Once Were Cops (11 page)

brother would be by.”

I didn’t say he was currently in lockup and asked

how she was doing.

The nurse looked serious, said,

“She was pretty tore up, her arms broken as well

as … well, other violations, and she has remained

comatose, the doctors don’t hold out much hope.” I

was turning to go, relieved that it seemed I

wouldn’t be actually seeing her, when the nurse

said, “Would you like to visit?” Fuck … no. I said,

“Yes.”

She was in a private room which was costing

Kebar or Morronni a whole lot of cash. I was

shocked when I saw her, she was attached to a

myriad of tubes, her face still had the marks of

bruising and her arms were in plaster. Her face

looked ruined, as if she were already dead.

How far in the zone had I been? She’d looked

gorgeous that night… The nurse pulled up a chair,

said, “If you sit with her, it would be … nice.” I

was thinking, rage engulfing me, “What the fuck

difference does it make?” And as if she read my

mind, she said,

“We don’t know, of course, but if you spoke to her,

she might be able to hear you.”

Jesus.

And left me with her. Self-conscious, feeling like a

horse’s arse, I faltered:

“Um, Lucia, I… how are you, fuck, Jesus, sorry,

for cursing, I um … oh right, I brought you Bob

Dylan …”

And because I was afraid to stop, I rambled on

about my day, not mentioning her brother shooting

a child molester but just stuff about coffee, the city,

and then about Ireland and how one day she must

come visit… and then I zoned, I think I told her

what a sweet fuck she’d been…

When I looked at my watch, an hour had passed. I

stood up, my shirt drenched in sweat, went over to

her and bent down, put a kiss on her forehead, then

I was about to leave when I stopped, reached

inside my shirt, unclasped the Miraculous Medal

and put it around her neck, looked around and fuck,

the nurse was standing there, I couldn’t finish …

shite.

I couldn’t help thinking as I got out of there,

“Why do people keep interrupting me with her, the

night I’d been there, an orderly had looked in,

shouted, The hell are you doing?”

I still don’t know how I got out of there without

being recognized and I gave God a bollicking.

At home they believe if you berate God, He’ll

seriously come after you and with intent.

In this case, they were right on the goddamned

money.

I was still on patrol but with a new partner, an old

hand name of Gillespie, who cautioned:

“I’m different from your previous partner, you hear

me?” Like I was deaf? I said, “Gotcha.”

He went on to explain how his twenty was nearly

in and he didn’t need any heroics or as he put it…

showboating.

I thought,

“Yellow prick.”

And that’s how we played it, by the book, boring

as hell and I nearly missed my desk gig.

Nora and I were getting closer, I was able to talk

to her like I think I never spoke to anyone me

whole life. When I told her about Lucia, she cried

and offered to go visit. She wore my Claddagh ring

with obvious delight, the heart turned inwards.

We’d be out having a meal or a drink and I’d

notice her turning her hand, letting the light bounce

off the gold. It made me … happy?

Kebar made bail but was suspended from duty,

pending an investigation and possibly a trial.

Nora and I met him for a drink and he seemed even

more ferocious than ever, his skull now completely

shaven and a dark slant to his features, like

someone with a terminal illness but who was going

out with a roar.

We were in a nice bar on the West Side, the sorta

shithole where they call you sir with a built-in

smirk. Nora had picked it, said they did lovely

food and wouldn’t it be nice to go to a smart place.

Right.

The basic truth about cops is this:

You think they ever want to attend Shakespeare in

the Park? … Give them a diner on the Lower East

Side and a battered copy of McBain, they’re as

content as a cop is ever gonna be.

It’s called knowing your limitations or simply

being true to themselves.

You know you’re a cop when someone says … the

park … you think … muggers.

Nora excused herself, went to the ladies’ room,

and Kebar said,

“Real nice girl, you done good.” I looked at him,

the dark circles under his eyes, and asked, “How

you holding up?” He smiled, a smile that was full

of weary bitterness, said,

“This bullshit charge is going away, I had a friend

of mine talk to our child molester and he realizes

he was mistaken, but what can I tell you, they’re

making me jump through the hoops, fuck ‘em.”

He looked round, signaled a passing waitress,

ordered a double Wild Turkey, looked at me and I

shook my head. He said,

“I went by the hospital, saw Lucia had a nice

medal around her neck …” Then he stopped, bit

his lip, said, “Thanks, buddy.” I went American,

said, “No biggie.” He didn’t look at me, said, “Is

to me.”

ANOTHER WEEK OF DEAD PATROLLING

WITH THE GROUCH, we spoke little, save for

him telling me how it used to be in the good ol’

days.

Yawn.

You want to alienate the young, tell them how it

used to be.

A flasher/Peeping Tom was operating in Central

Park and we got the job of flushing him out.

The damn place is bigger than Ireland.

Sure came across lots of weird shite.

Rent boys, transvestites who looked more like

Hells Angels, desperate cases of homeless people,

and of course a whole batch of crazies.

You want to lose complete faith in the human race,

troll the park for a few hours. We even came

across a Frisbee thrower, nothing wrong there save

he’d lined the Frisbee with lead …

Catch that.

Thursday evening, we get back to the station house

and O’Brien comes racing down, said,

“Shea, in my office pronto.” I’m thinking, “The

fuck is it now?” I get up there and he said, “Shut

the door.”

He pulls out a drawer, a bottle of Paddy (jeez, I

hadn’t seen that brand since my old man died) and

two glasses, pours lethal amounts, said, “Get that

down you.” It burned like a bastard, good though.

He let it settle, then: “I’ve some bad news.” I

waited, letting the whiskey shield me.

