Chapter 3
Herbert sat in his car, watching Mckey. The little rat had turned out to be pretty good at screwing over his friends. He’d told Poole he wanted to buy him lunch and talk to him about an opportunity. Said he knew a guy that could give him a new identity so he could start fresh. Herbert had been impressed, he hadn’t even had to coach Mckey through telling the story the grizzled detective had come up with for the set up. So here they were, at The Hudson Café downtown. Herbert would have preferred Mckey told Poole to meet him somewhere in a more seedy area, further away from the big downtown crowds. But this was the place Mckey picked. It made sense, it was popular and in a public area. Poole would feel safe coming here, but lots of people would see Herbert “arrest” him too. He’d have to come up with a good story as to why Poole never made it to the precint…because he was never going to.
Herbert had called his wife and asked her to bring him his other car. It was the car he always used for these…situations. Once he’d made the decision to start working with his secret partner, he’d taken precautions. The car was a 1991 Buick Skylark. It was old and crappy, nothing that he would miss if he ever had to dump it. Plus it was big. Big enough for a body if he needed to put one in the trunk. That turned out not to matter, however. His partner didn’t leave any mess for Herbert to clean up. In fact, he didn’t leave anything at all.
Most importantly, no one on the force knew he had it. So when they saw it driving around…no one knew it was him. That was very important. His “known” vehicle would never go anywhere near his partner…or the criminal scum Herbert brought to him. Everything had worked well so far, no one suspected a thing. Just that Herbert was a loser cop who had a tendency to let suspects get away. But, of course, he knew they never got away. Glancing at the cup holder, Herbert noticed his favorite coffee travel cup. Picking it up, he was delighted to realize it was full. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes and smiled as he tasted his wife’s homemade brew. Abbey.
Herbert’s wife Abbey was a good woman, had always stood by his side. She was patient, loving, and beautiful…everything Herbert wasn’t. She’d brought the car to him at the apartment without even asking why he needed it. He’d driven her home, the whole time listening to her talk about what she had done this morning and what trouble the dogs had gotten into. They loved their dogs, treated them like their children. They’d had a child, a long time ago. A little girl named Gloria…but she died. After the tragedy, they’d never been able to get pregnant again, and to be honest, they probably really hadn’t wanted to. The pain of losing a child, especially to murder…it was something that changed you. And not for the better. Shaking off thoughts of his long dead little girl and the past, Herbert put his focus back on Mckey and the present.
Once Poole showed up, he would wander over and introduce himself as Mckey’s guy, the one who could make all Poole’s troubles go away. Little would the murdering scumbag know his troubles would be the least of his worries thanks to Herbert. Mckey looked to his left and waved, standing as a man approached him. As the two men slapped high fives, Herbert felt his blood boil. He would recognize the scraggly weasel joining Mckey anywhere. Poole. He watched to two sit down, watched them chat, order their food, chat some more, get their food and start eating. Once they were almost done, Herbert downed the rest of his coffee and grabbed the door handle. Showtime, Herbert thought as he got out of his car and made his way towards the slimy pair’s table.
When Herbert got close enough for it to be obvious he was approaching them, Poole glared cautiously. And rightfully so. Herbert hadn’t changed clothes, he rarely did. Navy blue slacks, brown trenchcoat, rumpled white dress shirt, loosened and stained brown tie, and black scuffed shoes. It was comfortable and it was what he had worn pretty much every day for the past twenty odd years. He had, however, put on his favorite brown hat with the brim. Abbey called it his detective hat. It just helped to disguise his face from passerbys. Herbert didn’t think Poole would suspect he was a cop. He didn’t necessarily look like a detective, but who knew…he didn’t not look like one either. Time to work his magic. Sticking out his hand to Poole, he focused on making his voice sound higher pitched and more nasally. Can never be too safe.
“Hello, Mr. Poole. My name is Larry Thompson. Our mutual friend Nate here says you might require my services.” Poole thought about it, then firmly grasped Herbert’s hand, flashing him a shit-eating grin.
“Yes, Mr. Thompson, that is correct. Sit down, please.” Herbert pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Thank you, and please, call me Larry.” Poole nodded. Mckey piped in.
“Hey Larry, what’s up? I told Edgar here everything about you man. Told him you’re the best, you know? Said if anyone needs a fresh start in Detroit, they go to you. Hell yeah, boy, ain’t that right?” Mckey seemed a little nervous, was laying it on a bit thick. Maybe Herbert had been wrong about him, maybe he wasn’t so good at screwing over his friends.
“You’re too kind, Nate, thank you. So, Mr. Poole, what do you need exactly?” Poole clasped his hands in front of him, wringing them roughly.
“Well, see, I messed up…messed up bad. I got the cops after me now and I’m screwed. I need a new life, a new identity. I, well, I don’t have much money…but I can work something out with you.” Herbert didn’t want to know what Poole would work out with him. Time for Herbert to push him a little, see if he could get him to admit to anything.
“How much trouble are you in? I need to know how far I’m putting my neck on the line, Mr. Poole.” Poole was getting more nervous. He bit his lip, visibly flustered as he started looking around. Maybe Herbert had pushed him too much.
“I don’t know, I…shit. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Maybe I should go.” As Poole started to stand, Herbert changed gears. Leaning forward, he put his hand up.
“Whoa, wait a second Mr. Poole. Calm down, sit back down. Don’t worry, I’m sorry if I upset you. I was just curious, but it is none of my business. Nate here says you are a real stand-up guy, a good friend. Says you just caught a bad break and deserve a fresh start. I can help you…I will help you.” Poole slowly sat back down, calming down a bit but still anxious.
“But…what about money? I don’t ha-” Herbert cut him off.
