The Plot Calls #28 : "Only a Referral"

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and/or Ai-assisted-content-generation. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Officer Alvarez was a fantastic man by all counts. He never craved power. He never craved permanence—he never wondered about the quiet, steady comfort of knowing he belonged. His badge meant something. Being an officer of the law was more than a uniform. It was more than the law. It was an ideal for a society without neglected children who would turn into desperate adults.

The badge was an oath to the community, the people, the society he served. It wasn't a badge of honor, a badge of pride, or a badge of hidden benefits—though it included them. Officer Alvarez was a cut above the rest, like his partner Officer Gunn. And yet... over the years, something began to grow inside of his soul. A want he recognized. He worked hard, underappreciated, and despised.

Politicians used him and his uniform as an excuse to incite hatred for other people who existed in society. People who never wore the uniform created black flags that perverted the nation’s flag to praise him. The idea disgusted him.

“People like that never wore a uniform—any of them—and if they did, they didn’t understand the point after being initiated,” Officer Gunn, his partner, would often say. “Don’t let someone else’s weak and ignorant lack of character get to you, Cory. It’s like those people who love what the military offers but brag that they never needed to serve. We didn’t need to. We could have done other jobs. This is bigger than us. Who else would do it?”

Despite his best efforts, Officer Cory Alvarez grew to hate the people he protected. The politicians he voted for, inspired by the idea that society could be better, disgusted him. Officer Gunn just didn’t understand how the world worked. He was blessed by something other people could never understand. It was like God excluded Gunn from being the trash humanity had comfortably grown into.

A routine traffic stop turned into the realization that a proud American had weapons and explosives in his car. The proud, worthless man was going to show his patriotism for the nation by blowing up a government building in order to kill those worthless government workers who opposed the president. Realizing that the man couldn’t see beyond his tethers, Officer Alvarez began looking at society from a different lens.

“How many people I vowed to serve and protect are like this? Casually entertained by calling themselves deplorable? Casually satisfied by a known fraud sitting in an office to avoid facing the law for crimes he committed? How many detectives already understood the sitting president called a hit on his friend? August 10, 2019 wasn’t a mystery. The president’s friend begged for a pardon and the only solution was silence. Yet these people, with all the tools and technology in their hands, just look at memes and sports, then they wave flags for officers like Gunn and me. I hate them. I hate this sick society. I hate these sick people. Lazy, irrelevant government workers only exist where lazy people and criminals can’t get treated like spoiled children. We even have technocrats earning officer ranks in our military to secure the entitlement of the worthless,” Officer Alvarez thought, as other officers arrested the would-be domestic terrorist who would just receive a presidential pardon to create another mess that would hide the sitting president’s crimes.

As he watched the perpetrator shout, “This is America! These people! Those people! It’s a witch hunt! It’s a witch hunt! Nasty, vile, deplorable immigrants, and nasty women! How can you guys allow this! The president is an icon! Dolan Tremm is a man among men. He does what we can’t. He grabs those whores by their crotch. He paid millions to pay $700 in taxes. He is the president of a system he never supported! He’s a genius! He’s a genius like Eugene Thaddeus–who gave us endless fulfillment through Rainforest and constant uptime through Rainforest Clouds Workspace Services! You idiots have been brainwashed by the educated liberal media! My pastor even says it! Idiots! You’ll pay! When I get pardoned, you’ll pay. All of you will pay. Filthy mooncrickets, wetbacks, and whores—all of you! This country used to be great. People like me were respected. I didn’t have to earn it. You all knew your god darn place. You knew where you belonged. It was simple. You did your crack. You watched your back. I ate at restaurants with my wife. Now, you want equality. You talk better because of us! Because of me! I gave you—” he continued, stuffed into the backseat of another police car.

Officer Alvarez’s hands trembled. He felt like doing something about it. He should do something about the disease that was rotting the soul of the city he loved—the stench that was tossing diapers in the White House. The poison that told bitter, broke people that access to better things wasn’t a problem—instead, the problem was “them”—an assortment of murky people who apparently hadn’t lived, learned, or experienced life. A “them” that crawled from shithole households, shithole families, and shithole countries.

Alvarez’s hand quivered as he drove to the perpetrator's house. He could get rid of the vermin before they had a chance to grow.

As he sat parked across the corner, a tired woman with a black eye walked with bright-eyed children into a large house.

Alvarez sighed. “Of course,” he muttered, as he looked at an American flag and sign in the dirt that read, “Make America Superior Again. My president was picked by Jesus. I only voted.”

Alvarez sat in his car, stared at his badge, crestfallen at his reflection on the polished metal. “A stolen religion used to justify the xenophobia and hatred it preaches against. Is this what we’ve become or is this what always was?” he said, sighing.

