It Is What It Is.


by Steven J Holetz

[Warning - Explicit Content]

9:00 pm

     Donnie stands beside the payphone in front of the closed SoDo donut shop and checks his watch, the collar of his
ratty wool coat pulled up to his ears. 9:00 pm on the nose, time for the meeting. The parking lot before him is deserted
and motionless but for an empty paper cup blowing across the pavement, but still Donnie’s eyes dart back and forth,
as he does his best to melt into the wall and remain unseen. The cold wind off Elliott Bay chills him through his coat
and jeans, and he shifts his weight from one worn-sneaker to the other in an effort to keep warm. Nervous and
needing a fix, he just wants to get this over with, get back to Sierra, and get high.

      A moment later, a dark blue sedan slides into the lot, slowing to a stop at Donnie’s feet, the left headlight projecting
a target-like circle on his chest. Still blinded by the halogen high beam, Donnie moves to the driver’s side
window, which
whirrs as it is lowered.

     “S’up Donnie?”

     The condescending greeting comes from Detective Terrence Wulverson, or “Wolf” as his friends would call him,
if he had any. The detective’s features are a collection of the predatory: a shock of black hair, intense blue eyes, a sharp
nose and jutting chin, his grin all white teeth and ambition.

      “Why you so nervous, Donnie? You aren’t holding, are you”

      “No. I’m not nervous, just cold.”

“I’d ask you in, but I don’t want to fuck up my ride. You got what I need?”

     “1:00 am, a warehouse by the waterfront. Here’s the address. The northeast door will be open.” Donnie hands
 the detective a slip of paper. “Are we done?”

     Wolf takes the paper and examines it with a nod, then smiles a savage white smile and extends a flattened
hand, a pair of folded $20's trapped between his first two fingers. “Sure, Donnie, go fix yourself up. But this deal better go
down as planned, or I will fix YOU up, for good. It’d be a shame if you disappeared like all those other junkies.”

     Donnie takes the money, and jams it into his pocket, spitting out a halfhearted “Fuck you, man”. He trots around
the corner of the building and into the dark of the alley.

     Wolf rolls up his window and flips open his cell phone, hitting a button. “All right fellas, I just spoke with the informant.
We’re in business. 1:00 am. It’s on.” Wulverson returns the phone to his pocket and shifts the sedan into reverse,
backing across the lot and crushing the cup before fading shark-like into the misty Seattle night.

10:00 pm

     Finally out of the cold; Donnie takes the elevator to the top floor of the Pioneer Square high rise, trying to shake
the last shivers from his bones. The building was mostly offices, but he rode past them all to the suite on the top
floor. Donnie knocks, and the door is opened by a large, heavily-built man. He is dressed in a thick black sweater,
dark blue jeans and heavy boots. A black sock hat is pulled tightly over his bald head.

      Donnie speaks first, “Hey Erich. It’s done.”

     “I will inform Mr. Dominick.” says Erich, his words lined with a slight German accent.

      Donnie waits standing in the foyer which opens onto a large living room. The loft suite is decorated sparse and
modern, clean lines and glass and chrome, the only splashes of color provided by several small pieces of art in
various shades of orange and red. Except for track lighting trained on the artwork, the room is dimly illuminated,
all windows covered by dark heavy drapes. “Too bad”, thinks Donnie, “the view of the bay is probably killer.”

      Erich returns, his sweater doing little to hide the threat of the bulk beneath.

      “How can you wear that thing when it’s so fucking hot in here?” Donnie blurts out quizzically.

     “It’s not so hot. You’ve just been out in the cold. Mr. Dominick will see you now.”

