Joe slides into the apartment behind Saim. Keeps his Beretta up.
They see the second thug farther inside. He’s got a pistol up. Another MP-443. Behind him, a body on the floor. Both cops can smell the blood in the air mixed with cordite.
Joe says to the second gunman, “You decide if you’re going to the ICU tonight, but I’d put the goddamn piece down if I was you.”
The second gunman says, “Who the fuck’re you?”
“NYPD. It would be a real good idea to behave.”
“Show me a badge, motherfucker. How I know you’re not just some crooks who wanna rob me?”
“Well, we got your buddy here. And we didn’t just outright shoot you.”
“That don’t mean shit.”
Saim says, “You don’t need to see our badges.” He commands. “We’re NYPD. We heard shots. We’re here now. And you’d be wise to stop the tough-guy act, put the gun down, and get on the ground.”
Fearless Leader says, “Fuck you. Dirty fuckin sand nigger.”
“Sand nigger?” Saim clocks him in the back of the head with the Colt. “Watch your mouth.” He pushes ahead, closer to the second gunman. Nobody can miss at this distance. “Smart move here is to just stop. Give it up.”
Joe watches the gunman’s hand. Guy won’t even lower the weapon. But he’s shaky. So Joe says, “You got three seconds.”
The gunman moves the barrel around. Tries to decide who to point it at. Joe or Saim. Saim or Joe. Not like it’s gonna do him any favors either way.
Joe says, “Two seconds.”
Saim keeps most of his head behind the meat shield.
Fearless Leader says, “Don’t give em nothing. Don’t say a thing. The boss’ll have their heads.”
The gunman points at Saim.
Joe says, “One.”
The gunman fires. Twice. The bullets pound into the meat shield. Two in his chest. He grunts. Starts to fall.
Saim lets him topple to the ground.
Saim and Joe open fire. Their shots hammer the Ruskie. Push him back. Nine-millimeter and .45 rounds that make blossoms of blood bloom. Ten rounds between the two officers.
Overkill, but fuck this guy.
“Check him,” Saim says. Then he leans down to check his own meat shield. Flips the guy over. The thug’s alive. Bleeding. But alive. “How you feeling there, sport?”
“Ffff—fuck you.”
“Atta boy.”
Saim looks over to Joe. His partner shakes his head. The second gunman is dogmeat.
Both cops walk over to the broken body on the ground. Joe turns him over. Saim hisses through his teeth.
It’s the bartender. Kieron.
Saim reaches under the poor bastard’s jaw. Tries to find a pulse.
Can’t.
He sees the chair with the cut strips of duct tape on the arms. Sees marks around the bartender’s wrists. He sees two spent syringes on the ground. Both with residue of some crap inside. He checks under the bartender’s forearm and sees a fresh pinprick. The blood only congealed a little while. Still bright red enough to be five minutes old.
Five minutes.
He and Joe’d waited outside for an hour, and they missed the fireworks by five minutes.
Saim thinks about that girl outside the bar. And the blonde who said this guy—Kieron. His name was Kieron—never did anything except try to take care of his kid.
His kid.
Saim sighs. “What the hell did you get yourself into here, Kieron?”
He closes the bartender’s eyes.
24.
Thirty minutes later, one of the CSI smartypants, Bill Powell, tells Saim, “Gotta wait for the tox screen to come back, but it looks like they had him tied up and doped him. Then, y’know, bang bang.”
Saim flips his hand up. Like, Yeah. Don’t be so cavalier about this guy’s life. “So they tie the bartender up. They inject him with... what?”
Powell says, “There are two kilos of heroin in the room right now. Packed for distribution. But I don’t think that’s what they injected him with.”
“They tie him up and inject him and then they cut him loose?”
“There are signs of a struggle. But the tape is cut. It isn’t torn.”
Saim considers it. “And they didn’t shoot him in the chair.”
“No blood splatter.”
“They shoot him on the ground. These Russian mob types.”
“Right.”
“So this wasn’t about killing the bartender. You just wanna kill the cocksucker, you just kill the cocksucker.”
“No. Looks like they wanted to torment him.”
Saim nods. “Thanks.”
Powell says, “Sure. Let you know when I get the reports.”
Joe taps Saim on the shoulder. “Captain’s downstairs. Prepare your butt.”
“Yeah. I’m puckered.”
***
NYPD Captain James Schaffer.
What a dick.
Fair.
But still a dick.
He waves at Joe and Saim from down the block. Doesn’t wanna talk where reporters might show up.
Joe says, “We’re gonna get fucked.”
Saim says, “Probably.”
They walk toward their boss. Big sonuvabitch with wisps of pale hair around the crown of his head. Looks like a slimmer version of the actor Brian Dennehy.
Schaffer’s the man who can make or break em. The man who they expect is gonna be pissed cuz they were suspended and involved in yet another shootout.
They wait for him to speak before opening their mouths.
Schaffer says, “How come, every time I even hear you two’s names, there’s a body involved? Then I gotta wait for the district attorney to clear you. Every. Goddamn. Time.”
Saim starts to say something but a glance from Schaffer shuts him up.
