Side(H)arm

by James E. Abel

  Back inside, Lucien and his armed supervisor heard a metallic noise and went on full alert. Lucien’s guard chambered his assault rifle while Lucien pulled out his handgun. Lucien motioned the guard to move toward the door.

  Outside, the SWAT team put a battering ram in place as Tommy moved to the back with Jordan. The commander whispered, “Ready? On my count.”

  Inside, Lucien stood at the door going over a similar set of procedures with his guard.

  Lucien counted out “One…”

  Back outside, the SWAT team commander was on “Two.”

  Inside, Lucien called out “Three,” and yanked open the door. The guard charged outside, his weapon raised in firing position as Lucien followed with his pistol. They pivoted around, looking for the threat. Then Lucien saw the source of the noise. Tree branches, blown by the wind, were banging against a metal sign mounted to a pole. He pointed to the sign and smiled. It said Caution: Proceed at Your Own Risk.

  Less than a mile away, the SWAT team’s battering ram smashed open the door, and the team barged into a different warehouse. The tension didn’t last long. Their guns dropped to their sides. The SWAT team commander pushed the button on the walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder and said, “We’re done here. Nothing but an empty room.”

  The response crackled back through the small speaker. “Roger that.”

  Tommy sat down on a cement ledge jutting out from the wall and dropped his head. The SWAT team commander motioned to his men to retreat, giving Tommy a harsh look on his way out the door.

  Jordan walked around the room. He knelt, wiped the floor with his fingers, held them up to Tommy, and asked, “What are you seeing?”

  Tommy got a funny look on his face and said, “Like the man said…an empty room. A freakin’ empty room.”

  “You’re missing the point. This place is cleaner than my kitchen table. Not even a mouse turd.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “They were here. And not all that long ago.”

  “You think somebody tipped them off? That’s all we need, a mole.”

  “Not saying that, at least not yet. These boys always stay on the move, but we were close this time.”

  Tommy perked up and asked, “So now what?”

  “Don’t know for sure. But we can start by checking on recently issued certificates of occupancy, and then talk to all the local cleaning services. I doubt they do their own cleanup.”

  Tommy smiled and said, “Guess that’s why you’re the boss.”

  Tommy stood up to leave, but before he could take two steps, Jordan grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and said, “Listen, Tommy. No more of that Lone Ranger shit. You hear me?”

  Tommy said, “Yeah, I hear ya,” and started to turn his back.

  Jordan grabbed him again, this time getting in his face.

  “No, man. I’m serious. No more of that crap. We’ll get these guys together, the right way. So, are we good here or not?”

  Tommy said, “Yeah, we’re good.”

  Then Jordan made a fist as he held his right forearm out in front of him at an angle and said, “X factor.”

  Tommy did the same from the other side, tapped Jordan’s forearm with his own and repeated the words, “X factor.”

  It was a bonding ritual they had come up with two years earlier, after a long night of heavy drinking. That was the night Jordan had to talk a gun out of Tommy’s hand, trying to exorcise the demons that had haunted him ever since his son’s death.

  Chapter 4

  Jordan was lost in thought as he drove home from the station. The debriefing on the busted op didn’t go well. He knew there were very few absolute victories to be had in the war on drugs, but that night was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be a chance to bring down a major drug operation before the latest form of instant death flooded the streets of Savannah.

  When fentanyl-laced heroin started showing up in Chicago in 2015, the death toll went through the roof. In a twenty-four-hour period, there were more than seventy drug overdoses—many with tragic endings. The same thing had happened in Philadelphia, Atlanta, and several other cities.

  But Savannah’s police department thought that this time, luck was on their side. They’d been close on the heels of this drug operation for two years. And they’d recently pieced together information linking bills of lading from a Chinese drug manufacturer to the certificate of occupancy for the warehouse that they had targeted. When a couple of fentanyl-related overdoses showed up at Savannah General the prior week, they decided it was time to move. But now, with the failed raid, they were back to square one.

