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

by Richard Nesbitt

  “So you find another job! I hate the goddamn police force anyway!” She screamed.

  Harris let out a long breath of air. He looked into Bonnie’s face as the truth finally emerged. She locked eyes with him and he allowed the silence to penetrate the small room. He held his lips tight and nodded slowly.

  “So there it is.”

  “Yeah!” She snapped. “There it is!”

  “Well at least you finally said it.”

  The two remained silent for a long moment. And then Bonnie’s face softened as she turned and headed towards the door.

  “Don’t walk away,” Harris said.

  “Me?” she replied, turning back to face him. “You walked away a long time ago. You care more about fighting lowlifes than you do your own family. You talk a big game but the truth is you put me second. You put Danny second. We’re just the rear echelon where you come to rest up from battle.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No Jimmy, it’s not. Without a bad guy to pursue you don’t feel whole. And no matter how hard I try to be the thing that makes you happy, I can’t do it.”

  “So I take my job seriously! So what?! That doesn’t mean I don’t care about my family!”

  “Oh I know you care about us. I know that. We’re just not your first priority.”

  “That’s bullshit!”

  “And you want the truth? When you told me about the suspension I wasn’t really upset. I pretended for you. Because I mean it, I hate the police force. I hate being second fiddle to your goddamn career.”

  “Stop.”

  “I’m glad you’re suspended. I hope you lose your job. I hope I never have to watch you walk out that door again to go to your mistress.”

  “That is crazy. I love you.”

  “You love me. Sure. But you love the force more. And it’s obvious to everybody but you.”

  Bonnie looked down to the floor. It was as if she’d aged five years in the space of their short conversation. The color drained from her face and she looked tired. She had come out of the dark and finally accepted the reality that she’d been hiding from. She looked up again and into the troubled face of her husband.

  “Jimmy, I love you. But I think losing this life might be the only thing that saves our marriage.”

  Harris stared into her eyes and said nothing.

  “So think about that,” she added.

  Bonnie turned and left the room. Lt. James Harris stood rooted in place. He stared at the empty door frame long after he heard the door to their bedroom close softly.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  15

  Christi knew what she was doing could get her into trouble. She also knew that if she didn’t make something happen she would be stuck writing human interest stories forever. She paused to check herself out in one of the countless mirrors at Pumped, one of the city’s busiest gyms. Looking at her reflection, Christi grimaced. She hated how she was dressed but she knew she had to look the part.

  The gym manager had let her in without a membership because after showing off her press pass she had lied to the man and told him that she was doing a piece on fitness in the city and they’d receive some great publicity. She promised the man that she would not bother his patrons, just talk to a few of them and get their input on what a great gym this was. It was too easy.

  She worked her way through the busy place which was filled with the sounds of people trying to better themselves. Rock music was being piped through the gyms many speakers as weights clinked and slammed, treadmills whirred and men grunted with exertion. The women in the club all primped and preened and vied for attention as they lifted baby weights or did the endless elliptical walk. Christi spotted the man she was looking for and tried to appear casual as she made her way over to where he was lifting.

  Harris lay on the bench and reaching upwards, grabbed the bar. He pushed up and lifted the weight off of the safety arms and then began a rigorous and fast paced bench press. Counting 15 repetitions, he placed the weights back on their arms and slid out from underneath the machine.

  Grabbing a white, cotton towel from a small table, he wiped the sweat from his face and then lifted a protein drink from the same table and took a long pull.

  “How much is that?” A feminine voice spoke behind him.

  Harris turned to see a blonde in form fitting spandex workout shorts and an NYU sweatshirt. She had soft green eyes and fair skin. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail and she smiled at him with dazzling white teeth and full, red lips.

  “I’m sorry,” Harris replied. “What?”

  “How much weight is that?” Christi asked again.

  “Oh. 225 lbs.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot for fifteen reps.”

  “You were counting?” Harris asked, with an inquisitive smile.

  The young reporter smiled and cast her eyes momentarily downward. She blushed slightly.

  “Sorry, not trying to be nosy. I guess it’s just in my nature.”

  Harris heard his phone buzz and reaching over, picked it up and checked the screen. It was a text from Bonnie asking him if he’d pick up Danny later that afternoon. He wondered where she was going that she couldn’t get to their son from his soccer practice. He placed the phone back down without responding to her question.

  “Sorry,” Christi spoke. “I hope I’m not disturbing your work out. Or anything else?” She glanced down at his phone.

  Harris surveyed the woman and noticed that she had no sweat stains on her clothing. Her hair looked as if it had just been brushed and put in a pony tail and her make-up was fresh.

  “Why do I have the feeling that this is not a chance meeting?” He asked the smile absent from his face.

  “Well,” she began slowly. “To be honest with you I’ve wanted to meet you for some time now. Christi Sellinger.” She extended her hand.

  Harris took her hand and could not help but notice how soft it was. Despite himself he held the handshake just a moment too long.

