by John Misak
“Listen, I might be on suspension, but what I do on that time is none of your business.”
Peters laughed. He had one of those annoying, hoarse laughs. He sounded like someone that didn’t laugh too often, the rat bastard. “It’s all of my business. Geiger has me on the case you nearly destroyed, and I just want to make sure you don’t screw it up any more,” he said. That stung me a little, but I couldn’t believe it at face value.
“So, you’re on the case now? Find out anything interesting?”
“Like I’d tell you.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Hey, I mean, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I don’t think that following me is the right way to solve this case. You might want to do a little investigating, unless you already have it solved.”
“You have everything to do with this case and, if I catch you shoving your face into what is now my business, I’ll nail you to the fucking wall.”
“Tough talk, eh Peters? I don’t think there is any need for that. We’re both cops. And hey, we both have screwed your wife.” I don’t know why I added that little quip, but it seemed to have done its job. He was seething.
“You’re nothing but a dirty cop out to cover his ass. I know what you did with Mullins’ wife, and as much as you want to deny it, you can’t hide the truth.”
“The truth is what I am out for.”
“The truth is you are a piece of shit. I knew it from the first time I met you. It just took longer for it to come to the surface.”
“Thanks for the psychological profile, but go fuck yourself.” The light turned green, and cars behind us starting honking. “Get back in your car before I have a uniform give you a ticket.”
“How nice of you. Tell you what, you keep following me, and I will make sure you regret it.”
“Don’t threaten me Keegan. You’re not in the position to do so,” Peters said.
“No threat Peters. And tell the rest of your boys down at the station this: I know what’s going on and, if I have to, I’ll take every one of you down. You got that, you sorry piece of shit?” Peters’ face turned even redder, if that was possible. He started to say something, then stopped.
“Just get back into your car and get out of here.”
“Have a nice day.”
I did get back in my car, flashed Peters the middle finger, and pulled away. I went straight, and he went right. I knew that the little exchange I had with him did me absolutely no good, but it didn’t matter. I felt better because I was able to get him so angry. He was probably pissed that he couldn’t tail me anymore, but I knew he’d get over it, and I knew he’d be looking out for me. I had to be real careful. But, then again, I really didn’t care. I couldn’t get into any deeper shit.
It amazes me how little I know about such things.
Twenty
I waited a little while to go to Chapman’s building after my little chat with Peters. I couldn’t count on the fact that he wasn’t smart enough to figure out where I was going. If he saw me there, then he could have really done something with me. I knew Geiger wouldn’t be too happy to hear that I was stalking the good Mr. Chapman. Being that I had no idea where Geiger fit in to this whole mess, I knew I was better off waiting a little while. I stopped at a small shop and got a cup of coffee and a roll, shelling out three bucks for this combination.
Man, did I miss Rick.
There was another man I couldn’t figure out. For a brief second (and I mean brief) I felt bad for the female population. We men aren’t exactly that easy to figure out. Hell, I was one of them, and I couldn’t put a finger on what was going on with men I had worked with for nine years. I sat in that small shop next to a guy who looked and smelled like he had lived outside for the last decade. He had a thick, matted red beard and a hat that said, “I Love NY,” the kind that was popular in the 80's, probably the last time he had a roof over his head.
As appalling as me might have been, I felt bad for him. By doing that, however, I realized that I was feeling bad for myself. I think we all do it when things head for the toilet. Looking at this homeless man devouring a buttered bagel, I saw how quickly you can fall. I had effectively lost my job, and I knew then that I was just a few drinking binges away from messing myself up. Sure, I had family that would support me and not 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 would be more than happy to help out. It was the sort of guy I was.
“I’ve banked on getting in. I don’t need this case to destroy everything I have created, Agnelli said.”
“Please, stop worrying yourself so much. You’ll have the money you need and the backing you want. There’s nothing to be concerned about.” Chapman stopped speaking and turned his head to face my direction. For a minute, I thought I was caught, but then I realized that there was no way for Chapman to really see me from that distance unless he was a villain with superpowers. Although this might have been possible, it was certainly unlikely. “What about that Detective?”
“Which one?”
“The one who came to see me,” Chapman said.
“He’s been taken care of. Shame too.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“He was a good cop. The sort that did his job and didn’t ask for anything in return but another case to work on.” Wow, Agnelli liked me, he really liked me. I must admit I was surprised, and a bit proud, but in that shining compliment was also the truth. Agnelli had been the one who set me up. He’d been the one who had decided I shouldn’t be a cop anymore. Sure, he seemed to regret his decision, but that didn’t take away from the fact that he was just a power-hungry dirt bag who stepped on anyone who got in his way. Rat bastard.
“Don’t give me the ‘good cop’ stuff. You were the one that suggested he get caught in the middle of all of this. It all comes down to the fact that he was jeopardizing our situation. Remember, it could have been worse.” I wondered what Chapman meant.
“I know. But the problem is, we’ve gotten rid of him for the time being, but we still don’t have any answers,” Agnelli said.
“All he would have done is pin the whole thing on me, you told me that yourself.”
This was getting deep. I was listening to the two men who masterminded my whole demise, and I wasn’t even doing anything about it. I wanted to. I wanted to walk right up to the two of them and strangle them, but that wouldn’t have been the right thing to do. I was better off gathering information, bringing it to the right people, and hoping justice would be served. Of course, I had no idea who the right people were. I knew I couldn’t go to anyone in the department. Agnelli had already planted the seeds there. I thought about Uncle Paulie, but he never gave me any indication that he would be able to help me further than getting me equipment and information. For all I knew, I would have all the evidence I needed to clear my name and solve the case, but no one would take it from me. Didn’t that just figure?
“He probably would have, but
that wouldn’t have been such a big deal. Either way, there is no use talking about it anymore. Keegan is on suspension, and we are moving forward with the case, as far as the media is concerned.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“You really don’t like him, do you?” Agnelli asked.
“No, I don’t. He was too meddling. Not my type of person at all.” I thought that was funny. Meant I was good at my job.
“I don’t think we will press any formal charges. Hell, we really never placed any charges on him at all. It was just a bunch of theatrics. He thinks he is going to jail, probably. I wouldn’t do that, though. I would never put a cop behind bars without reason.” What ethics the man had, huh?
“So?”
“He’ll probably stay on suspension for a month or two, and when the case blows over, we’ll take him back.”
“No chance he’ll come after me again.”
“None at all.”
“Great. I have to get back to the office. I’m happy we got the chance to have this talk,” Chapman said as he got up. “Maybe soon we will find out who ...”
The camera went dead. I never checked the battery. Man, I was operating on half power, mentally, I mean. If you really break it down, this was bad cop work, nothing more. I needed to work on my tradecraft a little bit if I was going to solve this case. Then again, I needed to work on a lot of things if I was going to solve this case.
With my naked eye, I saw the two men walk back toward the Lexus. While I had the chance, I started the Caddy and pulled away, looking in the other direction as I passed by so they wouldn’t see me.
Twenty-One
Okay, so now I had some information to go on. It wasn’t a hell of a lot, but it was something to work with, something which could lead to more. I wanted to replay the tape, but with the battery dead, that was impossible. Then it hit me. Tape. Mullins’ mother’s tape. We had listened to it several times. We had it analyzed by Jacob. But we had never gone to see the woman. I couldn’t believe that I could have forgotten something like that. I didn’t know what she would have to offer, but she had to have some information that would help me out, even slightly. She had to be back from her South America trip. It was time to pay her a visit.