“Hey Boyd! Look what we got you!” My captors called out to him. “Aren’t you glad?”
For a moment I thought they meant I was a snack, but then the fat one replied.
“Yeah, great. You boys always know how to time these deliveries.” He sounded about as thrilled as a chicken would be to get plucked.
“Oh don’t be so enthusiastic!” The two that brought me in laughed at their jokes. “And no need to thank us. We’re just doing our job.”
They left, while discussing something about wives and children and sleep. I stood silently, glaring at the one they called Boyd. He grunted, and then with great effort lifted himself out of the chair. He managed to shuffle over to me with small steps and heavy breaths. He took my handcuffed hands and dipped each finger into a dark blue dye then pressed them onto some squares that labeled my fingers. I made no movement to resist. There would have been no point. He took my finger prints, and then gave me hand sanitizer wipes and a paper towel. I wiped the ink off my fingers.
After this, I was lead in front of a white wall and turned to face a camera. He fumbled around with a black sign, then gave it to me. It had “NYPD” and a serial number on it.
“Hold it out in front of you like this.” He held it at a height so that it could cover some of his belly if here the one getting his mug shots taken.
I followed his orders. He stood behind the camera, and focused it before taking a picture. “Look up here.” He moved his finger to just above where the lens was.
“Lift your head too.”
He took another picture, then turned me sideways adjusted my chin and took a final one of my profile.
He led me to a heavy looking barred door, which separated his little office from the holding cells. He pulled the keys off of his belt and slowly selected the one that fit in the door. With as much noise as Boyd could manage, he unlocked the door and put the keys back on his belt. When we got to the cell, he once again took the keys off of his belt and took him time in finding the necessary key. He unlocked it, then took my handcuffs and hastily pushed me in. He shuffled down the hall and relocked the barred door.
I stretched my hands and rubbed the spots where the handcuffs had dug in.
I knew what came next. They make me wait for an hour or more, and then they will come in to question me. They think some time alone is enough to crack someone. It can be rather stressful psychologically, sure, but it wouldn’t work on me. I was used to being alone. However I soon found out that they had special plans for me.
I felt someone’s presence in the darkness. The kind of vibrations only a human body could emit. I turned to see who was there, and evidently they were curious about me as well. Barely a yard separated us.
“Hey jerkoff, that’s my spot. There is a special fee for standing in my spot.”
He was about as tall as I was. About 5’10”. He had jeans and a leather jacket and some western style cowboy boots with steel plates on their toes. His hair was long greasy, and demonstrated a crude effort in having been greased back, but was altogether rather messy. He smelt like a mixture of cigarettes, sweat and booze. He probably got tossed in here after some petty bar fight.
“Are you fucking deaf?” He asked.
I obviously wasn’t deaf, I knew exactly what he was saying but I didn’t respond. He thought I would fall prey to his little game, and question back. That would put the ball in his side of the field, and I didn’t want to give him any control over the situation. I watched him and tried to position myself, to be able to get out of the way if he made any effort to reach me. I didn’t need a taste of those steel plates from his boots.
“Quit staring and pay up.”
He didn’t know what to do in a situation like this. I could see the gears turning in that thick little head of his, trying to figure out what his next step will be. Usually in this case, the aggravator will start shoving but I didn’t want to wait for that.
I made up my mind to reply with three quick hits. I had nearly 20 years of experience in boxing and sparring, so I knew how to hit properly. The swings did the trick. Two uppercuts to the body and a hook to the head. Ti-Ti-TA. A familiar pattern in my fighting practices. Left, right, left. The first two hits are just to get his guard up and protect his body, and then get a clear shot at the temple. I put my entire body weight behind that one hit, and there was a loud crack as I connected. It wasn’t like the ones in the movie. I could tell that he wasn’t getting up again for a while.
Things are different in the real world.
I heard voices coming from beyond the barred door. I heard what sounded like a phone being slammed down. I assume they were calling for backup. I heard familiar voices and a hint of urgency. There was a click in the lock by the barred door and Boyd walked through with two guards on his heels.
“ ’Bout time, boss!” I called in a chipper voice.
“What did you do to him?” he asked, although as far as I could tell he knew exactly what had happened. It wasn’t too hard to guess, especially when you saw this crap all the time.
The two guards grabbed me and led me out of the cell. They didn’t even bother with Boots, lying there on the ground. I doubt he’ll complain to anyone, or that he’ll even remember this at all.
CHAPTER 4
Only fifteen minutes after I was already in the extortionist’s room. It was a dull, empty place with grey walls. There was a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling just bright enough to be considered dim. The furniture was as follows: one scratched up wooden writing desk, and two plain metal chairs on either side of it. Both were bolted to the ground.
The hinges creaked and the door swung open, and copper in a grey blazer came in. He came closer and threw a dossier on the table in front of me, and sat down.
