Brooklyn Bounce (Alex Taylor Book 3)

by Andrew G. Nelson

  Alex recalled an admonition, from the 19th century German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche, which hung on one of the locker room doors like a warning. It read: Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.

  How long had she been staring into that abyss?

  She wanted someone to turn to, but she didn’t have anyone.

  Yes, it was true that she had James, but the very thought of unloading anymore of her baggage on him repulsed her. Besides, he already knew too much; had already bailed her ass out on occasions too numerous to count. Deep inside her she held onto the notion that maybe, one day, they might have something more and she wasn’t going to ruin that chance with a confession that confirmed that she was fucked up more than he might already believe.

  Peter was another story altogether. He was kind, caring, handsome and a very successful doctor. He was everything a woman could want and more. Maybe things would be different if she was a civilian, but she wasn’t. As nice as Peter was, and as much as he cared for her, he still couldn’t understand what she had seen and what she had gone through. The reality was, she was a warrior and he was one of the people that she protected. How could he ever possibly be able to relate to what she had faced in her life? It was a dynamic that was complicated even further by the fact that she was a woman.

  When they went out to dinner she was always scanning the room, watching the doors. Half the time she’d make him switch seats with her, just so she could watch the front door. Often his conversations went unheard because something about another customer didn’t feel right. He would be rambling about something that happened at the office and she’d be looking for signs of weapons, any potential innocents in her line of fire, and where the exits were situated. She wished she could be like him, like all the rest of them. They had the luxury of going through life with blinders on, unaffected by the chaos around them, but she didn’t have an off switch. There was no button to push when you clocked off at the end of the shift that turned you from cop to civilian.

  Alex knew that she needed help to get through this. She could put it off, continuing to try and fight it on her own, but she knew that she would only be prolonging the inevitable. She took a final drag on her cigarette, got out of the car, and walked toward the building.

  From the moment she stepped inside, she felt as if everyone’s eyes were on her, following her. They all knew who she was; which made it even harder. She could feel her face begin to flush and it seemed like the heat had suddenly been cranked up to a hundred and ten degrees.

  This is such a bad friggin’ idea, she thought, as she smiled, putting on a brave face.

  It only took a moment to find what she needed.

  She reached down, grabbing the one liter bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf and quickly headed back upfront toward the register. Along the way she grabbed a 2 liter bottle of Coke. In her mind she figured that adding a mixer made it look slightly less bad than the idea she was drinking it straight.

  “Will that be all, chief?” the young man working the cash register asked, as he placed the bottles into a brown paper bag.

  The chief part probably wasn’t a dig, but at the moment it certainly felt that way.

  “Yeah, give me a carton of Marlboro reds,” she said. “I’ve got a party to go to and it’s a long drive.”

  She wasn’t sure why she added that part in at the last minute, but it sounded good.

  That’s the guilt speaking, asshole, the voice inside her head said admonishingly. Because God forbid that the guy who sells you your alcohol thinks that you’re a lush.

  “Sure thing,” the man said, as he reached around, grabbing the carton of cigarettes, and then rang up her order.

  Alex paid the man and picked up bag.

  “Take care, chief.”

  “You too,” Alex replied, as she headed toward the door.

  Outside, the cool spring air was a welcome respite from the heat of the liquor store. She felt herself begin to calm down, as she made her way to the Jeep. Alex set the package down on the seat next to her and pulled out of the parking lot.

  One day she would have to seek out a professional to help her confront the demons, but now wasn’t the time. She had no illusions that an appearance at a psychologist’s office, even with all the patient / doctor confidentiality bullshit, would eventually make it to Nichols’ office or worse to the attorney representing the perp’s family in the inevitable civil rights violation law suit that was bound to follow. Folks wouldn’t bat an eyelash if their little Johnny got whacked on the street corner by another thug, but let a cop shoot them and they all acted like they just hit a royal flush in a Vegas poker tournament.

  So for now, her trusted confidant would be the incomparable Doc Daniels from Tennessee, who always made house calls.

  She pulled up to a red traffic light and glanced over at the bag. It was silly, but just having it so close made her want to take a sip.

  Jesus, you do have a problem, she thought.

  She turned away quickly and stared up at the light impatiently.

  This was the part of the job they never warned you about; the Monday morning quarterbacking that happened after an incident like this. Where the life and death decision, that you made in the blink of an eye, was examined under a microscope for weeks and months afterwards, as they looked for the one mistake, the one petty violation, on which to hang you.

  Well, if they warned you about it, idiot, no one would ever take the job.

  She thought back to her junior year in high school, where she had briefly flirted with the idea of being a marine biologist. The thought of scuba diving in the crystal clear waters of the Aegean Islands seemed a pretty epic way of making a living. That was until she watched a documentary about a marine biologist who had been attacked by a great white shark off the coast of South Africa. The idea of being chowed down for lunch, by a beast more than 3x her size, made the potential career choice seem very unappealing. Actually, it wasn’t the idea of being killed it was the thought of losing some important body parts and living to tell about it that quickly killed that idea.

