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

by Richard Nesbitt

“No.” Harris replied. He knew where this was going.

  “Then fuck off. Get off my property.”

  “Don’t you want to help me catch your sister’s killer?” Harris asked, the amusement gone from his voice.

  “Why should I help you do your job?”

  “Jesus Christ, Carlos. I’m trying to catch a killer so he doesn’t do this to anybody else. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

  “Fuck no. I don’t give a shit about nobody else. Quit saying my name and get off my front porch, asshole.”

  “That’s not very nice, Carlos. I’m just trying to help.”

  “Quit saying my name, goddamn it! I don’t like nobody calling me that!”

  “Well what should I call you then?”

  “Don’t call me shit! I don’t know you! Now get the fuck off my porch before I call your boss and report you for harassment!”

  “Fine Carlos, have it your way. Thanks for your help.”

  Harris waited briefly for a reply but didn’t get one. He stepped off the porch and walked back up the short stone path to the gate. Opening it, he stepped through and quickly turned and walked down the sidewalk. He could feel the man watching him from inside the house. Meth heads were predictable if nothing else, Harris thought. When he’d walked far enough that the neighbors house blocked the view from Carlos living room window, he quickly jumped the fence and ran towards their back yard. Keeping low, Harris darted behind the house towards Carlo’s back yard fence and vaulted it with a fluid, easy motion.

  Being as stealthy as possible, Harris made it quickly to the house. He pressed up flat against the side wall and inched toward a window. Peeking in cautiously, Harris got his first look at Carlos. He was a short and skinny Hispanic male in his mid to late twenties. He had chinos on with no shirt. Tattoos, mostly prison ink, covered his arms and torso.

  From his vantage point, Harris could see through the kitchen and into the family room. He noticed a scale sitting on a coffee table and several baggies strewn about. Excellent, Harris thought, there’s my probable cause. Carlos was working quickly to clean and Harris watched as the man stopped and cautiously lifted a panel of the cheap, venetian blinds to peep nervously through the front window to the street.

  Harris left the side window and went quickly to the back door. He twisted the knob….it turned.

  Not too bright, he thought to himself. He pushed the door open slowly and peered into the kitchen. It was filthy with dishes piled high in the sink and on the countertops. The trash overflowed and Harris noticed several bugs darting for cover. He drew his gun and stepped into the house. He could hear Carlos in the adjacent room and he stepped lightly towards the opening that led to the family room. His paramount thought was of the dog but he was certain that Carlos had been so preoccupied with clearing his drug wares that he hadn’t let the thing out of the back room yet. He hoped.

  Harris turned the corner and entered the family room. As he did, Carlos spun around and locked eyes with him. The two stood face to face.

  “Freeze, Carlos,” Harris ordered leveling the gun at the man. “Don’t even think about moving.”

  Somewhere in the back of the house the dog erupted in a howling frenzy. There was a loud banging as the animal threw itself against a door.

  Carlos remained rooted in place. Panicked and wide eyed, he had the familiar look of a speed freak who hadn’t slept in days. He glanced quickly down the hallway towards the back of the house. The dog was barking furiously and desperately clawing at the door.

  “Don’t even think about it!” Harris yelled. He did a quick mental check list of his options. The man was unarmed, so he couldn’t justify a shooting, plus he needed to question him. He took a step forward and Carlos made his move.

  The strung out junkie spun on his heel and darted towards the rear of the house at a speed which surprised Harris.

  “FREEZE!” He yelled, knowing full well what Carlos intended. He moved to overtake the smaller man but it was no use. Harris got to the hallway just in time to see Carlos throw a door open.

  A brindle coated pit bull burst out of the room as if shot from a cannon. It barreled towards Harris with wide, joy filled eyes and lips pulled back to reveal an impressive snarl of jagged teeth. The dog had ceased its barking and now that it had his quarry in plain sight, it charged forward with purpose filled silence.

  Harris backpedaled and desperately raised his gun. With no time to waste, his finger squeezed the trigger just as his foot caught the corner of an easy chair. The gun roared and a 9mm slug blasted a hole in the ceiling as he fell backwards, arms flailing. With a painful smack, his head struck the rounded edge of the coffee table and as he crashed onto his back, the gun flew from his hand towards the corner of the room.

  Panic-stricken and now defenseless, Harris scrambled quickly to regain his footing as the animal flew through the air. There was no time, the dog was upon him, and Harris could smell the animal’s hot, sour breath as the full weight of the pit bull crashed into his chest. The dog’s jaws snapped closed.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  34

  “Ma’am, can you explain why the budget meetings have been put on hold? Is there some new development that we’re unaware of?” The reporter asked.

  Sylvia Blumquist stood at the podium and stared out at the throng of supporters who pressed her for answers. She looked uncharacteristically disheveled. Her hair was not neatly brushed back as she normally wore it and she had dark circles under eyes that looked both panicked and sad. Her posture was slightly slumped instead of erect and strong as was normally the case.

  Several of the men and women standing before the podium had known the D.A. for a very long time. Although they knew her as extremely guarded concerning her personal life, there was real concern among many.

