Small crimes

Chapter 2

I sat back in the cab and took out of my pocket a worn and creased photo of my two daughters. The picture was taken at Courtney's first birthday. Melissa at the time was only a little over three, and the two girls were standing side by side, Melissa holding Courtney's hand to keep her standing upright. They wore matching yellow dresses, both with pink ribbons in their long blonde hair. Both girls looking a bit chubby, Courtney more so than Melissa. I felt a tug at my heart seeing the shy little smile breaking out over Melissa's face and the look of total confusion on Courtney's. I remembered the rest of that day. The way Courtney's face had ended up covered in chocolate ice cream, and Melissa later hugging Courtney like she was some sort of doll. And both girls jumping onto my lap, both giggling like crazy. I had few other memories of my girls, at least ones that I cared to remember.

After a while I carefully slid the photo into my wallet. Then I closed my eyes and thought about how I had ended up the way I did.

Nine years ago I was up to my eyeballs in gambling debts. I was in deep, a lot deeper than Billy Ferguson ever was. Back then I was out of control. It wasn't that I was a coke fiend, but I did too much of it, and I did too much drinking and too much gambling. Way too much gambling. Especially on football games. I would've been better off flipping a coin than the way I picked them. There were weeks I was shut out completely. But that's the thing with degenerate gamblers – you always think you have an edge, that you'll make it all back with one big bet. Of course I never did. All I ever accomplished was getting myself in deeper.

I owed Manny a lot of money. I was paying him back as much as I could, but it was never enough and he kept putting the pressure on. When he threatened to hurt my wife and children, I knew I had no choice. I agreed to do jobs for him to work down the balance. At first the jobs were small, fairly inconsequential, but over time Manny kept upping the ante. Somehow I had to get out from under him. I started taking bigger chances with what I stole from the police evidence room. The sheriff of Bradley County, Dan Pleasant, who was maybe the most corrupt law enforcement officer I'd ever met, found out that Phil had discovered some of my forged documents and was building a criminal conspiracy case against me. I thanked Dan for the information and told him I'd take care of things.

I was pretty coked up the night I broke into Phil's office. I found the documents implicating me. I was pouring gasoline around his office when he showed up. It was past midnight and he had no right showing up when he did, but there he was. We just kind of looked at each other. He knew what I was up to, and he should have left and called the police. Instead he tried to stop me. Now Phil's a big guy. He was a star linebacker in high school and even played in college, but I was fighting for my life. I guess I was also kind of crazed from the coke and the adrenalin.

Somehow I got him on his back and grabbed a letter opener from the desk. I guess I was stabbing him with it. To be honest, that part is nothing more than a blur in my mind. I really don't remember too much of it. What I do remember is at some point Phil had stopped moving. I got off him, lit a match, and waited for the fire to spread before leaving.

The funny thing was I had always liked Phil. I always thought of him as a solid person, a good family man, just an overall decent human being. If I'd had a real knife, like a fishing or hunting knife, I would've killed him that night. The letter opener wasn't sharp enough. I did damage – Jesus, did I do damage – but I didn't kill him.

About the time I was setting the fire he must've pulled a silent fire alarm. I didn't see him but he must've done it then. The police and the fire trucks showed while I was leaving the building. I just about walked into them. My dad was working as a fireman then, and he was with them. Hell, I think I was still holding onto that bloody letter opener.

I was arrested that night. I could see the disappointment in some of my fellow officers' faces, but I could also see some anxiety. Several of them would go to prison if I talked. Harold Grayson, probably one of the better lawyers we have around here, was hired for me by the police union. He wanted me to plead innocent, claiming I suffered diminished capacity due to my excessive cocaine use. I refused and pled guilty instead. It seemed time to take my medicine. And I kept quiet about everything else I knew. I also worked out a deal with Manny – I'd keep quiet about him, too, in exchange for wiping my slate clean, No one else was implicated.

During the last seven years, when I wasn't playing Morris at checkers, I spent my time trying to understand how I had taken the turn that I did. It shouldn't have been that way. There was nothing in my background to suggest I'd end up a crooked cop, a cocaine user and a degenerate gambler. I'd had a normal childhood. I was born in Bradley, spent my whole life there, played quarterback for my high school team, and ended up marrying my childhood sweetheart. I'd only been out of Bradley County a few times in my life and never more than a four-hour drive away. Hell, I'd lived the perfect Norman Rockwell existence.

As a kid, I watched Adam-12 and Dragnet and can only remember wanting to be a cop when I grew up. After I graduated from high school I joined the Bradley Police Department. I never looked to make any money on the side, but the bribes were there waiting for me and I took them. Some of the local bars would offer me fifty bucks to look the other way on Friday and Saturday nights about their customers maybe driving home drunk. And then I started getting my weekly stipend for ignoring what was going on at a local strip club named Kelley's. And there were other things. Like us splitting up money that disappeared from the evidence room and helping ourselves to what we could take off the occasional drunk. It started out small, little crimes, nothing big, but that's what got me into gambling and cocaine. The payoffs and thefts made me feel dirty and made me want to unload the money as quickly as I got it. I'm pretty sure that's what got me started.

The big crimes began one summer night about twelve years ago. It was three in the morning, and I was having trouble sleeping. I had gotten into my cruiser and was driving around town when I noticed the front door of a jewelry store jimmied open. As usual, I had my service revolver with me, and when I went to investigate I found Dan Pleasant and several of his boys ransacking the place. So I had a choice; bust our county sheriff and several of his officers or go in for a split. I guess I felt uneasy busting a fellow officer, especially feeling as dirty as I did, so I took my cut. Dan worked with a fence in upstate New York, and my share was fifteen grand – which I pissed away as quickly as I got it. After that robbery I joined Dan on others and got hooked up with Manny.

When I thought about all the things I did, none of it seemed possible, but all I have to do is look Phil Coakley in the face to prove to myself it all happened. So now I was an ex-police officer, a felon, and a divorced husband. I hadn't seen or heard from my ex-wife or kids since the day I was arrested. Other than Morris I hadn't had any visitors or company for seven years, not even my parents. When I thought about all that I'd lost for money I didn't even want, I could barely believe it.