Superbia 2

by Bernard Schaffer

  Iolaus turned toward Reynaldo and said, “Mr. Francisco? You ready?”

  “Yes, sir.” Reynaldo hurried after him through the door into the station, following him past a series of cubicles. The desks inside the room were littered with police gear and manuals. Pictures of smiling children were taped to the desks. There was gear strewn across the chairs, from bullet proof vests to wet boots stuffed with newspapers.

  They stopped at an office doorway. The officer pointed at an empty chair in the middle of the room and said, “Go in and sit down.”

  Reynaldo saw a second man sitting inside the room, rubbing his temples. He was dressed in a suit but his hair was longer than the officers. He looked tired. “Come on in, we don’t bite. I’m Detective Frank O’Ryan and you’ve already met Officer Iolaus. You’re one of the two people remaining in the selection process, so let me congratulate you on making it this far.”

  “Thank you, sir. It is an honor.”

  Officer Iolaus picked up his pencil. “Tell us about yourself. What makes you think you deserve to work here?”

  Reynaldo swallowed and pressed his hands flat against his knees to try and stop them from bouncing. “My name is Reynaldo Francisco. I work at a pizza shop delivering pizzas on the weekends and have a little sister who was kidnapped.” Reynaldo paused. He knew he was screwing it up. He’d practiced this exact speech a thousand times, but getting it out correctly was like trying to stop an express train with a hand brake. “I mean to say that I am going to the Police Academy full-time and work on the weekends. It is very important to me to become a police officer. When I was a boy, my little sister was kidnapped by a bad man, and the police found her. She was not hurt, thank God, because of how quickly they reacted. That is why I want to do this as well.”

  “Okay,” Iolaus said, scanning his sheet for the next questions.

  Frank held up his hand and said, “Wait a second. Your sister was kidnapped? What the heck happened?”

  “We grew up in Brooklyn and my mother owns a store. She was helping a customer and a man grabbed my sister out of the stroller behind the register. My mother chased after him, screaming for help, and the officers in the area caught him.”

  “Where were you?”

  “I was in school.”

  Frank nodded. “I guess that had a big effect on you.”

  Reynaldo nodded. “Very much, sir. Yes.”

  Iolaus looked at Frank, who nodded for him to keep going. “Where were you born?”

  Reynaldo took a deep breath and shifted in his seat, “I was born in Mexico City, but we came here when I was a baby. I am a naturalized citizen.”

  “How did your parents come here?” Iolaus said.

  Frank glanced at him sideways and said, “Let’s move on to the scenario question. I’m going to describe things to you and I want you to answer truthfully.”

  “They came here illegally,” Reynaldo said. “I have nothing to hide, sir. They went through very terrible things to bring all of us, because they love this country so much. I love it too. It is why I am now a citizen.”

  Iolaus made several notes on his sheet.

  Frank continued with the scenario, “You are a patrolman riding by himself for the first time. Your sergeant has given you a direct order that you are not to go by yourself to any calls. You receive a call for a domestic that is less than a mile away from your location. Before you can answer, your sergeant tells you to wait for his arrival. What do you do?”

  “I would drive to the area of the call and let the dispatcher know I was close by. Then I would wait for my sergeant to arrive.”

  “While you are waiting, you hear a woman screaming from inside the apartment you were dispatched to. She is screaming for help. What do you do?”

  “I let the sergeant know that the woman is screaming and request he hurry to my location.”

  “The sergeant tells you that he is coming from a distance, but that you are to wait for him.”

  “Okay.”

  “You then hear the woman say, ‘Please don’t hurt me’ and there is the sound of a loud disturbance inside the residence. Things are crashing and breaking and she is screaming louder. What do you do?”

  Reynaldo took a deep breath as he considered his answer. “I would let the dispatcher know what I heard,” he said. He looked at both of the men nervously, both of them were staring straight at him, watching his every movement. “And then I tell the sergeant that I was taking action.”