     Erich leads Donnie through the living room and down a long hall, passing several doors on either side before
stopping at a large oaken pair at the hallways end. Erich opens the door to reveal a library. All four walls are
covered floor to ceiling with books, except for a corner hearth in which a fire blazes warmly. The room is filled
with several chairs and tables, exuding an almost suffocating sense of calm in the golden light. A large
black leather chair stands before the fire, in which an older man sits reading. He is sharply attired, with a charcoal
jacket over a black shirt buttoned to the throat, black slacks from which black and grey argyle socks extend, ending in
beautiful black leather shoes. The man brushes back his thin white hair from his smooth brow and black eyes,
reminding Donnie of the English teacher he had for a short time, before he and college parted ways.

     “Good evening, Donald. So…?" The voice deep and commanding

     “Hello Mr. Dominick. It’s done. I gave it to him.”

     “To Wulverson directly?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Good. Will he be there?

     “He will be. He was practically licking his chops when I gave him the address.”

     Dominick smiled warmly. “Beautiful. Nicely done, Donald. I truly appreciate your assistance in this matter.
Erich will provide you with your payment.” 

     “Thank you, sir.” Donnie turns.

     “And Donald?”


     “It’s been a pleasure.”

     “Thank you sir.”

      Donnie turns, surprised to find Erich still standing silently behind. Erich gestures to the door and follows
Donnie out of the room, pulling it shut behind him.

     “Can I have my stuff now?”

     “Your “stuff”? You do not ask first after your girlfriend?”

      Donnie feels a warmth spread up from his collar.“Of course. Where’s Sierra?”

     “If you do not want her, I’m sure we can find a use for her.” A cold smile from Erich.

     “Where is she?”

     Donnie follows Erich halfway down the hall, and they stop at a door on the left hand side, from behind which
Donnie hears the murmer of a television. Erich opens the door to reveal Sierra, a pretty, thin, freckled blonde
in a black dress laying on a large bed,  a length of rubber tubing forming a loose bracelet around her arm. She
opens her heavy lids to Donnie. “Hey, Baby” she says with a slow grin. Care to join me?” Erich hands a pouch
to Donnie. “Go on, take all the time you need.” Donnie thanks him and enters the room, closing the door behind him.

11:00 pm

     “Hey Donna, where the fuck aaaaarrreee yoooouuuu? I’ll be at work until 3:00 or so, but I’ll be swinging by
after. So have that fine ass of yours ready. I’ll be wanting a piece of it.”

     Wolf flips the phone shut one-handed. Where the fuck was she? I’ve got a pretty good idea he thought. Out
clubbing with those bitchy friends of hers. The ones who were always telling her that she could do better. Fucking
hilarious! Not that he would care too much, after all this deal had pretty much run it’s course. Face it, Wolf thought,
she wasn’t too bright to begin with, and her whining that he only came over for sex was getting annoying. But fuck
was she hot! And a good bust always got that adrenaline pumping, so Wolf would be wanting to blow off some
 steam afterword. On second thought, why wait to pop one off? Time to make opportunity present itself, he thought.

     Five minutes later, Wolf pulls through an alley to the curb next to a couple of working girls, who stare through his
dark window. He rolls it down pointing at a beautiful, young brunette in a tight skirt and shimmery jacket. She is
petite, her red lips and long legs reminding him of some kind of erotic china doll. The detective sticks out his arm
and flips his badge out the window. “You. Get in the car.” The doll stares at him a beat before walking to his
door and getting in.

     “I’ll make this real easy for you.” Wolf says, unzipping. “Suck it, and I don’t take you in. You’ll be back to
work in ten minutes.” The girl glares at the detective a moment weighing her options, before taking her gum out
and reaching
for the ashtray.

     “Drop that shit out the window. And other than my dick, don’t touch anything.” The girl complies as the
car pulls from the curb, before leaning her head over the detectives lap.

12:00 am

     “That’s the building. The informant has assured me that the back door has been left unlocked.” Wolf says to
the other two detectives and three officers on his team. “We are expecting a black Escalade. As soon as we
see it pull inside, we move into position. I give the signal, and we make the arrest. Easy as you please.”

