Without a Hitch

by Andrew Price

as if it were a Christian soul,

  I hailed it in God’s name.

  God save thee, counselor!

  From fiends that plague thee thus,

  Why look’st thou so? For with my cross-bow,

  I shot the Albatross.

  Ah, well a-day what evil looks

  had I from mine own soul so young;

  instead of cross, the Albatross

  around my neck was hung.”

  Beckett stopped and the two of them sat in silence for several seconds.

  The priest spoke first. “You must atone. Return this money you’ve taken and confess your crime. Seek forgiveness. The Lord is ready to forgive. He is full of mercy for all who ask His aid. His compassion can blot out our transgressions.”

  Beckett shook his head. “I. . . I can’t, Father. If I turn myself in, I’ll implicate my friend. I can’t rectify a betrayal of myself by betraying another.”

  “You must do the right thing. Your friend will understand.”

  “Not this friend,” Beckett said with a hint of bitterness. Beckett seemed to deflate. “I don’t even know how to return the money. No one’s even missing it,” he said to himself.

  The priest cleaned his glasses before responding. “Evil grows in fertile grounds and blinds us to the truth. A single evil deed will be returned tenfold.”

  Beckett looked at the priest. He began to nod his head and sat up slowly. “You’re right, Father. I can’t condemn my family.”

  “You must atone.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Beckett said, as he rose to his feet. He zipped up his jacket and walked to the door of the church. Just before he reached it, he looked back to the priest one more time. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He left.

  The priest returned to his altar. He didn’t see the three duffel bags sitting on the floor where Beckett left them. He would find them later.

  Chapter 22

  More than a hundred people packed the bar, and it was only Tuesday night. The crowd was a mix of young professionals, college kids and a few old-timers, who sat mostly at the bar lamenting the youth invasion. It was deafeningly loud with that many people competing to be heard in such a small space. The new waitress Blue hired, a cousin of someone or other, scurried back and forth bringing a varied assortment of drinks to tables. She had little time to talk to anyone.

  Corbin hung his thick wool coat on the rack and set his guitar on stage. The band was already checking their instruments. Corbin noticed right away that the band was larger than usual for a Tuesday and these players were the best who frequented the Bluetone. They didn’t normally play Tuesdays and rarely played together. After unpacking his guitar, Corbin navigated through the crowd to the bar, where Penny sat sipping from a drink with an umbrella and playing with her new silver necklace. Her large soft eyes and enormous smile announced her excitement at seeing Corbin.

  “Hey there,” Corbin said, before kissing her.

  “Hey back,” she said, stealing a second kiss.

  They stared into each others’ eyes for a few seconds, both of them grinning uncontrollably.

  “Big crowd tonight,” Corbin finally said to Blue, though his eyes remained locked on Penny.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Blue said. “We been turnin’ people away.”

  Corbin finally shifted his gaze from Penny to Blue. “Something special going on?”

  “Just this,” Blue answered, sliding a folded newspaper across the bar. “The paper’s been talkin’ about your playin’.”

  Corbin skimmed the article. “Hmm.”

  “Is that all you got to say?”

  “Hmm. . . cool.”

  Penny laughed. Blue didn’t.

  “We got some requests you play that piece from Friday.”

  “Really, somebody wants to hear that again?” Corbin asked, as he scanned the crowd.

  “Yeah, ’bout sixty people,” Blue said.

  “You’re shittin’ me?!”

  “Barman’s honor. We also got a dozen more people signed up for a copy of it when you get around to cutting a copy.”

  “In that case, I guess I should get started. Don’t want to keep the audience waiting, do I?” Corbin kissed Penny again, sliding one hand across her back as he did. She slid her arms around his waist. When they separated, he left for the stage.

  “Why didn’t you tell him, Blue?” Penny asked.

  “He don’t need that kind of pressure. Let him enjoy himself.”

  Penny looked over her shoulder at the record company representative. He looked like anyone else in the crowd. “Do you think he’ll like Alex?”