  “Weren’t you just given a direct order not to go inside?” Iolaus said.

  “Yes, sir,” Reynaldo said. “I’m very sorry, sir.”

  “Sorry or not, you are willfully disobeying a direct order.”

  “Yes, sir. That is what I would do, sir.”

  Frank leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “You realize that as a probationary employee, you can be fired for any reason. Disobeying a direct order would mean instant termination.”

  “I understand that, sir.”

  “Anybody who is fired from a police job will never get another one. Nobody will ever hire you again to be a cop. You’ll be delivering pizzas for the rest of your life.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “So do you want to reconsider your answer?” Frank said.

  Reynaldo wilted, sinking down in his chair under their penetrating stares. “The woman is screaming?” he said.

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I will still go inside.”

  Iolaus leaned forward and barked, “There is no room in a police department for people who cannot follow simple orders, Mr. Francisco. Do you understand that?”

  “I do, sir,” Reynaldo said.

  “So why would you do the one thing you were specifically directed not to?” Frank said. “Think how hard you’ve worked to get to even this point. You took a written exam with over a hundred other applicants. You passed the first two interviews and are one of the last two people left for this job. Are you seriously going to risk throwing that all away just because some dumb woman is yelling?”

  Reynaldo swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. “I apologize, sir. But, my answer is still yes.”

  Frank folded his hands on the table. His voice was calm and pleased when he said, “Tell me why.”

  “Because I would rather lose my career doing the right thing than to keep it by being a coward.”

  ***

  “What did Wally Jr. say when you asked him the question?” Chief Erinnyes said.

  Iolaus looked down at his notes. “He stood by when the woman was yelling. Maintained his position when he heard the crashing.”

  Frank held up his hand, “That’s not all he said. Tell him the rest.”

  Iolaus lowered his voice, “He said he’d call his dad for advice.”

  “Oh boy,” Erinnyes said.

  “We told him his dad wasn’t available.”

  “So when did he go in?”

  “He didn’t,” Frank said. “We had the suspect shouting ‘I’ve got a gun to her head and I’m going to kill her if you don’t come in here!’ and the dumb fuck still wouldn’t go in the house.”

  Iolaus raised his finger, “He did draw his gun when he heard the shotgun go off inside the apartment and tried to get a visual on the suspect through the kitchen window.”

  “Jesus Christ,” the Chief muttered. “You’d think his dad would have prepared him a little better. How about the Mexican kid?”

  “He went right in,” Frank said.

  Erinnyes sighed. “He must’ve thought they were giving away free enchiladas inside. Anyway, write it up so that it’s fair. The Mexican sounds like a good kid, so don’t beat him up. Somebody else will pick him up soon enough.”

  “All right, Chief,” Iolaus said.

  “Hang on,” Frank said. “We are hiring Reynaldo Francisco, correct?”

  Erinnyes grinned at him, waiting for the punchline. When none came, he said, “Yes we are, as long as the budget allows for a second officer after we hire Ch
ief Conlin’s kid.”

  Frank slammed his fist against the chair, “This is bullshit. Francisco blew the interview out of the water. He speaks Spanish, for God’s sake. That’s a huge asset by itself, but this kid feels it, Chief. It’s in his gut, and you can hear it when he talks. He’s real police and it’s something this department desperately needs.”

  “All I can hear is somebody asking me where to plant the rhododendrons,” Chief Erinnyes’ flabby face quaked as he burst into laughter. “They probably thought INS took the kid. ‘Hey, meester, have chu seen my seester?’”

  Iolaus covered his mouth and guffawed. Frank got up in disgust and headed for the door. “I’m writing it the way it went.”

  “You do that,” Erinnyes said. “Look on the bright side, Frank. We don’t have to hire the kid, because he don’ neeeed no stinking batches!”

  Frank closed the door behind him, shutting it on the sound of Erinnyes laughing until he wheezed. He headed for the stairwell and braced himself at the top of the steps, stopping to look over the railing. The lights were on in the hallway below.

