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The Monopoly man is a perverse story of a serial killer in Atlantic City NJ |
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PART -1 THE MONOPOLY MAN Chapter-1 2014 “Conley, Ragu, you’re up!” belted Lieutenant Felker through her open office door. “We have a body at the St. James Place apartments on Eighth Street, Apartment 302A.” “Lieutenant, we punch out in 15 minutes, can’t Johnson and Hughes cover it.” Conley asked.” Just get your ass up and get on it, I have Johnson and Hughes covering a shooting on the south side.” “Shit.” Conley mumbled under his breath followed by. “Not even the great Detective Sergeant Jack Conley can wrap this up in fifteen minutes,” from his partner Detective Sergeant Tony Ragu. The two exchanged glances. “Yeah, it looks like it’s going to be another long night” said Conley. Detective Sergeant Jack Conley wasn’t your typical 48 year old Irish American cop. For starters, he stood 6’2”, and weighted in a shade over 215 lbs. And although his silver hair and weathered face betrayed his age, he was still in great shape from years of working out in the stations basement gym. He could go three minutes with Mike Tyson in an alley, but the result of years of chain smoking and a taste for Jamison’s Irish whiskey were taking their toll on the big man, that and the stress of the job were a lethal combination for a failing heart, one which he chose to ignore. He had just finished his 27th year on the force and was looking forward to retirement, taking his full pension and moving to Key West. Do a little fishing and maybe finally start that crime novel he had always figured on writing, be a regular Ernest Hemmingway or maybe not. Jack’s partner, Tony Ragu took more than a little ribbing about the family name and it didn’t take long for the boys in the precinct to dub him “Tony Sauce”. With Tony at 5’9” and 180lbs they were the ultimate odd couple but they worked well together and after 15 years seemed to instinctively know what the other thought and could feed from one another to solve cases. Conley pulled into the parking lot of the St. James Place apartments, several other units had already responded and the sight of multiple flashing lights never ceased to give him a rush. He walked over to one of the cruisers. Officer Dane Roberts was typing on his laptop and didn’t notice the detective until he leaned into the passenger window. “Hey Dane. What have we got here?” “Jesus Jack, you scared the crap out of me. I thought you were putting in for retirement.” “Soon, Baby soon, but not tonight. So, what have we got here?” “What we have.” Office Roberts responded is a fucking mess. Someone had a field day with the girl in 302A. They’re going to need a Hazmed team to clean it up. Looks like whoever did this started in the kitchen, worked his way through the living room and finished in the bed room. Oh, and the bathroom is a nightmare too.” Conley and Ragu worked their way under the crime tape an entered the apartment. Officer Roberts had been kind with his description of the scene. The CSI team had arrived 30 minutes or so before the detectives so there were already dozens of yellow markers spotting the apartment, each indicating the location of a dismembered body part. Tony scanned the room again and then looked back at Jack. “Fifteen years, fifteen fucking years and I have never seen anything like this” he said. Have you Jack?” Jack’s gaze broke away from a pair of eyes neatly arranged on a window sill overlooking the street below to Tony’s blank expression. He shook his head indicating he had not and then said. “Whoever did this was a very angry man.” “Why do you assume it was a man Tony asked?” Jack looked around the apartment again and said, “Because I don’t believe a woman would butcher another woman like this.” Chapter-2 The Croatian Connection It wasn’t hard to see why Duka Varga had become a very angry man. His Mother, Father and two sisters were killed and his wife and children injured in the Siege of Dubrovnik during the Croatian War of Independence. It was Nov 9, 1991. The thirty-ninth day of the siege by Serbian forces of the Yugoslav People’s Army. Duka’s family home was damaged in one of the daily mortar attacks, but still livable. Due to the destruction of his parents’ home, Duka, his wife Petra, their daughter Nika and younger son Erik now lived in their five room house with the addition of his parents and two sisters. The Yugoslav army had cut the power to the city and fresh water was nearly nonexistent. The water that was available was usually restricted to a few quarts per day collected from cisterns. Food was also running short. Duka woke early that morning, kissed his wife hugged the children and said he was going to the Argentina Hotel to get food and water for the family. He grabbed two five gallon jugs on the kitchen floor, kissed Petra again and said he would be back soon with a lovely dinner for the family. Petra smiled and told Duka to be careful and to come home before dark. Duka returned her smile, turned and walked toward the door. At the kitchen door he looked back, smiled at his parents and sisters who were sitting at the dinette table. And again said, tonight we will have a lovely dinner. He then turned and left for the hotel. He did not know it then, but it would be the last time he would see his parents and sisters alive. The Argentina Hotel was a luxury hotel situated some five hundred yards outside the Old City limits. There was still electricity, water, phones and plenty of good food at the hotel in stark contrast to the plight of most of the Old City of Dubrovnik. The army had left the hotel intact because it was in their best interest to do so. The Argentina Hotel was housing a group of European Community Observers, as well as several prominent international TV and Press correspondents. Duka went to the rear of the hotel to the service entrance where he was met by his cousin Edo, a cook at the hotel and longtime employee. “Duka, we must hurry before the hotel manager returns, he’s gone to buy vegetables for the kitchen. Here, take this sack and fill it from the pantry while I fill your jugs. Don’t take too many of each or he will notice them gone. Go, Hurry. There isn’t much time.” Duka filled the sack, tied a cord to it and hung it from his shoulder. Edo handed him the jugs of water and quickly ushered him to the exit. “Duka, where is your coat? It’s cold outside. Here take this. I took it from one of those soldiers the snipers shot yesterday. It will keep you warm.” Duka gratefully slipped the coat on, thanked Edo for the food, and left. The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping as Duka began his trek home through the rubble of a city that was once the pride of the Adriatic. The Croatian sniper seeing Duka in the Yugoslav Army coat and thinking he was a Serb took aim from over fifteen hundred feet and squeezed off a round. The bullet intended for Duka’s chest was high and grazed his forehead leaving a deep gash from his temple to the back of his ear ripping both skin and bone as it passed leaving Duka unconscious in the street. Two days had passed since the shooting and Duka was still unconscious in the hospital bed. His head was bandaged like a mummy with blood seeping through the gauze. Edo sat in a chair beside the bed and was the first to see Duka as he returned to consciousness. Duka stared at his cousin with a somewhat puzzled look and finally said “Edo where am I, what happened?” “You were hit by a sniper who thought you were a Serb. I am so sorry I gave you that coat Duka.” Duka laid the palms of his hands against his temples and closed his eyes in an effort to calm the searing pain in his head. It was almost unbearable and made it difficult for him to concentrate to form a lucid sentence. With great effort he opened his eyes, peered into Edo’s worried face and asked, “How long have I been here?” “Two days” said Edo. Duka took his watch from the stand beside his bed, noted the time and slipped it onto his wrist. “I have got to get home, Petra will be worried.” Edo leaned forward in his seat taking Duka’s hand and stared blankly at his cousin’s watch. Then he slowly lowered his head and closed his eyes, the normally deep furrows of his brow becoming even more pronounced. “Edo what is it? What is it you’re not telling me?” Edo raised his head, looked into Duka’s worried eyes and said. “I have some bad news for you cousin. Your house was hit by mortar fire the night you were shot. You’re Mother, Father and sisters are dead.” Duka’s eyes swelled with tears and after a moment of silence had the courage to ask about Petra, Nika and Erik. “They all survived the bombing, Duka. Petra was badly cut when the windows were blown in, but she will be ok. Nika has a broken leg and a gash on her face.” “What about my little Erik? Is he ok?” “Erik is fine physically, but he has not spoken since the bombing. The doctors think he is shell shocked.” “I must see them” Duka jumped to his feet and just as quickly fell to the floor. Edo helped him back to his feet and into bed. “Tomorrow, cousin, you will see them tomorrow but now you must rest.” A nurse seeing Duka fall, came into the room, asked if he was ok and gave him a sedative. Edo stood quietly staring through the window at the smoldering rubble of what had been his family’s home town for generations. The nurse broke his gaze with a tap on the shoulder. “You will need to leave now Sir Mr. Duka needs his rest.” Edo looked back through the window once again then turned back to the nurse “It’s a crime what these Serbs have done to our beautiful city.” Edo then thanked the nurse for her kindness and left for the night. When Duka awoke it was midmorning. Petra and Nika were sitting in chairs by the side of the bed. Petra was dozing in her chair and Nika was reading an old magazine. “Is the article interesting?” Nika looked up and squealed “Papa, Papa”. She then stood up on her plaster cast, leaned over the bed and wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll never let you go Papa” she said showering him with kisses hugs and giggles. Petra awakened by the sound of her daughters squeals stood up and with a huge grin leaned over and kissed her husband. After a long moment she pulled back. “I cannot believe our own people shot you, Duka. Americans call that friendly fire.” Petra looked lovingly at her husband; she gently cupped his cheeks in her small hands and said Duka, “I am so sorry about your Mother, Father and your sisters. The mortars hit us with no warning. One moment we were in bed sleeping and the next we were on the floor looking at the sky. The roof had been blown away. It was horrible. I found Nika and Erik in the rubble and got them out to the street. I went back to help the others, but they were all dead.” “You did everything you could. I wish only that I were there with you to help you through that terrible ordeal, but where is my little Erik?” “Erik is with your cousin Edo and his family; we thought it best he not see you like this, given his condition.” “Perhaps you’re right Petra.” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. The pain he felt was more than that caused by the head wound and Petra felt it too. “When can we go home?” he asked. The silence at that moment was like the scream of a child in the night. It forced him to sit straight up in the bed and stare wildly at Petra. When he had realized what he had just said he laid back in the bed an asked. “Where shall we go when I leave the hospital? We have no home and Edo has a full house as it is. Petra looked deep into his eyes and with all the love, honesty and empathy she could muster said, “Duka, we are now refugees in this war. We will live with the other refugees until we can do better for ourselves.” She kissed him again. “Now you must get some rest, we will speak of this again later.” As his wife and daughter left the room, Duka, a man once full of hopes dreams and aspirations for the future, lie staring blankly into the light fixture above his bed his mind racing from one thought to the next. I am a refugee. I have nothing, my Mother, my Father, my sisters all dead. Petra, my beautiful Petra, the heart and soul of our family has lost the love and kindness in her eyes; her spirit is broken, I can sense it in her voice. And my children, my beautiful Nika is hurt and my little son Erik cannot speak. Our home is gone; we have no money and no future. We are no more than beggar’s on the street. What will become of us? What will we do? As he lay there a dark and somber thought permeated his being. Perhaps, he thought, the ones who died were the lucky ones. Chapter-3 After leaving the hospital, Duka and his family found refuge at the Dubrovnik Aquarium which had been closed due to the war. It was now housing and feeding over two hundred of the city’s homeless being used as a makeshift refugee camp. It had been accepting refugees of the war for several weeks, but was now at capacity and forced to turn away families. The Varga’s were one of the luckier families able to find refuge there and even though their living space was less than ten square feet, the area was sectioned off with blankets hung from cords stretched wall to wall and offered some degree of privacy at night. As the weeks passed Duka began to change. He was no longer the soft spoken gentle husband Petra had come to love and respect. He began drinking heavily, he cursed at the children, and on one occasion when Petra intervened, he hit her on the back of the head causing her to fall to the floor splitting her forehead on a metal door frame. Duka was blindly drunk that night and remembered nothing of it the next day which only angered him more. Petra knew she had to do something soon, or her marriage to Duka was over. With most of Duka’s family now gone and Petra’s family having already immigrated to Germany, her last and best possibility for advice was with Duka’s cousin Edo. Petra knew Edo was a long trusted employee at the hotel and had made many important contacts with prominent government and military personal staying there. And he was privileged to information not known by the general population. If anyone could help her it was Edo. She contacted him and after overcoming his initial objections of seeing her without Duka got him to agree to meet with her at a park near the harbor. “Petra, it is good to see you, but it is not good that I meet with my cousin’s wife without my cousin present. You see the implications I’m sure.” “There are no implications Edo.” Petra looked at him somewhat puzzled, her smile turned grim. “Duka is becoming impossible. He drinks every night, and let’s out his frustrations on me and the children. I need your help, what can I do?” Edo pulled a package of cigarettes from his coat pocket, shook it a couple of times until a smoke popped up and offered one to Petra who politely refused. He lit the smoke took a long drag and blew the smoke into the air away from her face. “Perhaps if we can get him out of the city things would be better for you all.” “Out of the city? We need to get out of the country. This war is slowly killing us all.” “Have you spoken to Duka of this?” “No I haven’t, but I will tonight and if necessary I will take the children and leave without him!” Edo dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his shoe. “I have an idea that may work Petra. There is a relief ship scheduled to enter the harbor tomorrow to unload food and medical supplies. As you know, the Yugoslav army has barred men from 18 to 60 from leaving the city, but women and children are still permitted to leave as refugees. The Captain will begin accepting the women and children as soon as the cargo has been removed from the ship. I have been assigned by the hotel manager to supervise the unloading of food and supplies from the ship for the refugees who have been placed at the hotel. When you speak to Duka tonight and if he agrees, tell him I will come by for him in the morning. I will tell the authorities he is with the hotel crew and while we are working in the ship he can slip off and hide from the crew. Once the ship departs he will be safe. You will need papers and a guarantee of work to immigrate to the United States. I know someone who can help us. Mr. Gojan, the hotel manager, is a friend. I have done many favors for him over the years. He once told me that if I ever need help to immigrate to America that he had an old friend who manages a hotel in Atlantic City New Jersey who will guarantee a job to the American Government for anyone he recommends. I am sure I can convince him to help you.” Petra reached out to her cousin with a light touch on his arm. “Edo if you can do this it would mean a new life for us. I will tell Duka this evening of our discussion, and I am hoping he will agree to it.” “He will do it” Edo said. “He loves his family. He will do it.” Nika and Erik Varga sat in the lobby of the Dubrovnik Aquarium waiting for the organizers from the refugee committee to call the children to dinner. Their seats overlooked the main aquarium. Watching the fish swim in their ever circular motion around the tank was hypnotic. It always took them no matter how briefly from the harsh reality of their new station in life to the wondrous world of their imaginations. A large shark passed by them every few minutes as if eying them for his dinner menu. Nika looked down at her little brother who had not spoken since the mortar attack on their home and said, “I’m so hungry I could eat that shark, and another as well, couldn’t you Erik?” Erik stared into the tank, lost to a world that had taken his youth and left in its place the speechless shell of the happy carefree boy he had once been. As the shark approached again Erik flew from the bench and began pounding on the glass. The shark darted suddenly and vanished behind a stand of coral on the far side of the tank. Nika grabbed Erik by the arm and jerked him back. She spun him around and knelt in front of him holding his arms in her hands. “Stop that Erik,” Nika shouted. “If they see you act badly and mistreat the fish they will make us leave.” The look in his eyes was one she had never seen before. It was almost evil, and it frightened her. “Promise me you will be a good boy and never do that again.” Erik peered into his sister’s eyes as if looking into her mind and with no more effort than flicking a crumb, he tossed her hands from his shoulders, walked back to the bench and continued to stare into the tank. With the children out of the sleeping area Petra saw her chance to speak to Duka who seemed to appear sober sitting on a crate in the makeshift cubical reading the local paper. She took the paper from his hands, pulled back the blanket dividing the sleeping areas to be sure no one was listening then knelt in front of him. “Duka, I cannot take this any longer; I’m leaving with the children tomorrow on the supply ship when it leaves the port. I love you and I want you to come with us, but either way I’m leaving.” “What are you saying Petra. You know I cannot leave? The Yugoslav Army has forbidden all adult men from leaving the city, or have you forgotten this?” “I have forgotten nothing. I spoke to your cousin Edo today, and he will pick you up in the morning and tell the authorities that you are on his crew assigned to offload food and supplies for the refugees staying at the hotel. Once in the ship you can hide until it leaves the port, then you will be safe. Edo said the hotel manager will help us to immigrate to America where we can have a better life for ourselves and the children.” “You figured all this out this afternoon with my cousin Edo without speaking to me first?” Duka was silent for the longest moment and Petra thought he might beat her again for going behind his back, but instead he, leaned forward on the crate, gently kissed her on the forehead and said with a smile. “You’re an extraordinary woman Petra. I think your plan may work. We no longer have a future here. Let’s go to America and start again.” Petra with tears running down her cheeks looked up into Duka’s steel gray eyes and said, “This move is not only for you and I, Duka.” It’s also for our children, to give them a better life. I am sure that away from this chaos Nika will be just fine; and with proper medical and mental assistance Erik may come back to us and be our sweet little boy again. Thank you my dear husband, I love you, and I promise you will not regret your decision” The coastal steamer Slavija which normally carried several hundred passengers along the Yugoslav coast in relative comfort arrived in Dubrovnik with only the Captain and his 20 man crew. The ship was laden with food, water and medical supplies from the port of Zelenika in Montenegro. The ship was boarded at sea by Yugoslav Federal authorities looking for weapons and anything else of value they might keep for themselves. The cargo was opened, inspected and the ship was searched prior to docking at Dubrovnik. Once the search was complete and they were satisfied there were no weapons on board, they departed the ship and let it continue on to Dubrovnik. Duka did exactly as Edo had told him and while unloading the ship, he quietly slipped unnoticed to the front bulkhead and hid under a mound of loose canvas tarps. By 7:00 AM thousands of refugees hoping for a spot on the ship had gathered at the Gruz Harbor in the northwest part of Dubrovnik alongside dockyards still burning from the army’s bombardment the night before. Petra took Edo’s instructions to heart and arrived at the dock just after midnight, and avoided the crush of refugees in the morning, assuring her and the children there was a spot for them on the ship. A few miles out of the harbor the Slavija hit rough seas that tossed the passengers about the gangways. The severe pitch of the ship flung gear and personal belongings across the deck. Soon most of the passengers were seasick and found no relief until the Slavija reached the calmer waters of the Bay of Kotor. Duka, sick as a dog from being knocked about the bulkhead by the high seas finally made his way to the upper deck where he found Petra and the children. It took another day and a half to reach their destination, the city of Rijeka, which was under Croatian control. No four human beings were ever happier to be back on dry land than the Varga’s. Stepping down the gang plank they walked to the end of the dock and stared back into the choppy water. Petra verbally thanked God that their sea ordeal was finally over and they could begin the next phase of their new adventure. Duka told Petra to wait where they were with the children and he would go and speak to the authorities at the exit gate to see what their next step would be. A stray kitten skirted Nika’s ankles then sat at her feet for a moment. It then strolled in and out between her legs purring incessantly until she picked it up and began to stroke the top of its head. “Erik, would you like to hold it?” she said handing the kitten to him. He held the kitten at arm’s length for a moment then Nika said, “Not like that you silly boy. Hold it to your chest and love it.” Erik looked up at his sister, then back at the kitten and without a word, tossed the kitten into the water. Nika screamed at him. “What have you done? Why would you do that?” Without a word Erik turned and walked towards his father at the exit gate leaving his sister and mother staring in disbelief at what they had just witnessed. Petra took Nika’s hand, looked down into her horrified eyes and said. “Say nothing of this to your father, ever, promise me.” “I promise but…” Petra cut her off in midsentence. “No buts,” she said. “We must never mention this to your father.” “Ok mother I promise.” Once in Rijeka and out of the reach of the Yugoslav army, the Varga’s plan for a new life began to unfold. Within four months they were on their way to America to start their lives in Atlantic City, New Jersey, just as cousin Edo had promised. Chapter-4 New Jersey was not the land of milk and honey they thought it would be in the two years since leaving Croatia. Both worked in the Hotel industry. Duka worked as a maintenance man, and Petra as a maid. They rented an older house thirty minutes outside of Atlantic City, but even that stretched their finances to the limit. After paying rent, and utilities, there was very little left for groceries, and the other bare essentials of life. It wasn’t long before the pressures of their new life gave Duka the justification he needed to resume his drinking, he also took to gambling at the Atlantic City casinos, and more often than not, he came home drunk, with his pockets empty. Petra enrolled Nika in the local elementary school, but for Erik who still hadn’t spoken a word since the bombings in Dubrovnik there would be no school as Duka thought it better he stay at home. Petra objected. “You said no to psychiatric help, and now you won’t even let him attend school. He needs to interact with other children. I believe it will break him from this shell he is in and bring him back to us.” Duka grabbed Erik by the back of his shirt, spun him around to face Petra and said the words no father should ever speak. “He is retarded, and I am ashamed of him. He is no longer my son.” He shook the boy, then dragged him by the collar to the basement door, opened it and told him: “Stay down there in the dark where you belong until you can act again like a proper little boy, and not a retarded mute. You will be eight years old soon, do you want people to laugh and make fun of you for the rest your life?” he said as he slammed the basement door shut, leaving the small boy standing on the darkened landing of the cellar stairs. Petra, pushed her drunken husband to the side, grabbed the door and pulled it open lifting the small boy from the top of the cellar stairs, holding him tightly in her arms, and yelling at Duka. “Have you lost your mind? I want you out of this house tonight. “Where will I go Petra Duka whined?” “I don’t care where you go, just not here. “I’m only doing this to make him strong. You coddle him like a spoiled baby.” “I am his only hope.” Duka shook his head, took his coat from the hall rack and left the house after which Petra put the children to bed then cried herself to sleep. In the weeks following Duka’s leaving Petra enrolled Erik in the local elementary school. After a battery of tests were fruitless in placing Erik in a specific class or grade level it was determined that the best course of action was to put him into a special education class as well as ongoing sessions with a state sanctioned psychologist. After two months of therapy it was determined that Erik was suffering from Childhood-onset Schizophrenia (COS) and would need to be put on lifelong medications if he were ever expected to function in society as an adult. It took months of begging, pleading and promising never to drink again, but Petra finally relented and let Duka return home. Things seemed to get better for the next few months, better that is, for everything except Duka’s relationship with his son Erik which continued to slowly dissolve. Duka would sit at his chair and review Nika’s school work with great enthusiasm praising her for the A’s and B’s boldly written across her school papers, but when Petra coaxed Erik to approach his father with his school papers Duka would simply browse the paper briefly then crumple it up and toss it back at Erik with the usual “You’re an idiot, why do you even bother with school?” It broke Petra’s heart to watch her husband treat their only son in such an uncaring manor and his ill treatment of Erik eventually reached the point where he simply ignored the boy’s existence. Erik was no longer permitted to take part in family outings whether it was a cheap dinner a McDonalds or an occasional movie. Whenever Duka took the family out, Erik was locked in the basement. There was an old refrigerator down there and Petra would put food and drinks in it before they left. She didn’t like leaving him in the basement but Duka grew angrier by the week and his disposition often soured by the hour. She had become afraid of him and more than once he had threatened to leave her and take Nika leaving her with the retard as he put it. She knew he would never get Nika, but she also knew she could not provide for herself and the children on her salary as a maid. For the most part Nika was able to sidestep her father by immersing herself in her schoolwork and the new friends she had made but it was different for Erik who spent his time at school alone in his own thoughts and his time at home in his room or locked in the basement. “You received a letter from your cousin Edo today,” Petra said as she handed him the envelope. Duka took it, looked at the address and then tossed it on the kitchen table. He took a beer from the refrigerator and after taking a long drink took the letter from the table and walked into the living room without saying a word. Just as well, thought Petra. I don’t need any more arguments and I already have more bruises than I can explain away. She followed Duka into the living room and sat in the chair opposite him and quietly waited to hear what Edo had written. Duka laid the letter on the end table, took another long drink from his beer and stared at Petra for a moment then said, “What?” “What did Edo say?” Her voice was soft not wanting to anger him and incur another beating. Duka said, “Get me another beer and maybe I’ll tell you.” Petra cringed but went to the kitchen and returned with another beer. She handed it to Duka then sat back in her chair and waited. After another drink that consumed nearly half the bottle, he belched, lit a cigarette and said, “Edo is coming to Atlantic City next month for a job interview. He will be staying at the Caesar’s Palace in Atlantic City, and wants us to join him for dinner, Friday night, after his interview.” “That would be very nice” Petra said. “It’s been over two years since you last saw your cousin. We will have a nice dinner and catch up on things back home.” “Yes, you and I and Nika, we will meet with Edo when he arrives. But Erik stays home.” “Why can’t we take him with us Papa?” Nika asked. “Perhaps seeing his cousin will remind him of his family and how families help each other” Petra added. “I promise he will be a good boy.” Duka glared at her. It was the kind of look that usually led to a beating, so neither mother nor daughter said anything more. Friday morning began on a lighter note. Duka did not appear to have the usual hangover. He was enjoying his breakfast and seemed in a good frame of mind so Petra again asked him to allow Erik to join them for a family dinner with cousin Edo. Duka slammed his fist on the kitchen table, sending the tarnished silverware bouncing. “Why do you spoil my breakfast with this shit about Erik I told you no! Now get my coffee.” Petra knew better than to push it any further. She poured a large mug of coffee and for just a moment thought of throwing it in his miserable face. Instead she set it on the table next to him and left the room. Duka shouted from the kitchen, “We meet Edo at 6:00 PM. be ready to leave when I get home.” “Erik, mommy, daddy and Nika need to go out later and I need you to be a good boy and play in the basement until we get back. Can you do that for me, baby?” Erik just stared blankly into his mother’s eyes saying nothing. “I have something for you to play with if you promise to be a good boy.” She took him by the hand leading him to the hall closet. She took a long box from the shelf above the hanger bar and handed to him. “This is called Monopoly,” she said. You can take it to the basement with you and look at all the pieces and then tomorrow you, Nika and I can play the game. Erik put the box under his free arm, pulled his hand from Petra’s grasp, turned, and without a word walked to the basement door, stepped onto the landing and closed the door behind him. Duka returned home just before 5:00 PM. “I have to use the bathroom” he declared. And then we can leave for the hotel. “Nika, check on your brother before we leave while Papa is still in the bath room. Make sure he is ok. I’ll get our coats.” Nika went into the basement and found Erik at the table in the corner playing with the Monopoly game. As she stepped back into the kitchen she never noticed Sophie the family cat skirt through her legs and scurry down the stairs. As the three left the house Nika whispered to her mother “Erik is fine; he’s playing with the Monopoly game you gave him. Duka asked “what are you whispering about Nika” “Oh, just how happy I am to be seeing cousin Edo.” The drive to the hotel was uneventful with Duka and Petra saying very little and Nika saying nothing. She had witnessed many of her mother’s beatings. They were vicious and they terrified the young girl to a point where she felt that if she remained silent she would be invisible and safe from her father’s wrath. It usually worked, but not always. She wished her mother would be stronger, and leave her father so they could feel normal again and her brother Erik could have a chance to live a happy life like the other little boys in the neighborhood. But for now she had to settle for sneaking into the basement to play with Erik whenever her father was out of the house, but never for too long. The fear of Papa catching her in the basement with Erik and the thought of him making her stay there too convinced her to keep her visits shorter than she would have liked. They met Edo in the hotel lobby with the usual hugs and kisses. Petra hoped Edo might see them as the perfect family, making their new life in America. But he noticed his little cousin was missing. Edo smiled at Petra and asked.“ Where is my favorite little cousin, my little Erik?” Petra looked at Duka, then back at Edo. “Erik has the Flu. He is home in bed and is being watched by a neighbor.” “That is so sad,” Edo said. I was really looking forward to seeing all the fantastic improvements in Erik since he has been in America that Duka spoke of in his letters to me.” Petra glared at Duka for a moment, then turned away and with a smile said “Edo, I am famished. Let’s eat” “Then we will eat,” he said. We can chat more over dinner.” Duka had several drinks with dinner and both Petra and Edo were becoming uneasy as his voice and demeanor became louder and coarser. Finally Edo broke the tension saying he would love to chat all night, but that he had an early flight back to Dubrovnik in the morning. “If I don’t get some sleep, I’ll never make the flight.” Petra took his cue and said they really had to be going also. “I told our neighbor we wouldn’t be very late and I don’t like to be away from Erik very long when he’s feeling ill.” Duka and Petra said their good byes in the lobby. Edo hugged Nika, gave her a kiss on both cheeks, then told her to give one kiss to Erik when she got home. She said she would. She thought how much she loved her little brother and wished her father would stop tormenting him. He would have loved seeing cousin Edo. She also thought again how she wished her mother would be stronger and leave her father so the pain of seeing them beaten and mistreated would stop. She wanted her brother to be happy and maybe one day he would also speak again. The three then walked to their car in the parking lot. Petra asked Duka to let her drive. Pushing her against the car door Duka said, “What! You think I am so drunk I cannot find my way home. I drive. You get in the God damn car and say nothing!” He took out a cigarette, lit it and blew the smoke into Petra’s face “I said get in the God damn car or walk home” Duka used Tilton Rd. for the ride home. It was never busy at night and he was less likely to encounter a patrol car on that strip of road. “Just my fucking luck,” Duka mumbled. To be stuck behind a slow fucking truck all the way home. “Calm down” Petra said. “We’re in no hurry and you should slow down, Duka, you’re scaring me and you’re swerving across the white line.” In defiance of her plea he pushed the accelerator to the floor. “Is this better my love?” Duka took a drag from his cigarette and told Petra to stop her whining or he would give her something to whine about. She said nothing else. She turned her shoulders and looked back at Nika whose eyes were closed. Was she sleeping? Petra hoped so. She thought it was good that she did not hear any more of her father’s drunken threats. Petra turned back into her seat, crossed her arms and stared out the side window. Duka tried to pass the truck again, but when he pulled out, an oncoming truck forced him to brake and fall back in line behind the semi. He took a final drag on the cigarette and cracked the window to toss the butt. But in his drunken state, he missed the opening and the cigarette blew back into the car and fell onto the seat between his legs. He looked down at his crotch in the dark, cursing, and groping for the butt when he heard Petra scream, and he hollered, “Now what” He looked up to see the back of the tractor trailer smashing through the windshield. There was a brief, but brilliant, blinding flash of light as the two vehicles made contact metal on metal and the front of Duka’s car vanished under the rear bumper of the tractor trailer. The last thing to go through Duka’s mind was in fact the heavy metal bumper of trailer as it smashed through the windshield severing his head. Chapter-5 Officers Jack Conley and Mike Hughes of the Atlantic City Police Department received the call. There was an accident on Tilton road just past Delilah with possible fatalities. The young officers, both just out of the academy were not prepared for what they saw. A car was wedged under the back of a semi. The top of the car had been torn away and was lying on the road several yards behind the crushed vehicle. The drivers head had been severed and lay on the back seat next to a young girl who also appeared to be dead. The passenger in the front seat, a woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties had been ejected through the windshield and was pinned between the back of the trailer and the hood of the car. Conley was able to reach the woman’s wrist. He checked for vitals. She was gone. The third passenger, a young girl who appeared to be ten or eleven years old, lay motionless on the rear seat beside the severed head, blood covering her pale face. Hughes pried the rear door open, leaned into the car and checked for a pulse. “I got a live one,” he yelled to Conley as he released the buckle on her seatbelt and gently lifted her from the car. He took her to a grassy area beside the road and sat on the ground with the small girl in his arms; not knowing if she would live to see another day. He gently brushed the hair from her face and thought he felt a movement in her body. “Conley,” he yelled. “Get the first aid kit and a blanket from the cruiser, we need to wrap that gash on her cheek and keep her warm until the emergency team gets here.” Sergeant Gary Smith, the supervisor for the night shift pulled up just before the Air evac helicopter arrived. “This is a frigging mess Mike, are there any witnesses?” he said looking down at Hughes with the young girl in his arms. “Not sure, Sarg. All I know for sure is that we have two fatalities in the car, and this little one that probably won’t make it either. May be Conley has something for you. He spoke to the driver of the semi a few minutes ago. The guy was banged up pretty good, but nothing serious. Sergeant Smith nodded at Hughes, lit a cigarette, took a long drag, then told Hughes the air evac was on its way and should arrive in a few minutes. He then turned and walked to the driver’s side of the car. He stared at the headless driver and the passenger wedged between the hood of the car and the semi, shook his head and thought, so much carnage. I can see why we have so many hard drinking cops on the job. He approached officer Conley, shook his hand and asked what the truck driver had to say. “The driver saw the car swerving and crossing the dividing line several times over the past few miles. Then the car pulled out to pass him but there was an oncoming vehicle so he had to brake and pull back in behind the semi. Then according to the driver, the car slowed down and was following a few hundred feet behind him, but still swerving. The trucker said a deer ran up onto the pavement and froze in his headlights. He hit the brakes to avoid the deer and the car behind him slammed into the back of his truck. There are no skid marks behind the car. He never hit the brakes. Sergeant Smith heard the evac helicopter approaching and looked up. For some strange reason the thwopa, thwopa, thwopa, thwopa sounds of the main rotor made him think of an old steam locomotive and not a very expensive helicopter. The copter set down on the road just behind the crash site. Two EMT’s stepped off the craft with their bags in hand and rushed towards Smith and Conley. “What have we got here Sargent?” Asked the older of the two EMT’s who was also a Trauma surgeon in Atlantic City. “Two dead adults and a young girl who looks pretty bad, she’s over there with Officer Hughes.” He pointed to a grassy area between the crash site and the copter. Officer Hughes had tried to stabilize the girl by rolling his coat and putting it under her head. He had also wrapped her tightly in a blanket to keep her warm. As the EMT’s approached, Officer Hughes stood up and told them that the girl was unconscious, but breathing. The lead EMT said. “You’ve done a great job Officer. Keeping her stable and warm probably saved her life. We’ll take it from here.” He then instructed his assistant to apply a neck brace. They then rolled her gently onto a board as though handling a china doll, tied her down and carried her to the copter. The copter whirred louder and louder as the main rotor picked up the needed RPM’s to lift off. In less than the time it took to light another flare, the helicopter had vanished into the darkness. Hughes had joined Smith and Conley up on the pavement and set several more flares burning on the road. Sergeant Smith asked if either officer had gotten an ID on the two adults in the car. “Not yet Sarg, as soon as fire rescue can get them out of the car we’ll look for something to identify them” Officer Jack Conley had been on the force now for a few years and was not one to waver under pressure; he was the go to guy in cases like this, always calm and quick to think on his feet, never hesitant in his decisions. Yet tonight he was different, and Hughes could sense it. “Are you all right Jack?” Conley stared back at Hughes for a moment then said, “I was just thinking about that kid, both parents killed, she’ll probably end up in an orphanage and for what? So they could save a few minutes getting home. That kid is probably not going to make it through the night. It’s just not right that’s all.” Hughes peered at him with a puzzled look. “What the hell are you talking about, Jack? You can’t take this so personally. There wasn’t a damn thing you or I could have done to prevent this accident, or its outcome.” Conley said nothing, he just stared at Hughes for a moment and then back at the carnage on the road. “We need more flares,” Conley shouted. Leaving Hughes at the side of the road. He wondered why this particular wreck had touched such a nerve. Hughes joined Sergeant Smith and Conley on the pavement and set several more flares. Sergeant Smith began writing on a note pad and asked again if either officer had gotten an ID in the two in the car. “No Sarg.” Hughes said. “It’s still going to be awhile. Like I said before as soon as fire rescue can get them out of the car we’ll look for some ID’s.” “I’ll swing by the hospital tonight and check on the girl” Conley said. Hughes gave him an odd look but said nothing. Sergeant Smith looked up from his notes and said. “That’s a waste of time, Jack. With the condition that kid was in you won’t be able to speak to her for at least a few days, maybe more. The Hospital will notify us when it’s ok to see her.” With the accident finally cleared, the two officers continued with their patrol. On the way back to the precinct, Conley told Hughes to swing by the hospital. “Are you going to check on that little girl? You heard what Smith said. You won’t be able to talk to her.” “Yea, he said, drop me off at the emergency entrance. I’ll get a lift back to the precinct later.” Hughes shook his head but said nothing more. A few days after the accident Sergeant Smith at the podium in the day room began the process of handing out the days assignments. “Hughes,” Smith said, “I want you and Conley to stop by the Hospital this afternoon and check on the girl from the Tilton Road accident. If she’s conscious and if the doctors permit it I want you to speak to her and see if there’s any family we can contact. I really don’t think the hospital staff should be the ones to tell her about her parents. That kid shouldn’t be left alone. There’s got to be someone out there who knows her and is willing to care for her.” As the officers filed out of the day room Hughes lagged behind. “Have you got a minute Sarg?” “Sure, Mike, What’s on your mind?” “It’s Conley. He’s taking the Tilton road accident way too personally. You’ve known him longer than anyone Sarg. What’s up?” “Sit down Mike and I’ll tell you a little story. Your right when you say I’ve known him longer than anyone else. I actually knew him and his family when he was a kid growing up in Hell’s Kitchen over in New York.” “When he was a kid, there was a boy named Tommy Kennedy that lived in his apartment building. He was grabbed off the street by a very sick bastard and taken to Virginia. The boy was maybe two at the time. His mother had him in a stroller in front of the apartment building. It was a cold morning and she ran back into the building to get another blanket for him. When she came back out the boy was gone. Years later, we found out that one Orville Culpepper took the boy and gave him to his alcoholic wife as a birthday gift. Several months later the Culpepper’s and Tommy were driving on I-95 outside Richmond Va. when the vehicle they were in blew a tire. It went off the road and rolled several times. The Culpepper’s were killed and Tommy Kennedy was in critical condition. He was put into an induced coma just like the girl in the Tilton Road accident. The authorities just assumed that the Culpepper’s were his parents and since they had no known relatives living in the area, he was given to social services and bounced from foster home to foster home for years. He and some buddies got caught breaking into and elementary school one night. The local police booked and finger printed the boys and guess what? They came back as belonging to a Tommy Kennedy, not a kid named Culpepper. It turns out Tommy’s parents registered his prints into the national data base. Tommy was returned to his parents and with time he turned out to be a pretty good kid. I understand he’s a fireman now and still lives in the same old neighborhood. “That’s a touching story with a happy ending, but it doesn’t answer my question as to why the Tilton road accident bothers Conley so much. “Well” said Smith “Other than the fact that both children were put into induced comas, there is the fact that Mrs. Kennedy had asked Jack to watch Tommy while she went in to get the blanket. The kids were playing stickball in the street at the time of the abduction. Jack had faithfully been standing next to the carriage until it was his turn to bat. He told Mrs. Kennedy and the police that he had only taken his eyes off the boy for a minute or two to hit the ball, but I guess that was all it took. I don’t think Jack ever forgave himself for that slight lapse in judgment as a child. Anyway, that’s probably why he seems so concerned about that little girl. Does that answer it for you? “Yea, Thanks Sarg.” The next afternoon at roll call Sergeant Smith asked what the two Officers had come up with. “What we know is that the two adults were Duka and Petra Varga and they lived 813 Chicago Ave out in Egg Harbor.” Hughes said reading from his pad. “The girl sustained a head injury and the surgeon put her into an induced a coma until the swelling in her brain subsides.” The sergeant made a note on his clip board then told Hughes and Conley to swing by the neighborhood and see if anyone knew the family. “I would hate for that kid to wake up with no one but social services to look out for her.” “We’ll canvas the neighborhood tomorrow” said Officer Hughes. “We also asked the hospital to notify us when they bring her out of the coma.” “That’s great boys, keep me up on it.” It was two weeks later that the surgeon phoned and left a message for Officer Hughes that the girl in the auto accident had been brought out of her coma and was doing much better. Hughes returned the doctors call and said that he and Officer Conley would swing by the hospital tomorrow to speak to her. When Conley and Hughes arrived at the ICU, they were met by Nurse Kristyn Kaluzinski at the nurses’ station. “I’ve been expecting you” she said. “Our trauma surgeon said you would be by today to see our little patient.” The child is conscious and alert. She must be an immigrant because her English is very broken. The accent sounds like a Slavic dialect. My parents were Polish and I tried to speak to her in what little Polish I could remember, but I didn’t get anywhere. “Thanks for your help. We’ll see what we can find out.” The officers entered the girl’s room and stood beside her bed. The right side of her face was severely swollen. The large gash in her cheek had been closed and there were several layers of gauze bandage taped over it. “She’s sleeping,” Conley said. “Yeah, we should let her rest and come back later” said Hughes. Hearing their voices, she opened her eyes, and immediately pulled the blanket up to her chin. There was a panicked frightened look on her face. Conley offered her a smile and sat in the chair beside the bed hoping it would make him seem less menacing to her. “I’m Officer Conley and this is Officer Hughes. We are here to help you.” Do you remember anything about the accident?” The girl peered deeply into Conley’s crystal blue eyes then said, “Moja Brate Moja Brate” over and over. Conley stepped a little closer to the bed, leaned forward taking the girls hand and saying “Is that your name sweetheart?” “No,” she shook her head. “Nika Duka,” she said in very broken English. A moment later she began saying the words again. “Moja Brate, Moja Brate”. Her eyes dilated. Her hands scratched at the sheet. She continued to shake her head back and forth. Tears welled in her soft green eyes. Conley looked at Hughes and said, “Well at least we have her name. That’s a start, but I have no idea what Mojabrate means?” From out in the hall a soft voice said. “It’s not Mojabrate, its Moja Brate.” Both officers turned at the same time and watched an old woman mopping the floor. “What did you say?” asked Conley. “I said it’s not Mojabrate, its Moja Brate” she said stressing the fact that they were two separate words. “She’s speaking Croatian and asking for her brother.” Seeing her name tag, Conley said. “Please come in Seka we need your help. Ask her if her brother was in the car with her at the time of the accident.” The old woman spoke to Nika in Croatian as the officers had asked, and when Nika finally spoke, the old woman’s face went pale. She looked at Officer Conley and said “Oh My God.” “Sir her little brother was not in the car. She said her father keeps him locked in the basement of their house whenever they go out.” Hughes thanked Seka for her help, and then turned to Nika gently resting his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry sweetheart were going to get your brother and keep you both safe.” He hoped it was a promise he could keep. On his way out of the hospital, Conley radioed in for Sergeant Smith and filled him in on the new development. Then with lights flashing and their siren blaring they went all out for the Duka house. Conley kicked in the front door and then did the same to the padlocked cellar door in the kitchen. He took the flight of stairs in two steps, turned at the bottom and his heart nearly stopped when he saw the tiny figure on a cot in the corner of the room. The boy was lying in the fetal position and looked lifeless. He laid his big hand gently on the boy’s carotid artery and checked for a pulse. Thank God! He yelled to Hughes he’s still alive. Conley gently lifted the young boy from the cot, cradled him in his big arms and carried him from of the basement. Looking down at the near lifeless boy he couldn’t help but feel that justice had been served on the parents of this unfortunate child. Conley laid the boy on a couch in the living room and covered him with his coat. “See if you can find me a blanket.” Hughes left the room and