Detective-Inspector Ireneo "Reni" Moretti had curly, black hair that was just a bit bushier than clean cut. He was stocky and just short of tall. He'd have been considered average height two or three generations earlier, when people were – on average – just a little shorter. He had strong features covered in just a little too much flesh, enough to make his chin a little too round, his smile a little too jolly. Reni was probably the nicest guy ever to make a regular habit of punching people in the gut to get their attention. He did this more out of pragmatism and a concern for efficiency than out of any actual inclination toward violence. When he was working, Reni divided the world into two groups: citizens and criminals. Criminals he further divided into two groups: those who cooperated quickly and those who got punched in the gut. This system was working for Reni so far, though it had its shortcomings. At 37 years old, he worked almost entirely with younger detectives. All his surviving buddies had either been promoted or fired while he had managed to barely avoid both.
Walking out of the front door of the small apartment building and onto the steps Reni noticed patrolman Wilkes leaning against his car smoking a cigarette. "Hey, Derek," he said, nodding. "They got you guarding my car these days?"
"Oh, hey Detective Moretti." Wilkes moved away from the car a little too quickly, betraying his jumpy nature. "No, I'm actually off duty," he said, dropping his cigarette to the sidewalk and smashing it with his toe, making a little black smudge on the sidewalk. "I was just hanging out here with Detective Olds. I was the one that got the original call this morning at the end of my shift. I'm just curious to see what happens. Have you seen that shit in there."
"Weird stuff," Reni said distantly. His attention was not focused on Wilkes but on something across the busy street. "Hang tight and keep an eye on me," he said, stepping toward the curb.
"Sure thing," Wilkes replied, furrowing his brow curiously. "What's up?"
Reni didn't answer, however. Pausing for passing cars and weaving slightly, he made his way to the other side of the street, heading for the large, black man in the blue suit who was staring daggers into him. He had noticed the man when he first arrived but wasn't sure what to make of him at the time.
"You Damien?" Reni asked, approaching to within a few feet of where the man sat on the steps of the opposite apartment highrise. The man was no longer staring at Reni but straight ahead. When Reni spoke, the man's eyes shifted briefly to Reni's face and back again. He was a big man with very dark skin and a little grey scattered in his close hair. After a short, awkward silence, Reni bent slightly to get his face into the man's line of sight. "What is your name?" he asked.
"Do I know you sir?" the man asked, looking into Reni's eyes. "Why are you talking to me?"
"Is your name Damien?" Reni asked again. "Do you stay in that building over there?"
"What is your name sir?" the man asked, standing slowly to his feet.
'Damn, this dude's big' Reni thought, and he backed off a step and checked his footing. "My name," he said with irritation, pulling his badge from his pocket and holding it out for the man, "is Detective Moretti and I'm asking you, officially, if your name is Damien."
"My name is Damien, yes," he said. "And I do reside in that building, yes." The man began to walk down the stairs toward Reni. He must have been almost seven feet tall.
"Well, we'd like to ask you a few questions," Reni said, taking another step back. "Please, come across the street with me."
"I have things to do, Detective," Damien said. "Perhaps I could help you another time." Then, with a quick nod, the man turned and started to walk up the street.
"Hey!" Reni reached out and grabbed the back of the man's elbow. "You can't just walk away buddy."
"Don't put your hands on me!" Damien snarled, jerking his arm from the detective's grasp and turning toward him. "You must never touch me!" His face was twisted in outrage and, moving with surprising quickness, he thrust outward with his palm and connected solidly with Reni's chest near the shoulder, pushing him backwards.
Reni stumbled a couple of steps but didn't fall. Catching his footing, he squared off against the big man. "You need to calm down sir," he yelled at the man, but Damien was raising his arm to strike again. Reni took another step back and felt the brick of a stoop against his back. Trapped, he lifted his arm to block the man's blow. That's when he spotted Wilkes' club coming down hard into the big man's back.
"Aagh!" Damien screamed in wincing pain as the club struck him with a jarring thud. His raised arm dropped down limply onto Reni, but Reni brushed it aside and, with all the force of adrenaline and rage he could muster, he drove a crushing punch into the big man's gut. "Ooof!" All the air rushed from Damien's lungs and he crumbled to his knees. Wilkes was on top of him immediately, reaching around to press and brace the short club into the his neck as he pushed into his back roughly his knee and drove him down flat onto the sidewalk. Panting, Reni snatched his cuffs and slapped them around grunting man's wrists before he could recover.
Reni closed his eyes and blew out hard as sat down, leaning against the brick stoop, and tried to let the fear and tension pass from him. When he opened his eyes he saw Wilkes, his knee still in the big man's back, looking at him and panting. "Thanks, man," Reni said.
"Sure," Wilkes said, trying to calm down as he grabbed the radio from his belt to call for backup.
Reni leaned back and stared up past the rooftops to the clear, blue, afternoon sky, his breathing slowly returning to normal. "Now I'm never gonna get a sandwich, you bastard," he said.
