Do Not Go Gentle

by James W. Jorgensen

  “Yeah, right here,” Jamie said, handing Cal a piece of paper. “Names, addresses, contact info.” After drinking their coffee in silence for several moments, Jamie continued. “I did find an interesting rumor about the Mazzimah.”

  This piqued Cal’s interest. “Oh, yeah? Let’s hear it. I can’t get any traction digging into them.”

  “If the rumor’s true, that’s not surprising—one of my CIs says the Mazzimah leader is a cop.”

  “What? No way.” Cal shook his head. “I mean, we both know there are dirty cops, probably more than we’d like to admit, but a cop running a major operation like that? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe not,” agreed Jamie, “but my informant seemed pretty certain about it. Get this—when I asked him to find out more for me about the cop, he got seriously scared. I had to lean on him pretty hard to get him to agree to see what he can find out for me.”

  “Hmmm,” Cal murmured. “Interesting, but not very helpful unless he comes up with a name. If there is a cop heading the Mazzimah, no one in their right mind is going to want to cross him. Probably worth his life if he’s caught.”

  “Yeah, I told him to go softly and be very careful.”

  After another pregnant pause, Cal spoke. “So, have you followed up with Lucy and her experts?”

  Jamie snorted. “Nah, that’s been at the bottom of my ‘to-do’ list.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why, Cushing,” said Jamie in an irritated tone of voice. “I just don’t think we’re going to find anything solid down that line of investigation.”

  “Well, not if you’ve already decided we won’t.” Cal pushed aside his coffee cup and leaned forward. “Look, Jamie, I know you don’t buy into what these people believe, but that’s not the point. I keep telling you—we have to pursue it from this angle, get into their heads, and see where it leads us.”

  “It’ll lead us to Star Trek conventions and new age stores,” replied Jamie flatly. “I don’t need to jump into the river to know the water’s wet. Common sense tells me that much.”

  “Really? Does your common sense also tell you what these people are after? What they’re going to do next? You ever hear of something called ‘profiling’ my skeptical friend?” Cal asked.

  “Yeah. Have you ever heard of something called logic and intelligence, my gullible friend? Because that’s what’s going to be missing if we keep following the supernatural bullshit angle.”

  “God-damn-it,” swore Cushing. “Why do you have to be such a bull-headed Irishman?”

  “I dunno, Cushing, why do you have to be such a dimwitted WASP?” Jamie regretted the words the minute they came out of his mouth. He started to apologize, but Cal held up a hand to silence him.

  “Fine. Fine, you keep going the way you want to go. I’m going to keep going my way. Given your attendance record lately, I don’t think you’re going to be able to stay involved much longer anyway.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it’s supposed to mean,” retorted Cal. “Everyone in the station knows about your meeting later this morning with Sully and your rep. The smart money says that they’re gonna tell you that you’re not allowed to participate in any official or unofficial capacity on any case any longer. Which means anyone helping you violate that directive is gonna have their tits in a wringer with Sully.”

  “Since when has that ever been a big deal?” replied Jamie. He knew Cal was probably right. They weren’t calling him to a meeting to tell him not to worry about anything.

  “Normally, it’s not, but listen to me, buddy.” Cal put his hand on Jamie’s right shoulder and pulled him closer. “You’re not getting any better. You’re starting to jeopardize my cases.”

  Jamie pulled back with a jerk, hurt and angry. “Your cases? Whaddya mean your cases?”

  Cal didn’t fight to keep Jamie’s arm, but neither did he lean back in his chair. “Just what I said—my cases. Look, we’ve always had each other’s back, right?”

  “Right,” Jamie agreed slowly.

  “But no matter how much you want to, you can’t have my back—not if you can’t work. So I have to start thinking of them as my cases. Sully’s been talking about pairing me with a new partner again.”

  “A new partner? Again? Who’s the lucky victim this time?”

  “Hamilton.”

  “Hamilton? He’s a dweeb.” protested Jamie.

  “Yeah, but maybe I can bring him around. That’s beside the point. The point is that you’re not getting any better, and I can’t wait around hoping you’re going to get better.”

