Good Cop Bad Cop (A James Harris Series Book 1)

by Richard Nesbitt

  The woman spoke again with a low, hushed voice that could not be overheard. Her manner suggested a grave situation had arisen. She then backed away from the podium. Looking over at Sylvia’s bodyguards, the aide gestured to them with a low hand sweep. They approached the D.A.

  Silvia Blumquist turned back towards the crowd and cleared her throat. She looked troubled as she leaned into the microphone.

  “I’m-I’m very sorry,” she spoke softly. “I’m afraid I must postpone this press conference.”

  A mumble arose from through the gathering.

  “What’s going on, Sylvia?” An older reporter asked. It sounded like a question one concerned friend would ask another.

  “I’m not sure. But I’m being told that an extremely urgent matter has arisen. I’m sorry.” The D.A. stammered. “I will reschedule as soon as possible.”

  Her bodyguards and aides suddenly surrounded her and she was walked down the hallway. They entered her office and the large French doors were closed. It was over just like that.

  “Jesus Christ, Bob,” Christi spoke to her companion. “What the hell just happened?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I suppose they would have told us if the city was under attack again.”

  “Well that was just bizarre. What the hell do I tell my editor?”

  “Tell him the truth, you never know, this could be big.”

  “For somebody’s sake, it had better be important,” Christi said. “She looked pissed. What in the world do you think is going on?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest clue.”

  The two stood silently for a moment and then joined the crowd of people making for the exit.

  “Do you want to share a cab back downtown?” Bob asked.

  “Yeah…that’ll give us time to catch up.”

  Christi and Bob joined the slow moving mass of people filing out of City Hall. They had only traveled a few feet when a woman’s anguished scream knifed through the air. It was a deep and tortured cry that cut through the crowd instantly silencing all. Every person present turned as one and, with startled expressions, stared down the hallway to the D.A.’s office door. Nobody moved.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  6

  Harris left the sidewalk and took the precinct steps two at a time as was his habit. He was the type of man who had to constantly be moving, as if trying to keep up with his very life force. Walking through the precinct doors he noticed the change immediately. There was a low buzz, lots of hushed conversations and a general commotion. He took a quick right and, ignoring the elevators, entered a stairway and bounded up to the second floor. Opening the glass door leading into the second floor offices, he noticed that it was no different here. People were congregated in larger numbers than usual and others scurried about, stopping at desks to offer a quick point of view.

  Harris walked to his desk and removed his jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. He sat. One of his colleagues hurried towards him with a purpose. He placed both hands on Harris’ desk and leaned forward to keep the conversation personal.

  “So what do you think?” He asked.

  “About what?”

  “What the hell do you mean about what? The fucking Captain looks like he just shit a cuff link. He’s been running up and down the stairs for the last hour and the Commissioner is here.”

  “Gerland is here?” Harris asked, taking particular notice of that fact.

  “Yeah and he’s got his whole entourage with him down in the war room. A fucking marching band doesn’t have as much brass running around as we do today.”

  “No shit? Well I just got here.”

  “Then you’re late to the party, pal.”

  “I guess so,” Harris said as he stood and pushed his chair back. “Excuse me.”

  Harris walked between the desks and headed towards his captains office. Just as he approached the door, Captain Shannon walked out and hurried past without noticing him.

  “Hey Cap, what’s going on?” He asked.

  The man looked under duress and kept walking. He skirted the throng of cops milling around the water cooler, pushed through the glass doors and hustled down the stairs.

  Harris turned and surveyed the office again. Cops gossip more than old women, he thought. He doubted whether any of these guys had the straight dope.

  Harris walked back to his desk and without sitting, grabbed the phone from its cradle. He punched in a number and waited.

  “Ted Moore.”

  “Hey Teddy, it’s Jim.”

  “Hey man, how’s it hanging? What’s going on?” The man asked with joviality.

  “I was just going to ask you the same thing. We have a lot of big shots running around the precinct and nobody seems to know what’s up. Any buzz around that rag you call a newspaper?”

  “Not sure...maybe?” The man answered ignoring the playful jab. “Didn’t you hear what went down at the D.A.’s press conference today?”

  “No.”

  The reporter filled him in on what had transpired.

  “Damn,” Harris muttered. “Blumquist got rattled?”

  “Yup, something knocked her off her perch. Nobody’s talking but it’s got to be something big for her to react the way she did.”

  There was a lot of commotion at the top of the stairs and Harris watched as a bunch of cops backed up and cleared the way. Two large men in dark suits appeared and behind them Captain Shannon and Commissioner Gerland followed.

  “I gotta run, Ted. Thanks.” Harris spoke and placed the phone down.

  As the group cleared the top of the stairs a disheveled woman came into view and everybody in the room recognized the District Attorney. She walked alongside Mayor Clark and behind them were more senior ranking police officers. The large gathering walked through the room with purpose and as they passed, Harris shot a quizzical look to his Captain. This time the man acknowledged him and locking eyes briefly, gave him an almost unnoticeable head shake.

