by John Meany
Cop Shot
(Suspense Story)
By John Meany
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@Copyright. By John Meany.
Kindle Edition.
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No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
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“Do you know why I pulled you over?” The New Jersey cop Kenny Lafontaine asked, shining his flashlight into the car window.
“No I don’t officer,” the driver says.
“You sideswiped some garbage cans back on Tilton Street.”
“Nah dude, that’s crazy.” The other two passengers, one of which had a cigarette in his mouth, snickered.
“Sir, have you had any alcoholic beverages this evening?”
The man behind the wheel answered with some hesitation.
“Just two beers, you sure? Smells like a brewery in here.”
“I don’t smell anything.”
“Do me a favor and step out of the vehicle . . . Slowly.”
BOOM!
“Shots fired, officer down!”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
***
Three days later.
“Those thugs not only killed my partner in cold blood,” Officer Davy Grotto told his buddy Rick Tisdale at the Harbor Boatyard in Seaville, N.J. “They also killed my best friend. Me and Kenny were like this.” He crossed his fingers.
“It’s a shame,” Rick said, looking down at the dock, while shaking his head.
The powerful summer sun made the river sparkle. Only a few cotton-shaped clouds gathered in the turquoise sky.
“When I find them, I’m gonna take those punks for a long moonlight ride out in the Norma Jean and send them straight to the bottom.”
Rick who had receding red hair, was short, admittedly overweight, lit a strong-smelling cigar. He stood in his tattered blue jeans, and marlin T-shirt, watching Davy scrub the deck of his big houseboat.
Rick owned the boatyard and knew Davy Grotto well because Davy, now nearing fifty, had docked here for more than a decade.
“So how long do you think it’ll be before you track these thugs down?” Rick puffed away on the stogy.
On a nearby barnacle-stained piling, a rackety gull sat waiting for either a scrap of fish or bait.
“I’ve got a line on them now?”
“Really?”
“Uh huh. A reliable source tells me all three of these jokers are from Port Howell. I hear they have a passion for poker. So I’m getting the word out to lure them to a fake game on my boat here.”
“Davy, you’re one clever cop. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Yup.” Davy grinned, and then brushed more soap and water onto the deck.” I’ve heard that a time or two. Anyway, I expect to have the game set up for the weekend.” Today was Wednesday. “That’ll be the night when I drown these gutless S.OB.’s.”
Rick nodded. He knew his friend meant what he said.
***
Davy Grotto was divorced and had a kid enrolled at Seton Hall.
Today was his day off.
He stood six-feet-three inches tall, weighed two hundred pounds, and had dark hair and a mustache.
Aside from fishing and gambling, Davy also loved to workout. He had the sculpted, muscular physique of a much younger man.
In addition, Davy knew how to box and, if need be, wasn‘t afraid to demonstrate his skills on the street, regardless of whether that meant on duty or off. He was a tough cop with a Clint Eastwood mentality.
“So you’re not worried about getting caught?” Rick asked, now watching another screaming gull land on the roof of the boat.
“No,” said Davy, not liking the question.
“Then you’d better take them at least fifty miles off shore. You don’t want to risk having bodies, or body parts, washing up on the beach or floating into the inlet.”
“I’ll tell you what, Rick, why don’t you assist me in this matter?”
“You serious?”
“Yes. They’ll be a nice bit of money in it for you. Kenny’s brother is the one who put the hit out.”
The murdered officer of the Seaville police force, Kenny Lafontaine, age thirty-nine, had been married with three small children. He had been tight with his family, particularly his brother Scott who worked on Wall Street.
“How much is Scott paying you?”
Scott Lafontaine was loaded.
“A hundred grand,” Rick answered, still vigorously scrubbing the deck. “If you help me, we’ll split the winnings straight down the middle. Think about Rick, the boatyard has been in the toilet lately. You‘re in debt. Fifty-thousand would be a big help. It would be easy money. What do you say, you in?”
Rick had to weigh the question.
“Well, you’re definitely right, I could use the bread,” he said, flicking the ashes from his cigar into the river. “There’s no doubt about that. Plus, I might not have known Kenny as long as you have, but we still had some great times together. And no one deserves to go out with a bullet to the head, all because of a lousy traffic stop-”
“So I‘m assuming that means you‘re in?”
“Yeah. I’m in.”
“Excellent.”
They shook hands.
***
Saturday for Davy started off like any other day, he worked his shift, went home, changed out of his uniform, and then ate dinner.
Tonight he had a New York Strip steak, with French fries, and green beans. He washed the meal down with a refrigerated can of Mountain Dew.
After loading his police revolver, and snorting a few lines of coke, he drove to the boatyard.
He parked his Mazda Miata near the icehouse, locked the doors, and then proceeded to march down the creaky dock, which housed about fifty vessels that were operated for either pleasure of fishing.
Adhering to the plan that called for him to be here at exactly 8:30, Rick stood near the bow of the Norma Jean, which gently rocked.
“They should be here any minute now,” Davy announced, reaching underneath his Hawaiian shirt and pulling out the gun.
