Big Jim glanced back towards the rookies, and I watched closely as the man’s normally unfocused gaze assumed an unusually high level of concentration. “Well, as for your car” he began, “no real worries there. I’ve got a tow rope in my trunk, so we should be able to set you right. And as for these idiots?” He paused, thinking the options through before coming to a snap decision. “Hey there, you boots! Frick and Frack, or whatever your names are. Get these spooks down to the station, book them in, and make it quick, willya? I want all of you back over to the mall just as soon as you’re finished. Mark my words, there’ll be hell to pay if my dinner’s late!”
From the safety of his upstate cabin, Duke Regan sat comfortably on the front porch, enjoying a strong sense of contentment. The sky above was still overcast, thick with dark clouds, though the worst of the storm had passed. All that remained was the heavy, charged atmosphere left hanging behind. The fast-moving clouds cut a remarkably picturesque silhouette as they streamed past the scenic Table Rock mountain, and Duke let out a sigh as he took another sip of coffee. The warm beverage went down well, an effective shield against the chilly fall air. A glance at his wristwatch marked the time at nine o’clock exactly, prompting Duke to power up a pre-paid cell phone and dial a number from memory.
The call went through after three short rings. “Yes, hello?”
Duke smiled at Antoine’s phone discipline, just one more mark of the young man’s professionalism. “Good morning. I’m just calling to check up on things, as promised. How’d you and your ‘family’ weather the storm?”
There was a brief silence as Antoine chose his words with care. “Well, it certainly was busy down this way, but I think you’d be proud. Everybody pulled together to get the job done.”
“I am proud— you should know that.” Duke shifted his weight against the firm back of the wooden Adirondack chair. “So, how bad was it?”
“Looks like the city got lucky this time. The highest winds passed us by, but we still managed to get a lot accomplished before the evacuation order was lifted. I’m sorry, I still don’t have an exact count yet, but the team did a fantastic job. We’ve identified at least thirty new business opportunities— probably closer to thirty-five.”
Duke smiled, already thinking of creative ways he could free up cash for the financing. “You know what?” he said, “I like even numbers. Let’s go ahead and round it up to forty. If your past work is any indication, the initial investment will be well worth it. And how did your team members perform? Any unexpected problems?”
“Not really.” Antoine thought for a moment. “Three of my cousins got picked up by the truant officers for ‘skipping school’, but in the grand scheme of things, I guess that’s not such a big deal. Comes with the territory, you know?”
“I agree.” Duke quickly translated the message, understanding that three members of Antoine’s crew had been arrested during the operation. Fortunately they were all juveniles, so the consequences would be negligible. “Sometimes you can’t avoid little misunderstandings like that. All things considered, this is probably just a bump in the road for these boys. Youthful indiscretions, and what not.”
“Understood, but I still plan to speak with them later this week. Where are they gon’ end up without an education, you know? Knowledge is power.”
Duke nodded. “Young man, I admire you. You are literally shaping the next generation.” He took a long, slow look out over the hills, savoring the panoramic view. “The future’s in good hands.”
“So when you comin’ back down this way?”
“If I wasn’t so scared of the traffic, I’d probably already be heading east on I-26. No, I’ll probably hang out here for another day or two— that should be more than enough time for the excitement to die down, and in any case, I’m overdue for a vacation. What with all the opportunities your team created, it sounds like I’ve got a busy week in front of me...”
MONDAY
10.
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, with the fall air shifting from pleasantly crisp to downright chilly as I drove across the North Bridge. It’d been years since I’d last gotten suckered into handling a felony case, but thankfully, I’d remembered the trick of scheduling my appearance for three o’clock. That was normally the last case of the day, and it made for an ironclad excuse to vacate my desk early. The county’s juvenile hearing facility was a true dump, nothing more than a low-slung set of pre-fabricated trailers lined up alongside the beat-up old courtroom, conveniently located across the street from the Leeds Avenue jail. Most importantly, the North Charleston location meant that my commute home would be going against traffic, cutting the drive time in half.
