Keegan 00 Soft Case

by John Misak

  Uncle Paul was right.

  “I will.”

  After that great night, I didn’t want to get out of bed. I knew I had to go back to the Hell I called life, but sleeping in seemed like such the perfect way to cap off a night of pleasure. I couldn’t do that, mainly because I needed to clear my name, but the thought of it was just too enticing.

  I managed to gather the strength to get up and get my ass into the shower. The warm water felt good, and I relaxed in there for a moment, thinking about whether or not I should call Roseanna. Protocol called for at least that, but I didn’t know what she expected. For all I knew, she might have just wanted a night of sex. That was fine with me. I did decide, however, that I had to see her again. The night before was just too good to never happen again. Of course, the next time, the element of surprise would be gone, but I could deal with that, especially if she performed the way she did again. There was no way of knowing for sure whether she would, but I had a good feeling about it.

  But, the call? I hated the “after date” call. I understood the purpose of it, but hated the fact that it was almost always a requirement. I really didn’t have much to say to Roseanna, except, “Hey, great sex last night.” I know, I am a pig. The difference is, I know I am a pig, and will openly admit it so long as there are no female prospects lying around. Not that female prospects lie around, so to speak, but you know what I mean.

  So, as I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, I came to the conclusion that I would wait “til the end of the day to call Roseanna. This way, I could focus my energies on solving my world of problems instead of worrying about what to say to the woman I porked the night before.

  After the shower, I got dressed, if you need to know, and headed back onto the streets. I’d made sure to recharge the battery of the camera, so this time, if I came across anything important, I wouldn’t have the damn thing die on me again. Speaking of the camera, I had Agnelli by the balls on the thing, but I had no idea who to show it to. I wasn’t sure if I could trust Geiger, or anyone else for that matter. I wasn’t paranoid or anything, but I wanted to make sure I made good use of the tape. If I alerted the wrong party to what I was up to, well, then, the wrong party would know what I was up to. I didn’t need that.

  So I got into the car, a common occurrence lately, and headed toward the Island. My reason for going was none other than Steve Eckert. I really didn’t completely agree with Uncle Paul, but I did have my suspicions about Steve. He was doing something wrong, and even if it was just boinking the elegant Mrs. Mullins, I was going to get to the proverbial bottom of it. And I had a feeling that bottom was pretty far down.

  I felt like I was commuting out to the Island with the amount of times I had gone out there. I would have been better off living at the parents’ house. All right, that was a bad thought, and one I would not like to elaborate on any further.

  Halfway there, I remembered that Steve wasn’t working that week. I’m telling you, my detective work is not being represented well here. Normally, I would remember such things. Given the situation I was dealing with, I guess I’m allowed a small bit of slack. Anyway, despite the fact that Steve wouldn’t be there, I figured I might get some information on the guy. Besides, I’d get to see Sondra again, and that’s never a bad thing.

  It took about an hour to get there, and I went through the routine of pulling up to the gates, stating my name, and gaining access to Casa de Mullins. This time, no one instantly greeted me at the door. I actually had to ring the bell, and then the burly security guard I had met the last time answered.

  “Mrs. Mullins isn’t here today Detective,” he said. He was a nice guy, with a friendly disposition. He also seemed a little light on the brain, so I figured I’d grab some information from him. “That’s okay, I didn’t come to speak to her.”

  “Oh. What do you need?”

  “Well, I need some information from Steve.”

  “He’s not here either.”

  “I know. He is off for the week. I just need his phone number so I can speak with him.”

  He made a face, something like one a kid would make if a stranger asked him a question. He seemed to mull my inquiry over a bit. He was having a hard time with it.

  “I’m not sure if I have it here. Let me check.”

  He opened the door all the way to let me in, then left me in the foyer while he entered a door to the right. I wanted to go in with him, but he didn’t give me that opportunity. I sat there twiddling my thumbs for about ten minutes, wondering what the Hell this moron was doing.

  He came out of the door, holding a piece of paper in his hand. He looked me over for a second, and he looked like the cat that ate the canary. I couldn’t figure out why.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing me the paper. “I’m, uh, sorry it took so long.”

  Was he now? He had done something, and I started to figure out what it was. He had called Steve to ask if it was okay to give out the number, which meant that Steve would know I was looking for him. It really wasn’t a big deal, and I wondered why the security guard thought it was.

  “No problem. I was just enjoying the Picasso anyway.”

  He looked around. “I didn’t know there was any music playing.”

  “Oh, there was. Great stuff.”

  He looked even more puzzled. “Okay, happy you enjoyed it.”

  “I did.”

  He started leading me toward the door.

  “Before I go, would you mind clearing some things up for me?”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, do you and Steve ever work at the same time?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I never see the two of you together.”

  “There’s three of us actually, and then Steve. We all work different shifts. Steve is our boss, and he comes in at different times.”

  “Does Steve ever work at night?”

  “Well, I’m the day guy, but as far as I know, he does. I think he usually splits the week in half. Days and nights.”

  “You know why he is off this week?”