  “Okay. And do I need to tell you who I am?”

  “No, Lieutenant Harris, I know who you are.”

  “Shit,” he said, turning back, reaching for his protein shake. “I should have known.”

  “Should have known what?”

  “Well, let’s just say that I don’t attract as many women as I used to. Certainly not many who look like you. So what news outlet do you work for?” He turned back to face her, drink in hand. A slight scowl had replaced the earlier smile.

  “The New York Gazette. And before you take off into the locker room where I can’t follow you let me just say that I’ve been a fan of yours for a long time.”

  “A fan?”

  “Why yes,” she said cocking her head slightly and smiling at him. “A fan. I guess I was raised a little old school and I don’t have a lot of sympathy for criminals either.”

  “Really?” Harris replied. “So you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

  “That’s not what I said, but yes. To a certain extent I think I know what kind of man you are.”

  “And that would be?”

  “No nonsense. You do what has to be done.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I read your file,” she answered. “And I know about your war record.”

  At this Harris’ face turned cold. He glared at the young woman. The war was a subject he discussed with nobody.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  Christi bristled and knew she had crossed a line. She continued cautiously.

  “I want to be on your side. I heard about the suspension and for what it’s worth, I think you’re getting screwed.”

  “It’s worth nothing.”

  Christie felt the anger coming from the man. She looked at his eyes, blue and steely. They were the eyes of a man who had seen a lot of hard things. It took a special breed to endure both a war and the streets of New York and handle it all with confidence and self assuredness. Although he was over ten years her senior, he w
as in better shape than most men her age. There was nothing fake about James Harris. He was the genuine article.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Did you think tailing somebody and digging up private information about them is a way to endear them to you?”

  “Look, I’m a reporter and to be honest with you, I’ve always wanted to interview you, to get your side of the story.”

  “My side of the story doesn’t matter,” Harris said matter of factly.

  “But it does. To a lot of people.”

  “Bullshit. And even if I did talk to you, do you really think I can just reveal secrets of the NYPD? Exactly what did you think I was going to tell you?”

  “I didn’t know the police force was allowed to have secrets,” Christi replied. “Aren’t you guys a public organization funded with tax payer dollars?”

  “There are rules regarding sensitive information.”

  “Since when do you care about rules?”

  Harris glared at her. He wanted to tell her to go to hell but there was something in those eyes.

  “Look lady,” Harris spoke. “I have no idea what you want from me but I don’t do interviews. I’m not a rock star.”

  “It’s Christi,” she said. “And to me you are a rock star. I think you’ve had an incredible career and I’m interested in the truth.”

  “The truth?” Harris laughed. “When has a reporter ever given a shit about that?”

  “Don’t you want to set the record straight on a few matters?”

  “No.”

  Christi stared at him. How could she respond to that?

  “Have a coffee with me,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

  “A coffee?”

  “Yes, a coffee. I promise you will be in no danger and I won’t try to pry any top secret information out of you,” She laughed softly, closing the net.

  Harris allowed his eyes to take a full inventory of her body. He took her in slowly this time knowing full well that she was using her feminine assets to get to him. Well, if that’s the way she wanted to play it, then he would oblige. Against her will, Christi felt a rush of excitement as he blatantly examined her without any excuses or apologies.

  “Sorry, Cathy,” Harris finally spoke, smiling into her soft green eyes. “Not interested.”

  With that he grabbed his phone and his towel and turning his back to her, walked towards the locker room.

  The pretty reporter stood stunned, eyes wide with shock. This was not the outcome she had expected.

  “It’s Christi,” she called after him.

  Harris ignored her but he couldn’t help smiling as he walked away.

  “Shit,” she muttered under her breath as she felt her ego take a hard punch to the mid-section. Christi made eye contact with an older woman on a treadmill who stared at her with an amused grin. She shot the woman a sarcastic smile and, mustering what little pride she felt at the moment, headed for the exit.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  16

  Lieutenants Danforth and Mullin sat in two overstuffed, leather chairs in front and to the right side of District Attorney Blumquist’s desk. To the front and left side sat FBI agents Forsburg and Spivey. The four men sat quietly and waited as Sylvia poured through their combined reports. The D.A.’s face was etched with worry lines and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.

  She stopped reading and looked up from the documents. Slowly, she scanned each man’s face, a look of utter contempt on her face.

  “Is this a goddamn joke?” She spoke, finally breaking the silence.

  Neither man said a word.

  “I asked you a question,” she spat, her face contorted with anger.

  “Ma’am,” Mullin lead the response. “I understand how upset you are and-”

  “You don’t understand a goddamn thing!” The D.A. screamed, interrupting the man. Her neck muscles bulged with the effort. “How dare you assume to know how I feel, you son of a bitch?!”

  The men all stared at her in silence. Perhaps, had the D.A. been a man, they would have fought back. But they all understood that this was a mother venting more than anything else.