“Don’t worry Mr. Poole, it’s okay. Let’s get you all fixed up and in the clear, then we can work something out. I can tell you are a good man, someone I can trust. I want to help you. What do you say, do we have a deal?” Herbert offered his hand. Poole looked at it like it was made of gold, then grabbed it with both hands, shaking it excitedly.
“Yes, oh yes. Thank you so much Larry, you are a life-saver. I can’t believe how lucky I am that Nate knew you. Okay, so what happens now?” Herbert leaned back, smiling.
“Well, we go back to my office and get you all new stuff. New license, new social security card, some credit cards to build credit in your name and give you some funds for that new start. Plus we will find some new wardrobe, a haircut and dye job…make you look like a new person. In a few hours, you will be a brand new man.” In reality, Herbert chuckled to himself, in a few hours you will be dead. Poole, still smiling like a child on Christmas morning, turned his attention to Mckey.
“Hey Nate, can you drive me to Larry’s office? I walked here, you know, I’m mobile right now, no car.” Alright Mckey, Herbert thought, do your job here.
“Shit, sorry bro, I can’t. I gotta get to an appointment, it’s real important and I can’t miss it.” Herbert’s turn.
“I can drive you there Mr. Poole, it isn’t far from here and my car is right over there.” Pointing towards the Skylark, Herbert grinned, hoping the bastard took the bait. Poole looked at Mckey, then back at Herbert. He wasn’t convinced yet. Herbert needed to make him feel safer. Laughing, the undercover detective slapped a nervous Mckey on the back.
“Looks like your friend doesn’t trust me,
Nate. Probably thinks I’m some kind of freak or something. Look at me Mr. Poole, I’m an old man. You could take me out easily, I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’m just a business man, trying to help you out. It’s up to you. Nate here knows where my office is, he can come there after his appointment and hang out with you until it’s all done, and then you can leave with your buddy here, a brand new man. What do you say?” Poole looked at Mckey.
“Can you do that, Nate?” Mckey grinned.
“Of course pal, of course. I will be there in an hour or so, promise. And you can trust Larry, he is good people bro, I swear.” Poole started tapping his fingers on the table, looking back and forth between the two men, and then started tapping his foot. Herbert was going to have to force the nervous murderer to make a quick decision. Shrugging his shoulders, Herbert put both hands on the table and stood up.
“Alright, well, I don’t have time for this. Good luck to you Mr. Poole, I hope you find another way out of your predicament. Good day, gentlemen.” As he turned to leave, Poole called out to him.
“No, wait!” Herbert smiled as he turned around. Gotcha you bastard. Poole continued. “Okay, okay I will go with you.” Then he looked at Nate. “I will see you there Nate, right.” Nate stood up and nodded.
“Yeah, man, yeah. Don’t worry, this is good shit bro. You need to calm down, be happy. This is gonna give you your life back, you know? Come here, bring it in.” Mckey spread his arms and Poole embraced him. Herbert could hear Mckey mutter something about having Poole’s back before he released from the hug. Mckey said he had to go and said his goodbyes to both Poole and Herbert, then he walked away and it was just the two of them.
“Well, Mr. Poole, shall we go?” Poole nodded, looking very nervous.
“Yeah, sure, lead the way.” Herbert did just that, all the way to the Skylark. He opened the door for Poole, and once his prey was in the car, Herbert shut the door and looked around. Scanning for any familiar faces, he was happy to not see any, not one. Hell, no one was even looking. He’d done it. Smooth sailing from here. Rounding the car, Herbert got in himself and fired up the old boat, pulling it into the street and accelerating away from the café.
They drove in silence for a couple minutes, Herbert congratulating himself on a job well done and Poole most likely dreaming of a new start. A new start he didn’t deserve, a new start he would never get. Poole broke the silence.
“Nice coffee mug.” Herbert glanced at him and noticed he was looking down at the cup Abbey had filled and left for him earlier.
“Thanks, it is my favorite. I got it as a gift, long time ago.” It had been given to him as a gift for his 25th year of service to the Detroit Police Department. It didn’t say anything on it that would give that fact away, it was just a nice looking chrome thermas with a glossy finish. As they stopped at a red light, Herbert noticed Poole began to take his eyes away from the mug, but then suddenly jerk to a stop. Poole let out a startled cry, and Herbert realized why without having to look.
The old detective had made a mistake, one tiny little mistake. But it was going to cost him. The memory of his deceased baby girl had screwed up his head, ruined his focus. When he’d gotten out of the car he had left more than the mug in the console. In the compartment behind the mug sat his wallet…and his badge. He’d forgotten it was there. Poole had seen it, he knew Herbert was a cop. Shit.
Poole didn’t waste any time, cursing as he began to fumble with something in his waistband. Seeing a flash of gun metal, Herbert acted quickly. He drove the side of his fist into Poole’s nose, startling him. As Poole groaned and his hands flew away from his gun to his injured nose, Herbert grabbed the bastard by the back of the head and slammed his face into the dashboard, hard. Poole’s forehead bounced off and he slumped forward, unconscious. Breathing heavily, Herbert tried to calm himself as he looked around.
Luckily for him, there was no one to be seen. He had been lucky, damned lucky. If anyone had been in the lane next to him, or idling in a car behind him, they would have seen the whole thing and called the cops. Speaking of which, a few cars were approaching from behind. As the light turned green, Herbert clicked the release button on Poole’s seatbelt and shoved the limp murderer down onto the floor in front of the passenger seat. That would keep him out of view. Accelerating, he relaxed. At least he didn’t need to put on a show anymore, or worry about what Poole would say when he realized they had been driving too long, or when they were out in the middle of nowhere. No more bumps in the road, he hoped to himself. That had been way too close.