  “Rex and I go way back. If I know Rex, he’ll like him. That’s why I asked him to come tonight.”

  “You know, Alex may never forgive you when he finds out,” she said with a laugh.

  “Oh, Rex would’a come soon enough. I just sped up the process.”

  Up on stage, Corbin placed his guitar in his lap. He took another sip of beer. “I understand there’s been a request or two that we play the same thing we played last Friday.” Corbin adjusted his guitar strings. “Normally, we wouldn’t do that, but since we’re all friends, I guess we can make an exception.”

  The crowd laughed and then roared with applause.

  Blue’s friend Rex left near the end of Corbin’s set. He didn’t say a word to anyone. Penny watched him leave.

  “He’s leaving. What does that mean?” she asked Blue.

  “That’s a good sign. He usually leaves after five minutes if he hates it, twenty minutes if he likes it but can’t sign it, and after an hour no matter what.” Blue looked at his ancient watch. “He stayed almost two hours tonight.”

  “Should we tell Alex?”

  “Wait until tomorrow. Rex gonna call me tomorrow if he wants to talk to Alex.”

  Twenty minutes later, Corbin left the stage. The crowd continued to applaud as he made his way to the bar. When he reached the bar, Penny launched herself from the barstool into him and hugged him tightly. She placed her head against his chest and didn’t let go for some time.

  “Brilliant, babe!”

  Corbin smiled.

  “Just brilliant,” she added.

  “Thanks, I was pretty happy with it.” His tired voice revealed his exhaustion. Despite his exhaustion, Penny recognized a deep calm about him, which he always got when he played at Blue’s bar. She also saw the now-familiar soft sparkle in his eyes.

  Penny looked at her watch. “All right, Mr. Happy, I need to go home.”

  “You’re not coming over?”

  “Nope.” She pushed him away. “I told you, my other sister’s in town. I’ll call you on the weekend.” She started to leave but then turned back, grabbed the surprised Corbin by the shirt, pulled him toward her, and kissed him. Then she winked at Blue and left.

  Blue laughed. “She’s a keeper.”

  Corbin smiled.

  Corbin saw the flashing light the moment he entered his apartment. He set down his guitar and walked over to the table where the cell phone lay. He picked up the phone. Beckett had called. Moreover, Beckett left Corbin a message, despite being told never to do that. Corbin pressed recall and placed the phone to his ear.

  “We have a problem.”

  Part Three

  Chapter 23

  Rookie Philadelphia police officer Paul Webb kicked in the door. Five officers rushed into the room with their weapons drawn. Their target, Washington Davis Beaumont, lay face down on a mattress. A pistol rested on the nightstand near his head. Beaumont made no effort to reach for it.

  Sgt. Warner Russell, a fifteen year veteran, rammed his knee into Beaumont’s back, pinning him to the bed. “Don’t move motherfucker or I’ll blow your brains out!” yelled Russell in his heavy Philadelphia accent. He jammed his weapon into Beaumont’s temple.

  “You gonna show me a warrant?!” Beaumont demanded.

  “Shut the fuck up!” In one fluid motion, Russell holstered his weapon, pulled
his handcuffs from his belt, locked Beaumont’s hands behind his back, picked Beaumont off the bed, and wiped the sweat from his brow onto the sleeve of his dark-blue uniform jacket. Russell pushed him toward two other officers. “You’se two take Beaumont to the cruiser. Rook,” Russell addressed Officer Webb, “search the other rooms. I’ll search this one.”

  “Hey, you can’t search my place, you ain’t got no subpeonis, offica’,” Beaumont said mockingly.

  Russell’s eyes narrowed, accentuating the crookedness of his face. His right eye sat slightly lower than the left and his nose and chin were too far to the right, the aftereffects of several fights. He grabbed Beaumont by the back of the neck and shoved him against the wall. “Wha’d I tell you,” he growled, before stepping back and motioning the two officers to take Beaumont out of the apartment.