I pulled into the parking lot just a few minutes late, as was my custom, and when I strode into the trailer it was standing room only. I scanned the collected faces as if I was looking for my defendants, although in truth, I wouldn’t have been able to recognize those kids unless they were lying face-down on the asphalt again. A flash of recognition hit me as I spotted another familiar face, though: a tough hood character who I’d arrested earlier that year, back when I was still working in Foot Patrol. I struggled to recall the kid’s name, though, and after a few minutes I finally gave up trying. His case had been a worthless misdemeanor, a throwaway charge after I’d caught him trying to pour soap suds into a water fountain. The bust turned out to be a waste of time, and honestly, the only reason I’d done it was because Chief Greene had been off on one of his anti-vandalism rants. Thankfully, it seemed like those days were past us now. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I thought.
As that case resurfaced in my mind, I took another look around the room, searching for a slimy real estate broker named Duke Regan. Regan was a guy who’d made himself a small fortune buying run-down properties on the cheap, rehabbing them and then flipping them over for a quick profit. The dude had always struck me as a sleazeball, especially after the night I’d caught him snuggling up with that black kid at Waterfront Park. Regan was nowhere to be seen in court, though, which I took as a sign that the two must have broken off their illicit homosexual romance. As for the kid, his eyes turned wide when he noticed me leaning against the wall. I shot him a sly wink of recognition in return.
“All rise!”
The kid didn’t respond to my taunt, but silently stood as the judge walked into the room. The man in the black robe was one of my favorites, an ancient cracker named Gosling. That good ol’ boy had the least patience of anyone on the bench, and I always got the impression that he viewed his work the same way I did my own. Gosling had a well-earned reputation for disappearing without notice on Fridays during hunting season, and he’d even brought his Boykin spaniels into the courtroom a couple times.
Gosling swept aside the audience’s respectful gesture with a flick of his wrinkled hand, sending his dark robes fluttering as he staggered up the low steps. I took that as my cue to settle in, and shoved my way down the back row towards a couple other CPD cops. Sal Brown was already there, occupying more than his fair share of a wooden bench, so I squeezed in next to my partner and gave him a friendly poke. A pair of rookies crowded in alongside him said hello as I took my seat, but I did my best to ignore them.
“What’s up, hero?” Sal whispered, leaning uncomfortably close. My highly trained sense of smell caught the lingering odor of stale cold cuts on his breath, and I could tell that he must’ve put away a foot-long Italian sub for lunch. Judging by the spicy bouquet, I suspected that the guy might have used a homemade dressing rather than some bottled deli special and for the first time I found myself wondering if Sal Brown might have actually been of Italian descent. “The clerk was looking for you a few minutes ago” he hissed, “but I didn’t think you were going to show.”
I rearranged my face, hoping to convey a reaction of shock and dismay at Sal’s pointed comment. “What do you mean, bro? I was in the office for, like, a whole hour today. Almost. What’d you think, I stopped off to go fishing or something?” My alib
i was good as gold— now that the weather had cleared and the evacuation order had been lifted, it seemed like the good people of Charleston simply had nothing better to do than to call 911 and file pointless complaints. There’d been a fresh stack of incident reports waiting on top of my desk that morning, so my first priority, even before I’d had my third cup of coffee, was to collect all that new paperwork and run it through the shredder. What with the crisis safely past, it was high time to settle back into my normal investigative routine.
He sneered. “Yeah? I was in there most of the day— didn’t see you but once.” But even before I could begin dreaming up a fresh excuse, Sal silenced me by raising a broad palm. “Stow it, bub. I don’t want to know what kind of errands you were out running all day. If Jughead doesn’t care, then why should I?”
I nodded. Our boss still hadn’t bothered to put in an appearance at work, and I was starting to wonder if maybe we shouldn’t at least drive by his house to check up on him.
“But hey” Sal went on, “did you happen to catch the news today?”
