by Len Norman
Reg chuckled, “Those days are over, my friends. Those days are over forever.”
Reg was placing the uniforms in a bag after writing the report on Fletcher. He walked across a hallway and gave the uniforms to the Chief’s secretary and said, “The Chief will want to read this report.” He handed her a copy. The original had already been turned in. He was all smiles when he left the police station.
Before the end of his shift he was called back into the station. Lieutenant Chapman was waiting for him.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Sergeant Trapp has taken a complaint from Dennis Fletcher. He’s one of our reserve officers. He said you beat him badly for no good reason. We have pictures of his injuries. It looks like you really outdid yourself this time.”
“You’re joking?”
“No, I’m not. You’re a suspect in a felonious assault. I just thought you might want to know.” Chapman was all smiles.
“If you say so. The state police investigating this are they?”
“Sergeant Trapp is handling this with my expert guidance of course.”
“Good deal. For a second I thought I was in trouble. I thought the police were investigating me, but you decide to let Trapp run point on this…no worries.” Reg winked at Chapman and walked out.
After a week or so Reg was curious about the status of Fletcher’s complaint so he stopped by Chapman’s office. “Did that guy drop his horseshit complaint?”
“No. As a matter of fact he said he’d take a lie detector exam if you would.”
“Would you like me to take one? Because we both know it’s against the law for you to ask me to do so.”
Chapman smiled. “I’d never dream of asking. I was just relaying what the victim said.”
“Victim? Did you say victim? That guy’s a piece of shit and if anybody is a victim in all of this, I think it might be me. Did Trapp even bother talking to Quentin or Calvin? They were both there when Trapp’s victim walked out of here bruise-less. This is bullshit and you know it.”
“After reading the Sergeant’s investigation report on the complaint, I’m not so sure.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll take a lie detector test if you and Trapp agree to take one as well. You can take turns sitting on my lap and we can all get wired up to the polygraph. I have a few questions I’d like to ask the both of you, and if you agree? I’ll make sure there are plenty of fuses on hand. You’d both lie your asses off and probably tilt the polygraph like a pinball machine and I’d be the truth teller. Does the Chief even know about this load of crap he’s shoveling?”
“Well, it is, after all under investigation. That poor man was really beaten. You should work on your temper.”
A week later Reg was at the police lodge. The meeting was over and he was talking to Calvin and Quentin. The beer tasted good, but the subject was bitter. Sergeant Trapp was the topic of this particular conversation.
“So he never asked either of you about how Fletcher looked when he left the station?”
“Nope,” Calvin said. “When I tried to bring it up, he said I should just answer his questions.”
“Sounds to me like the guy slipped a cog,” Quentin said. “Personally, I don’t think he knows shit from Shinola.”
“He’s about the last guy anybody would want for backup. Gutless coward is all he’ll ever be,” Reg said.
They were soon joined by an off-duty deputy who always stopped by the police lodge after meetings. The deputy was drinking away his marital problems.
“So I’m sitting at the kitchen table yesterday morning, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper. I lower the paper and ask my wife to pass the jelly, only guess what comes out of my mouth?”
“Who could possibly know,” Calvin said.
“What comes out is, ‘You fucking bitch…you ruined my life.’
“Really? So you ate your toast plain?” Quentin asked.
“Yup, really, and I have no place to stay.”
“That’s what you get for thinking out loud. I have to tell you, I’m taking your wife’s side on this one,” Calvin said.
“Really?”
“We’re discussing important issues here and maybe you should quit drinking and go back home and patch things up with the missus while we work out this good-versus-evil stuff,” Reg said.
“Well, I don’t guess you have to get pissy about it. She won’t let me back in, I already tried.”
“Then you can join us. We’re having a little caucus about Sergeant Trapp and Lieutenant Chapman. They’re both dinking with Reg,” Calvin said.