     “Does the Sergeant know we’re doing this?“ asks a young officer named Mike. “Fuck him.” hisses Wolf.
“I’m out here busting my ass to collar these motherfuckers, while he goes home early to his family. I pull a few
more of these off and I’ll have that lazy motherfucker’s job, so don’t be bringing the fucking Sergeant into this.”

     “We can’t go in without backup. It’s against regulations.”

     “Mike, shut the fuck up. The bad guys aren’t worried about regulations. We’ll call in as soon as we’ve busted
 these fuckers. As a matter of fact, if you’re so worried about it, you colossal pussy, you can stay out here and call
for backup if we need it.” Several of the team chuckle at this, while Mike stares at his well-polished shoes.

1:00 am

     From a distance, the team watches as the Escalade pulls up to one of the warehouses many loading doors. It slows
to a stop, and a man dressed all in black gets out, rolling up the large door and holding it open as the vehicle pulls inside,
before closing it behind him.

     Wolf keys his radio. “Move In.”

     The squad emerges from hiding and silently converges on the back of the warehouse. They unholster their
weapons and slip quitely through the back door, which is unlocked as promised. Wulverson’s team slides through
the warehouse with military precision, taking cover behind stacks of freight as they approach the 3 men unloading
the Escalade at the far end. They get into position, and Wolf gives the signal. He steps forward to make the arrest,
both hands aiming his handgun at the closest man.

“Freeze! Police!”

     Wolf catches a momentary glimpse of dark figures dropping from the ceiling before darkness descends
on the room, the air filling instantly with muzzle-flashes and screams. Wolf fires once before feeling
an iron grip twist away his pistol, the breaking of his trigger finger and wrist momentarily filling his brain with
a red curtain of pain. His arms are suddenly wrenched behind him, held fast in a vice like grip. The black
permeates all, and Wolf senses only his pain and the disgusting sucking sounds around him in the dark.

     Someone turns on the headlights of the Escalade, illuminating the warehouse floor. His four fellow
officers have been all shot in the throat, and lie broken on the concrete floor. Despite the horrible wounds,
Wolf fixates on the disturbing lack of pooling blood. He is still pinned in place and realizes that he
is ringed by a dozen figures, all thin, all clad in black, with pale skin in violent contrast to their terrible
razor sharp smiles and chins slicked with blood. Shocked into silence, Wolf hears a voice to his left. 

     “Hello, Terrence.” An older, sharply dressed man steps forward, tossing the now dead Mike to
the floor in front of Wolf with one hand. Mike’s body seems to stare accusingly into Wolf’s eyes.

     One of the bloodsuckers cracks open the rear of the Escalade, hauling the also deceased Donnie and
Sierra out of the vehicle. He and his cohorts arrange them carefully with the other corpses on the floor,
before picking up the police guns with gloved hands. They proceed to circle the grisly mosaic, firing
additional bullets into the corpses with the careful air of an artist approaching a painting. The gunshots
echo deafeningly around the warehouse, then are punctuated by the sound of the hardware hitting the

     Dominick surveys the carnage, and pauses a moment before commenting. "A waste of life, yes?
You may find this surprising, but that is something I truly abhor. I can't abide seeing blood go cold to
no good end. But fret not, Detective Wulverson. Your friend Donnie and his young lady passed sweetly
enough, in the arms of the needle that they loved. You on the other hand will not be so fortunate."

     “Who the fuck ARE you?”

     “My name is Dominick” the man says, removing a black-handled straight razor from his pocket.
“I am the one you have been annoying these last few weeks, with your incessant raids on my business
interests.” Dominick smiles slightly at the Wolf as he opens the brightly shining razor, a true predator.
“But that ends now.”

     His wrist flicks casually towards Wulverson's throat, and he feels the sickening passage of the ice
cold-steel followed by a spreading warmth down his chest, as he stares into the burning black eyes of
his killer.

     Erich jerks the detectives head back by the hair, and as Dominick leans forward to feed, The Wolf
howls his last.


  Copyright  2007 Steven J Holetz

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