The Story.                                                                                 Began July 19th, 2002
- by Jeremy, Emanuel, Mike

                                                                                            CHAPTER: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

CHAPTER TWO

MIKE

The rain continued through the morning in the form of fine mist silhouetted by a gray sky.

"Coffee, Jason?" asked lieutenant Malory.

"Yeah Malory, you're a life saver," I said wiping the sleep out of my eyes. The last eight hours was spent watching forensics, beat cops, detectives and reporters descend on the tiny one bedroom apartment like maggots on a carcass. The coroner was zipping the body bag for the morgue.

"You do realize you have a hellufalota paper work Jason." said Malory with a grin.

"Piss on you Malory."

"Don't get snippy with me Jason we're not dating." Malory's grin grew wider.

"Thanks for the coffee sweetheart." I said sarcastically walking to my car.

What an asshole, but he's right I will have a mountain of paper work and it centers around a girl named Trixie... Ramona Doe. I can't wait to see the Sergeants face, 'Yes sir I was chasing a phantom woman through the streets of New York while large men in suits opened fire on me in an alley with large guns... No sir, I did not call for backup... No sir, I was not drunk... Yes sir, I will go for that drug screening and C.A.T. Scan now.' How in the hell was I going to explain this one? Plus one dead Kingpin, and a matchbook scrawled with an enigmatic message. Sleep would be great right now... ahhhh, I will sleep when I die.

I think its time to head for the Caenaveron Cove. Unbeknownst to the general public its open all the time especially for me. I got in my Ford, and headed to what I know is perdition.

The outside of Caenaveron Cove was nondescript and gray, marred only by a heavy wooden door and two small windows with bars on them. Rain water ran down the outside walls enhancing its normally dreary exterior. I pounded on the wooden door.

"Fuck off, we're closed", came the voice inside.

"Open the door, Nose. It's Jason".

"My, my, my, don't you have balls showing your face around here Jason." yelled the Nose from inside.

"If you don't open the door right now Nose I will have your balls in my hand," I said losing my patience.

"Calm down Jason, no need to get violent. G'me a second." The door unlatched and opened.

EMANUEL

Stepping into the darkened room, I smelled the pungent odor of stale beer and dried blood. Nose darted back as if expecting to be hit, but I just brushed passed him and fell into a bar stool.

"What the hell do you want?" Nose asked after relocking the door.

"To forget, but I'll settle for a stiff drink."

"The usual?" Nose stammered as he slunk behind the chipped and stained bar.

"No water, daddy needs his meds."

"You look like shit Ace, what the fuck have you been through? A meat grinder?"

"Don't talk, just pour..." I drained the first two glasses in silence and wallowed in my own melancholy. Nose just sat there trying hard to stay out of kicking distance. We called him 'Nose' because his coke habit had made his shnaz obtusely large and comically irritated. Standing at a mere 5 foot 4 inches, he was a fat little man in his early forties, his balding head still had a wisp of abstinent hair still clinging for life. I had busted him a few years before as part of bigger lower east side sting, but let him slide after he agreed to go NARC for me. He knew I had the goods on him, and in return for my silence and tentative protection I got the run of this seedy little cesspool.

"I need some info, Nose. And you are going to get it for me!" I spat, already starting to slur my words.

"Hey, I don't know anything... nor anyone no more!" he whimpered.

"Bull shit!" I raged and lunged at him across the bar. He tried to evade but my hand found his fat neck and I held on hard. "You better start talking Nose, or I'm going to drag you down to the 54th and make you sing Olde Jane to the commish!"

Squealing with fear, Nose twisted and writhed until I lost my grip on his grimy skin. Diving for the bar he reached for the sawed off I knew he kept for emergencies. I drew my own piece as he swung the business end of the old Bennelli toward my head. "I...I, told you already! I don't know anything. L...leave me alone!" He pleaded.

"Just chill Nose, no need to do something stupid. Put it down. It doesn't have to go this way. Here look, I'm putting mine away...ok?" Nose looked skeptical, but at least he lost the wild stare in his eyes.

