Brooklyn Bounce

by Andrew G. Nelson

  “Was the bed uncomfortable?” Hutch asked with a concerned look.

  “Oh, no, the bed was fine, I was just thinking of Alex.”

  “Hmmm, I’m glad that I’m not the only one,” Hutch replied.

  “Even when she’s not around, she’s still around,” Maguire said.

  “So does that mean you’re worried about her too?”

  “It’s Alex,” Maguire said softly. “I’m always worried about her.”

  “Are you worried that something happened to her or are you worried that we won’t find her?”

  “I don’t know,” Maguire replied, “and I think it’s that uncertainty that is what’s bothering me.”

  “Clearly you know her better than I do,” Hutch said. “Has she ever done anything like this before? I mean is this like her?”

  Maguire picked up the coffee cup in front of him and took a drink, as he contemplated the question.

  He had known Alex, both professionally and personally, for almost twenty years. During that entire time the only thing he was truly certain of was that she was enigmatic. He would have liked to have been able to give a better answer, but it was the closest thing to the truth he could come up with. To say that she tended to keep things close to the vest would have been a huge understatement. Hell, after all this time, he’d only recently learned that she had feelings for him.

  His mind went back to the first day that he had met the young, blonde haired cop in the Seven-Three. He’d watched her arrive in her jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled up in a ponytail, and his first thought was that she was there to file a police report. She looked so out of place to him; a fragile looking girl from the suburbs trapped inside the inner-city, but it didn’t take long to realize that it was all just a façade. When she returned in uniform a few moments later, the medals above her shield told a different story. Behind the beauty beat the heart of a tough-as-nails cop.

  Maguire might have been the command’s newest rookie, but his past experience had garnered him a healthy amount of respect from the other cops, everyone that was except for his new partner. He vividly recalled their first tour together. The patrol supervisor had just given them their assignment and they’d turned out for the four to twelve shift on a warm summer’s night in July. Without saying a word to him, she’d turned and walked out the back door; heading to their radio car, which was parked in the lot.

  “Don’t touch the radio,” she said coolly, from behind the wheel of the beat up Ford Crown Victoria, as he got in.

  “Okay,” he replied.

  “All you need to do is look, listen and, unless you see a gun, keep your mouth shut,” she said, as they pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto Boyland Street. “Anything else and I will let you know what to do.”

  “Aye-aye,” he replied, unsure what to make of the whole thing.

  Alex grabbed the radio off the dashboard. “Three Adam to Central, show us 62 Administrative for a few.”

  “10-4, Three Adam,” the dispatcher replied. “Advise when 98.”

  Two minutes later Alex pulled up to a Dunkin’ Donuts.

  “Large black coffee,” she said, as she lit up her cigarette. “Get yourself something if you want.”

  “That’s very magnanimous of you,” he said gruffly, as he turned and headed inside.

  A few moments later he returned to the RMP, handing her the coffee, and she pulled away from the curb. He stared out the window, taking in his new surroundings, as they made their way down Rockaway Ave. The sidewalks were bustling with people, but there was also an uneasiness to the entire scene.

  Suddenly; the car crossed over the double yellow line and mounted the sidewalk, coming to a stop just outside the Brownsville Houses.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes darting back and forth, as he scanned the scene; searching for some missed threat.

  “We’re going sightseeing,” she replied, as she got out of the car, grabbing her radio and the Styrofoam cup. “Don’t forget your coffee.”

  Sightseeing? he thought. Are you fucking serious?

  Almost immediately he could feel his body tense up, every one of his senses amped up to the max, as they made their way down the walkway; past a throng of people gathered outside.

  Maguire could feel their eyes on him; a mix of suspicion and contempt on their faces. It was a scene that he was intimately familiar with, but one that he had only previously experienced in foreign countries. He wondered if his partner even realized that they were not welcome here.

  Without warning she veered off and entered one of the buildings. Maguire followed her inside, looking backward occasionally and checking their six, as she made her way toward the stairwell door.

  A powerful, damp mustiness hung in the air of the dimly lit corridor. A mélange of odors, some of them human in origin, fought to overwhelm his senses, as they cautiously made their way up to the rooftop. There was a sense of relief when she opened the rooftop door and they stepped out into the fresh air.

  He watched as Alex walked around, checking to make sure that they were alone. Maguire joined her, noting the broken bottles, the five gallon buckets used as make-shift chairs and the glistening, empty brass ammo casings that littered the roof.

  When she was done she walked over to the parapet and leaned on the edge, as she sipped on her coffee.

  “Welcome to Brooklyn North, rookie,” she said, waving her hand out in front of her with a flourish. “The first thing you need to do is take all that social science crap they spoon fed you in the academy and toss it all in the shitter, because none of it matters out here; where anything and everything can and will try to kill you if you’re not careful.”

  “You missed your calling,” he said. “You should write travel brochures.”

  Alex ignored the jab, as she fished the pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one up.

  “Let me ask you a question, rookie,” she said, after a few minutes. “What don’t you see out there?”