  And then there was Tommy’s behavior. Hell bent on revenge. His only son, Billy, had died of a cocaine overdose two-and-a-half years earlier, and he’d never gotten over it. How did anyone? Jordan didn’t even want to think what it was like to lose a loved one like that. But Tommy’s actions had put the entire team in jeopardy.

  Jordan did his best to put all of it out of his mind as he pulled his truck into the driveway along the side of their light green two-story bungalow style home near Ardsley Park in downtown Savannah. A wooden front porch ran the entire length of the house beneath an A-frame second story with dormers on each side. The house, built in the early sixties, reminded him of the houses found in the town where he was raised in upstate New York…not an easy task in the heart of the South.

  Jordan shut off the engine, hopped out, and quietly closed the door. He went inside, hung his keys on a hook in the kitchen, and tiptoed up the stairs. When he got to the hallway, he noticed a light flowing out from Molly’s room. That was unusual at 2:30 in the morning, but he wasn’t worried, not even for a second. He kept his two worlds completely separate, and he believed that everything was perfect in this world.

  After Jordan peeked into the room, the mystery was solved. Casey and Molly were both asleep under the covers, Casey with a book about oil painting sitting open in her hand. He walked in and gently took the book from her hand, set it down, and then noticed the new addition to the room. Sitting on Molly’s desk, next to a picture of Casey and Molly on the beach, was a blue ribbon with “First Prize” written in gold lettering on it. A look of pride crossed his face as he picked it up. But it quickly faded, replaced with a look of regret. There were only so many opportunities of that kind to share with your daughter, and he had just missed one of them.

  Jordan softly closed the door and headed off to the master bedroom. He took a hot shower, pulled out a file folder, grabbed his reading glasses, and propped up a pillow against the headboard to read it. Within minutes, the bedroom door opened, and Casey walked in. She was wearing boy-cut underwear and a thin grey tank top with cut outs at the arms that revealed just enough to get Jordan’s complete attention. He closed the file and watched her, praying that she wasn’t holding any grudges.

  Casey didn’t say a word as she moved to the dresser and started to rub some lotion on her arms, so Jordan tried to break the ice. “Saw the ribbon. She happy?”

  Casey turned and threw him the same look he had seen earlier in the day—that look.

  Jordan said, “I would have been there if I could. You know that, right?”

  She turned her back and walked over to the chair where Jordan’s empty shoulder holster was hanging. With her back to Jordan, she slid it on and said, “Well, you are the cop.”

  What does that mean?

  And then Casey turned toward him and said. “Or not!”

  That’s when Jordan saw a very different look. It was a look that most men could only dream about. The gun holster straps had pulled the tank top tight to her body, her breasts now poking through the thin cotton and revealing just how beautiful her shape was. She gave Jordan a devilish smile as she paced over to the bed, but he hardly took notice. He tried, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her breasts. He was like a seventeen-year-old kid about to get lucky for the first time. “Wow” was the only word he could muster.

  Casey took his glasses off and
tossed them aside. He threw the folder on the floor as she crawled on top of him.

  He tried to move his hands over her, but she forced them down. She was in control.

  Casey said, “You, sir, are under arrest, but you do have the right to remain silent.”

  She formed a make-believe gun with her right hand and slowly pulled it out of the holster. She pointed it at Jordan and then turned it toward herself, sliding her fingers slowly into her mouth. She slid them out just as slowly, blew the make-believe smoke away, and put her fingers back into the holster.

  Then she moved her lips close to his, looked him in the eye, and asked, “But can you?”

  At that point, it would have taken a strength Casey didn’t possess to hold Jordan back. She let him take control as he gently rolled her to her back, passionately kissed her, and moved his hands up and down her body. When he finally came up for air he said, “Sorry, officer. But I can’t.”

  Chapter 5

  The following evening, Jordan was in the kitchen, peering inside the oven. Molly’s award-winning painting hung on the wall next to the fridge. Jordan went to a drawer, put on some oven mitts, and pulled out a steaming hot pan of lasagna. Casey walked in, gave a nod of approval, and said, “Smells good.”

  She turned to the hall and called out, “Molly, time to set the table.”

  Casey pulled out the silverware and handed it to Molly as she walked in. Behind her, Jordan winked at Molly as he swiped a piece of Italian bread.