“No surprise there. The deputies are heartened by the fact they’re city cops and not with us. Especially Trapp, that’s the last guy in the world that should be a cop. Everybody knows that much,” the deputy said.
When they told him about what had been going on with the assault complaint he simply shook his head. He went to the beer cooler and brought back four more, and all of them talked things out. A few weeks later Reg saw Chapman in the hallway outside the squad room. “What’s up Lieutenant? Anything new on Trapp’s investigation? Is he going to call out the tracking dogs? Maybe get some handwriting samples?”
“Good news for you, Reg. His roommate came forward and told us what happened. After you mistreated Fletcher in the police station he went home and had the roommate beat the shit out of him. Then he came into the station and filed the complaint against you. He eventually said he wanted to get you fired.”
“Excellent news, Lieutenant, I bet that really disappointed you and Trapp, right?”
“Little bit. Trapp took the news hard. I counseled him and told him that guys like you eventually slip up and every dog has his day. Stuff like that.”
“Good for you. So you’ll be going to the prosecutor and request a warrant on Fletcher and his false police report?”
“Why would I do that? We’ve already spent too many man hours on all of this. Fletcher is no longer in the police reserves. Isn’t that enough?”
“I hope you don’t mind if I discuss this with the Chief, chain of command protocol and such.”
“Whatever.”
Reg and Chapman stared at each other and Reg didn’t even try to hide the contempt he felt for Chapman. Reg walked into the Chief’s outer office and asked his secretary to arrange a meeting. The Chief agreed to speak with him a few days later.
Reg walked into the meeting expecting to see Trapp and Chapman, but the room was empty except for the two of them. The Chief sat at his desk and asked Reg what was on his mind.
“I’ll tell you sir, Sergeant Trapp tried his best to nail me on assault charges and as it turned out the so-called victim had a friend tune him up and then tried to blame me for it. Trapp never even talked to all of the witnesses, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the guy finally admits he lied about the whole thing to get me fired and Trapp ends the investigation. I have to tell you, Chief, all of this makes me sad.”
“I understand how that would. The Sergeant and Lieutenant have already told me their version, and they seem to think you bear some responsibility in all of this.”
“With all due respect Chief, the Sergeant is a fool and the Lieutenant doesn’t like me. I’m as pure as the driven snow with regard to all of this. You should know practically everyone on the department thinks they should go after Fletcher for filing a false police report. When I asked the Lieutenant to do exactly that much; he said they’d already spent too many man hours on the so-called investigation.”
“Why are you here today?”
“I’d like your permission to pursue this with the prosecutor. It seems pretty clear to me the Sergeant and Lieutenant are either unable or unwilling to step up and do the right thing. If the, excuse me, sir, if the assholes in Riverside get wind of this it’ll be open hunting season on street cops. I’m just giving you my point of view, is all.”
“I think we both know what you’re up to Officer Thorne and I approve. Good luck. I’m anxious to see
how it plays out.”
Reg went to the prosecuting attorney’s office the very next day and a warrant was issued against Fletcher for filing a false police report. Reg was ecstatic and Phoebe told her friends it was the happiest she’d seen him in years. The trial was set for the end of the following month. A couple of weeks later Reg was asked to stop by the judge’s courtroom. The secretary was happy to see him. She said, “Fletcher pled guilty and the judge asked me to give you this package. I think you’ll like it.”
The package contained a cassette. He went back to the station and sat by the tape player in the squad room. It wasn’t very long but the conversation on the tape was telling. Fletcher’s attorney had instructed him to plead nolo contendere. Such a plea would, if accepted, fix a fine or sentence the same as if Fletcher had pled guilty. The difference being nolo contendere couldn’t be used to prove misconduct in a civil suit for monetary damages while a plea of guilty certainly could. The judge, just like the chief of police, knew what Reg was up to and they both approved. Reg played the tape.
“Your honor, my client wishes to enter a plea of nolo contendere in this matter.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“I happen to think an in-court admission is in order. What did he do? Why did he do it?”