  Maguire glanced around at the urban sprawl below him. The question was much too vague to warrant a serious reply.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “Why don’t you tell me, partner.”

  “Water,” she replied. “There’s no fucking water for as far as the eye can see, which means all that Navy SEAL hero bullshit doesn’t count for jack-shit out here.”

  As he watched, she removed her sunglasses and looked over at him, as if she was sizing him up.

  “Let me ask you another question,” she said. “What do you see out there?”

  Maguire scanned the scene below him.

  “Buildings, cars, people,” he replied.

  “Tell me about the people,” she said.

  “I get the feeling that they don’t like us very much,” he replied, “or at the very least they don’t trust us.”

  “Smart boy,” she replied cockily. “The truth is that about seventy-five percent of the people out there don’t like you and the remaining twenty-five percent really don’t like you. What you have to do is learn to differentiate between the two.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo,” he said.

  “Yeah, but you’re not a soldier anymore, you’re a cop,” she replied. “Things just became a whole lot less cut and dry. There’s no fog of war here for you to fall back on. Those dickheads in 1PP expect you to know the difference between an airsoft pistol and a real one on a moonless night. They also expect you to be able to make that distinction in some back alley, while your heart is beating a mile a minute, after chasing some thug, who has a rap sheet a mile long, for three blocks, who then suddenly turns on you. If you shoot first and you’re wrong, the folks across the river will hang you out to dry in a heartbeat. If you shoot second and you’re right, they bury you and give your momma a nice flag; then they hire someone to replace you at a lower salary.”

  She took a drag on her cigarette and returned back to looking down at the street below them.

  “The folks down there don’t care about you,�
�� she continued. “They’ve been conditioned over decades to believe that you’re nothing more than another outsider sent here to oppress them.”

  “Sounds a lot like some of the places I’ve been too,” he replied.

  “Yeah, but that was some ass-backward village in the heart of Whogivesafuckistan,” she said dryly. “This is the major city in America and you would think that things would be different. For the most part we share the same language and the same history, but for the better part of six decades all the community activists and store-front preaching charlatans have been selling these folks a tale that we are the enemy.”

  “I guess that’s a global affliction.”

  “The truly sad thing is that they couldn’t give a rat’s ass less about the people down there,” Alex replied. “They just sow the seeds of discontent in order to line their own pockets. There’s no money to be made in actually fixing problems and most of these folks don’t want to be lectured about personal responsibility. So they create a monster to blame it all on and that’s us.”

  “Lovely,” Maguire said quietly.

  “Truth is that no one wants you here, but they also know that they need you and for that fact they resent you. The enemy is at the gates and you are the last line of defense for a populace who, in many ways, have been taught to believe you are a bigger threat to them. It makes it very hard to work under those conditions and it is very easy to grow bitter.”

  Alex took a long drag on the cigarette and proceeded to blow several smoke rings into the air.

  “You have someone waiting for you at home?” she asked, when she was finished.

  “No.”

  “Good,” she said. “Relationships and police work don’t mix. There will be days when you sit in your car after the tour is over and wonder what the hell just happened. When you had to comfort some sobbing mother, who’s six year old was just killed by a bullet intended for baby-daddy number five, and then watch as one of the vaunted reverends comes out of the woodwork to blame the police for not doing more. The very same ones that only a week ago were blaming the police for locking up too many in the community. On those days it’s much better to go get yourself a drink instead of going home and listening to some pathetic bullshit sob-story on why little Johnny isn’t being treated special at school.”

  “Is this where I’m supposed to quit?” he asked.

  Alex turned around to face him. Her face was completely neutral Maguire surmised that she’d be a bitch to play poker against. She dropped the cigarette onto the rooftop and crushed it beneath her boot.

  “Quit, stay, I really don’t fucking care what you do, rookie. All that matters to me is that when I go through a door that you are with me and that you have my back.”

  “Fair enough,” he replied.

  “Then we’re good,” she replied, as she turned and headed toward the door. “For now.”

  Maguire shook his head and laughed, as the memory faded away.

  On the short list of people he truly respected, Alex was at the very top. For all of her shortcomings, she was a damn good cop. He had hoped that coming up here would be the opportunity she needed to put the past behind her and finally get her life back on track.

  Had he been wrong?

  “No,” he finally said, in response to Hutch’s question. “Alex has never done anything like this before.”

  “Anything like what?” Antonucci asked, as he walked into the kitchen.

  “You’re up early,” Maguire replied.

  “How can a person sleep,” he remarked, as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “There’s more chatting going on here than on a Sunday morning at my Nonna’s house.”

  “Hutch was just asking if Alex had ever done something like this before and I told him no,” Maguire explained.

  “Then I suggest we suit up and go find her,” Antonucci replied.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “Rise and shine,” Susan said, as she pulled the hood from Alex’s head.

