Detective Hajiri; Volume One

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hajiri was eight when he received his first lock pick set, amongst a plethora of lavish birthday gifts. He carried it around with him everywhere, where most kids would've carried a blanket or stuffed toy. But of course, the practice began to seem juvenile or overly sentimental as he grew older. Yet every now and again, it did come in handy.

Now was one of those times. If he'd brought it, that is. The criminal was chronically scatterbrained, yet resourceful. He could make do with what was around him.

A tightened spring made an improvised rake. Intertwined copper wires made an amateur hook. Julian sat by his side and handed him tools as he worked, hyper concentrated and well within his element. Questions burned at the tip of the boy's tongue as he tried to memorize the steps, but he was careful not to break the crook's focus.

"Alright," Hajiri whispered, as the door finally cracked open. He held it as still as could be, careful not to let any light shine into the darkness. "I'm gonna need someone to come with me and fetch these guns before we distribute. It's too risky to all go out unarmed." There were no volunteers.

And so, Julian and Hajiri snuck into the night, creeping low to the ground with careful steps. Unwilling to risk the staircase, Hajiri lifted his partner over the wall and railing of the lower deck to the upper deck where the latch was. The boy scampered over them with impressive agility, and dove for the latch, key in hand.

There was little they could do to hide from here on. Time was of the essence.

Much to their fortune, the guns were just out of the line of sight from the cockpit. That didn't guarantee there weren't gunmen on patrol, however.

The splashing of the waves sounded like the ticking of a timer in the dead silence of night.

Julian unlocked the latch and raced the arms to Hajiri, who bolted them back to the storage room. It took three trips, Hajiri ducking into the room at last for a minute long tutorial on how to shoot.

The kids in question could barely hold them.

But at that point they had been spotted, and the bloodbath broke out in moments.

Hajiri was not proud of what happened that night. A headcount showed they lost four children. But what weighed on him the most were the tattooed bodies they hauled into the sea. The ones at the other end of his machine gun.

Julian spent the next day obsessively scrubbing the red stained floors with sea dampened rags. Hajiri steered them home with a grave expression across his sun burnt face, blood still on his teeth from where he couldn't leave the cut alone.