"Daniel Michael Sedgwick, you are under arrest for the illegal possession of a prescription drug."
"I'll piss in a cup. You won't find any of that in my system."
"You want to make it trafficking then?"
Two officers cuffed Sedgwick's hands behind his back.
"The lawyer's going to meet us down in The Dungeon," David Sherrod shouted out, holding up his cell phone. "Until then, keep your mouth shut."
"They're not mine," Sedgwick shouted out again as the 5 officers pushed him in the direction of Reagan Plaza North. "Those pills are not mine."
Avellanos, Dan Grossinger, and the 15 or 20 other reporters and photographers followed the group as they walked across the grass to the tall, iron fence at the north side of the park. All the time Jeff Dawson was yelling at them.
"Kill the fucking pigs."
There was an ugly scene by the time they reached the fence. The Poison Springs Metro Police, wanting to avoid a confrontation, had sent only the five policemen into Reagan Plaza. Their plan had been to avoid the main gate, to exist quickly through a small locked gate 100 yards closer to City Hall than the main gate near the bus stop. But they had brought the wrong set of keys. By the time they got to the fence they were surrounded by an angry mob of at least 200 people. David Sherrod, on his cell phone talking frantically with his lawyer, was not paying attention. Avellanos, on the other hand, seeing the crowd get out of control, and also noticing the mass of police officers gathered outside on the sidewalk, shoved his way through the crowd and climbed the fence, making it all the way to the top with the police officers on the outside wildly swung their batons at him, landing blows on both his hands and knees and making him wince in pain.
"Hey," he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Hey."
Almost immediately the attention of the journalists turned towards the spot 10 feet above where the tall young man was hanging onto an iron spike with one hand while a group of policemen below continued to beat his legs with their clubs, only backing off when confronted by a crush of video cameras and still cameras.
"Look," he shouted, pointing out at least 20 more officers. "Look out there."
When the mob noticed how many armed, uniformed men stood on the outside of the fence, they immediately backed off the policemen inside.
"Don't take the bait."
Sherrod, who, at that point, had managed to free himself from the crush of people, joined Sedgwick on the fence and started a chant.
"Don't take the bait," he said, clapping. "Don't take the bait. Don't take the bait."
Soon the very same people who had been ready to tear Sedgwick away from the five officers were chanting along with Sherrod. The mob, which was, by this time, sufficiently calm, began to back up and the officers on the inside of the fence, who had finally managed to locate the keys for the gate, moved to unlock it.
"Stay cool," Sherrod said, grabbing Sedgwick's hand. "And don't say a thing until the lawyer gets there."
Sedgwick, who appeared shamed in David Sherrod's presence, squeezed his hand.
"I'm really sorry David."
He turned to Avellanos.
"Thanks a lot punk."
"It's not him," Jeff Dawson screamed. "He didn't set you up. It's that lizard bitch. She's the one who planted the pills. Where is she? I'm going to cut her throat."
But Jeff Dawson, who had been so instrumental in whipping up the mob was now just one more voice in the very noisy crowd. He tried to get the attention of one of the TV cameras but it was useless. Half of the reporters had gathered around Avellanos, shouting questions, taking photos. The other half had joined Dan Grossinger, who had pressed himself up to the fence and who was shouting questions at Dan Sedgwick.
"Is this about the back child support?" he kept yelling. "Is this about the back child support?"
Chapter 29 - Keystone Cointelpro
Cathy Chegoffgan checked the time on her cell phone. It was five o'clock. She walked over to the window, pulled open the drapes, and looked outside, examining the way the sun hit the fire escape and the aluminum harp from the west, how the shadows cast by the thick metal strings were getting longer as the evening wore on, and how the fire escape sprawled out over the sidewalk 20 feet below. She closed the drapes.