  When they were gone, Russell closed the front door to keep anyone in the hallway from seeing what was going on inside. With the door closed, Russell walked over to the nightstand, opened its top drawer, pulled a large manila envelope from his jacket and emptied its contents into the drawer. As he did, Webb returned from searching the filthy kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, Russell saw Webb watching him. Russell closed the drawer.

  “Hey Rook, why don’t you check the nightstand,” Russell said, trying but failing to sound nonchalant. “Beaumont was tryin’ real hard to keep us from looking in there. Might be something important.”

  Webb walked over to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. Inside were documents, credit cards and checkbooks.

  “Whoa, hey! You found his stash! You’ll probably get a commendation for this.”

  “I don’t understand? What’s going on, Russ?” Webb asked. The meekness of his tone betrayed his lack of confidence when it came to challenging the forceful personality that was Warner Russell.

  “Wha’da you mean?”

  “This wasn’t here.”

  “’Course it was, right where you’se found it,” Russell suggested unconvincingly.

  “But, I saw—”

  “You didn’t see nothin’!” Russell barked, poking his finger in Webb’s face for emphasis. “You made a good find. Now go back to the cruiser while I seal the room for evidence.”

  “Russ, what’s going on?” Webb’s wavering voice highlighted his deep dismay.

  “What does it look like? We’re taking a piece a’ shit off the streets. Don’t make no fuckin’ waves partner!” Russell tapped Webb’s chest with two fingers. “You made a good discovery. Go down to the cruiser. I will talk to you about this later.” Russell signaled another officer, who had just re-entered the apartment, to escort Webb downstairs. As they left, Russell called after them. “Hey, don’t say nothin’ to nobody. Understand!”

  An hour later, Webb sat alone in the police station’s small break room. The other three chairs were empty. Webb stared at the vending machines. The paper cup in his hand had been empty for some time. As his eyes moved toward the internal affairs poster for the hundredth time, his partner appeared, closing and locking the wood and frosted-glass door behind him.

  “There was nothing in that nightstand, Russ,” Webb said preemptively.

  Russell remained calm. “Look here, Rook. You ain’t been out there as long as I have. You’se don’t get it yet. This is the way it needs to be. This fucking mook is the nastiest piece of shit you will ever see in your life. This fucker’s so bad the devil calls him for advice.”

  “But Russ, you can’t frame a guy for something he didn’t do,” Webb replied softly. He remained seated and stared at the empty cup in his hand.

  “You can when you can’t catch him no other way.” Russell pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He lit one before offering the pack to Webb, who declined. He then tossed his spent match into the garbage can, just below the “No Smoking” sign. “Sometimes you gotta help the system put a rotten bastard like that away. Fahgetaboutit, he deserves it.”

  “How do you decide who deserves it?”

  “Wha’da you mean, ‘how do I decide’?!” Russell raised his voice.

  Webb shrugged his shoulders, but still didn’t look up. He barely spoke loud enough for Russell to hear him. “What I mean is, what gives us the right to—”

  Russell erupted. “What gives me the right?! What gives me the right?! Did you ask me ‘what gives me the right’? This badge gives me the right!” Russell tapped the silver badge on his chest. “That son of a bitch’s past gives me the right! That ain’t no fuckin’ choirboy we’re sending up. That is one evil motherfucker. Every day he stays free is another dead hooker or another kid on crack. That’s what gives me the right.” Russell took three quick puffs from his cigarette.

  “We can’t make that decision.”

  “Yes we can! Yes we can!” Russell growled, jabbing his cigarette at Webb for emphasis.

  “Why can’t we let the system work?” Webb’s voice grew louder, but he still lacked confidence and he still wouldn’t look into Russell’s face.

  Russell threw his hands up in the air. “Let the system work?! It don’t work for guys like this!”

  “Look I agree too many guys are getting away with murder, but if we start doing this, then we’re not cops anymore. Let the system take care of him.”

  “Oh, fuck that! This guy is beyond the system, he makes a mockery of the system. If guys like this keep gettin’ away with their crimes, then there ain’t no system. It’s up to me and you to make the system work. We protect the system. If that means we gotta bend the rules now and then to get shit like this off the streets, then so fuckin’ be it!”