  “I’m sorry,” Danforth spoke softly. “We are doing everything possible.”

  “Everything possible?! You don’t have shit!! How can you even walk into my office with this load of garbage?!” With a flick of her wrist, she flung the paperwork at them. The neat stack exploded and fluttered randomly across the office floor.

  “Ma’am, you have all the data we have,” Agent Spivey interjected. “There are virtually no witnesses. Whoever did this was as professional as they get.”

  “So you’re telling me that you’re unable to perform your duties?!”

  “I’m telling you we’re doing our best. This can take awhile.”

  “Emily doesn’t have a while!”

  Silence fell over the room again as everybody remembered the horrific video they’d watched. The tension in the room was stifling. Normally cops and fed’s weren’t forced to endure this type of abuse from a victim’s family member. Although always compelled to remain in close contact with parents and family, officials were able to keep at arms length and let professionalism rule the day. Although the federal men did not work for the district attorney, they had been assigned to the NYPD as liaisons and therefore answered to the district attorney as well as their bureau chiefs.

  “We are all taking this very personally,” Mullin finally spoke. “I promise you.”

  Sylvia stared down at her desk and bit her lip. She struggled for composure.

  “Then go find my girl,” she answered, her voice weighted with exhaustion.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Danforth spoke.

  The four stood as if on cue and, without loitering, headed for the office door and exited quietly.

  Sylvia sat silently and stared into nothingness for several minutes. She looked down at the framed picture of herself and Emily at the girl’s graduation from FSU. The joy and promise in her daughters eyes felt like a tragedy now. Even if they got her back alive she would never be the same, not after what she’d been through. Who could do this, she thought? Why don’t they make demands? There were too many questions and not enough answers.

  Sylvia looked at another picture of Emily and Sheldon at Disney World. The picture was taken when Emily was only fourteen. They looked so happy arm in arm, the iconic castle in the background.

  Sylvia sighed loudly. She knew these men meant well but she also knew that they were never going to find Emily. They were as much bureaucrats as they were cops. She needed help. She turned and stared out of her office window, down to the busy streets of New York. It was a jungle out there, a large, suffocating jungle. And like the jungle, there were many dangerous predators. She needed a hunter. Sylvia picked up her phone.

  “Get me the Commissioner,” she spoke, the steel edge had returned to her voice.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  17

  Emily awoke on the floor of her cell. She was met immediately with a sharp, stabbing pain between her legs. She reached down with both hands to touch the tender area. Her body felt beaten and she ached all over, but the burning intensity of how her nether regions felt made all the other maladies pale in comparison. Although she had slipped in and out of consciousness, the assault had mercifully ended with a moist rag being shoved in her face. She remembered the dreamlike haze that had enveloped her in those last few moments of consciousness and longed for it again.

  Emily opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness of the glowing bulb hanging above her head. Her head throbbed and reminded her of bad hangovers she had endured during her sorority days at FSU. That seemed like a lifetime ago. After her eyes had adjusted to the light, she noticed the thin blanket which had been tossed in the corner of her cramped cell. She willed her body to slide towards it. A sudden chill racked her and she shook uncontrollably. Halting her short trek towards the blanket, she lay on her
side and stared at the wall. Gone was the mind numbing fear she had experienced in the first days of her captivity. She was like a shell now, a ghost outside of her own body. She felt a detachment and somehow knew that it was shock, her mind and bodies defense mechanism. She felt resigned to whatever might happen and despite a gnawing feeling of hopelessness, her animal instinct told her to stay alive, to hang on.

  She tilted her chin upwards to look at the blanket again. It was such a small thing but it offered comfort, albeit slight comfort. Still it was something and she inched toward it again. Finally she was close enough to reach an arm out and grab the thing. She pulled it towards her other arm and grabbing both corners, managed to slide it over her shoulders and torso.

  Emily lay still now, the pain between her legs the only reminder that this was her new reality. She felt in a dreamlike state, although the dream was a nightmare from which she couldn’t awaken. She was lucid enough to think of her mother and it hurt her to realize what she must be enduring. She visualized being in the back of a squad car as it pulled up to her house. In her fantasy she saw a strong police officer picking her up gently and walking through her front door where her mother and father were waiting, tears in their eyes to scoop her up and to hold her. To protect her and give her warmth.

  Surprisingly, she thought of Trent, her first love. It was just a high school thing but it had felt real enough at the time. She remembered the first time they had gone all the way. Her parents had been away, travelling in Europe. She and Trent had planned it, waiting as the days crept by until the limousine had finally arrived to take her parents to the airport. Although the servants were still in the house, she had been left unsupervised, which was not a big deal at seventeen. She remembered how awkwardly he had performed, and how disappointing it had been. Although it was nice, she had been programmed by TV and society to think that fireworks would go off and that she’d feel the earth move. But she was glad when that ritual of adolescence was behind her. Later, in college, the experience would vastly improve.