  “I see.” Jamie leaned back into his chair and said nothing for a while, his eyes staring unfocused out the window into the busy street. “Well, then,” he continued briskly, “don’t let me keep you. I know you’re a busy man, important man, got lots of people to see, and places to be—”

  “Aww, knock it the fuck off, Jamie,” Cal replied vehemently. “You know it’s not like that—”

  “Do I?” Jamie’s voice rose in volume. “Really? No, I think it’s exactly like that. You’re tired of waiting around for me? Fine, then stop waiting. Get the hell out of here and get on with all of your important business. Don’t let me drag you down.”

  Cal eyed the other patrons, who overheard. “Jamie, don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what?” Jamie replied, his volume back down to a conversational level. “Don’t be angry that my partner’s bailing on me? Don’t be angry that my co-workers have written me off?’ Don’t feel like I’m losing the last shreds of my professional life?” Jamie snapped out the words softly, but his face was red. “No way, Cal. You go your own way, you do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do.”

  Jamie looked at his watch, and then got up unsteadily from the chair. “Turns out I do have something important to do—I have an appointment to see what the department wants to do with the sick guy.”

  “Fine, be angry,” retorted Cal as Jamie started to walk away. “This is on you, Griffin. Don’t lay it off on me. I’m not the one who’s sick.”

  “No,” said Jamie turning back to face Cal. “You’re the one who’s giving up on his partner.” Then Jamie walked out of the coffee shop. Cal let him walk out with no further words.

  * * * *

  The District C-11 police station was a long, red brick, two-story building, stretching a full city block. Jamie pulled into the station lot and parked. Leaning back and closing his eyes, Jamie had to admit that he felt like crap because of his sickness as well as the way he had parted company with Cal.

  Jamie felt the sun beaming through the glass, but he still he felt cold. Jamie felt frosty dread of what he knew faced him inside the district station. Never one to shirk from difficult duty, however, Jamie opened his car door and walked as steadily as he could into the station house.

  Anne-Marie Boyle was working the reception desk. A woman about Jamie’s age, they always had some bantering words for each other. As she saw him, however, Anne-Marie’s face took on the sympathetic cast that Jamie hated whenever people saw him these days. “Jamie,” she said brightly. “Good to see you. How are you feeling?”

  There it was—the omnipresent question. No one knew what else to ask, what else to say, and really, could he blame them? Jamie, however, was sick to death of being defined by his illness. There had to be more to him than being sick. “About the same, Anne-Marie.”

  “Sorry, Jamie. Everyone’s hoping and praying they’ll find an answer for you.”

  “Thanks. I’m here for a meeting with Sully and Mark Valdez, my union rep.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Anne-Marie’s face was revealing. Cal was right—the entire station would be discussing his situation. “They’re expecting you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jamie walked slowly down the hallway toward the commander’s office. Several people stopped him and he was forced to replay the conversation he just had with Anne-Marie. Sully’s door was closed,
so he rapped on the door, then opened it after Sully called out, “Come in.”

  Valdez stood and greeted him, as did Sullivan. The three men sat, and an awkward moment of silence ensued. Jamie decided not to break the silence. He knew the waiting game too well.

  “Well, Jamie,” Sully finally began, “I’m sure you can guess why we’re meeting today.”

  “Not really,” lied Jamie. “What’s up?”

  Sully cleared his throat. While not shy about confrontations, Sullivan had worked with Jamie for years. He liked and respected Jamie. “This isn’t easy, but we have to face facts—the fact is that you’re still not better and you’ve run out of sick leave and vacation time.”

  “Tell me about it,” groused Jamie. “My wife just had this conversation with me the other day. Is there a problem with my leave of absence request?”

  Now Valdez spoke. A small, handsome man, with dark skin and a clear voice, he said, “Yeah, I’m afraid there is, Jamie.”

  Jamie’s gut tightened, but he didn’t let it show on his face. “Why? Didn’t I sign in the right places? Missed dotting an ‘i’ or crossing a ‘t’?”

  “It’s more than that,” replied Sully. “After reviewing the reports from your doctors, the department has decided to deny your request for a leave of absence.”