returned shortly with one in his hand. Conley took his coat from the boy and replaced it with the blanket. As he did, the boy’s eyes opened. “It’s ok son, you’re safe. I’m a police officer and I’m here to help you.” The boy said nothing, but the wild look in his feral eyes spoke volumes to Conley in a way he understood. There was more to being alive than having a pulse. Sure he thought. This boy is going to live and probably lucky to do so. But looking into his eyes, Conley could see that the boy’s mind was someplace else. He was staring through the officer, not at him and it gave Conley a chill. It also made him flash back to Tommy Kennedy and that winter day in Hell’s Kitchen and he asked himself again for the thousandth time. “Why didn’t I just do what Mrs. Kennedy had asked and keep an eye on Tommy for a few minutes. It was only for a few minutes and if I had, he would never have been taken.” This was the thought he had the day of the kidnapping and it is the one that has eaten at his soul most every day since. EMT’s arrived, checked the boy’s vitals, radioed them to the hospital ER surgeon then began an IV drip. When he was secured to the gurney they rolled him out to the ambulance for transport. As the ambulance pulled out, Hughes turned to Conley who was lighting a cigarette and said. “Did you see that mess in the basement? What was that?” Conley took a drag on the cigarette, looked at Hughes and said. “It was a cat.” “What the hell did he do to it?” Hughes asked “He ate it” Conley said. “The kid ate the cat?” “Yeah” said Conley “Raw?” asked Hughes with a disgusted expression on his face. Conley took another drag on his cigarette. “Did you see a fucking hot plate in the basement?” He angrily tossed the cigarette to the ground. “I gotta get the hell out of here.” Turning his back on Hughes he slowly walked to the patrol car, got in then smashed is fist into the glove box with a “God Damn Them” thrown in. Chapter-6 Erik Varga sat at a table in the corner of the day room, the mornings light shining through gaps in the ancient oaks that spotted the grounds of the hospital. Light fractured through the safety glass of the caged dayroom window casting a checker pattern over his torso causing the jet black hair on his closely cropped head to look even darker against his pasty white face. Erik was orphaned when his parents were killed in an auto accident. He was seven at the time of the accident, his sister Nika was eleven. When no living relatives were found, both children were sent to The Children’s Home Society to await adoption. Nika was placed within six months, but Erik who seemed to have withdrawn to a place deep within his mind was not so lucky. Nika’s pleadings to stay with her brother fell on deaf ears and on the morning of her last day at the Children’s Home Society she swore to her brother that she would find him and that they would be a family again. It was several months after Nika’s adoption that Molly MacDonald; the administrator for The Children’s Home Society noticed a pronounced change in Erik. He was no longer the quiet introvert led by the hand around the orphanage. He had taken to fits of anger for no apparent reason and had hurt several of the children, one very badly. He was taken to the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital for testing and within a few weeks, was diagnosed as schizophrenic and transferred to the Hospital permanently. The medications kept him in check, but he no longer interacted with the other children. He would stand for hours behind the older boys playing Monopoly in the day room and when they were finished and left the table, he would sit and play the game by himself until another group of boys would take over the game and push him away at which point he would sit on the floor in the corner of the dayroom holding his knees to his chest, gently rocking back and forth until an orderly would come to take him for a session with Dr. Slater. It was a long time before Erik spoke to her or anyone else and when he finally did, it was in very broken English with a heavy Slovak accent. The accent continued to diminish into his adult years, but the doctor could still detect a slight trace of accent and quite frankly, enjoyed it. She thought this set him apart even if ever so slightly from the others in the ward. Dr. Slater had worked with Erik Varga for years, ever since he was diagnosed with Schizophrenia and transferred from the Children’s Home Society of New Jersey to the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital. She worked the children’s ward, but still kept tabs on him, now in his twenties; He had grown into a big man, a very big man, standing well over six feet, heavily muscled and except for his pasty complexion, one might call him handsome. Dr. Ann Slater didn’t fit the typical mold for a forty something Clinical Psychologist. For one thing she was drop dead gorgeous with shoulder length red hair and piercing emerald green eyes. And for another, she was tall, five foot six inches in her stocking feet with a body Victoria Secret would envy. Even so, with all her physical attributes, she was also one of the most respected Clinical Psychologists in the Northeastern United States. She enjoyed her work with the children immensely and felt it extremely rewarding if not frustrating and somewhat heart racking at times as in the case of Erik Varga the young man she watched through the two way mirror that gave her a private view of the day room. It was discouraging to see the man Erik had grown into over all his years at the hospital and know that he would probably spend the rest of his life there. Her first breakthrough with Erik came one afternoon when she handed him a Monopoly game she took from her desk drawer. “I want you to have this Erik because you’ve been a good boy. Now you don’t have to wait for the other boys to finish before you can play.” He put the game on his lap and smiled at her, but never said a word. She knew he was pleased with the gift because of the smile. It was his first sign of emotion since being admitted. She had often wondered what fascination the board game held for the boy, but she did not ask, because she knew he wouldn’t reply. He hadn’t spoken a word since the day he arrived at the Hospital. There was no physical reason he could not speak. She assumed his speech impediment stemmed from the trauma of being locked in that basement for so long. She had no knowledge of the true reason for his silence. The bombings in his home town of Dubrovnik Croatia and being buried in the rubble of what had been his home. She had hoped that giving him the game would open the door to bringing him back. “If you like Erik you can bring your game to our sessions and we can play while I talk to you. Would that be ok with you?” she asked. Erik smiled again, then got up and left her office. The orderly waiting outside took him back to his room. After that session, he played the game every morning after breakfast and would continue throwing the dice, moving pieces and thumbing through the cards on the center of the board until the orderly’s stopped him for lunch. After lunch he would pace the dayroom floor clutching the game to his chest, waiting for an orderly to take him to Dr. Slater’s office so he could play the game again. Erik was sixteen when the big break finally came. The drugs for his schizophrenia kept him calm, but nearly nine years after his admittance to the hospital, he still had not spoken a word. One of the orderlies, Randy Cox, a worthless little man with a Napoleon complex came to take him for his session with Dr. Slater. Cox had often teased and taunted Erik over the years and on one occasion had beaten him with a tightly rolled magazine. The boy, now stood over six feet, and towered over the orderly making him feel even more self-conscious about his diminutive stature. Erik stood clutching the monopoly box while staring down at the little man in the white uniform. Cox tugged at the box. “Give me that damn thing, you’re sixteen years old. Stop acting like a baby.” Before Cox could react, Erik put his hand under the orderlies jaw, lifting him off the floor. When they were eye to eye, Erik smiled and said. “You have been harassing me for years. “No More”. He then lowered Cox back to the floor and walked off to Dr. Slater’s office with the orderly following behind shouting “He can talk, He can talk”. Dr. Slater heard the commotion in the hall and looked up as Erik entered her office. Cox leaned through the doorway behind Erik again shouting “He can talk, He can talk. The bastard can talk and he choked me too!” The doctor smiled at Erik, then looked at the orderly. “What did he say?” Realizing he had been caught in his own words the orderly backed off. “Never mind” he said. “What did he say?” “Some ridiculous ranting that I have been harassing him. It’s all a lie Dr. Slater; I don’t know why he would make up such a story. “Have you Mr Cox?” “Of course not” She lowered her head and peered at the orderly over the rim her reading glasses and then told him to leave. “But he choked me!” “We’ll discuss that later.” She walked Cox to the door and closed it in his face. “Sit down Erik. It looks like we finally have something to talk about.” Chapter-7 Conley was tired and irritable from lack of sleep and slightly hung over as well. He sat at his shared desk in the homicide room with Detective Ragu trying to kick start his morning with black coffee and cigarettes. “Put that God Damn cigarette out Conley”. “You know this is a non- smoking building.” The piercing shrill of Lieutenant Barb Felker so early in the morning caused the large vein in the center of his forehead to throb. “You have any leads yet on the St. James Place murder?” “No and why the hell someone would put the victim’s eye balls on the window ledge has got me going?” Ragu twirled a pencil in his fingertips and leaned back in his chair. “Any thoughts on it Lieutenant?” “I don’t know Tony; maybe he’s trying to tell us something.” She replied. “Why don’t you two go back to the apartment and have another look?” Heading out to their cruiser Tony stopped and turned towards Conley. The glare of the morning sun reflecting off the mirrored buildings outside the precinct house caused him to squint to see clearly. “Shit Jack I forgot I have a dental appointment at eleven. Will you cover for me a couple of hours? I forgot to tell Felker about it and you know how she can be.” “No problem buddy. She doesn’t have to know. I’ll run by the St. James Apartments then swing back for you after that.” Conley took the elevator to the third floor. When he got to Apt 302A he reached under the crime tape and pushed the door open. The coroner’s office had finished bagging and tagging body parts for analysis and had already left for the morgue. The CSI team was still there placing cones and taking photographs of blood stains and anything else that seemed out of pace. Conley Hop-Scotched the room so as not to disturb evidence and made his way to CSI Carlos Clarke. “Pulled another all-nighter Clarke?” Conley said. “Yea, you know, “so many parts, so little time” Clarke grinned. “What can I do for you Detective?” Conley looked down at the pool of dried blood on the glass coffee table, then back at CSI Clarke. I’ll make this as quick as possible Carlos; I know you’d like to get out of here sometime today.” “Anything unusual?” asked Conley. “I mean other than the eyes on the window ledge?” “Well, actually there is,” said Clarke. It appears there is a great deal more blood than you would expect from one body. It looks as though whoever did this was pumping whole blood into the victim keeping her alive while he was doing his thing. Also, there was a butter knife on the counter in the kitchen with what appears to have burnt blood and flesh on it, and burnt flesh on the oven burner. Lab tests should confirm it, but I’m betting he used the knife to cauterize the wounds to her hands after severing several of her fingers. Again and this is just my opinion, in an effort to keep her from bleeding out too soon.” “This is one sick bastard. I hope you get him Conley before he gets anyone else.” Conley nodded in agreement and then gingerly worked his way across the crime scene to the window taking special care not to disturb any of the CSI markers dotting the room. He stepped out onto the fire escape landing, sat back on the sill and lit a smoke. “I’m too old for this shit.” he thought “I’m ready to retire, why can’t I close it out with a simple lost dog case, or a shoplifter at the mall?” He took a long draw on the cigarette, blowing rings out over the railing. “Who am I kidding, I love this shit and I’m going to find this bastard before he hurts someone else. Then I can think about retiring, maybe” Conley picked up Ragu from the Dentist’s office and headed back to the precinct. In the parking lot he reached in his jacket for a smoke, but came out empty handed. “Shit, I went out on the fire escape at the apartment for a smoke I must have left them there.” “We can pick them up tomorrow when we’re out” said Tony. “No, I gotta go back now.” That Zippo case is 14k gold. You guys gave it to me for hitting twenty five years on the job remember?” “How could I forget?” The whole frigging squad including Lieutenant Felker got totally hammered that night.” “Like I said Tony I gotta go back for it, now, Ok” “Ok!, I’ll take a ride with you.” “No need to come along.” “The hell I don’t.” Since Felker quit smoking, she’s been a real bitch and I don’t want to listen to a rash of shit from her about you and your fucking cigarettes ok? They pulled into the parking lot at St. James Place, and Conley hopped out. “I’ll be right back.” When he got to Apt. 302A, the door was locked. “That’s great, that’s just fucking great,” he thought. He started back toward the car. “Maybe, just maybe,” he thought and turned back to the apartment, put on a pair of latex gloves and ran his fingers over the door sill. He felt the key and something else. Both hit the floor. He bent down picked up the key and a small metal object. “Huh, what’s this?” He said to himself out loud as he picked the key and metal object from the floor. He unlocked the door and put both items into a plastic zip lock bag. He leaned under the crime tape and entered the apartment. Sure as hell, there they were. His Marlboro’s and the gold Zippo right where he had left them on the ledge. He picked them up and as he put them into his jacket he felt the zip lock bag and pulled it out. Holding it at eye level he first noticed the key, then the small metal object. It looked like a sewing thimble. He opened the bag and used his pen to snag the thimble and lift it from the bag. The thimble was tiny, much smaller than his fingertips. Whoever used this had really small hands he thought. He could understand why someone might put a key on the ledge over the door, but it was beyond him why anyone would put a thimble there. “It just made no sense at all” he thought. He returned it to the bag, zipped it up and shoved it back into his jacket. Then lit a cigarette and made sure this time he returned both to his pocket. Staring for a moment through the window that over looked Marvin Gardens Ave., and a beautiful park on the other side of the street. He thought the view of the park from this apartment must have raised the rent substantially. He also wondered what the landlord would tell the next tenant. Chapter-8 “Hey! Pollard, come over here!” Tom Pollard looked up from his dinner to see Deric Kaiser, the Manager of the Atlantic City Water Treatment Plant with a tall stocky young man standing in the doorway of the men’s locker room. “This is Erik Varga. He’s your new helper on the night shift.” “Just call me Tom kid. Watch what I do and do what I say and we’ll get along just fine.” “When you finish your dinner Tom I need you and your new gopher up on the main holding tank.” QC reported a leak at the intake valve and OSHA’s scheduled an inspection for tomorrow. “I don’t need any more write ups from them” he growled and then turned back towards his office. “Got our work cut out for us tonight kid. Let’s finish dinner then we can get on it. Did you bring anything to eat?” Erik shook his head, indicating he had not. I have plenty to share tonight; my wife always packs too much. But I suggest you start packing dinner tomorrow, by the looks of you it will take a lot of carbs to keep you going he said rapping the big man on the shoulder, but not noticing Erik flinching at Pollards gesture of friendship. The valves and piping for the treatment plant were at the top rear side of the tank, some 100 feet above the ground. After they ate, Pollard remarked that Erik seemed awfully quiet for such a young man. Erik simply offered a smile and followed Pollard into the elevator for the quick hop to the fourth floor landing. From there the two took a spiral stairway to the top of the tank, then the cat walk to the rear side of the tank. Pollard looked up at the valve in question. It was positioned about seven feet above the catwalk. “I don’t see a leak” Pollard said “but I need to get higher for a better look.” “Want me to get you a ladder?” Erik said. “No, I’ll just stand on the railing. I only need a minute or two and that should get me high enough for a good look. If it’s leaking we can go back for the ladder and some tools. Give me your shoulder kid and when I get on the railing, hold my legs so I don’t fall back, it’s a long way down and I’d rather use the stairs,” he said with a lopsided grin. With one hand on Erik’s Shoulder and the other on the top rail of the catwalk Pollard slowly eased his body up, steadied his feet on the second of the three rails and then leaned over the piping to get a better look at the valve. “Yep,” Pollard said. “It’s leaking; we're going to need the ladder and some tools.” I don’t think so Erik thought as he gripped Pollard’s belt at the small of his back and pulled him backward over the railing. Pollard, now in free fall, had a look of terror and disbelief in his eyes as he stared up at the young man on the catwalk, who returned his gaze with a smile. The impact was so severe it split Pollard’s head open from his eye sockets to the nape of his neck. Erik watched as the body convulsed on the concrete floor below. When there was no further movement, he walked to the elevator, taking it to the ground level and vanished into the night. Chapter -9 Conley and Ragu got back to the precinct around 3 pm. The homicide room was nearly empty with the exception of Sergeant Laurel Beaver who was a smoker too and didn’t really give a shit what Conley did so long as it did not involve her. So Conley thought what the hell and reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the cigarettes and lighter along with the zip lock bag containing the little metal thimble and the apartment key. He tossed everything onto the desk, then pulled out a smoke and lit up. Ragu looked up from the report he was typing and casually told Conley “The Lt’s going to be pissed when she gets back in and she smells that fucking cigarette. “Fuck Felker” Conley replied. “We’ll be long gone before she gets back to the precinct. And “The Beev” over there didn’t see anything. Did you Detective Sergeant Beaver?” “Fuck you Conley. Give me one of those.” “I thought you quit.” “I did asshole.” Conley tossed her the pack she lit one and then laid the pack down in her desk drawer. “What the hell is that?” Ragu said staring at the tiny object on the desk? “I don’t know Conley said. I knocked it off the door ledge at the St. James Place crime scene when I went to get my lighter this morning. It looks like a Thimble.” “Let me see it,” Ragu said snatching it from Conley’s hand. “That’s not a thimble you Irish Prick, that’s a monopoly token.” “A monopoly token, are you sure?” Conley belted back. “Of course I am,” said Ragu. “You use those little tokens to move around the board when you play the game.” “Who the hell would put it on the door ledge of that apartment and why” said Ragu. “I don’t know,” said Conley rolling the game piece between his fingers. But it must mean something; anyway, tomorrow’s another day.” The two detectives ran into Lieutenant Felker at the front of the precinct house. Ragu looked at her and then back at Conley finally saying “you almost made it buddy”. Conley looked Lieutenant Felker straight in the eyes. “It’s too bad about Detective Beaver” “What’s too bad about Detective Beaver,” Lieutenant Felker shot back. She took pride in knowing her people and it bugged the hell out of her to think there was something going on in her department that she was unaware of. “Oh, it’s not important Lieutenant forget I said anything” Conley said with a sheepish voice. “I’ll decide what’s important and what’s not. Now if you don’t want a five foot six inch one hundred and fifty pound, middle aged, full bodied female superior officer kicking your oversized Irish ass, I would suggest you rethink your last response and answer the question.! “You know, Lieutenant,” about her relapse.” “What the hell are you talking about Conley! “What relapse?” “She’s smoking again.” Lieutenant Felker walked through the squad room to her office, stopping in the doorway. She turned and snapped at Detective Beaver “I’m really disappointed in you; bring me those God Damn cigarettes!” Beaver lowered her head like a child being scolded, took the cigarettes from her desk drawer and mumbled, “That fucking Conley” and walked into the Lieutenants office. “Shut the damn door and sit down Beaver. You know I quit smoking a few weeks ago myself. You need to try harder to get off the cigarettes. They’re not doing you any favors. “How’s the quitting going for you Lieutenant?” “Great, Just Friggin great! Now, are you going to offer me one of those, or do I need to smack the crap out of you and take them all.” Lieutenant Felker lit the cigarette Beaver handed her, took a deep drag and sent a long whiff of smoke swirling toward the ceiling. “Damn this is good. Why the hell did I ever quit?” She said, tapping an ash into her trash can. She leaned back in her chair, took another long drag and said. “You know, Conley can be a real ass at times, but he’s a hell of a detective and he has a good heart even if he shows a gruff exterior. If he can help, I’ve always found him to be available. So don’t take his crap too personally.” Lieutenant Felker held the cigarette up at eye level watching the smoke swirl above her head and said “Thanks Beaver!, now I have to quit all over again.” Detective Beaver didn’t need Lieutenant Felker to tell her that smoking was bad, or what kind of man Jack Conley was. She felt she had a pretty good handle on both counts. She had just ended a bad marriage to an abusive husband who thought beating the crap out of a cop was always the highlight of his week. It was Conley who finally put a stop to the abuse when she had come in to work one morning and didn’t bother to remove her Ray-Bans. Conley asked “what’s up with the glasses.” “Nothing, I have an eye infection that’s sensitive to light.” Conley knew her story was bull shit because he could see the dark purple bruising that went beyond the rim of the glasses. “That fucking asshole husband of yours again?” He asked. “It’s my problem; I’ll take care of it she replied.” Conley said nothing else about it, but that night he stopped by the favorite watering hole of Beavers abusive husband and true to form he was there with his usual drunken buddies. Conley sat in a booth near the restroom doors and waited patiently for his opportunity. Within the hour Mr. Beaver needed to use the facilities. The men’s room was empty as Beaver walked in, unaware Conley had entered directly behind him. Conley grabbed him by the back of the neck as he stood at the urinal and slammed his forehead into the tiled wall. He then spun him around and held him against the wall with one hand on his throat and beat him senseless with the other. He finally shoved him into a toilet stall and with his foot planted squarely on the husband’s chest, told him in no uncertain terms what he would do to him if he ever put a hand on her again. The next morning Detective Beaver walked over to Conley’s desk, sat in the side chair, removed the sun glasses, looked him in the eyes and with an expression of admiration, and a touch awe said. “Thanks.” “For what?” “He asked for a divorce this morning.” “Why?” She smiled, looked him deep in the eyes and said. “No why’s, just thanks.” She put the glassed back on and returned to her desk. After years of abuse, in one night, Conley had put an end to her beatings with a beating. For a while, she found herself daydreaming about Conley and what it might be like to have a man to love and protect her rather than beat and abuse her. She sometimes regretted not acting on her feelings for him and eventually realized she had waited too long and the moment passed. Chapter-10 The Ancora Psychiatric Hospital receptionist was answering a call when the young lady approached her station. The girl got as far as “My name is,” then was abruptly severed from further conversation by the crooked index finger of an eighty something hospital volunteer sitting at the desk. The old woman then put her hand over the phone and in a soft whispered said. “I’ll be with you in a minute honey.” The girl looked down at the old woman and snarled. “I’m not your honey old lady I’m here to see Dr. Slater.” The girl’s lack of respect seemed to unnerve the old woman for a moment, but only for a moment. Given the nature of her work place she took everything in stride. Her hand went up again, this time with her middle finger holding sway. “Don’t fuck with me kid it’s been a very long day and my feet are killing me. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? Tell me again who you want to see and ask me in a more conducive manor?” “Whatever,” was the best she could come up with followed by. “I’m Nika Varga and I’m here to see Dr. Slater.” “Do you have an appointment?” “No, but trust me she’ll want to see me. Tell her I’m Erik Varga’s sister.” The receptionist rang Dr. Slater’s office. “This is Gladys at the front desk; there is a Nika Varga who wants to speak to you. She said to tell you she is Erik Varga’s sister. Yes, I will, thank you doctor. Please have a seat over there Miss. Varga.” She said pointing to a waiting area near the door. “The doctor will be with you shortly.” “What the hell is shortly?” “Shortly is shortly! Now sit down over there and behave yourself young lady.” Dr. Ann Slater went to the front desk and asked for Miss Varga. Gladys pointed to the waiting area at the right of the entry door, to a thin, frail looking woman who appeared to be her late twenties. As the Doctor approached, she noticed the welting scar that ran from the right corner of the girl’s mouth to the back of her jaw. It pulled the skin tight, forcing a permanent crooked frown to an otherwise pretty face. Nika Varga stood in an almost defensive position as if she were about to be assaulted. Dr. Slater extended her hand, but Nika ignored it and said “I came to get my brother the hell out of this place.” The doctor in a very calm voice said. “Why don’t we go to my office and discuss this.” “I’ll go to your office, but you won’t talk me out of this. I promised Erik I would come for him and now I’m here.” “Please sit down Miss Varga. Would you like something to drink?” “No, I’m fine.” She said crossing her bony arms over her breasts. She looked more like a petulant teenager than a secure young woman. “I just want my brother.” Dr. Slater studied the pale emaciated woman if front of her. There was no need for identification; she looked so much like her brother they could be mistaken for twins. Every facial feature was the same, from their prominent cheekbones; right down to Erik’s piercing emerald eyes that always seemed able to penetrate her professional facade during their sessions. “Why now Miss Varga? No one and certainly not you has shown any interest in Erik since he arrived here years ago as a small boy. Why now?” “The last thing I told my brother when I was taken from the orphanage and we were separated was that I would someday find him and we would be a family again. I went through some very tough times with the foster parents who took me. They were very abusive when I was young and they moved to another state. When I contacted the orphanage they told me Erik had been transferred to another facility, but no one would give me any other information about him because I was a minor. My foster parents could care less about me, so when I turned 18 I moved out of their house and lived on the streets for a while. It took me a long time to get my life together and earn enough money to hire an investigator to find Erik. Now that I have a good job as a waitress and a nice place for us to live. I’ve come to take him home.” Dr. Slater smiled and said,” I’m very pleased you want to be a part of Erik’s life, but I don’t think you understand his current mental state. I don’t as a rule discuss or give information about a patient to anyone, but looking at you it’s very clear to me your Erik’s sister. I will however as a matter of protocol need to see some identification. Nika groped around in her handbag for a moment, grumbled “This is bullshit” then handed the doctor her driver’s license. Dr. Slater glanced at the license then looked up and said. “Thank you Nika, I know all this must be irritating to you, but it’s necessary for the protection of your brother.” Dr. Slater took a deep breath, exhaled and sat back in her arm chair. “Erik is schizophrenic. He constantly shifts between mania and depression. He has also been diagnosed as Psychotic meaning he can become dangerous or violent if he goes off his meds even for a short while. Do you really want the have to deal with that and be responsible for him for the rest of your life?” “I don’t see the problem. He can go on Medicare or Medicaid or whatever it’s called. And I checked and he can go on Social Security too.” Dr. Slater shifted in her chair, took a sip of water from the glass on her desk and stared quietly at Nika for a long moment wondering if she had said too much. “I certainly hope you’re not just looking to supplement your income with Erik’s Social Security check. That would be a very big mistake for both you and Erik.” “What difference does it make to you?” Nika snapped back “At least he would be with his family.” She straightened up in the chair, her thin shoulders no longer hunched. “I checked with a lawyer. Erik has committed no crimes and as long as he takes his medications he won’t be a threat to anyone. I’m taking him to live with me and there is nothing you can do to stop me. When can I come back and pick him up?” Dr. Slater slowly shook her head and then deciding there was little she could do to stop it said. “We can have the paperwork finished in two days.” “Fine” said Nika. ”I’ll come back Friday afternoon to take him home.” On her way out of the hospital Nika passed orderly Cox. “Here to see Erik?” he asked. “Yes” she said “I’m taking him home Friday” “We’ll miss him,” Cox said in his usual insincere voice as Nika left him standing alone in the hall. The next morning Dr. Slater called Erik into her office and tried to explain why he would be leaving the hospital and only home he had known for most of his life. She explained that his sister loved him very much and wanted him to live with her. She asked if Erik remembered his sister and quite to her surprise he said he knew she would come for him just as she had promised so many years before. “You can stay with us I you like Erik but you need tell me now.” No, Erik said. “She told me she would come for me. Now it’s time to go and to prepare.” “Prepare for what Erik?” “Our wedding, what else?” He got up from his seat, walked around to Dr. Slater’s chair, then bent over putting one hand on the back of the chair and the other on the back of her neck. He leaned in and kissed her just above the temple. “You know I love you Dr. Slater and I know you love me. If I stay here, we can’t be married, you know that.” Ann Slater shuddered; her throat tightened as Erik stroked the nape of her neck, kissed her temple again then left her office before she could reply. She sat in her chair staring blankly at the opposite wall. “Oh My God.” In the hall, Erik passed Orderly Cox who shouted out “Hey Asshole! I hear your sister is coming for you tomorrow.” Erik ignored him and continued on to his room, picked up his Monopoly box and went to the day room. He sat at the table and began to play. Cox followed him into the day room and began the daily torment with “Hey Retard.” Erik looked up from the board game to see Cox walking towards him. The orderly swung his hand over Erik’s head, “Watch it,” he said with a shit eating grin on his face as Erik flinched away from him. “Come on kid can’t you take a joke I wasn’t going to hit you.” It wouldn’t have been the first time Cox smacked him over the years for no reason other than pure meanness. Cox grabbed Erik by the back of the collar with one hand and turned the monopoly board over with the other sending cards, tokens and game pieces across the floor.” Clean up this frigging mess and get your ass back to your room. If I catch you back out here later playing that shit game, I’ll fix it so you’ll never leave this place, with your sister, or anyone else” Erik stared down at the game pieces strewn across dayroom floor, then up at Cox who was grinning like a High School bully. Erik locked his dark green eyes in a glare on the orderly’s rat like face and said. “Pick it up.” “No, you pick it up and do it now” said Cox. Erik slowly raised himself from the metal folding chair. He stood towering over the orderly and again said “Pick up all the pieces and put them back neatly into the box.” Cox half laughed and said “Fuck You Retard, now get down there and clean this mess up” Erik clamped his huge hand on the orderly’s left trapezoid muscle and began to squeeze. Cox winced in pain and grabbed for Erik’s hand, at which point Erik took his free hand and grabbed the orderly’s hand by the wrist lifting it from his own, and began to slowly twist it until Cox was on his knees. “Ok, ok” he shouted. “I was only fooling with you, let me go”. “Me too” said Erik in a voice and tone that convinced Cox it was in his immediate best interest to do as Erik had asked. Cox felt ridiculous crawling around the floor on his hands and knees, but something had changed in the boy he had tormented for years and it frightened him. As he picked up the game pieces he looked up at Erik who said; “You won’t tell Dr. Slater will you?” “No, no said Cox, no need for that” On Friday afternoon Nika arrived as promised. She and Erik met in the hospital conference room and reacquainted themselves with each other. After the initial hugs and kisses Nika took Erik by the hand and sat him on a couch next to her. “You’re not my little brother anymore; you’re all grown up she said with a big smile.” I told you I would come for you. It took longer than I wanted, but here I am.” “Can you remember when we were little and we used to play hide and seek at the Dubrovnik Aquarium?” “I remember,” he said and I remember the boat trip in the storm and living in the basement. Do I have to stay in the basement at our new house?” “Of course not Erik, father made you stay in the basement. He was a very bad man and now he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. It will be just you and I and everything will be fine, I promise. And we’ll have many more good times now that were back together again. I remember how much you liked to play with that monopoly game. Do you still like it?” Erik smiled and nodded yes. “Well as soon as we get home and you get settled in we can play a game.” Dr. Slater came into the conference room with a file containing Erik’s release papers. She sat across from the two siblings, opened the file and asked if they were sure this was what they both still wanted. “Just give me the damn pen and show me where to sign,” said Nika, who was beginning to show her brother signs of her true nature. “It’s not too late to change your mind Erik.” “No, like I said, it’s time to go but maybe you can come by next week and visit.” Erik replied. Nika stared in disbelief. Her brother’s calm lucid speech surprised her. Up to this point, he hadn’t spoken much and she wondered just how impaired he actually was. Dr. Slater sensed the surprise Nika felt and took the lead. “You’re going to be very busy getting settled into your new surroundings, but we’ll see.” At any rate, it’s necessary for you to have good follow-up as you make the transition into the world. It will help stabilize things for you until you feel comfortable with your new surroundings and possibly even look for work sometime in the future.” She said this knowing full well she would never step foot in his home, especially not after he professed his feelings for her. As Erik and Nika left the hospital, Nika told him she had forgotten to tell Dr. Slater something and for him to wait by the car and she would be right back. She caught up to Dr. Slater in the lobby and told her she was not welcomed in her home and that she was never to see or contact Erik again. The doctor had mixed emotions regarding Nika’s demands, but deep in her heart felt relieved with the thought she wouldn’t have to discuss Erik’s marriage plans again. She wondered if she should have mentioned that to Nika. But then decided not to. Anyway, it was too bizarre for her to worry about. Perhaps it was just a reaction to the gravity of his learning he was leaving the hospital. Yes, that was it. He was just clinging to her for the moment as part of the transition, and it would pass. “What did you tell Dr. Slater, she looked upset” Erik asked after they got into the car. “Oh, I just wanted to thank her again for all her help.” “She loves me, were going to get married. I want you to like her.” Nika stared at her brother and thought to herself “You really are fucking crazy aren’t you?” When they arrived at the house, Erik refused to go in. “What’s the matter with you Erik? Come in and shut the door?” Erik stood at the door and stared at his sister. “I said come in, it’s cold out there. What’s wrong with you?” Erik stood firm, his massive body filling the doorframe but his feet refused to move. Finally he said, “Do I have to live in the basement like before?” “No baby, no more basements, that lousy bastard is dead.” Nika and Erik entered the living room and were greeted by Nika’s boyfriend Bobby Mott, an out of work carpenter with a bad crack habit. He looked at Erik then back at Nika and said. “Is this your retard brother? Damn he’s big. When does he get his social security check? I used the last rock this morning.” “Shut up Bobby, you asshole. He’s not a retard.” Erik looked at the sorry ass on the couch, then back at his sister and said. “Does he live here too? I thought it was just going to be me and you.” “It will be baby, Bobby is only staying until he gets back to work and finds a place of his own.” Her answer seemed to satisfy him. “Where is my room?” he asked. “The last room at the end of the hall,” Nika replied. And with that, Erik went to his room, closed the door and began another game of monopoly. When Nika was sure her brother could not hear her she sat down next to Bobby. “What the hell is wrong with you” she said. “We can’t let him know were going to take his checks to buy crack.” “That’s the only reason you got him sprung, isn’t it?” “Yes. But he can’t know that you idiot and keep your voice down. He’s kind of fragile” “Fragile? He’s as big as a house. Shit, he could take me out in a second if he wasn’t such a retard.” “I told you not to call him that you asshole. And yea, he could kick your ass in a New York minute if I told him to, so get your act together and play the big brother role until the checks start coming in.” “Big brother my ass,” He said “Why do you have to be like that Bobby. Why can’t you think of me for a change? Do you think I want to be stuck with him for the rest of my life? Help me figure a way to keep the check’s coming without him here.” “There’s always a way, but it’ll be messy.” “Don’t talk like that Bobby, there’s got to be another way.” The first few months went ok. For the most part Erik kept to himself and he seemed to prefer it that way. It wasn’t until he and Bobby were left alone in the house one night that the problems began. Nika had begun weaning Erik off his meds thinking she could sell the unused drugs for additional cash. What she didn’t realize was that she was slowly creating a monster in her brother. On the night the two men were left alone Bobby was higher than a kite on crack, lying on the living room couch watching TV. Erik was at the kitchen table playing his Monopoly game. Bobby staggered into the kitchen for a beer, took a can from the refrigerator shook it, popped the top and sprayed it over the Monopoly board soaking everything.” Now that’s the way to play fucking Monopoly” he said stumbling back into the living room. Erik stared down for a moment at the mess on the table then got up and followed Bobby into the living room. He stood between Bobby and the television blocking his view. Bobby looked up and said. “What the hell do you want, I already showed you how to play Friggin Monopoly, now get the hell out of the way. I can’t see the TV.” Erik kicked the coffee table launching it and everything on it into the air. “What the fuck?” screamed Bobby? Erik grabbed him by his greasy long hair and pulled him over the back of the couch, dragging him into the kitchen. “No, said Erik. This is how we play Monopoly.” He tossed Bobby onto the table like a rag doll, his big hand clamping like a vise over Bobby’s throat and began stuffing the soggy play money into the crack head’s mouth. Nika walked into the kitchen and saw Bobby thrashing on the table while Erik continued to stuff wads of play money, property deeds, tokens and anything else he could grab from the game box into Bobby’s mouth. She grabbed Erik by the arm and yelled. “Let him go, you’re killing him, please baby, let him go!” Erik stopped and stepped back. He looked down at his sister with eyes she had never seen and said. “If I ever see that son of a bitch again, I’ll rip his arm off and beat you to death with it!” Nika got Bobby off the table and helped him to door. As he stumbled down the steps he said “That crazy bastard doesn’t have to worry about me coming around again, I don’t need this kind of shit, I’m outta here.” Chapter-11 “They have an ID on the girl at the St. James Place. Her name is Alexis Ambrose,” said Lieutenant Felker. “The apartment manager said her father, Aaron Ambrose, cosigned for the apartment. He has an apartment at 100 Park Place.” “We should talk to him” said Conley. “Maybe we can get a lead on this case before things get cold on us.” Ragu nodded his head in agreement. “I’ll swing by this afternoon. I’m having lunch with Rachael at Pistol Pete’s and that building is just up the street from the restaurant.” “Great,” said Conley. “See if she had any enemies, or maybe an ex-boyfriend who doesn’t like being an ex.” Ragu nodded again, pushed his chair from the desk and left the precinct. Sergeant Ragu parked the cruiser in front of 100 Park Place. The building was almost opulent in appearance. He approached the front entrance. The doorman, a large young man dressed in a grey tuxedo with a black top hat and spats stood behind the door. Ragu flashed his badge. The doorman turned the bolt on the lock and pushed the door open. Ragu gave him the usual quick up and down. He estimated the man to be 25 or 26 years old, 6 foot 3 or 4, and may be 230 pounds. (He also noticed the uniform seemed much too small for a guy his size.) “Was that the largest uniform they could find for you, big boy?” Ragu said with a smile. “A little young for this job aren’t you. Most of the doormen I know are in their 40’s or 50’s,” Ragu said. The young man, with a very indignant look, said “Just lucky I guess.” “I’m detective Ragu A.C.P.D., and you are?” “I’m Erik Varga.” “Erik, I’m looking for Aaron Ambrose. Can you tell me what apartment he’s in?” “Seven ten. But he’s not in; he left about an hour ago. I can let him know you were looking for him.” “Tell me Erik, have you seen anyone or anything that seemed out of place over the past few days?” “No, everything’s been pretty normal. That is, except for Kitty Osterman, a single lady in #357. Her dog got out of the building last night. I thought maybe you found it, and that’s why you were here.” “Yea said Ragu, “I’m not too concerned about Kitty’s dog, anything else?” “No,” said Varga. “Here’s my card. When Mr. Ambrose gets back ask him to give me a call.” As Varga reached for the card Ragu noticed what looked like blood on cuff of his coat. Ragu pointed at the stain and said. “What’s up with that?” Varga looked down at his sleeve, then back at Ragu.” Nose Bleed. I have high blood pressure. I get them once or twice a month.” “Are you taking meds for that? You know you can’t mess around with high blood pressure” Ragu said. “Yea, I got it covered officer. I take all my meds.” “That’s good kid and by the way I‘m not an officer, I’m a Detective” “I’ll remember that Detective.” Ragu turned to leave and then turned back to the doorman. “Say do you mind if I use your restroom before I go? Too much coffee I guess.” Varga looked down at the detective with a slight grin and said “The lavatory is only for the tenants and their guests.” “Lavatory! I haven’t heard it called that since High School. Hey, it will only take a minute. Think of me as a special guest.” Ragu brushed past Varga and walked to the door marked Gentlemen. When he finished, he went to the sink to wash his hands. As he stepped over to the hand drier on the wall, a vague form on the floor caught his peripheral vision. For a moment there was nothing and then the adrenalin shot through his body like a cocaine rush as his eyes fixed on the blood soaked body lying on the floor, half in and half out of the toilet stall. A stream of blood ran from the body to the drain in the center of the room. He rushed to the stall, stepped over the body, slipping on the blood that had pooled around the man’s head. Ragu lost his balance and fell backwards. His right hand grabbed for the toilet but missed its mark, plunging his fist into the bowl and in turn splashing blue toilet water onto his shirt and coat. “Damn It” he said as he lifted himself to his feet. He bent down over the body on the floor to check for a pulse, there was none. It was at that moment, the reason for the blood on the doorman’s sleeve became perfectly clear to him. His eye caught the glimpse of a shadow on the floor. He immediately pulled the Glock from its holster and turned to meet the owner of the shadow. But the big man was quick and grabbed Ragu’s gun hand by the wrist, twisting it until the bones cracked and the Glock fell to the floor. At that same instant, a box cutter sliced into the detective’s throat, severing the carotid artery. Ragu clamped his hand over the gaping laceration, but the artery had retracted back into the neck and there was no way to stop the bleeding. He slumped slowly to the floor, his body wedging between the toilet and the metal wall partition. He tried to stand, but the loss of blood and the agonizing pain in his wrist left him helpless. Consciousness was rapidly leaving the Detective and with one last feeble effort, he reached under the partition wall for the Glock which had slid into the stall to his left. Varga looked down at him with a smile, then grabbed the Detective by his shattered wrist, pulling him up and out of the stall in one sweeping movement. He then tossed Ragu over his shoulder and with no more effort than toting a laundry bag, carried him to the cruiser. He popped the lid and dropped the Detective into the trunk. Ragu opened his eyes and tried to speak again, but could not. The radio in the cruiser came to life. “Dispatch to car 22, Ragu are you there, this is Conley come in.” There was a brief silence, then the same message again. “Ragu, this is Conley Come in.” Varga looked down at Ragu for a moment, then walked to the driver’s side of the cruiser, got in, shut the radio off then returned to the Detective in the trunk of the cruiser. Ragu, no longer able to move or react, stared blindly at his attacker. Varga stared back down at the man in the trunk, seemingly mesmerized by the red foam bubbling from the deep gash in Ragu’s throat. He watched with indifference as the life slowly ebbed from the Detective who was now drifting in and out of conciseness. Varga took a small pewter car from his pocket and forced it deep into the Detectives throat through the gash he had made with the box cutter. The only sound now coming from the trunk as Varga closed the lid was a faint gurgle as Detective Ragu slowly choked to death on his own blood. The sun was setting as Varga drove Ragu’s cruiser into the parking garage on So. New York Ave. He stared at the wooden gate in front of him as though willing it to rise. Not knowing or realizing that he needed to remove the ticket from the metal box to gain entry. He gave it another thirty seconds and then drove forward snapping the wooden arm from its mount and drove in. There were several cars parked on the first two levels, the third level was empty. Workers had been restriping the parking spaces earlier in the day and several orange cones blocked the entrance. With no more thought than he had for the gate arm he drove through the rubber cones and parked the cruiser in the far back corner away from the elevator. He then used the stairwell to slip unnoticed into the night. Chapter-12 “Conley! Where the hell is your partner?” Felker yelled from her office. “I don’t know boss. He went over to 100 Park Place a few hours ago to follow up on a lead in the St. James Place investigation. I expect him back any time now.” “Just where is the St. James Place that it takes half a day to follow a lead.” “You know Lieutenant” Conley said. “It’s the old brick building across from Pistol Pete’s restaurant.” “Park Place, St. James Place, it sounds more like a game of monopoly than a murder investigation. I better not find out he’s taking more time of and your covering for him again.” Felker snapped and then went back to her paper work. Conley and Sergeant Beaver went out to the parking lot to have a smoke. That’s when it finally hit him. “Son-of-a-Bitch,” he shouted. Felker’s right, the bastard’s playing Monopoly with our victim. “Why would he play Monopoly with our victim then kill her?” Beaver asked. “Not playing with her,” Conley replied. “He’s playing the game by himself. The sick bastard picked that girl at St. James Place because it’s a property on the monopoly board and then he had the balls to leave his calling card for us. This thimble is one of the tokens used in the game. My guess is the girl at St. James Place isn’t his first victim.” “Shit Conley, You can’t be serious about this. You’re pulling my leg right?” Conley took one last drag on his cigarette and tossed to butt into the parking lot. “I need a Monopoly board Beaver, a really big one,” he said walking back into the precinct house. As Lieutenant Felker passed Conley’s desk, she inquired again about Ragu’s whereabouts. “Have you heard from Ragu yet?” “No Lieutenant,” He then tried Ragu’s cell again, as well as his pager and the dispatch radio, but got no response. “See if dispatch can get a GPS fix on the cruiser Felker said and let me know.” Conley downloaded the image of a monopoly board from an internet site and had it blown up. He pinned it to the wall behind his desk, then called over to Beaver. “Hey, you got some time to spare. I can’t get ahold of Ragu and I need some help. I need a list of all deaths, whether they were homicides or considered accidental that occurred at any location listed on this monopoly board over the last five years, with names and dates. Can our computer do that?” “You bet your sweet ass it can” said Beaver. “Give me an hour or two and I’ll have a printout for you.” Lieutenant Felker looking up from her desk and seeing Conley but no Ragu through the glass partition separating her office from the squad room, threw a pencil against the window to get his attention. Conley hearing the ping on the glass looked over at Lieutenant Felker and sensing her question, shook his head no. Without a word, she looked back down at her desk, shaking her head in disgust and returned to her paper work. Conley was hesitant to track Ragu’s cruiser with the GPS. If he was off screwing around, Conley didn’t want to rat him out to the Lieutenant. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him and he went to the dispatch room and put a trace on the cruiser. GPS confirmed the vehicle was parked on South New York Ave. The dispatcher said it was probably in the public parking garage at that location. Conley took a car from the motor pool without Felker's knowledge and headed for South New York Ave. He hoped to drum up a story with Ragu that would cool the wrath of the Lieutenant, with minimal damage to his partner. Conley cruised up South New York Ave. with no luck and then thought he would try the parking garage. He pulled up to the broken gate and then slowly cruised through the first two levels of the garage. At the far corner of level three the lone blue cruiser caught his eye. “That bastard is in the casino I know it” Conley thought to himself. He pulled up next to the parked cruiser and got out. He approached the driver’s side door, pulled up on the handle and it opened. A bad feeling came over Conley. Ragu would never leave the cruiser unlocked in a public parking garage. He opened the driver’s door, leaned in and saw that the mic was torn from the radio and lying on the floor on the passenger side. Nothing else looked out of place. He then walked to the rear of the car and noticed a dry brown smudge on the trunk lid. Years of crime scenes told him instantly it was a blood stain. He went back to his car and retrieved a tire iron from the trunk returned to the back of the Ragu’s cruiser and pried on the trunk lid several times until the lock finally released. He raised the trunk lid to see his partner lying in a fetal position, his head craning upward with a massive gash in his throat. He checked for a pulse, knowing it wasn’t necessary, the cold stiff body confirmed what he already knew. His partner had been murdered. Conley could no longer look at his Ragu and he slowly lowered the trunk lid. Gone, Ragu was gone. As he stared at the blood stain on the trunk lid, he thought he could see the partial ridge pattern of a fingerprint. Maybe, just maybe it would be enough to lead him to whoever had just butchered his partner. In the distance he could hear the wail of sirens getting progressively louder as they rushed to his request for backup and the radio report of “Officer Down.” As he waited, Conley began to feel his grief and disbelief now turning to rage and a desire for revenge. When Lieutenant Felker reached the garage it was washed in the blue and red lights of over a dozen marked and unmarked vehicles. She walked over to Sergeant Beaver, who was standing next to the blue cruiser assigned to Conley and Ragu. “Is he dead Beaver?” Beaver gave a slow nod of affirmation and then looked over toward Conley who was sitting on a concrete barrier used to separate in and out traffic. “He’s losing it Lieutenant. You need to get him out of here now.” As Lieutenant Felker approached Conley, their eyes met, but Conley was somewhere else. “Give me a cigarette Conley.” He stared at her with dead eyes, ignoring her request. “Give me one of those” she said pointing to the box of Marlboros in his hand. He tossed her the pack and managed an “I thought you quit.” “I did.” she said then lit the cigarette took a long deep drag. “We’ll get this son-of-a-bitch Jack I swear it, we’ll get him.” “Lieutenant Felker you have to see this!” It was CSI Carlos Clarke. “We didn’t see it until we removed the body from the trunk.” “That’s not “The Body,” Conley said. “That’s Detective Sergeant Tony Ragu of the A.C.P.D. you insensitive piece of shit,” and then shoved the CSI agent back from the cruiser. “That’s enough Conley.” “What have you got for us Carlos, Lieutenant Felker asked?” “In the trunk, check the side of the spare tire cover, Ragu wrote the name of whoever did this in blood. It’s a little smeared, but I think is says EVARGA. I’ll get it to the lab, verify the name and check for anything else that may help you.” “Thanks Carlos, get back to me ASAP.” “Will do,” said Clarke. He then turned to Conley and said. “I meant no disrespect Jack, Tony and I went through the academy together.” Conley put his hand on Clarke’s shoulder and said “I know Carlos and I’m sorry I jumped your bones, you’re just doing your job.” “Were all on edge about this Jack, we’ll find this bastard, I’m sure of it.” Lieutenant Felker looked up at Conley who was lighting another smoke. “You got another for me?” she asked. Conley tossed her the pack again and she took another one out, put it to her lips and then returned it to the pack. “I can’t do this” she said. “I’ll be back to three packs a day in two weeks.” “Conley you know its department policy to keep you off this investigation. But we both know it wouldn’t mean a damn thing because you’d only go it alone anyway and then I would have to put you on suspension. So I’m willing to leave you on the case provided you team up with Sergeant Beaver. I saw her working on the computer doing some research for you this afternoon, so I know you two can work together. “I don’t need a new partner Lieutenant” “No if, ands, or but’s on this. If I catch you going Lone Wolf on me, you’ll be on your way to Key West earlier than you planned. You got that Conley!” “Yea I got it Lieutenant.” The next morning Conley sat with his back to his desk, staring at the huge monopoly board pinned to the wall and wondering what the connection was to it and Ragu. Detective Beaver dropped into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. It was Ragu’s seat. Conley spun around on the seat staring at Beaver with a look that said “His Body’s not cold yet get the hell out of his chair.” Beaver, just as cold took the stack of papers she had on her lap, tossed them onto the desk and said. Yeah “Fuck you too Conley” then turned to go back to her own desk. “Wait a minute Laurel. Come back, please sit down, it’s not you. Believe me; I appreciate your help on this case. It’s just that I’ve been up all night running every possible scenario through my mind over and over and I’m getting nowhere. I guess I’m just tired. What have you got for me?” “Got for you?” She piped. “No, what have I got for us.” “You’re right, you’re right, what have you got for us.” “For starters she said. I have seven deaths that match up with the properties on your board. Some are definite homicides and some look like simple accidents. What is interesting though is that all seven of the deaths fell on the 25th of the month.” “You can make it eight on the 25th of the month Conley said. They found the doorman at the Park Place Apartments dead in a restroom around 7 AM this morning with multiple stab wounds. Oh! And he was stripped to his skivvies. The Coroner said he’s been dead about 18 hours. That would put the time of death at 1:00 PM yesterday the 25th. I spoke to Ragu at 1:30PM. He said he was on his way to Park Place. He must have run into whoever killed the doorman. I believe Tony’s murder is tied into all this, making him number nine.” Beaver began cutting and pinning names from her list to their corresponding squares on the board. When she had finished, she stood back and studied the board. Counting Ragu, there were 9 possible names on the board starting with an apparent accidental death in the old Winslow Junction Rail Road yard on Jan 25, 2002. A drifter had apparently, in a drunken stupor, stumbled off an abandoned caboose breaking his neck in the process. The next two were obvious murders. The first was a casino worker found the morning of Jan 25, 2006 dumped into the back of a stolen pool cleaning service truck in an alley off Indiana Ave. She was struck repeatedly with a blunt object and then soaked with muriatic acid until the hands, feet and face dissolved, leaving only bone. Dental records ultimately identified her as 23 year old Heather Hopper, a Cocktail waitress at Caesars Atlantic City. The other was a low life drug dealer named Jamal “Slick J” Washington. His body was found Jan 25, 2008 in the garage of an abandoned house on Ventnor Ave. He was burned beyond recognition however the coroner’s report said it must have taken several hours for him to succumb to his injuries. His face, hands, feet, and genitals were charred. A blowtorch and an empty bottle of propane were found at the scene, but there weren’t any prints on either. His mouth had been gagged with his own tee shirt, but no prints there either. CSI finally identified him with a DNA match to a previous conviction. “I need to talk to Lieutenant Smith” Conley said. “Whose Lieutenant Smith?” asked Beaver? “Lieutenant Gary Smith. He was my mentor when I made Detective. He’s retired now, but in his day, he was like the Lieutenant Columbo of Atlantic City.” “Ok, I give. Who’s Lieutenant Columbo?” “What do you mean Whose Lieutenant Columbo, how old are you Beaver? “She cocked her eyebrow, and bit on her lip in that “Never ask a woman her age” way. “You know Columbo, Peter Falk, Lieutenant Fucking Columbo.” Beaver stared at him with a blank expression. “Ah jeeze forget it. I’m going over to see him. He may have some insight into how to find this bastard before he kills again. We also need to get to all of those crime and accident scenes where a death occurred that matches a property on the board to see if we can find anything to tie them together.” “You mean find more of those tokens right?” said Beaver. Conley nodded and said. “See if Felker will give you a few detectives to help. The faster we cover these sites, the quicker we will know if were up against a serial killer or not. I’m going over to see Lieutenant Columbo he said to her with a boyish smirk. After pleading her case and showing the board to her, Lieutenant Felker relented and gave her two Detectives, Van Johnson, and Mike Hughes. Neither of which bought into the serial killer theory when Beaver explained it to them. That was, until they studied the board. Detective Hughes was the first to speak. “I think you may have something here Beaver.” “I hope so Mike. What do you think Van?” “I think if it finds the guy who killed Ragu, I’m all for it. How do you want to divvy up the locations Beaver?” “Why don’t you and Hughes take the accidental death at the water treatment plant and the murder of the doorman at Park Place? I’ll take the death at the power plant and the murder at St. James place. Conley said he would check out the death at the Winslow Junction rail yard. He said it was close to Hammonton where he’s going to talk to a retired Lieutenant; I think he said his name was Gary Smith.” “Gary Smith, holy crap” said Detective Hughes. “I haven’t heard that name in years. He was one hell of a cop back in the day. He broke the Candy Man case back in ‘87.” “I don’t recall that case” Beaver said. “Of course not said Hughes, you were still in diapers back then.” Beaver smiled. “Well almost.” “Anyway, there was this guy, Walter Coldwater, an IRS inspector who lived alone on the north side of the city. According to his neighbors he was a likeable guy who was known to always carry a pocket full of candy that he gave to the neighborhood kids. Hence the nickname “The Candy Man.” As I recall, kids on the south side began disappearing in the summer of 85. Sometime late in 86, a new family moved into his neighborhood and not being familiar with his habit of giving out candy, called the precinct and placed a complaint. Smith was sent out to interview Coldwater and some of his neighbors. He had no record and his neighbors spoke highly of him and said he had been giving the kids candy for years. Smith found no reason to go any farther with an investigation. He closed the file and never gave Coldwater a second thought until a few months later when the body of a young Asian girl was found in an abandoned warehouse. The coroner’s office determined the cause of death was by poisoning. Smith went back to the warehouse after the CSI team had finished and found a candy wrapper the team had missed. He bagged it and had it analyzed. Chemical analysis showed traces of Ricin on the wrapper. A few days later he was at home listing to the radio on his patio when that Sammy Davis song came on “The Candy Man.” Smith said it was like a bomb went off in his head. When he heard that song he knew Coldwater was the killer. It took a while to find a judge willing to issue a search warrant on such weak evidence, but he did and hit Coldwater’s house with a vengeance. Johnson and I went in with Smith as backup. We found Coldwater in the basement sitting a table eating a bowl of stew. Smith was on point and the first man onto the staircase. When Coldwater saw him, he grabbed a gun he had on the table and fired two shots. The first shot shattered the stair railing, the second shattered Smith’s knee. He tumbled down the staircase onto to the basement floor, propped himself against the wall, and returned fire. Coldwater was hit in the shoulder with that 357 Mag Smith always carried. Damn near blew the back of his shoulder off. Coldwater dropped the gun and slumped back into his chair. Smith yelled for me to get the gun and cuff him. Coldwater got to his gun first, but before he could get off a shot, I put one in his forehead. Smith used his belt as a tourniquet just above the knee. He got to his feet, hobbled over to the table, looked at the hole in Coldwater’s head and said “I wanted this guy alive. If I wanted him dead I would have put one in his head, not his shoulder.” Anyway, Johnson and I checked out the basement before CSI got there. There were two freezers and a refrigerator in the basement. All three were packed with fileted human flesh. The son of a bitch was a friggin cannibal. Why he left the Asian girl in the warehouse we’ll never know. Detective Johnson, cocked his head to the side, raised his eyebrows and said “Maybe he didn’t like Chinese.” Beaver slowly shook her head in disgust. “ “You are one sick son-of-a-bitch Johnson you know that. Not another damn word about Chinese food. You hear me!” Johnson started again “No, I’m just saying”. “No, not another fucking word!” Chapter-13 Conley called Smith and said he needed some advice on a case. Smith who was in the middle of his weekly honey do’s was more than happy for the break and to see his old friend again. Conley said he needed to make a stop at the Winslow Junction rail yard first and would be by around 2:00PM. Smith said that would be great, then hung up. Conley reached the rail yard at 12:15PM. He parked the cruiser and went into the depot office looking for the Yard Master. A tall man approached Conley. “I’m Detective Sergeant Jack Conley A.C.P.D.” The man extended his hand and with a smile said “I’m Len Larsen the Yard Master, how can I help you Detective?” “Back in 2000 you had a transient fall from one of your rail cars and broke his neck. Are you familiar with that incident Mr. Larsen?” “I sure am, call me Len. I found the body that morning. It was on the 25th of January. I remember the date because it was my brother’s birthday on the 25th.” “Anything unusual about it?” “No, it just seemed like some poor transient had too much to drink and fell off the back of an old caboose.” “Caboose?” asked Conley “Yea we have an old Reading Railroad Caboose on a track at the far end of the yard. Would you like to see it?” “Yes, I believe I would,” said Conley. “It’s about a quarter of a mile to the back of the yard from here, we can walk if you like, or we can take my truck.” Conley looked at the grease stained overalls and assumed the truck would be about the same. “Why don’t I just follow you in my car?” The Yardmaster pulled up alongside the faded yellow and green caboose on the side track half covered in weeds and vines. “Here she is” said Larsen. “One of the last Reading Cabooses in the State, It’s been sitting here for years, but she’s not in too bad a shape considering her age and all. There was even talk of a museum taking her a few years back, but I guess that fell through. Too bad though, because… “Where did you find the body?” asked Conley cutting the yardmaster short. “Over on the far back side of the caboose.” Said Larsen pointing in the general area. Conley walked to the rear of the caboose, stared at the brush covered tracks for a moment, and then stepped up onto the rear platform. He took another glance down at the track, then turned, opened the door and entered the caboose. The rancid smell of rotting garbage and human excrement made him gag. He grabbed his handkerchief and pressed it tightly over his nose and mouth as he stumbled backwards out the door. “Yeah, I’m sure a museum would just die to have this gem on display.” Conley thought as he slammed the door shut and stepped off the platform. “Mr. Larsen, can you show me exactly where you found the body.” “Sure,” Larsen led Conley through the brush to an area next to the left rear wheel. He picked up an old piece of 2X4 and made the rough outline of a body on the ground. The head and shoulders parallel to big metal wheel and stretching back toward the rear platform of the caboose. “That’s where he was when I found him,” the Yard Master said. Conley knelt down beside the impression Larsen had made on the ground, looking for anything that might link this death to the young girl at St. James Place. There was nothing in the weeds alongside the caboose. Conley stepped up onto the track and bent over to look up under the caboose. When he put his hand down on the metal wheel to steady himself he felt a sharp pain in the palm of his hand. “Shit” he yelled. He turned his hand over, and saw a small stream of blood running down the palm of his hand, leaching onto his shirt cuff. “What the hell?” he muttered to himself. He looked back down to see what had cut his hand. “Son-of-a-bitch.” he said as he reached down and picked an object from the rock bed of the rail track. He held the small pewter cannon in his fingertips at eye level and thought to himself. I’m getting close to you Monopoly Man. Chapter-14 Conley got to Smith’s house around 2:15PM. His old friend was sitting on the front porch, a cigarette in one hand and a cold beer in the other. Conley stepped up onto the porch and propped himself against the railing. How’s the knee doing old man? Smith looked down at it and tapped the beer bottle against the leg brace. “Good days, bad days. Today is pretty good.” “I see retirement hasn’t changed your habits much. Seventy seven years old, when are you going to learn beer and cigarettes are not lunch?” Conley said as he pulled a smoke from his jacket and then reached for a beer from the cooler beside Smith’s rocker. “You said 2:00PM, you’re late Conley.” And I don’t have all day to entertain your sorry ass. What have you got for me?” “It’s good to see you haven’t lost your cordial demeanor old man. I’ll tell you what I have. I have a possible serial killer in the Atlantic City area.” “What makes you think it’s a serial killer?” “I’ll tell you why I think so. There have been several deaths that have all occurred on January 25th. Only a few are listed as homicides but I believe they are all connected. I think our guy is playing a game with the victims. “I just don’t know what significance that date has to all this yet.” Conley reached into his pocket and handed Smith the Pewter thimble. I found this at a murder scene at the St. James Place apartments. The murderer left it on the ledge over the door frame. “That’s a pretty weak hypothesis Jack. Have you got anything else?” Conley reached into the other jacket pocket and pulled out the metal cannon and tossed it over to Smith. I found this one today at the Winslow Junction Rail Yard. The body of a transient was found lying next to an abandoned Reading Railroad Caboose sitting on a side track at the far end of the yard. The cause of death was listed as accidental. Investigators assumed he was living in the caboose, got drunk, fell off the back platform and broke his neck. I found the cannon sitting on one of the rear wheels of the caboose.” “So Jack, it seems your guy likes to play Monopoly. Have you got any other leads?” “I don’t know.” Said Conley. “Maybe,” my partner was murdered and his body was dumped in the trunk of his cruiser and left in a parking garage downtown. Whoever left Ragu and the cruiser in the garage smashed through the security gate so I don’t know, I’m thinking maybe that’s like landing on Free Parking? Anyway, Ragu had gone down to Park Place to question the father of the girl found at the St. James Place, he was a cosigner on the lease. We later found the doorman had been murdered and stripped of everything but his skivvies. His uniform was a gray and black tuxedo and top hat very similar to the man on the game board. On their own, they don’t mean much, but when you put them together - I’m seeing a pattern. I mean what the hell, Park Place, ST. James Place, Free Parking, Game board tokens, and the Reading Railroad. It can’t be just a coincidence. I have Detective Beaver searching the other death scenes and I’m hoping Lieutenant Felker will give her some additional manpower that will turn up something we can use.” “Jack, you said the body was found at the Winslow Junction Rail Yard right?” “Conley shook his head, yes. Smith lit another cigarette and leaned back on the rocker, took a long drag, then said. “You know the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital is less a mile or so from that train yard.” “I’m not with you Gary. What does that hospital have to do with anything?” “You’re not familiar with Ancora are you Jack?” Ancora has a long history of mental patients wandering on and off the hospital grounds. If you think your first murder was at the train yard, maybe the guy you’re looking for was a patient there. Conley knew coming to see Gary Smith was a great idea. “I’ll swing by there on my way back.” “I’d suggest you get a warrant if you expect any help from the staff” Smith said. “Yeah, you’re probably right Gary but I think I’ll give it a try anyway. Maybe I’ll get lucky, if not I can always come back with one later if I have to.” Gary’s wife Penny came on the porch and asked if Conley would like to stay for dinner. “I’d love to Penny but I can’t, maybe next time. I need to swing by that hospital up the road before it gets too late.” “Ancora Psychiatric Hospital in Hammonton?” “Yeah.” “Boy, I could tell you some stories about that place like-” Gary cut her out in midsentence. “I’m sure he’s heard them all several times already.” “I wish you would change your mind, I’m fixing my special ribs, their almost done and it’s no bother setting out another plate.” “No, really Penny, I can’t.” Penny turned back to the door and without looking back said. “Next time for sure, no excuses.” “No excuses,” Conley replied. He then got up off the railing and extended his hand to Smith. “Gotta go buddy, daylight’s burning. Thanks for the advice and the cold beer. I’ll see you again soon.” “You said that the last time you were here Jack, what was that two maybe three years ago? Don’t be a stranger, I’m getting old and I may not be here the next time you swing by.” “Bull Shit! Gary, I’ll be eating dirt long before you do.” Conley turned and stepped off the porch. As he opened the door to the cruiser, he turned back to the porch, pointing his index finger at Smith and saying, “See you soon buddy.” As he turned the ignition and put the cruiser in drive he thought to himself, those ribs sound pretty good, and I’m hungry as hell. It would be nice he thought to have a woman making dinner and sharing a warm bed on a cold night. He started to put the car back in park, then thought better of it. “No, I gotta get to that hospital, maybe next time Penny.” Chapter-15 Erik liked his new room. He liked not having Bobby around, or orderly Cox. He missed Dr. Slater but he’d be seeing her again before long. Best of all he liked remembering how he punished the bad men in his life. Like the man in the train yard. Security at Ancora was lax at best and Erik often wandered off the hospital grounds. He had a favorite place he liked to go to and play his game. It was an old caboose on a side track less than a mile from the hospital. He didn’t like being bothered by anyone when he played the game. It was midmorning on the 25th of January when he entered his special place and saw the intruder crouched in the corner of the rail car. He had entered the car to escape the bitter cold of the New Jersey winter. Erik stared at the man for several seconds, then sat on the bench behind the crew table, opened the game box and began to play, ignoring the man as though he didn’t exist. The man rose to his feet saying “What have you got there kid?” He reached over the table and thumbed the play money in the box. Erik pushed his hand away, continued to roll the dice and move the tokens around the board. “I’ve got something you can play with that’s more fun than Monopoly.” The tramp took his penis out of his filthy pants and sat down next to Erik, putting one hand on his thigh and the other around his neck, forcing the boys head down. Erik pulled the man’s hand away from the back of his neck and then with his right hand he grabbed the side of the bums face and slammed it onto the table top with such force the bums left ear seemed to explode. With his left hand, Erik forced the man’s arm behind his back and clamped his huge hand around his elbow, pushing up until the shoulder dislocated. The bum fell to his knees screaming, begging for the boy to stop. Erik looked down at the man sitting on the floor; he leaned over on the bench, took the man’s head in his massive hands and began to slowly twist it until the neck snapped. He then carried the man to the rear platform and dumped him by the side of the track. With no apparent care or urgency Eric sat back down, finished his game and then returned to the hospital. Dr. Slater approached him in the yard and asked if he enjoyed the fresh air. Erik smiled and returned to his room. Chapter-16 Ann Slater sat at her desk staring down at the file of Erik Varga sitting in her out basket and wondered if she had made the right decision allowing him to leave the hospital. She was a professional clinical Psychologist and his proposal to her should have meant no more than that of any other young male patient enamored by the intimacy they perceived their medical relationship allowed them. But this was different. Erik’s words, the touch of his hand and the kiss struck at every primordial nerve in her being. It triggered a fundamental physiologic response in her. The fight or flight response and it terrified her. What she wouldn’t give for a real marriage proposal from a good decent man. One she could fall in love with, and share her life with. When she entered the field of psychiatry she never imagined that her dating life would vaporize. No one apparently wanted to be “analyzed” on a daily basis. The funny thing was, she could turn that part of herself off and just be Ann Slater. With the right man she could laugh at his jokes, walk the beaches and maybe even cook for him, although the later may be stretching it a bit. But none of her dates had turned into more than brief encounters. The longest relationship she had with a male was Erik Varga. How healthy is that** It was a little past 5:00 PM when Conley pulled up to the main entrance of The Ancora Psychiatric Hospital. He was pretty sure he would not find anyone at this time of day willing to speak to him, but he thought he would give it a try anyway. Maybe he would get lucky and wouldn’t have to come back. The receptionist at the front desk, an older woman, was cordial to Conley, but very tight lipped when it came to answering questions about the hospitals patients and suggested he speak to Dr. Slater who was still in the building. She called the doctor’s office but there was no answer. “I guess she must have left for the day without my seeing her. I’ll tell her you were here. Can you give me a number where she can call you tomorrow?” The receptionist began to write the number down when she heard the familiar click of high heels on the ceramic floor. She looked up and motioned for the doctor to come to her. Dr. Slater leaned over the receptionists counter, “what do you need Gladys?” The old woman pushed her chair up tight against the desk, cupped her hand to her left cheek and said in a hush, hush whisper “Magnum PI here wants to speak to you” “Thank you Gladys.” Dr. Slater eyed the middle aged man in front of her. He was no Tom Selleck, but she could see what Gladys meant. He was very handsome with deep set blue eyes and a loosely kempt shock of silvering hair. And he was big, very big, well over six feet. But what really got her were his eyes, they were the darkest bluest eyes she had ever seen and they had a kind look to them like they belonged to someone you could trust. For a moment, she actually lost herself in a bit of fantasy about him before she caught herself and said “I was just leaving, Detective. Could we possibly do this tomorrow?” Conley looked the doctor in the eyes, but the only thought in his head was “Holy mother of God your Gorgeous.” When she repeated her question, he realized he had been staring. He quickly cleared his mind and said he would only need a few minutes and it would be greatly appreciated if she could give him the time now. She stared into his eyes for a moment then smiled and said. “Sure. Let’s go back to my office.” She sat at her desk, leaned back in the seat and asked what she could do for the A.C.P.D. “I’m looking for a man who may have been a patient here. We think his name is Evarga.” Conley could see a change in her expression upon hearing the name and he knew he had hit a nerve. He pressed his advantage. “Did you have a patient named Evarga doctor?” “Even if I did I could not breech patient doctor confidentiality by telling you anything.” “I understand that doctor, but I believe were dealing with a serial murderer and if I’m right, he’ll kill again. The only clue we have to go on is the name Evarga written in blood in the trunk of my partner’s cruiser where he was found murdered. I believe he either knew the killer, or at least his name. The only other thing we have is that all the murders are somehow tied to the game of monopoly.” Upon hearing the word monopoly, Dr. Slater tensed up, her pleasant expression turned to one of fear and Conley sensed it. “You know who I’m looking for don’t you doctor. Help me find him before we have another victim.” Slater sat forward in her seat, put her elbows on the desk and ran her fingers across her forehead. There was a moment of silence and then the doctor said. “You’re not looking for someone named “Evarga” Detective. You’re looking For E. Varga as in Erik Varga a long time patient of this facility.” “Is he still a resident here doctor?” “No, his sister came for him and demanded we release him to her custody. “How long ago was that?” “Erik was discharged two months ago. I tried to get him to stay with us, but his sister was adamant about his release. “If that’s true and if he is in fact the man were looking for, it means he had to have committed some of the crimes while he was a patient here.” “Erik is a classic schizophrenic, but his meds keep him in a relatively normal state of mind. I’ve known him since he was a boy and I just don’t see him doing what you’re inferring Detective.” “I hope your right doctor. Thanks for all your help. Oh, for the love of God, how stupid of me. What is the sister’s name?” “Nika Varga,” but I haven’t heard from her since the day he left. I tried to reach her several times to be sure Erik was staying on his meds, but I’ve had no luck”. “Do you have an address or phone number for her? It would sure help.” Dr. Slater pulled a file from her cabinet, opened it and wrote the last known address and phone number for Nika Varga on the back of a business card and handed it to him. “Detective, I’m a respected Psychologist and a damn fine doctor and as a rule, it would take a subpoena to get the information I have just given you. I pretty much just put my professional career in your hands.” Conley took the card, transcribed the information to his notepad. “Can you tell me his date of birth?” “January 25, 1984. Why do you ask?” “We have no description on him. So at least we now know he’s 29 years old. I don’t suppose you have a photo of him in that file that I could take?” “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. But I can tell you he’s at least a big as you, with dark green eyes and jet black hair if that helps you any?” He handed the card back to the doctor and said. “Everything helps in a case like this. And for the record, you gave me nothing doctor” Thank you Detective” “Why did you try to keep him at the hospital doctor?” “When he told me we were going to be married, I knew he was not ready for society. It wasn’t that he said it. It was the way he said it. It scared the hell out of me then and quite frankly it still concerns me.” “If you like, I can put a guard here and at your home until we find him.” “No, just find him. Please” Conley rose from his seat. “Thanks’ doctor, I think I have all I need.” The more they spoke the more interested she became in him and the more she wanted to know him. She sensed he was the shy type when it came to women and knew that when he left her office that would be the end of it. So she thought to herself. “What the hell. I’ve already broken my ethical code.” “Thank you” she said. “Is that it? I would have thought you’d at least have offered to buy me a cocktail or maybe even dinner for tarnishing my moral character.” Conley smiled and said. “You got it doc. Have you got another card? She took a card from the holder on the desk and handed it to him. “I’ll call you next week.” She smiled back seductively “I look forward to it.” As she watched Conley leave her office, she wondered if she had just made the biggest mistake of her career. She sat back in her armchair, her feet propped up on an open drawer and for all her doubt and reservations, felt like a naughty school girl again and liked it! Back in the cruiser, Conley thought to himself “what the hell just happened”. A woman like that doesn’t hit on an old war horse like me. I must have at least ten years on her.” He wondered what her angle was as he got into the cruiser. “Angle, who gives a shit about her angle? Don’t screw this up Jack; you haven’t had a date in years.” On the ride back to Atlantic City, he replayed the thirty minute meeting over and over in his head trying to see a reason for her spilling the information about Vargas and her apparent interest in him. The best he could come up with was maybe the thought of dating a man with a gun turned her on. Or maybe she was just scared and knowing a guy with a gun gave her a little sense of security. That night Jack lay in bed unable to sleep his mind was racing with thoughts of the day’s activities and plans for his future date with the doctor. He also thought of that day in September 2001, the day his life changed forever. His wife Angie, and their son Jackie Jr. we’re leaving to visit her parents in San Francisco. They were booked on American flight 93 out of Liberty International Airport in Newark NJ. Angie had done and said everything she could to get Jack to go with them, but to no avail. He used the usual excuse. “I’m just too busy honey I'm very close to making an arrest on the Sandra O’Connor case. You remember. The girl they found strangled under the boardwalk last April.” “Yes, I remember Jack but don’t stand there and tell me there’s no one else in that department who can cover for you for one lousy week? I haven’t seen my parents since they moved to San Francisco and the last time they saw Jackie Jr. he was still in diapers. Come on Jack, I really want this to be a family thing.” “I just can’t Angie, but I promise we will all go out there together next summer.” “You promise!” “I promise” he said. She looked up into his deep blue eyes and with the slightest hint of a smile said “I’m holding you to it you Irish Prick.” He smiled back down at her. She always referred to him as an Irish Prick when she was upset, but not really pissed off, so he knew he was safe this time. “What time is your flight?” “8:01 AM.” “We better leave around 6:30 AM. I know it’s a little early, but I have to clock in to the precinct by 8:00 AM.” Jack had pulled into Terminal A at Liberty International, at 6:40 AM. Took the bags from the trunk of the car and gave them to the Red Cap. He picked up Jackie Jr., gave him a big hug and a kiss and then did the same with Angie and said I’ll see you in a week. He got back in the car, leaned over and waved through the passenger window to the two of them still standing by the curb. He then ran the window back up, put the car in gear and drove off. That would be the last time Jack Conley would ever see either of them. Approximately 45 minutes after takeoff American flight #93 was hijacked by Al-Qaeda as part of the September 11th attacks. It crashed into a field near the Diamond T. Mine in Stonycreek Township, Pennsylvania. There were no survivors. Their deaths changed Conley and not for the better. He went into a deep alcohol induced depression that brought out the dark side of an Irish temper. It blew with the slightest provocation and seemingly without rhyme or reason. He didn’t want to go home to an empty house at night so he took to spending evenings at Twitty’s bar. Between the drinking and depression Jack Conley became a man both the bad guys and his colleagues feared and gave a wide berth to. It wasn’t until Lieutenant Smith who was still a Sargent back then finally intervened and got him into counseling and rehab that Conley became his old self. He could still be an Irish Prick, but the meanness had left and it was back to business as usual. Chapter-17 Detectives Hughes and Johnson took two of the possible crime scenes from the monopoly board on the wall and headed out. Their first stop was at Kirkpatrick Security Services. They located the owner Jerry Kirkpatrick and questioned him about an accidental death of one of his guards stationed at a construction site on Atlantic Ave. Detective Hughes opened the conversation. “I know it happened a long time ago Mr. Kirkpatrick, but anything you can tell us may be of help on a case currently under investigation.” “Well, all I can tell you Detective is it was a very cold night in January.” “Was it the 25th?” asked Hughes, giving Johnson the look. “I don’t remember, I suppose it could have been. Any way, it was like 22 degrees out and snowing. Joey-O., that’s what we called him, his real name was Joseph Osterman was working the grave yard shift. He should have been walking the site, but he hunkered down in his vehicle with the windows up and the engine running. His relief man on the day shift found him unconscious in the car around 6:00AM. The coroner’s report said the cause of death was carbon monoxide poisoning. My insurance company dropped me like a hot potato after paying out to avoid a lawsuit by his family. I guess sometimes bad things just happen.” Johnson looked across the desk at Kirkpatrick and said. “Yeah I think you’re right, sometimes things just happen. Do you still have the car, he added?” “No, after the accident, I couldn’t get any of the guys to drive it and it was getting pretty old anyway so I sold it to the scrap yard. I imagine it hit the compactor then got shipped to some steel mill in Japan. That’s where most of the scrap goes these days”. Hughes stood up and thanked Kirkpatrick for his time. Back in their cruiser, Hughes looked over at Johnson and said. “Even if we can verify the date, it still wouldn’t help much, we could never check out the car if it’s gone through the compactor. I think this is a dead end. Let’s try number two.” Johnson nodded in agreement and the two headed across town. Their second stop was a biker bar on Kentucky Ave. As they walked into the bar, the room went dead quiet. Detective Hughes walked to the bar and asked the bartender for the owner. The bartender, a huge tattooed guy with an eye patch and a scar that ran from his right temple, under the patch and down to his jaw said. “You’re looking at him.” Detective Johnson looked up at the owner and said. “A man was killed here on Jan 25, 2011. What can you tell us about it?” “I already told your guys what happened over a year ago.” Hughes leaned against the bar, looked up at the big man and said. “Humor us”. “Well I was taking out a bag of trash to the dumpster. As I opened the back door, I saw this guy in a pickup slam into Mickey and pin him against a wall in the alley. He backed the truck up then rolled over his head. I pulled out a knife I keep on my belt and ran over to the truck to stop the guy. I grabbed the door handle but he shoved it open on my shins and I lost my balance. He got out of the truck, grabbed my knife hand and made me run the blade across my own fucking face, slicing my eye open. I’m a pretty big guy, but that big son of a bitch handled me like a rag doll. He finished up by burying my own God damn knife in my chest.” “I don’t remember much after that. I guess he thought I was dead because when I came to, he and the truck were gone and Mickey was propped up against the dumpster. His head looked like a fucking Moon Pie. One of the guys in the bar called the cops and we took off Mickey’s colors before they got here. That’s his vest on the wall by the pool table. We keep it, you know like a memorial or something to a dead comrade like they do in the army.” “Yeah, I’m sure he was a real hero to you boys.” Johnson walked over to the leather vest pinned to the wall and tore it loose. “This is evidence in an ongoing criminal investigation. We’ll need to take it with us,” he said. As he yanked it off the wall, four bikers at a table in the corner got up and rushed him. He tossed the vest into the first biker’s face and cracked a retractable baton across his throat. The biker stumbled back gasping for breath and Johnson gave him another hard shot with the baton down across his collar bone, breaking it instantly. A third strike to the knee sent him to the ground. He then pulled his Glock, leveling it on the second biker who froze and raised his hands. Hughes came up beside the third biker grabbing him by the hair and kicked down on the side of his knee; sending him to the floor in agonizing pain. Then with a boyish grin, he looked down at the biker and said. “Hurts like a son of a bitch don’t it son?” Hughes turned and pressed the barrel of his 357 mag into the forehead of the fourth biker who just raised his hands, stepped back, and said. “It’s cool brother; take whatever the fuck you want.” Hughes pulled a pair of latex gloves from his coat pocket, bent down and picked up the blood stained vest with his thumb and forefinger. Looking back at the bartender he remarked “I’m glad you didn’t send it to the cleaners before you pinned it to the wall.” Not wanting to contaminate possible evidence, he used his ball point pen to pry open the blood encrusted vest pocket. He slid the pen into the pocket and came out with a small metal top hat hanging from the nib. He asked the bartender if it belonged to Mickey. “I don’t think so; I’ve never seen it before,” the bartender said. Detective Johnson opened a small plastic bag and Hughes dropped the hat into it. Johnson sealed the bag, put it into his coat, looked Hughes in the eyes, and with a smile said “Bingo.” Chapter-18 Jack Conley sat at his desk thumbing the business card. He took his cell phone from its holder and began to dial her number, then ended the call before the first ring. First things first he thought. He flipped through his note pad stopping at the page with Erik Varga’s name and last known address. 813 Fern Wood Ave, Egg Harbor and thought that if he could find his sister Nika, he’d find Eric. He pushed the chair back, stood up and walked over to Detective Beavers desk. “I have a lead I want to follow up on, feel like taking a ride?” “Sure,” she said and the two left the precinct. In the cruiser, Conley handed Beaver the doctor’s business card. “Who’s Dr. Slater?” She asked. “She’s a doctor at the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital. Look on the back of the card.” “Erik Varga? Holy shit, how did you come up with this?” “When I checked out the vagrant who died at the train yard, I found a monopoly token. Then I went over to Gary Smith’s house and he said there had been several escapes from the mental hospital which is near the train yard. I remembered the Evarga written in the trunk of Ragu’s cruiser, so I went to the hospital to see if they had ever had an Evarga as a patient there. Guess what? They did! One Erik Varga. And you know what else; the doctor said he likes to play monopoly. Beaver looked at Conley smiled and said “No shit!” The house on Fern Wood sat back off the road behind a stand of Red Oaks. Conley thought it odd that there was no driveway on the property, just a narrow path through the trees. The house was barely visible from the road. “Looks like someone likes their privacy” remarked Beaver as the two started down the dirt path to the house. A hundred feet from the road the path opened to a small unkempt front yard. The house, made of brick looked solid, but in desperate need of maintenance. The two detectives walked up to the door and Conley rapped on the door frame. Then both detectives took a step back, laid hands on their weapons and waited for a response. When no one responded, Conley opened the storm door and pounded on the heavy oak main door. As he did, the door swung open. He looked at Beaver and said. “What do you think?” She said “I think we need a warrant.” “I think I heard someone crying for help.” He stepped into the house. Beaver shook her head not believing what she was about to do and then followed him into the house. Conley walked through the hall to the stairs. “You check out the living room and kitchen,” he said in a low voice “I’ll look upstairs.” Beaver walked into the living room. It was a mess with trash and dust covering most of the floor and furniture. Nothing else seemed out of place or unusual, so she moved to the kitchen. In addition to the same dirt and trash in the living room, there were several old pizza boxes, along with piles of dirty plates, filthy glasses and food caked pots & pans piled everywhere. Everywhere, that was, except the kitchen table. It was spotless and had a monopoly board centered on it with a game in progress. The room reeked of a foul smell, definitely more than rotting food, but she couldn’t put her finger on just what it was. She crossed the kitchen and stood facing a door beside the oven. Opening the door, she gaged from the odor and quickly shut it again and turned to call for Conley who was now standing a foot behind her. “Holy Crap Conley you scared the shit out of me, don’t do that, I almost peed my pants.” Conley looked down at her smiled and said “A little testy today aren’t we?” There was nothing upstairs anything down here?” “Well you have your monopoly game over there on the table. “Who-da-thought? And I don’t know what’s behind door #1”she said pointing to the door by the oven. “When I opened it, the smell almost knocked me out. There must be a dead animal or something down there.” Conley opened the door, and just as quickly shut it. “Holy fuck that’s bad.” He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, put it over his nose and went back in. He hit the wall switch, but the basement remained dark. He then pulled a small flashlight from his coat pocket and started down the stairs. Half way down, he leaned over the rail and scanned the room with the light. In the far corner on a cot he saw what appeared to be a decomposing body. He turned back and looked up at Beaver. “You were right” he said. “A dead animal” she asked? “No, it’s an or something.” I think it’s a woman, but I’m not sure. Go back to the cruiser, and call it in. We need to make sure we get the CSI guys on it before the locals contaminate the scene.” Conley continued down the stairs, crossed the room to where the body was lying, then scanned the walls for a fuse box. He found the box, opened it and changed a blown fuse with one of several sitting on the top of the box. With the lights back on, he still couldn’t tell if the body was male or female, but from the size of the body, and the clothing, he assumed it was probably female. The body was turning black, so Conley figured it must have been there at least a month, give or take a few days. The coroner would be better able to confirm a time of death. He continued to look around the room. Under the stairwell he found a human arm and next to it was a woman’s purse. Conley opened the purse and took out the wallet. The driver’s license said Nika Varga. Well Varga, Conley thought, what did your sister do to deserve this? He looked back at the body on the table and noted it still had both arms and wondered who the hell owned the one under the stairs. Conley left the basement to have a smoke before the CSI team arrived. As he stepped out onto the front porch, he found Detective Beaver unconscious at the bottom of the steps. He took his coat off, wrapped it in a ball, putting it under her head. He then made the hundred yard dash through the Red Oaks to his cruiser, grabbed his hand radio and ran back to Detective Beaver who was now regaining consciousness and was trying to stand. Conley helped her to her feet, got her back to the stairs and sat her down on the steps. He knelt in front of her and asked if she was ok and if she had tripped on the steps. “Fuck no,” she said. “I didn’t trip. Someone hit me in the back of the head as I came through the door.” Conley picked the radio off the ground, and said “I’ll get some backup out here and an ambulance.” Beaver grabbed his hand. “Get the backup. Maybe we can catch this son-of- a-bitch before he gets too far, but I don’t need an ambulance, I’m fine.” “Are you sure?” “Yes I’m fine.” A local Constable, Gary Felton heard the radio call and was first on the scene. “I know you have your own people on the way out, but I’d be glad to help in any way I can.” “Maybe you can officer” Conley said. “Can you tell us anything about this house, or the people who live here?” “Sure the officer replied this is a very small town, everybody knows everybody. This is the old Gould house. Gardner Gould died about a year ago. His family tried to sell the place, but you know how the economy has been. They never got a bite, so they decided to rent it for a while. They rented it to a young lady named Nika Varga; I believe she lived here with her brother who had recently been released from the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital. I heard she took a year’s lease on the place, with an option to buy.” “She won’t be renewing that lease” Conley said. “Her body or what’s left of it is in the basement.” Two black sedans pulled up from the rear of the house. “There’s your backup” said Officer Felton. “No, not ours, that’s Lieutenant Ronald Riggs with the New Jersey State Police Major Crime Unit, and his sidekick Sergeant Adam West. I don’t know who the other two are?” “Hey Conley, a little far from your sand box aren’t you?” Conley looked down at the little man with the big attitude. “Just following a lead he replied, then added who notified you boys?” Sergeant West cut Riggs off in mid-sentence. “Your Lieutenant what’s- her-name?” Ah Felker. She said it may be linked to a possible serial killing, so we were called in.” Riggs then cut West off telling Conley that they would take the investigation from here so he could get back to busting pimps in Atlantic City. “Oh, and by the way, if you have to come back out here, you might want to use the driveway and save yourself a trip through the woods, Riding Hood.” “That’s two” said Conley as he moved towards the arrogant little man intending to drop him where he stood. Beaver grabbed his arm pulling him back. “It’s not worth the aggravation, and the rash of shit you’ll get if you pop him one. Let’s get back to the precinct and see what the hell Felker was thinking.” As they drove from the house Sergeant Beaver looked over at Conley “What did you mean by that’s two?” Without taking his eyes off the road, Conley said. “I was involved in a case back in 97. A ten year old girl named Jennifer Camps was kidnapped on her way home from school. According to her mother she was a pretty smart kid and would not have taken a ride with a stranger, so we figured she must have known her abductor. We went through every possibility scenario, but nothing worked. We found her body a few weeks later in a wooded area on the west side of Atlantic City. The coroner performed an autopsy on her and found traces of green enamel paint under her fingernails. Analysis of the paint showed it was the type used in commercial work and was often used to paint school restrooms. You know that shitty green paint with the funky smell that lasts for years. Beaver nodded. “So I went to her elementary school and spoke to the school principal who said they had just finished painting all the restrooms at the school. When I asked who they had contracted to do the work, he said it was all done in house by their janitor, a Mr. Walter Weleznik. “I see where this is going” said Beaver. “Yeah. When I asked to see him, I was told he was on vacation. When we checked his residence, he and everything he owned was gone. The case was turned over to the Major Crimes Unit. As it happens, Weleznik was a degenerate gambler who welched on his debts. His body was found in a dumpster on the strip. A positive ID was made through dental records. Later DNA tests matched DNA found on the Camps girl. Another case solved by Riggs and the fucking M.C.U. It should have been our case. We knew Weleznik was our man. We didn’t need M.C.U. Lieutenant Felker said we were too back logged on work and gave it them on a platter. Back at the precinct Conley stormed into Lieutenant Felker’s office only to find her gone. He walked back to his desk followed by Beaver and was met by Hughes and Johnson who had arrived earlier. “Yeah” Hughes said, Felker told us the case was being turned over to the Major Crimes Unit.” Johnson pulled the baggie from his coat pocket and tossed it to Conley. “We found this in the vest of the dead biker found in the alley off Kentucky Ave.” Conley stared at the top hat through the plastic baggie. “Have them run it for prints he said as he tossed it back to Johnson.” Any luck at the Atlantic Ave Construction site?” Hughes shook his head. “No, the security firm junked the car. After his death none of the other guards would sit in it. We checked with the junk yard, but it had already been crushed and sold for scrap.” Conley checked the pins on the monopoly board and noticed one site with no info attached. “Did anyone check out the water treatment plant?” Each of the detectives in turn stared at the board, then at Conley and said they had not. Conley, looking a little disgusted, told Hughes and Johnson to go to the plant and check it out while he waited for Lieutenant Felker and an explanation of why she took a nearly solved case and gave it to the Major Crimes Unit. “You owe us one Conley,” Hughes said as he and Johnson left for the water treatment plant. “Yeah, Yeah, Yeah” said Conley I’ll buy the first round at Twitty’s tonight. Conley thought he heard the words cheap bastard being muttered as he swiveled in his chair, turning his back to the two detectives. While he waited for Lieutenant Felker, Conley thought he’d call Dr. Slater to fill her in on Nika Varga and to take her up on her offer to have dinner with him. “Might as well get something positive out of a rather disappointing day he thought.” Chapter-19 Hughes and Johnson arrived at the water treatment plant just after 4:00 PM. They went straight to the main building looking for the plant manager. The receptionist referred them to Deric Kaiser and asked one of the office staff to escort the detectives to his office out in the plant. “Mr. Kaiser, these gentlemen are with the A.C.P.D.” “Thanks, Teresa. Please sit down boys, what I can do today for A.C.P.D.” Mr. Kaiser didn’t look like he worked in a water plant. He looked more like a new Car dealer in a TV commercial with his Polo shirt and expensive blue blazer. Not to mention the two hundred dollar shoes and such an upbeat voice that it screamed “I want to sell you a car,” not “I just put fluoride in your water.” Detective Hughes spoke first. “We would like to ask you a few questions about the death of one of your employees, a Mr. Tom Pollard.” “Yeah,” Kaiser looked down. “That was a tough one, Tom was very well liked around here. He’d been with us for over fifteen years with never an accident, or problem of any kind. He got along fine with his co-workers.” Detective Johnson cut into the conversation and asked Kaiser for anything he could recall about the day of the accident. “Well, as I recall, we had a leak in one of the main valves and I sent Tom and a new employee, Erik Varga was his name, to check it out. “Did you say Erik Varga?” Detective Hughes turned his attention from Kaiser to Detective Johnson, whose ears had also perked up hearing the name. “Yeah, he didn’t work out. I guess Tom’s death was too much for him; he left just after the accident and never returned.” Kaiser looked at the two detectives who were already standing. “You don’t think this was an accident do you?” asked Kaiser. “As far as we’re concerned at this time, Mr. Pollard’s death was just an unfortunate accident.” Before Kaiser could ask another question Detective Hughes cut him off by asking to see the site of the accident. “Sure, Detective, I’ll take you up there myself. “Here, you‘ll need to wear these, or OSHA will be all over me” he said handing the two Detectives yellow hard hats. They took the elevator to the fourth floor, then the spiral stairway to the catwalk that ran the perimeter of the main water tank. When they reached the back side of the tank, Kaiser looked up and pointed to a large valve at the top of the tank and said. “They were inspecting that valve for a leak when the accident occurred.” Detective Johnson looked up at the valve, then back at Hughes. “Give me a hand Mike” he said as he stepped up onto the guardrail. With Hughes holding his legs firmly on the guardrail, Detective Johnson grabbed the valve with his left hand and slowly ran his right hand under it. He stopped in mid motion and looked down at Hughes with a grin. “Help me down,” he said to Hughes who grabbed him around the waist and set him down on the catwalk. With a second equally boyish grin Johnson opened his palm revealing the little metal boot. Now, both Detectives were grinning like the Cheshire cat. Under his breath Johnson muttered, “Now that we know who the son of a bitch is, it’s only a matter of time before find him.” “What’s that in your hand” asked Kaiser? “Evidence, said Hughes as he opened a small plastic bag and Johnson dropped the boot in. “Thanks for your help” Mr. Kaiser. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.” They left the Plant Manager standing by the elevator still wondering what had just happened. “Let’s get this back to Conley. He owes us more than a damn beer for this one!” Hughes and Johnson were already at Twitty’s bar when Conley and Beaver arrived. The two slid into the booth and Conley reached across the table taking a few fries from Hughes plate. “Watcha got there Mike?” Conley asked as he munched on the fries. “Philly cheesesteak, too much for me, want half? Flag down that waitress; I need a knife to cut it.” Conley reached into his jacket, pulled out a stiletto, pressed the release button, spun the knife in his hand and handed it to Hughes. “Here ya go buddy, no need for the waitress” he said with a grin. Hughes sliced through the sandwich, handing half to Conley. “Isn’t this the knife that gang banger stuck in your chest a few years ago he said handing the knife back to Conley?” “Yep that’s the one.” “I can’t believe you still carry that damn thing around with you Johnson said.” “Well, you never when it might come in handy for more than a Philly Cheesesteak.” Conley wiped the blade clean with a napkin, closed the knife and returned it to his coat pocket. Detective Hughes took the plastic baggie from his coat pocket and tossed it to Conley. “We found it over at the water treatment plant where that guy went over the railing.” Conley smiled, staring at the little metal boot through the plastic. “Oh, and by the way,” added Hughes, “this guy was working with a man named Erik Varga at the time of his death. Ring any bells?” “Yea, that’s our man” said Conley. Any thoughts on where we might find him? His question was directed at everyone at the booth. Detective Beaver who hadn’t said a word since they entered the bar cleared her throat. “I think Varga would probably go back to his house on Fern Wood Ave.” she said. Johnson quickly shot back with “Why in the hell would he go back there? He knows we’ve been there.” “This guy is an absolute Monopoly freak; he lives and breathes for that game. He can’t be without it, yet he left it on the kitchen table. I’m thinking if he’s like any good addict, he’s going to need a fix pretty soon. So I’m betting he’s going back to that house to get it”. The three detectives stared a Beaver and then at each other, finally Conley said. “You know Beaver; I think you might have something there.” “Mike, I want you and Van to stake out that house Monday night, Beaver may just be right about this guy.” “When is the Wake for Lieutenant Felker?” Johnson asked with a touch of contempt in his voice. “What the hell are you talking about Van?” Conley asked. Johnson shot back. “Well I assumed she must be dead with you giving out the assignments now. Anyway, that house is not in our jurisdiction. Any stakeout in that area should go to your buddy Lieutenant Riggs over at M.C.U., or at least the local cops. “Fuck Riggs and fuck the local cops, this is our case and I’m the lead Detective assigned to it. If you don’t like the assignments, you can fucking well go cry to Felker.” Johnson sensed the Irish boiling in Conley’s voice and quickly backed off. “Hey, lighten up Jack, I was just breaking you’re balls a little. “No Johnson, you don’t break my fucking balls. If anyone’s the Ballbreaker in this squad it’s me. You got that! “Ok, ok, chill out Detective Ballbreaker. I’ll get Lieutenant Felker to assign two men to watch the house Saturday so we can play in the hockey match, then Hughes and I will relieve them on Sunday.” “That’s great,” said Conley. “I have to see Dr. Slater again on Monday. I think she’ll open up to us when I tell her what we have so far. Beaver and I will relieve you two on Monday after my meeting with the doctor.” Beaver interrupted. “Jack, I wouldn’t drive all the way out to that hospital without a subpoena. What if she has a change of mind and doctors up on you?” “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He said. “I’ll swing by the court house before I head that way and talk to Judge Roberts. He’s worked pretty well with us in the past. I’ll see if he will give us a subpoena for her records. Beaver nodded her agreement. Conley’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from the case on his belt and looked down at the screen and then back at Detective Beaver. “I gotta take this call,” he said as he rose from the booth. Conley pressed answer, put the phone to his ear and gave his usual salutation. “Detective Conley A.C.P.D.” “You sound very professional Detective Conley.” “Hold on a minute he replied as he put his hand over the phone, he looked down at Hughes and Johnson. I guess I’ll see you two at the hockey game tomorrow, bring your “A” games.” He then smiled at Beaver and said. “See you Monday Laurel.” As Conley walked toward the door Twitty looked up from behind the bar and said. “Hey Jack; don’t forget we have a Hockey game on Saturday.” Conley looked over at Twitty and nodded as he went by. “I’ll be there Bill. The game starts at 2PM right?” “No you Irish Prick you know it starts at 12 noon sharp.” “Yeah I know Bill don’t worry I’ll be there.” I wouldn’t miss a chance to finally kick the A.C.F.D.’s ass. What’s our record now 0 and 15?” “Close Jack, 0 and 16. But this year I feel our time has come and Twitty’s Tavern Tigers are going to take out those hose humpers.” “Maybe it’s our team name” said Conley “Twitty’s Tavern Tigers” sounds a little gay to me, what do you think Twitty?” “Fuck you Conley, just be there on time.” Conley raised the phone back to his ear then said. “Hey Doc, how’s it going? Sorry to keep you holding so long. I was going to call you a little later to see if you’d like to have dinner tomorrow night.” Before he could get in another sentence, she cut in with. “I’m attending a conference at Caesars and thought that since I’m in your neck of the woods; maybe we could just meet tonight at the hotel for dinner.” “Great! I’ll meet you in the lounge. Is eight good for you?” “That’s fine” she said. Her voice purred and he wondered if his own motor would be up to the task if things went the way he hoped. “See you then.” “You can bet your life on that” he thought. Boy would he see her. He could hardly keep his mind on the business at hand. He was a teenager again and she’d done it to him in less than 30 seconds. Chapter-20 Conley got to Caesars just before eight, parked the cruiser in the police slot and entered the lounge. He scanned the room. With red hair and breath taking good looks it wasn’t hard to pick her out of the crowd at the bar. As he approached her, he wondered if she was a natural redhead. She was slowly sipping on a Manhattan as he slid onto the stool next to her. “What can I get you asked the bartender?” never looking at Conley. His eyes fixed on the low cut vee of the woman’s obviously expensive evening dress. “Vodka Martini dry on the rocks, Buddy” Conley said in an irritated tone, breaking the bartender’s trance on her cleavage. “You got it,” he said as he turned to the back counter for a glass. “So, have you been here very long?” “No this is my first.” She said lifting the glass from the bar. She took the cherry from the Manhattan by the stem, held it up to her lips and then she tipped her head back slightly and whispered “Shades of my childhood youth”. She then bit down on the cherry, pulled out the stem and smiled at Conley. He smiled back, took a drink of the martini and asked if she was hungry. “I could eat something.” she said. “He asked what she would like.” “You,” she said taking his big hand and laying it on her thigh. She arched up and kissed him. Her mouth still moist from the Manhattan - caused some saliva to bridge their lips as she eased back down on the stool. She took a bar napkin and gently dabbed his chin. As he looked down at her, his first thought of all things was of the kiss scene in The Quiet Man with John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara. His second thought was Man I’m fucking old. He hailed the bartender with the usual handwriting in the air indicating he wanted the tab. The bartender walked over to them, took one more lingering look at the beautiful woman in front of him and said “The drinks are on the house sir, enjoy the rest of your evening” Conley gave him the slightest nod. No words were needed. He laid a ten spot next to his half-finished martini and they left the bar heading towards the elevators. Stepping in he asked. “What floor?” “Six” she said as the doors closed. She put her hands around his neck, but even in her six inch heels, she had to crane her neck to look at him. He put his hands on her waist lifting her until their eyes met and their lips touched. She ran her tongue deep into his mouth. That’s all it took, instant erection. “Well it seems like the motors up to the task tonight” he thought. She pulled her head back when she felt his erection pressing against her body. She slid her hand down below his belt buckle and rubbed on the bulge in his crotch. The elevator bell sounded, the door opened and two men in their sixties stood there slack jawed, staring in amazement. Conley slowly lowered Ann to the floor of the elevator keeping her between them and his obvious erection. She shook her hips, pulling her dress back down all the time grinning at the two old men frozen like statues in front of her. She was still adjusting her dress as they sidestepped the two men and exited the elevator. As the door closed, Conley could hear one of the men remark “Just once before I die Eddie, I want to be the guy in the elevator”. The rest of the night was what dreams are made of. He can’t be sure just how many times they made love that night, more than two, less than five? Who knows who cares! For those few hours he didn’t have to think about Erik Varga, Monopoly, murder or mayhem. There was plenty of time for that tomorrow. The one thing he did know was that she was a natural redhead and he had to see her again. She was still sleeping when he left the hotel. She finally stirred around 10:00 AM and found his note lying on a pillow. It read… I didn’t want to wake you. I have to play in a hockey match this afternoon. I’ll probably be beat to hell, so Saturday is out but I still owe you a dinner. If it’s ok, I‘ll pick you up at seven on Monday. I have your address; I am a Cop you know. As she lay there, she thought to herself “So that’s what an orgasm is all about”. You bet you owe me a dinner Detective Conley and more of last night’s dessert!” “Oh my God,” she thought lying on the bed. ” I’m falling for a guy I’ve only known for two days.” Chapter-21 Conley didn’t really want to spend the afternoon being slammed against the boards at the hockey arena. He would have preferred to stay in bed with Dr. Slater, but he gave his word and he always kept his word. He got to the arena around 11:00 AM. Dressed out, laced up and had a black coffee with four Advil. He then crashed on a bench in the locker room until game time. Conley wasn’t great on the ice, but the quickness of the game and the tunnel vision needed to stay focused and alert gave him a well needed respite from the grinding pace of his investigation into Erik Varga and the many cases that may now be tied to him. The game went pretty much as he had imagined. He was checked into the boards more times than he could count, the last resulting in a bench clearing melee and ten minutes in the penalty box which he gladly accepted. In the end, Twitty’s Tavern Tigers lost 6 to 1 to the Firehouse Boys and extended their losing streak to 0 and 17. On the up side, drinks were always free at Twitty’s after the games. It was around 10:00PM, and most of the team was feeling no pain when the bikers rolled in. They were not members of The Breed, The Warlocks, or The Pagans, the three dominant motor cycle gangs in the area. If they were, they would have known better than to stroll into a cop bar. These bikers were Hells Angels Nomads from New York probably on a run and looking for a new location to start another chapter of their MC club. As the fifteen bikers sauntered into the tavern, they caught Twitty’s eye who immediately said “Shit, I was looking forward to an uneventful evening.” “What the hell are you talking about,” asked Conley? Twitty pointed toward the door. Conley turned on his bar stool, looked back towards the door then looked back at Twitty and said “Fuck! I don’t need this shit tonight. I’m half beat to hell from our Hockey match. I just wanted a few beers and then home to bed.” Twitty nodded, “That’s two of us.” “You still keep that bat under the bar?” “Hell yes” said Twitty leaning over and looking under the bar to confirm it was within easy reach. A grisly tattooed mountain of a man and obviously the leader of the bunch was the first to reach the bottle-littered bar. “Gimme a fucking beer, Dick head. And a round for my boy’s,” he said. Twitty looked at Conley, then back at the Viking Berserker on the other side of the bar and said. “You and your boy’s gotta leave.” “What the fuck for, our money no good here?” “No,” said Twitty, “You’re money is fine, but you don’t meet our dress code.” “What fucking dress code?” Shit, look at this ass hole he said, pointing at Conley’s Hockey jersey. “Twitty’s Tavern Tigers?” That’s your fucking team? Give me a fucking break. If that pussy shirt is ok, then our colors are too!” “No,” said Twitty. You’re colors are not ok now get the fuck out of my bar.” The biker leaned across the bar reaching for Twitty who grabbed the bat and slammed it down on the big man’s hand. At about the same moment the biker’s scream broke the sound barrier, the distinctive clicking sound of twenty weapons cocking caused the room to go silent. The biker who had been doubled over in pain clutching his broken fingers slowly straightened to his full height to meet Conley’s weapon now pressed against his forehead. “Cop bar?” moaned the biker. Conley nodded in agreement. “Shit” was the best the big man could come up with. The bikers were cuffed and led out of the bar. They sat on the curb awaiting the arrival of the paddy wagon. Along with the paddy wagon and several backup cruisers was a lowboy tractor trailer with a three wheel forklift that picked up the bikes and dropped them unceremoniously one on top of the other until there was a pyramid of motorcycles piled on the trailer. The biker with the broken fingers looked up from the curb at the pile of bikes on the trailer and said to Conley. “That’s not right brother.” Conley looked down at the big biker and said. “Number one, I’m not your fucking brother and number two, stay the fuck in New York.” Chapter-22 The tall dark figure in the shadows watched the two men enter his house from the rear. Detectives Hughes and Johnson walked through the back porch into the kitchen and then groped their way through the darkness to the living room. Johnson found the corner of a coffee table with his shin and sailed over it hitting the floor with a pronounced thud, followed by a “Fuck Me.” Hughes found the couch and sat down. Johnson bitching and moaning under his breath got up off the floor and dropped his ass into an old lazy-boy next to the couch. He pulled up his pant leg to assess the damage to his aching shin. The skin was pealed back and blood was freely running down his leg into his cotton sock. “Where are those two guys we were supposed relieve?” said Hughes. Johnson holding the sides of his bloody shin looked over at Hughes and said. “Yeah, about the two guys who were supposed to be here? I forgot to call Lieutenant Felker and request them.” “You’re shitting me right Johnson?” “No, I had a pretty good buzz going Friday night and I just forgot about it.” “For the love of God Van, don’t tell Conley there was no one here all day.” “Don’t worry Mike, it will go to the grave with me, you can bank on it.” Hughes, now acclimated to the dark, looked over at Johnson and with a cattish grin and said. “That must hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.” Johnson, raised his foot up onto the coffee table, let out a groan and pulled his pant leg up. Hughes took a quick look at the shin, and said “Holy Crap”, that’s a mess.” “You’ve got great observational skills,” said Johnson. “I guess that’s why they made you a detective on your tenth try.” “Third try, you clumsy ass.” Sit down over there and try not to bleed on everything. I’ll see if I can find a bandage and some tape or something in the bathroom.” Hughes got up and slowly worked his way across the darkened room to a hall way where he assumed he would find the bathroom. “Hey,” said Johnson. “Remember, no lights. We don’t want to let this guy know were here.” “Yea, yea, I’ll flick my Bic just for you.” Hughes opened the first door on his right. It was in fact the bathroom. “All Right” he thought. He then took the Bic lighter from his pocket, lit it and cupped the flame with his other hand to limit the light in the room. He opened the medicine cabinet and then quickly cupped his hand back over the open flame. Other than a disposable razor, a tube of tooth paste and a brush, it was empty. He crouched down to look into the sink cabinet and found a sliding drawer full of various medical supplies including gauze pads and tape. He grabbed the gauze pads, tape, and some antiseptic ointment and laid them on the counter. As he turned to leave the room, a cop’s sixth sense kicked in and he turned back into the room holding the lighter up close to the shower curtain. The two men moved at the same instant. Hughes dropped the lighter and reaching for his weapon. The tall figure in the shower punched through the curtain. The big man’s fist reached the detectives forehead before he could clear his holster, or call out to Johnson. Hughes dropped to his knees barely conscious. Erik Varga tore the curtain from the rod, draping it over Hughes head and neck. He then grabbed the metal spool of first aid tape from the counter and wrapped it several times around the shower curtain binding it to Hughes neck. He hit the Detective again splitting his forehead open. The blood smearing on the vinyl surface of the shower curtain created a grotesque mask that became even more grotesque with every beat of the officers dying heart. Hughes slumped back onto the door frame semiconscious and unable to breath. In his final moments, his body convulsed of its own accord then all was still. His eyes frozen in a cold lifeless gaze peered through the transparent curtain but saw nothing. Erik lifted Hughes from the doorway and laid him in the tub. He then stepped back into the darkened hallway and closed the bathroom door behind him. “Hey Mike, sometime tonight would be good for that band aid? I’m bleeding all over myself.” Johnson waited another few minutes thinking Hughes was on the crapper after the Mexican dinner they had eaten earlier. Fuck it he thought maybe there’s some paper towels in the kitchen. He got up and slowly worked his way through the darkness to the kitchen and stood over the sink. A full moon broke through an overcast sky that let a faint glimmer of light into the room through a window over the sink. There was a cabinet to the left side of the sink and Johnson ran his hand along the underside of the cabinet until he felt the roll of paper on the holder attached to it. People are so predictable he thought as he pulled several sheets from the roll and bent down to blot the blood from his shin. That’s when he noticed a second shadow in the moonlight. “Well, you took your sweet time about it. Did you find me a bandage?” He straighten up and turned towards his partner. Even in the darkened room he could tell the person in front of him was not Hughes. He and Mike were about the same height, but he was currently looking into the shadowed torso of someone well over six feet tall. He stepped back and reached for the 357 Magnum on his hip. It never cleared the holster. The big man stepped forward out of the shadows at the same time and with his left hand grabbed Johnson’s right wrist pinning his hand to the pistol grip of the weapon. With his right hand he clamped down on the Detective’s throat, picked him off the floor and wedged him between the counter and the cabinets above. He dragged the Detective along the countertop by the throat with one hand and kept a vise like grip on Johnson’s gun hand with the other making it impossible for him to pull his weapon. The Detective instinctively reached for the backup piece on his leg, but stopped when he remembered he had left it at home. Johnson’s hand hit a wooden knife block spilling several knives onto the counter. He frantically grabbed one and jammed it into the big man’s forearm in an attempt to break the hold on his throat. The move only seemed to incense his attacker even more. He tightened his grip on the Detectives throat, bent down and pulled the knife from his forearm with his teeth, spitting the blade onto the kitchen floor. He then slowly and methodically pulled the pistol from Johnson’s holster, the detective’s hand still gripping it. He put the gun against the Detectives right temple, cocked the hammer and pulled back on Johnson’s finger discharging the weapon. The bullet tore through his head leaving a crater just above his left ear. Blood, bone and brain matter sprayed the wall. Erik Varga then casually left the room. He retrieved the bandages and tape from the bathroom, completely ignoring the lifeless body of Detective Hughes lying in the tub. He wrapped the puncture wound on his forearm, returned to the kitchen, retrieved his Monopoly box from the table, and left. He wouldn’t need his get out of jail card tonight. Chapter-23 Conley got to the precinct early Monday morning, had a workout in the gym, showered and had a shave. As he was dressing he noticed the large black and blue bruises from the hockey match and thought to himself, I’m too old for all this, no more friggin hockey for me. When he got to the detective’s room Beaver was already at her desk going over the computer list of homicides and accidental deaths for another possible Monopoly murder victim. “Let’s have a smoke” Conley said. Beaver nodded and they both went out to the back steps. Beaver looked at Conley, she had that “I know what you’re doing “look on her face. “What’s the look for” he snapped back? “Jack, you’re walking around like you have a corn cobb up your ass and I’m just trying to figure out if it’s because of the hockey match on Saturday, or if it’s because your humping that doctor who called you Friday night, and you can’t handle it.” Conley acted surprised and said. “What the hell are you talking about?” “You’re not kidding anyone, Conley. I know that was the Doctor who called you Friday night at Twitty’s and if I know, then Hughes and Johnson know. And if they know, the whole friggin precinct will know by the end of the day. You know Lieutenant Felker will be pissed if she finds out your sleeping with a possible witness in a homicide investigation don’t you?” Conley avoided answering Beaver and sent the conversation in another direction. “Speaking of Hughes and Johnson, I can’t get out there this morning I have to follow up on a few things. Can you grab Detective Beltran and relieve them?” Detective Beaver gave him the look of death, but then said. “Yeah, I guess so. But I can’t leave until around two this afternoon. I have to be in court this morning at ten. I’ll swing back by the precinct after court, pick up Beltran and head out that way.” “Great, I knew I could count on you Beev. I’ll repay the favor sometime” Court took longer than Beaver had expected and when she got back to the precinct, Lieutenant Felker had already sent Detective Beltran out on another call. Shit she thought. She didn’t want to spend the night alone in the dark in that frigging creepy house and there’s no fucking way either Hughes or Johnson would ever stay with me after spending Sunday, and most of Monday on the stakeout. She wondered how much more pissed could they possibly be then they were already if she were a couple more hours later getting out there. So, with no further hesitation she said to herself screw both of them, I’ll go home first catch a few zees have dinner, and then head over there. If there’s any flack she thought “I’ll blame it on Conley. As she walked out to her cruiser, a rarely felt touch of the green eyed monster kicked in and she thought to herself. “I can’t believe he’s screwing that doctor and he treats me like one of the boys.” She looked down at her jacket and slacks and thought. “Maybe if I wore something sexier? No, he’d still be Conley and I’ll always be just one of the guys. Fuck it.” Beaver got to the Varga house just before 7:00 pm. She pulled up behind Hughes cruiser. She would have preferred to use the back road up to the house and avoid the hundred yard walk through the trees, especially at night, it gave her the creeps, but parking next to the house was a bad idea during a stakeout. She entered through the back porch door into the kitchen. The house was dark and exceptionally cold. She called out to Hughes and Johnson in a soft low voice, but got no response. “Come on guys stop screwing around, it was Conley who forgot to relieve you, not me” she said. There was still no response. She took a small pen light from her jacket and slowly scanned the kitchen half expecting the two detectives to jump from a corner to scare the crap out of her. As she panned the room, the light illuminated the blood splatter on the wall. She was startled by the site of so much blood, but kept her composure and drew her weapon. Adrenalin raced through her body, kicking it into high gear, her body and mind going into hyper alert. She stepped back, stumbling over the lifeless body of Detective Johnson. “Fuck!” She knelt down and shined the light into his face. She knew he was dead, the left side of his head was gone, but she checked for a pulse anyway. She stood up and cautiously walked into the living room, gun and light working in unison across the room. Not finding Hughes, she continued into the hallway. She faced the first door to her right. Still holding gun and light at shoulder level, she kicked in the door, and she found Hughes in the tub draped in his death shroud staring blindly through the blood stained vinyl curtain which was still tightly taped around his neck. She spun around; making sure Erik Varga was long gone and then radioed in for backup while turning on every light in the house. Then she called Conley. Her call went to his voice mail. “Shit!” She thought, this was not a message she wanted to leave on voice mail. She started to shake. She hung up and called back with a tweet “911”. Chapter-24 Conley spent most of the day sitting on a bench outside Judge Roberts’s chambers. It gave him plenty of time to think about the case, as well as the doctor. He didn’t want to have to use the subpoena, but he knew there was additional information in Varga’s file that he needed to see. He also knew that if he used the subpoena to get that file, their budding relationship would be over before it had a chance to go anywhere. Well he thought. “It’s a chance I’ll have to take if it comes down to it. I’m a cop first and I cannot let my partner’s murder go unpunished.” “The Judge will see you now Detective Conley. I’m sorry you had to wait so long, Judge Roberts was hearing a plea this morning.” “That’s Ok, he said. I just need a few minutes of his time.” “Good afternoon Detective Conley. What can I do for you today?” “I need a subpoena Your Honor” “Don’t you always?” Judge Roberts reviewed Conley’s file and issued the subpoena. Conley had spent most of the day reliving the events of the previous Friday evening with Ann and daydreaming about his second date with her later that night. She hadn’t called, so he assumed everything was good. But as the day wore on the doubts began to creep into his head. He just couldn’t figure why a classy beautiful professional woman like that who could have any man she desired would want to bother with the likes of him, a scarred old war horse looking at retirement. Maybe she got busy and just forgot to call to cancel. Or maybe she didn’t see the note he left. Or maybe she thought he went through her purse to get the address from her wallet and was pissed and vindictive enough to let him make the hours’ drive to her house just to tell him to piss off. “No calm down Jackie boy everything is Ok.” He figured he’d call her when he was about thirty minutes away. That way if there was a problem he wouldn’t have such a lone drive home. Driving alone made him think of Beaver. He felt bad about not going to the stakeout with her and not really giving her an acceptable reason. How could he tell her that seeing Ann Slater was more important than the job? Yeah, he had to get a court order, but they could have done it together and then driven out to the house to wait for Varga. “What the hell was I thinking?” He had nearly thirty years on the force, and this is the first time he’d ever chosen his personal life over the job. “Maybe I should retire before I make a really bad decision and someone gets hurt.” Maybe I should drive out to the stake out now. Call Ann and postpone our date. He looked at the phone. There was a missed call from Beaver. She was probably going to chew his ass. Well he’d find out later. Every nerve in his body was aching for Ann. After all his waffling, he decided that he still had to see her and convinced himself that Detective Beltran would watch Beavers back just as well as he could and she would be fine at the stakeout. Conley called Ann when he was about thirty minutes from her home. There was no answer and the phone went to voice mail. “Hi, it’s me. Leave a message at the tone, and I’ll get back to you…. beeeeeep.” “Ah Hi, It’s me Jack, I’m about a half hour from your place. See you in a bit.” She’s probably in the shower he thought. She would have called if she wanted to cancel. Yeah, that was it, she’s in the shower. Anyway, it was too late to turn back now. He’d already passed failsafe. She’s there or she’s not. He’d know soon enough. Detective Beaver sat in the far corner of the living room waiting for backup. She kept her back to the wall, weapon drawn and cradled in her lap. For the first time in her career she was frightened, no, she was terrified, and had begun to tremble. “Where the hell are you Conley?” she thought. “I need you. I need you now.” In the distance she could hear the familiar sound of sirens. It gave her some solace and the trembling eased. She took several deep breaths, holstered her weapon, stood and walked to the door. She regained her composure and felt in control again as the flashing lights approached. Conley pulled into Ann’s drive. He could see lights off in the distance, but he could not see the house. He continued up the road for another two hundred yards where it widened into a huge circular parking lot, the whole area paved in cobblestone. “Shit” he thought, she’s rich too.” He got out of the car, walked up the steps to a landing, stood in front of two massive oak doors and rang the bell. He waited a few minutes and rang it again, then again. No answer. I guess I read this one wrong he thought as he turned toward his car. To the left of the entry stairs, a wrought iron bench sat under an antique lamp post. He walked over, sat down and lit a smoke. He rested his forearms on his knees, flicking the ashes between his legs. Where was he with this woman? He really was too old to get into another relationship and he didn’t need any more drama at this stage of his life. On the other hand, she had come on to him. And he was tired of coming home to an empty house every night, eating frozen dinners and waking up alone every morning. It would sure be nice to have an intelligent conversation with someone for a change rather than the usual brainless chatter from the guys at Twitty’s Tavern. He took another drag and blew the smoke down onto the lawn. A small beetle climbed to the top of a blade of grass as if to say “you’re killing me here buddy”. Conley stared down at it for a moment and thought to himself we all gotta go sometime pal as he took another drag and blew the smoke back down on the bug. Where was she? He wasn’t that bad at reading people. Hell, he was a detective and he’d detected a spirited connection between the two of them. What had gone wrong? Maybe she had to go out for something, not wanting to believe he had actually been stood up. He’d give her a few more minutes before he split for the city. He straightened up on the bench, took another deep drag on the cigarette, cocked his head back and exhaled up into the night air. That’s when he saw it. Resting on the crossbar of the lamp post, his eyes locked on the object, and the adrenalin rushed through his body. Another Monopoly piece; the small metal dog hit him like a Pit Bull. “Ann,” he shouted as he bolted for the door. He hit the door on the run, the deadbolt tearing out the wood frame of the double door. Gun drawn, he searched the house, one room at a time, lighting up the house as he rolled from room to room, looking for any clue that might tell him where she was. One of the panes on the kitchen door was shattered and the lock turned open. She was nowhere in the house. Ann was gone. He reached for his cell phone. Shit. He ran to the car and grabbed the phone. The display showed several messages. The first was a 911 call from Beaver. The second was a “where the hell are you” from Lieutenant Felker. He thought for a moment and then called Beaver first. “Conley, where the hell have you been? Johnson and Hughes were murdered at the Varga house!” I couldn’t get Detective Beltran; I’m here alone with two dead Detectives. “I’ll be there in ten” he said. “Ten minutes? Where the hell are you? Never mind” she said. “I know where you are, just get over here quick!” Conley ended the call and then called Gary Felton the local constable in Hammonton. “Gary, this is Detective Conley A.C.P.D.” “Yeah, how’s it hanging Conley?” “Not so good, Dr. Ann Slater’s house has been broken into, and she’s missing. I need you go get over to her house on Central Ave. and notify the Hammonton Police of a break in and possible kidnapping. It’s their jurisdiction. Can you take care of that for me? Hopefully the doctor will show up while you’re there, and we will only have a burglary to deal with.” “I got you covered Detective!” “Thanks Felton, I’ll get back to you in an hour or so.” Was his misleading the constable another bad decision? Should he have told him about the murders? No, he wouldn’t hand this case over to M.C.U. Not yet. Varga belonged to him. He thought about Beaver alone at the Varga house with no backup. It made him think about the one time he sparred with a bad guy without backup. It was the night he went after Tito Fuentes. Fuentes was a gang banger suspected of killing two Patrol Officers that had stopped his vehicle on a traffic violation. Fuentes and the other gang bangers in the car were in possession of two kilos of heroin and armed to the teeth with automatic weapons. Two officers had approached the car from either side with hands on their weapons, but not drawn. Fuentes and his posse opened fire, killing both officers almost instantly. The CSI team reported finding over a thirty 9 mm cartridge casings at the scene of the shootings. Forensics did a ballistics test on the rounds removed from the two dead officers and determined they came from the same weapon used in a drive by shooting of a gang at war with the Fuentes crew. So based on the findings, a warrant was issued for the arrest of Fuentes, and his crew. Conley was the first to spot Fuentes coming out of a Bodega in the Spanish section of the city and rather than calling it in and waiting for backup, he chased and cornered Fuentes in an alley behind the Bodega. Fuentes tried to climb a fire escape but Conley grabbed him by the waist and threw him into some trash cans. When he reached down to cuff Fuentes, the gang banger buried a stiletto deep into the Detectives chest. Fuentes looked at Conley and said that must hurt like a Son-Of-A-Bitch you fucking pig. Conley looked at the knife in his chest for a moment, then said not as much as this, as he pulled out his Glock and popped a round into Fuentes knee. In the end, the assistant district attorney used him as an informant and put him back on the street only to be killed in a subsequent drive by shooting six months later. “I really should have waited for backup on that one Conley thought. And I should have been there to back up Detective Beaver” He put it off as long as he could; the next call was to Lieutenant Felker. “Conley, where the hell have you been? All hell has broken loose at the Varga house. Hughes and Johnson are dead and Beaver is there alone. I’m on my out with Detective Beltran and the CSI team, but we’re still about thirty minutes out. What’s your location?” “I’m ten minutes from the house Lieutenant I’ll see you there.” Conley pressed end before Lieutenant Felker could make any further inquiries as to his whereabouts. He approached the Varga house from the rear drive and drove the cruiser through the yard to the front door. Beaver was waiting for him at the porch. They both entered the house and Beaver led Conley into the bathroom first where Detective Hughes was still propped up in the tub with the curtain tied around his neck. They moved without words to the kitchen and Detective Johnson. Conley looked down at the mutilated head of his longtime friend then looked up at Beaver. “What kind of animal would do something like this?” Tears welled up in Beavers eyes. She was trembling again. Shock Conley thought. He reached to touch her shoulder. She pulled back and said. “A Monster, that’s what kind of person. A fucking monster. We have to get him Jack before he hits again.” Conley took a handkerchief from his pocket, handed it to Beaver and then said. “He may already have. Dr. Slater’s home was broken into tonight and she’s missing. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out the Monopoly piece. I found this at her house.” “Oh God Jack. Where do you think he may have taken her?” “I don’t know, but I know someone who might” He left Beaver standing there as the backup cars approached the house. Chapter-25 Conley pulled into Gary Smith’s drive. It was getting late and the old man was probably already in bed but he had no other options at the moment. He rapped on the door, then leaned against the porch rail and waited. The door opened two or three inches straining against the security chain. “Who is it?” Smith grumbled, obviously pissed about being woken from a sound sleep. “It’s me Jack Conley I need to talk to you.” Smith unlatched the security chain and stepped out onto the porch dressed in a plaid robe. He eased himself into the rocker beside the door. “What time is it Jack?” “It’s late” I’m sorry I had to get you up at this hour, but I really need your help. Hughes and Johnson have been murdered and Dr. Slater, Erik Varga’s doctor from the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital is missing. I think he may have taken her.” “What makes you think so Jack?” “Well, she told me he had become infatuated with her a while back just before his sister had him released into her custody. When she didn’t return his affections, he became very angry and then distraught. She said it had been the first time she had seen that side of him and it scared the hell out of her. “She seems to have told you a lot more than a doctor normally reveals about a patient my friend.” You haven’t been mixing business with pleasure have you Jack?” Smith posed this with just the slightest inflection of humor in his aging old voice. Conley just stared back at the old detective, lit cigarette and ignored the question. “Think with me here Gary. Any idea where he might have taken her?” “First of all Jack how do you know he took her at all? Maybe she’s just out somewhere.” Conley tossed Smith the Monopoly token. “Varga has her; he left his calling card at her house. I found it when I went to pick her up for dinner tonight.” “Dinner?” “Yeah dinner so what?” “Don’t be a hot head Jack. I’m just trying to get the facts straight in my mind.” The old Detective reached into the pocket of his robe, pulled out a smoke, lit it, and took a deep drag. “Given the infatuation, I don’t think he wants to kill her, he loves her. I would think he would take her to a place where he feels safe, where he can be alone with her to tell her again how he feels about her. If she turns him down again… “Then he’ll kill her so no one else can have her.” Is that what you’re saying Gary?” Conley’s mouth was as dry as cardboard. “Look Jack, this guy has had a very strange though orderly life. He spent most of it in an orphanage followed by being institutionalized at the Ancora hospital. Then a short stay at the house his sister rented when she took him from the hospital. His sister is dead. Believe me Jack he’s not going back to any of those places any time soon.” Those three locations are relatively close to each other, so my guess is he is still close by. I would look for a place that’s somewhat isolated from the public where he can be alone with her. There was a moment of silence as the two men stared at each other. “Shit!” said Conley; he’s at that abandoned railcar in the back of the train yard. The train yard is less than a mile from the hospital and the railcar is at the back of the yard on a side track. It’s the perfect place! Thanks Gary go back to bed, I’ll call you in the morning if we find them.” Conley thrust himself back into his cruiser and called Beaver. “Hey Beaver. This is Conley.” “Where the hell did you go Conley?” “I went over to Gary Smith’s house. He gave me some insight on where Varga might be. I’m on my way over to that train yard where they found the body behind that caboose. I think Varga may have taken Doctor Slater there.” “Don’t go there without backup Jack.” “Jack? I like the sound of that. You usually just call me Conley, or Asshole.” “You’re such an asshole Conley.” “That’s my girl,” don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Get Lieutenant Felker and the Calvary and meet me at the train yard. “Don’t try to take that crazy bastard alone Jack. Wait for us.” It was just after midnight when Conley reached the train yard. As he passed the office he could see Mr. Larsen the Yard Master asleep at his desk. No need to wake him. Just another body in the way. He cut the headlights and drove the cruiser to within a couple hundred feet of the caboose and parked. Conley drew his weapon and approached the railcar. He stayed in the shadows between the track and overgrowth that grew along the perimeter fence. As he neared the caboose he could see a dim light emanating from the interior. He crouched below the windows and worked his way to the rear of the car. Stepping up onto the rear platform he crouched below the glass window in the rear door. Very slowly he raised his head and looked through the bottom corner of the window. He could see Ann sitting at an old work table in the left center of the car. She was gagged and her hands were tied behind her back. “She’s alive!” His thoughts raced through his mind. “Should I wait for backup like Beaver had wanted? I went it alone on the Fuentes case, and got a knife in the chest. How’d that work out?” He knew he should wait, but Varga was no Fuentes. The crazy bastard could lose it at any moment and as big a he was, he could snap Ann’s neck faster than a roll of the dice. “No,” he finally decided, every minute I wait is another opportunity for this monster to kill Ann. From his vantage point Conley could not see Varga. He passed under the window to the right side of the railcar, he straightened up and took a few deep breaths and then slowly turned the knob on the door. When the door unlatched, he rushed in fanning his weapon across the room. Varga was not there. He laid his weapon on the table and reached to remove Ann’s gag. She muffled something and he saw the terror in her eyes. He knew they were no longer alone. Conley immediately turned and reached for his weapon but Varga got to the Glock before him. In one quick move he swiped the table sending the pistol flying to the far corner of the railcar. Before Conley could react, Varga’s hand continued up from the table catching him with an uppercut with such force under the jaw that he could hear his teeth shatter as his lower jaw snapped and fell slack. The pain seared through his mouth like a dental drill hitting an exposed nerve. Conley fell against the side wall of the car, but managed to stay on his feet. Conley make a move for his weapon now on the floor at the far end of the railcar, but before he could reach it, Varga grabbed him by the throat and with both hands lifted him off the floor and repeatedly slammed his head into the side wall of the caboose. Conley grabbed at Varga’s hands, but could not break the big man’s grip on his throat. He was starting to black out when he kicked his knee up into Varga’s groin, causing both men to stumbled back and hit the floor. Varga fell on top of Conley, then straddled the Detective in Mixed Marshal Arts fashion and began the ground and pound. Conley was able to fend off most of the big man’s blows using his forearms to shield his shattered jaw. He tried for his backup piece, but his legs were pinned to the floor and he could not reach his ankle holster. Finally in an effort to get the big man off him, he swung up at Varga hitting him on the side of the face. It didn’t have the effect he had hoped for. Then of all the thoughts a man could possibly have in the last minutes of his life Conley flashed back to the night at Twitty’s bar when Detective Hughes needed a knife to cut his sandwich. Conley immediately pulled the switchblade from his coat pocket, hit the release button and thrust the six inch blade up under the Varga’s jaw, embedding it in his upper pallet. From the corner of his eye he saw Ann struggling with her ropes. “Get loose Ann! Run!” He thought Varga grabbed for the knife and fell back, both hands pulling at the blade, blood streaming from his mouth. Conley scrambled from under him and then kicked Vargas in the chest sending him reeling against the door of the caboose. The force of the impact shattered the window and left a large shard of glass imbedded in the back of his head. Varga was oblivious to both the glass and the blood pouring down the back of his neck. And his head shook violently out of control as he continued to tear at the knife impaled in his mouth. All the while, his crazed maniac eyes stared back down at Conley. Conley again went for the weapon strapped to his leg, but Varga dislodged the knife from his mouth and plunged the blade through the Detectives wrist burying it in Conley’s lower leg, the blade penetrating the bone. Conley roared like a wild animal caught in a trap. The pain was agonizing. He grabbed for the knife but could not pull it free from the bone. Varga, blood now pouring from his face, bent over Conley and pulled the knife from his leg and wrist with one quick twist and jerk, causing the Detective to scream once more. The pain was so intense, that for a moment Conley’s vision was reduced to a flash of blinding white