Then:

“You’ve been seeing a girl, named Nora … I um

… she’s been murdered.” I stared at him, and he

continued:

“A victim of the strangler, the task force is waiting,

they’re going to want to ask you some questions.”

I let my head drop between my knees, the room

spinning, and finally asked,

“Where is she?”

“She’s in the morgue, but you don’t want to go

there, and like I said … The task force?”

I was on my feet, roared,

“Fuck ‘em, I want to see her.”

The zoning had been bad the last few days … did I

kill her?

He picked up the phone, spoke in a hushed tone,

then put it down, said,

“Special Agent Peters is going to allow that but

he’ll accompany you.”

I said, “Like I give a fuck what he allows.”

O’Brien said, “I know this is a shock, but don’t

piss this guy off.”

I stormed out of the office and ran smack into

Peters, he was going to say something and I said,

“Let’s go.”

An unmarked car outside, two agents in it, I looked

at Peters, sneered,

“Am I under arrest?”

He kept his voice low, asked,

“Why, you do something?”

The drive to the morgue was silent and when we

got there, they flanked me as if I was going to run, I

sure wanted to.

The room itself was icy, and those green walls,

puke colored, an attendant was standing by a steel

drawer, and Peters asked,

“You ready for this?”

“Like you give a fuck, open it.”

The drawer made a squeaking noise as it was

pulled back, and a white sheet covered the body,

the attendant peeled it back and there she was.

Dead.

Her eyes were closed but I could see the ligature

marks round her throat, they’d cut deeply into the

skin, I stared at her, keeping my face in neutral and

finally I nodded, said,

“It’s Nora.”

We went outside and Peters asked, “Can I get you

something?”

“Yeah, the fuck out of here.”

Drove me back to the station and the interrogation

room, Peters indicated the chair, I sat and he stood

on the far side of the table, asked,

“When did you last see … Nora?”

“Two nights ago, I was supposed to pick her up

this evening.” He watched me carefully, then, “Can

you account for your movements on that night?”

“Yeah, I was with Officer K … Kebar to his

friends.” He had his notebook out, asked, “You

think of anyone who might have wished her harm?”

I looked up at him, said,

“Morronni, he does a number on Kebar’s sister,

and now, my turn to feel his rage, you talk to him,

ask him for his whereabouts two nights ago or do

you just hassle cops?”

He closed the notebook, said,

“Look, Shea, I understand your anger, your grief,

but why don’t you think this was the strangler? A

green rosary was used.”

I gave him my granite look, said, “Because of one

small detail, you’re the expert and you missed it?”

He narrowed his eyes, wondering where I was

going with this, asked,

“We double-checked everything, it has all the

hallmarks of the other stranglings.”

I let him wait a beat, then I said, trying not to let

my voice break,

“Her finger is missing, and the gold ring I put on

it.” Nothing is ever as it’s supposed to be more’s

the Irish-ed pity.

MORRONNI WAS SERIOUSLY PISSED.

Gino, standing before him, was nervous, very.

He hadn’t seen the boss this enraged for a long

time and he was drinking neat bourbon, a very bad

sign, meant medieval shit was coming down the

pike and soon. He stared at Gino, asked, “The fuck

were you thinking, you stupid prick?” Gino, at a

loss, asked, “What’d I do?” Morronni was on his

feet, swaying, neat bourbon on an empty stomach

and a batch of rage will sway the best or worst of

‘em, he spat,

“Do … fucking do, you offed the young Mick’s

broad, I said we’d refocus him but I didn’t fucking

mean for him to go ballistic and he will.”

Gino crossed his heart, swore on his mother’s

grave, he hadn’t touched her. Morronni paused,

then, “Would that psycho Fernandez have done it?”

Gino, relieved to be off the hook, said, “He’s

capable of anything.” Morroni fumed, then:

“Him and Kebar, they’re gonna make a move real

soon, are we ready?”

Gino, on safer ground, said,

“We have a full crew all over the club, Kebar

comes in, he’ll be hit from four different angles,

he’s history.”

Morronni said,

“Make sure they’re ready to go, those cops, they’re

gonna come real soon.”

Gino smiled, said,

“They’ll never know what hit them.” Morronni,

back to biz, asked,

“I don’t suppose Kebar told us where the cops are

going to be when we make the shipment?” Gino

said, “I think Kebar has outlived his usefulness.”

Morronni said, “Bring him down hard, you hear?”

Gino heard, loud and deadly.

Further down the street, McCarthy was briefing his

troops, going,

“The kid has suffered a major loss so he’s

definitely going to back Kebar, they’ll make their

move real soon, they go in the club, let them get

started and we’ll go in, pick up the pieces, get

most of Morronni’s crew too.”

His black partner was thinking,

“Pieces … bodies more like.”

I WAS SITTING IN ME APARTMENT, ON MY

SECOND JAMESON, trying to keep my mind a

blank. Bang on the door and I opened it, piece in

my hand. Kebar. Carrying a large holdall. He

began, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I held up my

hand, said, “Don’t.”

He began to unpack the holdall, bulletproof vests,

sawnoffs and numerous handguns, said,

“They’re expecting us at the club, reason I’ve been

casing it, let them think I’m going to go in there,

and McCarthy, they’re waiting too, but Fernandez,

he visits a little chickie on the West Side, gets

himself a bit of poontang before he goes clubbing,

that’s where we’re going, now, you still up for it?”

I began to put on the vest, asked, “Take a wild

guess?” We were good to go and Kebar said,

“Glad to have you on board, kid.”

The duality, hell of a word that, isn’t it, was in full

force, I liked Kebar but I had made my plans and

with regret, I sneaked a look at him, he really did

see me as his backup guy, I think this is where

other people feel that thing they call regret, I don’t

know about that but both sides of me were at war

about my intended action.