“Lieutenant Baker at your service. I’m in charge of murder cases. Now I’ve been informed about your little show in the cell. You have a knack for getting in trouble, don’t you son? From outside the city, we have the ex-boxer who’s incapable of sitting on his damn ass for ten minutes. Now listen closely son, because I’m going to tell you how it is and you will have the next twenty years to think and sit on your ass.”
“I know my rights. I’m innocent until proved guilty.”
They couldn’t have gotten any dirt in this short period of time, but I was still just throwing gasoline on the fire. I could see it in his eyes. He opened the dossier and showed me the contents. There were coloured pictures of me, enlarged to fit the A4 sheet of paper. The pictures were taken at a crime scene, one I was familiar with. I was there two days ago, The Kirkwood estate bedroom.
“Where were you August 25 of this year?”
“It’s been a while. I can’t remember,” I said, even though I knew exactly where I had been.
“You can’t remember where you were yesterday? “
“I have a very bad memory, Sir.” I replied.
I looked at the pictures harder. There was the body. The bullet wound. The blood stain. On the next picture I could see the murder weapon. The snub nosed Smith & Wesson.
“Do you remember the phone call that night?”
“No.” I said. Baker was getting aggravated.
“Then let me jog your memory,” He shouted. “Take a look at the last page.”
I brushed everything else aside and picked up the last page. It had typed lists and records of my phone calls. There was one highlighted in red. August 25, 8:23 pm. Duration: forty seconds long.
“I’m guessing your little girlfriend gave you the call and invited you over, didn’t she?”
“I doubt it. I think she just wanted to chat for a bit.”
“Bullshit. One of the neighbors saw your car in front of the house that night.”
I could feel an imaginary noose tightening around my neck and I could feel that the real squeeze was still yet to come.
“Yeah, so? I went over. There is nothing wrong with that.”
“But the
re is something wrong with murder son. That’s against the law. I suggest you start looking for a lawyer.”
“I didn’t kill her husband.”
“I think you did. I think, you went over for a night of fun. The husband came home unexpectedly, you lost your head and shot him.”
“Prove it.”
“There were no prints on the gun except yours.”
I lost my ability to speak. I began to replay the events in my head like an old VCR. I was winding back time with my finger on the button, back to when Talisha had shown me the gun in the coffee shop. I hit pause. I looked at the image. She had placed the gun on the table in front of me. I pressed play and I could see myself move the gun back to her. That must have been how she got my prints on the gun. She probably wiped her own off of it, and left mine. A perfect murder weapon. No one assumes it was her, and I get put in jail for twenty years. I was starting to panic when I noticed something that even I didn’t expect.
I kept going through the pictures, until I got to the last one. It was another picture of the body, but it was done in the lab by the coroner. The blood had been washed off of the face and I could see it clearly now. But even cleaned, with a two thousand dollar camera, I was unable to recognize the man in the photo, and that’s because I had never seen him before. The man in the image was definitely not the one I had followed and threatened.
It all became clear in my head. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Talisha had a partner in crime. Someone I had been responsible for following and threatening. Then the two of them killed the real husband. I had to give it to them, they did a pretty good job.
I looked at Baker. He looked so self-assured, I could feel his confidence from across the table. I was the mouse in the trap, he had caught me. And he could see the same from me. He was already drunk with the feeling of victory and had nothing more to say. Neither did I. He stood up from the table, closed the dossier and walked over to the door. There was no doorknob for security measures of course and so he knocked before the buzzer signaling the door is ready to open. He opened it and walked through, leaving my alone in the dim room. Not ten seconds later, another guard came in. The one who led me here from my cell, but this time he was supposed to lead me back. I stood up without a word and went over to the door. I was already making a plan in my head and didn’t want to raise suspicion.
* * * * *
He made the first mistake of not handcuffing me. Ever since Boyd, the fat one, removed the cuffs, no had replaced them. They weren’t on me when I was brought up here, they were placed on me during my interrogation and I wasn’t getting any now when they were returning me to my cell.
He knocked on the door, and the buzzer went off, signaling that it okay to open now. He ushered me ahead of him, but not out of manners. We stepped out the door and started down the long narrow hallway. He stayed close by me, his left hand gripping my elbow.
I made a split second decision. I gave him a light shove with my shoulder as I stepped just strong enough to push him away, and with that step I turned 180 degrees to face him. I put my hand under his jaw, the way you see men do in those romantic movies. Except my intention wasn’t to kiss him: slammed his head against the wall, really hoping it wasn’t drywall. I struck gold and by gold I mean a brick wall. There was a dull thud and he fell to his knees from the shock. I took the opportunity to bring my leg up and knee him right in the face. He crumpled to the ground without another sound, laying in the fetal position.
“Sorry bud.” I whispered
I didn’t want to kill him, just make him incapable of stopping me. He’ll get by with a concussion. As for my record, it didn’t really matter. They had me for murder, so assaulting an officer seemed like something I could still recover from. Maybe I’ll have to spend another five years or whatever.