  “I am unable to comment on that right now. I’m sorry.”

  “Ma’am,” A male reporter piped up. “Neither you nor the mayor are telling us anything and seeing as though you’ve personally championed raising taxes to hire more prosecutors, among other things, we really think that the public has a right to know what is happening.”

  “And of course the public will know. Neither the mayor or…” Sylvia suddenly stopped and stared down at the notes she had in front of her. She grasped the podium with both hands and tried to steady herself as she felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. She raised her head and looked up to see many curious and concerned faces staring at her. One of her aides eased towards her from behind. A bodyguard followed suit.

  “District Attorney,” a female reporter asked. “Are you ok?”

  Sylvia managed a weak smile. She reached for her glass of water and sipped from it. With a shaky hand she lowered the glass back to the podium.

  “Yes, please forgive me. I think I have a little bug is all. As I was saying, neither the mayor nor myself is keeping anything from you. There have been no radical changes, we’re just in the process of fine tuning the smaller details.”

  “Ma’am, no offense but it’s the smaller details that always end up costing tax payers more than they bargained for. Can you be a little more specific?” Yet another reporter queried.

  “The monetary issues have not changed, it is the allotments that have…” Sylvia’s knees buckled and she attempted to catch herself as she began to slip towards the floor.

  A female reporter shrieked.

  Sylvia felt rubbery as if the bones had suddenly left her legs. Her head swooned and as the flash of cameras seemed like a distant twinkling, she was vaguely aware of a pair of strong arms wrapping around the waist. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Doug, one of her two bodyguards holding her. His startled look brought her out of her dreamlike state and she felt the weight of all she had been under the past few days crash atop her head. She lost her legs completely and barely felt it as Doug scooped her into his arms. The large man spun on his heel and hurried back down the corridor as a wave of noise surrounded him. People scurried to help and photographers snapped picture
s furiously.

  “What is wrong with the D.A.?!” A reporter yelled to the backs of Sylvia’s entourage as they hurried towards her office. Several other reporters rushed forward all asking lightning fast questions concerning her personal life and her health.

  “Get an ambulance,” Doug spoke calmly to an aide who was already on the phone.

  “I’m on it.”

  The large man held the now unconscious D. A. close to his chest and walked quickly. Finally, he and the rest of her staff disappeared into Sylvia’s office. The door slammed shut behind them.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  35

  The cab was parked against the curb. Christi had instructed the driver to pull in behind a rusted out Chevy Nova which she hoped would make her presence a little less obvious. She was unsure whether Harris knew he was being tailed or not, however the cab driver was very good and he explained that this was not the first time he’d had this request.

  Christi didn’t know what to expect, she wasn’t even sure she knew what she was hoping for. She watched as Harris had his conversation at the front door. Although she couldn’t hear what was being said, it was obvious that the man wanted nothing to do with the officer.

  What a waste of time, she thought as the door closed and Harris simply turned and walked back out the gate. Christi was about to ask the driver to take her back to Manhattan when suddenly the cop darted between the two houses to the right of where he’d just been speaking. She saw him run behind the neighboring home and make a quick left. And then she lost sight of him. Christi felt her heart rate increase as she quickly contemplated her next move. One thing’s for sure, she thought to herself, I’m never going to know what happens if I stay in the cab.

  Without hesitating, she reached into her purse and produced a hundred dollar bill. She ripped the bill in half and handed it to the driver.

  “Wait here,” she ordered.

  “What is this?!” The cabbie asked, irritation in his voice. “I can’t sit around and wait for you all day!”

  “Of course you can,” Christi answered as she opened the door and stepped into the street. “Keep the meter running. You get the other half of this when I get back.”

  The man started to complain but Christi simply slammed the door of the cab and crossed the street to the side that Harris was on. She walked slowly as she passed in front of the home next door to where Harris had been questioning the man. She slowed even more as she could now see behind the house. Harris was nowhere to be seen. The back door, she thought. He’s going in the back door.

  From down the street the same neighborhood boy’s who had tried to stare down Harris, now hooted at her. She cringed, hoping to God they didn’t give her away.

  Unsure of what to do, Christi continued walking. She tried to appear casual as she now passed in front of the house Harris had visited. After a few more seconds of walking and no better idea coming to mind, she simply turned around, walking back in front of the house again.

  This is ridiculous, she said to herself. I can’t just keep walking back and forth. She decided to go back to the cab, admonishing herself for ever undertaking such a foolish venture.

  She began to cross the street when the first shot rang out.

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  36

  The nurse twisted the long, plastic rod that hung by the window and the venetian blinds cracked open. Sunlight penetrated the room and bathed it in a warm, orange glow. The sun was setting over New York City and in her private Mount Sinai hospital room, Sylvia Blumquist was surrounded by staffers. Two of her bodyguards stood watch outside her door and police kept reporters from exiting the elevators.

  “Ma’am, I’m not going to force your visitors to leave, but I would advise them that you need your rest,” the nurse spoke sternly, casting her eyes to the staffers as she walked towards the door. “Don’t hesitate to push the call button if you need anything.”

  “I need to go home!” Sylvia spoke loudly as the nurse exited the room.