light. Then Varga straddled Conley again, this time holding the stiletto above the Detective’s chest with both hands. The out of his mind bastard stared down at the Detective with a look that told Conley he was dead. Time was a man at the edge of a cliff. With everything he had left, Conley grabbed Varga by the wrists, but with each gasp of breath, the stiletto grew closer to his chest. Dr. Slater managed to work her tied hands under her hips and pulled her legs through her knotted wrists. She immediately began gnawing at the knots like a crazed animal. At the instant she managed to free herself, she realized just how much Jack Conley meant to her. She had to do something to keep him in her life and she had to do it now. She slid down the bench to the end of the table, stood up, grabbed a pry bar lying in the corner by the door and with all the strength her 115 lbs. could muster, hit Varga in the back of the head. With his scalp split wide open, he still managed to turn and face Ann who swung again for the cheap seats hitting Varga on the side of the head, splitting his ear open He fell back onto Conley and the two men lay motionless on the floor. Ann fearing the worst had happened screamed “Get off him you fucking animal. “ She grabbed Varga by the shoulder and with both hands and all her might, rolled him off Conley. Both men were unconscious, but Varga now had the stiletto buried in his chest. Ann morphed back to the more confident persona of doctor, a role she much preferred to the pry-bar-wielding warrior Xenia she had been just moments earlier. She checked Jack’s pulse; it was weak, but steady. “Thank God she thought he’s alive.” She had no cell phone, no way to call for help for this man she had come to care for, maybe even love. Her tears dropped onto his forehead as she cradled his blood covered Jaw and gently eased his head onto her lap. “Stay with me, stay here Jack.” She gently stroked his brow and prayed he would be ok. Surely he had called for backup. They would be here soon, they would come to help. The door to the caboose burst open. Ann looked up to see a tall older man in a blue windbreaker holding the biggest gun she had ever seen. He looked at Slater, then at Conley, and then over at Varga. “I see I’m a little late. I’m Gary Smith. You must be Dr. Slater.” he said. As he leaned in to check on Conley, Ann put her hand gently on Smith’s forearm “He’s alive, she said. Please get an ambulance.” Smith accepted the doctor’s diagnosis on Conley. Then checked for a pulse on Varga. He then turned back to Dr. Slater. “Guess you know the verdict on this one. He’s dead, be glad you aren’t young lady” Conley moaned and slowly opened his eyes. He looked up at Ann; his voice was weak, and barely audible. “That could only be Gary Smith” he said “Yes it is,” said Smith. “The doctor here saved your life Jack. She didn’t need any help from me. That’s quite a woman you’ve got there! “Yeah, I think so too.” The doctor smiled down at him and in a half whisper said “You still owe me that dinner Detective Conley. And some dessert” As he listened to the ever loudening sound of sirens in the distance, he stared back at the beautiful woman gently stroking his silver hair and thought “I’d love to Ann, but tonight might be bad. Epilogue Lieutenant Felker stood at the pulpit to the right of the altar at St. Nicholas’s Catholic Church. Before her in the center aisle were the caskets of Detectives Ragu, Hughes, and Johnson draped in American flags. To either side of the caskets were several hundred uniformed police officers who sat in silence on the wooden pews. Several hundred more stood outside the church in mourning for their fallen comrades. She took a scrap of paper from her coat looked down at it and then laid it on the pulpit. Her eyes were welling with tears as she described each slain Detective and their individual and joint accomplishments over the course of their careers. “We have lost three of our finest.” She said, “I don’t know what else to say, my heart is broken. They put their life on the line for our community every day, and would do it again if that were possible. I see their families sitting in the front rows and feel the heartache and pain of their loss and although it seems of little consequence today, I would like to say that our city and all our lives were better because they were a part of it. Detective Conley had no business being anywhere other than his hospital bed but there he sat in the third row behind the slain officer’s families. Sitting to his right was Ann Slater. He looked down at her, took her hand and said. “I need another line of work.” I’m putting in for retirement. What do you think about Key West Doc?” She squeezed his hand and smiled. “Good choice Jack.” PART-2 THE RECKONING Chapter-26 To a cop, losing a partner is like losing a member of your family. So after the violent death of Detective Sergeant Anthony (Tony) Ragu at the hands of Erik Varga, and then losing two of his closest colleagues Detectives Michael Hughes and Van Johnson to the same maniac before he could be stopped, it wasn’t hard to see why Detective Jack Conley had lost all interest in police work. After their funerals, he tossed his gold shield onto Lieutenant Felker’s desk and said. “That’s it. I’ve had it; I’m putting in for retirement at the end of the month. “Are you sure that’s what you want, Jack? You have a lot of vacation time you haven’t used and a hell of a lot of sick time accrued,” Felker said. “Why don’t you use that time to decide if that’s really what you want to do? Either way, Jack I’m one hundred percent behind you I just don’t want you to make a quick decision you may regret later.” Felker picked his gold shield off her desk and offered it back to him. “Please, Jack take this back, and take the time off. You owe it to yourself to be sure.” Conley took the gold badge from the Lieutenant, thumbed the raised surface for a moment, gave a boyish grin to the Lieutenant and returned the badge to its usual place of residence on his belt “Maybe you’re right Lieutenant. At any rate, I’ll give you to the end of the year. Then I’m out of here. There’s got to be more to life than investigating murders, and living with the daily mayhem.” As he was leaving the squad room, Conley noticed several uniformed patrolmen were struggling with a mountain of a man high on Angel Dust and they appeared to be getting the worst of it. He grabbed a night stick from the belt of one of the patrolmen and cracked the drugged out giant across his massive forehead. He dropped like a hundred pound sack of potatoes and lay motionless on the squad floor. “Well boys, I’d say he’s going to be a lot easier to work with now, what do you think?” One of the veteran patrolmen Mike Boudreau rolled the big man onto his stomach and was having trouble putting on the bracelets. He looked up “I think you’re right. Thanks a lot Detective, he was a handful.” Conley handed the baton back to its rightful owner, grinned down at Officer Boudreau and said. “Just doing my job sir.” And then added, “You may need to use two sets of cuffs Mike; he’s a monster, I don’t think one pair will do it. “Yeah, I think your right about that too. Thanks again.” Chapter –27 Ann was applying her lipstick at the dressing table as Jack stepped out of the shower. He caught her staring at him through a small circular makeup mirror. It made him smile and he asked if she liked what she saw. At six foot three, Jack Conley was an impressive man. And although he was now approaching the big 50, he had the body of a much younger man. His abs were still rock hard, and his well chiseled chest tapered down to a thirty four inch waist. Yes, yes I do, she thought as she continued watching him dry off in front of the half steamed bathroom mirror. “You’re a hell of a guy, Jack Conley and I’m glad your mine.” She smiled again to herself and then returned to her makeup. Conley wiped the fog from the mirror with the bath towel, and then wrapped it around his waist. As he shaved, he would alternate between looking at his face, and hers. He looked down to rinse his razor under the faucet and when he looked back through the mirror, she was gone. When he had finished shaving, he rinsed his face removing the traces of shaving cream that usually clung to his ear lobes, dried off, and splashed on the Old Spice. He had thought about buying one of the chic new colognes he had seem advertised with the thought it might somehow make him act, or at least feel, younger. But Ann seemed to like the scent of the Old Spice so he stuck with it. When he walked back into the bedroom Ann was standing in the walk-in closet thumbing through a rack of dresses looking for just the right outfit for the day. She was wearing a very light silk robe, and as she slid the dresses on the rod, the robe separated, and hung open exposing one of her breasts. Conley knew it wasn’t polite to stare, but he found he couldn’t help himself. He just stood there like a high school boy getting his first look at a real pair of tits. Ann must have sensed she was being watched because she turned quickly and caught him staring. She cocked her head and got that look, you know that OMG look. “What are you staring at? These,” she said taking the two sides of the robe and pulling it wide open. “There, now go to work you Irish pervert, and bring home some fresh shrimp tonight. We’ll have scampi for dinner. Oh, and pick up a good bottle of wine too, ok.” Conley pulled the towel from his waist and tossed it to her revealing, the rock hard erection her flash of boobs had created. “Your loss honey.” He turned and entered his own walk-in closet which included built in cabinets and drawers for his all his socks, and underwear. The two had a light breakfast, kissed at the front door, and left for their respective jobs. Dr. Ann Slater to the Ancora Psychiatric Hospital where she had worked her way up to Hospital Administrator; and Detective Sergeant Jack Conley to the Atlantic City N.J. Police Departments Homicide Squad. Chapter-28 Jack was maybe a hundred yards behind the Mercedes stopped at the traffic light when the two car jacker’s came running from the curb. One ran around to the driver’s side and pulled on the door handle. It was locked. The second car jacker tried the passenger side door. When it would not open, he slammed the window with his elbow and shattered the glass. He grabbed the woman in the passenger seat by the hair pulling her from the car. He then drew an automatic weapon from his waist band, put it to her head and yelled for the driver to get out of the car. As the driver opened the door the car jacker hit him hard in the face, and then grabbing him by the hair slammed his head into the door post several times dropping him to the pavement where he lay unconscious. Conley couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You two ass holes aren’t really jacking a car right in front of an A.C.P.D Detective.” He hit the cruiser’s lights and siren. The two car jackers almost came out of their skin when Conley hit the siren no more than twenty feet behind them. He had hoped it would be enough to make them just give it up, or at the least bail out of the car and make a run for it. If they did, the k-9 boys could track them down and pick them up. But no, these two ass holes decide to take off with the car. The chase was getting a little hairy. They were blowing off traffic lights at nearly 100 mph. Conley finally decided it was just too unsafe to continue the chase at that speed in the city and began to back off the accelerator, but he did maintain a visual on the Mercedes. The two bailed out at a housing project on the west side and ran into the complex. Conley radioed his position to the dispatcher, requested backup, and then pursued the two into the housing project. “I’m too old for this shit,” he thought as he followed the two into the projects. He saw them run around the end of one of the apartment buildings. When he reached the corner of the building he stopped for a moment, drew his weapon, and slowly turned the corner. The area behind the building was littered in trash and discarded furniture but there was no trace of the two car jackers. He slowly scanned the open area for any place the two could hide, but found nothing that might give up their location. Then he heard the metallic click of a heavy exit door closing. Like the kind you see at a hospital that shuts on its own from the overhead piston that pulls it closed. Conley scanned the area again and found what he was looking for. There was a heavy metal door on a landing some thirty feet away, and Conley made a run for it. He took the six steps up to the landing in two leaping bounds, leaned against the wall to the right side of the door. He raised his weapon to chest height, hit the door and ran in. He was standing in a lobby area with vending machines to one side of the room and two exit doors on either side of a coke machine. Conley slowly inched his way past what looked like an out-of-order pay phone and two candy machines. As he approached the coke machine, his thought was to enter one of the hallways and hopefully catch the bad guys. As he stepped past the soda machine, he was struck with a small covered trash bin thrown by one of the jackers. The man was small, and after he tossed the trash can he tried to run past Conley who was having none of it. He hit the jacker hard on the temple with the butt of his weapon, then spun him around pushing him face first into the coke machine. He then shoved the man through one of the lobby doors and cuffed him to the metal railing on the stairwell. “Where’s your buddy?” “Yo ah don ‘know what Yo’ jivin’ bout, Pig.” “Oh, are you going all Ebonics on me now? I’m going to ask you one more time. Where’s your homey ass hole?” “Fuck you, honky.” Conley reached down and grabbed the man’s lower jaw squeezing it tightly, raising the suspects head until their eyes met. “One more time ass hole...” But before the man could get another word out, Conley heard that distinctive clicking sound again. It was the unmistakable pop of an exit door push bar being slammed down hard and it echoed even louder in the empty hallway on the second floor. Conley let go of the man’s jaw, smiled and said, “Don’t go anywhere homey; I’ll be back for you.” And then began taking the stairs two at a time. He burst through the second floor door into a long hallway and could see the second suspect, a tall thin man with a bushy afro running for the opposite exit door. He yelled stop or I’ll shoot, but he knew he wouldn’t, and so did the second suspect as he burst through the door. When Conley reached the exit door he stopped to catch his breath and then hit the push bar and went into the stairwell. He assumed the suspect would head for the ground floor and then the street so his first action was to look down the stairwell. As he did, he heard the exit door on the third floor click shut and he took those stairs two at a time. When he reached the third floor landing, he cautiously peered through the doors small glass window, and saw the suspect running down the hall towards the stairwell at the opposite end of the building. “Shit,” he muttered, “I’m putting in for retirement today. I’m too old for this crap.” The suspect ran into the far stairwell, but then came back out and tried the door to the roof. It was unlocked and he quickly ran out looking for the fire escape. Before he reached it, Conley cut him off and yelled for him to get down on his stomach and fold his hands behind his head. Instead, the suspect climbed up onto the ledge of the building, looked down, then back at Conley, then down again and then jumped off the ledge. Conley ran to the ledge expecting to see a bloody dead corpse in the alley, but instead, he saw the suspect inside a green dumpster. Even from the height of the roof top Conley could see his suspects arm was badly broken. The radius bone had snapped just above the wrist, and was protruding from his forearm. He was also clutching one leg as he rocked back and forth in the dumpster writhing in pain. Conley took his time getting to the ground floor, and as he passed the suspect cuffed to the stair rail he said, “You’re homey tried to fly on me but he crashed and burned. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back.” “Who are you? “Arnold Mother Fucking Schwarzie-nigger” “Schwarzie -nigger, that’s a good one. I’ll have to remember that.” “You didn’t read me my rights, Pig” “You’re right, ass hole. You have the right to shut the fuck up until I come back for you.” When Conley got out to the alley, his suspect was still in the dumpster roiling in pain. He looked down into the dumpster, and gaged at the foul odor emanating from several torn black plastic bags. “Holy Crap that’s bad. What the hell is that Homey, rotten fish?” “I don’t know. Just get me the hell out of here.” Conley stepped back from the dumpster to get a breath of air, and looked around the alley. In a moment it was perfectly clear what was causing the stench in the dumpster. Hanging over a door on the opposite side of the alley was a large wooden sign that read Chi’s Sushi Bar. Conley stepped back up to the dumpster to tell the injured man he would call for an ambulance, but when he looked into the large steel waste container, his suspect was unconscious. Conley stared for a moment at the comatose body in front of him, then in a very loud voice yelled. “Wake Up you Son-of-a-bitch. Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me go in there.” There was still no movement from the man lying on the torn bags of rotting fish and garbage. Conley thought to himself. “This is “Bull Shit” as he climbed up onto the edge dumpster and lowered himself in. Balancing on the shifting bags, he bent down and tried to check the man’s pulse, but one of the bags tore open and his right leg disappeared up to the shin. The rotting fish and God knows what else clung to his leg like metal shavings on a magnet. He instinctively jerked his leg up and lost his balance falling backwards into the corner of the big green monster. He put his hand down to catch himself but the trash bags offered no support and he continued his fall only stopping when the back of his head cracked the metal wall of the dumpster. Cursing, and vowing again to retire, he stood back up on the stack of garbage bags, grabbed his suspect, jerked him up onto the edge of the dumpster and balanced him there as he climbed out. He then picked him up off the side of the dumpster, and slowly lowered him to the ground. As he checked again for a pulse, the injured man regained consciousness and the wailing and moaning continued until the EMT boys arrived. Conley got to the precinct mid-morning to make out his report. He unfortunately wasn’t greeted by the usual “Morning Conley, how’s it going?” But he did get a lot of “Holy Crap, what the hell died in here?” He marched through the precinct ignoring every barb and poke and went straight to the locker room stripped down, showered, and dressed in the spare set of clothes he always kept in his locker. His first thought was to toss his stinking wardrobe into the trash can sitting by the door, but then he just crammed everything into a brown paper grocery bag, rolled the top shut, put it under his arm and went up to the squad room. He sat down at his desk and put the bag on the floor by his feet. Detective Beaver came over with a file in her hand, and sat down in the chair on the side of Conley’s desk. “Jack, if you have a few minutes, I’d like to go over the Jackson file with you. I’m fresh out of ideas here. May be you can give me something to work with?” “Sure” he said reaching for the file in her hand. Sergeant Beaver gave him the file but looked at him very strangely. “What Beaver?” “Did you take a shower when you came in?” “Yeah, and I put on another set of clothes I had in my locker.” “Well, I gotta tell ya, Jack you still smell like shit.” “Oh, that’s not me. It’s this bag of clothes here,” he said taking the paper bag from the floor and raising it to eye level. “For the love of God, Jack, get that bag the hell out of here. It’s stinking up the whole squad room.” “Yeah, maybe you’re right I’ll put it back in my locker until I leave.” “No, you need to get that bag out of the building NOW.” Lieutenant Felker popped her head out of her office and said, “Conley, I need to see to you.” “Sure thing Lieutenant, I’ll be there in a minute.” “No, Conley, now.” Conley extended the arm holding the brown paper bag and asked Sergeant Beaver if she would take it and put it by the back door. Sergeant Beaver threw both hands up, palms out and said, “No friggin way am I touching that damn thing, Conley.” Again the Lieutenant’s voice resonated through the squad room. “Now, Conley” Sergeant Beaver grinned, “You mustn’t keep the Lieutenant waiting Sergeant Conley.” Conley glared back at Sergeant Beaver with that, “I’ll get you for this” look and then turned and walked into the Lieutenants office, paper sack in hand. “Sit down Conley. I’ll be with you in a minute. The Lieutenant who had been reviewing a file, closed it, set it down on her desk, looked up and said, “The District Attorney wants us to run over to Trenton this afternoon, and pick up one Jarvon Davis and bring him back to Atlantic City. He’s a material witness in the… “What the hell is that smell. Is that you Conley?” “No Lieutenant.” He lifted the paper sack from the floor. I had to pull an injured suspect out of a dumpster this morning.” “Did you have to bring the garbage with you?” She stared at the paper bag. “Get that out of my office. “NOW Conley!” And take Beaver with you to get Davis. Conley waved the sack in Detective Beavers direction as he walked by, “Let’s go, Beaver. Felker wants us to pick a witness in Trenton and bring him back for trial.” Sergeant Beaver got up from her desk and put on her jacket. “I’m not getting into your car with that stinking bag. Get rid of it.” “I’m not throwing out a two hundred dollar sport coat.” He lifted the bag and shook it in front of her. “I’ll throw it in the trunk until I can get it to the cleaners.” “I better not smell that shit all the way to Trenton, Jack. Do you hear me?” “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Let’s go.” The drive to Trenton proved uneventful. The drive back was a little more taxing. The States witness was Javon Davis, and at six feet six inches and on just the short side of four hundred pounds, he was an impressive piece of work. From the moment he got into the police cruiser he incessantly went on about not getting enough to eat that morning for breakfast and continued nonstop until Conley finally pulled into a McDonalds and got him four Quarter pounders, three large fries, and a shake. “That will have to hold you until dinner Big Boy and I don’t want to hear another damn word out of you until we get to Atlantic City.” Conley and Beaver got back to the precinct just as their shift was ending. They handed Davis over to the desk sergeant and clocked out. “Have a good night, Laurel” “Yeah, you too, Jack. See you tomorrow. Say hi to Ann for me.” “You got it.” On the way home Conley stopped at the market picked up the shrimp Ann had asked for, and a bottle wine. He was not a wine connoisseur, and relied on the clerk to suggest a wine that would go good with scampi. As he drove up the drive of his future wife’s estate, he still found it hard to believe that of all the available men in North America she fell in love with him, an unrefined Irish American Cop. He parked the cruiser on the cobble stone drive, grabbed the shrimp and wine, and got out. A few steps up the walk he stopped turned and returned to the car. “I better let those clothes air out a bit before I take them to the cleaners.” He thought as he the popped the lid and removed the bag from the trunk. Holy crap, he thought holding the paper bag out away from his body, these clothes are ripe. As he walked through the foyer toward the kitchen he called out to Ann. “I’m home honey. I picked up the shrimp and wine. I’ll leave them in the kitchen.” He put the bag of foul smelling clothes on the sink counter along with the bottle of wine, and put the shrimp into the refrigerator then went into the bathroom. Ann came out expecting to see her fiancée, but instead encountered a foul smelling paper grocery bag and the bottle of wine. She picked up the bag to look inside, but gagged, and dropped it back onto the counter top. “Jack, these shrimp are rotten. Couldn’t you tell that when you bought them?” By this time Jack had returned from the bathroom and was leaning against the refrigerator grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Yeah, Baby” he said. “But he gave me a really good deal on them and said we just had to cut off the bad parts and the rest would be fine.” “Are you crazy, Jack? I’m not eating those.” “Neither am I, Honey.” He opened the refrigerator took out the shrimp and said. “Bon Appetit” as he handed her the fresh package. “Those are the clothes I wore to work this morning in the bag.” “I’m sure there’s a hell of a story to go along with that bag, Jack Conley, but right now I just need you to get it out of the house. Ann was cooking the scampi as Jack tossed a salad when he finally got around to telling her what his entire homicide squad had known for some time now. “I’ve decided to retire from the force.” “I think that’s a good idea, Jack. You’ve certainly earned it. When’s the big day, Honey?” “I told Lieutenant Felker I would stay until the end of the year, but I was thinking maybe after the wedding would be better.” “What wedding?” She said while stirring the sautéed shrimp in the pan in front of her and not yet looking at him. “Ours, if you’ll have me?” “Is this your idea of a proposal, Jack Conley?” She turned the heat off the burner, rubbed her hands on her apron and then extended her left hand jiggling her ring finger at him. “Well, this isn’t how I had planned to ask you”, he said while going down on one knee. “But yes, will you marry me, Ann Slater?” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small blue velvet box. “I’ve been carrying this around with me for a while waiting for the right moment. I guess this is it” he said opening the box. He removed a two carat Emerald cut diamond in a beautiful platinum setting. He took her extended hand in his, and slid the ring onto her finger. “I love you, Ann. Will you marry me.” He didn’t know it yet, but he had just made her the happiest woman in the world. She had been waiting for this moment for months, rehearsing over and over in her head her response to this all important question. And as she looked down at the big man kneeling in front of her, all she could muster was “Yes, yes I will.” That night the sex was explosive. And afterward, lying next to this absolutely beautiful woman Conley thought to himself. “I should have asked her to marry me months ago. What the hell was I thinking? She’s the greatest thing to come into my lift in years. She’s beautiful, intelligent, kind, thoughtful, and she actually said she loves me. I just hope I can keep up with her.” Chapter-29 It was almost one year to the day of the funerals of Detectives Ragu, Hughes, and Johnson, that Detective Sergeant Jack Conley and Dr. Ann Slater were engaged. Conley knew Ann was wealthy, but had no idea just how wealthy until they began to plan for their honeymoon. Jack suggested it might be nice to go down to Key West for a few days, do some deep sea fishing, lie out on the beach drinking Margaritas, and in general forget about the rest of the world. Ann smiled at him and said, “I like the part about the beach, Jack, and the frozen Margaritas sound just marvelous. But what would you say to Tahiti rather than Key West?” “Sweetheart, I’m a Detective in Atlantic City New Jersey, not the Police Commissioner. A few days in Key West is about all I can comfortably handle, Honey.” “Jack, I told you my father left me the house right?” “Sure, but what’s that got to do with our honeymoon, babe?” “The house is over seven thousand square feet sitting on ten acres of land. The real estate tax alone is more than your annual salary. Just how did you figure I could afford to live here?” “I guess I didn’t think about it.” “My father left me a lot of money.” “How much?” “A lot.” “How much Ann?” “A lot.” “Ann.” “Two Hundred Million Dollars.” “TWO HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS!” Just when had you planned on telling me you where an heiress?” “I’m not an heiress, Jack.” “Two hundred million Franklins beg to differ. Why didn’t you tell me this before?” “I wanted to tell you, but there was a stipulation in my father’s will, that unlike my mother, I had to marry for love, and that the man I marry has to show that he loves me for who I am and not for what I have. “Did I pass the test Ann?” “With flying colors, Sweetie. The attorneys for my father’s estate have signed off on you.” “You know, Honey, I promised I would retire from the A.C.P.D. and I always keep my word, but quite frankly, I’m not sure how to handle being a kept man. When do I sign the Pre-Nup?” “Funny you should bring that up. The attorney’s wanted you to sign one before the wedding. I told them that if I followed my father’s wishes and married for love there would be no Pre-Nuptial Agreement. Is that ok with you Jack?” “Yeah, and so is Tahiti.” Chapter-30 Living in the mansion took some getting used to. For one thing, the walk in closet in the master bedroom was larger than his entire apartment in the City. And then there was the ribbing from the guys at the precinct. They had taken to calling him Mr. Burke after Amos Burke the millionaire Captain of the Los Angeles police homicide division in the detective series “Burks Law” that ran on television in the mid 1960’s. Burke was chauffeured around to solve crimes in his Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud II. The guys in the precinct kept the ribbing about his wealthy fiancée light and usually in a good humor and when all was said and done, his future station in life would come with some really great perks, not the least of which was being able to avoid eating most of his meals at the greasy spoon diners that had been clogging his arteries for years. Although he figured the occasional Italian sausage with extra onions and peppers from Uncle Vinnie’s lunch wagon could stay on his new healthier diet. He could always take the antacids he kept in the glove box of his cruiser if Uncle Vinnie got a little too spicy for him. Chapter-31 As Conley and Detective Beaver were clocking out from their shift, Laurel said she was going to stop by Twitty’s Tavern for a drink before going home, and asked if he would like to join her. “Yeah, sounds good, I haven’t been by Twitty’s place in months. I need to pick up some dry cleaning before they close. I’ll meet you over there in say thirty minutes or so, ok?” “Sure, she said. See you there” Bill Twitty looked up from the beer cooler he was icing down, saw Conley and said, “Hey, Jack long time no see. What can I get you?” “Give me the usual, Bill.” “You got it big boy.” Twitty turned and took the bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey from the shelf behind the bar, poured two fingers into a shot glass and set it down in front of Conley along with a cold crisp bottle of Harp Irish Lager from the iced down cooler. “So Jackie boy I hear you may be retiring at the end of the year.” Conley took a sip of the whiskey, set the shot glass on the bar, and said. “You heard that did you? From who?” By the tone of Conley’s voice, Twitty felt like he may have touched a nerve on the big guy, and tried to back off. “Oh hell, Jack, I don’t remember. Just one of the guys.” Conley took another sip of whiskey this time following it with a long drink of beer. “I won’t lie to you, Bill, I have been giving it some thought, but nothing is carved in stone. You know what I mean?” “Sure I know exactly what you mean. When I retired from the force I wasn’t sure if I had done the right thing. But then I started this bar and never looked back. The important thing is to keep busy at something. You can’t just sit at home all day watching the boob tube. You’ll go nuts. I know I tried that for a while. It almost got me a divorce. You ready for another shot?” “No, I’m good for now,” he spun on the bar stool to scan the rest of the tavern. Detective Sergeant Beaver and a few of the other Detectives from the squad were playing pool on the table at the back of the room. He hadn’t picked up a stick in years, but the sight of the balls caroming around the table, and the distinctive click when the cue ball made contact with an object ball piqued his interest. It got him to wondering if he still had any remnant of the smooth stroke he once possessed on the table. What the hell he thought as he pulled a five spot from his money clip and asked Twitty for some quarters. “Are you going to give them a lesson on the table, Jack?” “Lesson? I haven’t shot pool in years.” “I seem to remember you being a pretty good player maybe ten years ago.” “Ten years ago try twenty years ago.” He took the quarters from Twitty and swung back around to face the table. He walked up to the players and asked who was up next. A rookie patrolman he recognized but could not put a name to said, “You are Detective.” So he neatly stacked four quarters on the side rail above the coin slot and stood back. Sergeant Beaver was bent over the table lining up a shot on the eight ball. She cocked her head to the side and looked up at Conley. “You don’t want any of this I’m hot tonight, Jack Conley. You’d just be throwing your quarters away.” Conley smiled at her “You’re probably right, Laurel.” He slid the quarters into their slots and pushed them into the coin box. “I’ll rack.” Conley walked over to the wall rack looking for a relatively straight cue stick with a decent tip. While most of the cues were straight, none had a decent tip. With years of play and no maintenance, the tips were as flat as a witch’s tit. On the up side, no one had a good cue so he wasn’t at a disadvantage. Laurel broke the rack, but nothing fell. Conley looked over the table and decided the solid balls were his best option. He thought that if he could sink the five ball in the corner pocket and draw the cue back about eighteen inches he could make the four in the side pocket and from there it looked like an easy out. He got down on the five ball, stroked the cue a few times and took the shot. The worn tip would not take the English and the tip of the cue slid under the cue ball sending it into the air and off the table. Good start, he thought. Well that’s it for draw and English. If I get another shot I have to stick with center ball hits, and maybe just a little follow on the ball if I need to make it roll out. Beaver laughed as she watched the cue ball sail past her, bounce several times on the tile floor and come to rest under a couple sitting at a table on the other end of the bar. “Nice shot, Conley, but were playing on this table, not under that one.” She pointed across the room, grinning.” “Yeah, yeah,” he said as he walked across the room to retrieve the ball and return it to the table. Beaver set the cue ball behind an imaginary line running through the foot spot and extending left and right to the side rails. For as much as the balls were separated after the break, there wasn’t much for Beaver to shoot at. She tried to run the ten ball into the corner, but she hit it way too hard and the ball jawed the pocket but would not fall. Realizing the limitations on the cues made all the difference in the world. Conley looked over the table again and could clearly see a pattern using the solid balls he worked backwards from the eight ball to find the easiest run. Once he had the pattern down the game was over. He ran the solids off the table then called an easy corner pocket shot on the eight, and thanked Beaver for the game. Beaver put four more quarters on the rail of the table and said, “You got a lucky break when that ten ball hung up in the corner pocket.” “Yeah, I sure did. Lucky break for me. You’re rack Sweetheart.” It was like riding a bicycle. You really don’t forget. The more he played, the more in stroke he got and the better he seemed to get, or as Sergeant Beaver put it. “The luckier he got with each game.” Either way, other than the first four quarters he donated pool for the rest of the night and several beers were on everyone else. Finally he just got tired of playing, and after sinking the eightball for the umpteenth time, pointed to Laurel who was waiting her turn at the table and said “Laurel, why don’t you take my game, I really have to go.” “Sure Jack thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Back at the bar, Bill Twitty who was washing glasses remarked about how well he had played, and asked if he would be interested in playing on his APA team on Wednesday nights. “No, I don’t think so, Bill. This was fun tonight, but I’ll be getting married soon and I have the feeling my new bride wouldn’t be real crazy about my hanging out in a bar shooting pool until midnight. And then I’d still have an hour’s drive to get home after that. I wouldn’t get home until after one in the morning and you want me to do that every week. Just not going to happen Bill. Maybe if you just needed a fill in once in a while I could do that, but every week? No way. I gotta get home. What are the damages tonight?” “Let’s see, you had a beer and a shot, and that round of drinks you got the guys from the fire house. Call it thirty bucks even.” Conley tossed two twenties onto the bar and started out. “I have your number, Jack. I’ll call you if I ever need a fill in for one of my guys ok, I’ll put you in as our alternate player.” “Yeah, that would be ok. Just don’t make a habit of it, ok.” “Sure Jack, thanks.” It was a good hour’s drive back to the house and it gave Jack plenty of time to relive his exploits on the pool table which he did over and over. He still had a game. Even with a bad cue tip he kicked ass all night. As he pulled up the drive to the house, the thought of Bill thinking he was good enough to use as an alternate on his pool team. It made him feel good and he now half hoped Bill would actually call and ask him to play. And the more he thought about it the more he wanted to play. He’d been smitten by the pool gods, and was now hooked. His next thought was wouldn’t Ann just love a beautiful billiard table in the library. Ann was in the den sorting through the day’s mail. She looked up when she heard him walk in. “You’re running a little late tonight. How was your day, Honey?” “Oh, you know the usual cops and robbers stuff. I did stop off at Twitty’s for a beer on the way home and played a few games of pool with some of the guys.” “How did you play?” “Pretty good actually considering none of Twitty’s cue sticks has a decent tip so you can’t use any English on the ball.” “English on the ball sounds like you know your way around a pool table. What do you credit that with, you’re misspent youth?” “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, Twitty thought I was good enough to play on his Wednesday night pool league.” “Sounds like fun. What did you tell him?” “I told him I wasn’t interested in playing every week, but if he ever needed someone to fill in for one of his guys I wouldn’t mind that. So he said he would sign me up as an alternate player for his team, and call me if he needs someone.” “I didn’t know you were into playing pool, Jack.” “I didn’t either until I got back on the table. I guess it’s like riding a bicycle. Once you’ve got it, you don’t forget.” “How about you, Babe, ever play pool?” “Not much. A little in collage when we went to the bars on the weekends. The guys would give us lessons but I think they just wanted to see us bent over the table with our short skirts and halter tops. You know what I mean?” “Yeah, I think I do and I have to tell you that things haven’t changes much. There were two young girls at Twitty’s tonight playing pool with a couple of our rookie officers. They were giving the girls lessons too.” Ann cocked her head to the side, raised one eyebrow and smiled. “And I bet you enjoyed that as much as the two young officers didn’t you Jack Conley?” Conley smiled back and said. “I’m old Honey, not dead.” “Well, If Twitty calls, I think you should go and have some fun with the guys, and if you really like it we can put a table in the library for you to practice on. I’m sure there’s more than enough room in there for one.” “Do you really think so, honey…?” It took a few weeks, but the call from Twitty finally came. They had an away game and would be playing at Sharks Lounge in Egg Harbor. Conley asked Ann if she would like to go with him to watch the match and much to his surprise she said she’d love to. Twitty had told Conley the matches usually start by 7 PM and are over by 11PM so Jack and Ann got to the bar at a quarter to seven, ordered a couple of drinks and waited for Twitty who usually ran late according to one of his regular team players, Marshal Puckett, who was already at the table practicing for his match. Sharks Lounge was a small seedy looking joint with a bar running along one wall. It had a small elevated stage in the center of the room separating the pool table from a small dance floor. There was also a three inch chrome pipe extending from the stage floor to the ceiling to accommodate pole dancing and several bar stools set around the stage. Jack and Ann sat on two of the stage stools facing the pool table. Watching Puckett work his way around the table. He was a pretty good player, making most of the shots he tried for. When he finished pocketing the balls he asked Conley if he would like to play a game or two to warm up before the matches started. Puckett saw him reaching into his pocket looking for some quarters to feed the coin slot, and told him not to worry about paying for each game because the table was unlocked on league night and the dues each team member paid weekly covered the cost of the table for the night. Conley walked over to the wall rack and picked what he thought was the best of some really poor sticks. He found a broken piece of chalk on a ledge running the length of the wall, chalked the worn tip as best he could and broke the rack. He had a miscue, missing the rack completely and scratched into the corner pocket. He looked over at Ann who gave him one of those what the hell was that looks followed by her lip sinking the words. “You can do it baby.” And then she blew him a kiss. He shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and then smiled at her and went to the string line to break again. This time he made clean contact on the cue ball with the flattened tip and sent the balls exploding in every direction. Two solids and a stripe fell and he ran the rest of the solids off the table and sunk an easy eight ball for a win. He walked over to Ann, picked up his beer, took a long swig and said, “See baby, just like riding a bike.” She looked up at him, smiled, and gave him a playful pat on the ass. “I knew you could do it, now go kick some butt for momma.” “You got it sweetie!” Twitty finally showed up at seven thirty with the score sheets and handy cap records for each player on his team. Players were rated by their skill level from 2 to 9. Conley not having played before and not having a ranking was assigned a skill level of 4 for his first week playing in the league. Each team has five players, and each player plays three matches for the night. Conley’s first match was against the other team’s captain, a stocky man in his late twenties or early thirties. He wore his baseball cap backwards, and during his practice game he moved around the table like the old pool hustler, Minnesota Fats. The two men lagged for the break with Conley winning the lag by leaving his ball closer to the rail than his opponent. After the break Conley had no shot and decided to play a safe. The Captain of the other team also tried to play a safe, but left Conley a tough long cut on the two ball. He made the ball, ran out the rest of the solids but had no shot on the eight ball. He called safe, hit the eight ball and froze the cue ball up against two of his opponent’s balls, not allowing him a good shot at any of his balls. He tried another safe on Conley but left him a long bank shot into the corner pocket. He stroked his cue a few times and then sent the cue ball hard into the eight ball sending it into the head rail and back into the left hand corner pocket for the win. After the game Conley walked over to him and while extending his hand, said “Good Game” Rather than shaking his hand like a good sport, Mr. Backwards cap gave Conley a condescending look, tossed his cue across the top of the pool table, turned away from him and mumbled “yeah, right, good game.” As Conley turned to go back to where his team was sitting he also heard the man tell a woman sitting at the other teams table that Conley “Was just a lucky old fuck.” Conley took a drink from his beer and asked Twitty what this guy’s problem was. “I’ll tell you Jack. You just beat the guy who won the APA world nineball tournament in Las Vegas last month. I guess he doesn’t take losing very well.” With that devilish Irish grin Conley said, “And especially to a lucky old fuck I guess.” Conley won his other two matches and Twitty’s other players won their matches as well, knocking Mr. Las Vegas team out of a tie for first place and into third place in the overall league standings. The high light of the evening were the two pole dancers. The first was a one armed pregnant pole dancer with obvious movement restrictions and the other was an unattractive overweight woman in her late forties who told Ann she would have to move from her seat because the seat she was sitting in was reserved for her paying customers. Ann looked up at the dancer, smiled and told her to go fuck herself then went back to watching the pool matches and never gave the woman a second thought. On the way home Ann kept remarking on how good Jack was on the table. Then closed the conversation with, “We definitely need to get you a pool table for the library. Jack smiled to himself and then looked down at the woman gently resting her head on his shoulder, and said, “We’ll see, Baby, we’ll see.” Chapter-32 “Hey Collin, the boss wants you in the office.” He had heard that one before and knew it wasn’t a good thing on a Friday afternoon. He looked up from the cutting table and saw Mr. Smith waving through the glass window of his office in the loft of the packinghouse. As he made his way up the stairs Collin thought of the other jobs he’d lost in the past several months since the lay off at the assembly plant. He knew the coming speech well: “Sorry kid, I got to let you go. Business is down and we’ve got too many guys for the work we have. You know the drill, last in first out. Here’s your final check. Good luck I know you’ll find something. You’re a smart kid, and you’ll do well. Bla, bla, bla, bla, bla.” Working at the packing plant wasn’t Collin’s idea of a dream job but it paid most of the bills and kept food on the table for him, Katy, and Collin Jr. How would he tell Katy there were more food stamps in their future? Collin walked to his car at the back of the plant, got in, opened the pay envelope and stared at the check. He realized at that moment he didn’t have the heart to tell Katy he was out of work again. Maybe a beer or two at the Shamrock would bolster his courage. It was two in the afternoon when Collin got to The Shamrock. The large number of people there surprised him. Were there really that many guys out of work? He eased his way to the back of the bar and saw Tommy O’Farrell shooting pool with a biker type who looked more than a little pissed at the way the game was going. Just off to their right, sitting on a stool at the bar was Jimmy Boyle, the third member of the 5th Ave Boys as they were lovingly known on the block in Hell’s Kitchen where they grew up. Collin hadn’t seen these two knuckleheads in years, but it was too late now to leave. Tommy looked up from the table as Collin dropped his ass on the stool next to Jimmy. “Hey Collin, what the hell you doing here at 2 o’clock on a Friday afternoon, slumming?” Collin just smiled, and ordered a beer. The three had spent most of their teens at the Pool Hall, and all had gotten pretty good with a stick, but Collin was always the best and not by a little, by a boatload. Watching Tommy clean house on the biker made Collin wonder if he still had it. He finished his beer, ordered another, walked to the table and put his quarters on the side rail and proclaimed. “I’m next, Asshole.” Tommy stopped in mid stroke, looked up from the table at the biker and said. “He must be talking to you, Asshole.” The biker lost it, pulled a blade from his boot and got within arm’s length as the butt end of Tommie’s cue slammed home across the big man’s mouth spraying blood and spit and teeth across the table like a 4th of July rocket display. The biker stood there dazed. Blood was pouring from the big man’s mouth. His eyes, glazed and unseeing stared obliquely across the room. Jimmy casually slid off his stool and ended the fight with a pint of Guinness to the side of the big man’s head. “You owe me a fucking beer Tommy” Collin racked, Tommie broke and Collin ran the table just like when they were kids at the pool hall. Nothing much had changed in their game over the years other than Tommy losing some of his touch and Collin still in dead stroke. He still had it. He moved like a ghost on the table. Effortless in his stroke, dead on in his feel for the table. “One more, Collin I promise I’ll kick your ass this time.” “No, that’s it Tommy I gotta get home. You play him Jimmy. See you guys around, try to stay out of trouble.” Collin had parked in the alley behind the bar, and had never given a thought to the huge biker dumped back there after the fight. As he entered the alley, he saw the biker to his left sitting on the ground, back against the building wall, his head cradled in his forearms resting on his knees. He heard Collin’s footsteps and looked up to see if another beating was on the way. His mouth, lower jaw and a huge section of his neck were turning black from the trauma. Blood still oozed from the sockets where his teeth had been earlier that night. Helping a biker was not on Collin’s short list of things to do that night, but as he walked past the big man, he heard a horrific moan he could not ignore. He knelt down in front of the biker just out of arms reach and asked if he was OK. The big man raised his head, stared at Collin for a moment, and then said. “Yeah man help me to my bike.” “You need to get to a hospital man.” “No just get me to my fucking bike dude.” The big guy got to his hands and knees, grabbed Collin by the belt and pulled himself up. With some effort they made it to his Harley. The biker sitting on that Hog made it look small. He cranked up the bike, gave it a few throttle twists, turned his head toward Collin and asked if he knew the assholes that jumped him. Collin said no, and then added. “You still need to get to the hospital man.” “Your right dude and I owe you one.” A few more pumps on the throttle, followed by that familiar Harley rumble and he was gone leaving Collin in the alley wondering what he was going to tell Katy when he got home. Chapter – 33 Collin pulled up in front of the apartment building; shut the engine down and still had no idea what he would tell Katy when next week’s pay check didn’t come. He turned the key in the deadbolt, turned the door knob, took a deep breath and stepped into the foyer. He pulled off his jacket, opened the hall closet and as he reached for a hanger the case caught his eye. It was a custom made Jack Justice pool cue case his brother Jack had given to him as a high school graduation present. His senior year was a tough one and he was pretty sure there was no cap and gown in his future. But with the fatherly advice and prodding of his older brother Jack, and the carrot he held in the form of that fine leather cue case and the Meucci cue inside, he made it through his final year and graduated with the rest of his class. Katy walked into the living room and saw Collin staring into the closet. “Honey, Are you ok?” Collin did not response to her inquiry, his eyes transfixed on the cue case and his mind in another time and place. She put her hand on his shoulder; he pulled back sharply, with a startled look on his face. “Crap, Katy, you scared the shit out of me” then he began to laugh. She looked up into those haunting blue eyes of his, smiled and said. “Dinner’s almost ready why don’t you wash up and I’ll get you a cold beer.” “Thanks, Babe,” he said cupping his hands around the nape of her neck and gently kissing her on the forehead before walking to the bathroom to clean up. In the instant