Finding 52

by Len Norman

  Later that evening in a motel outside of Baton Rouge Harley watched the news and soon learned of the Chernobyl nuclear plant meltdown. It would soon be evident that the disastrous occurrence was the worst nuclear power plant calamity ever in terms of cost and casualties. Harley wondered if there was a connection with the King of Spades and Chernobyl. The King of Spades was a powerful card after all, the next-to-last card.

  He thought long and hard about the possibility of a REAL person dying at his hand and the effect it might have on other people and places. The more he thought about it the more likely it seemed. When it was all over he’d look into the dates the cards were dealt and look for possible events like today’s. Until then he needed to remain more cautious than ever. Only one more card to go and he held it in his hand and smiled longingly.

  The Cockroach on the Wedding Cake

  1988

  Reg and Quentin were enjoying an unusually slow night. Quentin sat behind the wheel and Reg rode shotgun. They were cooped up in the cemetery and Reg seemed quiet as he looked out the window at the tombstones.

  “You are one sad-looking sack. You feeling alright?”

  Reg was not feeling alright. He was far from alright. He couldn’t shake his uneasy feeling and was certain something bad was in his future. “I’m okay. I guess I have things on my mind is all.”

  “What’s up with the tombstones? You’ve been staring at them for a long time. Anybody you know?”

  “Sometimes I wonder about them. It’s kind of sad sitting here among the dead. Leastwise that’s what I think,” Reg said.

  “I don’t mind it at all. It beats being around some of the people we have to deal with, at least the dead never complain.”

  “Phoebe thinks I drink too much. We’re not getting along as well as we could. I got nothing, Quentin. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Are you drinking too much?” Quentin asked.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I guess if I don’t know, the answer is probably yes. A couple of nights ago we went out for dinner and I drank a six pack with my meal. I didn’t even know it was a six pack until Phoebe told me.”

  “Do you drink like that every day?”

  “More often than not.” Reg said. “Phoebe wants me to think about early retirement.”

  “Holy shit, Reg! That sounds serious. You can probably go in another five or six years. Early I mean. Is that what you want?”

  “Not really, but if Phoebe is thinking it then there has to be a good reason. Maybe working with assholes all of these years is turning me into one.”

  “I think Phoebe knows you better than anyone else does. Hell, she probably knows you better than you know yourself,” Quentin said.

  “I probably could take an early retirement and try something else. Lots of people hire broken-down ex-cops, huh?”

  “A lot of people would be glad to hire you, Reg. Maybe you should give it some thought. You could even try something different on the department. Maybe plain clothes. Sometimes a change is as good as a rest.”

  “I don’t think so. I plan on staying in uniform. I think Phoebe might be right about getting out while the getting’s good,” Reg said.

  “I hear you, Reg. Maybe we can retire together. The same day, I mean. Wouldn’t that be a hoot?”

  “It surely would. You know who wouldn’t be invited to that retirement party?” Reg asked.

  “Chapman and Trapp?”

  “You win the cigar. I think Trapp is playing hardball. I’m certain he’s trying to set me up. Big time.”

  “Trapp is a piece of shit is all. What’s he been doing now?”

  “Last month I found him standing by my locker in the locker room. When he saw me, he couldn’t move fast enough. I asked him what was up, but he just walked by me and wouldn’t speak.”

  “You keep your locker locked all the time, right?” Quentin asked.

  “I do, fortunately. I wonder what might turn up inside my locker if Trapp was left to his own devices.”

  “I’ll tell you, Reg. I wouldn’t trust that cocksucker as far as I could throw him. Kyle Trapp is capable of anything. I think he’s seriously batshit,” Quentin said.

  “There’s more. Last week I was sitting in the parking lot across the street from the police department parking lot. Trapp walked out the back door and was sticking out like a cockroach on a wedding cake. Acting all nervous and such. He didn’t notice me because I was parked next to some empty cars. He walked up to my car and tried both doors, which happened to be locked.”