  In retrospect, it might have been safer in the water, she thought, as she considered her current predicament.

  Whoop, Whoop.

  The noise startled Alex and she physically jumped in her seat. She turned to her left and saw Abby sitting in her patrol car.

  “Wow, you were zoned out.”

  “You scared the shit out me,” Alex said.

  “So what are you going to do, write me up?” Abby said with a laugh.

  “Is this what you do when I’m gone? Harass the poor innocent civilians in Penobscot?”

  “Oh please spare me,” Abby replied. “You’re not so innocent.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “Pull over, before I get some pain in the ass who actually will complain about me.”

  Alex steered the jeep over to the curb and watched as Abby came to a stop behind her.

  Is this how it feels to get pulled over? she wondered.

  She had to admit that it was a particularly unnerving experience, as she watched Abby get out of her patrol car and walk toward her.

  “So how are you doing?”

  “I’ve been better,” Alex replied, “but I’ve also been worse. So I guess that means I’m batting a solid .500 average.”

  “I don’t even know how you can keep a sense of humor with everything that’s going on,” Abby said. “You’re a better woman than me. I’d be at home, curled up in a corner.”

  “Oh cut the crap,” Alex said. “You’d do what you have to do, we all do. It’s just part of the game.”

  “If you say so,” Abby replied.

  “So how are things going in the office?” Alex asked.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Hutch might be curled up in a corner of your office. I don’t think he is adapting to his new role very well.”

  “Wh
at the heck? It’s only been two days.”

  “I think Sheldon Abbott has been pushing his buttons,” Abby replied.

  “Sheldon can’t help himself. It’s all part of the little game of who has the biggest balls that he likes to play; especially with folks he thinks might be weaker than him.”

  “Yeah, but Hutch doesn’t have your knack for playing the game or, to be honest, your balls.”

  “Well he and you better grow them quick,” Alex replied. “I won’t be around forever. Hell, I might not last till the end of the month.”

  “Hush your mouth,” Abby replied. “This shit will all get squared away soon.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. It was a nice sentiment, but it was naïve.

  “I’ll call him and give him a little pep talk.”

  “I think he would appreciate that. It also doesn’t help that we still have a bunch of state guys running around.”

  “Oh yeah, how’s that going?”

  Abby looked around conspiratorially, as if making sure no one was around that could hear her, and then back at Alex.

  “There nice enough, but mostly they keep to themselves,” Abby replied. “Hutch had a meeting with them and told us to help them with whatever they need, but not to ask any questions directly related to the case.”

  That made sense, she thought. They were still the lead investigating agency and the local cops were still her people. It was always best, from an investigative standpoint, to keep that wall between the two.

  “Oh, but I actually did hear them talking about a possible witness.”

  “Really?” Alex asked, perking up a bit. “They interview her?”

  “Not sure, like I said they kind of keep to themselves.”

  “Well, if you do hear anything let me know,” Alex said, “but don’t do anything that’s gonna get you in trouble,”

  “I will and I won’t,” Abby replied. “Hey, why don’t I stop by on Saturday? I’ll bring a chick flick and some popcorn.”

  “Make it an action flick, along with some Chinese take-out, and you have yourself a deal.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Stay safe, Abby.”

  “You too, Chief.”

  Alex watched the woman walk back to her patrol car and hook a U-turn. She started the Jeep back up and pulled away from the curb. She had two good days of drinking ahead of her before she’d have to entertain anyone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Hello, Earth to Tom,” Jacqueline Blackshear said to her husband across the dinner table.

  “Hmmm?” Blackshear replied, a confused look on his face. “Did you say something, Jackie?”

  “No, you just agreed to pay for me and Lisa to go on an all-expense paid shopping spree vacation to Manhattan.”

  “I did what?” he replied, a look of panic spreading on his face, as the image of his wife and daughter on 5th Avenue played in his mind.

  “Take it easy, there Tommy-Boy,” she said with a laugh. “I was just messing with you. You haven’t said more than two sentences the entire dinner.”

  “You damn near gave me a heart attack,” Blackshear replied.

  “Well, I certainly don’t want to cause that.”

  “Why?” Blackshear asked. “Is it because you love me so much?”

  “No, it’s because we need to finish paying off Lisa’s college, silly.”

  “How romantic,” he said.

  “But seriously, where the hell is my husband’s mind?” Jackie asked.

  “Trying to make heads or tails of this shooting in Penobscot.”

  “Oh, I take it that things aren’t going so well?”

  “It’s going well if you’re looking to build a case for a homicide prosecution.”