  “If he’s such a bad guy, take him down for the other stuff he’s done.”

  “Oh, listen to the rookie. Don’t you think we tried?! We had him in here for rape five years ago. The victim vanished. We had him for murder. The witness died. Drugs. The fucking drugs walked out of the station house. Do you understand me?! They walked out of the Goddamn station house!” Russell waved his cigarette around the room as he spat out each word.

  Webb started to speak, but stopped himself.

  “That piece of shit killed five people in cold blood! He sells crack to Goddamn school kids! And you’re worried about a little planted evidence?! Well, fuck you, Officer Rookie! You’re a cop, and being a cop means making hard choices. Sometimes you gotta get your hands dirty if you want to keep the streets safe. Sometimes, you gotta improvise to get trash like him off the street. If that takes pinning an ID theft on the guy, then so fuckin’ be it. I’ll sleep fine tonight, knowing I saved somebody’s life and kept somebody’s kid off crack.”

  “What about the real ID thief? He walks?”

  Russell laughed. “Some Arab working in a mailbox store. He starts stealing credit cards and checks from mailboxes, uses them to buy electronic gear from local stores, writes bad checks, that sort of thing. One of the stores he hits calls the fraud boys. They look into it, figure it out. We go to arrest this towelhead. Only, he skips the country a couple days before we get there. Un-fuckin’-touchable.”

  Webb remained silent.

  Russell leaned against a vending machine. “You know, I’ll bet you’se if the public knew about this, they’d support us ten to one.”

  “Then why do it in secret?” Webb looked at Russell’s eyes for the first time. “Why not just haul him downtown to the mayor’s office and announce to the world that he’s a bad man and it’s time we locked him up?”

  “Don’t be a smart ass, Rook. You ain’t earned that right.”

  Webb tried to sip from his empty cup.

  Russell pulled some change from his pocket. “Here, get yourself a coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Look kid, just get with the program. It’s for the better. This guy is evil. He needs to be taken off the street. This is the only way. He’s that special case where the system needs to be tweaked. You wanna protect people and keep the system working for everybody else, you gotta do this. Nobody who don’t deserve it is gonna get
hurt by this.”

  Webb tossed his hand out as if to object, but voiced no objection.

  “Just sign the report I left on your desk and put it in the file. That’s all you gotta do.” Russell put his hand on the door to leave. “Me and you solid, Rook?” Russell asked over his shoulder, without turning to face Webb.

  “Yeah, we’re solid,” Webb replied quietly.

  Chapter 24

  Corbin parked his car next to the same stand of trees on the same rural road where he gave Beckett the duffel bags several months prior. Beckett pulled up alongside Corbin, leaving six feet between the vehicles. They exited their cars and met in the middle.

  “Tell me why I’m here?” Corbin demanded without hiding his annoyance. Despite the urgency of his message to Corbin, Beckett refused to tell Corbin over the phone why they needed to meet. This infuriated Corbin, who simmered now for three days as he waited to meet Beckett.

  “This,” Beckett replied, handing Corbin a folded newspaper. He had circled an article about the arrest of accused identity thief Washington Beaumont. Corbin scanned the article before handing the paper back to Beckett. It was obvious from the article that Beaumont was accused, at least in part, of the crimes they committed.

  “Too bad for him,” Corbin replied indifferently. “What does this have to do with us?”

  “We need to do something.”

  “Why?” Corbin shot back immediately, but still in the same indifferent tone.

  Beckett stared at Corbin in disbelief. “This doesn’t bother you?”

  “Not in the least,” Corbin replied without hesitation. He stood motionless with his arms folded.

  “I’m stunned. Alex, he’s innocent,” Beckett said in a near-pleading tone.

  “Sounds like a guilty bastard to me.”

  “He didn’t do what they’re saying he did, we did!”

  “I don’t care.”

  “They’re going to try him for what we did!”

  “I don’t care.”