She went back to her desk, picked up her copy of the Winterborn Daily Post, and looked at the photo of Dan Sedgwick on the cover. He was struggling against the three officers who were attempting to lead him to the fence. He had an angry scowl; the camera's flash illuminating his progress into middle age, highlighting every wrinkle in his face and exaggerating his saggy jowls. A little off to the side you could see Jeff Dawson holding his middle finger up in a young female police cadet's face.
"Deadbeat: Grabbed During Threat Of Mob Violence."
There was a much smaller photo of John Avellanos on page 3. He was up on the fence, towering above David Sherrod below in the shadows, holding onto one of the iron posts with one hand, trying to calm the crown with the other. The photo editor at the Winterborn Daily Post had chosen a flattering image, but there was no mention of his name.
"Man saves police officers from angry mob."
Cathy Chegoffgan had been reading and rereading the Winterborn Daily Post all day, especially the front page article about the previous day's arrest of Dan Sedgwick. There was barely any mention of the Oxycontin or the Valium. Instead, the reporter, Dan Grossinger told a story about how Sedgwick had been served a summons, and then a bench warrant the year before for failure to pay child support for his 6 year old daughter, both of which "popped" after he had had been arrested for drug trafficking. David Sherrod was still trying to raise the money for his bail, but he was expected to be out in a few days.
"Not that he really wants to get back on the street," Grossinger concluded. "Daniel Michael Sedgwick may soon be a free man, but in a city full of parents struggling to support their children in a bad economy, it's something he might live to regret."
Cathy Chegoffgan walked back over to her makeshift photo gallery. She looked at the photo of herself as a little girl. She had meant throw the old magazine cover away but had wound up keeping it. She looked at the photos of John Avellanos and Dan Sedgwick, examining the 8 x 10 head shot, and the larger photo in the pump house near the big American flag. It was one of the best photos in her entire gallery, Sedgwick's blue eyed gaze, bare chest, and lean sinewy body all coming together to make a striking portrait of masculinity. Nevertheless, she tore it down off the wall, ripped it in half, and threw it in the trash can.
"Fuck you. I'm glad I did it."
She gave the 8 x 10 photo the middle finger.
"Go back to your daughter. Get a job asshole."
In the background, the TV was playing. She went back to the futon when she heard the local news. She lay down. There was an interview with Elizabeth Felton.
"We're back at the campaign headquarters of Elizabeth Felton," the TV reporter said. "Can you tell me what you've got in your hand?"
“I've got them in both hands," Felton said, raising her arms to her side to reveal two gallon sized plastic milk cartons. "I like to call them truth delivery machines."
Cathy Chegoffgan looked at Elizabeth Felton. There was an understated elegance about the way she dressed, and a polite, aggressive confidence about the way she carried herself. It was clear that she and John Avellanos shared the same DNA but she had none of his youthful clumsiness.
"That's an odd term for a pair of milk cartons," the reporter said. "Would you explain?"
"For the past 4 years, the construction site of Winterborn II has been closed to the public, and, more importantly, to federal inspectors," Felton said. "On Friday morning, we intend to call attention to what might be one of the worst environmental disasters our city has ever faced. After holding a rally on the public right of way outside of Winterborn II, we will be doing tests on the water flowing into the Scahentoarrhonon River for possible contamination. We will be looking not only for coal dust, but toxins and heavy
metals from the construction site. After that we will be marching along Route 1081 two miles north to the steps of The Reagan Center to deliver samples of the water to Michael Catalinelli in these," she added, holding the milk cartons close to the camera. "If he chooses not to meet with us, we will be throwing the possibly contaminated water on the steps. If we can't bring the mayor to Winterborn II we can bring Winterborn II to the mayor."
There was a knock. Cathy Chegoffgan turned the TV off, got up off the futon, and walked over to the front door. She unlocked he dead bolt.
"Your cousin's on TV," she said as she opened the door.