  The large group entered Captain Shannon’s office and the door closed with a bang.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  7

  Harris parked his car in the usual lot and gave a nod to the attendant. The attendant returned the greeting with a friendly wave. As was standard fare, the lot did not charge him because they wanted his car here. The street scum that wandered these neighborhoods always steered clear of any involvement with the police, and that went double for Harris. The thugs and criminals of uptown Manhattan not only knew Harris by sight, they also knew what he drove.

  “Go shoot a couple of those motherless junkies for me, Jimmy,” the man yelled across the lot with a laugh.

  “Just for you, Tony,” he answered, a wry smile on his face. “But I’m only allowed to wound them. Too much paperwork the other way.”

  “All right then, good enough,” the man answered in his thick New York accent.

  Both men laughed as Harris exited the parking lot and headed north.

  He was working a new case that entailed several small scale pushers setting up their own meth distribution ring. This type of move inevitably led to murders, drive-bys and a lot of gang activity. Personally, Harris couldn’t be happier when the scumbags blew each other away, however, the innocent lives that sometimes wandered into the crossfire was unacceptable.

  Harris walked up Amsterdam Avenue towards West 141st Street. He was told by a source that he could locate a thief named Julius Jefferson, street name Double J, at the Sugar Hill Harlem Inn. The man never stayed in one place for very long so it was imperative that he find this guy today. Trails died quickly in this fast paced environment and he knew the clock was ticking.

  Harris slowed as he came to within a block of the hotel. He approached a pair of young boys who were throwing a football.

  “Hey,” he called to the boys. “Who wants to make a five spot?”

  Both boys approached him. They looked at him with unmasked suspicion, sizing him up.

  “Awww, you 5-0, man,” the smaller of the
boys said.

  “Naaaah, little man. I ain’t police. I’m just trying to find a dude.”

  “Who you trying to find?”

  “Double J,” Harris answered. “You know him?”

  The boys exchanged looks.

  “No way, man, never heard of him,” the older boy spoke. “Why you trying to find him?”

  “No reason,” Harris continued. “I just need to find him.”

  “Well like I said, never heard of him.”

  The boys turned and began to walk away.

  “Come on now…everybody knows Double J around here,” Harris spoke to their backs as they retreated. “I’ll give you ten dollars for an address. A cell phone number…anything.”

  “Yo man, you ain’t for real,” The older boy replied, turning his head to shoot Harris a sour look.

  Harris remained silent and watched them walk to the end of the block. As he suspected, they turned right and, giving Harris one last quick glance, headed down the cross street towards the seedy hotel.

  As soon as they were out of sight Harris quickly doubled back and hurried east on W 140th Street. He made a quick left down a side alley and then a right into the alley behind the hotel. Positioning himself behind a dumpster he waited and watched. It wasn’t two minutes later that he saw a man climb through a 4th floor window of the hotel and quickly make his way down the fire escape. The man was not wasting any time and went hand over hand down the final rungs that hung from the second floor of the fire escape. He dropped and landed softly. Turning quickly to his right he ran directly into the arms of Harris with a thud. Startled, the man took a wild swing. Ducking it easily, Harris came up with a blinding uppercut which caught the man directly on the chin, driving him back against the brick wall. He started to slide towards the ground when Harris grabbed him under the armpits and hoisted him to his feet, pressing him firmly against the wall.

  “Double J! What’s happening, my man?” Harris spoke with exuberance. He smiled at the man.

  “Awwwwww, motherfucker,” the man exclaimed loudly recognizing Harris. He held his chin and massaged his jaw. “Yo man, what the fuck!? This shit ain’t cool!”

  “What ain’t cool?” Harris asked, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Ain’t no reason for you to clip me like that. I oughta fuck you up.”

  Harris made a show of looking around. He threw his hands up and gestured to the lonely alley.

  “There’s nobody here. We are all alone, Double J. You do what you gotta do.”

  The man remained silent and stared at him defiantly.

  “I mean, you did take a swing at me,” Harris continued. “That’s assault on a police officer and with your record it would be enough to put you away for at least a year. You want to go that route?”

  Double J looked to the left and then the right. He locked eyes with Harris and weighed his options. Both men said nothing for a full ten seconds.

  “Man, I didn’t know it was you when I swung,” Double J finally answered. “I thought I was getting jacked.”

  “I understand. But what I’m having trouble figuring out is why you would leave a hotel by the fire escape? I know they make you pay in advance so I don’t think you were trying to skip out on the bill. What’s the deal with that?”

  “Man it’s just easier sometimes, ya know? I never know what fool’s going to be waiting for me out front.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Harris spoke with amusement. “There sure are a lot of fools around here.”

  The two men stared at each other. Double J had a desperate, troubled gleam in his eye. Harris, a confident smile, studied the thug as a wolf would its prey.

  “Do you think I’m a fool?” Harris asked, breaking the silence.

  “Man, I didn’t say you was a fool.” Double J shook his head and looked to the ground. “Why you sweating me?”

  “I just need to ask you a few questions, Julius. And your first inclination is going to be to lie to me. Don’t.”

  “Questions? Man, if I ain’t under arrest for something then you can kiss my black ass.” Double J said harshly giving him a hard look.