  “Holy crap, Reg! He was gonna plant something in your car and call it in?”

  “That’s how it looked to me.”

  “I figured he’d like to get some of us fired, but I never thought about him putting on a play as a means to an end,” Quentin said.

  “Life’s full of surprises, right Quentin?” Reg asked.

  “You need to watch your back, Reg. We all do. Trapp is a total asshole. His day is coming.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Reg said.

  The Ace of Spades

  1988

  The Gallop Poll showed Mr. Dukakis seventeen points ahead of Mr. Bush on the last night of the Democratic National Convention in late July. He was losing that substantial lead and was on a campaign swing in the Midwest.

  Harley was driving the interstate when he saw an exit for Riverside so he decided to stop for lunch. The city didn’t look like much to him, but he saw a diner and went in. There was plenty of chatter about Governor Dukakis and his campaign stop in Riverside later that evening. Harley decided he’d stick around and catch the speech at the local union hall.

  The chief ordered extra patrol and officers on hand for the Dukakis rally. Threats were made and it was rumored machine-gun-toting assholes were out to spoil tonight’s fun. Presidential candidates were always surrounded by plenty of Secret Service assigned to the protection detail and local law enforcement usually had plenty of their own on hand to assist.

  Quentin and Calvin were in plain clothes working the crowds. The rally was set for 7:30 p.m. and things were already behind schedule. The political entourage was just now leaving Franklin and on its way to Riverside.

  Reg and Frank were each assigned marked patrol vehicles. The task was simple; ride around the immediate area and look at people. Frank didn’t mind a bit, it was overtime and if he had to come in on his day off at least the pay was decent. Reg was working his scheduled shift, but he was happy to draw the assignment. He planned on voting for Dukakis in November and intended on telling him as much if he got the chance.

  Harley and a couple of thousand others were listening intently to the candidate’s promises. Many of them were just plain sick of the last eight Reagan years. Riverside was a union city and with that there was always plenty of Democratic Party support. Harley didn’t stand out at all. Matter of fact, Calvin actually stood next to him for a few minutes.

  The speech didn’t last long, and as soon as the handshaking was over it was time for the candidate to leave. The crowd soon began to melt away. None of them would ever know of the threat or what would soon happen.

  Reg and Frank were still driving around the area and Harley was walking to his parked car with good intentions of leaving Riverside forever when it happened. He looked up and saw the police officer in the marked patrol car and was amazed. The last person on the face of the earth that could harm him was driving a police car. It had all come down to this—the rightful owner of the Ace of Spades was a peacekeeper in Riverside. All the years of searching; the fifty-one others he killed and hundreds that somehow got in the way. It all came down to a cop.

  Harley was a highly skilled individual and, madness aside, it paid to be a genius. He was staying in a hotel just outside Riverside. He purchased a police scanner and began listening to police calls. He soon realized cars were mostly assigned single-digit numbers that corresponded with the same numbers that signified Riverside’s nine wards. Higher numbers were set aside for the accident investigator, vice
officers, and then command officers. Harley reckoned the Ace of Spades officer had a single-digit number. He appeared relatively young and had been given somewhat trivial duty at the political rally.

  For an entire week Harley listened to the scanner in his room and even purchased a scrambling device that could be used when the officers would switch to Code Z, which allowed them to say things they didn’t want the public to hear. The scanner was legal and the scrambling gadget was not. Then again, neither was the portable radio he kept with him in his 1987 Corvette. The sports car came with increased horsepower and torque. Just like all of his other cars; the passenger door had a hidden collection of handguns, including his favorite—that Colt .45 with the five-inch barrel and a magazine capacity of eight.

  He could have afforded anything in the world, but opted to stick with the basics in that regard. If the stash of illegal guns were of no concern to him an illegal handheld radio wasn’t either.