  Jamie felt like the rug had been pulled out from beneath his feet. “What do you mean they’ve denied my request?” Jamie tried to stay calm, but he felt his anger rising.

  “Just that,” said Sully. “It’s up to the Chief, and after discussing your situation with legal counsel, medical experts, and other officials, he denied your request because there was quote, ‘no reasonable expectation that Detective Griffin would be able to resume duties within the foreseeable future.’”

  “Other officials? You mean my father agreed to this?”

  “Now, Jamie,” Sully began.

  “Bullshit. Don’t ‘now Jamie’ me.” Jamie turned to Valdez. “Can they do this to me?”

  Valdez dipped his head and frowned. “Well, while it’s unusual for a leave of absence to be denied, it’s not unprecedented, and it doesn’t violate any terms of our collective bargaining agreement.”

  “Jaysus,” exclaimed Jamie. “Spoken like a true lawyer.” He turned back to his captain. “Sully, c’mon man. You’ve known me for years. How does this square with you?”

  Sully sighed. “I don’t have to like it, Jamie, and frankly, I don’t, but I’ve been given clear orders by my superiors.” He looked back down at the document, his tone of voice indicating that he was once again reading from prepared text, in an official capacity. “Detective Griffin, do you have any evidence contrary to the evidence presented by your primary care physician that would lead the department to believe that your condition could improve in the immediate future?’”

  Jamie bit back a savage reply, knowing it would do no good to get into a shouting match. “No, Captain Sullivan. You know that, so does the top brass.”

  Sully cleared his throat. “Then I have been instructed to give you the following decision. ‘Given the medical evidence presented by Detective Griffin’s physicians, the testimony of fellow officers about Detective Griffin’s ability to perform his duties, and based on the independent evaluation of aforesaid medical evidence by medical experts from the Boston Police Department, Detective Griffin is hereby discharged from his position as Lieutenant Detective with the Boston Police Department, effective immediately. Within 90 days, should Detective Griffin be able to provide documented medical evidence of a significant improvement in his medical condition demonstrating his fitness for return to duty, the Department would strongly consider reinstating Detective Griffin.

  “This termination will be reflected upon Detective Griffin’s record as a medical termination and makes him eligible to file a petition for long-term disability with the Department’s insurance carrier. However, this termination in no way guarantees that Detective Griffin is entitled to long-term disability, as that decision is solely at the discretion of the Department’s insurance carrier, based on any medical evidence provided by Detective Griffin or his representatives.’” Sully lowered his glasses, this time with pain visible in his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, Jamie. Off the record, for what it’s worth, I think this is total crap, but it’s not my decision.”

  Jamie’s head was spinning. He felt like his life was being cracked open like an eggshell and everything he valued was being poured into a hot skillet and scrambled. It felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. Jamie was more numb than angry, although anger lurked just beneath the surface of his emotions. Jamie turned to Valdez. “So they can do this? I’m out?”

  Valdez nodded slowly. “I’ve reviewed all the applicable sections of procedures and policies, as well as the bargaining agreement. They’re within their rights to do this. You could always file an appeal, but realistically, only a demonstrable improvement in your condition will get you reinstated.”

  Jamie stood abruptly and had to grab onto the arm of the chair to keep his balance. “Well, fat lot of good you are to me then, Valdez. I thought I could count on the union to protect my best interests.” Then he turned to Sullivan. “Cap, I know you don’t have a whole lot of choice in this matter, but isn’t there anything you can do?” Jamie felt his voice choking, but kept himself under control.

  Sullivan stood to face Jamie. “I’m afraid not, Jamie. My hands are tied. According to departmental procedures, you have thirty days to file an appeal to this decision, but I agree with Valdez. Unless your medical condition changes, I don’t think an appeal is going to get you anywhere.” Sully hesitated for a moment. “Jamie, you know what I have to ask you to give me.”

  Jamie’s face hardened, and after a short pause, he nodded. “I understand. Procedure.” Jamie reached into his pocket and removed his badge and ID card, then slowly slid his gun from his holster, popping the ammo clip into his hand before handing everything to Sullivan. “Is that all, Captain?” Jamie asked, the pain obvious in his voice.

