shit. She looked at her watch as she exited the Fisher Freeway on Clark Street. She had ten minutes to go. She was going to make it, she had to make it.