His fat hands stated sweating and soiled liquid began running down the sleek metal barrel and pooling on the bar. I holstered the Glock with my right hand and saw his eyes follow the motion into the jacket. With one motion I snatched at the barrel with my left and almost lost my grip on the sleek surface. Nose flinched and a thunderous rapport filled the room as the cumbersome weapon belched fire. The birdshot tore through my jacket and left a gaping hole under my arm. Nose stared at me in horror and backed away dropping the gun into my hand.

"Fuck, Nose. Do you see what you did?!" I yelled.

"S...sorry. I...I...didn't mean to."

Flipping the barrel around to face him I hissed through clenched teeth. "You better play ball, Nose, or I'm gonna make for shit sure that you will wish you killed me!" Spinning away, I made for the door. Once back in alley my body shook from adrenaline and anger, and I was suddenly grateful for the cool air.

"I'm going to find out what the hell is going on! And somebody is going to pay," I said to myself stalking down the alley, and absentmindedly dropped the shotgun into a dumpster.

JEREMY

Nick was the kind of guy that went with the ebb of the crowd. He couldn't really make decisions for himself. He grew up as a little Italian rufian on the streets of New York. He never had a proper home, always in foster homes or staying at peoples house's he'd meet. He was a drifter. I remember when Charlie and I first met Nicky, it was right after I moved back out to Brooklyn from sunny California. Charlie had gotten me into the Academy here in the City a year after his big transfer.

Charlie, Big T and I were out for some drinks and found Nick trying to break into Charlie's undercover vehicle. He had manager to get his arm through the window of the car, but got stuck. We found him hanging there, crying to himself. When we approached him, he got real tough and angry and tried to take a swing at Charlie, but fell to the ground when his stuck arm wouldn't let him go. He just looked so pathetic, and we were fairly lit, so I think our pity took over and after a bit of negotiating, we ended up going back inside the Cove, and buying him a drink. Nick was like a lost dog, and ever since that day he never left our sides.

Nick stayed at my place for a spell, and after awhile I was able to get him a job working at a local produce market. We had to cover for Nick several times when he tried to 'borrow' a few items from his job. He was cleaning himself up, but he still couldn't quite keep on the right side of the tracks. I don't think I ever saw him pay to get on the subway. Even still, Nick became as tight in our little group as any of us were.

I remember back on that night at McGinties. Charlie and I got the itch that something wasn't right. I knew right then that the celebration was over. We should have never left the Cove. Since noone knew who we were, we were stealth, or so we thought. Charlie overheard this latino punk, talking too much on a payphone in the back of the bar about a large shipment going down that night. He also heard the name Alihandro bandied about. Even back then, Charlie knew the name. Hewas a pro, and the party stopped for him right then. His focus shifted completely onto that punk with the phone. After he heard enough, he filled me in on the details, it was time to go.

Big T was toasted, as usual, but he was always fired up and ready to go, and he was as dependable as he was big. We had Big T stick around inside and watch the interior of the place, with strict orders not to do anything without calling me or Charlie first. I decided to stay outside and wait for this guy; If he went anywhere, I would be his shadow. As always, even with our none too gentle urging to leave, Nick ignored us and stuck around. Charlie and I thought he took a cab home, but he just ducked around back and started to shadow me.

If I had known then that would have been the last time I saw Charlie alive, perhaps I would have made a bigger moment out of his goodbye. Charlie needed to go to his station and get his vice squad prepared. I still remember the devilish grin and half smirk on his face when he waved to me as he ran off into the chill night.

Not one of us, not Big T, not myself, Nicky and most certainly not Charlie, had any clue of what our impromptu investigations would get us into that night four years ago.

MIKE

The feelings of trepidation were still fresh in my mind after four years. It seemed... fabricated. Too cut and dry for a cold lead, no work was needed. I did not express my fears of a set up to the rest of the group. Sometimes a good bust could fall into your lap.

The Latino hung the pay phone up and gazed around the bar. Big T was shadowing him, eaves dropping when and where he could. Big T broke off and came over to me where I was involved in a half hearted game of pool.

"You wouldn't believe where she did it at Jason," laughing for the added deception.

"Where did she do it at?" I asked.

"Kipling street... The docks," he replied.

"How many times did she do it?" I asked, missing a straight shot on the 8-ball. Damn!

"Ten," he replied, laughing again. I chalked my cue and pondered. Warehouse 10 on Kipling.

"When did she do it?" I asked again.

"2300 hours," this time I laugh uproariously and cheered Big T. My gazed traveled back to the well
dressed man under the Pabst Blue Ribbon bar light. He still sat pensively cool as a cucumber. The greasy man playing pool with me sank the 8-ball.

"Thanks for the ass kicking." I said fishing out the five dollars I had on the game. He mumbled something back to me and weaved his way to the bar.

I checked my watch; it was 11:30 PM. Then my cell phone rang.

EMANUEL

"Yo... what's up? Sure, sure... No problem. Yah, see ya." I hung up the phone and gave Big T a look that needed no explanation. Gathering up my leather jacket we headed for the door. At the time I thought nothing of it, but as we exited I noticed that the well dressed man under the PBR sign was gone.

"OK, I'm in position now," I whispered into my two way. Crouching under a small awning, I had a commanding view of the seemingly abandoned pier. This is one of those parts of the job that people never have an appreciation for. The patient waiting that can consume the better part of a night as you squat uncomfortably in anxious anticipation. The days spent following a lead just to have a door slammed in your face, or run into a dead end. The piles of forms to be filled out in triplicate, the red tape, the bullshit! But you never see that in the movies, or read about it in the paper; "Area cop spends entire day wasting time... again." If people really knew the amount of monotonous work that went into being a cop, we would be so short handed they would rename the city "Perp Disneyland," and every fucking day would be Christmas. But that's what the job requires, and if you want to be a good cop, then you put up with the crap and every once in a while you get to do some real Cojak shit.

My musings were cut short when I saw the lights of an approaching vehicle. It seemed to creep along the far side of the dock tredpidly, and roll to a halt no more then fifty feet from my position. Two men got out of what seemed to be an old Dodge Dart, and looked around nervously. I could tell by the way they held their arms that they were packing, but I had no idea what.

Ten minutes later I heard the unmistakable sound of a motor boat approaching the quay. It was a small boat, maybe a twenty five footer, but it had two powerful outboard motors that could probably get the damn thing going at a pretty fast clip. I could make out the silhouette of three men on the flying bridge huddling to ward off the nights chill.

"You getting this T?"

"Yah, I'm in position on the roof one building back. Any sign of Charlie?"

"No, I don't see anyone else. Did you try to get him on the CV?"

"Give me a sec... Nothing yet. He should be here by now."

"Shit." I was getting a bad feeling again.

"Wait, something is happening," Big T said, "I have another vehicle approaching from the North. Its a black van, and its coming in lights out."

The boat had docked by now, and the men were busy mooring it to the dock. I knew that we had to move fast or we were going to loose the bust, and probably some good collars.

"T, what do we do?"

"No way we can take five, we should wait for Charlie and Vice."

"Yah, but we are going to loose them." I had my pistol out, and my finger started to get itchy.

What happened next is kind of a blur, which is funny because I have thought about it thousands of time and it just gets more and more confusing. I recall Big T starting to say something, and hearing the screech of tires. What I saw was a black van speeding onto the dock with its lights off and its side door wide open. A tall well dressed man was standing in the opening with some kind of automatic weapon, I think it was an Steyr AUG.

Without hesitation he opened fire and sprayed the three men on the dock with a shower of bullets. Two of the men on the boat went down immediately, and the rest dove for cover. Those who survived the initial assault pulled out pistols and began firing back at the van. I was suddenly surprised to see that I was too. And then it was over. Three men were laying dead on the wet concrete floor, and the other two were making a break for the boat.

