Once Were Cops

Twelve

Fourth night, I was dozing, despite the flask of coffee I’d been sipping from, and too, Nora and I had an active night previously. I was resting my head on the wheel when a gun barrel pushed into the back of my neck.

My first thought was... Gino... and I was gone.

Then Kebar’s voice:

“Not too hot on this surveillance gig, are you, kid?”

He withdrew the gun, asked,

“The fuck you think you’re doing, IA put you up to this, that it?”

I said,

“Us Micks don’t rat out anyone except our own people.”

I heard him sigh, then he said,

“Come on, I’ll buy you a brew.”

We got out of the car and I clocked he was wearing all black, combat pants, leather jacket, and sneakers. He’d shaved his head, added to the air of menace. We headed two blocks back, went into a bar that was marginally a cut above the dive on Eighth. The bar guy looked like a hardarse, asked,

“Get you officers?”

Kebar ignored the officers jibe, said,

“Maker’s Mark, two, and two Bud.”

He put a twenty on the counter, the guy said,

“On me, guys.”

Kebar waited till we got our drinks, said,

“I want something from you, I’ll ask, got it?”

He did.

Kebar left the change on the counter and we took a table, he raised his shot, said,

“Here’s to you, you dumb Mick.”

Then we got to work on the Bud and he reached in his jacket, took out a bundle, handed it over, said,

“Don’t unwrap it here.”

I took it, felt heavy, and stashed it in my pocket. He said,

“It’s a Ruger, takes a full clip and is real fine for up close and personal.”

Then he looked at me, surprise on his face, said,

“You weren’t carrying, were you?”

I shook my head, Nora had asked me not to carry my police issue with me. He said,

“Christ, you are a dumb schmuck, what if something went down this evening, were you going to follow me in and use, what... offensive language?”

I had no idea and told him so. He stared at me and then gave a full laugh, not the bitter one he usually paraded but one of genuine amusement, said,

“You freaking kill me, kid, I dunno, are you just flat out stoopid or one of the hombres with the biggest cojones I’ve ever met?”

Before I could answer, he said,

“Listen up, buddy...”

Buddy!

“I’m going down, between IA, Morronni, the filth who hurt Lucia, there ain’t no way I’m walking, and you have a real future, I ’preciate your support but it’s best if you just take off.”

I said,

“Same again.”

Went to the bar and the bar guy said,

“Your partner is one mean dude, yeah?”

I put a twenty on the counter and he pushed it away, said,

“Get with the game.”

I thought, fuckit, put the twenty back in my wallet, brought the drinks back.

Kebar was staring at me and I went,

“What?”

His eyes were granite and he accused:

“You didn’t pay, did you?”

Jesus.

I said,

“Big deal, the guy wants to stand us a drink, what’s the harm?”

He lashed out, gripped my wrist like a vise, snarled,

“Today he had you for chump change, but he has you, and next thing, the bloodsuckers own your ass, now get back up there, give him the goddamn money.”

Fuck.

I did.

The bar guy smirked, said,

“I had you pegged for having balls, guess I was wrong.”

Humiliated in about three different ways, I went back and drained my bourbon. Kebar said,

“You want to kill some mother now?... Right... Welcome to my world.”

I stood up, said,

“You know, I was just trying to help you, but you know what, all the damn lectures, the little homilies, I’m sick to death of them, you have a good one.”

And I stormed out of there.

Could be my imagination but I swear I heard the bar guy chuckle.

Lucky I wasn’t meeting Nora, the rage, it triggered the urge and then... that frigging zoning... and... stuff happened.

I was shooting the shit with one of the uniforms, leaning against our cars, grande Starbucks with an extra shot of espresso, my hand leaning casually on the butt of my gun, my radio squawking, I was finally able to figure out what the hell the spew of data meant, it was like learning a new language but one day it just begins to make sense and you can filter out what is relevant and what is fluff.

I felt like a cop, NYPD BLUE... and feck, I loved it.

Back home, being a Guard, sipping tepid tea, twirling your lousy baton, mostly you felt... useless.

Watching the party girls, skirts up to their arse, and then, corner of my eye, I’d see a swan do that graceful glide along the basin, such beautiful necks those creatures have.

But this, this was the deal.

The cop, looking at my hand resting on my gun, asked,

“How’s that working for you?”

Cops will talk hardware all day.

I said it had a nice light weight but the trigger was sometimes liable to fold in on itself.

He nodded, said,

“See, yer Glock, the department insisted we had to keep up with the crims and carry that, but I tell you, you’re chasing a perp on foot, the freaking thing sometimes goes off, blow your foot or worse your balls off, me, I carry a little extra.”

Pulled up his pants and strapped to his foot, a Browning.

