“Good evening everyone, I’m John Bryerson.”
“And I’m Anna Gable. Our top story tonight: Charleston Police Chief Rufus T. Greene has been placed on an administrative leave of absence following a two-car traffic accident, which happened just a few short hours ago. Let’s go live to the corner of Reid and America Streets, where Clyde Sanders is standing by with the very latest on this afternoon’s top story.”
“Thank you John, thank you Anna. As you can see behind me, the state Highway Patrol is still on scene, working a wreck which occurred around four o’clock this afternoon. Now we’ve spoken to several eyewitnesses from here in the East Side community, all of whom claim to have seen Charleston’s own Chief of Police, Rufus T. Greene, driving his unmarked vehicle the wrong way up Reid Street and colliding with another vehicle in a low speed, head-on collision. Now thankfully no injuries were reported, but we’ve also been told that the minor accident quickly escalated into a ‘road rage’ situation! We’re still following up on these claims, but I’ve personally spoken to at least one witness who saw Chief Greene actually climb out the window of his police cruiser in order to confront the other driver! The alleged verbal altercation which followed lasted for several minutes, and at some point the argument even turned physical. The Live 5 Newsroom has already heard from a number of callers who’ve said that Chief Greene stood in front of the other driver’s car and beat on her windshield with his nightstick!”
“Clyde, that’s simply remarkable! Do we know how many people witnessed this accident?”
“Anna, that’s difficult to say, because as we speak, the Live 5 News investigative team is still following up with nearly a dozen onlookers. And to any of our viewers who may also have information on this wreck, please give our newsroom a call as soon as possible. We’re particularly interested in obtaining any video footage of this accident, or of the alleged confrontation which followed.”
“Thanks very much, Clyde, keep up the great work. We’ll let you get back to it, but please keep us updated with any new information from the scene.”
“And folks, we’ve also spoken with Charles Franklin, spokesman for the Charleston Police Department. He responded with a short message which said that the Department could not comment on any ongoing investigations, although he was able to confirm that Mayor O’Reilly had indeed placed Chief Greene on a period of administrative leave.”
“This is a breaking story, so of course we’ll keep you updated on any new developments as they come in. But next, let’s turn to Rob Fulton for our other big story, the very latest on Tropical Storm Tradd. Now our Live 5 Weather team has been keeping their eyes on Tradd since it started building out in the Caribbean last week. Rob, what do you have for us?”
I stifled a yawn as I muted the television, then sat there in silence as I stirred the cooling noodles aimlessly around in the bowl. My smartphone was literally blowing up with excited texts, and as tempted as I was to shoot off quick replies, I chose to spend a few quiet minutes considering this new development. It was looking almost like our Chief might have finally gone overboard this time, and there I was, the only cop at CPD who knew what had caused him to blow his gasket. I thought about firing off a message to Artie Mistle, but quickly thought better of that as well. Artie was busy holding down a sweet retirement gig, working as a security guard out at the sleepy old Kiawah Island resort, so I’d hate to wake the guy up while he was on duty. Besides, if our Chief truly was on the verge of a mental breakdown or a life-threatening stroke, I reasoned that it was better just to keep my fingerprints off the matter entirely. After all, there was no sense in ruining my stellar law enforcement career by catching a manslaughter rap.
My phone began ringing in earnest, a throwback to a simpler time when people actually used to call one another, instead of communicating through silent texts. A small, nostalgic part of my soul actually missed hearing the sound of my friends’ voices sometimes, at least until I remembered how little I cared for being around other people. Just my opinion, but the transition to micro-messaging might someday be considered a major milestone in mankind’s collective evolution. Apart from my parents, there was only one other person who still bothered to dial me direct: my girlfriend, Katie Maslow. I muted the television set with one hand and worked the phone with the other, yawning out an idle “Hello?” as I gazed at the colorful graphic of a massive tropical depression out in the Atlantic.
