Corrupt City
Page 23
“I need you to call Sean.”
“Wait a minute, if Sean has to come, then we need to double the price tag.”
“Not a problem. I will double the pay. Just catch the son of a bitch,” Brandon said while cutting Mark off.
“I will call Sean now. Give me the address. I will see you in New Jersey.”
About an hour later, Brandon and his two new dirty detectives were across the street from Lucky’s condo, and there were no signs of him anywhere. They waited until about nine in the morning before they called off the stakeout. They didn’t see any reason to waste time in one location.
“Listen, fellas, I will make it an even one hundred thousand dollars, that’s fifty apiece, if you could catch this rat by noon today,” Brandon said, a desperate look in his eyes.
“Are you serious, Brandon?” Mark said. “Please stop fuckin’ with us.”
“For a hundred thousand dollars, we will not only find him, but we will hunt down every person related to him.”
“We need to speak to the witness who told you about this location. Where is she?
“No problem. I’ll write the address down. She gave us a bogus phone number. Hopefully, this address is legit, but it’s in Maryland. You won’t have time. I have a press conference at noon. I need him located by then.”
“So, we are fucked. We need more time. Plus, if you want us to head down to Maryland, we’re going to need more money. I think you’re leading us to a dead end.”
“You might be right. I just need him found and caught. The hundred-thousand-dollar offer stands, if you guys could catch him. That includes going down to Maryland. Anyways, thanks for coming out. I’ll send five thousand for the trouble. I’ll be in touch.”
“Cool. Thanks for the money. We will think about it. Maybe only one of us will go.”
Brandon left and headed to Manhattan to his apartment in the city. He wanted to jump in the shower and get ready for the most difficult press conference of his entire police career. He was about to face the press with no answers as to the whereabouts of Lucky and what exactly took place in the Bronx that left three people dead, including an FBI agent.
He didn’t even bother calling up the mayor. He headed straight to the apartment, took a shower, and threw on one of his better suits, hoping to at least buy a little sympathy from the public. He headed down to One Police Plaza where the press conference was taking place.
He picked up his phone and finally called up the mayor. “Ralph, it’s me.”
“I know it’s you. Where the hell have you been? What’s the latest? You better have some great news. I have the feds crawling up my ass.”
“I’m sorry, boss. I still don’t have anything.”
“What! Are you serious? I sometimes wonder if I hired the right man for the position. You are really disappointing me. This kind of nonsense should have never escalated. Where are you now?”
“I’m on my way to One Police Plaza after I stop and get something to eat.”
“Well, I’ll be there at noon. I’ll see you then. Make sure you call Richard when you arrive to go over your speech.”
“What speech? I thought I was just going to answer a few questions.”
“Just call Richard.”
Mayor Gulliano hung up in disgust and mumbled to himself, “A few will burn with you. Let’s see.” He made a few more phone calls before getting dressed to head downtown. It was going on eleven o’clock. He was running late and didn’t care, not wanting to be on the podium in the first place.
By eleven thirty, a half hour from the press conference, the streets were crowded with reporters and news vans. Everyone was desperate for answers as to what was going on. When reporters didn’t even have a clue, it usually meant corruption was involved. All the files and evidence so far had been labeled top secret. There were reporters from several states and foreign countries present. The press was eager; so were the few hundred protesters who were out there singing that Marley tune once again, “No Justice, No Peace.”
Commissioner Brandon and the mayor’s spokesperson, Richard Claiborne, were both in a conference room, rehearsing the prepared statement while they waited for the mayor. It was going on twelve fifteen, and no sign of Ralph Gulliano yet.
“Okay, I don’t know where Ralph is, but we need to start this press conference before we have a riot,” Richard said as he looked out the window. “I see a lot of angry protesters out there.”
“Are you sure we should start without the mayor?” a nervous Commissioner Fratt asked.
Before Richard could answer, the mayor walked through the door. “I’m sorry I’m late. Are we ready?” he asked the both of them.
“I’m ready,” Brandon quickly responded, happy to see Ralph. He thought maybe the mayor had bailed out on him.
“Well, let’s go downstairs, face the city, and let’s hope God helps us all.”
As all three men walked down the hallway and made their way outside, they noticed everyone they walked past was looking at them like they were criminals. They were all shocked because those were people in uniforms who were turning up their nose. When they reached outside and were up on the podium, the whole crowd went silent. You could hear a mouse pissing on cotton. That’s how quiet it was.
Brandon made his way toward the microphone. It was only about twenty feet from him, but it seemed like it took him almost three minutes to reach it. He cleared his throat.
“Good afternoon, New York. Today I come, my friends, with a few updates that may be positive or negative. I’m not going to stand here and fool with the people of this great city. I will never insult your intelligence. I understand in the recent weeks, a lot of allegations, eyebrow-raising accusations, were made public against the great police force that protects our freedom. These allegations couldn’t come at a worse time. We are still dealing with the murder trial against the police department where Perry Coleman was killed. I also have an update on that trial as well, but I first want to speak on what I think everyone wants to hear about.
“Yesterday, around one or two in the morning, Captain William Youngstown and Detective Jeffrey Winston were following up on a lead. They were told Donald ‘Lucky’ Gibson was hiding in a storage facility, which, by the way, according to our sources, was used by kingpins to store large quantities of drugs, guns, and money. These two officers, who are currently on suspension, acted on their own to watch the facility in hopes of catching Donald Gibson. Their plan backfired. They were hoping they could at least catch Donald and retrofire the embarrassment they’ve been put through.
“When the officers approached the establishment after witnessing Donald Gibson himself walking in, they were met by flying bullets. The officers fired back, and as they retreated, they called it in and waited for backup. In regards to the dead agent we found on the roof, we are still investigating what role he played as we piece this puzzle. We indeed have two other dead civilians, both of whom are career criminals.
“I know the number one question everyone is asking. The answer is no, Donald ‘Lucky’ Gibson has not been captured. But I do have a message, Lucky. I know you are out there watching. I will guarantee this. Your luck will run out one day. Trust me, old friend.”
Bang!
Commissioner Fratt’s head jerked back so hard, it almost touched his back. A bullet entered between his eyes, blowing off the back of his head. The force of the bullet knocked him off his feet, and he landed about five feet from the microphone. He was dead before he hit the ground.
All the TV channels went blank, either switching to the weatherman or the sports anchor. But it was already too late. Commissioner Brandon Fratt’s assassination was just carried live on national TV.
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Corrupt City Copyright © 2011 Tra Verdejo
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