Signing off,
Jim Duke
Chapter 19. The Fued
April 4, 2020
Detective Larry Pete
Well, today marks a major milestone in this entire investigation. It’s over. Officially. Peterson ultimately decided to pull the plug. Too much money was being pumped into it without any results. The most we got was a couple of reported sightings of Duke near the upstate New York and Canadian border. All turned out to be duds.
Walters says my job might even be on the line. He is a lying sack of shit, so maybe that part isn’t true. But it is possible. Over twenty years and no capture? That’s a sign of a not-very-good Detective.
Maybe I’m not a good detective. I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t. This really is everything to me. I gave up my entire life for this case and now it’s just over. No ifs or buts, it’s over. Best case scenario, I get another case slapped on my desk that is easy and I get my confidence back. Worst case scenario, I retire early and move to the mountains. I would really fucking prefer to avoid the latter.
Now that I really analyze the situation, I could get fired. They’ve done it before. One of the leading investigators on the Whitey case got fired after he failed to produce for a decade. I could be totally fucked.
It’s hard not to think of all the great times I’ve had in this place. It’s also easy to remember the bad times too. The times that imprint on your soul and never leave you. The whole Richard ~Dick~ Walters prostitute murder definitely falls into the “Bad Time” category. Whereas, the time I beat him in the fourth of July blueberry pie eating competition would definitely fall into the “Good Time” category.
Was it all worth it? Hard to say right now. I’ll ask myself that question again in a few weeks when I have more clarity.
Suddenly, Walters enters my office. He appears to be more dressed-up than usual. He’s wearing a bow-tie. Why?
Why are you wearing a bow-tie?
No reason. He says to me with a smirk.
Nobody wears a bow-tie for no reason, Dick.
Nice one, Larry. Subtle. Keep it up.
Guess who I’m taking out.
For Christ sake he can’t be taking out Detective Lagnado again. Ever since that one Valentine’s day he’s been on and off with her. More off than on, but every now and again he’ll come in and boast about whatever he did the night before blah blah blah. The guy is a fucking prick. If women only knew what he said about them behind their backs they would never sleep with him again.
You don’t need to tell me every time.
Oh, it’s not Detective Lagnado.
Who then?
I figured now that the case is over and done with, that I’d ask Aurelia out for dinner. It is her birthday today after all.
What the fuck? How the fuck did he pull that off? She is the most beautiful thing on this god given Earth and Walters is the dirtiest, slimiest, rat-like, diabolical, untrustworthy, murderous son of a bitch. No- This really pisses me off. If I get fired and Walters doesn’t, believe me I’ll be pissed. But if I get fired, Walters doesn’t, and he bangs Aurelia? Then I will be murderous.
You’re a fucking liar.
Maybe. Maybe not. Guess you’ll never know.
Suddenly, Peterson enters the office. What timing. Right when I am at my most frustrated.
Ah, Walters. Good you’re here too. This will only take a second Gentlemen.
What’s up, boss?
Here it comes. Well Larry, you gave it your best shot. You lost, but you gave it your all. I should be proud of myself. It’s not an easy thing to do. For anyone. Even the most experienced and advanced detective would have had a tough time on this case. I mean, everything just worked against me. We could just never pin him down. There’s not much you can do with that. If only we were a mere moments earlier to every tip-off we got. Then we’d have him.
Gentlemen, I’ll make it short. The higher-ups were talking and they feel it’s necessary to give you boys each three weeks suspension, with pay. You don’t have to take this time off right now, but you must do so before the year is out. This will go into your file but only as a formality. You both gave it your best shot. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.
He leaves.
So- Where are you going to go on your vacation? Walters says to me.
Fuck you, Dick. You didn’t give a shit about this case. You’re happy it’s over. Fuck you.
Of course I’m happy it’s over. Over twenty years on one case? It was driving me insane. Plus, Duke is dead so why should we keep investigating?
Why should we keep investigating? What a dumb fucking question.
Because three hundred people died, Dick. Those three hundred people all probably had families. That means Duke ruined thousands of lives. The families deserve to see some form of justice.
He still doesn’t care. All he cares about is if I’m still thinking about Aurelia. Well, I’m not. I just don’t think it’s true at all. It can’t be. That would be absolutely ridiculous. And childish and immature for that matter. I am neither of those things. I’m going to take the high road.
Forget about it. Enjoy your date tonight.
Oh- I will.
He exits. God I fucking hate that man. How the fuck did he even become a Detective in the first place? The guy reeks of immorality.
Chapter 20. The Bridge
May 7, 2020
Detective Richard Walters
May the 7th. Jesus fucking Christ the year is flying by. I suppose time usually does nowadays with this whole Duke case. What a waste of fucking time. Thank god it is fucking over. Today marks my twenty-second year as a Detective for the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Only three more years left doing this shit then I can finally escape north and live peacefully with my wife. She must be feeling the strain right about now too. All of the long nights spent with the team. The frequent trips to cities this fine continent has to offer, some worthwhile some not. It was all life altering. But I was never a fan of Newark. I grew up nearby and never fucking liked it. But what can you do.