He drained his coffee, said,

“Our last mayor, the guys loved him, he was a no-shit guy, told the dopers, fuck you, fuck your rights, and got the streets clean, he’d have made one great pres but you know what, ain’t going to happen.”

Before I could hear more, I was summoned by O’Brien, who accused:

“Goofing off?”

Then added,

“You’re wanted upstairs.”

I figured, IA again.

Figured wrong.

O’Brien stopped outside the conference room, asked,

“You familiar with a task force?”

“Sure.”

He knocked on the door and we went in. A long wooden table, lots of brass sitting round, all with stony expressions, O’Brien said,

“This is Officer O’Shea.”

A tall gaunt man, in civvies, at the top of the table, said,

“O’Shea, I’m Special Agent Peters, head of this task force.”

I was standing at attention, learned back in Ireland, you face the top guys, act submissive.

He said,

“Stand at ease, Officer.”

I did.

He indicated a thick file, asked,

“You know anything about a strangler, traveling in Brooklyn?”

“No, sir.”

He looked round at the assembled faces, then:

“Good, we’re trying to keep a lid on it, prevent panic, three women to date have been strangled in Brooklyn, all in their late twenties.”

He let me digest that and I asked,

“How does this concern me... sir?”

He bit his lower lip, then:

“Well, you’re a Mick, and the killer, he’s using rosary beads to strangle the women, green beads I might add.”

I said,

“I didn’t do it, I don’t even have a beads.”

He glared at me, snapped,

“Is that an attempt at humor, O’Shea?”

“No, sir.”

He said,

“Reason we asked you here is, you’re fresh off the boat, full of all the Mick Catholic mumbo jumbo, and we wondered if you had any input, insights into this?”

The snide dismissal of my faith rankled but I kept a lid on it, said,

“I’d need to think about it... sir.”

He was already dismissing me, I’d been useless, said,

“You do that, don’t strain yourself.”

O’Brien indicated I was to leave and he followed me out. I said,

“I think that went well.”

He stared at me, said,

“You fucked up good, here was a chance to move on up and what... you get smartass... Jesus H.”

And he strode off.

I tried,

“Sir, I’ll work on it.”

Without breaking stride, he said,

“I won’t hold my breath.”

I’d fucked up, my smart mouth doing me in yet again. I was back riding the bloody desk and Christ, I so wanted to be on the streets. Nothing touched the sheer rush of that. It was the not knowing, the constant anticipation of something major. Twiddling a pencil, answering the phones, checking through traffic files, I was bored out of me skull. To occupy my mind, I thought about what that prick had said.

Three stranglings.

Fuck, the fourth, I’d have thought she’d be easy to find, and her neck, not my favorite, it was mottled, was sorry to waste the beads on her.

Fucking whore.

Morronni had gathered his crew, even the smashed-up Gino, just released from the hospital and hurting, hurting real bad.

There was Fernandez, the psycho who’d supposedly done the job on Lucia, then the muscle guys, and others down the totem pole.

Fernandez, usually out of his head on dust, swore he hadn’t done that bitch, he didn’t even know where the fucking hospital was, hell, he swore, he could hardly find his way to Brooklyn most days.

Morronni said,

“Kebar, the mad fuck, has been staking out your place, Fernandez, sitting outside every night, and we figure he’s about ready to take a run at you.”

Morronni didn’t share that he had personally threatened Kebar with retribution and although he hadn’t actually got around to it Kebar, of course, had to figure it was the attack on Lucia, talk about bad fucking timing.

Fernandez, dressed in gangbanger denims and leather, smiled, three gold teeth showing, said,

“Bring it on, muthah.”

Fernandez didn’t give a good fuck about being accused of shit, especially if he couldn’t remember it, all his life, he’d been accused of some stuff, most of it, yeah, he’d done... he thought.

Morronni sighed, God be with the days you could get decent help, using these off-the-wall crazies was like handling explosives, never sure when they were going to blow up in your face, he said,

“He’s got backup, that Irish kid, looks like he’s going to come in with him.”

Fernandez seemed delighted, the mad bastard, said,

“The more the merrier, we’ll be ready.”

Morronni looked at him, went,

“Wasting one cop, bad enough, but two, the heat would be intense, no, we have to get rid of that Mick kid, my gut tells me he’s trouble, but the K-bar, whole other story.”

Gino, still seething, asked,

“Boss, I get to deal with that cocksucker, right?”

Morronni said,

“All in good time, now lemme think about it.”

Then, tiring of them, he said,

“Get the fuck out of here.”

The crew took off and Morronni was left with the damaged Gino, who said,

“Boss, Fernandez, the crazy fuck, he’s going to be a major problem.”

Morronni said,

“Him and Kebar, they’ll be, how should I put it, canceling out.”

Gino wasn’t always sure what the hell his boss was thinking but he liked the sound of this, it sounded... biblical.