“Hello yourself, handsome.” Katie was blessed with a uniquely thick tone of voice, a sound which had always reminded me of a fat feline’s contented purr. It had a full, rich timbre, and called to mind life’s simple pleasures, things like laying stretched out across the carpet in the warm light of a sunbeam, whiling away the afternoon with nothing more strenuous to do than digest your lunch. Katie’s outgoing personality was nearly as large as her frame, and as much as I hated to admit it, that girl had grown on me over time. Our relationship had developed slowly and surely over the past year, much the same way her waistline had also grown during that time. Only the politest of grandmothers could ever describe Katie Maslow as a slender woman, and nobody’d ever accused that girl of skipping any meals. As one of Charleston County’s deputy coroners, her biweekly paychecks were substantially bigger than my own, and I’d become awfully fond of the way she always picked up the check when we ate out. On a couple particularly insolvent weeks that girl had literally been my lifeline, and I’d never been one to bite the hand that was quite feeding me. Even better, Katie tended to work a lot of nights and weekends, which meant that we didn’t have to actually see each other too often.
I answered her flirt with another yawn, my usual strategy of playing hard-to-get. It’d paid off big for me in the past, so I saw no reason to adjust my tactics.
“So, Mike. What’s Charleston’s best detective up to tonight?”
I spun the noodles slowly around on the tines of the fork, dragging them through the puddles of barbecue sauce with slow, lingering stirs. “Oh, the usual. Just living the good life over here, enjoying everything that comes with it. Say, babe— did you happen to catch the news just now?”
She sighed. “No, I had to come in early today and work straight through. I’m just now leaving the office, and I haven’t spotted a TV all day. Why, what happened? I didn’t miss anything good, did I?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s a long story, though. I don’t want to use up all your minutes.”
“Hmm...well, let me tell you what, then. I’ve got a ton of use-or-lose leave that I still need to burn. I don’t think I can get away with blowing off work entirely, but I could always call in a few hours late tomorrow morning. Why don’t I start heading over to your place, and you can catch me up?”
My defenses shot up, a natural reflex to any short-notice change of plans. I never really minded my girl’s company, but I just wasn’t feeling motivated to tidy up the apartment. I shook my head in frustration as I whined, “I dunno, babe. It’s been such a long day, you know? Plus I’ve got work tomorrow too, and those people hold roll call so damned early. Seven-thirty is seven-thirty, and it seems like it’s coming sooner each day.”
The conversation came to a pause, and I knew she must have been searching for the magic words. “You sure?” I heard the sounds of a busy parking lot in the background, and her car’s seatbelt alert chimed as she jammed a key into the ignition. “I’ve got to run by the Li’l Cricket and fill up the tank, my light’s about to come on. Maybe I could grab a six-pack of Miller Lite from the cooler as long I’m there? And a handful of those egg rolls too, as long as they look fresh. What do you say— are you in the mood for roller food?”
My mouth began watering, and I glanced back down at that bowl of limp noodles with a newfound sense of disdain. The thin strands of glutenous pasta had begun congealing into one another, with the spicy barbecue sauce dripping off into a dark pool. With one last, long sigh, I finally succumbed to my girlfriend’s advances. “Alright, I’m sold. But could you make it five of
those egg rolls, though? I’m famished. And you know what, why don’t you grab one of those Italian sausages as long as you’re there, and a sack of Funyons too. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble...”
I could almost hear her chubby-cheeked smile beaming across the phone line. “You got it... sweetie. See you in a few.”
As I clicked off, I noticed that I’d missed another half-dozen incoming texts. Slipper and Big Jim had both sent through a couple of saucy comments, and tempted as I was to reply, I decided it was safer to simply cut my phone off entirely. I was off the clock, after all, and I had a hot date to look forward to.