  “Personal business, far as I know.”

  “Scheduled vacation?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When is he due back?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Okay. Do me a favor. When Mrs. Mullins gets back, can you give her my cell number? There are a few things I want to ask her.” I wrote my number on the back of a business card. Why did I do this? First and foremost, it was because I wanted to see if she would call. On top of that, I wanted to stir things up a bit. I had learned early that the best thing to do in a bad situation is stir things up.

  “She’ll be back in an hour or so. I’ll be sure to give this to her.”

  “Great. Well, thanks for your time. You’ve been a big help.” “You’re welcome,” he said, like he really couldn’t give a shit. I couldn’t expect him to. He was probably fed up with all the crap he had to go through since his boss died. He was probably wishing for me to get the Hell out of there. He was, however, being nice about it, compared to his boss, who in my book rated as a first-class asshole. Then again, many people were represented in that category, and some of them might have even been decent people.

  I walked away, got back into the Caddy, and realized I was heading nowhere. Despite the information I had gotten on tape from Agnelli and Chapman, I wasn’t even an inch closer to solving the Mullins case. Sure, I was pretty close to clearing myself, but that wasn’t the most important thing to me right then. It should have been, mind you, but it wasn’t. At that moment, I didn’t care whether or not I would report back top duty as a detective. As a matter of fact, I didn’t want to be a cop anymore, despite how much I enjoyed it. I was fed up with them, all of them, and the mere fact that someone in Agnelli’s position would do what he did to me only made me feel even more so. It was all political bullshit. People are garbage, and they will illustrate this truth whenever you give them the opportunity. All you bleeding hearts out there, the ones
who think all people, at their core, are good, need a real lesson in life. The whole idea that most bad people just went wrong somewhere is just wrong. The average person on the street would consider selling out their own mother for the right sum of money. I’ve seen it firsthand more times than I would like to admit. For some, that amount might be a million, for others, it might be as little as a thousand, and most people fall in between. My mother, if you need to know, is currently going for five hundred thousand.

  The only thing that prevented me from walking into Agnelli’s office and telling him to stuff his job up his ass was the fact that I had no backup plan. It wasn’t because of fond memories, a deep enjoyment of my job, or a feeling of duty that prevented me. It was just the fact that I had nothing else lined up. If someone would have offered me half my salary to wipe their ass three times a day, I would have followed through on my urge to let Agnelli have it.

  So, there I was, sitting in the Caddy, smoking a cigarette, and again wondering what I was going to do next. I had a suspect, Chapman, and I had a possible informant in Eckert. I had an accomplice, Agnelli, but I had no real motive, I had no hard evidence, and I had no leads to getting either. I’ve seen all the cop movies where the hero talks about going with their gut. Detective work, though often involving shot-in-the-dark luck, requires more mental work than those movies depict. For instance, the only thing my gut was good for was notifying me when it was time to eat, and the occasional strange rumble. Other than that, it was good for nothing. Sure, I talk about gut feelings, but they rarely got me anywhere. Besides, most of those feelings came from extensive thought, not some involvement with my stomach.

  I put the car in drive and decided to head back to the city. On the way there, I realized that I might as well stir the pot a bit. I took out Uncle Paul’s cell phone, and dialed my good friend, Steve Eckert. I wanted to rattle his cage a bit by calling, and see what sort of shit fell out.

  He answered on the second ring.

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit out of breath.

  “Mr. Eckert?”

  “Yes. Who is this?” He knew damn well who it was.

  “Detective John Keegan.”

  “Hello Detective Keegan. How is the investigation going?”

  “Not much different than most.”

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Actually, you can. I need to talk a few things over with you, and would appreciate it if you would meet me sometime today, if that is possible.”

  There was a noticeable silence.

  “I’m going to be in the city for a good part of the day.”

  “That’s perfect. I live in the city. Meet me at a bar called Kasey’s.” I gave him the address and directions. He said he’d be there, but then he said something that took me a bit by surprise.

  “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  What the Hell was he looking forward to? I knew for damn sure he didn’t want to see me, so why was he giving me a wisecrack like that? Maybe he still harbored a little anger for me because of how I treated him about the tape that time. Maybe he was just a wiseass. I didn’t know for sure, but I told myself to watch out for this guy.

  “I’m sure you will be,” I said.

  Twenty Three

  With my appointment with Steve arranged, I realized that my evening was taken up, and my plan to call Roseanna after my day was over didn’t look so good. I wasn’t used to relationships and all their twists and turns. I had decided, about four years earlier, that I really wasn’t made for the dating world. I would meet someone, be interested in them at that moment, but the next day, the mere act of calling them seemed tedious at best. I’m not talking just about one-night-stands, either. I mean just meeting someone, at a bar, the supermarket, just about anywhere. I’d ask for a woman’s number all the time, but more often than not, I would never call. It just seemed like an intrusion on the time I had to myself. It wasn’t like I did much with that time, but I liked to have it, and didn’t want a relationship to get in the way.