  He put his foot on the railing and rubbed his knee, feeling the contraption of plastic and bolts under his skin where the bone used to be. The lights in the hallway flickered as he descended. That’s just faulty bulbs, he told himself.

  The tiles in the floor were loose, popping up in places from the water rotting the boards beneath. The hallway beyond the detective’s office was dark.

  He smelled scorched metal and smoke. It got stronger the closer he came to the closed office door. Just the crappy HVAC system down here. That’s all it is.

  Frank reached for the doorknob and stopped, realizing the lights were out inside the office. “Mother fucker,” he whispered. He punched in the code to his door and turned the knob, letting the door open completely while he stood in the light of the hallway outside and looked in.

  Vic’s desk was empty. Frank let his breath out and flicked on the light switch. All of the case files on his desk, so neatly stacked when he left, were toppled over and strewn across the floor. Frank clenched his jaw and bent over to gather up the papers. “We can keep doing this every week for all I care,” Frank said out loud. “I’m not hanging the damn poster back up.”

  3. The little girl sat up on the back of a couch, pressing her face against the window when Frank’s car pulled up. He smiled and waved while she jumped down on the cushions, shouting, “Mom! Uncle Frank’s here!”

  The front door opened and Frank bent down to press his face against the storm door’s glass, “Hello Miss Penelope.”

  She cupped her hands around her eyes and pressed against the door, making it fog up with her breath. “Hullo, Mr. Frank.”

  “Can I come in, Miss Penelope?”

  “Yes you can, Mr. Frank.”

  Danni Ajax came down the steps and waved her daughter away from the door. “Back up, back up.” She unlocked the storm door and said, “Thanks for coming, Frank. I really appreciate it.”

  “What happened?”

  “He got in a fight with an older boy at school. They were both suspended, but the school has a zero tolerance policy and now he might get kicked out of the marching band.”

  “What was he fighting about?”

  Danni looked down at her daughter and stroked the girl’s hair. “Apparently the other boy had dealings with you-know-who and said something to Jason during lunch.”

  “Okay. I’ll go talk to him.” Frank headed up the stairs and knocked on the first closed door he came to. “You okay in there, buddy? It’s Frank. Can I come in?”

  There was no answer. Frank twisted the knob and opened the door just enough to peek in. “Everybody decent in here?” he said.

  “Yeah. Hi,” Jason said. The kid’s face was swollen and red, either from crying or from the fight. There was an impressive shiner developing over his right eye.

  Frank tilted his face up to admire the black eye. “That’s a beauty. Was it a jab or a left cross?”

  Jason shrugged, “All I know is it hurt. But I kicked him right in the nuts.”

  “You did?” Frank frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Why did you do that?”

  “I was standing in the lunch line and this big eleventh-grader started shouting at me that my dad was a pussy. Everybody was looking at me. I tried to pretend like I didn’t hear him, but he wouldn’t stop.”

  Frank chuckled, “Your dad was no pussy.”

  “I know. That’s what my mom said, and that’s why I should have ignored it.”

  “So did you kick him in the nuts when he called your dad that?”

  “No. I did it when he said he was glad my dad was dead.”

  “Jesus,” Frank whispered. “What a little shit bag. What was this kid’s name?”

  “Sal something.”

  “Mormo?” Frank said. “You’re kidding me.”

  “My mom said I still should have ignored it. She said I’m not allowed to fight.” Jason’s voice cracked, “And now they’re going to throw me out of band.”

  Frank bent over and picked up the brass trombone on Jason’s floor. He ran his fingers along its length and said, “I never did learn how to play an instrument.” He flipped the lever near the mouthpiece a few times and worked it with the tip of his finger. “What’s this do?”

  “It’s the spit valve.”

  “Yuck!” Frank said, wiping his hands on his pants as both of them laughed. He laid the instrument on the bed and said, “Look, your mom is right. Fighting is stupid. It’s wrong. Playing music? That’s good. You understand me?”