  Casey turned her attention to cutting the lasagna as she said to Jordan, “Your mom called.”

  “Oh?”

  “She asked if we were going to be up there for Christmas.”

  Molly snapped to attention. She loved family visits to upstate New York, where her three grandparents and her aunt Jenna all tried to spoil her rotten. It had been four grandparents until Casey’s dad passed away from pancreatic cancer five years earlier. Molly hardly remembered him, but his death was hard on Casey. She and her dad had been close, and the aggressive pancreatic cancer he had died from wasn’t considerate enough to allow much time for goodbyes. In his case, it was only six weeks between the initial diagnosis and the funeral.

  Molly looked at her dad and pleaded her case. “Can we? Can we…please?”

  Jordan ignored her, changing the subject.

  “Molly, we’ll need an extra place setting. Do you mind?”

  Molly sighed as she jumped up to set another place at the table.

  Casey got a surprised look on her face as Jordan asked, “Tommy, remember? I texted you this morning.”

  Casey shook her head in resignation and went to pull in the extra chair. She tossed Jordan a knowing look as she removed Jordan’s shoulder holster from the back of it.

  Molly wasn’t about to give up. She set the place setting, turned to her mom, and asked,

  “But what about New York for Christmas? What did you tell Nana?”

  Casey started to answer, “Well, I told Nana that…” when Molly interrupted.

  “I know. Daddy doesn’t want to go, right?”

  Jordan and Casey exchanged glances. They were used to Molly surprising them with her smarts, but they didn’t realize just how much she knew about Jordan’s ongoing feud with his dad. “Judge Jim,” as he liked to be called, was a bull-headed man, and he had just been appointed by the governor to a fourteen-year term on the New York State Court of Appeals, the highest court in the state.

  Casey continued, “No. I told Nana that Dad couldn’t go because of his new job. But I did promise her that you and I would go up to visit for a long weekend, a couple of weeks before Christmas. We’ll fly up. Would you like that?”

  Molly lit up and said, “Yes, yes!” as she ran over to give Casey a hug.

  Jordan smiled and nodded his approval, thinking just how good Casey was at keeping everyone happy. Casey turned her attention to cutting up the lasagna, and Molly sat back down when there was a loud knock at the door and a booming “Hello!”

  Tommy marched into the kitchen, saw Casey cutting the lasagna, and said, “Wow. Looks like perfect timing.”

  Casey smiled and said, “As usual.”

  Tommy knelt and motioned Molly over. “Get over here, Miss Molly. I need a hug.”

  Molly ran over and gave Tommy a hug. She liked him. He was always telling jokes and clowning around with her.

  Casey looked at Tommy and said, “Have a seat.” Then she added, “Molly, it’s your turn for the blessing.”

  They all sat down and bowed their heads as Molly did the honors.

  “Thank you, Lord, for the food we are about to eat. Oh, and thanks for the trip to New York, too,” as she let out a giggle and said, “Amen.”

  Jordan and Casey followed suit with, “Amen.” Tommy was already grabbing a piece of bread.

  As Jordan dished lasagna from the pan, Tommy walked over to the refrigerator, pulled out a beer, looked at Jordan, and asked, “You mind?”

  “Of course not. I forgot. No wine for Tommy!”

  Tommy sat back down and took in the aroma. He looked over at Casey and tipped his bottle of beer in tribute. “Smells terrific. Compliments to the chef.”

  Casey pointed to Jordan. “Not me. That guy.”

  “No way!”

  Jordan gave a modest shrug. His Italian grandmother on his mother’s side had taught him how to prepare two things when he was a kid: lasagna and manicotti. Then Tommy really laid it on as he winked at Molly. “Wow. You really do have it all. A beautiful wife and daughter, a new promotion, and you cook to boot!”

  Jordan smiled and said, “It’s bake, Tommy. You don’t cook lasagna; you bake it.”

  “Well, I just eat it. And it’s damn…oops sorry, it’s darned good. So, here’s to Jordan!”