I will be a young man when I retire, but the years have taken their toll. I have seen a lot in my time as a Detective. Too much, in my opinion. But what can you do. That’s life. We do and see shit that we really wished we hadn’t. But it builds us and makes us who we are. A wise man once told me that through times of despair and hardship, we grow more mature. I always felt that it was true. Actually, two people have told me that. My own mother was the other. I was eighteen when she first “enlightened” me with this knowledge. I had just gotten dumped by some broad from Philly. Jesus, Philly. I miss that place. She was a bitch anyways. Always had a thing with another fella’ in the neighborhood. But she had me good. I worked a paper route at the time to get some extra cash, and I spent all of it on that broad. I didn’t get back in the black until I was at least twenty-one. Love, it makes you do fucked up things.
I have done some fucked up things in my day. Some I would rather not think about now. Some I would never like to think about again. But one incident comes to mind. Nothing too terrible, in my opinion. But looking back I could have done serious damage to myself and to others who I would never even come to meet.
There was a time back in the 70’s where the State of New Jersey had an eighteen year old legal drinking age and Pennsylvania had a twenty-one year old legal drinking age. It was only for a short time before the federal law was passed, but it really fucked me and my friends. At the time I was living in South Philadelphia. An Irish neighborhood. Most of them were in South Philly at the time. The Italians had area in Central Philly. And the African Americans lived right in the middle. There were only so many places we could go to have a good time. One of these places just so happened to be over the bridge in Jersey in a town called Camden. It was only a fifteen minute drive with no traffic, and we took full advantage of it. One summer night I drove my then-girlfriend and I to the bars in Camden to meet some of our friends. It was right after we finished High School so it end
ed up turning into a crazy night. Just about every dramatic scenario that you could picture happening to a group of newly-graduated high school students happened to us. Bottles thrown, fist fights, break-ups, including my own that very night, and attempted homicide, which is also directed at my ex-girlfriend. She did try to kill me that night.
But, that is not what this story is about. She obviously didn’t succeed. The bouncers got her before she tried to swipe me with a broken bottle of Heineken. A lesson to the wise, if you’re going to kill Richard Walters with a beer bottle, make it Bud. I was born an American I’ll fucking die an American.
No, this story is about the law. After I was almost massacred by a crazy bitch I decided that I had had enough fun for one night. I rustled through my denims, pulled out my keys in front of everyone, and walked out to my car. Now, this was the 70’s. People drank and drove. It was a commonality. Not a big deal. So I get in my car and start driving home. I liked listening to Rock music on my drives. I still do. I had the music up high that night and I was, surprisingly, loving life. That was until I was crossing the bridge into Pennsylvania and a State Trooper decides to pull me over. I was fucked up. I couldn’t talk this guy out of anything, so I told him the truth. I’ll never forget the look on that man’s face when I told him how much I had to drink that night. He was astounded, and surprisingly, highly impressed.
How much did you have to drink tonight? He says to me.
Enough to know that I’m in a lot of trouble, officer. I responded.
He smiled at me. I thought I was totally fucked. But I wasn’t. He told me to get out of my car and get into the passenger seat of his. Then he asked where I was heading. So I gave him the address of one of my friend’s who lived near the bridge.
I’ll take you there and you can get your car tomorrow, kid. He said to me as he began driving over the bridge back to Pennsylvania.
So we chit-chat a little and he drops me off outside my buddy’s house. He tells me not to drink and drive in future then drives off into the distance. A quick encounter, but a meaningful one looking back on it. The only problem was that I had work the next morning at nine, and I needed that car to get there. So I go into my friend’s house, wake him up, and tell him to drive me back to the bridge where my car was. As two eighteen year olds who had never truly left Philadelphia, we thought this was a fantastic idea.
He starts driving me and I’m telling him all about this Cop who just completely let me off the hook. He can’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. But my head wasn’t on straight and I did take it for granted. And a few short minutes later we had arrived. I could see my car by the edge of the bridge, and I still had my keys. Silence filled the air as I scanned the area for Cops. So I made a dash for it. I swear to shit I was running a five minute mile that night. I doubt any of the Detectives here could’ve done that at eighteen. Well, maybe Peterson. That guy does run marathons.
I get to my car, hop in, and immediately hit the gas. I was free. I had evaded the law and I felt criminal. The good kind of criminal. The Butch Cassidy kind of criminal. Then suddenly, flashing lights. It was the same fucking Cop. I could see him shaking his head as he walked toward my car. And just before I could puke out of fucking terror, he taps on my window.
I thought I told you to come back in the morning? He says to me. This time, without a smile.
Being the fucking brain-dead, idiotic, testosterone-filled teenager that I was I decided to give the response that I truly wanted to give.
Technically Officer, it is the morning.
As soon as the words came out of my mouth all I could think was “Fuck”. But, it made him laugh. Only a little bit, but he genuinely laughed.