I puckered my lips, twisting them into a sneer. “Of course not.” I’d actually gone back home during my lunch break to run a couple loads of laundry, but I didn’t see any particular need to relay that information. That, or the fact that my daily nap had lasted twice as long as usual.
“Shoot, boy! You call yourself a detective, you need to pull your head out of the sand. Get outside every once in a while, take notice of what’s going on around you!”
“Wait, what? Say that again, Sal. Did I miss something?”
“Hell yeah, I should say you missed something! This morning, right around eleven o’clock, there was a snap press conference down at 75. Man, I can’t believe you really haven’t heard yet!”
I did my best to stifle a yawn. “Yeah? The hell they do that for, if Hurricane Tradd’s already come and gone? The storm didn’t kill nobody, did it? Shoot, man. This whole mess is a job for the insurance companies now.”
Sal flashed an evil grin, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well then, let me have the privilege of being the one to tell you. It looks like ol’ Rufus’ time has finally come, bro! This morning Chief Greene announced his resignation on live TV— effective immediately!”
My head whipped sideways, and I locked eyes with Sal. The man still had that same look of smug amusement on his face, but I instantly saw that he was telling the truth. “Get out of here!” I nearly shouted, my excited whisper echoing in the small space. “Could this really be happening? Is this the day we’ve all been dreaming of?”
“Hand of God, bro. Hand of God. I heard the words from the man’s own lips. Said he needed more time away from work, wanted to start taking better care of his high blood pressure. Dude was standing right out there on the front steps, and somehow they even managed to wrangle a couple dozen cops to post up behind him. For everyone watching at home, the city made it look as if the entire force was standing alongside their fearless leader.”
I shook my head, slumping backwards against the bench. “Unbelievable!”
“Believe it, son. These are interesting times. I’m still not entirely sure what happened behind the scenes, but it sounded like a sudden resignation. The way I heard it, Captain Russell was running up and down the hallways just before the camera crews showed up, snatching everybody in a uniform to get outside and show support. It was slim pickings, though— most anyone with a lick of sense was already running in the opposite direction! No lie, Russell got so desperate that he even hijacked a couple rookies who were busy trying to book in a prisoner! When the six o’clock news comes on, you watch that replay and look close at the top right corner of the screen. You’ll see all three of them standing there looking awkward, wondering just what in the hell they got roped into, and trying to keep the bum’s handcuffs out of sight.”
I chuckled discreetly into my hand, still keeping a careful eye on the bench. I needn’t have worried, though— Judge Gosling was just about deaf, the result of having fired off a countless number of 12-gauge shotgun shells without any kind of hearing protection. Besides, both he and the clerk seemed to be fully occupied, fumbling through that massive stack of case files. “So it sounds like those boys gave ol’ Rufus one last hurrah, huh? A real ‘Hail to the Chief’ moment? Well, whatever. What can I say, I just hope that mean old bastard didn’t let the door hit him where the good Lord split him. But wait a minute... what’s going to happen with Lieutenant Colonel Hedleyson? Did that guy actually let the Mayor pin a pair of eagles on his collar?”
Sal shook his head. “Nope, Old Heddy didn’t let himself get suckered into that— he came right out and said that he’ll be showing himself the door just as soon as a new Chief is named. Now I knew that dude wasn’t no spring chicken, but I had no idea he was pushing seventy! And get this, when Mayor O’Reilly took a couple questions, that was the first thing those reporters hit him with. Dude said he was kicking off a nationwide search to find the right person to lead the department forward... you believe that shit? Got any idea how many cops started drooling when they heard that?”
I slapped my forehead in disgust. “Hell, I don’t know. Only, like, every brown-nosed ladder climber we’ve got working at this stupid place? And by that I mean, every command staff officer with brass on their collar, plus about half the sergeants?”
“And at least a few ambitious corporals, I’m sure. Now I’ve never actually seen you wearing a bulletproof vest, but boy, let me pass along a friendly word of advice. You and I better start watching our backs, ‘cause the knives are about to come out. You know damn well just how many of these good-for-nothing cheese eaters will be looking to make a name for themselves. Some of them— hell, I’d say most of them— would have absolutely no reservations about cutting down any potential competition.”
