by John Misak
Uncle Paul was standing by the doorway to the complex with a nice-sized cardboard box at his feet. Written in black magic marker was, “Don’t Mess With.” I liked Paul’s subtlety above everything else. The man never left anyone guessing.
“That was fast,” he said, talking while having a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“I guess you could say I was eager.”
I unlocked the door, and guided him upstairs to my humble abode. When we got to the door, he dropped the box.
“You carry this fucking thing. I lugged it two blocks from the parking garage.”
“No problem.” I picked it up, noticing its considerable weight, unlocked the door to my apartment, and walked in. I instantly noticed that I needed to clean up. So did Uncle Paul.
“This place is a fucking pig sty.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to throw away a pizza box? Wait, make that two pizza boxes. That’s how you get bugs. If your mother saw this place, she’d have a heart attack.”
“I know. But that’s really not important now.” I placed the box in the kitchen, and opened up the refrigerator. Luckily there were two Heinekens in there. I only hoped they weren’t as old as I thought they were.
“Want a beer?” I asked.
“Sure. I’d really like a scotch right now, but I’m still on the clock.”
I walked back into the living room, and handed Paul the beer. He took a long swig of it, didn’t pass out, so I took one myself. I guess Heineken has a pretty decent shelf life.
“To good health,” I said, albeit a little late.
“To good luck, because you really need it right now.”
“Thanks for the optimism.”
“No problem.”
“So, what’ve you got for me?”
“Well, inside that box, you’ll find some high-powered binoculars, a digital video recorder, and a long range microphone. I couldn’t get you a tape recorder, but I figured you had one of those.”
“I do.”
“Just be careful with the camcorder. It’s real high-tech, and it’s expensive.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Treat it better than you do your apartment. I don’t want pizza grease all over the damn thing.”
“Enough already.”
Uncle Paul laughed. It was the first positive sign I had gotten from him.
“And I have some news for you, as well.”
“You mentioned something along those lines. What’ve you got?”
“Our friend Harold Chapman is about to be investigated for illegal campaign contributions.”
“You had said something about that the last time we spoke.”
“This is different. Before, he was suspected of such activity, now the government thinks they have something on him.”
That was interesting. I wasn’t sure how it tied in to Mullins’ death, but it sure was important. Techdata stockholders were in for quite a surprise if right after the CEO dies, the second in command is brought up on federal charges.
“Must be something big.”
“I’m not sure how big it is, and I know I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but the capper is that one of the campaigns he supposedly contributed to was Mayor Jenkins’.”
It took a moment to set in. Then it set in hard. If Chapman was being investigated for illegal campaign contributions, then maybe there was more to what happened with Mullins, who was about to run for office.
“That’s nice,” I said. I really didn’t know what to say. I was too busy thinking about it all.
“Nice, huh? I think it’s just a bit more than suspicious.”
“It could explain a lot of things.”
“Like why you got set up.”
“You think it goes as high as the Mayor?”
He nodded. Not a nod that said he thought so, either. This was a nod of certainty.
“This is getting complicated.”
“And I am sure it’s going to get even more so.” Uncle Paul finished his beer. “Got another?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Wouldn’t be smart to walk back into the office with beer on my breath.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tin of Altoids.
“Do this often, eh?”
“Don’t get wise.” He checked his watch. “Listen, I have to get back. Don’t go doing anything stupid just yet.”
“I hate to ask for another favor.”
“What do you need?”
“I’d like you to get me some information on someone.”
“What sort of information?”
“It’s the security guard over at the Mullins’ house. Steve Eckert’s his name. I’d just like to know where he came from. I have a feeling he has a military background.”
“I can do that.” He opened up a small notepad and wrote the name down. “Give me a couple of hours. You think he’s involved?” Uncle Paul made it sound a little far-fetched, the way he asked.
“I think everyone’s involved.”
“Including your partner?”
“Yes, including him.”
“Don’t trust him. Don’t trust any of them. Listen to me on that.” Uncle Paul had seen more than I did, so I intended to listen.
“You know something, I don’t?”
“Yeah, I know what it’s like to be caught in the middle of crap like this. You’ve been sold out, believe it.”
“I do.” I did.
“Whatever you do, watch your ass. I’m sure they are watching you, and they would love to catch you doing something you’re not supposed to. If you’re going to take a closer look at Chapman, which I am sure you are, then make sure your tail is clear before you do. Got that?”
“Yes. I’ve had a tail for the last two days.”
“Know who it is?” Uncle Paul asked.
“I have an idea.” Peters. The guy kept redefining the parameters of a douche bag. Summer’s Eve would soon come out with a new variety named for him, the Ultra Douche.
“Well, that’s half the battle won.” He got up and shook my hand, then gave me a hug. “I hate to see you have to go through all of this, but I think, in the end, everything will be okay.”
“I hope so.”
“So do I.”
After Uncle Paul left, I took a look through the box he brought me. It was full of all sorts of techno-crap. The camera was a high end Sony, with the ability to snap digital pictures and take digital video. The zoom on it was insane, more powerful than anything I had ever used before. If only I had such equipment available to me when I was younger, taking women back to the apartment. I could have had a lot of fun with that.