Mumbling… “Your honor, my client is concerned with civil exposure.”
“Your client put himself in that position. He can tell the court what happened or we can go to trial. Which is it?”
Mumbling… “I plead guilty,” Fletcher said.
“Tell the court why you lied on the police report.”
Mumbling… “I wanted to get the police officer fired.”
“The court accepts your plea. You may appear for sentencing on the twenty-third of next month.”
Reg took the tape home with him and thought things over. The following week he contacted a former assistant prosecutor that was practicing law in one of Riverside’s largest law firms. He met with him and had all of the police reports and audio cassette in hand. The lawyer was impressed with his diligence. “This is good Reg, real good. I’ll run it by the partners and get back with you.”
A couple of weeks later the lawyer met with him. “You have a hell of a case Reg, one that would easily be won in any court. We ran a background on Fletcher and he’s a mess. The guy’s broke and any judgment we received would never be collected. You probably heard the term deep pockets? This guy has no pockets.”
“Let’s sue him anyway. You can keep anything you get for yourself. I don’t care about his money. I want to teach him and others like him a lesson. Take the case and you can have whatever’s out there. Garnish his pay. I don’t expect a single cent. Not one! This guy’s a prick. He tried to get me fired so let’s sue him, it’ll be a hoot. What do you say?”
“Sorry Reg, I’d love to help you but it’s just not cost effective. There’s nothing to sue him for. He’s broke.”
Reg looked down at the floor and the look on his face nearly broke the lawyers heart. “I’m sorry Reg, it is what it is.”
“I know. I understand completely and appreciate your time. It was a pretty good idea, huh?”
“It was a damn great idea. The guy will get what’s coming to him sooner or later. At least he’s not in the police reserves anymore. That’s something right?”
“I guess it is,” Reg said. “There is that.”
A few years later Fletcher was convicted for forging drug prescriptions and did nine months in the county jail.
Reg had moved on and hardly noticed.
Five Card Draw
1968
1968 was a decisive year for Harley. He was overflowing with new-found freedom and plenty of cash to do the things only he would dream of doing. He had a wide array of weapons that he practiced with and categorized as to the efficiency of each.
The flamethrower that was used on Kathy Harrison was effective but too bulky, his box cutters and high-end knives were equally effective but required closer proximity and he worried about messy blood splatters. While the personal touch was satisfying to Harley, he didn’t want to run the risk of blood on his clothing. Explosive devices were highly successful but required careful planning. Some of his kills were of a more urgent nature, so to speak. When a REAL person surfaced he might have to act immediately. All things being equal he preferred guns and had a variety of revolvers and pistols and his lightweight .357 Ruger with the two-inch barrel length made it easy to conceal in his leg holster.
The passenger door had a hidden cache of larger handguns, including his favorite—a Colt .45 with a five-inch barrel and a magazine capacity of eight bullets. He was confident the secret compartment in the inner door panel would serve him well. The last thing he wanted was someone finding handguns in that door.
Harley delivered the Ace of Clubs to a gentleman in Akron, Ohio, on the very same day Martin Luther King, Jr. was slain in Memphis, Tennessee. Harley was three suited and decided to go with hearts next. The Two of Hearts was close at hand as he headed east.
Election Day had finally arrived and when all was said and done, Richard Nixon would be the next President of the United States. He was able to gather forty-three percent of the popular vote and more than enough electoral votes. Harley would spend the next few years keeping an eye on the Quaker and his sidekick Spiro Agnew. When he looked at Nixon and Agnew he saw a couple of lowbrow philistines; political hucksters at best.
Harley spent New Year’s Eve in Pittsburg, buying drinks for a lovely coed from Ohio State. They spent a week together before Harley tired of her and continued eastbound. He spent the next couple of months in Philadelphia where he rented three safety deposit boxes in three different banks. His aunt hired professional money managers to oversee his trust. The money would be wisely invested and accounted for in ways Simon had preferred not to entertain. Harley’s trust was currently valued at well over twenty million and Caroline had advanced him three hundred thousand to tide him over until his twenty-first birthday.