  This gets strange, because despite this attitude, one of my biggest fears was ending up alone. I had the foresight to understand that life moves quickly, and the 30-something single guy rapidly turns into the 45-year-old single old man that no one wants to have anything to do with. Like most things in my life, I was left weighing two different options, neither of which seemed to take the forefront.

  I knew, while I was cruising along in the Caddy, that the right thing to do was call Roseanna. Not because she would save me from my fears, and not because she was the answer to all my relationship problems, but instead because it was the exact opposite of what I would normally do. It was the right thing to do because what I would normally do had gotten me absolutely nowhere. A step in the right direction was what I needed, even if it was a small step.

  I picked up the cell phone, full of all the promise and aspiration that comes with an epiphany, started to dial the number, let it ring once, then ended the call. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t know what to say, and I wasn’t much for small talk. Hell, she might not have even been home, and I might have been saved by the answering machine god, but I couldn’t gamble that. By the time I had realized how much of a failure I was, I was back in the city. I took the 59th St. Bridge this time, mainly because I was tired of paying the Midtown Tunnel toll. Three-fifty each way adds up, let me tell you.

  I got on FDR drive, and cruised toward the Techdata building again. I had the camera with me, though I really didn’t intend to show it to Chapman, mainly because I had no backup of the information on there. That reminded me of the one person I might be able to trust in a pinch down at the precinct. Jacob was no lover of any of the higher ups, and just loved sound editing. He wasn’t there for any other purpose, and if anyone was unaffected by the politics and corruption it would be him. With nothing to lose, I got on the horn.

  The precinct operator answered. I had called there several times, and she had heard my voice over the years, so I had to disguise it a little. I felt stupid, but that certainly wasn’t the first or last time I felt that way.

  “Jacob Nomar,” I said in a voice an octave deeper than mine.

  “Who is calling?”

  Shit. I didn’t expect that. She never asked who was calling. I had to think fast, because I didn’t want anyone to know I was calling the department, especially because I hadn’t reported like I was supposed to.

  “Alec Renkin,” I said, recalling a name of someone I knew Jacob spoke to from time to time. If I remembered correctly, Alec was a representative from some audio company.

  “One moment.”

  I heard the line click a few times. Then it rang. On the third ring, Jacob picked up.

  “Hello John,” Jacob said.

  “How the Hell did you know it was me?” I asked.

  “Two things. Number one, I don’t know an Alec Renkin. I do know an Alan Raskin, however, and I also know that no one really calls me here. The only person who would do such a thing would be you, considering the fact that you don’t want to come here.” “You’re good Jacob. Ever think of becoming a detective?”

  “I hear there is a position open.”

  “Thanks for the stab in the heart.”

  “No problem. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, that depends Jacob. I’m not really in a position to trust anyone right now.”

  “But yet I find you on the other end of the line, sounding like you need something.”

  “I could use some assistance.”

  “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. People are acting real strange around here. No one even mentions your name. When I did the other day, I got hushed.”

  That didn’t surprise me. My guess was at least half the guys in the department knew the truth and the others just didn’t want to know.

  “Well, thanks for thinking of me.”

  “You got screwed John. No doubt about that.”

  “I have proof of that. Real proof.”

  “And you
want me to do something with that.”

  “I need it backed up, and don’t have the equipment. It’s video, though.”

  “I have what you need.”

  “And you’re willing to help?”

  “Listen John, I’ve been here for years. I’ve seen a lot of guys come and go from this precinct. Most of them, I wouldn’t trust as far as I can throw them. You’re a good man John, and you’ve been given a bad rap. The least I can do is help you out. I am due for a break in half an hour. I’ll meet you at the deli we used to go to. You know the one?”

  “I do. See you then.”

  I was nowhere near where I had to be, so I got off FDR drive, and shot to Second Avenue. The deli was on Madison Avenue, about fifteen minutes away without traffic. I had a feeling I was going to run into some. I always ran into traffic when I couldn’t afford to. I guess everyone did. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t leave Jacob, my newfound ally, waiting.

  Jacob was sitting at the counter by the window when I got there. He had a sandwich sitting in front of him. It looked good, a Bindy special, something I had ordered from that deli many times. A Bindy special was a chicken cutlet hero, with cheese, crispy bacon, and drowned in Russian dressing. Healthy? Absolutely not. Good? You bet your ass. And it was better than it sounds, trust me. Jacob seemed to enjoy it, taking a hearty bite as I walked in.

  “Hey,” I said, catching him mid-bite.

  “Good to see you,” Jacob replied in a muffled tone. He continued munching. He was the sort of person that didn’t keep their mouth closed when they ate. I think this is one of the most annoying things any human can do. The last thing I want to hear is someone chomping like a cow. The funniest thing about it is the people who are guilty of this crime are never aware of it, and anyone I brought it up to vehemently denied it.

  I didn’t see the need to bring it up to Jacob who was there to help me out. But it did bother the crap out of me.

  “Thanks for meeting me. I really have no one else to turn to.” “You sound desperate.”

  “I am.” I was.