The box also contained the microphone Uncle Paul had told me about. It was the sort that looked like an antenna, and I figured it was capable of picking up sounds from over 500 yards. There was also a pair of binoculars that looked really expensive, and a small microphone that I could hide in the lapel of a jacket. It was actually a lapel pin and, though I didn’t know when I was going to use it, I was thankful I had it. I had no idea what I was going to need to nail Chapman, but any device that might help made me happy.
I took the microphone and the camera, and I headed back downstairs to embark on my first journey. The only place I could think to go was probably the last place I should have gone - Chapman’s building. I didn’t know what I was going to find, if anything, but it seemed like the best place to start. I was going on instinct, and though I knew that my instincts did nothing but get me into trouble, I had to roll the dice on this one. I had been coming up snake eyes all week. I was due for a good roll.
On my way to Chapman’s, I noticed the tail again. It was a Mercury sedan, an unmarked, and whoever was following me looked like they hadn’t done it in a while. I cruised down 3rd Avenue, moving away from Chapman’s building. Why were they following me, anyway? Maybe they just wanted to keep tabs on me, or maybe they were trying to pin something else on me. As I thought about it, I realized I was the perfect fall guy.
If they could pin some sort of unethical practices on me, then they could divert attention away from how the case was really being handled, and they could blame me for everything. I would become the center of attention instead of Mullins himself, and they would be in the clear. It pissed me off when I thought about it, and I decided to do something stupid.
I wanted to find out who was in that car.
I swerved onto 31st, moving faster than I should have. The Caddy’s wheels screeched a bit, and the suspension, old and unresponsive, really had a hard time keeping up with me. I made the turn okay, thank God, and when I looked in my rear view mirror I saw that the Mercury had kept up. I took another turn, this one at a slightly slower speed, and the Merc was still right behind me. I think they wanted me to know they were following me, otherwise, there was no reason to follow so close.
The light ahead of me was green, so I decided to make my move. Doing about 45, I slammed on the brakes right before the light, which much to my luck changed yellow, then red. The Merc couldn’t do anything but stop short as well, right behind me. My opportunity had come. I got out of the car and approached my follower. It was Peters, and he had nowhere to go.
I got to the car, and Sgt. Peters lowered his window.
“Hey buddy, did you decide that because my life is just so much better than yours that you had to follow me?” I asked. I shouldn’t fuck with him, but I really wanted to.
“We just happened to be going to the same place, Keegan.”
“And where might that be?”
“I was about to ask you the same question,” Peters said. I caught wind of his breath. God, ever hear of gum?
“Listen, I might be on suspension, but what I do on that time is none of your fucking business.”
Peters laughed. He had one of those annoying, hoarse laughs. He sounded like someone that didn’t laugh too often, the rat bastard. “It’s all of my business. Geiger has me on the case you nearly fucked up, and I just want to make sure you don’t fuck it up any more,” he said. That stung me a little, but I couldn’t believe it at face value.
“So, you’re on the case now? Find out anything interesting?”
“Like I’d tell you.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Hey, I mean, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I don’t think that following me is the right way to solve this case. You might want to do a little investigating, unless you already have it solved.”
“You have everything to do with this case and, if I catch you shoving your face into what is now my business, I’ll nail you to the fucking wall.”
“Tough talk, eh Peters? I don’t think there is any need for that. We’re both cops. And hey, we both have fucked your wife.” I don’t know why I added that little quip, but it seemed to have done its job. He was seething.
“You’re nothing but a dirty cop out to cover his ass. I know what you did with Mullins’ wife, and as much as you want to deny it, you can’t hide the truth.”
“The truth is what I am out for.”
“The truth is you are a piece of shit. I knew it from the first time I met you. It just took longer for it to come to the surface.”
“Thanks for the psychological profile, but go fuck yourself.” The light turned green, and cars behind us starting honking. “Get back in your car before I have a uniform give you a ticket.”
“How nice of you. Tell you what, you keep following me, and I will make sure you regret it.”
“Don’t threaten me Keegan. You’re not in the position to do so,” Peters said.
“No threat Peters. And tell the rest of your boys down at the station this: I know what’s going on and, if I have to, I’ll take every one of you down. You got that, you sorry piece of shit?” Peters’ face turned even redder, if that was possible. He started to say something, then stopped.
“Just get back into your fucking car and get out of here.”
“Have a nice day.”
I did get back in my car, flashed Peters the middle finger, and pulled away. I went straight, and he went right. I knew that the little exchange I had with him did me absolutely no good, but it didn’t matter. I felt better because I was able to get him so angry. He was probably pissed that he couldn’t tail me anymore, but I knew he’d get over it, and I knew he’d be looking out for me. I had to be real careful. But, then again, I really didn’t care. I couldn’t get into any deeper shit.
It amazes me how little I know about such things.