He split most of the money between the three safety deposit boxes and kept some cash on hand. Harley had five different sets of identification and passports. He carried an American Express and MasterCard, using one or the other whenever possible.
He left a couple of cards in Philadelphia before leaving. A decapitated man’s body was eventually found in a paddleboat lake at the Philadelphia Zoo and a woman’s body was discovered near Rittenhouse Square.
Three days after Neil Armstrong walked on the moon Harley took his own small step toward wreaking more havoc. He was shooting pool in a bar in the northwest section of Wichita Falls, Texas. It was one of the few original buildings that remained in the immediate area. A tornado leveled most of the others in April of 1964, and Harley would soon unleash his own classic funnel-shaped cloud that would nearly match the number of deaths the tornado had produced.
Leland Burns lost again, having watched Harley run the table and then sink the eight ball in a near-impossible bank shot. Harley was fifty bucks ahead when Leland decided to coax him away from the pool table and straight to a high-stakes poker game.
“So Harley, do you like to play cards?”
“Cards have always been a big part of my life. What do you have in mind?”
“There’s a game going on not too far from here. You could follow me, if you want to play.”
They walked out of the bar and into the hot and humid Texas night. Harley drove behind Leland and parked his Barracuda on a side street. They walked in together. The establishment was a large house with rooms set aside for illegal drugs and gambling. It was a slow night and Harley sat down at one of the poker tables while Leland watched. There were five players and Harley bought a stack of chips, making him the sixth, the maximum number of players allowed in five-card draw. They played for a couple hours and he was seven thousand ahead when he realized they were the last players in the room. The other tables were empty, but Harley understood what Leland was up to. Al
l five of his opponents were in on it. They were REAL people, all five of them. Harley was ready to raise the stakes a bit.
He turned to the dealer and said, “This is getting a little boring. We should raise the bet limit.”
“Fine by me, what about you guys?”
One by one the other four agreed and the cards were dealt. There was over twenty thousand dollars on the table when Harley called the remaining player. The dealer had a cigar in his mouth and blew a plume of putrid smoke as he laid down his hand.
“Four aces! It was nice playing with you, kid.” Sure enough, he laid down four aces and the five of hearts; he moved to seize his winnings.
Harley smiled. “Hold on, I wanna show you my hand.”
“Huh?”
Harley laid down a straight flush; the Four, Five, Six, Seven, and Eight of Hearts. The back of Harley’s cards had two baseball players as well as two large circles with baseballs inside of each circle. A single baseball was between two baseball bats. The five cards were blue while all the other cards on the table were standard red Bicycle poker cards. Even though his cards were clearly from a different deck, Harley reached for the pot.
“You gotta be kidding me. Those aren’t the cards we’ve been playing with. I already laid down the five of hearts.”
Harley slowly reached for the Ruger in his leg holster. “Well, these are the cards I think you should play with and I want all of you to keep one as a token of my gratitude. Five of you at once…who knew?”
He pulled the Ruger out and held it point blank at the head of the man sitting to his left. Blood and gray matter sprayed the card player sitting next to him. His next shot was at the man on his immediate right—another head shot with the same results as the first.
Leland bolted for the door and Harley shot him in the back. The man sitting across from Harley spewed the contents of his stomach on the poker table, saturating the money and Harley’s five special cards. He was the least of Harley’s worries and would be saved for last.
Another player sitting more or less across from Harley began to get up and was shot in the throat and actually made a noise just like the deep, harsh bleating wail of a goat. The dealer was no longer concerned with the four aces he’d been dealt; rather, he scampered and nearly made it to the door. He was soon dispatched with a well-placed shot to the back of his head. Harley proudly smiled at that fifth shot. Blood, brains, and whatever else was once inside his noggin oozed down the six-panel wood-grain door.