The rising sun’s rays filtered in through the thick glass window, sending bright light down into the office to signal the start of a new day. Despite the early hour, the man in this office had already been at work for some time. Duke Regan was seated behind his desk, a massive edifice of hardwood mahogany, his focus directed intently down at a small stack of invoices. The man worked steadily, only breaking his concentration to steal an occasional glance at the flat-screen television set across the room. The news coverage had become continual by that point, a replay loop of the incoming weather system interspersed with footage of highway traffic. A stationary aerial camera showed a long line of vehicles queued up along Interstate 26, the cars and trucks packed in bumper to bumper as they inched their way towards Columbia. Even though the Highway Patrol had reversed the eastbound lanes of traffic following the Governor’s evacuation order, the sheer volume of cars was overwhelming.
Regan paused, checking the time with a quick glance at his Rolex before reaching for one of several mobile phones nearby. He dialed a number from memory, then turned his attention back to the television.
On the second ring, a cheerful voice answered. “Good morning, hello?”
Duke Regan smiled, grateful for his dependable young associate, who never failed to carry his pre-paid cell phone. “Good morning” he said crisply, silencing the news broadcast with a wave of the remote control. “It’s me.”
A long moment of silence fell across the line, the quiet stretching out so long that Regan began to wonder if his call might have been dropped. South Carolina perpetually lagged behind when it came to new technology, so it was possible that the increased call volume had overloaded the cellular network. Finally, though, Antoine spoke up. “Yes?”
Regan sat down his pen, leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out beneath the desktop. “Just wanted to call and make sure that you’ve keeping current with the news this week. I know how busy you are at the moment, what with all of your studies.”
Antoine spoke slowly, steadily, choosing each of his words with a practiced caution. The manner had become a habit during their business dealings, just one more reason why this young man had earned his seat at Duke’s boardroom table, even if he couldn’t actually occupy it. “Yes, I’ve been watching the broadcasts with interest. Our school’s been shut down until further notice, so I’ve actually got a little free time on my hands right now.” Antoine paused before dropping a subtle hint. “I’ve spoken with a few of my friends, and they’re just as bored as I am.”
Regan’s broad smile grew even larger. “You know what they say, don’t you? Idle hands are the devil’s plaything. But you know, maybe I could help you find something productive to help pass the time. It’s kind of a... well, let’s just say it’s a little community service project that I’ve been working on in my spare time.”
Antoine instantly picked up his boss’ meaning, and returned the silent smile. “Oh yeah? Sounds interesting.”
Mr. Regan went on. “Well, judging by the look of this morning’s weather report, it seems as if we may be coming up on a rather unique window of opportunity. I’m at the office right now, just getting a few things in order before I head out of town, but am I safe in assuming that you and your... friends... will not be evacuating the city?”
“That’s correct. Nearly all my, uh, family will be hanging back here in town, riding the storm out as best we can. You know how business works, you got to be ready when the customers come calling. If there’s going to be anywhere near as much damage as they’re predicting, my cousins will be in the best possible position to get hired on with any construction crews. This economy’s been pretty challenging for all of us, you know? So this storm might actually end up bringing a pretty little silver lining along with it.”
Duke nodded, stealing another glance at the time before stopping to gather his paperwork. “Young man, that sounds like an excellent plan. But I do have to ask: why does it always seem as if the two of us working in sync?”
Antoine laughed. “Your guess is as good as mine. Great minds think alike, I guess.”
“Yes, that must be it. Listen, I really must run, so I’ll be brief. I need your team to sign on for as many of these... construction jobs... as they can possibly manage over the next week. I’m willing to underwrite as many as you think you’ll be able to complete, per our usual arrangement. Now I know realize this must seem like a tall order... do you think you can manage a project of this size?”
This time, there was no hesitation. “As long as you’re funding all of them, at the same rates as before? Absolutely, no question.”
“Good man.” Duke stood and reached for the remote control, cutting off his television before striding purposefully for the door. “Apologies for the short notice, but it’s like you just said: this storm may prove to be rather beneficial... for both of us.”
FRIDAY
3.