Both cops look at their feet like little kids. Their hands behind their backs.
Schaffer says, “Reason I ain’t screaming is I don’t want some prick from the Daily News or the Post or those fuckin weasel cocksuckers at Gawker overhearing. You got any idea how lucky it is the press likes you? Hero cops, hah. You guys are breathing PR disasters getting lucky killing the right guys. What if you’d opened up on some Sean Bell type? Can you even imagine that? You guys gun down a guy loved by friends and family or turn a scumbag into a martyr and then the papers and cable are talking about what corrupt racist pricks we are.” The captain’s face is red. He breathes hard.
Saim says, “That’s never gonna happen.”
“Oh? Tell me, Officer Dajani. Why’s that never gonna happen?”
“I wouldn’t let it, sir. Neither would Joe. We are not a coupla cops looking to fill a quota.”
“So you really are HERO COPS. Jesus Christ. Thank fuckin God. Now I can just tap-dance into my fuckin grave.” Schaffer waits a beat. Then: “I want you to know I’m angry. You get that I’m angry?”
Saim says, “Yessir.”
Joe says, “Yessir.”
Schaffer says, “Good. You guys weren’t even off-duty. You were suspended. You operated outside the boundaries of this department. You used your civilian sidearms to kill one man and bloody another. You were not cops at the time.
“What were you two thinking?”
Saim says, “We were observing an individual of—”
“Cut the bullshit. Talk plain.”
Saim bites his lip. “We were in the bartender’s place a couple days ago. Right after suspension. I got, I don’t know, I got a feeling something wasn’t right with the guy.”
Schaffer twirls a finger. “Cop radar. Your gut telling you this.”
Joe says, “Yeah. Something like that.”
Saim says, “So today, we went back to the bar. Talked to the wom
an working. Didn’t get anything outta her. Saw a girl come outta the building might know something, since she waved to the woman from outside. We followed her. Got a look at a pricey ring she had on. She tells us the bartender got it for her.”
Schaffer nods. “And you’re thinking there’s no way the guy could afford it, him living off tips at an unpopular bar on the Lower East Side.”
“Right. So we wait. Follow him here. Watch him sneak into the building from the fire escape. Him trying to be smooth. Then we hear shots. Five. We rush in. Put one Ruskie down after he opens fire.”
Joe says, “He hits his own buddy twice.”
Saim says, “Then we find the bartender’s body.”
Schaffer nods again. Exhales. Takes his time. Then says, “All right.” And that’s all. The captain turns. “If the forensics nerds say anything to make you look like you’re lying to me? I’ll bury you.” He walks toward his car. He says over his shoulder, “Your suspension’s over. Both of you. Starting day after tomorrow. You’re reporting to me now. You’ve managed to peak my goddamn interest with the Russian shit. You both got good instincts.”
Saim and Joe follow Schaffer at a safe distance, till their boss is settled into the driver seat of his Ford.
Joe says, “What’re you telling the press?”
Schaffer frowns. “I’m telling em that you were off-duty. But still bound to uphold the law. Because a cop never really takes time off. You intervened after hearing gunshots. You killed one suspect who opened fire on you. You apprehended a second.” He smirks. “I’m telling em you’re goddamn hero cops.”
Saim and Joe say in unison: “Thanks, boss.”
Schaffer squints. “Shit. I wouldn’t thank me. Vacation’s over and you’re in Suck Central. Your sergeant’s a fairy fuckin princess compared to me.” He turns the car on. “Someone’s gotta notify next of kin. And you two are more involved in this than anyone else I have.”
What a dick.
But at least a dick who might make Saim and Joe detectives.
25.
Borovinsky watches the cops below. Soon as he heard the second round of shots, he knew something went bad.
Not that he misses the thugs much.
Plenty more where they came from.
He thinks for a second. Just a second. Doesn’t want to lose his boner. Still humping Rebecca from behind, doggy style. Her skinny white ass bouncing off his groin. They both watch out the window.
Cops all over.
But there’s two he’s interested in.
White guy and a sand nigger.
Borovinksy grunts. Close to climaxing.
Rebecca fakes it. Grunts with him.
He grabs for her tiny breasts. Twists the nipples. Pumps against her. Rough. Thinks of this Russian model. What’s her name. Anne Vyalitsyna. She’s got some knockers. Then one. Two. Three. He fills the condom stretched over his dick with sperm.
He pulls out of Rebecca. Mostly glad it’s over. Since there’s some obvious shit he needs to deal with. But, looking at Rebecca, also sorta glad she ain’t the only one he’s fuckin.
This emaciated junkie chick.
He only needed her to get Kieron. Now he’s not sure what to do with her.
She saunters off to her bag for another dose.
He grabs the rubber on his prick and yanks it off. Tosses it in a corner of the room they’ve got for the night. Says to her, “Phone.”
She tosses him his cell. Then says, “Who you callin?”
“Some of my guys. You saw those two pigs when we were fuckin? The guys who were talking to the fat bastard in charge.”
She blinks at him. Like, What the hell are you talking about? “I’m high and you were railing me like that first night you got outta jail.”