Rick had a firearm as well. “Do you think they’ll also be packing?” he asked, concerned.
“I would imagine they will be, but if these assholes who killed Kenny want to come out and play poker, thinking they can possibly win fifteen G’s, they’ll have to leave their guns in their car. Otherwise I won’t let them onboard.”
Rick nodded. “Smart thinking.”
“It’s the way it has to be . . . Did you fill her to the brim?”
“Yup. I gave Norma Jean premium diesel today. She’s ready to purr.”
“Good man.” Davy began to untie the stern line.
The sun was setting, painting the sky with incandescent hues of pink, lavender, and gold. The mild summer air smelled of crabs and blew a moderate breeze from the northeast.
In a half hour, it would be dark.
“That must be them,” Rick declared, watching a pair of headlights enter the stone parking lot.
“Must be.”
They could hear the tires of the automobile crackling, bouncing along the pebbly terrain.
“So big Dave, how are we going to handle this?” Rick asked. Not surprisingly, he lit a cigar. He smoked several each day, particularly when he was nervous.
Done untying the stern line, Davy stood up, cupped his hands over his eyes and studied the three silhouettes that were now approaching the dock.
“Like I said, you let me do most of the talking. Just act like a big shot and follow my lead.”
“You’ve got it.”
The three twenty something’s from Port Howe
ll that had allegedly murdered Kenny Lafontaine, expressed an amicable hello before boarding the boat.
“What were your names again?” Davy asked.
“I’m Todd,” the tallest of the three who wore a Panama hat said. “This is Vinnie.” He indicated the shortest fellow in the Met’s Jersey, who was unmistakably Italian. “And my cool bro over here,” he aimed his thumb at a heavy-set black guy with gold around his neck, “is Rapper Tito.”
“All right,” Davy said. “Before you board my associate Rick here will need to pat you down.”
“Yo, come on, for what?” Rapper Tito asked, grinning. “You see a nigger come to a card game and right away you think he wanna be a cowboy.” He was joking, trying to sound like Eddie Murphy. “Jack, we don’t have any weapons. We’re here to play poker, not to intimidate . . . Wuus up?”
Both Davy and Rick regarded Tito closely. They were surprised by his strange sense of humor.
Despite his plan to kill these people, Davy couldn’t help but laugh.
“Hey, I hear you,” he said. “But we still need to frisk you just to be on the safe side.”
“It’s cool,” Todd offered. “Frisk away.”
Rick, who wore a Bob Dylan T-shirt, checked them and did not find any weapons.
“See,” said Todd, tipping his hat. “We’re honest people. May we come onboard now?”
“Yes,” Davy told him. Then to Rick he said, “All right, I’ll undo the bowline. Start the engine.”
***
A few hours later, they were thirty miles off shore. The Atlantic was somewhat rough, yet manageable.
Rick was up top steering, while Davy, who in reality was an excellent poker player, was in the lower cabin putting on the act of his life.
He pretended to lose a bunch of hands to keep Kenny Lafontaine’s murderers appeased.
He did not want to do away with them right away. Why not have some fun before he did the deed.
“Anyone need another beer?” he asked. “I have to hit the John for a minute, but if you want more, I have another case of Bud in a cooler up top.”
“Hell yeah,” Rapper Tito said, pumping his fist. “Bring them dogs down.”
“I second the notion,” the Italian guy Vinnie said, busy counting the money he won. He had a small stack of fifties and hundreds, which amounted to maybe two-thousand dollars.
“I hope you boys don’t get seasick now,” Davy joked, before exiting the cabin. “Because one thing I don’t want to be doing later is cleaning up no puke.”
Everyone cracked up.
When Davy opened the cabin door, a mammoth haze of smelly cigarette smoke wafted into the mild night. Before the moon and stars had been visible, now a far-reaching mass of clouds had doused their light.
***
Up top Rick asked, “So Davy, how we doing down there?”
“They have no idea what they’re in store for. I have them completely fooled.”
The cool wind up here was strong, making it so that they had to speak loud. The motor hummed like an electric lawn mower. Behind them, the white frothy wake stretched a long way.
“Having fun?” Rick teased, using only one hand to steer.
Davy playfully bopped him on the arm. “Yeah. Let’s just say right now I feel like one of those animals that likes to play with its prey before it draws blood . . . Anyway, how many more miles do we have to go?”
“A little less than fifteen.”
“Good. We‘re making steady progress.” He picked up his gun, which had been lying next to the steering wheel.
“You bringing that with you now?”
“Yup.”
***
Once that hour and change was up, and Rick confirmed, by way of cell phone that the Norma Jean had reached the fifty-mile mark, Davy got up from the card table.
He pulled the .38 out from his waistband and then shot the Italain guy Vinnie pointblank in the head. Blood sprayed all over the wall.
Both Tito and Todd looked at what had just happened and fell into total shock.
“You like that?” Davy taunted, now aiming the gun at Tito. “Huh, fat boy?”
“Yo man, wus up?” Tito asked, struggling to speak.
