Soft Case (Book 1 of the John Keegan Mystery Series)

by John Misak

let me go out on the street. Maybe this guy didn’t have that luxury. Maybe, just like me, he got screwed out of his job, got depressed, and lost everything. Maybe he had family somewhere, but he was too ashamed to admit what happened. Hell, he might have even done something stupid. We all do stupid things. The funny part about it is some of us pay dearly for it, and others walk away clean. Fate has its own selection process, and one day I would like to figure out what it was.

  Despite the amount of pity I felt for this man, I really couldn’t stand the smell of garbage much longer. I wondered if maybe he lived in a dumpster, but then I realized that I had walked past thousands of dumpsters in my time, and none of them smelled like this guy did. I know that sounds harsh, but hey, it’s the truth. Love the homeless all you want from your cozy, aromatic living room. Occupying common space with them is an entirely different story.

  Feeling guilty, I pulled a five-dollar bill out of my pocket and slipped it into one of the bags he had lying beside him. No one saw me do it, and no one had to. I hoped he would go through the bag, and be surprised by what he found. I knew it wouldn’t make a difference in his life, as much as I wanted it to, but it did make me feel better, and that’s what charity is all about. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a first-rate bullshit artist. Remember that.

  I’d wasted about twenty minutes in that little coffee shop, and I figured that Peters was sitting at the computer in the department, trying to win back his money in the golf game. I hoped he lost all of it. I left the shop, got into the Caddy, and headed back toward Chapman’s building. It was a little after two in the afternoon when I got in the car, and I was certain Chapman was there, probably creating his next scheme. He was the villain in this little plot I had created, the man who sat high atop a huge building plotting the end of the world as we knew it. All his building needed was a few gargoyle statues and lightning bolts flashing in the background. Of course, he also needed a sexy woman at his side for me to fall in love with, and a henchman with whom I was supposed to get into a mortal battle. Okay, so Chapman didn’t have all of those things, but it didn’t make a difference. He was my man. Period.

  I made it to Chapman’s building by 2:30. I didn’t really know what to do when I got there. His office was on the other side of the building, and there was no way I could use the binoculars or the camera. I also couldn’t even step into the building, not with the setup they had in there. I’d have been brought down to the station in no time, and everything would turn to total crap. With no other choice, I parked Mom’s car on the side street facing the building, behind another car so I was concealed a bit. All I could do then was wait.

  I waited a long time. I was on a stakeout, something I hadn’t done in over five years, and even then, I had only done it twice. I hated it both times. I am a bit of a fidgety person, and can’t stand the idea of sitting in a car for that long. The moment I realize I am going to be there for a while, all the muscles in my body cramp up, except for my bladder. I normally can go almost all day without having to drop fluid, but as soon as I know I am going to be stuck somewhere for a long time, the bladder release valve opens, and I am stuck holding back a pee. Let me tell you how much fun that is.

  It must have been about an hour before anything happened. I had been in the middle of counting how many Japanese cars passed by when I saw a very familiar Japanese car pull up in front of the building. It was Agnelli’s Lexus. I looked up at the sky, and thanked whoever lived up there for my good fortune. I pulled out the binoculars first, just to ensure it was Agnelli. It was. I wished for a moment that the binoculars were just the scope of a high- powered rifle. All I had to do was pull the trigger, and all my problems would be solved. Well, of course they wouldn’t, but it was nice to dream for a little bit.

  I put down the binoculars, and pulled out the camera. After fumbling with it for a few seconds (yes, I know I should have familiarized myself with it before I got into the freaking car), I focused the camera on Agnelli, who was dressed in an expensive blue tailored suit. He had gotten out of the car, and walked into the building. I wanted to rush in after him, and ask him why he was conferring with the top suspect in a murder investigation. Then again, he probably would have told me that there was no murder investigation, and if there were any suspects nearby, it was me. He might have had a point, but either way, going into the building was absolutely out of the question. I would have to wait a little longer, and so would my bladder. I didn’t like that idea.