Borovinsky smirks at her. Yeah, she’d been there when he got out. He was thankful for it at the time. He says, “Well, there are two cops out there who got my attention. I think they’re the ones who found Kieron.”
Rebecca grins. “What’re you gonna do?”
Borovinsky shrugs. His face twists into a smile.
She says, “All I want is my boy. Do whatever you want to the others.”
Borovinsky nods.
26.
Saim and Joe go from beat cops to HERO COPS to reporting to the goddamn captain and maybe becoming detectives and neither’s sure they really wanna be in that spot.
But they walk the long walk.
Longest walk goddamn ever.
Joe’s not having as hard a time of it. Why should he? He ain’t like Saim. Sounds shitty. But he just ain’t like Saim. Saim, the guy overthinking all this shit. Overthinking and overfeeling.
Saim walks down the avenues of Alphabet City. Ave A. Ave B. Ave C. Ave D. And if there was an Ave F it’d be a straight “fuck you.”
Whole planet’s littered with humans who’d be capable of going to the stars, curing cancer, and everything else, but they’re all just brutalizing each other instead.
Money.
Drugs.
Pussy.
Whatever.
Saim says, “The guy was a dad. A father.”
Joe says, “So? Sorry, man. But... he didn’t just stumble into that spot. He invited himself into that spot. We ain’t talkin about some prodigy cut down in their prime. A promising Harlem high schooler slammed by a stray bullet. Some pillar of the community. Some innocent. Guy obviously fucked up in some impressive ways. That is why he was where he was.”
“Y’know, sometimes people just fuck up. They think they’re doing the right thing and they just fuck up. This guy, all we heard about him, we heard he was a dude trying to take care of his kid. He was a worker. Doing what he had to do.”
“What he had to do was end up in a fleabag building at the wrong end of two guns held by thugs with drugs all over?”
“You gonna tell his son that? Cuz that’s who we’re gonna be talking to.”
***
Thing is, when you’re a cop, you don’t get the big guns. You get the one gun. Badge. Cuffs. Radio. Maybe Kevlar if you can convince the bosses you’re at risk. And maybe you get a flashlight. That’s it.
Badge.
Gun.
Radio.
Fuckin flashlight.
You’re the big dick swinging.
Right?
Right.
Academy tells you how to stay in shape. How to protect yourself. How to protect everyone else and protect the city.
But how do you talk to a kid whose dad ended up in a bad spot.
And you didn’t even pull the trigger, but you know he did some shit that put him into the wrong spot.
Could take sensitivity courses.
Talk to the shrink.
But. Christ. Then you’re talking to the shrink.
***
Joe says, “We goin to the bar?”
Saim says, “Where the man worked, where the man lived. I need a drink anyway.”
***
Saim sees the bar like a tomb. THE THING. Inviting him in, but he doesn’t wanna go. Since it’s gonna suck him in and consume him.
***
It’s last call when they sit down on the crummy old stools.
No blonde. Some kid. Says his name is Chase.
Joe tells him: “We need three shots Evan Williams. Four Yuenglings. Like now.” Not trying to be a dick but sounding like it anyway since the night’s getting old.
Chase says, “Sure. How you want it split?”
“Fuck you mean split it?”
The kid, a little confused. “I mean I can put two Yuenglings in front of you both and then a shot but you ordered three.”
“What makes you think we’re splitting?”
“I figured—”
“No. That’s each.”
&nb
sp; The idiot bartending kid does as he’s told as quickly as possible. He spills a little bit of the drinks. Shaken up.
Saim grabs the kid’s arm. “Listen, we’re NYPD. Call Kieron.” He corrects himself. “Call Kieron’s number upstairs.”
The kid says, “Kieron’s out for the night.” He pulls his arm free.
“Call.”
“He’s out.”
“Call.”
“He’s out.”
Saim puts his Colt on the bar. The big beast of a machine making the point for both tired cops sitting there.
Saim says, “Call.”
Chase says, “Jesus, you gonna kill me? Don’t kill me. You want the money, you can take the money.”
“Holy shit, you’re an idiot.”
Joe does a shot. Says, “Get everyone out.”
Saim does a shot. Two. Then says, “Gimme the fuckin phone.”
***
The woman storms into the bar. Four in the morning. Just about. Pissed. She doesn’t like cops. Saim and Joe know that right off. Knew that when they trailed her to the falafel place.
Dark hair pulled up tight in a tail. Dark eyes burning cuz she’s annoyed, and Saim and Joe are the culprits and she knows em and she recognizes em, but she don’t know why the hell they’re there.
Two gays she thought were into her ring on account of the whole equal marriage thing got passed.
But she’s in a big sleep shirt and sweat pants.
Joe sorta falls in love with her then.
Saim says, “Sarah, please sit down.”
***
They sit at the bar. TVs around the room all mute.
The idiot kid Chase left with the customers.
Saim. Joe. Sarah.
None of em anything for a while.
Sarah shakes her head. Stares into her beer. Glad that Aaron’s asleep and hoping the boy stays that way for a good long time.
She thinks she’s in shock. Or something like it. Since the idea of Kieron being dead hasn’t even fuckin registered as something real in her head yet.
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