  He drove the streets of Riverside when he wasn’t in his room listening to the scanner. When a single-digit-numbered car was sent on a call he’d swing by the address and try to catch a glimpse of the officer. He hit pay dirt the third week into his hellish assignment. Now he knew the area the Ace of Spades worked. It was time to develop a plan.

  Josh Horton owned several rental properties in and around Riverside. His newest customer wanted a nice house or apartment to rent on the west side. He wasn’t concerned with the cost as much as he was with the kind of place he was looking to live in. He wanted a rental that was somewhat secluded and had not too many neighbors; a large city lot at the very least. Josh was surprised when his newest tenant paid cash for the large damage deposit and six months’ rent in advance.

  On a beautiful, crisp autumn day Frank received an unusual call. He was working the afternoon shift and things had been relatively quiet. The election was only a week away and Mr. Dukakis had managed to blow a very big lead. He was at least ten points behind Mr. Bush in the latest poll. Frank could have cared less.

  The dispatcher sent Frank to check a vacant house. The caller reported money had been left by the last tenant and worried the money was drug related. The caller remained anonymous of course and the call was given to Frank over Code Z. The money was supposedly left in the kitchen oven.

  Frank walked up to the front door and sure enough, the door was ajar; something else the caller had mentioned. Frank slowly stepped inside and turned the light on, but the power was out. He went back to the patrol car and got his flashlight. He called out with an open door and backup was sent as well.

  Frank went inside, along with Victor, and they slowly checked the house. The kitchen stove was first.

  “Caller said the money was in the oven.”

  “Right, thousands of dollars no doubt,” Victor said.

  “If I find the money, I’m calling dibs.”

  “Wow, Frank, that’s harsh; I’d share with you,” Victor joked.

  Frank opened the oven door and found a note inside. The note was simple: you’re too late stupid.

  “Well, there goes my early retirement. We might as well check the rest of the house.”

  The two-story house was creepy. They checked all of the rooms and found them empty. The basement had a rotten stench, but other than that it was just an empty basement. They cleared the call and Victor headed for dinner while Frank stayed in service.

  Three hours later a call went out to Reg. The complainant wanted something done about his neighbors. They were always parking their vehicles in front of his house and he thought they might be doing some underage drinking. Reg was advised the caller was at 407 Foster Street.

  Reg was near Foster when the call went out and arrived within minutes. He parked in front of the house and noticed there were no other cars parked along the street. So much for parking complaints, he thought. He walked to the front door and knocked.

  Sergeant Trapp heard the call and thought he’d head that way. Maybe he’d catch Reg doing something wrong. He’d been shadowing Frank all day, but he was staying out of trouble. Perhaps it was time to switch gears and go for Reg.

  The man opened the door and invited Reg inside. They walked into the living room and Reg said, “I’ll tell you, I don’t see any parked cars, legal or otherwise. What about the underage drinking?”

  “If you go to the back of the house, you’ll see what I’m talking about. You can see them from the window.”

  Reg followed the man to the back and looked out the kitchen window. Reg didn’t see a thing but he felt something; cold blue steel at the base of his neck. The sensation was the worst thing Reg had ever experienced.

  “Put both hands on the wall where I can see them. Do it now!”

  “If I don’t?”

  “I’ll shoot you.”

  “I think you might just shoot me no matter what.”

  “Nope. I just want to talk with you. If I don’t take your gun, you’ll shoot me. That’s what cops do, isn’t it?”

  Reg placed his hands on the wall. The gun was still pressed to the back of his neck. The man reached around and took his duty gun and handcuffs. “Any other surprises? Extra guns or knives?”

  “Nope. I only carry one gun. Do I know you?”

  “I doubt it, but I sure as hell know you. You’re the Ace of Spades.”

  Reg felt a little better. The guy was clearly nuts. He just might find some wiggle room and discover a way out of this mess. “We gonna play cards? I like cards. Euchre, cribbage, poker? What’s your game?”