  He raised his bottle of beer. Casey quickly poured some red wine into her and Jordan’s glasses as Tommy waited. They raised them to meet Tommy’s beer bottle as he said,

  “Cheers” as Molly looked on, enthralled.

  Chapter 6

  The table had been cleared, and Jordan and Tommy were out on the front porch, sitting on rocking chairs with cigars in hand. Casey was inside, strumming on her acoustic guitar and singing with Molly. It was a mother-and-daughter ritual that Casey had started when Molly was about five years old. Casey played a simple three-chord progression while they each took turns making up silly lyrics, always ending each verse in unison with “Best friends. We’re always gonna be best friends.”

  On and on they sang and laughed as Jordan and Tommy talked and smoked. Suddenly, Jordan jumped up from his rocking chair and pulled out his iPhone.

  Tommy looked up at him and asked, “What’s up?”

  Jordan put his finger to his lips, hushing Tommy as he walked toward the window. Then he stood to the side and held out his phone, using it as a recorder to capture the song.

  A minute later, he sat back down and whispered, “I have a buddy in New York who says he can take any song and put it into a music box. You know, those things that play different notes on little metal prongs.”

  “Yeah. So what?”

  “I’ll send him this recording so he can make me one for Christmas to give to Casey and Molly. They’ll love it. At least that’s the hope.”

  Tommy reflected on Jordan’s words, took a puff of his cigar, and said, “Jordan, you are one lucky SOB.”

  Jordan nodded in agreement.

  Tommy stood up. “Wait here. I just remembered something.”

  He ran off the porch and out to his Camaro, opened the door, grabbed a small metal gun safe from the passenger’s seat, and headed back.

  As he walked up the steps to the porch, Jordan looked over and asked, “Is that what I think it is?”

  Tommy walked up to Jordan and, with an impish grin on his face, handed Jordan the safe.

  “Yup. Go ahead and open it. The combination is 1234.”

  Jordan laughed and said, “Very original.”

  Jordan used the touch pad, opened the safe, and pull
ed out a handgun. It was an old Smith & Wesson snub-nosed revolver with a blued metal finish, a two-inch barrel, and walnut diamond grips on a square stock. Jordan had seen it once before, at Tommy’s house.

  He looked it over as if it was a piece of art and said, “Wow. She’s awesome.”

  “Well, she’s all yours. Congratulations on your promotion.”

  Jordan got wide-eyed and asked, “What? No way!” Then he paused, held the gun out, and said, “Tommy, I really appreciate the thought, but I can’t accept this. I just can’t.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Well, for starters, it was your father’s, right?”

  “Yeah, it was his service revolver, back in the early sixties.”

  “You’re telling me that this was a police issue sidearm? That’s incredible! You know how rare this thing is? It’s a model 56. They only made them for two years, and I thought they all went to the military!”

  “Hey, it was a typical small-town police force in rural Connecticut, and the company’s headquarters was somewhere up there. Maybe the mayor had connections. Who knows?”

  Jordan said, “Well, it’s gotta be worth $5,000, easy. It should stay in your family. Ah, shit, Tommy, I’m sorry.”

  Tommy looked down, trying to control his emotions. Jordan gave him time to recover, putting the gun back into the safe.

  Tommy looked back up and said, “No, that’s okay. Besides, I know you’ll appreciate it more than most, so just shut the hell up and enjoy it.”

  Jordan nodded, made a fist, and extended his forearm with Tommy, completing their “X factor.”

  “Thank you, partner. I’ll treasure it.”

  Chapter 7

  Long after Jordan and his family were sound asleep, Tommy was at home, sitting on the hood of his Camaro with a beer in hand, watching a possum poke around his neighbor’s garbage can. The car was parked directly in front of his house, a house with moss-covered cedar siding, a faded green tin roof, and a detached single car garage. While Jordan lived in a neighborhood where people still took pride in their homes, Tommy wasn’t as fortunate. In a world where two-bedroom houses, eight-foot ceilings, and one-car detached garages were no longer good enough, the entire neighborhood had fallen into decay. It was a neighborhood where none of Tommy’s neighbors minded if he parked in front of his house, sat on the hood, and drank beer.