His radio buzzed. “Alvarez—Officer Alvarez—The Chief wants to see you in his office. ETA?”

“10-4. ETA 10 minutes,” Alvarez responded. He drove back to the precinct.

Alvarez walked into the building and headed to the Chief’s office. Chief Whitman was rarely in a good mood, but today, he was shining like a child who smoked good pot for the first time.

“Here,” the Chief said, handing Alvarez a post-it note with something written on it. “Technically, the county owns it. It used to be a school, but that politician, whatever his name was—Reed? Reed Hal-something—did us a favor. That damn school was a tax funnel. That land can be divided into 20 other pieces of land. I reviewed things with the legal department and thought, ‘this is a lot of land, and one should be yours’—for all your hard work,” Chief Whitman declared, eager and triumphant.

“What exactly is it, Chief?” Alvarez asked, his face solemn. Disappointment in his soul echoed off the walls.

“A referral, Officer Alvarez. A gift. A foot in the door,” the Chief replied, smirking.

“To what, Chief?” Alvarez asked, glancing at the name and phone number on the note.

“A referral that’s like a shortcut to the kind of stability people like us aren’t supposed to have. Permanence. You know what I'm saying, Alvarez?” Chief Whitman asked, insistent. “It’s land without a price—free land. A blessing for your efforts and professionalism.”

Alvarez turned pale, examining the post-it.

“No need to thank me, Officer Alvarez,” the Chief expressed, jubilant. “While your partner shouted about revealing this whole ‘Plot thickens’ nonsense to the public, you remained steadfast. Silent. Idle. Compliant. You rewrote his reports. You even kept his signature consistent.”

Officer Alvarez felt cold.

“It’s clear you care about your career. You and Gunn have been buddies since high school, but unlike Gunn, you care about this precinct. That kind of care—that kind of loyalty—is above and beyond the truth.”

Officer Alvarez didn’t know what to say. He forged Gunn’s signature to protect him. Alvarez didn’t think anyone noticed, but Gunn’s words didn’t match his reports. Anyone who looked deep enough would probably piece it all together. Officer Alvarez felt sick. He overheard officers talking about Gunn—the brainless white knight—dying in an accident. Gunn was too good for this world. People like him needed to be protected. God wouldn’t do it—or so Alvarez chose to believe.

“If people believe there are crimes we can’t solve, and aren’t solving, then I’ll have things to answer for,” Chief Whitman declared, leaning against his desk. “Metrics might change. Quotas might get reviewed. Quality checks are bad for all of us, especially if those idiots at Internal Affairs start looking into the trafficking problem. A lot of good officers and their families gotta eat, you know. We have enough marijuana, powder, and connections to earn more through brands we own at the dispensaries no one cares about. If people dig, they might strike gold. Deep trenches of gold,” Officer Whitman said. “Anyway, I reviewed the reports. You did my job for me. No one else knows. I thought you earned this. Despite your high horse at times, you’re just like the rest of us when no one else is watching. You’re normal. I can trust you to police yourself.”

Officer Alvarez nodded. “Was that it, Chief?” he asked, visibly emotionless.

Chief Whitman laughed. He nodded at Alvarez. “Bearing, right? Is that what you guys call it? You and Gunn were both in the Corps. But I can tell, you’re a realist. Gunn held his ideals. Moron. He could be great with all he knows. Exemplary. Anyway—that’s the gist, Alvarez. Dismissed.”

Numb, Officer Alvarez walked to his cubicle. He stared at a stack of papers, then his computer screen. He crumpled the post-it and tossed it in the trash. But then Alvarez had a thought. “This could be something good. I could own the land and build a private school or do something with it.”

Alvarez reached into the trash bin, uncurled the note. He dialed the number.

The first time Alvarez walked the property, the weeds bent the wrong way. The wind didn’t move. The ground pulsed. He ignored it. It was tiny guilt from doing something bad to do something good, he told himself. Chief Whitman even said I earned it. I’m a good cop.

He accompanied Officer Gunn to Sam Erriden’s apartment. They discussed leads, the plot, and the mysterious disappearances. In the back of his mind, Officer Alvarez only thought about the possibilities owning land would open. He forgot about the school he intended to open. Days blurred into weeks.

Little by little, Alvarez started accepting favors, turning the other way for known criminals, and avoiding Gunn beyond necessary conversations. He stopped going to Sam’s apartment—especially if he thought Marcus would be there. Something about Marcus Serling made him feel strange. Like he was being judged or observed.

Small favors turned to leverage, and turning the other way became bribes. Alvarez forgot about the land he was given because of all the nice things and new connections coming his way. It made him forget about the sickness of the world he once criticized. The world is great so long as I’m doing great, he started adopting. Everyone does a little crime.