I started to leave through the gate they brought me in a few hours ago. I got to the service desk without any more trouble. To the right there were desks where undercover detectives were dealing with the enormous paper stack in front of them, or taking phone calls. It was very busy and loud now, which I knew could work to my advantage. I tried to stay inconspicuous, to just blend in. No running; that attracts far too much attention. I slowed my steps to match pace of others and tried to look like I had somewhere important to be. I did my best bored face as if being here was something I did every day. I got all the way to the receptionists desk without drawing any suspicious glares, getting yelled at or tackled. I didn’t dare take a breath of relief yet, because the receptionist could still recognize me. I avoided eye contact and tried my best to be invisible. I put my hands in my pockets and was walking by when the blue doors with the exit sign over them opened.
Two police officers in full assault gear came in. They could have been the ones who brought me in, I couldn’t tell through their masks. But they could definitely see my face which was a problem. They were holding a heavily tattooed Latin-American guy who was fighting for his freedom in all shades of Spanish. They struggled to lead him to the receptionist and amidst the chaos I took the chance to get out of there through the same door they brought me in. The Spanish guy was continuously yelling, except for the one second break he took to spit in the receptionists face, so I sped up, assuming no one would notice. I left the entrance lot and took a right to a smaller street.
I had to find a place where I could rest for a bit. I couldn’t go home or to my office for the night for obvious reasons. Seven minutes had passed since I had left the police station, and they had to have found the guard on the ground by now. Or he could have woken up and raised the alarm himself. I could imagine Lieutenant Baker, with his veins bulging and yelling orders at the top of his voice. He thought he had me in the palm of his hand and I slipped out though his fingers. He’d go berserk, maybe even have a stroke when he got the news.
I arrived at Ocean Parkway. There was heavy traffic still at this time. I heard a siren but it was impossible to know yet if they were chasing me because it’s rare to not be hearing a siren in this part of the city. It could have been an ambulance, the police or firefighter.
Also a part of this city were the yellow taxis. They had business day and night. Suddenly I remembered something. I signaled for one and yanked the door open as soon as it stopped. I got in the back seat and let out a breath of relief.
“Where to, sir?” asked the cabbie with a thick Indian accent.
* * * * *
Lieutenant Baker walked out of the interrogation chamber winked at the guard and rushed back to his office on the second floor. As he was going up the stairs he considered what else he could accomplish before he went home. The day had been long but they managed to arrest Roy James. Everything had gone okay, he didn’t show any sign of resistance or will to get himself a lawyer, and no one got hurt. Well not until the idiots put him in with the other prisoner. Come to think of it, that might even be useful. On top of the murder he could add a count of light assault. Depends how they guy with the long hair wakes up and if the doctors find anything on him. The longer he can put James away for, the better. Let the fucker rot in jail. He wrote himself a sticky note to check with the doctors the next day.
He had no will to write the report today so he didn’t even start it. He’ll do it tomorrow. He stood up from his chair, and grabbed his coat from the back rest and put it on. He started to leave but the phone rang.
“Lieutenant Baker here.”
“Lieutenant, we have problem. Roy James has escaped sir.”
Baker went stiff. He couldn’t believe his ears.
“Is this a fucking joke?” he asked, his throat had gone dry.
“No sir.”
He slammed the phone down hard enough that he even the neighboring offices heard it. He ran down the stairs and found the officer who made the phone call. They made eye contact and started towards one another. Baker began his ranting from halfway across the room.
“What the hell did you do? How could you let him es
cape?” He was roaring, his veins bulging at this neck, his face a brilliant shade of reddish purple. He turned to the counter without even waiting for the response, and started barking orders.
“I want two teams out. One at his office, one at his house. Close off the area, in a two mile radius. I want that piece of garbage found. What are you waiting for? Go!”
He turned back to the officer and noticed just now that his nose was swollen and there was blood in the corner of his mouth as well as on his shirt. He looked at the officer’s nametag.
“How you doing son?” he asked.
“I’m fine sir, just a little dizzy.”
“Find a doctor and get yourself checked out. Then I want you to go home and rest. I’ll get someone in on-call for you.” Baker said, as he heard the sirens star to wail. He won’t be home in time for dinner tonight, if he gets home at all. He calls his wife to tell her she is eating along again tonight, and he’ll be sitting in the office over his desk until late into the night.
CHAPTER 5
Al Marchani woke up at the same time in the morning every day. His life had become a routine he had stuck to for 62 years. Just as in the past six decades, he got up at five in the morning, when the alarm was set. He got out of bed and through on his bathrobe, stepped into his slipper and went to the kitchen. He put on some coffee before walking out to his classic style mailbox to get the morning’s paper. He looked around but couldn’t see anything interesting. No opening garage doors, no one coming down the street with tired bags under their eyes, waving goodbye to their wives and kids for the day. There was no movement, and no signs of life except for him. Just an average morning in the average suburban neighborhood.