it took to reach for the towel on the rack, Collin knew what he had to do and it certainly did not include telling his wife he lost another job. As he sat down to dinner he told her the first serious lie of their six year marriage. “How was work today, Baby?” How the hell could she know he had been laid off? Panic and adrenalin surged through his body as he searched for an answer to her question, then just as quickly he realized she was just being polite. “They need a man on the night shift and that asshole Smith put me on it. Starting on Monday I have to work the 6 to 3 shift.” “Why you, Collin? Can’t they find a single guy with no family who would like to work the night shift? “It’s the same old shit, Katy it’s called seniority and I’ve got the least.” “Well I don’t think it’s fair” she said. “Fair has nothing to do with it” he replied. The rest of the dinner hour was mostly quiet giving Collin time to plan his new career hustling pool. He thought that if he could play just a little better than he did this afternoon against Tommy he could make at least as much as he did working in the plant and Katy would be none the wiser. Monday night Collin kissed Katy and his son at the door and headed out to his nonexistent job. He was clearing $500.00 a week at the packing house so he figured he needed to win at least $100.00 a night to make it work. His first thought was to go to The Shamrock for some $5.00 eight ball. He figured if he spent the night winning three games then losing one he could make fifty bucks in a few hours then move on to another bar and do the same. As he pulled into the parking lot he realized that if Jimmy and Tommy were inside he’d be stuck with them for the night and anything he made on the table would be lost buying drinks. Without giving it a second thought, he swung out of the parking lot and headed for Garvey’s on 45th Street. When he arrived; he parked his car on a side street and left his cue in the trunk. Being a Monday night there wasn’t much of a crowd but there were two guys shooting pool in the back and a few others watching. He sat down on a stool at the end of the bar closest to the table and ordered a beer. He paid for the beer with a twenty dollar bill and asked for some quarters in change. He watched the two at the table for a while, tipping his beer glass in an “Atta boy” kind of way whenever the better of the two made a shot one might consider tough and each time the guy would cock his head and smile as if to say, “No Biggie”. The taller of the two wearing an old tank top and raggedy ass jeans played like he had never seen a table before and would jerk his stick up and spin in a circle every time he made a good shot. The other guy, the shorter of the two, the “player”, was well dressed in an expensive pair of slacks and a long sleeve dress shirt that said “Don Reid Ford” above the pocket so Collin figured he was probably a car salesman with an “I’m the best” attitude and a few bucks in his pocket. He had a pretty good stroke but not good enough to keep his cash if Collin could get him to play for it. Every couple of racks a new challenger put his quarters on the rail and waited his turn to be beaten by the better of the two original players at the table. It didn’t appear to Collin as though any of the other players knew the little well-dressed man who was winning all the games, so about thirty minutes into his first beer he slid off the bar stool, walked to the table and put his four quarters in a neat stack of four on the rail above the coin slot. The little guy stared at him as he laid the coins on the table. Collin returned his stare and said, “The table’s open isn’t it?” “Yea, he said. “The table’s open. I’ve been playing free all night might as well let you pay for a while. Marty here has been paying for the last hour and a half and won’t even play me for a beer. How about it, pal. You want to play me for beers? Collin looked at the little man, smiled at him and said, “The beers in here are $5.00 a pop.” “Is that too stiff for you, pal?” “No, I just don’t drink that much. But I’ll play you for the cost of the beers. How does five bucks a game sound?” The little man leaning against the table with his cue pressed between his legs said, “Ten a game sounds better to me.” The fish had been hooked. Time to reel him in. When Collin pulled up to his apartment building it was after 3AM. He thought the timing was just about right. He had told Katy the new shift ran six to three, he looked at his watch again it was 3:40 in the morning. “How good am I” he thought. Six to three plus travel time. Yep, 3:40 is just about perfect.” He put the car in park turned off the ignition and reached for the door handle then abruptly froze in his seat staring down at his hands. He reached into the side packet of his leather jacket and slowly pulled out a fistful of cash, $350.00 in all. Pretty good he thought for his first night back on the tables. He squared up the rumpled stack of bills, folded it neatly in half, and tapped the wad to his lips a few times; he then put it to his nose and breathed in deeply. I love the smell of money he thought, and this is just the beginning. One of Katy’s hair bands on the rearview mirror caught his eye; Collin pulled it off the mirror and wrapped the cash with it then tossed the wad into the glove box. No way could he bring it into the house where Katy might find it. He hung his coat in the hall closet and then quietly entered the bedroom. Katy was sleeping soundly as he undressed and slipped into the bathroom. He washed his face and hands as he did every night after work. As he dried his face, he stared into the mirror and smiled. I got this covered he thought to himself. He hung the towel back on the rack and smiled again at the thought of how easy the money had come tonight and wondered why he had not done this sooner. He gingerly slid into his side of the bed, trying his best not to wake his sleeping wife. He thought he had succeeded as he laid his head on the pillow. “How was your first day on the night shift, Honey” she asked. “It was ok, but I’m tired as hell. I guess I’m not used to the late hours yet.” “You’ll get used to it. It’ll take a few more days and you’ll be fine. You smell like beer, Collin. Did you stop somewhere on the way home?” Collin’s heart nearly stopped. The adrenaline flushed through his body like a bursting dam. “No, the guys on the loading dock had a six pack and offered me one when the shift ended” “That’s nice” she muttered as she drifted back off to sleep. Collin lay motionless on the bed, almost afraid to breathe. “I gotta watch that. That was a stupid mistake, no more beer.” The next few months seemed to fly bye. Collin had hit most of the local bars, and was forced to go farther and farther to find new action. His first bad incident occurred when he drove into Yonkers looking for a game. He pulled up to Duffy’s Tavern stopping for a moment at the entrance, and then circled the block looking for an out of the way place to park. He found an open space on the south side of the building near the side exit door, parked and went in. He noted the location of the pool tables at the back of the bar, and their proximity to the fire exit. He didn’t expect any trouble but it was always better to have an exit strategy than not in a strange bar. “What’ll ya have pal?” asked the bartender. “Guinness” said Collin. “You got it.” The bartender grabbed a mug and filled it from a tap behind the bar. “Are the tables open?” Collin asked “Yeah it’s open if you got the balls to play with those two sharks; they have been winning all night.” “What’s the game?” “Eight ball. They’re playing for ten bucks a pop.” Collin tossed the bartender a ten to pay for the beer saying. “Give me some quarters in change ok?” “Your funeral pal” said the bartender as he took the ten and made change for him. Collin watched the two men on the back table, both were strong players, and after four or five games neither seemed to have an advantage over the other and no advantage over him as far as he could see. He walked up to the table setting a stack of four quarters on the rail above the coin slot. The bigger of the two men looked at Collin and said, “Were playing for ten bucks a game. You up for that?” “Sure, what the hell” said Collin sitting back on a stool at the bar. “I’ll donate for a while.” “Damn straight you will” said the bigger of the two men. “I’m on tonight!” We’ll see, thought Collin. In Collins first game, the big man broke, sunk the one ball in the side pocket then ran out the remaining low balls and pocketed an easy eight ball for the win. Collin tossed a ten spot on the table along with another four quarters on the rail next to the coin slot and returned to his bar stool. The big man who Collin eventually learned was named Big Ray snatched the ten from the table, looked over at Collin and with a grin said, ”Hurts don’t it?” Collin just smiled back saying nothing to irritate his meal ticket. His next go at the table went better, and he beat Eddy, the smaller man. The next two hours went pretty much the way he had planned; win three, and lose one. He figured he was up maybe a hundred and fifty bucks between what he had gotten from Big Ray, Eddy and the few odd players who came to the table feeling lucky but weren’t. All in all things looked pretty good and Collin thought it was about time to lose again, slip out of the bar, and head home. He was playing Eddy; Big Ray went to the bar for a beer. A tall lanky guy at the bar asked how it was going and Big Ray said, “I’m down a little Jimmy, but I think I can beat him.” “Not likely”, said Jimmy. “I saw him playing at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen a couple of weeks ago. He’s really good.” “So you think he’s hustling me?” asked Big Ray. “If he’s not, he sure missed his calling in life.” “Thanks for the tip, Jimmy,” he turned back toward the table. Without warning Big Ray hit Collin just above the left eye, splitting open his eyebrow and spewing blood in a torrent across his face. The second punch caught Collin behind the ear and sent him to his knees. “We don’t like shark’s coming into our bar hustling us for our money do we Eddy?” “No, we don’t Big Ray,” Eddie cracked the butt of his cue stick across the back of Collin’s head sending him face first into the floor. He tried to crawl under the table to get away from the continued kicking by the two men. Big Ray grabbed Collin by the ankle and dragged him out from under the pool table, hit him again then pulled the wad of cash from his pocket and stuffed it into his own. The bartender seeing what happened yelled over to Big Ray. “Get that piece of shit out of my bar. I don’t need any more trouble with the cops.” Big Ray nodded in agreement with the bartender and then grabbed Collin by the arm and dragged him over to the fire exit where Eddie was waiting by the open door. The two men jerked Collin to his feet and tossed him bodily through the doorway and out onto the sidewalk. “That’s how we take care of hustlers, Eddie.” He could hear Big Ray boast as the two returned to the bar. Collin, fearing the two would come back out and the beating would continue, crawled across the sidewalk and hid between two parked cars. He propped himself up against the front fender of one car and sat there on the pavement until he felt strong enough to make a run for own car. He slumped into the driver’s seat, closed his eyes and tipped his head back onto the head rest. He remained still for several minutes hoping the pounding in his head would stop. It didn’t. He opened his eyes, and looked into the rear view mirror. There was a deep gaping gash where his eyebrow had been a few minutes earlier. Shit he thought, I can’t go home like this. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, pressed it against the open wound and drove until he found a convenience store. Avoiding the cashier he went straight to the restroom, tossed the handkerchief, washed the blood from his face and packed a wad of toilet tissue into the gash. Before he’d gotten a few feet from the restroom, the blood had soaked through the tissue and was freely running down the front of his face where it lingered for a moment on his chin before hitting the floor. Collin walked down an aisle toward the cashier who, seeing his condition began pointing to a shelf on the next aisle where he found a package of bandages, some tape and a bottle of peroxide. The old man behind the counter took one look at Collin and the wad of oozing toilet paper. “You need to get to a hospital. That’s going to need some stitches, son.” “Maybe tomorrow, but right now this will have to do.” He put his purchase on the counter. The old clerk seemed entranced by the horrendous gash above Collins eye and then after a moment of shared silence between them. Collin said, “Yeah I know, it looks pretty bad, but there’s not much I can do about it tonight.” “Yeah, it’s pretty bad kid but I’ve seen worse. Collin cocked his head slightly and gave the old man that “Oh Really” look. I used to be a cut man for professional prize fighters. I’ve closed up many a boxer over the years. Would you like me to take a quick look at it? I think I can at least stop the bleeding for you.” Collin stared across the counter at the old man for a moment, and then said. “Sure, why not.” “I’ll need a few things,” the clerk said stepping around the counter. He went down one isle taking this, and another taking that, then returned to the register. “Come over here.” He pointed to a wash basin next to the microwave oven. “Put your head over the sink.” He dabbed cold water over the tissue paper to loosen and remove it from his brow where it had stuck like wallpaper to the dried blood. He then cleaned it out with the peroxide and packed it with Neosporin. “That was the easy part; this next step is going to hurt like hell.” Collin looked up at the clerk. “Go for it old man!” “Yeah, you’re right about the old man part kid, I’m seventy two years old. I had to lie about my age just to get this job. “Now don’t move. I don’t want to get the glue in your eye.” He squeezed the tube of crazy glue around the edge of the gash and pinched it shut. Collin yelled an audible “Fuck Me!” as the old man continued pressing firmly on his aching brow. “There, that should do it,” he said finally releasing the pressure on Collins eyebrow. “It’s going to burn for a while but the bleeding has stopped. You won’t be as pretty as you were yesterday, but it doesn’t look too bad.” Collin thanked the old man and reached into his pocket for some cash to pay for the things the old man had used. His hand came out the way it went in, empty. I’m sorry mister, they took my money too. “Don’t worry kid, come back and pay when you can.” Collin thanked the clerk again for his kindness and promised to come back. Now he had a new problem. “How do I explain this to Katy?” Chapter-34 As he approached the apartment, Collin pulled up to the curb; cut the head lights and sat there in the dark trying to gather his thoughts. He looked again into the rear view mirror. “Crap that looks bad.” His eye was black and swollen with an exceptionally large knot over the eyebrow where the clerk had applied the crazy glue. “I was getting gas at the seven eleven as two guys jumped me. Yeah that’s what happened.” He fumbled with his keys at the front door and finally, with the use of his disposable lighter, found the key slot and opened the door. There she was in all her glory wearing that old pink robe she cherished. “Oh My God, what happened Collin?” “I stopped on the way home to get gas at a convenience store and two guys jumped me” “Come into the kitchen and let me look at it.” Collin slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and dropped his head as if studying the flaws in the aging linoleum floor not really wanting Katy to fiddle with his aching head. She gently placed her hand under his chin and raised his head tipping it back so she could see the damage his attackers had done. “That looks terrible; did you call the police to make a report?” “No, I hit them both a few times and I guess they had a change of heart because they both took off without getting anything.” “What’s that gob of crap in your eyebrow Collin?” “Crazy glue” he said. “Are you insane” Why would you put Crazy Glue in an open cut?” “I didn’t. The clerk at the convenience store did. I couldn’t stop the bleeding. The old man said he had been the cut man for several boxers and knew how to stop the bleeding. He put some antiseptic in it and then he glued it shut. The bleeding stopped immediately. How’s it look, Babe? “It’s hard to tell with all the swelling, but surprisingly enough it doesn’t look too bad. There is just a small pinch in your eyebrow. It probably won’t be too noticeable when the swelling goes down, but you should really go to the hospital and have a doctor look at it. “There’s nothing a doctor can do for it now without slitting it open again, scraping off the Crazy Glue and sewing it back up. I think I’ll wait for the swelling to go down, and see how it looks. If it’s too gnarly or looks like it’s getting infected I’ll go, I promise.” Collin spent most of the next day with an ice pack over his eye and eating Excedrin’s like they were Tic Tac’s. By late afternoon the swelling had begun to recede, but his eye socket was black and the white of his eye was a hideous blood red. Katy came in with a bowl of warm water and a face cloth, and gently cleaned around the cut. When she finished, she tossed the wash cloth into the bowl, picked it up off the nightstand and headed for the kitchen. At the bedroom door she turned and said. “I’ll call Mr. Smith at the plant and tell him you won’t be in tonight” The adrenaline shot through Collin’s body like a cocaine rush. “No, Katy, you can’t do that.” “You can’t go to work like that, Honey; you need at least a few days to recuperate. I’ll just call Mr. Smith I’m sure he’ll understand.” “No” “What’s wrong with you? You can’t go to work like that. Why won’t you let me call him?” “You just can’t Katy.” He felt like his life was flashing before him. “Why?” She said again. “Because they’re laying people off every day at the plant and I’m not one of Smith’s old buddies. If I give him any excuse at all, he’ll cut me loose, and we can’t afford that now, can we?” “I guess not, but it’s not right. If you have to go in, at least let me put a clean bandage on it and please be careful” “I will,” he said with a sheepish smile that was brought on more by the fact he had just dodged a bullet rather than Katy’s concern over his injury. Collin spent that night at Starbucks, nursing a café latte, playing internet games on his mobile device and planning his next move. It was a good thing he was able to build up a small bankroll as it took nearly two weeks for the swelling to subside, and most of the bruising to fade. But now the money was running low, and he had to make some cash. No more bars, he thought. Too dangerous for the return on his money. Pool Halls he thought to himself. “I’m good enough now to play better players for the cash, I’ll start slow maybe some $50 nine ball and work my way up from there.” When he got home that night he checked the stash of cash he kept in an old tool box and quickly counted it up. “$850 bucks” he said to himself. “I thought I had more. By the time I deposit my phony job money in our bank account there’s only $300 left to play with. I better forget the $50 a games for now, and get some $10 or $20 action to get this bank roll back up. Then I can play with the big boys for the cash.” Collin arrived at Steinway’s in Astoria, Queens N.Y. just before eight PM. He parked the car, popped the trunk and took out the Justice case, slid his fingers along the exquisite leather finish and smiled. “You’re gonna make me some cash tonight baby aren’t you?” Collin spoke to the Meucci cue as though it were a living breathing thing. “Let’s got to work Baby. Daddy’s got to pay the rent.” It had begun to rain and Collin made a dash to get under the green canopy at Steinways front entrance. He pulled the glass door open and walked in. It had been a long time since he played at Steinway’s and figured no one would remember him. He was wrong. As he approached the counter, Manny the manager looked up from a newspaper spread open over the counter and said, “I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch, Collin Conley, how the hell are you kid? Looking for some action?” “Yeah, but nothing too heavy, maybe some $10 or $20 nine ball” he said. “I’d stay away from the guy on table 6. That’s Earl the Pearl. He’ll take everything in your pocket with a smile. He’s the best nine ball player in the country.” “Yeah, I know who he is. Anyone else you can recommend?” “Why don’t’ you just take table nine over there.” He handed Collin a tray of balls. “Shoot a few racks. One of these guys will ask for a game, I can promise you that. Everyone in here thinks he’s an Earl the Pearl. Collin tossed the balls onto the table in no particular order and began pocketing them like they were laser guided. Even the very tough cuts were dropping way too easily. He realized he needed to back off if he was going to get a game with a chance to turn some cash. After several more carefully orchestrated racks, he was approached by a tall thin man with a bad complexion. “Looking for a game?” the man asked. Collin had been eying the talent in the room while he was moving the rock around the table, and had noticed this one guy with his buddy playing nine ball a few tables over. He was pretty good, much better than his buddy, but no Hustler. Like Manny had said, “Everybody thinks he Earl the Pearl, at Steinway’s. Collin would make that work in his favor. “Yeah, maybe, what do you want to play for?” said Collin. “How about a little $5 nine ball.” “How about some $10 nine ball?” asked Collin? The tall skinny guy walked over to his buddy, as if needing his permission to play and hunched over him like a vulture on a road kill. After a minute of two he turned back to Collin and said OK, but for $20 a pop. “And I need a spot.” Collin smiled at him and began to unscrew his two piece cue. “What are you doing, I thought we had a game?” “So did I,” said Collin, but it looks like your just trying to hustle me. I saw you playing over there before, your good; I’m not giving you shit.” “Just spot me the break and I’ll play you a ten game freeze out for $200. Collin opened his case and gently slid his cue in it. Before he could snap it closed skinny boy said, “Ok, Ok, even up race to ten for $200.” Collin had set the hook, now he just needed to reel the fish in. Collin didn’t want to just blow this guy out so he played him like a fine fiddle with the hope of possibly getting another game with him in the future. He figured the less he beat him by, the less he would have to spot him the next time around. So he played the old bar room game. Win two lose one. It worked just fine and ninety minutes later he left with skinny boy’s two hundred dollars. Chapter-35 Jack Conley had more than twenty years on his younger brother Collin, and was more of a father figure than a brother. The Conley’s were a large Irish American family from Hell’s Kitchen Manhattan NY. The head of the family was an iron willed Catholic mother named Mary Elizabeth Conley. Her husband Jack Senior a foreman for Consolidated Edison Inc. (Con Ed Electric Co.) was killed on the job just months after the last child was born leaving her to raise the Conley brood on her own. There were fifteen Conley children in all. Jack being the oldest, and Collin the youngest. The fact of the matter is that Jack was actually Collin’s uncle. Jacks sister Marie was married to Joseph Redmond, was an Army Ranger killed in action in the Battle of Mogadishu, Somalia. Collin was five when Joseph left for his tour in Somalia. He returned home in a body bag on Oct 4, 1993. Marie died eighteen months later from a drug overdose. Mary took Collin and raised him as her own and nothing else was ever mentioned. Collin often thought of the huge age difference between himself and his older brother, but it wasn’t until his thirteenth birthday when he finally heard the truth about his mother’s death. Collin was hurt and although he was deeply loved by the entire Conley clan, he still felt like an unwanted orphan. He began skipping school and hanging out with a bad crowd staying out late and sometimes staying out all night. When Mary had come to the end of her rope, she called her eldest Jack for help to get the kids head straight as she put it so he could make something decent of his life and not end up like the low life hooligans he had been running around with. Jack caught up with Collin at O’Grady’s the local neighborhood pool hall and numbers headquarters for Hell’s Kitchen. He was in the back of the room with Jimmie Boyle and Tommy O’Farrell, just the two that Mary was trying to keep him away from. “Hello Boys” Jack said with a voice that commanded silence. “No school today? What Holiday are we celebrating? It must be National Fuck Education Day” Jimmy Boyle sitting in a plastic chair against the back wall squirmed in his seat and half giggled at the remark. “So you think that’s pretty funny do ya, Jimmy boy?” Conley gave a look that quickly whipped the smirk from the face of the young Mr. Boyle. “Get the hell out of here before I kick the crap out of you. That goes for you too Tommy O’Farrell. If I ever see either of you in here again on a school day I won’t report you as truant but I will take you to the plant where both your fathers work and turn you over to them for a beating you won’t soon forget. As Tommy and Jimmy beat it out the back door of the pool room, Jack turned his attention to Collin. “What the hell are you doing with these two knuckleheads?” Don’t you even have the sense you were born with? Those two are going nowhere. You’re better than that, Collin. You’re smarter than both of them combined. All you have to do is apply yourself in school and the sky’s the limit. I don’t want you hanging out in here anymore do you understand?” There was silence as Collin stared at the floor. “Do you understand me?” “Yeah, I understand Jack, I understand you’re not my father, and you can’t tell me what to do.” “Your right about that, Collin. I’m not your father. He was a hero who died for his country”. “Hero? That’s bullshit. He died over there for no good reason and left me and my mom with nothing. He was an asshole.” Jack smacked Collin in the mouth sending him reeling into the row of plastic chairs along the wall. “Sit there, and don’t you say another damn word. Let me tell you what kind of man your father was and how he died you ungrateful little shit.” “You know your father was stationed in Somalia. Well, while he was there military intelligence planned to seize two high echelon Lieutenants of the president of Somalia, Mohamed Farrah Aidid while they were in a meeting in the city of Mogadishu. The mission should have taken no more than an hour or so, but two of the Blackhawk helicopters were shot down by the Somali Militia. Your father was part of an Army force consisting mainly of US Army Ranges from Bravo Company. They were sent in to secure and recover the crews of both helicopters. They came under heavy fire by a Somali militia unit and a large group of armed civilians in a heavily populated part of the city. The ensuing battle turned into an overnight standoff between 160 US military men and 4,000 - 6,000 Somali militia and armed civilians. When morning came on Mogadishu, an estimated 1500 to3000 Somali’s and 18 Americans had been killed. Your dad was one of those 18 who gave his life that day. He was shot several times while carrying a wounded member of his unit from the street to safety. You might remember a movie called Blackhawk Down. That was your father’s story. Collin looked up from the floor. His eyes were tearing over. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “I know, Collin, and when you’re a little older mom will give you the medal they awarded him and the flag from his coffin. Jack laid his big hand on the boys shoulder. Now let’s go home.” When they reached the house, Jack told Collin to be ready for him at 7:00 AM sharp, that he wanted to show him something. “What?” asked Collin with a puzzled look on his face. “Don’t worry about it now, Collin. It will all be clear to you tomorrow. Collin was already up and out sitting on the stoop of his mother’s brownstone when Jack pulled up to the curb, lowered the passenger window, leaned over and shouted, “Come on kid we don’t have all day, I want to beat the traffic.” Collin got into the passenger side and shut the door with a pronounced slam. Jack gave him that look, the one that says “You shouldn’t have done that.” “You know, I would have gone to school today. You didn’t have to drive me.” “Were not going to your school today.” I asked mom to call in sick for you. But I expect you to be in school tomorrow and every other day until you finish high school with a diploma.” “If I’m not going to school, where are we going?” asked Collin. “You’ll know soon enough. Do you want some coffee, there’s some in the thermos there” “No, I don’t much care for coffee” “Pour me one would ya kid? I need the caffeine to get the heart going in the morning.” Collin unscrewed the lid and used it for a cup, handed the smoking brew back to his brother who gingerly sipped at it trying not to burn his lips. They left the city and took the tunnel into New Jersey. Again Collin asked “Where are we going?” “In time, in time,” Jack replied, but said no more. Jack pulled up to the main entrance of the Atlantic City Detention Center and parked in the area reserved for law enforcement vehicles. “Shit, Jack, you’re not going to pull that scared straight crap on me, are you?” “Not really. But I do want you to see how the really cool guys spend their days and let you get a feel for what it’s going to be like if you keep on the path you’re going down now.” At the reception desk a guard checked their ID’s. Jack unloaded his weapons, a Glock in his shoulder holster and a 38 caliber revolver from an ankle holster and laid them in a tray which the guard set on a shelf behind the counter. They were escorted into a waiting room with a large barred window overlooking the entrance gate. As they sat waiting for the next corrections officer to issue more instructions, a white bus with barred windows, and the word SHERIFF stenciled in large letters above the windshield pulled into the lot with the next batch of future residents who were being transferred from the Atlantic County jail. Twenty six boys of various ages, color, and ethnic background filed off the bus and stood in a disorganized group in the parking lot. Possibly the largest man Jack Conley had ever seen came out of the building, and through the double gate where he stood towering over the motley group of boys. He addressed the new arrivals in a bellowing voice Conley could clearly hear through the barred window of the waiting room. “Get you sorry asses lined up in a row and don’t say another damn word unless spoken to.” One particularly disrespectful bad-ass-want-to-be took a cigarette he had behind his ear, put it in his mouth and with a smirk said to the immense guard. “Got a light Sarg?” The guard walked over to him and smiled. “Sure thing kid” he said and then put the palm of his big right hand under the boys chin and squeezed both cheeks until the cigarette dangled from his lower lip where it now seemed to be glued in place. He picked it off the boys lip and pushed the entire cigarette into the wise guys mouth which was still agape from the force of the big man’s hand on his jaw. “This is a smoke free facility,” he said. “So that can’t be a cigarette. It must be a cookie, and since there isn’t enough to share with your fellow inmates, I suggest you eat it quickly before someone else tries to take it from you. And I don’t want to see one fucking crumb from that cookie littering this parking lot. You got that tough guy?” Still up on his toes and in the grasp of the corrections guard he nodded his agreement and then quietly eased back into the line of new inmates. With the toughest of the new bunch now quietly eating his cigarette, there were no further comments from the rest as they marched silently, single file into the detention facility. “I get it Jack. Can we go home now?” “Not yet, Collin. I have something else I want you to see,” Jack said. Another guard escorted them to an area where the new arrivals were stripped and forced to stand naked while each was searched for contraband. They were then run through the showers, given uniforms, sheets and a blanket and made to stand at the end of the cell block waiting to be taken to their assigned cells. Jack and Collin stood by a guard post on the outside of the cell block listening to the prisoners describing what they were going to do to the new arrivals as each walked by a cell. Jack looked down at Collin and said, “That’s what you have to look forward to if you don’t get your act together, straighten up, and finish school. Every one of those boys will either get it up the ass every day by the general population or take a daily ass whipping trying to avoid the inevitable. If they are not killed first, they’ll offer themselves to the biggest meanest mother fucker they can find, and become his bitch. You know what that means right?” “Yeah, I know Jack. Can we go home now?” “Sure kid, I think we’ve seen enough for one day.” “Thanks for caring, Uncle Jack. I’ll try, I promise” “What’s up with calling me Uncle Jack? You never did that before. “You are my Uncle aren’t you?” Jack hesitated for a moment then said, “Yes I am, Collin. Your mother was my sister and when she died, your grandmother adopted you as her son. So legally speaking, I’m also your brother. Which do you prefer? “I think I like Uncle Jack better. You’re too old to be my brother” I’m not that old.” “Yes you are.” “Ok then, Uncle Jack it is” They smiled at each other then drove home mostly in silence. When they arrived at the house, Collin got out and started up the stoop. “Hold up a minute, Collin. I want to show you something.” Jack threw the car in park, cut the engine and walked back to the trunk popping it open. “No, uncle jack I’m not getting into the trunk, Fuck that.” “Really! After all we did today, you still think I would throw you in the trunk, and then what?” Jack reached down into the trunk and came up with something wrapped in a bath towel. He looked at Collin with a grin as he sheepishly approached the rear of the car. “You’re a damn good pool player, maybe one of the best in the city from what I hear. I’ve had this a long time,” he said handing the towel to Collin. If you graduate this year, it’s yours. Collin slowly opened the towel, when he saw the case he said. “It’s your Meucci cue” “Yeah, I’ve had it a long time. It’s the one they call the Airplane Cue, and that’s a handmade Jack Justice case. “I can’t take your cue, Uncle Jack” “You’re not going to take it Collin; you’re going to earn it. There’s a difference.” Jack took the case from Collin, rewrapped it in the towel and gently laid it back in the trunk. “It’ll be waiting for you. Earn it.” Chapter-36 Collin hadn’t been to the Amsterdam in a few years, but knew there was action there if you had the cash, and the balls to take on a higher caliber of player. He came into the Amsterdam with $1000 in his pocket, and planned on leaving with a lot more. The room wasn’t over busy maybe five or six tables being used. As Collin approached the counter, an older gentleman looked up from his paperback book, smiled, gave Collin the once over, noticed the expensive case and asked him if he was Looking for some action. “Yeah, maybe” he said. “What’s your game?” Nine ball, one pocket, straight pool?” “Nine ball,” said Collin taking a tray of balls from the counter man. “Take table ten over in the corner. I’ll see if anyone wants a game. What did you have in mind?” “I don’t know? Twenty or thirty bucks a pop.” Collin tossed the balls from the tray onto the table, took the Meucci form its case and began pocketing balls. It didn’t take long for the first hustler want-to-be to move in on the table like a Tiger shark looking for easy prey. “So, Scotty up front says you want a game. Give me the eight and I’ll play you for twenty a rack, Ok” “No, I don’t think so,” said Collin. “Twenty’s Ok, but no spot.” “Ok, then give me the break.” “I’ll give you shit. Do you want to shoot some pool or yank my chain all night?” “All right, twenty a game. How about a ten game freeze out? That’s two hundred to the winner.” Collin could feel the fish taking the bait so he set the hook. “Ten games, shit, that will take forever. Make it three hundred and were on.” A tall skinny man in a cheap polyester leisure suit straight out of the Disco era approached the table, and sat on a wooden viewing chair that was placed against the wall closest to table ten. The fish turned away from Collin and now faced the man in the chair who had heard their conversation and gave his nod of approval to play for the three hundred dollars. He turned back to Collin and said. “You’re on, let’s do it.” Collin knew the pecking order in a typical pool room. A guy didn’t start with the house pro; he started with the bottom feeders and worked his way up, so he didn’t see any point in delaying the inevitable outcome for this guy, and his backer, Mr. Polyester sitting against the wall. Collin decided after the first break to shut this guy out as soon as possible and use the three hundred he’d win on the next player in the houses hierarchy of players at least one of which was sure to make a game with him before the night was over. “You’re one lucky son-of-a-bitch,” said Mr. Polyester as he counted out the three hundred dollars. “Must be the Irish in me” Collin said with a smile as he folded the cash and slid it into his jeans pocket. He then gently unscrewed the two piece cue and reverently returned it to its leather case. “See ya around boys. We gotta do this again sometime.” The backer looked up from his chair and said, “Not without a fucking spot he won’t.” Collin touched the end of the leather case to his forehead in a quasi-saluting fashion, smiled at the two again. “I’ll get the table guys.” And then he walked away in the direction of the front counter. “What are the damages?” he asked the clerk. “If you’re paying for their time as well, it’ll be twenty two fifty.” Collin tossed the clerk two twenty dollar bills and said. “Keep the change, and thanks for setting up the game.” “Profitable night?” asked the desk clerk. “Yeah, pretty good,” replied Collin. “That’s good; I never liked those two assholes anyway.” Collin took one last scan of the pool hall before leaving. He turned back to the clerk and inquired about the guys in the back corner who seemed to have some game. “I don’t think you want to fuck with those three. The younger guy is Little Pauley Falcone. His father is a Capo in the Moretti crime family. He’s a mean one with a bad temper. The other two are Bruno Vincente and Geno Argo, they’re both soldiers working for Big Pauley, they’re probably here to keep an eye on his hot headed son. “Say, what’s your name kid?” “I’m Collin Conley,” he said extending his hand across the counter. “I’m Scott Roberson. Call me Scottie,” the clerk said taking Collins hand and shaking it firmly. “Thanks for the heads up on those three guys over there. I just want to shoot a little pool; I don’t need any more drama in my life” “I hear that,” replied Scottie followed by, “You should stop back in on Friday night. There’s usually a pretty good crowd, and there’s always a few money payers looking for some action. “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind” said Collin and then turned and walked to the door. As he turned the key in the ignition he thought to himself that the old counter clerk was probably right about getting into a money game with Little Pauley Falcone. But on the other side of the coin if he could make one good hustle on the kid, he’d have enough to cover the house bills for a month, or two. Certainly long enough for the Mafia brat to cool off and recover his losses on a less skilled stick. Chapter-37 Collin woke up to the feel of something hitting him in the face. As he opened his eyes, Katy stood over him with a look that could kill. “I was doing the laundry, and when I checked your pants, I found a fist full of cash in both pockets. Where did you get all that money, and don’t lie to me because you know I’ll know if you’re lying.” Collin sat up in the bed, staring down at the pile of cash lying around him on the blanket. He should have stashed it away with the other winnings, but he was tired when he got home and forgot. He looked up at Katy, her expression was all business. He looked back down at the cash, knew the jig was up, and said. “I won it shooting pool” “How could you win that much money? When would you even have the time to play pool? You work all night and… Ah shit Collin you lost another job didn’t you. What was it this time?” “Mr. Smith said that their business was off, and they had to let some guys go.” “Why does it always have to be you who gets laid off? Why not one of the lazy bastards that hang around the loading dock all day and do nothing.” “They won’t let those guys go because they’re union men and they have seniority. Like Mr. Smith said, he would like to keep me but it’s always last in first out.” “What are we going to do for money now? How will we cover our bills?” “I wasn’t fired today, Katy, I was let go over two months ago, and I’ve made enough playing pool to cover the bills, haven’t I?” “Yes, Collin, but that’s not a job with a steady income. That’s gambling, and you could lose just as easily as win.” “I’m good, Katy, really good, maybe one of the best in New York City, and I play smart. I’m very careful about who I play so I don’t get hustled. Just give me a chance to prove it to you, If I can’t bring in enough to cover our bills and then some I’ll quit and look for another job, I promise.” “Oh, do you mean smart like the night you came home with your eyebrow glued shut?” She shot back. “That was different. Honey. That happened in a bar in Yonkers and I stopped looking for bar games after that.” “Ok, I’ll go along with this for now, but I don’t like it. And if you can’t cover the bills, you need to quit pool and get a regular job. And don’t tell your family what you’re doing. Promise me Collin.” I Promise, Babe and everything will be ok, you’ll see.” Collin had felt a great weight had been taken off his shoulders now that Katy knew the truth. He didn’t like lying, or keeping secretes from her, and now that it was all out in the open he could focus all his attention on his pool game. Chapter-38 The cell phone rang twice before Collin could get it from his jacket pocket. The screen read caller unknown, so he let it go to voice mail. Within a minute or so there was the familiar ring tone indicating he had a voice message. He went to voice mail, pulled up the message from the unknown sender and hit play. “Hi, this is Corey Nordmann from Soho Billiards. I was having a beer with Jimmy Boyle last night over at Shamrock’s bar and he said you play high stakes pool. Any way, if you’re interested in a money game call me at 754-6565.” Collin hit Return Call, let the phone ring twice, and then hit end. He thought. “I don’t know this guy. I need to talk to Jimmy before I call him. I don’t need any more shit right now. For all I know Jimmy was drunk, and mouthing off again, and the guy figures I carry cash, and he and his buddies could jump me for it. Yeah, I need to talk to Jimmy first.” Collin pulled into the Shamrock’s parking lot just after 3 PM, and as usual, Jimmy and Tommy were there knocking back Guinness drafts and were well on their way to getting wasted. Jimmy saw Collin approach the bar and in his best mock Irish tongue said, “Collin me Boyo, sit and have a pint with us you little Irish Prick.” “How’s it going Jimmy?” was his response to the request. Collin then looked over at Tommy O’Farrell and repeated the question. “How’s it going?” Tommy held his beer mug up, tipped it toward Collin, along with the usual head nod indicating all was good with the world, or at least not bad enough to be a concern. He then downed the rest of his mug and waved to the bartender for another. Collin turned back to Jimmy and asked, “Do you know a guy named Corey Nordmann from Soho Billiards?” “Yeah, sure, Collin. He was in here last night. We had a few beers and shot some pool. Why?” The bartender handed Collin his pint of Guinness. He took a drink, wiped the foam from his mouth and then said to Jimmy, “What did you tell him about me?” “Not much, I was kicking his ass on the table, and I told him that if he really wanted an ass kicking he should play my buddy Collin. He said he wasn’t a money player, but that he knew someone who was if you were interested? So I gave him your number. Did he call you?” “Yeah, I got a voice mail from him.” “Did you call him back?” “Not yet, but I will.” “Good” said Jimmy, “and when you clean his guy out, don’t forget who put you on to him.” Collin gave him that, who are you shitting look and then said. “Yeah right, Jimmy I’ll be sure to do that.” He finished his Guinness, got up from the bar stool and said, “I’ll see you two hooligans around.” “Yea, see you around, Boyo” Jimmy replied with that boyish grin of his. Tommy just nodded. The Guinness had already taken control of his body and mind and a nod was the best he could manage. On his way home he replayed the voicemail over in his mind and thought about how he would approach this money player. He finally hit recall. On the second ring Nordmann answered. “This is Corey, who’s calling?” “Yeah, Corey, this is Collin Conley, Let’s get together.” Chapter-39 It was late when Collin got back to the house. He looked in on Collin Jr. before quietly slipping into bed trying not to wake Katy. He lay there on his back staring at the ceiling, trying to picture how this money game would unfold. Katy rolled over, laid her arm across his chest and said. “It’s late, Where were you? I held dinner as long as I could. It’s in the refrigerator if you’re hungry.” “No, Babe, I grabbed something earlier. I think I may have a game that will put us in good shape for a while if it happens. I got this tip from the counter man at Soho Billiards about a guy who lives in the Dakota Apartments and likes to play for the “cash” as he put it. “Collin, just how much cash do you need to get in this game?” “I don’t know yet I’ll find out tomorrow.” Katy picked her head up off the pillow and stared at Collin through the darkness. He could feel her stare, and finally said. “What?” “Collin, the rent is due this week, and we need groceries, so don’t even think about asking me to give you that money to play pool.” Shit. There goes that plan. “I only need a few hundred to get started with this guy.” “No.” “Ok, Ok, don’t worry about it, I’ll just find a backer.” “Who? Those two idiot delinquent friends of yours Jimmy and Tommy?” “No, maybe, I don’t know?” After a mostly sleepless night, Collin came to the realization that even if he had the talent to beat this guy at the Dakota, he didn’t have the cash to play. He thought he’d better get over to the pool hall, meet with this Nordmann guy, and find out exactly what he would need to make the game. Collin got to Soho Billiards a little after 4:00 PM, walked to the counter, and asked for Corey. “You’re looking at him. What can I do for you?” “I’m Collin Conley. I’m here about the game at the Dakota.” Nordmann leaned forward on the counter, resting his forearms on the glass top separating the two men. “His name is Thurston Grey. He fancies himself an expert pool player. He only shoots straight pool and likes to play for a $1000.00 a game. Can you handle that kind of action kid?” Collin didn’t have enough money to cover the first game, but told Nordmann it was no problem, and to set it, and let him know when. “You got it. Oh, and my cut is $100.00 up front for setting it up.” Collin smiled and said, “I’ll give you fifty for setting up the game. If I win, you’ll get another $100.00. Fair enough?” “Yeah sure, fair enough” Collin figured he needed $2000.00 cash for the game. He had about $200.00 and no good prospects for the other $1800.00. So it was off to the Shamrock and his two idiot delinquent buddies as his loving wife had described them to see if they could help. Jimmy and Tommy were at their usual bar stools and again half crocked when Collin pulled out a stool and sat next to them. He ordered a Guinness and told the bartender to bring two more for the two hooligans sitting next to him. “I got with Nordmann over at Soho Billiards about that guy he said is a money player. I could probably make a killing on this guy but I need at least $2000.00 to set it up and I’m a little light.” Jimmy, who had been watching a girl with a short skirt at the pool table in the back of the room, turned and asked. “How light are you?” “About $1800.00” Jimmy took a drink from his fresh Guinness and said. “No Problem Boyo” “You got that kind of money Jimmy?” “Hell no!” But I know someone who does.” He took another drink from the mug of Guinness, and then said, “let’s go.” “Yeah, let’s go then” echoed Tommy slapping his hand hard onto the bar as he stood up. The three left the bar, got into Tommy’s car, and drove out of the city. Collin sitting in the back seat leaned forward and asked. “Where are we going Jimmy? And who do you know with that kind of money that’s willing to give it to us for a pool match?” Jimmy pointed his finger through the windshield, and said, “There he is Tommy. He pointed to a Lincoln parked near an intersection. “Pull over here.” Collin stared through the windshield to see what they were looking at but could only see a few prostitutes on the far corner with what appeared to be their pimp. He slapped one of the girls and took a fold of cash from her cleavage and returned to his car. The three followed the tricked out Lincoln for several blocks and two more pickups until it finally pulled onto a side street and parked. Tommy blocked the car in, and both he and Jimmy pulled pistols and ran to the car. Jimmy grabbed the door handle but the car door was locked. He pointed his weapon at the driver who was reaching for a weapon of his own when Tommy fired through the passenger window hitting the pimp in the shoulder. Jimmy broke the driver’s window with his elbow and grabbed the pimp by the neck pulling him from the car. “Take what you want. Mother fucker” the pimp said pulling cash from his billfold and an additional wad of cash from his coat pocket. Jimmy grabbed the money, spun the pimp around, pushed him against the car and hit him hard in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. The pimp hit the ground hard and didn’t move. As Jimmy and Tommy were getting back into the car the pimp came too, and fired a shot from a small caliber revolver he kept strapped to his leg. He missed his mark and Jimmy fired three shots. Two ricocheted off the pavement, the third hit the pimp in the chest. He slumped back against the front wheel of the Lincoln, and died there. “What the hell was that Jimmy. You just killed that guy!” Jimmy twisted around in the front seat to face Collin and said, “He’s a fucking pimp, don’t worry about it. No one’s going to miss that son-of-a-bitch.” He then laid the wad of cash on the front seat, opened the billfold, removed the cash, added it to the stack on the seat and tossed the wallet out the window. “Fifteen hundred,” said Jimmy. You’re almost there. “Hey Tommy, pull into that Haji Mart. I need a beer.” Jimmy got out of the car, walked into the convenience store, took a six pack of beer from the cooler, and walked up to the counter. “Will there be anything else?” Jimmy pulled the pistol from his belt, smiled and said, “Yeah, empty the fucking register, and give me the surveillance tape. When the clerk had complied, Jimmy hit him in the side of the head with his gun, and left him lying unconscious on the floor behind the counter. “Ben Laden in there just donated another $400.00. It looks like you’re good to go for your game at the Dakota.” Chapter-40 Collin got the call from Nordmann at Soho’s. The game was set for ten PM Friday night. He figured to take Jimmy and Tommy with him as he didn’t know Nordmann or Thurston Grey and if this was a scam to get his cash, he’d felt a hell of a lot better off with his two oldest friends watching his back. The three took a cab to the Dakota Apartments. As they stepped out onto the sidewalk they were met by the doorman. “May I help you gentlemen?” Collin spoke up. “Were here to see Thurston Grey.” “Please wait by the gate, I’ll tell Mr. Grey you’re here.” The doorman opened the door to his guard station, stepped in and phoned Thurston Grey’s