  “So do I, dear,” came the sarcastic reply. “So do I.”

  “Ughhhh,” Sylvia spoke loudly with exasperation. “This is total bullshit. They can’t keep me here against my will.”

  Her most trusted aide, Mary, walked to the other side of the bed. She placed a gentle hand upon her bosses shoulder and looked at the others in the room.

  “I think it’s time for us to leave the D.A. alone now,” she spoke to the small group, her voice taking over the authoritative tone normally reserved for her employer.

  There were murmurs of agreement and head nods. One by one, her staffers came close and extended a hand, saying goodbye to their boss. They all made it clear that they were only a phone call away. They left as a group, the door closing behind them.

  “You too, Mary,” Sylvia spoke. “You need to go and be with your family.”

  “My family is fine, Sylvia,” she answered calling her boss by her first name. This was only something she did when the two were alone. “Bob is home.”

  “Still, you must be exhausted.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s worry about you. Personally, I don’t know if I’d even keep my sanity if I was in your place. I think you must be Superwoman.”

  “Superwoman wouldn’t faint at a podium. Jesus Christ, what am I going to tell the press?”

  “Screw the press.”

  “Yeah,” Sylvia said somberly. “Easy for you to say.”

  Mary pulled a chair close to the bed and sat. She reached out for Sylvia’s hand and took it in her own.

  “Seriously, Sylvia, my heart is breaking for you. But if you want my advice, tell the press the truth. You don’t have to go into detail.”

  Sylvia stared up at the ceiling. She bit her lip and fought back tears. She looked at her colleague.

  Mary squeezed her boss’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t. I agree with you. After the last video, I need to enlist help, even if it’s the press.”

  “You do.”

  Sylvia sobbed, her chest heaving as she let loose her emotions. She wailed loudly and gave up the attempt at strength. Mary rose quickly and leaned over, wrapping the woman in a tight hug.

  “He’s going to k-kill her,” Sylvia sobbed loudly as she buried her face in the woman’s neck. “I just know it.”

  “You don’t know it! You can’t know it!” Mary answered, as she also burst into tears. “You can’t think that way. There’s always a chance.”

  “I don’t even know how I know, I just know. Why would he put her through all of that? Why not just give us a chance to pay the ransom?! He’s deranged…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Sylvia. You have to think positively no matter how hard it is.”

  “You, motherfucker!” Sylvia suddenly screamed towards the ceiling. It took Mary by surprise and she flinched visibly. “I will rip your heart out!” Sylvia vented loudly in desperate frustration as she stared straight up.

  One of her bodyguards quickly stuck his head in the door. Mary shooed him away with a look.

  “I know, Sylvia,” Mary soothed as she stroked her bosses hair. “I know.”

  “You don’t know shit!” The D.A. turned her fury on the woman. “Until you’ve experienced something like this don’t you dare tell me you know!”

  Sylvia’s face was red, her eyes bloodshot. She turned her head from Mary and stared at the wall. Mary said nothing, allowing the moment to pass.

  Sylvia reached for her friend’s hand. “I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

  “Don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  “I’m sorry…” Sylvia looked away again, fresh tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

  “There is always hope,” Mary said softly. “I know it doesn’t seem like it. But there is always hope.”

  “No, no no…” Sylvia’s spoke. “There’s only one chance. One very, small chance.”

  “Why are you saying that?”

 
“Because it’s the truth. I have only one hope.”

  “What? What is it, Sylvia?”

  The D.A. looked up with bloodshot eyes that brimmed with tears. They spilled down her face and into the corners of her mouth. Her nose ran but she didn’t care. She locked eyes with her aide.

  “Harris.”

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  37

  Laying flat on his back, Harris held out a stiff arm and caught the dog’s collar as the animal lunged for his throat. He grimaced in pain as his stomach and thighs were raked by the pit bulls claws as its legs pumped furiously, straining to reach the officers neck. Harris scurried backwards with his own legs, digging in himself, as he tried to reach his gun which had flown behind him. In the frenzy, Harris noticed that Carlos had disappeared and realized that not only was he not going to help control his dog, he was most likely retrieving something that would make the situation much more desperate.

  The dog snarled and snapped, flashing white teeth and spraying him with saliva. Harris, although running on full adrenalin, felt himself weaken as he held the 60 lbs. dog at bay with his left arm while desperately reaching back for his nine millimeter with his right.

  Perhaps realizing that he could not reach his prey’s throat, the dog changed tactics and focused on Harris’ arm. He shook his head furiously against the hold the man had on his collar. His head whipped from the left to the right and finally connected with Harris’ forearm. He clamped down and bit just as Harris felt the cold steel of his gun with his fingertips.

  “Arrrrrggggh!!” Harris yelled in pain as the dog bit down. This fueled his own rage as he pushed back hard with his feet and was now able to feel the entire gun which he quickly grabbed with his right hand. Without hesitation, he jammed the gun into the ribcage of the crazed dog and pulled the trigger two times in rapid succession. The dog let out a startled yelp and then dropped lifeless to the side of Harris, his jaws slipping away from the arm.