  “Well that’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not,” he replied. “The problem for me is that I honestly believe she saw what she saw, but I just can’t get anyone to corroborate it.”

  “I thought it was a robbery?”

  “Theoretically it was,” he replied. “The only problem is that, while all the witnesses claim something was happening, I still have no one that can corroborate that a gun was involved.”

  “So what’s going to happen to that poor cop?”

  “Kid’s family is already pressuring the state’s attorney to pursue charges,” he replied. “They just hired some hot-shot attorney from New York who’s been making the rounds at the television stations claiming we are covering things up.”

  “What is the state’s attorney going to do?”

  “His job,” Blackshear replied, a frown on appearing on his face. “They’re empaneling a grand jury to look into it.”

  “But you believe her? You think she saw a gun?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Will you have to testify?”

  “Most likely,” he replied.

  “How does that work?” she asked. “If you believe her story can you say that?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m going to be asked specific questions based on the investigation and I have to testify to the facts, not my feelings.”

  “Well, your opinion should count for something,” his wife replied. “You have certainly been doing this long enough.”

  “The only thing that counts is whether you can prove it or not.”

  “I wonder how many guilty people go free because of that.”

  “You don’t even want to know,” he replied.

  “I don’t envy you,” she said, as she got up and picked up the dinner plates from the table.

  “I don’t envy me.”

  “You want another glass of wine?”

  “I would love another glass of wine,” he answered.

  “Go relax and I’ll bring you one.”

  “Bring it to my office, please,” he replied. “I’ve got a bunch of reports I have to finish reviewing.”

  Blackshear got up and headed off to his office. He sat down behind a large mahogany desk and began going through the most recent reports that had come in from the Penobscot investigation. A moment later his wife entered the room and placed the wine glass onto the desk.

  “For the record, I’m going to submit a bill to the state police for all the lost time I have endured since you’ve been with them,” she said.

  “Good luck with that,” he replied sarcastically. “The way the state is racking up debt they’ll be lucky if they can afford to pay the electricity bill this month.”

  “I thought things were getting better?”

  “They were,” he said, “and then they went on a spending spree to celebrate their success.”

  “If I ran our household like this they’d throw me in jail.”

  “Just wait a few years and they’ll just have you do home confinement because they won’t be able to afford to keep the jails open.”

  “I was actually hoping to get a break from cooking and cleaning.”

  “You’d never survive the dress code,” he said with a laugh.

  “Are you kidding me?” Jackie said, putting her hands on her hips. “I make everything look good and don’t you forget it, mister.”

  Blackshear eyed the sensual curves of his wife’s very attractive body. If anyone could pull off making correctional orange look good it would be her.

  “You certainly do, my dear.”

  “You’re a very smart man,” she replied. “I’m going to finish the dishes and go take a nice warm bath. Lisa doesn’t get off work until nine, so if you want to get lucky don’t play detective for too long.”

  “I thought you liked playing cops and robbers,” he said with a knowing look.

  “I do,” she smiled seductively, “but we don’t have time for the handcuffs so just bring your nightstick, big boy.”

  Blackshear laughed, as he watched his wife slip out of the room, her hips swaying back and forth seductively, while whistling the theme song from the show COPS.

  He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. His job was generally tough enough, but this case
was being particularly brutal. Under normal circumstances he would have let his people run with the ball; however this was anything but normal. For one thing, he felt as if he had the fate of another cop in his hands and if he failed at his job then she just might end up being the one wearing the correctional orange.

  “No pressure,” he mumbled to himself, as he put on his reading glasses and perused the latest report.

  An hour’s worth of reading later he was no better off then when he had first started. He looked down at his watch. He still had another hour and a half until his daughter came home. That was more than enough time to take his wife up on her offer. He closed the folder and turned off the desk lamp.

  Just as Blackshear stood up he heard the cell phone vibrate. He glanced down and read the display: Troop E.

  You’ve got to be shitting me, he thought, as he hit the button and accepted the call. “Blackshear.”

  “Captain, this is Trooper McCormick over in Troop E. I’m sorry to bother you while you’re off-duty, sir.”

  “It’s okay,” Blackshear lied. “What’s going on?”

  “I just got a call from Trooper Miles Kennedy. He’s processing an arrest for felony possession and he said that he might have some information regarding your shooting in Penobscot.”

  Blackshear sat back down in his seat. “You have a number for him?”

  “I do, are you ready to copy.”

  “Let me just grab a pen,” he said, as he rifled through the desk drawer. “Okay, go.”

  Blackshear wrote down the number the trooper supplied him, thanked the man and then quickly called it.

  “Trooper Kennedy,” the man said when he answered the phone.

  “Kennedy, this is Captain Blackshear from Major Crimes. I was told you might have something related to the shooting in Penobscot?”