apartment. He listened intently to the voice at the other end of the phone and then replied. “Yes Mr. Grey, I understand completely.” Stepping back out of the guard post, the doorman approached the three men and asked which gentleman might be Mr. Conley. “I’m Conley.” “Mr. Grey is expecting you. He is in apartment 33. You may use the elevator just beyond the entry gate on your right.” “Thank you, Jason” Collin replied having taken note of the doorman’s name tag which was pinned to his lapel. As the three turned to head for the elevator, the doorman stepped in front of the entry gate blocking their way. “I’m sorry, Mr. Conley. I cannot allow your companions in. Mr. Grey was very specific, only you may go up to his apartment.” Jimmy was more than a little pissed and began to show his ugly side to the doorman. Collin laid his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and said it was ok, and for him and Tommy to go back to the Shamrock, have a few beers, and chill out while he was with Grey. “Really, Jimmy, its ok, look at this place. I don’t think I need to worry about being ripped off here. If things go well, I’ll call you, and you can come by for me later and we’ll celebrate.” Tommy flagged a cab and he and Jimmy left for the Shamrock bar. Collin took the elevator to the third floor. As he stepped out into the hall, he faced two enormously huge ornate mahogany doors. A brass plate to the left of the doors was inscribed with the number 33. Well, he thought, that wasn’t hard to find. He raised the gothic looking brass door knocker on the right hand door and gave it a few good raps against the striker plate and then took one step back. In a moment, the door opened with a pronounced creek. A tall gentleman in a black three piece suit and thin black silk tie stepped through the door holding it open behind him. Collin smiled and extended his hand. “Mr. Grey?” “No sir, I’m Stephen, Mr. Grey’s valet. You must be Mr. Conley.” “Yes, I am” “Please follow men sir, Mr. Grey is expecting you. May I take your jacket and cue case?” “No, Stephen, I’m good, thank you.” “Very well sir. This way please.” The valet pointed to another set of heavy mahogany doors. As they crossed the foyer there was a pronounced click each time his heel came down onto the dark green granite floor. His eyes fixated on the grout work. It wasn’t a cement grout. The grout lines were filled with what appeared to be a bright silver metal. Stephen caught him staring and said, “It’s quite rare to see sterling silver used for the grout lines. That floor is over a hundred years old and the grout lines are polished four times a year to keep them looking like that.” They passed through the second set of doors into an even more opulent living room. Collin looked around the room in amazement. He was pretty sure this room was bigger than his entire apartment. Stephen ushered Collin to the far end of the room where a rather distinguished looking man was sitting in a leather wing back chair facing a huge stone fireplace with a blazing fire that popped and crackled continuously. It made him think of Basil Rathbone in The Hound of the Baskervilles. “Mr. Conley, this is Mr. Grey. Will there be anything else, sir? Thurston Grey smiled, stood up and asked Collin if he would like a drink. “I wouldn’t say no to a cold beer.” “Then a cold beer it is. Stephen, I’d like another Scotch and Mr. Conley will have a cold beer. Will you please bring them to the billiard room?” “Yes sir, right away.” “Thank you, Stephen” Thurston Grey was a little over six feet tall, of average build and appeared to be in his mid to late forties. He had a shock of thick black hair that was neatly parted on the right side and beginning to gray out at the temples. Collin found himself staring at this tall distinguished looking man who he thought had more than a passing resemblance to the actor George Clooney and wondered what kind of man would put up a thousand dollars on one game of pool and give it no more thought than your average Joe Blow laying down a two dollar bet at the local OTB. Thurston put one hand on Collin’s arm, and with the other pointed to a third set of heavy wooden doors to their right. “Shall we” “Sure,” said Collin and they entered the billiard room. This room was even bigger and more opulent than the living room. It was nearly forty feet long and at least thirty feet wide. The walls were all exquisitely wood paneled and the ceiling was recessed with ornate plaster molding enclosing each of the sixteen squares that made up the massive ceiling. In one corner of the room was an L shaped bar with eight expensive looking leather high back stools each with uniquely hand carved backs and arm rests. To the left of the bar was a book shelf that ran floor to ceiling and was at least twenty five feet wide with several hundred books and had a beautiful antique ladder attached at the top and bottom by two sets of wheels locked into tracks that ran the length of the shelf. The other side of the room was dedicated to the game of billiards. A vintage Brunswick nine foot pool table sat two feet below the floor level in a twenty square foot pit with spectator chairs on the four corners looking down onto the playing surface of the table. Three large copper pendant lights hung from the ceiling to illuminate the playing surface. Collin tried to imagine what kind of money it would take to live in a place like this, but came up blank. One thing was for sure. Thurston Grey wasn’t your average millionaire. An average millionaire couldn’t afford this lifestyle. Collin finally decided Thurston Grey was a billionaire, probably many times over. “Your beer, sir” Collin turned his attention away from the pool table and turned back towards the bar where Stephen had set a bottle of beer and a cold pilsner glass. He then dropped three ice cubes into a Baccarat tumbler, then added two fingers of Macallan 1926 and set it on a cloth coaster to await its owner Mr. Thurston Grey. Collin laid his cue case on the bar, and sat down on one of the bar stools. He picked up the cold frosted bottle of beer leaving the pilsner glass sitting where it was and took a long drink. Staring at himself in the mirror behind the bar, he found it hard to believe he was here to play pool for a thousand a game with a billionaire who thought no more of a thousand dollars than Collin thought about ten. “Collin, there’s someone I’d like you to meet before we get started.” Collin looked around the room but saw no one. “Dave, have you got a minute?” Thurston said in a voice somewhat louder than he had been speaking. “Sure, Mr. Grey” was the reply from an equally loud voice coming from a large wing back chair that was facing the fireplace. The man in the chair got up and walked across the room where he stood next to Collin at the bar. “Collin, I’d like you to meet Detective Sergeant Dave McCranie. Dave moonlights as a bodyguard for me on occasion. I hope you don’t mind?” “No, I don’t mind, but why do you feel the need for a bodyguard?” Grey walked behind the bar, leaned down, and came up with several stacks of banded hundred dollar bills and laid them on the bar top. “That’s fifty thousand dollars Mr. Conley. I don’t mind losing it, but I’ll be damned if I’ll get ripped off in my own home. Detective McCranie makes sure things like that don’t happen.” Collin looked at the money, then at Detective McCranie, and finally his eyes settled on Thurston Grey and with a now agitated voice said, “Anything else I should know?” “Just one more thing” said McCranie. “I need to pat you down.” “You’ve got to be shitting me. I came here to shoot pool, not get felt up by an off duty cop.” “I hear you kid, but all the same, I frisk you for weapons, or there’s no pool match tonight.” Collin shook his head in disgust, but then hopped off the bar stool and stretched his arms out to shoulder height. “Like this, or would you rather like this” he said interlocking his fingers behind his head. Or maybe you’d like me spread eagle on the floor.” “Don’t fuck with me kid; it’s been a long day. Just hold your arms out to your sides and we can get this over with.” Collin did as the Detective asked and then with a sarcastic smile added. “Have at it, Detective.” “He’s clean.” “Great, now that we have that out of the way, are you ready to play some straight pool Collin?” “I prefer nineball or one pocket.” “I bet you do. I shoot 14.1 straight pool, one hundred points, one thousand dollars a game. Are you up for that?” “Sure, I didn’t come here just to drink your beer, and play grab ass with Detective McCranie.” Detective McCranie looked over at Grey and said. “I know how to play eightball and nineball. I’m not familiar with straight pool.” Grey swirled the ice in his scotch glass holding it at eye level. He smiled at McCranie. “Straight pool is to the game of billiards what this rare whiskey is to scotch. It’s the game of champions. It’s the purest form of the game. You can shoot any ball on the table but you must call the ball, and the pocket it goes into. One ball, one point. You continue to shoot until you miss. You shoot fourteen of the fifteen balls on the table, leave the fifteenth ball where it is, and rerack the other fourteen. If you have the skill, you can sink the loose ball, and break open the rack with the same shot and continue to run balls. The first one to one hundred points wins. No one remembers a game of eightball. But run a hundred balls, and it’s the stuff of legends.” Thurston Grey pulled ten crisp hundred dollar bills out of one of his stacks and handed it to Detective McCranie. If you have no objection Collin the Detective will hold the bet for each game. “I have no problem with that.” Collin peeled off a thousand from the wad of bills in his pocket. No he thought to himself, I don’t have a problem with that. The problem he thought is that Grey can lose all night and it’s no big deal. But if he lost the first two games, he’d be tapped out, and if he came home broke, it might just be the straw that broke the camel’s back with him and Katy. No, losing wasn’t an option tonight. Grey took a small silver key from a shot glass behind the bar, unlocked a cabinet on the wall and selected a two piece cue from among several stored in the display case. “I just love this Balabushka,” he said as he screwed the shaft to the butt end of the cue. Look at the splices, and inlay work on this cue. The man was an artist. I paid three grand for this stick and I wouldn’t take ten for it.” Collin took his own stick from its case, screwed it together and said. “Yeah, that’s great, lag for break?” He didn’t need to hustle Thurston Grey. The Billionaire was more than willing to part with his cash, so Collin figured to take it to him and make it an early night. What he didn’t figure on was the ability of grey to run balls. Collin lost the lag and had to make the opening break shot. Two balls and the cue ball had to hit the rail to avoid a foul. On the break, Collin hit the right corner ball sending it to the head rail. At the same time the left corner ball came straight out and hit the left long rail with the cue ball hitting two rails and nestling itself near the foot rail. The two corner balls after contacting the rails slowly returned to their original positions in the rack and looked as if they had never left. Grey walked slowly around the table studying the rack. “Nice break kid.” “Yeah, I didn’t leave you much did I?” “No, you didn’t, but you left enough” he said as he chalked his cue. “One ball in the side pocket” he declared hitting the left side of one ball which was sitting at the front of the rack and sending dead square into the center of the right side pocket. The impact also sent several balls out of the rack and left him an easy second shot. He ran that rack and the next five racks and Collin could only sit in the spectator chair overlooking the table and hope he would get another shot in the first game. He didn’t Grey had just run a hundred and out on him and now he wondered if maybe he was the one being hustled. Grey took the two thousand dollars from Detective McCranie, pulled a thousand from the stack and handed the balance back to him. “Go again kid?” “Yeah, let me just grab a smoke out on the terrace first.” “Sure kid, you want another beer?” “Yeah, and stop calling me kid ok!” Collin stood on the terrace searching for an answer to what had just happened and whether or not it might be better to cut his losses and leave with the thousand he still had in his pocket or go after the three packets of hundreds that Thurston Grey cared so little about. In the end, he figured he earned nothing last week. If he could turn it around he’d have a small fortune, and if he lost the other thousand, he was no worse off than he had been except for another disappointment for Katy. He finished his cigarette and the last of the beer, went back in and handed Detective McCranie his last thousand. “Rack em up.” The second game played out with a lot of cat and mouse moves, both men being a little overcautious playing several safes on each other and not wanting to give the rack away. Finally with the score sitting at eighty seven for Collin and forty five for Grey, Thurston went for another safe and set the cue ball inside the edge of the right hand corner pocket on the head rail. There was no apparent good shot at a safety and he was already on two scratches, a third scratch would evoke a fifteen point penalty and probably cost him the game. The four ball was sitting very closed to the left hand corner pocket on the same head rail but balls at the other end of the table would not allow for a carom shot off the foot rail into the four ball. “I think I got you on that one, son” “Yeah, Mr. Grey, you put me in a pretty tight spot.” “Tight? You’re not tight Conley, your screwed.” “Could be, but maybe not” said Collin. He jacked his cue up and said, “Four ball in the corner.” Then hit down vertically on the cue ball with a hard masse shot sending the cue ball about half way up the center of the table. When the English took hold, the cue ball arced to the right and then spun back toward the pocket occupied by the four ball. It gently tapped the four and sent into the pocket with a soft clicking sound. Thurston Grey sitting in one of the spectator chairs thumped the butt of his cue on the wooden floor and said, “Bravo, Bravo Well done.” Collin ran the rest of the rack, and had his thousand back, and his confidence. “Let’s take a break Collin, are you hungry, I can have Stephen fix us some sandwiches if you like.” “I’m not very hungry, why don’t we just keep playing.” “That’s fine, but I’ll have Stephen whip up something anyway. You never know. How about another beer?” “Sure said Collin, a beer sounds good.” The rest of the night was pretty much give and take. By four AM Collin was up three thousand dollars, had had a few too many beers, and was getting very tired. He wanted to leave, but needed to leave the door open for any future sessions with Mr. Thurston Grey. If he just said, that’s it; he may be killing the golden goose. Finally he said. “One more game if you like, then I have to go.” Thurston shifted in his seat, took another drink of his scotch and said. “That’s fine Collin. What shall we play for, I’m down three thousand?” Without hesitation Collin said. “Five thousand” “Five thousand sounds good give the money to Dave over there. I believe it’s your break Collin.” Collins break shot was almost a mirror image of the break shot in their first game, and Grey called the same shot for a second time. “One ball in the side pocket.” The one ball jumped towards the side pocket as it had done in the first game, but this time instead of splitting the side pocket, it hit the proverbial tit of the pocked and bee lined up the side rail and into the corner pocket. Thurston pulled to ball out of the pocket, and placed it on the head spot, and then remarked “I didn’t see that coming.” Collin gave him with a puzzled look, then laughed and said. “Your shitting me, right? I mean what were your chances of making that shot, five percent, maybe less.” “I’ll tell you what Collin. Forget the straight pool game. Five thousand says I can sink the head ball on the break three times in three shots.” “No, let’s just finish the game we started.” “What, no balls? I have less than a five percent chance of making the first one isn’t that what you just said. What the hell are the odds of making three in a row, a million to one?” Collin thought about it for a moment, then figuring the odds were tilted heavily in his favor said. “You’re on Grey.” Thurston racked the balls, walked to the foot of the table and set the cue ball on the string line six inches right of center. He chalked the Balabushka and hit the right side of the one ball using low left English on the cue ball. On impact the one ball fired out of the rack, and split the center of the side pocket. “That’s one,” he said with a pronounced grin on his face, and then added Rack-um-up kid. On his second try, the one ball split the pocket again. “That’s two.” As Collin was racking the balls for the third time, Grey turned to Detective McCranie and asked. “What do you think Dave, can I make this last million to one shot?” “I hope so Mr. Grey. I’m tired, and I would like to go home.” “You got it” he said, and hammered the Balabushka into the cue ball while still looking at the Detective. As with his first two attempts, the one ball tracked into the side pocket like a laser guided missile. “That’s three son, it’s been fun, and we’ll have to do it again sometime.” “That’s it Mr. Grey, I’m tapped out.” “My door is always open to you Collin, I’m sure we’ll play again.” Collin unscrewed his cue, laid it back in its case, then took his coat from Stephen, thanked Grey for the game and walked out to the foyer. If nothing else, Thurston Grey was a generous man. He took the cash that Detective McCranie was holding, peeled off a few crisp hundred dollar bills and said. “Give that to the kid for cab fare home. No one should go home broke.” Detective McCranie caught Collin going out the door. “Hold up a minute kid.” He said while pushing the cash into Collins coat pocket. “He likes you kid, and he doesn’t want you to leave tapped. You’ve got stick kid. You’re better than Grey; you had him by the balls. What you don’t know is how to read people. He can make that break shot eight out of ten times. There’s no way you could have won that bet. Even if he missed once, he would just have continued to double the bet until he did. You should have seen that and just stayed with shooting pool.” “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll be a lot smarter next time.” “You figure there will be a next time?” “Hell, yeah!” he said under his breath as he stepped into the elevator. Chapter-41 The following Friday night Collin stopped in at the Shamrock bar before heading out to look for a game. He found Jimmy and Tommy sitting at their usual spot at the end of the bar and sat at the stool next to Jimmy. Don’t you two ever work he said with a half laugh. “Were working now Collin” Tommy replied. “We work for one of Moretti’s crews. We’re waiting for a call now from Pauley Falcone to go out on a job.” “Are you two crazy? What kind of work do you do for Moretti?” Collin asked. “Pretty much whatever the fuck they ask us to do” Said Jimmy. “But it’s mostly collection work, you know, getting the money from the assholes that don’t pay their gambling debts. We find them, take what money they have, beat the shit out of them and threaten them with a worse beating if they don’t come up with the rest of the money. Hey, if you’re still out of work, and don’t mind a little manual labor, come along with us tonight and make a couple hundred bucks for yourself. “No thanks guys, I’m not into that gangster shit. I think I’ll head over to Eastside Billiards and look for a game. I’m a little better at nineball than hardball. Jimmy nodded in halfhearted agreement and then pulled the ringing cell phone from his jacket, answered it with a few ok's, and then hung up. He looked over at Tommy and said, “Were on, gotta go. Sure you don’t wanna come with us Collin? It's easy money." "No thanks, Jimmy" Jimmy threw a twenty onto the bar and he and Tommy left leaving Collin to wonder what kind of crap they had gotten themselves into for the night and grateful he had not taken them up on their offer to join them. It was a little after nine when Collin arrived at Eastside Billiards. He walked up to the counter and asked for a table. The clerk asked if he was looking for a game and he said yes. “What kind of action are you looking for?” “Nineball, for whatever.” The counter man looked towards a table on the far side of the room and said he could get a game there. Collin looked where the counterman had indicated, and saw a familiar face. It was Little Pauley Falcone, and two of his father’s soldiers. Shit he thought to himself. There has got to be an easier game in the house. He scanned the room, mostly kids and some blue collar types. No serious money to be seen. He knew Little Pauley would have cash so he thought to himself, what the hell and approached their table. Collin stood back from the table, but well in sight of the trio and waited. “You fucking lost?” asked the biggest of the three. “No, the guy at the counter said one of you may be looking for a game.” Little Pauley put his hand on the big ones shoulder and said, “Take it easy Bruno; he’s just looking for a game.” And then looked at Collin and said. “Do I know you, you look familiar" “No, I don’t think so” replied Collin. “So you want a game. Are you up for a little fifty dollar nineball?” “Sure, sounds good.” The hustle was on, and the arrogance and Italian macho of Little Pauley wouldn’t allow him to ask for a spot, so they played even up making the game a shoe in for Collin. He just needed to win more games than he lost and keep Little Pauley thinking he was just a stroke away from taking Collins cash. After a couple of hours of win two, lose one, Collin was up maybe eight hundred dollars and Little Pauley began to show the mean streak he was known for. After losing another game, he slammed the cue onto to table, and said, “You’re pretty fucking good. Are you hustling me you Irish Prick?” With both hands resting on the end rail, Little Pauley craned his neck back and gave a nod to Bruno who jumped out of his seat, grabbed a break stick leaning against a concrete pillar and came at Collin. He reared back, and swung the cue like a baseball bat. Collin saw the cue coming out of the corner of his eye and rocked back on his heels just barely avoiding a very painful experience. Bruno stepped forward and swung the cue at Collin again. This time he couldn’t avoid contact. He threw up his hands to protect his face, and the cue sick shattered across his forearm sending an eighteen inch piece of cue stick spinning across the pool table like a majorette’s baton on steroids. The jagged end of the broken shaft pierced Little Pauley’s neck, severing the carotid artery. He stood there in amazement clutching his throat and the shattered cue shaft imbedded in it. His eyes staring blankly towards the ceiling. Bruno stopped his advance on Collin, and turned back to his boss’s son. “Pauley, you ok?” he asked. Pauley just stared back at him with a terrorized look in his eyes. He was still clutching the jagged cue shaft as he dropped to his knees. Geno came up, knelt beside him, and said. “Here, let me help you” as he pulled the shaft from Little Pauley’s neck. With nothing left to pinch the artery shut, blood began to spray uncontrollably from the gaping hole in his neck. His body convulsed violently as he bleed out on the floor. Every beat of his heart bringing him closer to death. Finally the terrorized look in Little Pauley’s eyes was replaced by the glazed blank stare of death. “You fucking idiot, why did you do that Geno?” Bruno yelled “I just thought….” said Geno. Collin stared down in an almost trance like state at the three men on the floor, and the horrendous amount of blood that had pooled around them. Little Pauley had bled out. His heart had stopped, and so did the blood spraying from his neck. Geno cradling his boss’s son on the floor stared up at Collin with a cold venomous look that said. “You’re dead mother fucker”. He then yelled to Bruno. “Get him.” Bruno took a step towards Collin, but slipped on the blood pooling around the dead body and fell on his side. He pulled out a pistol, but before he could aim and fire Collin kicked him in the side of the face, sending the gun across the room and Bruno to the floor unconscious. He then turned his attention to Geno who had laid Little Pauley back down on the floor and was reaching for a gun he kept tucked into the small of his back. Collin smacked him in the head with the butt end of a cue stick and made a run for the front door. As he hit the street, he was glad he had parked his car on a side street and not out in the open under the street lights. He got to the car and lay down on the front seat, catching his breath and hoping no one had seen him getting in. He heard the sirens first and then when he sat back up in the seat, he saw the flashing lights of a patrol car and then a fire truck and finally an ambulance. He turned the key in the ignition, put it in drive and slowly drove past the emergency vehicles. As he approached the front of the pool hall he could see that the EMT’s had already gone in. He thought to himself you’re too late boys. Collin drove for an hour or so trying to clear his head before pulling into a convenience store, parking on the side of the building next the dumpster. He needed time to digest what had just happened and figure out what to do next. Looking through the rearview mirror, he could see white smoke coming from his exhaust pipe, and immediately shut the engine off. As he sat there in the dark getting colder and colder, the adrenalin shot through his body like a bolt of lightning when he realized he had left his leather jacket on the back of a seat at the pool hall. He didn’t care much about the jacket. He did care about his wallet with his driver’s license and home address that was on it. “Shit I can’t go home now; they’ll probably be waiting for me on the street in front of the apartment. I have to let Katy know what’s going on. But I don’t want to scare the hell out of her in the middle of the night. I’ll call her in the morning.” Deciding he had at least a half assed plan, he laid his head back on the car seat, closed his eyes, and drifted off. Around six thirty, a clerk from the convenience store emptying a trash container into the dumpster saw Collin asleep in the front seat and rapped on the window. “Hey buddy, you can’t sleep here. You gotta go now.” Collin opened his eyes, stared at the clerk for a moment then got out of the car. “Sorry, man” he said. “Guess I had a little too much to drink last night. I pulled in to get some coffee, but I must have dozed off. I just need to make a phone call then I’ll be out of here.” He reached for his jacket to get his cell phone then remembered it was still at the pool room. So he got out of the car and walked to the far end of the building where two pay phones were hanging from the wall. One had no receiver, but when he put a quarter into the second phone, he got a dial tone, and called the apartment. The phone rang at least a dozen times with no answer. Maybe I dialed it wrong? he thought, and then replaced the phone on the cradle, heard the coin drop and retrieved the quarter from the coin return slot and redialed the apartment. God Katy, how dead to the world do you have to be to sleep through a phone ringing twenty or thirty times? he thought as the phone continued to ring unanswered. Then a cold dreadful chill ran down his spin. As the reality of his situation finally set in. “Shit” he thought. “If they have my coat and wallet, they have my address.” He threw the handset against the phone body; it dropped, and swung like a man on the gallows as he ran for his car. It took almost thirty minutes for Collin to get across town. It was the longest thirty minutes of his life. As he pulled up to the apartment, he saw two familiar faces, and knew it wasn’t good. Tommy and Jimmy rushed to the car and leaned against the door so Collin could not get out. “You gotta get out of here Collin, Little Pauley is dead, and most of the Moretti crew is out looking for you.” “I have to get to Katy” Collin said. “She’s not there, Collin. There was an explosion and fire in you apartment. I’m sorry man but she’s dead.” “Katy’s dead? Is my son ok?” Jimmy put both hands on the open window frame, and bent down to meet Collin’s eyes and said. “Let’s get out of here and go somewhere where we can talk, Maybe Tommy’s place. Again Collin asked. “Is my son ok?” “No, I’m sorry Collin; your son was killed in the fire too.” Collin made another attempt to get out of his car, pulling on the door lever and yelling for Jimmy to get the hell out of his way. Jimmy punched through the open window hitting Collin high on the temple. He fell back across the front seat and lay there unconscious. Jimmy looked back through the driver’s window at Tommy who was staring down at Collin through the passenger window and said, “Tommy, take him to your apartment before that fucking Italian dago Bruno finds him.” Tommy reached through the window and pulled Collin to the passenger side and then went around to the driver’s side. “He’s gonna be really pissed when he wakes up.” Said Tommy. Jimmy put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder as he got into the car, and said “Yeah, but he’ll still be alive.” Collin came to on the ride to Tommy’s apartment. He rubbed his hand on his swollen temple and said. “Where did they take them?” “I don’t know” said Tommy “but probably to the morgue.” “Take me there, Tommy,” said Collin still rubbing his aching head. “No can do buddy. It’s not safe. They’ll be waiting for you there. Jimmy said to take you to my apartment until things cool off a little. At least wait a day or two until we can find out what those goomba’s have planned for you. “All right, I’ll stay the night at your place, but tomorrow you take me down to the morgue. Chapter-42 Ann wiped off her hands on a kitchen towel, and caught the phone on the second ring. “Hello, Ann. Its Mary Conley” “How are you Mary, is everything all right?” she asked as it was 6:45 AM, not a time of day that Jack’s mother would call for a pleasant chat. “No, Ann it’s not there’s been a terrible accident at Collins apartment.” Ann could sense Mary had been crying, and her voice seemed stressed. “Was anyone hurt?” “There was an explosion and fire. The police said there must have been a gas leak in the apartment that ignited. The fire rescue men recovered two bodies. It had to be Katy and Collin Jr. I don’t know what to do. No one has seen Collin and I don’t know where to start looking for him. Something is terribly wrong; I can feel in my heart. Is Jack there, can I please speak to him? “Sure, Mary. He’s in the bathroom shaving. Let me get him for you.” Ann rushed down the hall with the phone in her hand. Jack saw her standing in the bathroom door through the half steamed mirror. “Who’s on the phone?” he asked, turning to face her somber gaze at the door. Ann lifted the phone to eye level and said. “It’s your mother Jack; there’s been an accident at Collins apartment.” Jack grabbed a towel from the rack and ran it across his face, taking the phone from Ann in the same moment. “Mom what happened?” “Katy and Collin Jr. were killed in a fire at their apartment” she said, her voice now beginning to tremble and crack. Please, Jack, can you come right away. Collin was not at the apartment and no one has seen him. Something is very wrong I can feel it.” “I can be there in about two and a half hours if the traffic isn’t too bad. Try to stay calm until I get there.” Jack threw on some clothes, grabbed his keys, and headed for the door. Ann grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter in mid stride saying. “I’m going with you Jack. I’ll call the hospital from the car and let them know I won’t be in today. “Thanks, Babe” he said as they bolted out the front door. “Buckle up, Babe. Next stop Hell’s Kitchen.” They tore out of the drive. He hit the switch and the cruisers red and blue lights began to dance behind their heads. “Do we really need the lights?” Ann inquired. “One of the perks” he replied. “It will cut our travel time by at least twenty five minutes.” “Yeah, if we don’t have an accident on the way.” She murmured under her breath. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Honey, relax,” he said with just the hint of a smug smile on his face. “Just be careful that’s all I’m saying Jack” Conley took the Jersey Turnpike north, then the Holland tunnel into the city. Thank God the traffic was only moderately slow. Most of the Conley clan had already assembled at his mother’s house by the time they arrived in his old neighborhood. The trip took them just under two and half hours. The house was packed solid with three generations of Conley’s. Jack worked his way through the maze to the kitchen where Mary Conley the clan matron was sitting at a kitchenette table overlooking a small communal backyard. “Oh, thank God you’re here Jack. I don’t know what to do. No one has heard from your brother, and the police are acting like this tragedy was not an accident and that Collin is somehow responsible for the deaths of Katy, and little Collin.” Jack sat down next to his mother, and taking her hands in his said. “He would never hurt them. He lived for his family. There has got to be another reason for this and we’ll find out what it is. But first we need to find him. When was the last time you saw him, mom?” “It was a week ago Sunday. He was here with Katy and little Collin and they stayed for dinner. Everything seemed just fine.” Jack stood away from the table, putting his hands gently on his mother’s shoulders. “I’m going to check on a few things. Ann will stay with you until I get back. Will you be Ok for a while?” “Sure Jackie, I’ll be fine, I’m just worried that something horrible has happened to your brother to keep him away.” Ann walked Jack to the front door, kissed him, gave him a tender hug and said “Everything will be Ok here until you get back. Go find your brother.” Conley’s first stop was his brother’s apartment. He entered the building and walked back to the gaping charred doorframe now crisscrossed with strips of yellow caution tape where the door had once been. He thought it must have been blown out by the initial gas explosion. As he entered under the caution tape, the smell in the burnt out shell of an apartment was almost unbearable. The pungent smell of charred wood, and burnt electrical wiring filled the apartment, but there was more, and he had smelled it before. It was the lingering odor of burnt flesh, and it overwhelmed the apartment. He had come in contact with it in the past on the job, but the smell of death in his brother’s apartment was almost too much for him. He took a handkerchief from his pocket, held it over his nose and continued to inspect each room looking for anything that would explain this horrendous tragedy. “Can I help you?” The sudden voice in the darkened room unnerved Conley who instinctively reached for his weapon, but stopped when he saw the uniformed fireman standing in the hallway. “I’m Jack Conley; this was my brother’s apartment.” “You don’t remember me do you Jack. I’m Tommy Kennedy; I grew up in the old neighborhood. I was the kid who was kidnapped by that crazy bastard Orville Culpepper.” “Sure, I remember you Tommy. I’ve thought about you a lot over the years. Do you still live in the old neighborhood?” “Yeah, I live just a street over from your mother’s place. Actually, that’s how I heard about the fire. I stopped at the corner grocery, and heard one of her neighbors talking about it. “What are you doing here Tommy?” asked Conley. “I’m the Fire Marshal for this area. Whenever there are deaths involved they call me in to investigate and submit a report of my findings. What’s up with the gun Jack?” “Oh Christ, Tommy I’m sorry.” Conley said while showing his police ID and flashing his Gold Detectives badge to the Fire Marshal. “I’m a Detective with the A.C.P.D in Jersey.” “You’re welcome to stay around while I make an inspection of the area, but be careful, and don’t touch anything OK.” “I got it, and thanks, Tommy” Tommy worked slowly, and methodically, putting samples he scraped from various surfaces into small plastic bags. When they reached the kitchen he knelt down beside the badly damaged gas oven which was lying on its side several feet from its normal position against the wall. He picked up the gas line and fingered the connecting nut. “That’s odd” he said to himself, and then walked over to the black gas pipe protruding from the wall and inspected the brass valve. Jack felt Tommy’s concern and questioned what he had seen. “It just seems to me that if that oven was blown across the room, the gas line should have been either torn off the oven, or torn from the valve at the wall. Look at the nut on the gas line and the threads on the valve. They’re pristine, not a mark on them. It’s like they were unscrewed not blown apart from the explosion.” Conley inspected the gas line and valve and had to agree with Kennedy. It sure looked like someone had disconnected the line. “I think we may have a case of arson here,” said Kennedy. “Was your brother having any marital problems that you’re aware of?” “No, he and Katy seemed very happy together. It just doesn’t make any sense, Tommy.” “I’m going to run these samples back to the lab. You can check back with me in a few days and I may have something else for you. In the meantime, you need to find your brother.” Chapter-43 Conley left Collins apartment with more questions than answers. His next stop was the packing plant to see if any of the guys he worked with knew anything that would help. He entered the plant looking for an office and saw the wooden stairs leading to a room with a large plate glass window overlooking the plant. This must be it, he thought to himself as he scaled the stairs two steps at a time. He knocked on the door, and stood on the landing waiting for a response. “Come in” came a gravelly voice from the other side of the door. “What can I do for you?” Conley approached the desk and extended his hand. The plant manager immediately stood and accepted the hand shake. I’m Larry Smith, the plant manager. “Please sit down Mr…” “Conley, Jack Conley, I’m looking for my brother Collin. He works here, and I was hoping you, or one of his friends can tell me where to find him.” “I wish I could help you Mr. Conley but we had to let Collin go a few months ago and I have no idea where he might be working now. But you’re welcome to ask the men on the floor. Maybe one of them has seen him. Have you tried his house?” “Yes, that’s why I’m here Mr. Smith. Thank you for your time. If you don’t mind, I’ll ask some of the guys on the floor on my way out. If you hear from him, please give me a call,” he said handing Mr. Smith one of his business cards. “Detective Jack Conley A.C.P.D. Well Ok then Detective. If I hear anything, I’ll call you.” “Thanks for your time Mr. Smith, have a good day.” This just gets better and better he thought as he returned to his car. When Conley returned to his mother’s apartment, he went straight to the kitchen bypassing everyone including Ann and his mother. He took the bottle of Jameson Whiskey from the cabinet above the sink and a tumbler from the dish strainer on the counter, poured a double shot, belted it down and poured another. He dropped his head for a moment, then looked up at Ann and then his mother, and said. “Did you know Collin lost his job?” “No” said Mary. “I spoke to Katy a couple of days ago and she was saying how they put Collin on the night shift so they wouldn’t have to lay him off like a lot of other worker at the plant.” “Well, he may have left the house every night, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to that plant. I spoke to his boss today, who said he had to let him go three months ago. I also went by his apartment today and bumped into Tommy Kennedy. You remember Tommy mom, he’s the kid that was kidnapped in front of the house. He’s a Fire Marshal now and he went through that apartment with a fine tooth comb today. He thinks the fire may have been set intentionally. And you know what, mom, I think he’s right. He also said I had to find Collin, and get to the bottom of this before he turns in his report and they issue a warrant for his arrest. If Collin was involved in some way with this fire he’s probably hiding somewhere. Do you know any of his friend’s? Someone I can talk to?” “Not really Jack. For the last couple of years since Collin Jr. was born, Collin has been a real homebody. And anyway, the money was always tight. They just barely covered their bills each month. I think a big night out was taking Katy and Collin Jr. to McDonalds. There was certainly no extra money for him to party on. And I think Katy would have said something to me if he were running round. She was not the sort to keep things bottled up.” “There has got to be someone out there who knows something. Think about it for a minute mom, who does he know?” “The only ones that come to mind are those two hooligans Jimmy Boyle, and Tommy O’Farrell that he went to school with. I still see them around the neighborhood from time to time.” “I’d forgotten about those two.” “That sounds like a good place to start, Ann said. Oh, and by the way, I called Lieutenant Felker this afternoon. She said to take all the time you need, and she would cover for you, but to please be careful with your New Jersey police cruiser in New York City.” “Thanks honey. I still have to call Sergeant Beaver and fill her in.” “I called her too. You’re covered.” Chapter-44 It was a little after 2:00 A.M and the street was empty when Bruno Vincente and Geno Argo got to Collins neighborhood. They parked one block down from his apartment building, cut the engine and sat in the darkness. Bruno pulled the 9 mm Glock from his shoulder holster and chambered a round into the barrel. Geno hearing the sound of the slide being pulled back, looked up from the racing form he had been intently studying and said to Bruno, “You know, I been thinking about it, and I don’t think we should hit this guy in his apartment. We could wait and nail him on the street, throw him in the fucking trunk and drive out of the city where we can fuck him up at our leisure.” Bruno stared at Geno for a moment, returned the Glock to its holster, grabbed the racing form from him and tossed it out the window saying, “Pauley doesn’t pay you to think, he pays you to do what he fucking tells you to do. Capeesh you fucking knuckle head?” We’re not going to kill this guy tonight, Pauley wants us to find him and bring him back to the bar and keep him in the basement until he gets there. “Yeah, I understand Bruno, I’m just saying.” “Did you even hear a fucking word I just said you fucking idiot? Just get the fuck out of the car and keep your mouth shut.” The two ascended the stoop and entered the building. Bruno ran his finger down the row of apartment buzzers and stopped at Conley. Apt 209B. They bypassed the elevator, and used the stairwell to get to the second floor. Apartment #209B was at the end of a long narrow hallway. Bruno rapped on the door, and the two waited for a response. From behind the door, a soft voice said. ”Who’s there?” Bruno replied “Detectives Smith and Jones, NYPD” “What do you want?” Katy asked. “We need to talk to you about your husband” came the reply. And then. “There’s been an accident. May we come in?” “Oh, My God,” she said as she cracked the door open, leaving the chain attached. “Let me see your ID.” “Sure” said Bruno as he slammed his shoulder against the door snapping the chain off the door frame and knocking Katy to the ground. “Where’s your fucking husband,” said Geno grabbing her by the hair and lifting her to her feet. With a defiant gaze Katy said, “Who the hell are you?” Then, “Get the fuck out of my apartment you sons of bitches.” Geno held her by the hair at arm’s length and then hit her hard in the mouth sending her careening off the hall wall onto the floor. She stumbled to her feet and grabbed a baseball bat that Collin kept in an umbrella stand by the door. She hit Geno full in the rib cage and as he stumbled to his right; she hit him again, this time on his knee cap sending him to the floor squirming in pain where he lay moaning in a fetal position. As she reared back to crack him again, Bruno grabbed the barrel of the bat with one hand and punched her in the back of the head with the other, sending her across the room where she hit her forehead hard on a radiator and fell unconscious on the floor. Bruno looked at his partner on the floor in disgust, and said. “Get up you fucking idiot, Conley’s not here.” Geno with the help of the wall made it to his feet, still moaning in pain. He looked down at the woman lying in a pool of blood on the floor. “What about her?” he said. Bruno looked at him with the usual blank stare and then said. “No witnesses. We need to make this look like an accident. I got an idea; see if you can find me a candle.” Bruno walked into the kitchen, looked behind the gas oven and found the main gas valve then rifled through the kitchen draws until he found a pair of pliers, and a crescent wrench. He pulled the oven out from the wall and turned off the gas at the valve. He then used the wrench to disconnect the gas line from the main valve. Geno limped back into the kitchen carrying a large candle in a glass canister and held it out to Bruno. “I don’t want it you idiot, light it and put it over there on the counter he said pointing to the other side of the kitchen. Geno shook his head in agreement and staggered over to the counter, lit the candle and hobbled back to Bruno who had just turned the gas back on and pushed the oven back to its original position against the wall. “We gotta get the hell out of here before the gas gets to that candle.” “Oh shit!” said Geno as he made a gimpy but hasty move for the door. As they opened the apartment door, they heard a small voice crying Mommy! Mommy! Geno looked back into the hallway to see a small boy standing over the woman on the floor. “Shit.” He said “She’s got a kid. What are we gonna do Bruno?” With dead eyes Bruno looked at Geno and said. “No witnesses” as he pushed the limping man out of the apartment, and shut the door behind him. They returned to their car, sat in the dark, and waited. When the gas finally ignited it blew a huge fire ball through the window. “That’s that” said Bruno as he turned the key in the ignition and they drove off with no more thought than ordering a slice of pizza. Chapter-45 Conley’s first stop was to check in at Precinct 18, Midtown West. It was the Precinct responsible for all activities in Hell’s Kitchen. The last thing he needed was a pissed off Precinct Chief who was bent out of shape because a Jersey cop was nosing around on his turf. As he entered the stationhouse there was a moment of Déjà vu followed by an immediate flashback of a childhood memory long forgotten. He was nine at the time. His mother had gotten him a Lone Ranger lunchbox with a glass insulated thermos. He was so proud of it that he wanted to show it to the O’Connor twins, his two closest friends at school. Barry O’Connor grabbed the thermos and tossed it to his brother Larry who tossed it back to Barry before Jack could get to it. Long story short, Barry dropped the thermos on the concrete sidewalk in front of the school and the glass liner shattered. The three decided it was worth the risk to steal a thermos from another lunch box at the drugstore rather than face the wrath of Jack’s Irish mother. Jack switched his broken thermos with a new one from a lunchbox on the shelf not realizing that he was being watched by the clerk. The clerk confronted him and took him into the office where he called the police. Barry and Larry made good their escape. Mary Conley had to make good for the thermos and Jack got a good beating. An overweight forty something desk sergeant was busy filling out a report, so Conley waited patiently until he eventually looked up and asked. “How can I help you sir?” “I’m Detective Jack Conley of the A.C.P.D..” “You’re a little out of your jurisdiction aren’t you Detective?” “Yeah, Sergeant, I sure am. But I’m not here on police business. There was an explosion and fire at my brother’s apartment. His wife and son were killed in the fire. My brother is missing, and I had hoped I could speak to the detective assigned to the case.” “That would be Detective Sergeant McCranie. If you would have a seat over there, I’ll see if he’s available.” “Thanks, Sergeant” The desk sergeant picked up his phone, dialed an extension, spoke to the person on the other end of the line for a moment then replaced the phone on its carriage. “Sergeant McCranie is in a meeting with the watch commander, but he said he would like to speak to you and will be out to get you in a few minutes.” Conley was reading an APB posted on the bulletin board just to the right of the desk sergeant’s counter when Detective McCranie came out. “Detective Conley, how can I help you?” Conley turned to meet the voice. Sergeant McCranie was about the same age as Conley but was much shorter, and built like a pit bull. Not at all like what the soft mellow voice he heard might indicate. Conley extended his hand and said. “Detective Jack Conley A.C.P.D. I’m not here in any official capacity, but I was hoping you might be able to help me out.” Detective McCranie looked up at the big man in front of him. “That depends on what you mean by help. Why don’t we go back to my desk, and you can tell me what’s on your mind.” “The fire the other night in Hell’s Kitchen, that was in my brother’s apartment.” “Yes, I’m familiar with it. A young woman and her son were killed in the gas explosion and ensuing fire. It’s my understanding that is was a very tragic accident. Do you have any reason to believe otherwise Detective?” “Yes, and please call me Jack. Like I said, I’m not here in any official capacity.” “Ok then, Jack, what do you have for me?” “I met the Fire Marshal at the apartment yesterday and followed him room to room. When he got to what was left of the kitchen, he thought it very odd that the fittings and threads from the gas line and the valve were in pristine condition. They should have been torn apart if the explosion was accidental. “So what are you saying Jack?. Do you think your brother killed his wife and son?” “No, no I don’t,” said Conley. “Have your spoken to your brother?” “No, no one’s seen him since before the fire.” “Don’t you find that just a little bit odd?” said McCranie. “I know what you’re thinking Detective, but my brother could not have done this. He and Katy have been together since elementary school. She was the love of his life and so was Collin Jr.” Detective McCranie looked up from his doodling on a notepad. “Then we have to find your brother and see what he knows.” He then resumed his doodling, and without looking up asked, “Does your brother shoot pool?” “Yes, he’s a very good player. But what does that have to do with anything?” he asked. “Well, I don’t know.” But the same night as the fire in your brother’s apartment, Little Pauley Falcone was killed in a fight over a pool game at Eastside Billiard. He’s the son of Big Pauley Falcone a Capo in the Moretti crime family. So I’m just throwing something out to you. If your brother was involved in the death of Little Pauley, it’s not likely Big Pauley Falcone would let it slide. It wouldn’t matter who was at fault. It becomes a vendetta with these mobsters. Anyway, you need to find your brother.” McCranie stood up shook Conley’s hand and said. “Good luck Detective. I’ll keep you in the loop.” Conley said. “Thanks Detective” and then turned and left the precinct. As he got into his car, he wondered just what kind of crap his kid brother had gotten himself into and he knew just who to ask. Those two knuckle head friends of his. Tommy O’Farrell and his buddy Jimmy Boyle. Conley pulled into the parking lot of the Shamrock Bar. He figured it was as good a place as any to start and he was right on the money. Sitting alone at the back of the bar was Jimmy Boyle. He was nursing a beer and looked like he had taken real bad beating. Jimmy took a long drink from his pint of Guinness, put the mug down on the bar, and casually looked towards the front door. That’s when he saw Jack Conley no more than thirty feet away. “Shit he said as he hopped off the bar stool and made a run for the back door. Conley saw him bolt and broke into a run himself, catching Jimmy as he was going through the door. He shoved him into the side