Jumping out of my hiding place I shouted toward them, "Police, freeze!" But it was too late. Those motors were roaring in no time, and then they were gone.

Rushing onto the dock I headed strait for the three prostrate men. To my surprise one of the men was still alive, but bleeding pretty bad. Pulling out my cuffs, I lifted his jacket to check for a weapon. What I saw made my blood run cold.

"Fuck T! Fuck, fuck!" Under the man's overcoat, emblazoned in bright yellow were the letters DEA. "Fuck!"

JEREMY

The fatally injured agent was bleeding profusely from multiple gunshot wounds. Wheezing, he said, "What happened?"

I blinked. I had no answer for the dying agent.

After a few moments of shock, I noticed my two-way was knocked out of my ear and I could hear Big T yelling something at me through the dangling earpiece.

"-man, Jesus! ...Do you hear me??? Get the fuck out of there! Now! Jason!"

At that moment, all my innards could have been spilled out in front of me and I don't think I'd have noticed. I froze. I tried to run, I tried to move at all, but the communication between my brain and my legs ceased to function. I could hear Big T yelling at me, something about another van or a boat. But I couldn't hear him. All I heard was my brand new Detective career being flushed down the drain and gasps and gurgles of the agent at my feet.

I was more than a little surprised when I felt Nick of all people, rattle me back to the present. He was saying a flurry of words to me, urging me to 'Get the fuck out of here'. But it wasn't Nick that got me moving again, it was the bullet from the water that came within inches of my face.

I ducked quickly and turned to the waterfront as I ran for cover. There was a new boat out there. A mid-sized motorboat, with two new men inside. One steered the craft, the other, a man in a dark suit, was firing an automatic in our general direction. I jumped and rolled behind the Dodge for cover. Nicky had apparently picked up one of the dead agents guns and was using it to fire blindly into the water in a panic.

The agent was yelling and gurgling in a grotesque mix of blood and spit. It was then that I heard him scream out that terrifying name, "ALIHANDRO! It was- "

He was cut off mid-sentence by the siege of bullets that came from offshore and finished the job that was started earlier on the prone man. I was torn between anger, profound sadness and bitter vengeance. If only I had known the implications of that name at the time.

I could hear Big T yelling something about another van approaching and some other things that I could not make out over the rain of fire. I was yelling at Nick to get behind the car for cover, but he just kept unloading round after round. That's when I heard the screech of the van come to a halt behind me and the door fly open. I turned to see what our new problem was, and was pleasantly surprised to see three men in SWAT gear getting out. They immediately began to open fire on the small craft in the water.

The backup encouraged me to turn and fire over the hood of the car. The sudden onslaught of fire going into the water was unexpected by all. Especially Nick.

Nick was not experienced with firearms, panicked and instinctively turned around towards us with his eyes closed, tears streaming down his face and fired repeatedly. By his second shot, I jumped up and yelled with every ounce of strength I had, to stop and desist. That was when I was clipped across the side of my head by a wayward bullet from the water. I was knocked out instantly.

What happened next I only found out after I woke up in the hospital and Big T broke it all to me.

Nicky had only two more rounds in his gun before he fell to the ground out of bullets and out of fight. He was sobbing and broken in a heap; But, he had done his damage, fore the fourth person to get out of the van after the SWAT team was Charlie. He had armor on his chest, but that didn't stop Nick's stray bullet from going through his skull, killing him instantly.

From what I heard, the men in the boat got away...

Nick was imprisoned after that. Because it was an accident, he was only supposed to serve five years. I never did get a chance to talk to him after that night. I never got to hear what happened from his mouth. I didn't want to. I couldn't. He escaped two years ago in some kind of group effort, the details were sketchy. He never tried to contact me after his flight. Last I heard he was floating in a new crowd... the wrong crowd. A crowd that worked for Alihandro.

CHAPTER: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Last Chapter Two Update: 08/02

back to Links at JeremyAsher.net

All photos & content within this website are the property of Jeremy Asher or his associates, and may not be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of Jeremy Asher and his associates.