Twenty
I waited a little while to go to Chapman’s building after my little chat with Peters. I couldn’t count on the fact that he wasn’t smart enough to figure out where I was going. If he saw me there, then he could have really done something with me. I knew Geiger wouldn’t be too happy to hear that I was stalking the good Mr. Chapman. Being that I had no idea where Geiger fit in to this whole mess, I knew I was better off waiting a little while. I stopped at a small shop and got a cup of coffee and a roll, shelling out three bucks for this combination.
Man, did I miss Rick.
There was another man I couldn’t figure out. For a brief second (and I mean brief) I felt bad for the female population. We men aren’t exactly that easy to figure out. Hell, I was one of them, and I couldn’t put a finger on what was going on with men I had worked with for nine years. I sat in that small shop next to a guy who looked and smelled like he had lived outside for the last decade. He had a thick, matted red beard and a hat that said, “I Love NY,” the kind that was popular in the 80’s, probably the last time he had a roof over his head.
As appalling as me might have been, I felt bad for him. By doing that, however, I realized that I was feeling bad for myself. I think we all do it when things head for the toilet. Looking at this homeless man devouring a buttered bagel, I saw how quickly you can fall. I had effectively lost my job, and I knew then that I was just a few drinking binges away from messing myself up. Sure, I had family that would support me and not let me go out on the street. Maybe this guy didn’t have that luxury. Maybe, just like me, he got screwed out of his job, got depressed, and lost everything. Maybe he had family somewhere, but he was too ashamed to admit what happened. Hell, he might have even done something stupid. We all do stupid things. The funny part about it is some of us pay dearly for it, and others walk away clean. Fate has its own selection process, and one day I would like to figure out what it was.
Despite the amount of pity I felt for this man, I really couldn’t stand the smell of garbage much longer. I wondered if maybe he lived in a dumpster, but then I realized that I had walked past thousands of dumpsters in my time, and none of them smelled like this guy did. I know that sounds harsh, but hey, it’s the truth. Love the homeless all you want from your cozy, aromatic living room. Occupying common space with them is an entirely different story.
Feeling guilty, I pulled a five-dollar bill out of my pocket and slipped it into one of the bags he had lying beside him. No one saw me do it, and no one had to. I hoped he would go through the bag, and be surprised by what he found. I knew it wouldn’t make a difference in his life, as much as I wanted it to, but it did make me feel better, and that’s what charity is all about. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a first-rate bullshit artist. Remember that.
I’d wasted about twenty minutes in that little coffee shop, and I figured that Peters was sitting at the computer in the department, trying to win back his money in the golf game. I hoped he lost all of it. I left the shop, got into the Caddy, and headed back toward Chapman’s building. It was a little after two in the afternoon when I got in the car, and I was certain Chapman was there, probably creating his next scheme. He was the villain in this little plot I had created, the man who sat high atop a huge building plotting the end of the world as we knew it. All his building needed was a few gargoyle statues and lightning bolts flashing in the background. Of course, he also needed a sexy woman at his side for me to fall in love with, and a henchman with whom I was supposed to get into a mortal battle. Okay, so Chapm
an didn’t have all of those things, but it didn’t make a difference. He was my man. Period.
I made it to Chapman’s building by 2:30.1 didn’t really know what to do when I got there. His office was on the other side of the building, and there was no way I could use the binoculars or the camera. I also couldn’t even step into the building, not with the setup they had in there. I’d have been brought down to the station in no time, and everything would turn to total crap. With no other choice, I parked Mom’s car on the side street facing the building, behind another car so I was concealed a bit. All I could do then was wait.
I waited a long time. I was on a stakeout, something I hadn’t done in over five years, and even then, I had only done it twice. I hated it both times. I am a bit of a fidgety person, and can’t stand the idea of sitting in a car for that long. The moment I realize I am going to be there for a while, all the muscles in my body cramp up, except for my bladder. I normally can go almost all day without having to drop fluid, but as soon as I know I am going to be stuck somewhere for a long time, the bladder release valve opens, and I am stuck holding back a pee. Let me tell you how much fun that is.
It must have been about an hour before anything happened. I had been in the middle of counting how many Japanese cars passed by when I saw a very familiar Japanese car pull up in front of the building. It was Agnelli’s Lexus. I looked up at the sky, and thanked whoever lived up there for my good fortune. I pulled out the binoculars first, just to ensure it was Agnelli. It was. I wished for a moment that the binoculars were just the scope of a high-powered rifle. All I had to do was pull the trigger, and all my problems would be solved. Well, of course they wouldn’t, but it was nice to dream for a little bit.
I put down the binoculars, and pulled out the camera. After fumbling with it for a few seconds (yes, I know I should have familiarized myself with it before I got into the freaking car), I focused the camera on Agnelli, who was dressed in an expensive blue tailored suit. He had gotten out of the car, and walked into the building. I wanted to rush in after him, and ask him why he was conferring with the top suspect in a murder investigation. Then again, he probably would have told me that there was no murder investigation, and if there were any suspects nearby, it was me. He might have had a point, but either way, going into the building was absolutely out of the question. I would have to wait a little longer, and so would my bladder. I didn’t like that idea.