of a dumpster in the alley. “Where are you going in such a hurry Jimmy boy?” Conley grabbed him with both hands by the front of his leather jacket, and held him against the dumpster. “You can’t fuck with me. You’re a cop in New Jersey, not New York City. Get your fucking hands off me.” Conley smacked him twice then asked again. “Where were you going in such a hurry and where the hell is my brother?” “I was on my way to work and I don’t know where your brother is.” “Ok Jimmy we’ll do it the hard way.” Conley still holding Jimmy with one hand hit him hard in the forehead with the other. Jimmy’s lights went out immediately. Jack threw him over his shoulder and carried him to the car where he dumped him into the trunk and drove away from the bar. When Jimmy came to, he was hanging by his feet from a bridge beam with a wonderful view of the East river. His hands were tied behind his back, his mouth was duct taped. He frantically alternated between looking down at the river rushing several feet below his head and over to Conley. Both views were equally intimidating and were beginning to produce the results Conley was looking for. Conley pulled the stiletto from his jacket, hit the button, the blade shot out and he said. “This is what we’re going to do Jimmy. I’m going to ask you again where my brother is and if you tell me again that you don’t know, I’m going to cut this rope, and drop you in the East river. Now, where the hell is my brother? Oh, I’m sorry Jimmy, I can’t hear you.” Jack said reaching out and pulling Jimmy close to him by his long greasy dark hair. When they were at eye level, Conley tore the duct tape from his mouth and stuck it to the railing. Jimmy let out a wail as the tape came off along with most of his thin ratty mustache. “I swear to God, Jack, I don’t know where Collin is now, but Tommy took him to stay at his apartment last night until things cool off. “What things?” Conley asked. “Collin was shooting pool with Pauley Falcone’s kid last night at Eastside Billiards. There was an argument and then a fight started and Little Pauley was killed. Now the Moretti crew is looking for him.” “What’s Tommy’s address?” “He lives on 10th avenue above Sonny’s Meat Market, number 412, but they’re probably not there now.” “Why wouldn’t he be there now, Jimmy?” “Because last night Bruno Vincente and Geno Argo beat the shit out of me and made me tell them where he was. I’m sorry Jack, they were gonna kill me if I didn’t.” “You and Tommy were his two best friends. The three of you were like brothers, how can you live with yourself you piece of shit?” Conley took the duct tape from the railing, and slapped it back over Jimmy’s mouth. He then walked over to where he had tied off the rope, undid the knot, and wrapped it around his fist. “This is your lucky day Jimmy,” he said as he pulled him back over the railing and dropped him to the ground using the stiletto to cut the ropes from his hands and feet. “Now tell me again where Tommy lives.” It was early evening when Conley arrived at the address Jimmy had given him. Tommy lived in apartment 412, so Conley walked straight to the elevator only to find it out of order. Great, he thought to himself, just fucking great, as he started up the stairwell. Apartment 412 was at the far back corner of the fourth floor. The overhead lights were out and Conley wondered if the lights and the elevator were both on the same circuit. It took a minute or two for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He had gone no more than ten or twelve steps down the hall when he heard the sound of glass crushing under the weight of his feet. He knew instantly there wasn’t a problem with the electrical circuit. Someone had broken the overhead bulbs to keep the hall dark and Conley figured he knew who. He drew his weapon, and continued down the hall. When he reached apartment 412, he put his hand on the knob, gave it a slight twist and it opened just a crack. Conley leaned against the door frame, took a long deep breath and thought to himself “Fuck it, we all gotta go sometime,” and entered the apartment. He pressed himself against the wall and began to feel for a light switch. When he found it, he took another deep breath, hit the switch, dropped to one knee and fanning his Glock across the room from left to right, then right to left. The one room apartment appeared to be empty. As he stood back up he could see signs of a struggle. A coffee table and an end table were turned over and there was a lot of blood smeared on the couch and floor and what appeared to be bloody hand prints on a wall near the kitchen area. As he reached down to pick up a phone that had hit the floor along with a lamp that had been on the end table, he saw the body behind the couch. It was lying face down in a pool of blood. Anger, rage, and an overwhelming sadness overcame Conley as he peered down at the badly damaged body on the floor. He knelt down and rolled the body over by the shoulder expecting to see the battered remains of his young brother. To his surprise, and relief, it was not Collin. Even in its almost unrecognizable state, Conley could tell that it was Tommy O’Farrell. He pulled Sergeant McCranie’s business card from his wallet and dialed the number. “Sergeant McCranie. How can I help you?” “It’s Jack Conley. Your hunch was right Detective. I’m at the apartment of a friend of my brother’s, he’s been murdered.” “Your brother was murdered?” “No, His friend, Tommy O’Farrell” “Where are you?” “A building on 10th Ave, an apartment over Sonny’s Meat Market. Apartment # 412. “Is your brother there?” “No, I still haven’t found him” The phone was silent for a moment then Detective McCranie said, “You know Conley, the more you tell me, the worse it seems to get for your brother. What is his connection to Tommy O’Farrell?” “Tommy O’Farrell, my brother, and a kid named…” “Wait don’t tell me, Jimmy Boyle, right” “Yeah, that’s right, Jimmy Boyle. The three have been friends since grade school.” “This just gets better and better, Conley. Those two thugs do collections, and God knows what else for the Moretti family. I think it’s time to put out an arrest warrant for your brother. If he’s innocent, we can protect him from Moretti. If he’s not, then we got another bad guy off the street. I’ve got units on the way to your location. Take your weapon out, and leave it in plain sight with your badge and ID. I’ll be there in twenty minutes to take your statement.” Conley took one last look around the apartment, being very careful not to touch anything, or do anything to contaminate the crime scene, but could find nothing to give him a clue as to where his brother might have gone. He could hear the police sirens in the distance getting louder, and knew it was time to leave. He did not want to waste any more time with Detective McCranie and the hours of interminable questioning that the Detective would hammer him with that he did not have answers to. No, he thought, this is time best spent looking for Collin. There will be plenty of time later to sit and chat with Detective McCranie. Chapter-46 By the time Collin came to, they were in front of Tommy’s apartment building. His temple throbbed and he was just a little more than pissed at Jimmy for the sucker punch. He picked his head off the passenger side window where it had been resting, looked over at Tommy and said. “Remind me to kick Jimmy’s ass the next time I see him and you, you son-of- bitch, get me over to the morgue. I have to be with my wife and son.” Tommy lowered his head, then looked back up at Collin and said. “They’re gone, Collin. Another day or two won’t matter. But it may be enough time for Falcone to cool down and realize you were not responsible for Little Pauley’s death. Like you said, it was an accident. And if that fucking animal Bruno hadn’t taken a swing at you with a cue stick Pauley would still be here. Maybe in a few days Big Pauley will realize that and drop his vendetta with you.” “Maybe you’re right, Tommy, but I want to call my brother Jack, he’ll know what to do. He always does. Do you have a phone in your apartment?” “Yeah sure Collin, I got a phone. What the hell, why wouldn’t I have a phone? “Forget it Tommy. Let’s just go up so I can call my brother.” “Sure, and I’ll order in some Italian for us for dinner.” “Yeah, that sounds good Tommy.” Tommy got out of the car first, and had a nervous look about him, repeatedly looking up and down the street. Finally he looked back through the driver’s window and said, “It’s ok Collin, there’s no one on the street. Let’s go.” “I gotta go down to the drugstore and get a pack of cigarettes” Collin said. “You need anything” “No, I’m good,” Tommy said. “Go up and order the Italian. I’ll be back in a half hour.” The owner of the neighborhood Italian restaurant thought it odd that Tommy would order two Italian subs, a large pizza, and two cream sodas since he had been ordering the same thing every week for years, one Italian Sub, extra peppers, and a cream soda. The Moretti crew had gotten the word out on the street that they wanted the Irish kid that killed little Pauley and as it happened the owner of the restaurant was a cousin of Geno Argo. A call went out to Geno who thanked his cousin and told him to hold the order and that he would make the delivery himself. There was a knock at the door, and Tommy got up to answer it. “Who’s there” he asked. “Rocco’s Pizzeria” came the reply from the hall. “Just a minute” Tommy slid the chain off the latch, and turned the deadbolt. As he reached for the knob, the door burst open throwing him across the entry way and onto the floor. “Pizza Man” Geno chimed with a sinister smile as he entered the apartment with Bruno and four other Falcone soldiers in tow wielding both automatic weapons, and ball bats. Geno dropped the paper bag with the subs down onto Tommy’s chest. “Extra Peppers, Right!” The bat made contact with the side of Tommy’s head. The thud was both dull and sickening. “Fuck, Bruno, did you hear that? It sounds hollow.” Tommy, now nearly unconscious crawled on his hands and knees out of the foyer and into the living room. He reached up, grabbed the arm of the couch and began to lift himself up. Geno took another swing with the bat, this time catching Tommy on the back of the head. He fell onto the coffee table knocking it over, and then tried to stand again. Geno walked around the upturned table and said. “I got to give it you Tommy you fucking Mick’s are tough to put down.” Tommy got to his feet again; he was bleeding profusely from both the side of his face and the back of his head. He looked at Geno and said, “Is that the best you got you, fucking dago?” “No, I got this too” he said raising his hand from his side, revealing a revolver with a silencer screwed into the barrel. He fired two rounds. The first hit Tommy in the shoulder causing him to spin like a top. The second shot entered just below his left cheek bone, and blew out the right side of his mouth. The impact of the two shots sent Tommy tumbling over the end table and fell behind the couch. Geno then put one insurance shot into the back of Tommy’s head. Falcone’s crew had just gotten back out onto the street as Collin approached the building. He was no more than a few yards away when his eyes met Bruno’s. Bruno pointed in the direction of Collin and said. “Get that son-of-a-bitch.” Collin had only a second or two for the fight or flight response to kick in. With the odds at six to one the decision didn’t take very long. With no further thought Collin uttered one word. “Shit,” and ran for his life. At the end of the street, he took a hard left around the building and started up the block. He ran all out for almost a hundred yards and darted into an alley looking for an unlocked door or a place to hide. There was none on both counts. He thought about climbing into the dumpster then realized that would be a trap for sure. He then jumped up for the ladder on the fire escape. The ladder slid down and he climbed for his life, hitting the first landing just as Falcone’s crew entered the alley. Geno pulled his weapon and leveled it on Collin who had crouched behind the railing in hopes of not being hit. Bruno grabbed Geno’s wrist and pulled his gun hand down saying. “What are you doing you fucking idiot. Pauley said he wants this guy alive.” Geno pulled his hand away from Bruno and said, “He’s only twenty feet up the fire escape. I was just gonna wing him, Bruno, you know, to slow him down.” Bruno looked down at Geno, “You’re the worst shot I’ve ever seen. You couldn’t hit a city bus from twenty feet. What the hell would you tell Pauley if you put one in the kid’s head?” Collin grabbed a large flower pot sitting on the landing, and dropped it over the railing hitting one of the Falcone soldiers flush on the top of the head. He then began taking the stairs two at a time again, stopping on the third floor landing for a moment to catch his breath. He had a few more floors to make it to the roof, but had no idea what to do after that. Bruno yelled at two of the men staring up at the fire escape. “Get the fuck up there and get him.” He then barked more orders at Geno and Tony D’Amato. “You and Tony go up from the inside of the building, and make sure he doesn’t get by you, Capeesh?” Collin climbed the remaining few flights of stairs and then went up another fifteen or twenty feet on a ladder bolted to the wall and reached the roof. He climbed over the parapet and sat on the roof with his back against the exit door trying to catch his breath. When he stopped panting, he cautiously looked back over the edge of the building and saw his first pursuer reaching the top floor landing. He knelt back down behind the parapet and waited. As the first man stepped up over the edge of the roof Collin grabbed him by his jacket lapels and hurled him over his head and out onto the roof deck. Before he could react Collin kicked the Italian in the side of the head, causing him to roll onto his back. He then stomped down on his throat, crushing the wind pipe and snapping his neck all in one movement. He rolled the man over, pulled up his jacket and removed an automatic weapon from the small of his back. He quickly checked the magazine, replaced it, chambered a round, and slipped the weapon into the waist band of his pants and headed for the exit door. He ran through a hallway and finding the stairwell slid down the metal hand rail never touching the steps. On the landing for the third floor he looked over the railing and saw Geno and Tony rushing up. He opened the third floor exit door and ran down the hall smashing each overhead light he passed with the butt of his gun, and trying each apartment in turn for an unlocked door. But finding none, and now at the end of the hall with nowhere left to run, he accepted his fate and crouched in the darkness to awaiting the end of his life. In just those few moments in the darkness of that hallway, Collin had two thoughts flash through his mind. The first was the account his uncle Jack had given about the death of his father in that firefight in Somalia. He thought about how frightened his father must have been. Was he as terrified then as I am now he wondered?” Then he remembered his uncle Jack telling him his dad was a hero, and that it was normal to be afraid of being hurt or killed, but what sets the hero apart from the coward is a rare commodity called courage and all heroes possess it. The second thought was that of his wife and son and as he thought of their pain and suffering, the fear left his body, replaced by anger and rage. I don’t know if I have the courage of my father he thought but if this is my last day on this earth, I’m going to take a few of those bastards with me. And with that thought, he stood straight up in the darkened hall, took a deep breath and started back toward the other end of the building. Midway down the hall he came face to face with Geno and Tony. He flipped the safety off, and fired the weapon. Nothing happened. He looked down at the pistol in his hand. There was a round jammed in the slide. “Shit,” he said as he threw the gun at Geno, and turned to run. There was a searing pain in the back of his head, and then all went black. Bruno took out a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped Collins blood off the butt of his Glock, and returned it to his shoulder holster. He looked over at Geno and Tony, and said. “Get this piece of shit downstairs, throw him in the fucking trunk, take him back to the bar, and dump him down in the basement.” The two mob soldiers dragged Collin down the stairs and out into the street. Geno held Collin up against the side of the car while Tony popped the trunk open, then wrestled Collin to the rear of the car where Tony hit him twice in the gut, and once in the mouth, then pushed him into the trunk and closed the lid. The two got into the Cadillac and as they drove off Tony looked at Geno, and said, “I wouldn’t want to be that poor son-of-a-bitch when Big Pauley gets ahold of him. Chapter-47 Conley knew time was running out for his brother. If he didn’t find him soon, Pauley Falcone would, and that would be the last anyone would ever see or hear of Collin. He was tired and hungry. It had been a very long day and he hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night. “He needed to get back to his mom’s place have something to eat, take a hot shower and get some sleep or he’d be no good to anyone.” It was late when he got back. The only light in the apartment was that from the glow of the television set in the far corner of the living room. As he walked by, he could see his mother and Ann asleep on the two recliners that faced the TV set. Without stopping he continued to the bathroom, started the shower and got undressed. The hot water felt great as it poured over his face. “Here, let me do your back for you.” she said. Her voice startled him for a moment as he never heard her step into the shower, but he quickly calmed as her soapy hands worked wonders on his neck and shoulder muscles. As he turned in the shower to rinse his back, she began to lather his cock which became erect almost immediately. Ann looked up into the big man’s deep blue eyes and said. “You’re so easy, Jack Conley. You could get an erection reading the back of a pickle jar.” “Yeah,” he said. “I sure have my share of medical problems, but thank God, I never had a need for Viagra.” Ann cupped her hands, catching the shower water to rinse the soap off his erection, and then put her arms around his neck and pulled herself up onto it. He pressed his hands up under that beautiful ass and they made love until both came. As they toweled off he smiled to himself as he watched her drying off through the steamy mirror and thought, “God, she’s so beautiful. What the hell does she see in me?” Conley’s cell phone rang at 6:30 AM. It was Detective Laurel Beaver of the A.C.P.D. “Hi Laurel what’s up” he said. “I hope I didn’t wake you Jack. I was just on my way to the precinct, and thought I’d see if you need anything?” “No, I’ve been up for a while. I think that I’m good for now, but thanks for the call. I’ll get back with you if I do.” “Learned anything new on your brother?” She asked “All I really know right now is that he started hustling pool in the city and got into some really deep shit with the Moretti mob. “Now that I think of it, there is something you can do for me, Laurel.” “Anything, Jack, You know that.” “See what you can find out about Pauley Falcone. He’s a Capo for the Moretti family.” “Yeah, I’ve heard of him, he’s the muscle for Moretti and a very bad guy Jack. Please be careful. I’ll get whatever I can on him and get back to you.” “Thanks, Laurel. I’ll talk to you later” Conley hit the end button, and put the cell phone back on the night stand. Ann rolled over, snuggled up to him and rubbed her hand gently on his chest. “Who was that?” She said in her sleepy morning voice. “Sergeant Beaver.” “A bit early isn’t it?” She felt him getting out of bed. Come back to bed, Jack. It’s too early. Let’s snuggle a little and then I’ll get you some breakfast later before you go out.” The thought was very tempting to him as he looked down at the beautiful redhead wrapped loosely in the sheets. There was nothing he’d rather do than lay with the woman he loved, but there was too much to be done if he was going to find his brother before Falcone. He smiled at her , “Hey, Babe, you know what they say; the early bird catches the worm.” I’ll try to get back here before dinner and thanks for last night, I needed that.” Conley’s first stop was back to the 18th precinct and Detective McCranie. He wasn’t just sure how to explain to the Detective why he slipped out of Tommy O’Farrell’s apartment before he could question him. As he entered the precinct, he prepared himself for an ass chewing, and possibly worse. He approached the desk sergeant and asked to see Detective McCranie. The Sargent looked up and said. “Have a seat over there,” pointing to a row of plastic seats on the far side of the room. “Detective McCranie will be with you in a few minutes. He’s been expecting you.” Conley looked across the counter at the desk sergeant and said half-jokingly. “Is that good or bad? “That depends on whether you pissed him off or not.” Shit, I’m fucked. Detective McCranie came out and waved for Conley to come to him, then turned and walked back to his office without saying a word. Conley complied with the request in much the same manner a school boy being summoned to the principal’s office. Silently, with head bowed he walked into McCranie’s office. Conley stood in front of McCranie’s desk, hands crossed, and head still hanging low in submission. McCranie ignored him for a minute then looked up and said. “Don’t give me that “I fucked up look. We know you fucked up, now sit your ass down and tell me what you know about the killing.” “I know it was a hit and whoever killed Tommy O’Farrell was looking for my brother. I believe Tommy was collateral damage” “Your brother was the kid at the pool hall who got into the fight with Falcone’s son wasn’t he?” “Yes,” said Conley. “But I’m sure it wasn’t premeditated murder.” “Oh, you mean like the homicide you ran from yesterday?” There was silence for a moment as the two Detectives stared each other down, then Detective McCranie spoke. “We know it was an accident. We questioned several witnesses at the pool hall who saw the fight and they all said a guy they could not identify hit your brother with a pool cue and a splintered piece caught Little Pauley Falcone in the throat severing the main artery. He bled out on the floor before EMT arrived. That’s good and bad for your brother. Good because it was an accident. Bad because it’s Pauley Falcone’s kid and he won’t give a shit that it was an accident. “Look Conley,” he continued. I should have your badge for leaving that crime scene yesterday, but I know what’s going on in your head and I want to help you find you brother. But you have to be straight with me, and no more bullshit. Are we on the same page Detective?” Conley smiled at Detective McCranie. “Yeah, were on the same page and thanks.” Conley got up from his chair, shook McCranie’s hand and assured him he would keep him up on anything he learned. McCranie promised the same. Conley’s next stop was Eastside Billiards. As he entered, he thought to himself. This place is awfully busy for a weekday afternoon. I guess people will always be drawn to the shady ambiance of a mob related killing like a moth to a flame. At least until the novelty of it wears off. An older man behind the counter smiled at Jack and handed him a tray of pool balls and pointed to an empty table near the far corner of the room. “You can take table ten.” Conley set the tray of balls down on the glass counter top and said. “I don’t have time right now, maybe next time friend.” He pulled his jacket open, and flashed his Atlantic City Detectives badge and then quickly let the jacket drape back over the badge before the old man could focus his eyes on it. “Tell me about that fight the other night with Pauley Falcone’s kid. “I already told your other guys all I know.” “Humor me, and go through it again.” The clerk shook his head, and gave Conley one of those looks that said What the fuck? But then reluctantly gave his recount of the incident that night though still unable, or unwilling to give the names of the two men who were with Little Pauley that night. “Like I told the other cops, there was an argument over a game of nineball, and then a fight broke out. One of the guys with Little Pauley took a pool cue and swung it at the kid that was winning. The cue stick shattered on the kids forearm and a piece of it stuck in Little Pauley’s throat. Then one of the guys with Little Pauley pulled the stick from his neck, and blood sprayed all over the fucking place and the kid died on the floor before the ambulance arrived.” “What about the other kid, the one he swung the cue at?” Conley asked “Oh, he took off like a bat out of hell through the side door. He didn’t even bother to take his cue, or a pretty expensive looking case he came in with. He left his leather jacket too. I still got them here. He reached under the counter and retrieved the three items. As Jack began sifting through the jacket pockets the clerk said, “If you’re looking for some ID you’re out of luck; one of Little Pauley’s friends took the wallet from the jacket and left with it. Jack laid the jacket over the cue case he had given to his brother as a graduation gift and pushed them both to the side. Looking down at the little man he said, “You keep saying this guy swung the stick and that guy took the wallet. I need some names, old man.” The clerk gave Conley another look that said. “Do I look that stupid?” And then he said, “I don’t know their names; they were just two guys with Little Pauley.” Conley reached over the glass counter, snatched the clerk by the shirt and pulled him half way across the counter top. He then lifted him higher until their eyes met. “I’m going to ask you one more time, old man and if you give me the same answer I’m going to rip out your throat and shit down your neck. Now, do we understand each other?” The clerk silently nodded his understanding and Conley repeated the question pulling the clerk even closer to his face. “They were Bruno Vincenti and Geno Argo and for the love of God, don’t tell them it was me that told you.” Conley set the old man’s feet back down on the floor behind the counter, thanked him for his cooperation and assured him no one would know his source. He then picked up the jacket and cue case. “I’m taking these items into evidence,” he said then turned and left the pool hall. Well, he thought to himself as he got into his car. Now we know who’s responsible for the death of Katy and little Collin. Chapter-48 Big Pauley got to the bar around 2:00 PM, had a drink with Bruno and Geno, and asked if the guy was in the basement. Bruno looked up from his drink, laughed, and said, “Oh yeah, we got him Pauley, and he ain’t going anywhere.” Pauley finished his drink and got up off the bar stool.” Let’s get to it.” He walked to the basement door followed by Bruno, Geno, and several members of his crew. Collin was tied securely to a wooden chair sitting in the center of the basement. He had been beaten badly. He was slumped oven, unconscious and bleeding profusely from a gash in the back of his head. Pauley looked at him and then over at Geno. “Is this fucker dead? I told you guys I wanted him alive, didn’t I?” “He ain’t dead boss, he’s just passed out,” said Geno who picked up a mop bucket sitting by the stairwell and dumped the filthy water over Collin’s head, reviving him. He raised his head and struggled against the ropes binding him to the chair. “Give it up kid. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” Bruno said as he punched Collin in the side of the face. “Bruno, get me the bolt cutters. Geno, do we still have that steam iron down here?” “Yeah Pauley, it’s over in the closet.” “Go get it, plug it in and get it hot.” Pauley stood in front of Collin, grabbed his chin and raised his head saying. “So, I hear you’re a pool hustler. Do you use an open bridge, or a closed bridge? Collin continued to struggle against the ropes. The duct tape stretched across his mouth not permitting speech. “Oh, I’m sorry, kid.” Pauley said ripping the duct tape from Collin’s mouth. “Is that better?” Collin pled with Pauley to listen to him, hoping that the distraught father would understand that the terrible accident with his son was just that, an accident, and nothing more. “I asked you a question kid. Do you use an open bridge or a closed bridge?” “Both” “Righty or Lefty?” “Mr. Falcone, please listen to me…” “Righty or Lefty kid?” “I’m right handed. Please Mr. Falcone don’t do this.” Pauley motioned to Bruno who was holding the bolt cutters. He stepped behind Collin. (Now pleading for mercy) and wedged the open jaws of the blot cutter between the thumb and index finger of Collins left hand. He looked over at Pauley who gave a nod, and then clamped the jaws shut severing the thumb. Collin screamed as Pauley slapped the duct tape back over his mouth. “Get that friggin iron over here Gino and slap it on that stub. That Irish pig is bleeding all over the floor.” Gino pressed the hot iron to the severed joint. It immediately stopped the flow of blood. It also caused Collin to pass out. “Wake that prick up I’m not through with him yet.” Geno took the mop bucket over to the sink, filled it half full and dumped the bucket over Collin’s head. He came too again, looked around the room and said, “Just kill me you sons of bitches and get it over with.” Pauley grabbed Collin by the hair pulling his head back and said, “What’s your rush kid? Were just getting started. You know, you can still shoot pool Lefty.” “Fuck you, Falcone!” “Yeah, you probably wouldn’t enjoy the game as much that way anyway. Bruno, take the other thumb.” Bruno locked the bolt cutters on Collin’s remaining thumb and severed it from his hand. As it hit the floor, blood sprayed from his hand onto Bruno’s silk shirt. “Fuck, see what you’ve done now you little prick. You ruined my fucking shirt. Geno, is the iron still hot?” “Yeah, I left it plugged in.” “Get it. And do your thing.” Geno got the iron, and pressed it against Collin’s stub. Again he screamed in anguish and passed out and again Geno doused him with the mop bucket to bring him around. Collin looked down at his thumb lying on the floor, then up at Pauley and the others. The look of terror in his eyes had left him and in its place was the look of a man resigned to the fact he was about to die. A calm came over him and he began to think of all the things he could have done for Katy and Collin Jr. But didn’t. He could have stayed out of the pool rooms and gotten a better job with more security for them. He could have been more honest with Katy, and been more open with her about his failings. But most of all, why didn’t he go right home that night. He thought if he had, Falcone would still have gotten him and he’d still be tied to this chair, but at least his family may have been saved from these animals. But he didn’t and now their dead and he would soon be with them. As Pauley stared at the young man in front of him, he saw a change in the boy’s expression, so he removed the duct tape from his mouth. “You got any last words kid?” “You killed my wife and son isn’t that enough you Ginny bastard?” Without another word, Pauley took Bruno’s pistol from its shoulder holster and fried one round into Collin’s forehead. “Get rid of the body and clean up this fucking mess,” he said as he left the basement. Chapter-49 Jack and Ann sat at the kitchen table waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. It was just after 6:00 AM. And they both looked like they needed more sleep time. Jack took two china cups and saucers from a glass cabinet over the sink and set them down on the table. Ann stared at the cups for a moment and then said to Jack. “These cups are beautiful, they look very old. Maybe we should use one of the mugs up there instead I would really hate to break one.” Jack took the glass carafe from the coffee maker, walked over to Ann and poured coffee into the two cups. “If fifteen kids couldn’t break one in fifty years, I think we’re good to go. These cups have quite a history in my family. My grandmother gave my mom these china cups as a wedding gift when she married my dad, just as her mother had done and her mother before her. They were given to Collin’s mother, my sister Marie, as a wedding gift, but after her death, they were returned to mom until she decides which of my sisters will be the next custodian. I couldn’t say just how old they are, but I know my great grandmother brought them with her from Ireland in the mid eighteen hundreds, and they have been passed down from mother to daughter, ever since. There was a loud knock at the door. Jack took another sip of coffee and then quickly returned the cup to its saucer, looked at his watch and said, “Who the hell could that be, it’s not even six thirty yet?” Ann peered at Jack over the rim of her coffee cup and said. “Maybe it’s Collin, Jack?” “Damn, you’re right honey. It could be him.” Conley quickly rose from the kitchen chair and went to answer the door. He looked through the peep hole and saw Detective McCranie somberly standing there with his head bowed. McCranie would have used his cell phone to give him the usual updates, so Conley knew that for him to be at the front door at half past six was not good. He took a breath, unlatched the chain, turned dead bolt, opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. “Jack, they found a body in the Staten Island landfill. It may be your brother. I need you to come to the morgue with me and take a look at the body.” “Sure, let me get my jacket and I’ll be right with you.” Conley stepped back into the apartment, walked into the kitchen and found his mother standing next to Ann. She was holding the two cups and saucers and had just turned to put them in the sink when Ann asked who had been at the door. Jack shook his head at her, a sign that she should say no more, but it was too late, his mother had heard the request, and repeated Ann’s question. “Who was that at the door, Jackie?” “It was Detective McCranie.” “What did he want?” “He just had some general questions about Collin, and whether I knew where he might contact any of his friends. You know mom, the usual cop stuff.” Mary Conley turned away from the sink still holding the two cups and said. “You can’t bullshit an old Irish mother, son. I can see right through you. Now tell me, what’s going on here?” Conley looked over at Ann, and cocked his head as if to say. “See what you’ve started.” He then turned to his mother. “Detective McCranie is waiting in the hall. He said they found a body in the Staten Island landfill.” Ann put her hands up to her mouth and spoke through her quaking fingers. “Oh my God, Jack is it Collin?” Tears began to well up in Mary’s pale blue eyes, and her hands began to tremble. One of the cups rattled off the saucer and exploded on the kitchen floor. Jack quickly stepped forward and took hold of the other cup and the two saucers before they too hit the floor and laid them down in the sink. He then gently put both big hands on his mother’s cheeks and bending down to meet her at eye level he said. “They don’t know that it’s Collin, mom. It’s probably not, so don’t worry yourself over it yet. He then retrieved his coat from the back of the kitchen chair. “I have to go with Detective McCranie now.” He kissed his mother gently on the forehead then walked around the table, and kissed Ann good bye. Chapter-50 Conley and McCranie arrived at the City Morgue a little before 8:00 AM. Detective McCranie showed his ID to the receptionist and gave her the case number for the John Doe found in the Staten Island Landfill. The receptionist made a phone call and after a short wait the two men were escorted by a technician to the storage room. The Medical Examiner matched the numbers on their paperwork to those assigned to the corpse and then he pulled the body from the cooler and peeled back the sheet exposing the head area of the lifeless body. “Is this your brother, Detective Conley?” asked the Medical Examiner. Conley nodded his assent, and then pulled the sheet completely off his brother’s cold dead corpse. He stared at Collin in disbelief at the unspeakable condition of his brother’s body. The Medical Examiner took hold of the corner of the sheet, and began to pull it back over the corpse. Detective McCranie, who had not seen the body prior to entering the morgue took hold of the Medical Examiner’s arm, and said. “Hold up a minute Doc.” He stared down at the young man’s face, and even with the grotesque facial trauma caused by the tremendous beating he had taken, McCranie still recognized the face as that of the talented young pool player he had met at Thurston Grey’s apartment just a few weeks earlier. Why he didn’t connect the dots earlier he didn’t know, but there was one thing he was sure of; the man on the metal slab in front of him, and the one he met at Thurston Grey’s were one and the same person. He took the sheet from the Examiners hand and laid it back over the body, and then said to Conley. “I knew your brother, Jack. I didn’t realize it until now. I met him at an apartment in the Dakota building a few weeks ago.” “What the hell would Collin be doing at the Dakota?” “He was playing straight pool for a thousand a game with a New York City billionaire who took him to the cleaners.” Did you get a good look at his body, McCranie?” “Yeah” said the Detective. “Whoever did this was one sadistic son-of-a-bitch. They didn’t want him to die too quickly. My guess is they kept this poor kid alive for days before he finally died of blood loss, and shock. Look at where the thumbs were severed; the joints have been cauterized to stop the bleeding. Your brother suffered unimaginable pain before he finally died. I’m sorry for your loss, Conley. We’re going to find the sorry bastards that did this and put them away for a long time. As the two detectives left the morgue Conley lit a cigarette, took a long drag, blowing smoke into the air above McCranie’s head. “What they did to my brother? That wasn’t just a killing; they tortured him, and then butchered him like an animal. My family can never see him like this.” McCranie put his hand on Conley’s shoulder. “I’ll take you to your mother’s place, Jack. You need to be with your family now. Don’t worry, we’ll find the bastards that did this to your brother.” Conley took another deep drag on his cigarette, looked hard into McCranie’s eyes, and said, “We both know who’s responsible for this and we both know no one will ever be prosecuted or go to prison for it. This has gone beyond being a police investigation. What we have here now Dave is a Reckoning. McCranie cocked his head slightly and repeated what Conley had just said. “Reckoning? What the hell do you mean by a Reckoning?” Conley took one last drag on the cigarette, dropped the butt to the sidewalk crushing it under his shoe. “You know exactly what I mean Detective. A reckoning, a settlement of accounts. Will you help me McCranie?” Detective McCranie looked up at the big man in front of him. “Settlement of Accounts, what the hell are you talking about, Conley? Are you telling me you’re going after the Falcone crew on your own without due process of the law? What the hell, Jack, that’s not a Reckoning, that’s a Vendetta. I need to take you back to your mother’s place, and you have to think about what you’re saying.” Neither Detective said a word on the drive back to Mary Conley’s apartment. The silence was almost deafening. They simply stared ahead through the windshield as though looking for an answer to an impossible question. Finally as McCranie pulled up in front of the apartment building he broke his silence. “My father and his father before him were cops. I have two brothers and a brother in law on the force. You’re asking me to do something that goes against the grain for me, Conley. But it brings to mind something my father told me the day I graduated from the police academy. He said, Dave play by the rules until the rules no longer apply. Then do the right thing.” McCranie put the car in park, cut the ignition got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side; he bent down, and tapped on the glass motioning Conley to the rear of his cruiser. Conley got out of the car and walked back to McCranie who was putting a key into the trunk lock. “I have to be out of my fucking mind to do this, Conley?” He popped the trunk lid open. Pointed down at a gray metal box sitting in a larger cardboard box on the left side of the trunk, he said. “Take it.” Conley took the metal box by its handle, removed it from the cardboard box, and laid it back down on the floor of the trunk. He looked up at McCranie who was staring down at him with a sheepish grin. “Open it, Conley” he said, “And Merry Christmas.” When Conley opened the metal box, he found two large objects each wrapped in a soft flannel cloth. When he picked up the first, there was no question in his mind that it was a weapon. He was however very surprised to find out they were a pair of¬¬¬ Glock 9mm’s with silencers. The grips and triggers were taped, so fingerprints were not an issue. Detective McCranie picked up the second Glock, removed it from the cloth wrapping and gave it an almost loving kiss on the end of the silencer. “I’ve had these for quite a while Jack; I’m going to miss them. They’re both untraceable. When you’re done with them, drop them and walk away. That’s the best I can do for you Conley.” Conley thanked him, and slid the two pistols under his belt and buttoned his jacket to conceal them. As he turned to go up the steps to the building entrance McCranie called him back. “Conley, hold up” he said reaching back into the trunk; he came out with a second pair of loaded magazine clips. “You’ll probably need these.” Conley took a deep breath, nodded in agreement, took the clips from McCranie and thanked him again. “Don’t thank me Conley. Just settle your accounts, and get the hell out of my city in one piece.” “That’s the idea Dave” As he watched Detective McCranie drive away. He wondered if he really had what it took to take on Falcone and his crew alone and whether another dead Conley served any useful purpose in the larger scheme of things. He was just now getting his life back together after the death of his wife and son during the September 11th terrorist attacks. He was now engaged to a beautiful woman who loved him for who he was and he now found he had doubts as to whether or not he wanted to give it all up for an almost certain trip to the morgue. Conley opened his jacket, thumbed the grips of the two Glocks and thought to himself. “If I don’t, one, or all of my brothers will and although they all have courage, and want to do what they feel is right, they’re not ready for something like this.” He buttoned his jacket back up and entered his mother’s apartment building. Chapter-51 Conley rang the bell on the wall in the lobby. He heard his mother’s voice over the speaker. “Who is it?” “It’s me, Jack.” In a moment the inner door in the lobby buzzed and Conley pushed it open. As usual, the elevator was out so Conley used the stairs. He knocked on the apartment door and the door opened a crack straining against the security chain. The face peering through the crack was a familiar one. It was his sister, Marion. “Hi Jackie. Give me a sec to get this chain off.” She opened the door, kissed her brother on the cheek, and hugged him tightly. Conley gently pulled back, smiled and said. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” “Francis and I were able to get an earlier flight out of Atlanta.” She took him by the hand. “Come on in Jackie, everyone is here. Then with a coy little smile looked at him over her shoulder and said. “Your fiancée is gorgeous, and smart too. What the hell does she see in you, you big Irish lug.” “You know sis, I’ve been asking myself the same thing. I think she just goes for men with big guns.” They both laughed, and Marion pulled on his hand to lead him into the living room. Jack hesitated, looked at his sister, and said. “They found Collins body this morning.” Marion’s eyes teared up. “Are they sure it’s him Jackie. Maybe they’re wrong?” “No, sis. It was Collin; I identified his body at the morgue” “Oh my God, Jackie. How could something like this happen? Collin was a good kid. What could he have done to make someone want to kill him, Katy, and his son too?” “I don’t know Marion, but I’m going to find out. Go get the family together. I’ll be right in. I just have to use the bathroom first.” Marion walked into the living room and Jack walked down the hallway passed the bathroom and entered the spare bedroom where he and Ann were sleeping. He removed his coat and tossed it over a chair in the far corner of the room, then removed the two 9mm’s with their silencers from their resting place under his belt He opened the closet door, and tucked the two weapons under a blanket on the shelf above the clothes rack. As he walked past the bedroom dresser, he stopped and stared at an old photograph of himself taken the day he graduated from the police academy. His mother had it framed and displayed with pride. He had not realized until he saw the photograph, just how much he and Collin had looked alike. It also made him think about his nephew lying on that metal slab in the city morgue and the more he thought, the angrier he got. It was at that precise moment he affirmed what both he and Detective McCranie new had to be done and he was ready to accept responsibility for it. He also knew that the only way to settle all debts was to go way beyond the letter of the law. There would have to be a reckoning. Blood for blood he thought. Whatever Collin did, he didn’t deserve to be butchered, and dumped in a landfill like so much garbage by that son-of-a-bitch Big Pauley Falcone and the other calloused brutal animals who work for the Moretti family. Marion had gathered everyone into at tight group in the living room. Conley worked his way through his brothers, sisters, and their families to his mother sitting on the sofa with Ann. He sat down next to his mother taking her hands in his. He could see the sorrow and heartache in her eyes. He took a deep breath, looked over at Ann, then back to his mother. “Mom, they found Collin today. He’s been murdered.” The room went silent. Mary Conley’s eyes welled with tears, but she managed to maintain her composure. She looked into her oldest sons deep blue eyes and said with no uncertainty. “Prison is not enough for those who did this terrible thing to my boy, his wife and their precious son. You need to find them Jackie. You need to find them and kill them all. Do you hear me, son. All of them.” Then she stood and silently walked to her bedroom, went in and shut the door behind her. Once the family had dispersed to their own homes for the night, Jack and Ann retired to the spare bedroom. Jack sat on the end of the bed, slid his shoes off and fell back onto the mattress staring at the ceiling with a blank expression on his face. Ann took his jacket from the back of the chair and walked to the closet. She opened the door and hung the jacket on an old wooden hanger. As she was closing the door, the rumpled blanket on the shelf caught her eye. When she reached up to straighten it out, she felt the reason for the bulge. Lifting the blanket she saw the two automatic weapons. Very gently she lifted the blanket and its contents from the shelf and laid them on the bed next to Conley. “What are these, Jack?” Conley turned his head to the side and looked at the two guns with their silencers and said. “What do they look like Ann?” “Well, they sure as hell don’t look like something the A.C.P.D. issues to their Detectives! Those are the kind of guns used by gangsters and hit men, Jack. Where did you get them and for the love of God, what are you planning to do with them?” Conley sat up on the bed, took a deep breath, and said. “It doesn’t really matter where I got them, Ann, does it? And as far as what I’m going to do with them, I think we both know the answer to that. These guys didn’t just kill my brother. They butchered him, and murdered his wife and son. Do you remember the terror Erik Varga put into your heart, and how in the end you knew he had to be stopped permanently. Well, Honey, these guys are worse because unlike Varga, they’re not insane, they’re just bone mean with no soul or conscience. If I have them arrested, they’ll come after the family and they won’t stop until everyone who could possibly cause trouble for them is dead. This is something I have to do, Ann to protect us all.” Ann sat down next to him, and cupped her hands around the sides of his face. Looking deep into his eyes she said. “Jack, I’m scared to death. If anything happened to you I don’t know what I’d do. Jack took Ann’s hands from his face and laid them down on her lap and held them there. “I’m not going to get hurt, Babe. This isn’t my first rodeo. Believe me, Ann, I know how to handle the problem. “You don’t even know who’s responsible for these murders. Do you?” “Your wrong, Ann, I know exactly who did this. Members of the Moretti crime family.” “Jesus, Jack, you’re telling me you’re going after the Mafia?” “Not all of them, just the ones responsible for the murder of my brother and his family.” “Can’t you just have them arrested?” “They would walk in less than twenty-four hours, Ann. There’s no hard evidence.” “Then how can you be sure it’s them?” “The son of one of their Capo’s, Little Pauley Falcone was playing pool with Collin the night they killed Katy and Collin Jr. There was an argument over a pool game and Falcone’s son was accidently killed. So, tell me Ann, who do you think is responsible for Collins murder?” “Are you crazy, Jack? You can’t go after all of them by yourself.” “I don’t have to go after the entire mob. I only need to take out the one who gave the order. Big Pauley Falcone” “I don’t want my brothers involved in this, Ann, they’re not prepared to handle the heat that’s coming down and they’ll only get hurt, or worse. We have three dead now, and I don’t want to see any more family at the morgue. I want you to promise me you’ll say nothing to them and I want you to go back to Atlantic City until this is over and done. Promise me.” There wasn’t much sleep for either of them that night. Conley’s mind raced from thought to thought as he tried to plan a strategy that would bring him through the hell fire he was about to walk into to serve up his brand of Irish justice. Ann was just as restless with the terrifying thought that the man she loved so deeply and wanted to marry might possibly be taken from her before their new life together could begin. In the morning, Conley was up early; he made a pot of coffee, and returned to the bedroom with one of his mother’s prized china cups steaming with the fresh brew. As he walked past the dresser, he picked up the folder Sergeant Beaver had left with the information on the Moretti crew. He stood staring out the window for a moment, tapping the folder on his chin and then sat in the stuffed chair by the window. He set the cup and saucer on the window ledge beside the chair and began thumbing through the folder looking for anything that would help him make it through this reckoning alive. Ann began to stir as the morning sun beamed through the window warming her face. “What time is it Jack?” He closed the file, laid it in his lap, looked over at Ann and said. “It’s still early, Honey, go back to sleep for a while. I’m just reading some files.” She rolled back over on her side burying her face in the pillow. She sleepily opened one eye and said. “Give me another twenty minutes, and then I’ll get up and make some breakfast for us.” “Sure, Babe that would be great.” As he stared at the beautiful woman on the bed, he flashed back to his first wife Angie and their son Jackie Jr. who were passengers on American Flight #93 on Sept 11th when it was hijacked by Al-Qaeda and crashed over Stonycreek Township Pennsylvania killing all onboard. God forgive me Angie it gets harder each year to see your face. I met a wonderful woman, and have fallen in love again. Her name is Ann. she’s a Psychiatrist and works with troubled children. I think you’d like her Angie, she’s a lot like you, always upbeat and ready to go. Ann opened her eyes to find Conley staring down at her. It was as if he were trying to read her thoughts. “What’s wrong, Jack, you look so distant?” “It’s nothing, Honey, I was thinking what a tragic waste all this has been.” Then Ann’s psychiatric side kicked in. “You and I, and the family will get through this, and life will go on.” