- by Jeremy, Emanuel,
Mike The
Story. Began
July 19th, 2002
- by Jeremy, Emanuel,
Mike
CHAPTER: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
CHAPTER ONE
MIKE
I stared bleakly out of my second story window apartment. The rain hammered the windows in sheets; the people below scurried for cover. Thunder rattled the windowpanes and I inserted the newest Eminem CD.
"Man, oh man," I thought out loud, "This is going to be a bitch of a storm tonight."
I turned up the music and got dressed. I had a date tonight at the Kitty Cat Lounge with a woman named Trixie. After I dressed and put on the obligatory cologne, I went down the stairs and out into the stormy night to hail a cab.
EMANUELOpening the door to the street, I was immediately assailed by the fury of the elements. Rain beat against my cleanly shaven face with bombastic impunity, and the icy wind played up and down my shivering back. Luckily a cab was standing out front and three deliberate steps brought me to the iconic yellow door.
"Where to, Sir?" chirped the cabby in a thick South-Asian accent.
"Eighth and Chelsea." I replied gruffly, I hated Asians. Its not that I'm a racist, I'm not. Its just that there are so damned many of them, and they were taking over many of the neighborhoods in Brooklyn where I grew up. Where there had once been upstanding communities of Italians, and even Jews, now they were crawling with Indians, Pakistanis, and Hmong.
Gazing out of the Plexiglas window, I surveyed the soaked streets slowly passing by. The Gotham gray color of concrete mixed oddly with the vivacious yellow of the cabs, offset slightly by the patches of white snow still unsoiled by the mass of New York's pedestrian humanity.
"Here we are, Sir."
"Thanks," I said as I handed over a ten dollar bill. Replacing the wallet into my black trench jacket, my hand brushed against the Glock 9mm pistol in my shoulder holster. I might not need it tonight, but then again... you never know.
JEREMY"Eighth and Chelsea..." I said to myself as if the very words were an old groin injury that had just come back to greet me. Speaking those words aloud brought back the memory of the first time I came to this street. Well, I remembered part of it, at least. It was the day I finally received my promotion to detective, and the day I first regretted getting that promotion.
Nick, Big T, Charlie and I were quite the hounds in those days. Every night was a party for one thing or another. We would always go to this little dive called Caernarfon's Cove; we were comfortable there, we'd really let loose and there were always people there to watch our backs. Not that we ever needed it, we were a tough crew and it was rare that anyone with half a brain would start something with one of us. If you started a problem with one of us, you started a problem with all of us. At Caernarfon's Cove, we were kings.
So it is still a mystery to me, why on the night of my promotion, we chose to change things up and go to McGinties instead.
MIKEMcGinties was your typical American Irish bar, and as we all walked in the stench of cheap alcohol and cigarette smoke assailed us.
Big T was exactly that - big. A Bronx born boy with wavy salt and pepper hair and blue eyes. His face was hard planes and angles marred by a series of scars. Big T was an Airborne Ranger in Nam and had spent 2 years in the Hanoi Hilton. After his tour he had moonlighted as a bounty hunter, as well as our line of work. "Aye would yah like'a drop o'tha pure laddie?" Big T had said to him in a horrible Irish accent, as he passed me my usual rock glass of Glenlivet.
I glanced casually around the bar, more habit than anything. People at that bar were the flotsam and Jetsam of New York, from your construction worker, to the ten dollar whore at the end of the bar. That bar did not have the reputation for entertaining the Crème de la Crème of society. I slowly took it all in until I noticed a man in a black suit seated in the corner of the bar. Illuminated only by a Pabst Blue Ribbon neon sign. He was in a Black Armani suit, and his shoes where Italian. I knew that this was not McGinties common clientele. My eyes rested on him a bit longer, and then continued my sweep of the bar.
EMANUEL"Hey, get the fuck out of the way!" shouted an old man as he shuffled past.
I snapped back into the moment with a rush of adrenaline that brought a childlike flush to my face. I never meant to think of that night, but as was always the case once my mind starts wandering there was no turning back. Why the hell had I agreed to meet Trixie in this part of town?! Oh, yah... she was a Jazz fan, and there was no Jazz like East Village Jazz.
Stepping under an awning and out of the biblical downpour, I lit a slightly crumpled Virginia Circle Brown and inhaled deeply. Across the street the pink neon signs of the Kitty Cat Lounge blinked alluringly like a seductive lover. I had agreed to take Trixie out as a favor to Alihandro. I needed to get in deeper, and Alihandro was the key.
"Like the fucking white rabbit, he's going to lead me down the rabbit hole," I mumbled under my breath as I set out across the teeming street. "Lets get it on."
JEREMYThere are two things that can get you somewhere in this town: money, and being a dame. So after slipping the doorman a fifty, I was able to get past the door unchecked without a problem. The first thing that hit me was the smell. The smell of sin. It's one of those things that hits you like a ton of bricks. The pungent aroma of sleaze, money and lot's of narcotics. After five years in this business, I can sense it, like a predator to its prey. It stings, yet somehow I'm attracted to it like a moth to the flame, always have been. Perhaps that why I first got in the game.
Walking through the smoke filled corridors, the music of a man's search for meaning in this crazy world draws me close. I can hear the murmuring of a room packed with people restless to get of the skin they're sitting in. I can hear an argument going on in a back corner, it sounds like the guy couldn't hide his infidelity any longer. A bouncer stops the ruckus in no time, and the music doesn't skip a beat. My skin begins to tingle with that chilling sense of alert that has saved me so many times. But, as I walked into the main lounge, I knew that this time I had to ignore it and press on. Trixie was in here somewhere, and if I didn't do this for Alihandro all my work for the past five years would be destroyed.
MIKE
I slowly waded through the sea of people. I scanned intently for her, all I had was a picture dated 1995. In the picture she was tall with long black hair pulled back with a red ribbon. She was standing beneath a tree in a checkered red sundress. She was a beautiful woman. The sweet sounds of Jazz echoed in my ears as I proceeded to the bar.
"What can I get you, Sir?" The bartender asked.
"Scotch and water." Some thing's never changed.
Through the haze of smoke, there she was, long black hair flowed gracefully over her shoulder, she leaned with her elbow on the bar watching the five piece jazz band intently. Well I suppose I should introduce myself. As I approached she turned from the band and ours eyes met. Blue, blue like a cloudless sky, she wore a black evening dress with a slit up the side, completed with a silver necklace. She glanced at me and smiled, this was one of the times in my life I was speechless as a schoolboy.
EMANUEL
I hadn't always wanted to be a cop. When I was a kid I can remember yearning to be the one who broke the rules, the outlaw, the villain. Maybe that was just a way of escaping my father's harsh rules, but the feeling went deep, and it stuck. Perhaps that's why I drew this damn gig, in my heart I already knew the steps.
"You Trixie?" I asked, knowing full well that she was. "I'm Jason, pleased to meet you." Trixie cocked her head to the side and gazed at me for a long moment that felt like an eternity. When she finally spoke, her voice was as mellifluous as the music of a harp plucked with a master's gentle touch.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jason. But don't ever call me Trixie again, my name is Ramona." Her rebuke was playful, but there was real fire in those deep azure orbs that made my heart skip a beat.
"Sorry," I stammered, "Can I get you a drink?"
"I'll have a Shirley Temple, with a twist," she purred, and I hastily turned to flag down the bartender. God I wish Charlie were here doing this, he is... was, so much better with the ladies.
JEREMY
"So Trix- er, Ramona, I'm not one for small talk."
Right off the bat I knew she was trouble. Besides her being involved with Alihandro, there was more to her trouble than that. Any woman with a body like hers, a body that puts in for double overtime because it never stops working, any woman looking like that and orders a Shirley Temple has got to be trouble. She wants to keep her wits about her. She doesn't want to lose herself to the night. She doesn't want to be here any more than I do and she wants me to know that. She needs me to call her by her real name, she wants respect. Woman and respect just don't mix, a woman who demands respect like she has, well that is trouble. It's quick deductions like this that gave me the reputation I once had. But just like always, I never listen to that little voice that tells me to get out while I can.
After a few awkward moments of silence, I swallow down my scotch and water in a practiced swig and slam the glass back on the table. "Bartender, I think I'll have another."
"What are you doing here?" I say with a wry smile and a casual, friendly tone.
MIKE
"Mmmmmm... Is that how you approach all the ladies?"
"I figured I would cut to the chase," I said.
"How about this, why don't you tell me why you are here?" she said her eyes narrowing a bit.
"Can't a man talk to a pretty lady at the bar?" I said.
"Absolutely, but something tells me your not here just to talk to a pretty lady at the bar," she said leaning over and patting the small bulge my Glock made in my suit Jacket. Well this surely was unexpected, she was a shrewd one.
"All part and parcel of my job, does it make you uncomfortable, I can take it off."
"And leave yourself completely unprotected from me, I wouldn't recommend that," she said with a hint of a smile.
"Are you really that dangerous?" I asked.
"Depends..."
"Depends on what?"
"Depends on who sent you," she said. She brought her Shirley temple to her lips and sipped daintily on the straw. This act sent shivers down my spine.
"What makes you think someone sent me? I could be just talking to a pretty lady at the bar."
"And I was born yesterday," she said sardonically while standing up and grabbing her purse. "Well Mr. Granger, you have worn out my patience. It was a pleasure chatting with you."
As she walked by I said, "I was sent by a mutual friend of ours," hoping this would pique her interest enough to come back. She stopped slowly turned around and sat back down.
"To what purposes?" she asked interested again.
Fuck Charlie was so much better at this than me. "Not so fast, how do you know my last name?"
EMANUEL
Charlie Avarencia, or Carlos as his mother named him, was one of the meanest 'Vatos' to ever grace the L.A.P.D.'s South Central Anti-Gang Unit. The youngest man to graduate the Academy, Charlie used the special POST entry exam and joined the active force at the age of twenty. Having grown up in the Huntington Park area, Charlie was well accustomed to the rough and tumble life so common in the inner city. Luckily for him, his mother would not stand him falling down the sinful path that had claimed so many young Latinos already.
She sent him away to a private school in Glendale where he would learn books and religion, away from the horrible temptations of the street. Once on the force he was quickly drafted by the newly created C.L.E.A.R. (Community Law Enforcement and Recovery) division, and posted to the elite Community Impact Team (C.I.T.). Charlie had worked 3 years on the Venice 13 case, and had been responsible for one of the largest gangs busts in L.A.P.D. history. A year later N.Y.P.D. brought him in as an advisor to help head up their Gang Narcotics division. He was the one who uncovered Alihandro, he was the one who discovered the trucks, he was the one who got me into this damn mess!
"Listen Hon, I'm not here to play games with you, okay?" I snapped, and instantly realized my mistake. "I mean, it's been a hard day, and the least we could do is relax and enjoy some music."
"Very well, if you insist." We located a vacant table near the stage and watched the next trio set up. I could tell she was tense, but I had no idea what she could be so tense about; then her cell phone rang.
"Hello?" she chirped. "Yes this is she... Who is this? Hello? Hello?" Looking perplexed she hung up and the color drained out of her angelic face until she resembled a porcelain figurine. "I think they found me."
JEREMY
"Here we go," hardly buying this for a moment. "Listen babe, I've heard much better escape calls in my-"
"I don't think you understand. Look Mr.Granger, you seem rude and hardly worth my time, but I kinda like that. I have to go... now. Thanks for the drink." She said that last bit already on the move toward the back of the club.
Before I knew what was going on, she had already taken five steps ahead of me. Quickly throwing back the rest of my drink, I followed her. I couldn't let her get away from me, not this time.
Passing through the crowd and being a little less than discrete about it, I began to lose ground on her through the tables and smoke. The crowd wasn't helping either, if there wasn't one person to trip over, there was another to push me out of the way. It reminded me of the last time I was on assignment in the Pig Pen on Wallstreet, except the people were friendlier on Wallstreet.
When I reached the back there were no doors, no windows and no Ramona. There was only one way she could have gotten past me. I quickly kicked open the mensroom and with noone obviously there, I grumbled and moved on. My gut told me there wasn't much time. I moved to the women's room, glancing behind me I could already hear the sounds of discord coming from the front. The music was dying. It wouldn't be long now. I checked to make sure my piece was still there and kicked in the door.
MIKE
The cries of surprise and indignation amused me. I pulled out my wallet.
"NYPD!! Stay calm" I said in a an icy tone, flashing my badge. Quickly I looked around. Where the fuck could she be I thought to myself. I started checking under the stall doors for her black Stiletto heels. Nothing...where the hell did she go.
I ran back out into the hall. Glancing to my left across the crowd I saw five men in suits fanning across the bar evidently searching for something, or someone. Why was it always men in suits? To my right was the kitchen entrance. I quickly ran through the double doors to the kitchen.
Steam and cooking foods assailed me as I ran past the cooks. "Hey!!" I said to one of the bus boys "Did you see a woman in a black dress come through here?".
"Yes..sir " he stammered, "She went through the dock doors."
I took off running again, I'm getting too old for this shit. I ran out through the dock doors and into the stormy night. Nothing, shit, shit, shit. The blood pumped wildly through my head.
"Psst... Hey John Wayne" said a voice quietly from the end of the alley. "You keep standing around like a idiot you'll get us both killed". A flash of lightning quickly illuminated the dark alley. She was crouched behind a dumpster, holding a gun in her hand.
I ran over to her. "What are you running from?" I whispered in her ear.
Her heady perfume and rain slicked hair raised none-too-pure thoughts. She looked at me for a second with eyes like steely opals. "Stick around and find out Mr. Granger."
Thunder boomed in the distance.
EMANUELI'm no rookie, so I know when someone is playing a game and when someone is dead serious. Ramona had that gaze that meant business. In a flash my gun was out and I chambered the first hollow point round, if things were going to get dicey then I wanted to be prepared.
"I saw five suits entering the club back there, are they the threat?"
"There were five of them?!!!" Ramona exclaimed with honest surprise.
"Yah, five. Big guys too." I was starting to get scared, and my heart picked up the pace.
"They never send five, why would they send five? I didn't do anything" She was starting to loose it, and someone had to keep their cool or we were both going to end up in the hurt.
"Relax!" I yelled over the sudden burst of thunder "who were they?"
"You have to help me Jason, please...if they catch me...I can't, I just can't!" Tears streamed down her face and co-mingled with the falling rain. She had such a frightened and vulnerable look that I couldn't help but feel protective. I knew she was going to be trouble.
"Ok, that's it, were moving." I said as I hoisted her up and started for the end of the alley. Just then the back door to the club flew open with an audible clang and two suited men stepped out into the street. In the gloomy twilight of the alley I could see that they were wearing well cut black suits, and they both had two-way radios in their ears. Lightning flashed again, and in that brief moment I saw the two Uzi's the men were brandishing in our direction.
"Hit the dirt" I yelled as I shoved Ramona and dove for cover. The burst was louder then I had expected. Bits of brick and plaster showered us as the successive concussion of the automatic weapons echoed down the alley.
Adrenaline pumping, I sprang to my knees after the first volley and sent my own salvo back the other way. I hadn't even realized that I ran my first clip and reloaded until that too was emptied in righteous fury at my unknown assailants. Not checking to see if my bullets found their mark, and not pausing to marvel that I was still alive I grabbed the torpored Ramona and ran like hell.
JEREMY
It's amazing to me how in these situations instinct takes over completely. I've been chased and shot at more than once in my days as a detective. It's actually kind of funny; in my days as a beat cop I never had more problems than some angry drunks on the side of the road. Even back then, everything was still instinct. If a drunk was going to take a swing at you or try to reach for your sidearm, you didn't have time to think what to do. You had to move left or right, or down or jump to the side in a split second. It was instinct that saved me then, it's instinct that has saved me these last years chasing, or is it running away from, these wacko jacko's on the street.
But, this time it wasn't instinct that saved me from the latest spray of mortar... it was dumb luck. The dumb luck of trying to run from these murderous fashion kings, trying to save Ramona and turn the corner of the alley. It just so happened that when we continued our sprint to get the hell out of there, there were some bricks that were shot loose ahead of me and I was too frantic to see them. My right foot stepped on a particularly smooth brick as a stepping stone, and after I slid across the pavement about two feet, dragging poor Ramona with me, the slick ground took us both down to the ground hard, again, but out of harms way.
I felt the whistling of the bullets fly by where I just was standing. The loose bullets slammed into an apartment building across the street and a VW Bug that was parked a few feet away from me. The exposed engine and exhaust system must have taken a beating and light a spark in the gas tank. The heat was instantaneous, unbearable and it hurt. The mixture of the cold hard rain and the fire and gas felt toxic. The explosion knocked me against the wall I was already huddled against.
The world was spinning, but I had enough wits about me to fumble around and reload my gun. I felt the warm, wet heat of blood running down the side of my head. I didn't have time to look around me and see the crowd running away. I could hear the crowd, faintly, I heard ringing and a screaming crowd of people. I peeked around the corner of the alley in-between reloads. I fired a few shots, more to prevent them from pressing on than to actually connect. There wasn't time, I wasn't prepared, and I was hurting.
Suddenly the firing stopped. I peeked around the corner and saw all five of the suits hustling down the alley. I was confused, with the ringing in my head and the screaming crowd I could not hear the police sirens coming near. At the other end of the alley, two black Humvees pulled up and all five of our assailants gathered inside. Before I could get up and do anything at all, they were already gone.
I turned around slowly and saw the familiar echoes of blue and red lights coming down the street. The Bug was still burning and so was my head. The crowd was settling and starting to gather 'round. I did not feel like doing much of anything about it. Down at my right I saw Ramona on the soaked ground looking very much like how I felt. I leaned up against the building and slid down to the ground, my legs didn't really want to continue any further.
As I sat, Ramona rose to her feet, if not a little unsteady. She looked around, kicked off her heels and steadied herself.
"Mr. Granger." She said that as if to dismiss me. Then, she was off down the street.
MIKE
"Whoa whoa, where do you think your going?" I said leaping to my feet. My muscles protested.
"You have become more trouble than you are worth Mr.Granger." She said her tone was icy cool, and her eyes flashed under the street lamp.
"Now wait a second. I'm trouble? I was just about killed because of you. Personally I saved your ass."
She smiled a mirthless smile. "Well John Wayne, do you want a cookie? You chose to save me I didn't force you too." She quickly did an about face and began walking down the sidewalk clutching herself against the cold and the night rain.
"Hold on." I said and ran to catch up to her. I took off my trench coat, and wrapped it around her shoulders. If she was grateful, she didn't show it. We walked in silence for a bit leaving the sirens mournfully wailing in the distance. As we passed by an art gallery I glance in the window. There was a five foot statue of a donkey in a clown suit. Why does anybody buy that shit?
"Have you ever seen a donkey in a clown suit?" I asked.
She glanced up as if in a daze and looked at the statue. All of the sudden she started laughing. So did I. It seemed that was all it took to break her icy demeanor.
"Why did you come tonight Mr. Granger?" she said giving me a side long glance.
"Alihandro." I said. The name was explanation enough.
"That is quite a name to drop Mr. Granger. He is a powerful man, with powerful friends." she paused "And powerful enemies."
"Evidently... with powerful guns".
"Do you realize what you are involving yourself in Mr. Granger?" She stopped directly under a street light, illuminating her face. Her black hair was in tangles, and her mascara made small black tracts under her eyes. Her stockings were ripped at the knees. She was a mess, a dignified classy mess, but a mess all the same. Her face was locked in a stoic mask of determination.
"Are you worried about me?" I asked with mock astonishment.
Slightly abashed she looked away, and continued walking into the night.
"I'm sorry" I said jogging to catch up to her. "Yes I am more than aware of what I am involving myself in" the lie came easily. I had no clue. Why did it take five big guys to kill one armed woman, who has emotional break downs under pressure. How has she managed to survive thus far in the New York underworld? Maybe the pressure was gettng to her. I continued walking lost in thought.
"Mr. Granger?" she said gently, snapping me out of my thoughts. "This is my house."
EMANUEL
"Please, call me Jason. I think we have just been through enough to qualify for a first name basis," I said with a slightly forced smirk. This evening did not go as expected. What was going to be an obligatory night babysitting some broad, turned into a veritable shit storm. Man, Alihandro is definitely going to hear about this little debacle, and poof...there goes my access.
"Very well then, Jason. I wish I could say that it was a pleasure to meet you, but I'm sure that under the circumstances, you understand. Have a good night." She said as she turned for the door and rummaged in her purse for the keys.
A moment later she was inside, and I heard the unmistakable sound of a door latch sliding into place. I stood there with a look of sheer shock on my face. Not a "Thanks for saving my life." or a "Come inside and dry off!"
"Women!" I grumbled and dropped onto the stoop to have a smoke. A dirty habit I know, but this was no time to quit. Lighting up I inhaled deeply letting the warm smoke fill my lungs. Ahhh, that's much better. My body seemed to relax like a fist unclenching, my heart finally slowing to a normal cadence. Staring into the vacant street I took the time to appreciate one of those few random moments of clarity and introspection.
Hell, at least I'm still alive.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" a blood curdling shriek tore the moment away like a rent veil.
Leaping to my feet I looked at the apartment behind me. There was one light on the third floor. Rushing up the stairs I tried the handle... locked, damn! Taking a few steps back I rushed at the oak door and threw all my weight into one hard slam. The pain shot up my arm and into my back, I forgot about that, I'll have to get those cuts looked at later. Right now Ramona was in trouble.
Drawing my pistol I aimed at the lock. One shot was all that was needed, and the next thing I knew I was flying up the stairs. Counting the floors, I finally arrived at the correct door. It was slightly ajar and I burst in already prepared to see a bunch of mean looking suits and a dead Ramona. What I found instead made me turn white.
There, lying on his back in the middle of the living room, his dead eyes gaping with a ghostly stare, was Alihandro.
JEREMY
Time stopped. I could feel the blood pumping through my heart like a water pump on the sinking Titanic. My skin tingled; I could feel the slightest breeze and each of the tiny hairs on my arm and on the back of my neck flow with the gentle wind. My gut was immediately rejecting it all; it felt like I had just drank a pint of bile. After what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality only a few seconds, my eyes regained their focus; eyes that lay solely on the bloodied face of one the most powerful men in New York City.
A sudden crash of glass brought me back to the present. I quickly scanned the room, a quaint living room that any modern single woman in her late twenties might have. The one problem was, there was no woman. Checking each room systematically, and peeking my head in as quickly as possible, I ran through the hallway to the back rooms.
"Ramona! RAMONA!" I cried. "NYPD!" I said with stern authority while scanning each room. There seemed to be nothing until I reached the bedroom.
The window was shattered all over the floor and the rain came in hard. I ran to the window, pistol first, and peeked outside. Three floors down, in the alley, a figure ran. In a sudden flash of lighting, the silhouetted image of Ramona became clear. She stopped and turned back, looked up at the window and, it felt, straight into my eyes. In another sudden crash of lighting and thunder I could see the small pistol she held in her hand. After a brief moment, she turned and ran.
She was too far gone to follow at this point. Feeling defeated at the moment, I holstered my pistol and stepped back into the apartment. Wiping the sweat and rain from my face, I walked back into the living room. Looking once again at the corpse of Alihandro; His clean, pressed white suit, tasteless polyester shirt, polished shoes and bloodied face. Although it wasn't the first time I've seen a dead body, and I've certainly seen much worse... This one made me ill.
I reached for the phone on a sidetable to call for backup or at least a clean up crew. On the table, next to the phone was a very familiar matchbook. I picked it up and felt it's weight, confirming that it was real. The logo for the Caernarfon's Cove was staring me down like I had killed its mother. Flipping it over, I saw the words 'Trixie - Liberty - 5 556 900' scrawled on the back.
My immediate shock and intrigue was cut short though, for my eyes did wander and a greater shock caught my eyes. Lying on the floor, next to the end table was a Jetfire 950 semi-automatic pistol and a discharged shell.
CHAPTER: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Last Chapter One Update: 07/30/02
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