  Harris immediately threw a vicious, back handed slap that rang through the narrow alley like a small firecracker. Double J grabbed his face and when he did Harris stepped in with a hard punch to the man’s mid-section. The thug doubled over and dropped to one knee. He fought for breath.

  “This is not the way I wanted this to go down,” Harris spoke calmly.

  “Man, fuck you!” Double J yelled as he gasped for breath.

  A shoe caught him in the side of his ribs and the man fell to the ground and wailed in pain. He clutched his side and rocked back and forth in agony.

  An alley door opened twenty feet away and an Asian man poked his head through and locked eyes with Harris. Harris simply pointed back inside the building and the door closed as quickly as it had opened.

  “You fenced some stolen chains to a dude. This particular genius was arrested when he tried to sell them to a pawn shop. When the cops busted him he also had some of that new crank that’s been springing up lately. You know the shit I’m talking about?”

  “I don’t know a GODDAMN thing!” Double J screamed from the ground. He looked up at Harris with hatred in his eyes.

  “Really? Well, the guy sure knew you. He said you provided him with the swag and the meth. You dealing now, Julius?”

  “Man, I told you, arrest me or kiss my black ass!”

  Harris shook his head.

  “Wrong answer,” he replied.

  He placed a well aimed snap kick to the man’s groin. It landed with a meaty thud which was followed by a loud howl of pain. Harris walked slowly around the man who was now clutching his private parts. With an air of calm he placed his custom rubber soled shoe on the back of the man’s neck and applied pressure.

  “I’m going to ask you again and this time, please take note that I’m starting to get upset.”

  “Wait a second, man!” Julius screamed, fear wrapped in a desperate voice. “I ain’t dealing! I ain’t never been about that!”

  “Now that I believe,” Harris answered. “You aren’t smart enough.”

  He knelt behind the man and continued.

  “But you got that shit somewhere and I need to know where.”

  “Man, just go ahead and bust me. I got rights you know!”

  “Yeah, J.J., you got rights, but not until I bring you in. Until then you’re just another scumbag who took a swing at a cop and got what was coming to him.”

  “Goddamn, you a cold motherfucker,” Double J spoke in a rapid short breath.

  “Not really. I’m actually a pretty nice guy. Ask anybody. I just don’t have time for this shit.” Harris stood up and walked back around to face the prone man. “Julius, I don’t give a fuck about the gold chains. I let the beat cops worry about that petty shit. And I don’t care if you sold that dude a dime bag. I want the supplier. I will let you walk away right now but I need a name.”

  Double J lay still. He closed his eyes and contemplated his situation.

  “Come on now,” Harris continued. “You give me a name and I’m gone.”

  “Man, they’ll kill me.”

  “Maybe if they found out you talked but I don’t work that way and you know it. Give me the name.”

  “All I know is the guy I scored it from. I don’t know the chain of command. I just know the street not the management.”

  “I’m listening, Julius.”

  Double J squeezed his eyes shut and lay in silence.

  “Do I really have to start again?” Harris asked with feigned exasperation.

  Several seconds passed in silence.

  “Really?” Harris repeated.

  “Man…go up to Flyboy Park and find a dude named Pee-Wee. I got the shit from him.”

  Wright Brothers Park, Harris thought. Tough area to get into without the neighborhood gangs being alerted. The park was littered with dealers, hookers and the occasional body.

  “Is
this straight dope, Julius? Because if you are lying to me I will find you again, and this time I won’t be in such a good mood.”

  “Pee-Wee’s the guy. And if you tell them I snitched, the only place you’ll find me again is in the Hudson, man.”

  Harris paused. He looked at the man, sizing up whether he’d been told the truth. Finally he nodded his head.

  “Well all right then. You see how easy it is to be a good citizen?” Harris said with a happy smile. “Here let me help you up.” He offered a hand.

  “Yo man, get away from me! The last thing I need is for people to see me taking your cracker ass hand.”

  Double J rose to his feet and staggered back half a step. He clutched at his side.

  “Understood, Julius. I’m even going to let that little racial slur slide,” Harris replied. He folded his arms across his chest and looked sternly at the man as a parent would a misbehaving child. “Now you stop doing bad shit, Double J. Turn over a new leaf and become a productive member of society. I don’t want to have to have any more of these conversations with you.”

  “Can I go?”

  “Of course,” Harris said. “Who’s stopping you?”

  With that, Double J turned and, still holding his side, hustled down the alley as quickly as he could. Harris turned and walked the other way. He couldn’t visit Wright Brothers Park today, he thought. That had to be planned out much as a military operation would. He might even need back-up.

  Harris turned onto Amsterdam Avenue again and made his way back to the car lot. He had a name. Pee-Wee. All in all, it was a good days work.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  8

  A new day was dawning and sunlight streamed through the cracks in the venetian blinds. It spilled onto the desk of Deputy Commissioner Alan Dinkins who was in a particularly foul mood and in dire need of a good cup of coffee. He couldn’t stomach the swill they served in the break room and depended on one of his many lackeys to bring him a fresh cup of Seattle’s finest each morning.