But it wasn’t enough. The feeling—the want—began to consume him.

Alvarez began salivating at the idea of gaining anything. It didn’t matter what it was or how he got it. Getting was good. Not having was bad. He wanted to feel good. All the time.

One afternoon, Officer Alvarez paced the land he was given. It had sat idle. Weeds were overgrown, stale water attracted mosquitoes, and the pollen made his nose itch.

“A school wouldn’t be a good return for me. What was I thinking? Someone else’s kids’ education isn’t my responsibility,” he thought. “I need something that will give me a maximum return. I want Eugene Thaddeus money. I want to rent an entire city for my wedding. I want to send beautiful women into space. I want guaranteed exponential earnings. I can buy water. I can bottle the air. I can own cities and I can force people to abide by views. I can be a god. I just need more. The kind of more that makes more.”

Alvarez paced and paced. Hungry. Wanting. Then, he heard a whisper without a voice. A frequency that aligned with how he felt.

Alvarez knew what it was. Sam, Marcus, and Gunn had been yapping about it for God knows how long at this point. But they didn’t understand.

If the plot calls, what would a reasonable person do? Not answer? If a genie appears, would someone just ignore it? Hell no. If Eugene Thaddeus could fraudulently weasel his way into stealing and selling back what already existed because of government information he just so happened to be born into, how else would anyone rise to the top—claim things, own things, and prosper?

The whisper called. Alvarez stood in place. His body didn’t budge. Something inside of him hesitated. I’m being weak, he told himself, walking toward the sound.

Alvarez knew that something inside of him summoned the thing beyond The Plot. It would only be a matter of time before someone else summoned it. He needed to get gettin’ while the gettin’ was available—while the gettin’ was good.

He marched toward an area of his land where the weeds were gnarled. The air, the ground, the trees, the leaves, the grass all seemed to block Alvarez from going further, but he dismissed it.

Something—or someone—tapped his shoulder and tugged at his sleeve. Alvarez ignored that too. He walked closer to the whisper. Then, a high-pitched ring seemed to shriek into his ear. It was as if the world itself was telling him, “No.”

Alvarez marched forward. A pit sank in his stomach, but he fought it. He could gain so much. He could be so rich. He saw gold bars in his mind. Security. Comfort. Power. Authority. Access.

More.

Then, Officer Cory Alvarez saw it.

A patch of shimmering, black-violet soil. It breathed, faint as a held sigh.

A delicate porcelain hand reached upward. Still. Expectant. Hungry.

Alvarez didn’t flinch. He offered the most important thing he carried—his grandmother’s photo.

The one thing that had ever made him feel connected. Grounded.

He placed the picture into the porcelain hand.

It sank. Alvarez grinned.

The next morning, an auction for a property he never bid on finalized. No questions. No roadblocks.

His name whispered through more circles. Private job offers, promotions, and more bribes came. The opportunity for more came.

More of what? Who cared and who knew.

The plot called. Alvarez answered.

He offered. The one beneath the plot accepted. Alvarez received.

That was the world. Give a little grease, get a little grease.

Weeks passed and Alvarez began losing hair. His reflection blurred. His eyes dulled.

Nothing scratched the itch. He gained and gained things, favors, trinkets, money, and even people. It wasn’t that he didn’t want more. He just couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Expensive food had no taste. Sex had no passion. Work had no purpose.

His greed faded. He was just existing.

Alvarez slowly started ignoring friends and family, deals, dates, and eventually work, until completely vanishing altogether.

Chief Whitman begrudgingly gave Alvarez’s promotion to his partner—the highly resented Officer Gunn was now the even more highly resented, yet respected, Detective Gunn.

He solved missing cases and closed decades of loose ends overnight, but Alvarez’s disappearance gnawed at him. Detective Gunn didn’t listen to the rumors that Alvarez took a sum of cash and bolted to the Bahamas. Alvarez built several homes before disappearing. Skipping town didn’t make sense with how good he was sitting.

Detective Gunn went to Alvarez’s primary home—a mansion on land where a school used to be.

He knocked. No answer. “Alvarez?” he called. No response.

Gunn had known Alvarez most of his life and found where Alvarez kept his spare key.

He unlocked the door.

The huge home was empty.

The floors in the living room warped.

It was all too familiar.

Gunn searched the house and froze in fear when he entered Alvarez’s collection room.

A tall, pale figure stood over a shimmering plot, cloaked in black.

Neither waiting nor expecting. Idle.

Gunn’s heart sank. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Then, the Idle Man faced Gunn. Blank. Unreadable. Yet, somehow melancholy.

It turned back to face the soil, and knelt. Then, the plot and the Idle Man turned sideways. Vanishing.

Stunned, Gunn’s lips quivered as he whispered:

“The Plot Thickens.”

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