“Just shut your mouth, asshole!” Davy ordered. “And listen. The first thing I want you to do is put all of the money you won back on the table.”
Nervously both men did as they were told.
“Now stand up. And do it slowly and easy and keep your filthy hands in plain view.”
“You’re not gonna shoot us, are you?” Todd asked. He looked like a frightened child.
Davy used the barrel of the gun to knock off the punk’s hat. Once it landed on the floor, he stepped on it, and then kept stepping on it until the Panama hat was as flat as a McDonald’s hamburger.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” he said. “Now step out of the cabin. I want you both on deck.”
“What’s this all about?” Tito asked, moseying toward the door.
“Did I ask you to speak?”
“I just don’t get what’s up. Why you do that to Vinnie? He was our friend.” Tito seemed as if he might cry.
“And what about my friend?” Davy asked, shoving both of the men out the door. “My partner Kenny who you cowards put in a coffin.”
“What are you talking about?” Todd wanted to know.
“You know what I’m talking about. Now go back to the stern and stand against the railing.”
“Oh my God,” Tito said, panicking. “This crazy son of a bitch is going to kill us.”
From up top, Rick made it known that he too was packing heat. He had shut off the boat’s engine, and had turned on a light so that everyone could see.
Now they could hear the ocean swells slapping against the side.
“Okay. Over you go,” Davy said, forcing the first man to jump into the sea. It was Todd. As soon as he hit the cold water, they heard a soft splash, followed by a terrified scream.
“See,” Rick said to Tito, giggling wickedly. “Aside from being shot, drowning is your only other option. Choose your poison. You should have never did what you did. By killing my partner in cold blood, you signed your death warrant.”
“You go to hell!” said Tito, spitting.
“You’ll be in hell before I am.”
“We didn’t kill your partner.”
“No?”
“Then who did?” Rick called from up top. “You were identified. Don’t bullshit us! We know you guys murdered Kenny Lafontaine.”
“You know what,” Rick said, placing the barrel of the gun against Tito’s head. “I’m done talking . . . So what’s it gonna be, rapper boy, you want to walk the plank, or do you want the quicker way out?”
With bulging, horrified eyes, and sweat pouring down his face, Tito looked over the side.
He swallowed deeply and then began to tremble like mad, because already Todd was gone from sight.
The massive sea had swept him away.
“I said what’s it gonna be?” Davy barked, losing his cool. His trigger finger was itching to go.
“I uh . . .” Again Rapper Tito glanced at the dark blue ocean, which had now become choppy. “ I umn . . . I can’t jump in there-”
“Okay,” said Davy. “Have it your way.” He pulled the trigger (BANG!) and blew Tito’s brain out the other side of his skull. “Rick, come down here and help me toss this tub of lard overboard.”
“No problem. You’ve got it.”
Rick came down and over Tito went. SPLASH!
“No way,” said Rick. “Look!” He pointed.
Rick peered past the stern.
They saw a fin pop above the water’s surface.
Then another.
Davy laughed. “Damn! Those shark are quick. It’s almost as if they smelt it coming.”
“Well,” Rick said, casually putting his firearm away. “That’s why we had to bring them out this far. Those bodies will never make it back to shore. No way sweet Louise. If the sh
arks don’t devour them, other predators will.”
Davy clapped his partner on the back.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I want to get back to shore before the sun comes up. I‘m exhausted.”
***
On the way to land, the weather took a dramatic turn from cloudy skies, to rain, thunder, lightening, and fierce howling wind.
They had run into a squall.
“This ain’t good,” Davy said, battling to keep the boat operating on a forward course.
“We’re rolling all over the place,” Rick acknowledged, beginning to panic.
“Just keep calm. We won’t capsize.”
“Oh no! We’re taking on water.”
“I said keep calm!” Davy hollered. “Norma Jean will get us through this.”
The cool, slanting rain came down with what seemed like hurricane-strength force.
“Where the hell did this dang squall come from?” Rick said, watching the infuriated sea splash over the bow.
The normally reliable boat was brutally bouncing up, down, sideways, and backwards.
“I don‘t know. We should have been paying closer attention to the weather forecast.”
“I was,” said Rick, watching Davy struggling with the wheel. “I had the radio on most of the way. Except I didn’t hear any report about bad weather like this. They said we might get a few light showers that was it.”
Suddenly a monster wave came along, from portside and burst over the deck, creating a deafening white swoosh akin to a waterfall.
After nearly tipping, the Norma Jean somehow righted herself.
However, her windshield partially shattered, sending salt water flooding over the control panel.
In addition, Rick was knocked through the half-open wheelhouse door, to the lower deck. KA KLUMP!
“Aaaaah!” he screamed, clutching his knee.
Quickly Davy, who had been heavily rattled himself, abandoned the steering wheel and descended the stairs. As he did, he heard more wicked thunder and saw another fork of lightning electrify the sky.
“Are you all right?” he asked, rushing to Rick’s side. The wooden deck, now flooded with ocean froth, was as slippery as a newly waxed floor. The water smelled of marine life.
“No. I think my leg is broke.”
“Are you sure?”