  Maybe ten minutes later, no longer, Agnelli walked out of the building, with Chapman right behind him. Just what exactly was Agnelli’s angle? He was the Commissioner of the New York City Police Department, and he was obviously in over his head. Agnelli was a smart man, but he wasn’t ruthless and shrewd like Chapman. If there was one person who would end up ahead of the game from this union of snakes, it would be Chapman without any question.

  Both men got into Agnelli’s car, and I slowly pulled out of my parking spot to give chase. I had to be careful because Agnelli was probably already briefed about what sort of car I was running around town in, and it is really hard to hide in a big, bodacious Cadillac. New York City would not be the place to drive around in such a car, but hey, I had to play with the cards I was dealt, bad as they were.

  Agnelli pulled away slowly, heading down toward FDR Drive. I stayed a good four cars behind, and prayed that a traffic light wouldn’t cause me any more grief than I needed. Luck stayed with me, and I was able to follow them to the FDR. They were headed south toward the seaport. Agnelli obviously followed the same rules I did about driving—break all rules. He was doing about seventy, and I had to inconspicuously keep up. This wasn’t an easy thing to do considering the visibility issue I was facing. I did the best I could and, much to my fortune, there was a van doing about the same speed, so I was able to hide behind that, thank God.

  They got off at the seaport. Were they two secret lovers stealing away for some precious moments together? I laughed at myself for thinking that, then scared myself at the possibility of it being true. Not that I have anything against homosexuality. Alright, that’s a lie. I’m sorry, I do believe in live and let live and all that crap, but homosexuality that close to me makes me unnerved. I know that many people would point a finger at me and call me homophobic, but that’s just not it. I’ll give you an example. Puking is an everyday occurrence, and something that all human beings should be able to handle. So, let me pose this question: Is it wrong to feel uncomfortable around someone who is throwing up? After all, that individual is only carrying out a normal bodily function. Despite this, the average person runs in the other direction when someone in their company hurls their lunch outward. This is how I think of homosexuality. Puke when you are on your own, not when you are in my company.

  Anyway, Agnelli parked his car near the seaport, and I parked a few cars away. Chapman got out of the car, and they headed toward the pier. The stopped at a table near where an old ship was docked. They sat down and began to talk. I pulled out the microphone, and placed it on the dash, pointing toward them. In a moment of true brilliance, I checked to see if there was a microphone port on the camera. There was, and it was the right size. Man, things were looking up.

  I plugged in the microphone, put the small headphones on, turned on the camera, and pointed it at Agnelli and Chapman. With the zoom up all the way, I was able to notice that the monogram on Chapman’s shirt read “HDC.” That was impressive. I turned the microphone a little bit because I was getting more feedback than anything else, and I could hear Chapman speaking. I started recording.

  “I don’t think it is necessary to go through all of this. Apparently the man killed himself,” Chapman said.

  “I’m worried about it. It doesn’t look good for my department or the city if people continue to kick shit up about this. You’re sure no one knows what happened?” There was an interesting question. Did Agnelli want to know if anyone knew what really happened, or did he want to know if anyone knew what the two of them did? Of
course, I didn’t have that answer.

  “No one knows anything. I have gone through extensive interviews to find that out, and have come up empty. No one knows a thing.”

  “You’re sure?” Agnelli asked.

  “I am.”

  “I have a big campaign coming up soon, and if the media gets the notion that I slipped and fell on what has turned out to be one of the biggest investigations since I have been in office, I won’t get anywhere.” There was Agnelli and his upward mobility crap. Why couldn’t he just be happy where he was? Thousands of cops would have killed to have his position, and all he saw it as was a stepping-stone to something bigger. That was the way some people were I guess.

  “Stop worrying so much about your campaign. You sound like Ron for Christ’s sake. Everything is going to be fine. I’ve helped plenty of good men get into office, and I will do the same for you.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. If Chapman was really about to be investigated for campaign fraud, well then, I had some evidence for the investigators. Of course, it was circumstantial, and it really wasn’t anything stellar, but it would be a start, and I