  “Okay,” Jason said. “I’m sorry.”

  Frank cleared his throat and leaned closer to the boy’s ear, “But, there is a time and place for everything. Sometimes, you will meet people who are big and dumb, and they will try to hurt you. They won’t take no for an answer. You can’t talk to them, you can’t reason with them, and they won’t go away. If that happens, and you don’t have any other choice, you know what you do?”

  Jason was silent.

  “You gouge that asshole’s eyes out. Rip his ears off. Bite his fingers. Hit him with a crowbar. Whatever you need to do to end it, you do it, but only when it’s necessary. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Jason said.

  Frank put his arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him close. “And don’t worry about the band thing. They’ll let you back in. If they don’t, get a guitar and start a rock group. Those guys get all the chicks.”

  ***

  They’re animals. That’s why they always gather together in packs. Gibbering hyenas with cigarettes who hover around playgrounds. Cackling simians in low-slung blue jeans with a pair of sweatpants pulled over them. They gathered around the benches of a basketball court that had rusted chain nets and swing sets with broken seats.

  They picked up Frank’s scent as he entered their territory, seeing his unmarked police car coming down the street. They smiled and pointed and laughed at him, until he slammed on the brakes directly in front of them.

  Nobody moved. Frank slammed his door shut and came through the group toward its center, using the tip of his pointed finger to part them. He zeroed in on the grinning one. The one with the flat baseball hat brim and the original, never-peeled silver advertising sticker. “You.”

  Sal Mormo pointed at himself and said, “Me? Take that bullshit down the road, man. I ain’t tryin’ to hear it.”

  Frank snatched Sal by his tee shirt collar and yanked him off the bench. “You remember me?” Sal tried peeling Frank’s fingers away and Frank smacked his hands. “Touch me again and I’ll break every bone in your face.”

  “Get off of me!”

  He shoved Sal into the fence. “You got something to say about one of our fallen officers? Say it now. Say it to my fucking face, you little piece of shit.”

  Sal squirmed, eyes flicking back and forth from the group of his friends as they crowded around them to Frank’s glare. “I didn’t say nothing to that kid. He just wen
t crazy and attacked me so I decked him.”

  A light flickered from the group and Frank cast his eyes sideways just enough to see that someone was recording them with their cellphone. Frank raised his voice, “You going to cry again, Sal? Just like the last time when we had you in, after you raped that little girl Li-li and she took her own life?”

  “I told you she thought she was my girlfriend!”

  “She was a child, Sal! The report is on file at my station! Her suicide letter is an open record that anyone can come see. You and her brother raped her. Remember that? And you cried in your mama’s arms and shit your pants in my police station like the little sissy you really are. I’ve got the whole thing on video.”

  “Whoa. That’s fucked up,” the kid holding the camera said.

  Frank turned and looked at the camera, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Were you recording that? Oh no. I hope you don’t put it on YouTube. That would be terrible.”

  The kid shut the camera off and started playing with his phone to check the recording. “Wait!” Sal shrieked.

  Frank leaned close to Sal’s ear, “Go near one of my cops’ families again and see what happens.”

  ***

  Claude Erinnyes had more plaques than wall space behind his desk. The largest was engraved To Secretary Claudius Erinnyes, In Recognition of His Service to the Pennsylvania Police Chiefs Association. Next to that, a framed certificate thanking him for his decades of public service from the Governor of the Commonwealth. Photographs of him standing with politicians, public officials, and newscasters appeared in between the plaques.

  The intercom light flashed on his desk. “Chief, are you in your office?”

  “What is it?”

  “You have a visitor.”

  “I’m not expecting anyone.”

  “It’s an attorney. He says he represents Aprille Macariah and he would like to speak with you.”

  Erinnyes chuckled and said, “Oh really? Send him back, then.” He buttoned his collar and leaned back in his chair, folding his hand across his belly as a young dark-skinned man wearing a suit knocked on the door of his office. “Enter.”