I leaned back against the bench, stretching my legs out straight as I crossed my arms comfortably behind my head. “See, that’s exactly why it just doesn’t pay to have any kind of career aspirations. Let’s face it, Sal, you blew it when you accepted that last promotion. You’ll never see me taking on that level of responsibility, you know?”
Sal snorted. “Funny, I’ve never seen anybody actually offer you a promotion. Hell, man, you’re not even capable of managing yourself, let alone other cops.”
As the judge finished shuffling through his files, I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. “Officer Larsen?”
I tilted my head back to eyeball the bailiff. The guy was another old-timer, clad in a crisp white shirt with the short sleeves ironed to a sharp point. After studying the dude for a second, I pegged him as a retired deputy who hadn’t bothered to learn any new skills for his second career. “That’s my name” I grunted. “Don’t wear it out.”
“Looks like your defendants must have gone and gotten themselves some representation” he chuckled. “Lawyer’s out in the lobby. Wants to talk to you for a quick second.”
I nodded. “Be right there.” I leaned over towards Sal and whispered a pointed taunt in his hairy ear. “Sounds like I scored me a plea deal, huh, buddy? Well, you ladies take care. Enjoy all those B+E cases of yours— let me know how they turn out.”
I managed to dodge Sal’s kick as I slid down the bench, turning my back on his middle finger with an air of indifference. Out in the lobby, a twenty-something lawyer wearing a newish suit was waiting next to the cashier’s window. The dude stood tall, cutting a trim, fit profile. Naturally, I disliked him instantly.
“Officer Larsen” he said, extending a hand. “Michael, isn’t it?”
I stared pointedly at his empty palm before decisively folding my own arms over my chest. “Yeah. What’s it to you?”
There was a brief, awkward pause before the guy wisely tucked his hand away. “I’m John Rantowles— pleased to meet you too. I’ve been hired to represent your defendants...” He stole a quick glance down at his legal pad. “Robert Smalls, Bernard Green, and James Prioleau.”
Since Big Jim had hijacked a pack of rookie
s to handle all the paperwork, I hadn’t even bothered to learn my prisoners’ names. “Yeah? Good for you, shyster. Must be a nice break from chasing ambulances.”
The dude seemed taken aback by the slur, and he raised an eyebrow that was a little too well-groomed for my liking. “I just wanted to inform you that I’ve spoken to these young men, and also met with their families. They all deeply regret this brief lapse in judgement, and will begin making restitution just as soon as their personal finances allow.”
I flashed him a look of scorn, recalling the extensive damage. “So basically, that’ll be...never?”
Rantowles tilted his head to the side, a gesture which neither confirmed nor denied my accusation. “Well of course I’ll be doing my best to work out the details, but it’s my understanding that the affected homeowners were adequately insured. In any case, I wanted to let you know that we can save you some time this afternoon. These young men have chosen to waive their preliminary hearing, and will be pleading guilty at the first opportunity.”
I could barely contain my excitement. Not only did this mean that I could cut out of court early, but it also eliminated all those pesky follow-up hearings. Still, I did my best to conceal any outward signs of gratitude—after all, the dude was a lawyer. “Huh. Seems to me like you might’ve called to pass that news along. Instead, you made me drive all the way up here anyway.”
“Well, I did try to reach you at your office— three times, in fact. Your staff said you were out running leads.”
I bit back a smile, thankful for the way Sal Brown had covered for me. “Yeah? How about that. So wait a minute...” I stammered. “Your three hoods are accused of looting, I don’t know, what? A dozen or so homes, just in that one neighborhood alone? And I know the insurance estimates must still be coming in, but we’ve got to be talking about at least a million dollars worth of property damage. So how in the world did these ghetto rats, three scummy little kids with absolutely no resources to their name, manage to hustle themselves up a high-dollar lawyer on such short notice?”
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