  “Survival. I’ve been looking for you for thirty-eight years. I never thought the Ace of Spades would be anyone like you; someone so inconsequential. I expected more.”

  “You don’t seem that old. You’ve been looking to find me for thirty-eight years? How old are you?” Reg asked.

  “Thirty-eight.”

  Oh boy, Reg thought. “When did you start looking for me?”

  “The day I was born. You’re the last card.” He swung his gun-holding hand and hit Reg on the side of his head. Reg fell to the floor.

  Reg woke up in the living room and had no idea how long he’d been out. He thought only a few minutes. The bastard was standing in front of him and here he was, sitting on the floor, and his hands were cuffed behind him. He had a really bad feeling.

  “What’s that other cop doing out there?”

  “I got nothing. What the hell you talking about? Who are you?” Reg asked.

  “Multiple questions? I’m talking about the cop that’s been sitting across the street. The second answer is Harley. Harley Ames. I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”

  “You called me the Ace of Spades earlier. I can’t play cards with you if I’m handcuffed. The key’s on my gun belt. Why don’t you let my hands free so we can play?” Reg asked.

  “You don’t need to be hands free to play cards with me. I’ll deal from the deck of one card. The Ace of Spades is all yours. You want to hear about the others?”

  “I think it would help.”

  Harley gave him the particulars, and as he spoke, Reg knew he was in trouble. Big trouble. “So let me get this straight, I’m the only guy in the world that can harm you and once you kill me, you’re home free? You’ll drop the card on my corpse and walk away from all of this?” Reg asked.

  “Not bad. You figured that out all by yourself? What about the cop outside, what’s up with him, one of your buddies?”

  Harley helped Reg up and pushed him toward the window. Reg saw Kyle Trapp parked across and down the street. “Actually no. I can’t stand the son of a bitch. Nobody can. He calls himself a cop but he’s a world-class coward. The long and short of it? I hate his guts.”

  Harley beamed. “Really? What’s he doing outside, then, on a low-priority call like this?”

  “He wants to catch me doing something, anything wrong. He just wants to get me fired is all. No big deal, really, this shit’s been going on a long time. He even follows us with his own car on his days off, if you can believe it.”


  “Let’s ask him to join us.”

  Reg was between a rock and a hard place. No self-respecting cop would ever agree to what he was just asked to do, to knowingly put another officer in danger was unmentionable. Then again Kyle wasn’t really another officer. He was a mistake, a scaredy-cat, and someone who continually plotted against other officers. He stole credit from others and was a braggart as well as an accomplished liar. His only concern was advancement and when it came to doing any real police work he was ineffective and as useless as tits on a boar hog.

  Reg was livid. He was handcuffed by a nut who would probably kill him, and once again Kyle sat in the relative safety of his police car. Reg always allowed for contingencies and this particular situation was no different. He knew the position he was in was bleak but refused to give in to this madman. He had a couple of ideas and they both involved Kyle. Perhaps there was still a way out of this mess. “Take my handcuffs off and I’ll call him inside.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I need to have my hands free to talk on the radio. I want to coax him inside so you can see what an asshole this guy really is. Who knows? Maybe the Ace of Spades is his card.”

  “I’ll tell you what. You can lure him in while I hold the radio nice and close to your mouth. I’ll push the button when need be and you can talk to him. Once he gets inside, I’ll decide which one of you is the true Ace of Spades.”

  Reg knew he was down to one last idea. He’d need to get Kyle to come inside first. His captor was nuttier than a fruitcake but very cunning. “Sounds good to me. The radio is on my gun belt. It slides up.”

  Harley took the radio. “I know how these things work. When I key the microphone ask the other cop to come inside. No tricky codes and secret cop speak. Just get him in here, and if I think you’re trying to trick me, I’ll kill you.”

  He held the radio in front of Reg and keyed it up. “This is number eight. Can you come inside and assist me with a legal question, Sarge?”