Get back in my Car. I’m going to drive you home to your Mother.
So I got back in his car and he started driving, leaving my own vehicle in the dust. We made some more chit-chat, almost none of it about the two possible DUI’s I could’ve had from the last hour alone. He was kind and fair. He knew that I knew what I was doing was wrong, and he didn’t punish me for it. Those were the times, man.
We pull up to my own house and I step out of the car. He asks me if my Mother is awake and given that it was nearing three o’clock in the morning, I gave him the honest truth.
She’s most likely asleep. I can wake her up if you’d like me to. She just has work in the morning and I wouldn’t want to bother her with this.
And yet again, to my surprise, he was absolutely fine with it, nodded to me and drove off into the distance. I couldn’t believe it. I had just evaded the law twice for two crimes of which I was guilty of. I felt like the fucking man. I was invincible. Actually, from that moment, I had always had a certain sense of invincibility. But I still needed that damn car to get to work in the morning. So I wake up my brother and beg him to drive me back to the bridge. My brother was a bit of a straight arrow, so I left out everything to do with the Cop. I told that gullible bastard that I had walked all the way home to sober up before going back to get my car, and driving home safely. He ate up every word and agreed to drive me back to the bridge.
This time, I get dropped right to the door of my car. I truly had sobered up a little during all of this, and I truly did feel ready to get behind the wheel. I think my brother could see that in me too. He had no problem with me getting out and driving my car home. It was three in the morning, after all. There were very few people on the road. In fact, all those fuckers were probably drunk too. What were the odds that I got nipped by the 5-0 twice in one night.
I get into my car and start driving. The music still sounded just as good as it did the first time, and I was still just loving life as much as I had two hours previous. Then, flashing lights. Now, this time I really knew I was fucked. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times? You’re ripping me out of my seat, beating me with the butt end of your gun, and taking me to jail.
The Cop gets out of his car once more and approaches my window. He taps on it just as he had done twice before and tells me to step out of the car. I was clinching my butt cheeks just at the thought of what he would do to me. Every single angry cop vs. drunk teenager scenario raced through my mind. Was he going to just hit me first and then start talking? Or would he just hit me and never say a word until we got back to the station? I was shitting my fucking pants. I was genuinely one swift punch to the nose away from literally, and openly shitting my pants. Hence why my butt cheeks were closed. I opened my car door and exited as calmly as I could. Sweat was dripping from my forehead down to my shoes. Every functioning aspect of my body suddenly lost all movement, and I was being held up by sheer shock alone. He looks me up and down and glances into my watering eyes. Then-
You know what, kid. Just get in your fucking car and drive home. I’m tired of seeing you on this bridge.
That was it. That was my punishment. Leaving this god damn bridge once and for all. Well, until the following weekend. I look back on this and I always realize the same thing.
That experience is what made me want to be a cop.
Chapter 21. The Mother She Never Had
October 17, 2020
Aurelia Pelisson
Two years ago to the day that my father died. It’s surreal. The quickest two years of my life. Yet, the strangest two years of my life. I feel as though I am now on an emotional rollercoaster, sitting at the very front, being blind, and only hearing the other passengers screams. One second, I feel liberated. The next, I fear for my life. As to why I’m feeling either of these emotions is beyond me. But I am.
Lydia and her Mother wanted me to come over to their house today. They’re throwing a little get together to celebrate the life of my father. Naturally, I didn’t want to go but she begged me. She didn’t get into much detail, but I got the impression that her and Lydia were having problems. She was saying things like “It’s so nice to have another daughter” etcetera. Which, I suppose isn’t too odd but we’re just not even close to having that kind of relationship yet.<
br />
Their house is beautiful, though. Dad built this? He did a good job. He was always good with his hands, I remember that. He built that cabin up in the woods for us. That thing was phenomenal. Lydia said he never took her up there. So I wouldn’t even know what it looks like now. If I’m being honest with myself. I don’t care how it looks. In fact, I hope it was burned to the ground.
So Lydia, what’s new? Says Lydia’s mother.
Lydia stares at me from across the table. She hasn’t said much to me since I got here and sat down. Not that we do much talking as it is, but we could do more. We are sisters after all. I’ve always wanted a sister. Someone to share everything with. Someone in the house that would actually understand who I am.
Nothing at all. Just living life day by day. How about you?
Oh- life is good right now. I’m happy thank you for asking.
Glad someone is. Lydia scuffs.
There is definitely something here. I was right.
Don’t mind her, Aurelia. She’s not happy with the man I’m dating.
I didn’t realize you were dating someone. Good for you. What’s he like?
Lydia does more than roll her eyes. She clenches her facial muscles toward the center of her face. This does more than make her uncomfortable. It disgusts her.
Well, he’s a little younger than I am. Thirty. He’s tall, handsome, and Portuguese. Well, of Portuguese origin. He’s from East Boston.
That sounds an awful lot like somebody I know. It sounds a lot like somebody I used to know extremely well. For years.
What’s his name?
Stayaway Hideaway Page 7