But it was not John Avellanos. It was Peter Muffley. Cathy Chegoffgan was so startled by his appearance that he slipped into her apartment without asking. There was less of the flamboyant dandy about him, but he was still elegantly dressed in a dark blue Brooks Brothers sport coat and a gray pair of slacks. Nobody would have suspected he was a police officer.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Muffley walked over to the wall of portraits. He looked at the photos of Avellanos, then at Dan Sedgwick. He at the magazine cover, and at the photo of Cathy Chegoffgan as a little girl.
"I want to apologize to you."
"Get out."
"I need to tell you something."
"My boyfriend's coming over in a few minutes."
"You have a big, mean, jealous boyfriend, and he's going to beat me to a bloody pulp."
“He's neither mean nor jealous, but I want to protect him. You're a cop. If you start something with him and he loses his cool, then you're just going to arrest him and put him in jail. Don't think I'm not on to your little tricks."
"But that's precisely what I've come to talk about. I was a cop, the operative word being was, not am."
"What are you talking about?"
"I turned in my badge and gun this morning. I resigned. I quit. Using the coercive power of the state to turn you against your friend was evil. You're too young and too inexperienced to know just how evil it was."
“I know exactly how evil it was, but I wasn't coerced. I chose to do it. So did you."
"And now I've chosen to quit. Don't think I made the decision lightly. I had a promising career ahead of me. I'm not as bad as you think I am."
A look of disgust came over her face.
"You're probably worse."
"Just listen to me for five minutes."
"Tell me what the fuck you want, then leave."
"I thought you were just going to stonewall us. I couldn't believe it when you actually went through with it. Did someone twist your arm?"
"What do you think?"
"It was Quinn? Wasn't it?"
Muffley walked over to the table. He took a ring with three keys, tossed it down on the table. Cathy Chegoffgan followed him over, and picked up the keys.
"What are these for?"
"My quitting was not a well thought out process," he said. "I put my gun and my badge down on the table and resigned on the spot. I got so angry they escorted me out of City Hall under guard."
She walked over to the window and looked outside.
"You really need to get to the point or go."
"I was keeping notes on the whole dirty rotten project. It will be as big as the Church Committee Report."
"The what?"
"You have no idea just how corrupt the Poison Springs Metro Police are."
"I have a very good idea."
"I have enough dirt on Michael Catalinelli to get Steve Quinn off your back."
"Then give it to me."
"I don't have it."
"Then why are you telling me?"
"I took notes, but I didn't save an electronic version. I just typed it up, printed it off, and filed it. I have recordings of Quinn on a thumb drive but I never uploaded it."
"You just left it at the office? What do you think I am, stupid?"
“Muffley laughed.
“I just assumed you read Poe. I'm sure they tossed my apartment 10 minutes after I quit the force. I'm sure they looked though my car. So I hid my notes in plain sight."
"Why not just encrypt your files and upload them to a fake email address somewhere," she said, tossing the keys back down on the table, "or get a box at a storage depot or something?"
"You need to show ID at a storage depot. I'm required to register anything I encrypt with my superiors. A simple printed report kept at a physical location on the job may not have been the best solution but it was all I could think of at the time."
"You want me to get it I guess?"
"Just walk in and say you're there for a temp clerical job. I'll give you all the information about the agency they use."
“She picked the keys back up off the table.
"Why do I need these keys?"
"The file is in an archive. It's in an obscure sub-basement near the old courtroom and the old holding cells. Nobody ever goes there anymore. You need the key for the room and the filing cabinet."
"Why three keys?"
"If you go out the front door as a temp clerical worker with that file in your hand, they'll search you. This key will let you out an exit on the south side of the building. Just grab the file and walk out. There's no alarm. This key will open up any pair of handcuffs used by the Poison Springs Metro Police."
"Really?"
"Most police departments have one standard set of keys for all their handcuffs. If you get caught, just unlock the cuffs and escape. That's to show you I trust you."
"How will I know the file when I see it?"