  Alex opened her eyes gingerly, giving the impression she’d just woken up when in reality she’d been awake for a while. She’d come to terms with the fact that time was not her friend and she used every available moment to not only formulate her plan of attack, but to listen for anything that might possibly be useful to her in doing so.

  Susan removed the gag and set it on the bed next to her.

  “Mmmmmm,” she said groggily, glancing around the room and then back at Susan. “You’re still here? I’m shocked.”

  “Why’s that?” Susan asked, as she sat down in the chair.

  “Well, after last night’s fifteen-rounder I expected someone else to be doing my morning wake-up call.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Susan replied, as she retrieved a pocket knife from the jean shorts she was wearing and began cutting off slices of an apple. “Nothing but a passionate lover’s quarrel, but we are all good now so it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  “For now,” Alex said. “So where is your psychotic girlfriend?”

  “Out for her morning walk,” Susan said, ignoring the verbal jab. “It’s her thinking time.”

  “Aw, something else she doesn’t share with you.”

  “Fuck off,” Susan said angrily. “God, I can’t wait till you die.”

  “Well, like you said before, it looks like you’re stuck with me.”

  “For now,” she said, with a sarcastic smile.

  “So much hate and yet here you are spending alone time with little old me. I’m honored.”

  “Whatever,” Susan replied, taking one of the slivers she had cut and popping it in her mouth.

  “Obviously you’re here for a reason.”

  “Maybe I’m just trying to mentally capture the real you, you know, before you leave this world.”

  “That’s pretty funny,” Alex said. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Oh yeah?” Susan asked. “And why is that?”

  “Well, it’s just that Tatiana and I were getting so close to one another last night that I began to wonder how much longer you were gonna stick around. I imagine it’s going to get a bit awkward for you.”

  “Last night?” she asked, as she picked up the glass of water from the table next to the chair and took a sip. “What about last night?”

  Alex smiled inwardly.

  Susan had tried to sound as casual as possible in her question, and to the average person it would have been, but to a trained investigator it was readily apparent that it was forced. For the second time she had managed to successfully bait the young woman.

  “She didn’t tell you?” Alex replied.

  “Tell me what?”

  Time paused, as Alex and the young woman stared at each other.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  An attractive, middle-aged woman, with long brown hair, sat behind the counter of Junior’s Bait & Tackle, reading an outdoors magazine, as the three men walked into the store.

  An unseen radio played the local country music station and Maguire stifled a chuckle, as he looked at the tight pink tee shirt the woman was wearing that bore the legend ‘Master Baiter’ on the front.

  “Good morning,” she said, closing the periodical and slipping it under the counter. “How can I help New Hampshire’s Finest?”

  “We were hoping to speak to the owner,” Hutch replied.

  “You are,” she said.

  “You’re Junior?” Hutch asked.

  “Marketing: 101, sugar,” the woman replied, flashing him a smile. “Lacy’s Bait & Tackle just doesn’t have the same ring to it. So I decided to name it after my ex. I figured it was the only way I’d ever make any money off of the lousy sonofabitch.”

  “That makes perfect sense,” Hutch said, “in a very odd sort of way.”

  “Well, salesmen don’t try to screw you over when they think a man runs the operation, but I don’t think you came in to learn business secrets from me, and these two certainly ain’t dressed for fishing, so do I need to call
my lawyer?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Hutch replied. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be able to help us out.”

  “What do you boys need?”

  Hutch turned to look back at Maguire and Antonucci, who stepped up to the counter.

  “I’m Detective Antonucci, ma’am. We’re investigating a missing person.”

  “Oh dear Lord,” she said, eyeing him closely. “You’re not from around here.”

  “No, ma’am,” Antonucci replied. “New York City.”

  “Like NYPD, New York City?”

  “Exactly,” he replied.

  “Oh my God,” she replied, her eyes wide with excitement, “and you’re investigating something up here?”

  “Yes,” he replied, moving in closer, “but it’s very sensitive, so I would really appreciate it if you would keep what we discuss as a private matter.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” she replied, nodding her head, “mum’s the word.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I was wondering if your camera system was operational.”

  “Yes it is,” she replied.

  “How long does it record for?”

  “About two weeks, I think.”

  “Do you still have the recording for the past few days?”

  “Yeah, you want to take a look?”

  “Yes,” Antonucci replied. “I really would.”

  “Well, then follow me,” the woman replied.

  “Hey, Ang, we’re gonna go and grab some coffee,” Maguire said.

  “No problem, boss,” he replied. “I’ll call you when I’m done or if I find out anything.”

  “The diner up the road is open,” the woman said. “Maggie May serves a great breakfast if you boys are hungry.”

  “Thanks,” Hutch replied. “We’ll take a walk over there.”

  “You want anything, Ang?” Maguire asked.

  “Coffee is fine,” he replied, as he followed Lacy into the back of the store.

  A moment later they entered a small office. Lacy sat down at the desk and began tapping the keys on the computer’s keyboard.

  “I’ll get you into the system,” she said, as she scanned the monitor, “and show you how to select the cameras.”