The next morning, I was positively shocked to find that getting out of bed was actually an easy feat. The strange feeling was a rare occasion in this workaday life of mine, and I marked the sensation for posterity. I’d set the alarm clock more out of habit than from any real desire to be punctual, but when I woke up a few minutes before six o’clock, I was clear-eyed and ready to go. It was a challenge to reach up and over my massive girlfriend, but I slid the alert off so as not to wake her. Once again, Katie had spent the night over at my place, and I just didn’t see the point in both of us having to get up so early. Neither she nor I were what you might call morning people, and the prospect of making conversation before I’d had my coffee was simply unthinkable. I chose to walk a considerate, almost chivalrous path, tiptoeing through my shower routine before slipping quietly out the door. Thanks to the Chief’s reminder, I’d even taken the extraordinary step of grabbing a clean necktie from my closet. This one wasn’t knotted up yet, but I reasoned that should I actually have cause to wear the damned thing, I could simply loop it around my collar and hope the half-dressed look made me seem overworked.
Traffic was light as I made my way downtown, and by some small miracle I found a wide-open parking spot right out in front of the station. I claimed the handicapped space without a second thought, charging up the stairs at a breezy pace and noting with no small amount of pride that the wall clock in the lobby read 7:25. That particular morning marked the third straight day I’d been on time for work, so I paused for a moment to consider the new personal record. It was a momentous occasion and yet, I didn’t dare linger. No cop ever wanted to spend to spend too much time hanging about the station, or else they ran the risk of some wandering command staff officer thinking they needed more work to do. In a sudden burst of inspiration, I snatched up a stray Wanted flier and folded it in half. It’s been my experience that the bosses are much less likely to bother you if you make a token show of looking busy, and there’s very few people who’re willing to step in front of a fast-walking dude clutching a sheet of paper.
Our tiny squad room was packed to capacity, the usual fumes from industrial strength cleaner clashing against the two most pungent smells of beat cops, body odor and spray starch. A pair of over-muscled rookies in spotless uniforms were standing up by the door, nearly blocking the entrance, but I shoved my way past and shuffled towards the row reserved for Team Four. On the way, I glanced over at Lieutenant Mark Hammer, my newest boss, and gave him a quick n
od of acknowledgement. The big man held my gaze for an uncomfortably long moment, the veins in his massive neck bulging with intensity, before glancing down at his watch to check the time.
Seated to my right was Sergeant Salvatore Brown, the only other investigator assigned to West Ashley. Sal Brown was a whale of a man, standing six feet four inches tall and nearly as wide, with an awkward habit of speaking his mind in an inappropriately loud voice. His foreign accent was just as thick as his frame, and even after damn near half a year of working side by side with the dude, I still hadn’t managed to pin down its origin. To make matters worse, the guy’s enormous handlebar mustache made any attempt at lip-reading impossible. His was a particularly massive soup-strainer, two bushy handfuls of salt-and-pepper hair jammed up beneath a bulby, spiderwebbed nose.
Sal barely acknowledged my presence as I claimed a chair, casting me a silent, sideways glance before turning his attention back to a stack of paperwork. He slid a fat brown thumb down through the sheets, splitting the reports in half before shoving the bottom pile my way. “Here you go, hero” he growled. “Two more shoplifting cases yesterday, plus a simple assault at one of the dive bars along Savannah Highway. That’s in addition to the usual B+Es, of course.” He shook his head in disgust. “Where the hell was night shift, anyway? Linsky’s squad must’ve been holed up in Alex’s for the entire shift, drinking coffee and screwing off.”
I shook my head from side to side, struggling to summon the expression of concern that Sal clearly expected. It was a challenge, though. I knew full well that if I ever got stuck back behind the wheel of a marked patrol car, I’d probably just park myself right there at the all-night diner alongside Lazy Linsky and his rookies. “You know it, Sal” I lied. “Let me tell you what, back when I was still working in uniform...” When I saw the guy begin nodding along in agreement, I shut up and left the sentence unfinished, hanging there to drift away in the air. My own time wearing a uniform had been little more than a prolonged exercise in avoiding work, but surprisingly, those years turned out to be a pretty solid foundation for the rest of my career. Not to brag, but I’d become somewhat of a master at dodging calls for service.
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