Muffley took a small notebook out of his coat pocket. He ripped out one page and put it down under the table.
"It's hidden under these files. The cover has your name on it. The Mayor admitted that he knew about the quid-pro-quo between the North East Youth Protection Services and the judge. He could go to jail for 20 years. I have proof."
Cathy Chegoffgan took a deep breath. She put the keys back down on the table.
"We all heard rumors about the judge. It's just like that thing that happened in Pennsylvania a few years ago."
"That's exactly what it's like."
"But it's not going to make any difference. Everybody knows the government in this town is corrupt, and he's Michael Catalinelli. Nothing's going to happen to him."
"There's a thumb drive in that folder. I have it on video. I repeat. I have it on video. Just get that thumb drive and you're free."
She banged the table in frustration.
"Why the hell didn't you take that to the press when you recorded it?"
Muffley hung his head.
"I was still partially complicit. Last week, when they started talking about the quid pro quo, I don't know why, but I switched on my cell phone, and recorded them, and oh did they talk. They were mine. I had them dead to rights. I had them. I owned them. But I had second thoughts. I'm going to be 30 next month, and that's far too old to be starting a new career. There are no good jobs outside of law enforcement in this country. But yesterday, they joked about it. They laughed. Do you hear me? It was all a big joke. That's when I knew it. That was the devil himself laughing at me. I had sold my soul for a job. If I had only gone into the archives to get that folder we'd both be free. But I blew up all at once. When I heard them laughing at you it was like a thunderbolt straight from God had knocked me to the ground and blinded me."
She took a deep breath.
"Yeah that's the way it usually happens to me too."
Muffley extended his hand.
"So will you do it?"
She reached out and grabbed his hand, but, instead of shaking it, she pulled him closer, and with her other hand she patted down his chest and the side of his body. When her hand bumped into a heavy piece of metal, she grabbed it, and opened up his sport coat. She closed his sport coat and stepped back.
"How stupid do you think I am?"
"That's my personal gun."
"Why do you think I would fall for something like this?"
&n
bsp; "Fall for what?"
"You're trying to get me arrested for entering city hall under false pretenses."
“What's that a traffic ticket?"
"You should know. You're the cop. And if it's such a minor crime, why give me keys to the handcuffs? Why not just send me in there and if I get caught I get caught?"
"For the same reason I'm carrying the gun. I'm afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"What do you think I'm afraid of? I'm afraid of Quinn. If Quinn finds out that I've kept that file, he'll kill me and burn the file. He will put me in a vat of hydrochloric acid and nobody will ever figure out what happened to me, and he's going to go down there sooner or later because we've been down there together. Please. Help me. I'm in trouble."
She reached over, scooped up the keys, walked over to the door, opened it, and threw the keys out into the hallway.
"You can redeem yourself by getting out of my apartment and taking your fucking keys with you."
He stepped out into the hallway and picked up the keys.
"Who the hell is this?" a male voice said in the hallway.
It was John Avellanos. He walked up to Muffley in an aggressive manner and backed him into the wall. Muffley tried to get back into the apartment, but Cathy Chegoffgan blocked the door.
"I just came to give Cathy back her keys."
"And Cathy doesn't want her keys back," she said, refusing to take them.
"Is this your ex-boyfriend? The one you're so afraid of?"
"Miss Chegoffgan and I have a past relationship," Muffley said, "but I assure you it's anything but romantic."
He quickly gave the keys to John Avellanos, but Cathy Chegoffgan just as quickly took them from his hand and threw them down the stairwell.
"Get out Peter. Go get your keys."
"Is this the guy you were so afraid the other night?" Avellanos said. "He doesn't look like much to me."
Muffley laughed.
"You don't look like too much either sport. Don't let that photo in the paper go to your head."
"Peter. Get the hell out of my building or I'll call the cops."
Muffley put his finger in the air.
"Please, think about I've told you," he said, before he turned around.
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