  Sully shook his head, but stuck out his right hand. “No, but I’d like to say it has been a privilege having you under my command, Jamie.”

  Jamie looked at Sullivan’s hand as if it held a knife. Without saying another word, Jamie turned and left the office. He did not look back nor acknowledge the looks or hushed questions that followed him as he left the station. His throat tight and eyes misting, Jamie managed to get into his car and drive home, the streets of Dorchester passing by him in a blur.

  * * * *

  Cal made sure he did not arrive at the station until well after Jamie’s meeting with Sully. Cal had a good idea what was going down, which both station gossip and Sully confirmed. The captain had called him into his office once Cal arrived and explained the whole situation to him.

  “I feel like a total asshole,” Sully said, leaning back slowly in his chair. In his late fifties, Robert Sullivan was a decorated veteran of the force, kicked upstairs after pursuing a bank robbery suspect had left him with a permanent limp, courtesy of two bullets in his right leg. He ran his fingers through his thick black, curly hair, which he was still proud to say, showed no signs of gray.

  Cal shrugged. “Cap, there wasn’t much else you could do—orders are orders.”

  Sully grimaced. “You seem remarkably sanguine about this whole thing.”

  Cal shook his head. “Nah, I’ve just had time to prepare myself. This wasn’t a shock to anyone except Jamie. I don’t like it any more than you do, but we have to do what’s best for the department.”

  “Agreed.” Sully paused, then chose his next words carefully. “So, I can count on you not to let Griffin tag along with you or shadow you?”

  “Sure. It’s one thing when he was sick, but now he’s a civilian. Have you talked to Frank or Paddy?”

  Sully shook his head. “I’m pretty sure the higher ups already alerted them. Not my place to stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong. Anyway, Hamilton is out the rest of this week f
inishing advanced firearms training. You’ll start working with him next Monday?”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n,” Cal said, standing up and leaving.

  Cal went through his paperwork on autopilot, trying to adjust to no longer having Jamie as his partner, as his cohort in crime. He worked late trying to get caught up on paperwork. Damn, I’m hard on partners lately. First Jamie gets sick, then Ramirez gets run down, and now Jamie is off the force. I wonder if they’ve started a pool yet on how long Hamilton lasts?

  It was midnight when Cal left the station, stretching with fatigue as he got into his BMW. As he drove home, the day’s events kept running through Cal’s mind like a crazed hamster racing on the wheel inside its cage.

  The night was calm, so Cal parked in the underground garage, then strolled to the Called Shot. His father had given him hell for upgrading to the Perry Passagemaker catamaran a couple of years ago, but Cal felt it had been worth every penny. While no longer the avid sailor that he was in his youth, Cal still loved to take the Shot to sea whenever time and weather permitted.

  As Cal walked toward his boat, he heard someone call his name softly, and he turned, gun drawn. “Whoa, easy, Cushing. Easy does it, man.” A small man, with long scraggly hair, a large pointed nose, and a poor excuse for a beard stepped into the dock lights, his hands spread wide, showing he was not armed.

  Cal swore, slowly lowering his gun. “Jesus Christ, Peeper.” Cal stepped forward and grabbed the smaller man by the shoulder, frisked him, and then looked around closely. “You alone, dumbshit?”

  Peeper puffed up indignantly, true to the source of his nickname—the small frogs called pinkletinks in Massachusetts that made a loud high-pitched noise, much larger than their size. “Hey, man. I’m here, at great personal risk, I might add, to give you some choice dirt. If you don’t want it, say the word, and I’m outta here.” Peeper pushed his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes.

  Cal sighed. “This better be good, Peeper.” Peeper had been one of Cal’s confidential informants for three years now. Originally, a low-level drug dealer, Cal had turned him with the threat of his third strike and an extended prison sentence for possession. While no longer dealing, Peeper had become a “fixer”—someone who could help you locate the right person or thing to get something done. Peeper was annoying at best, and downright obnoxious at his worst, which was most of the time.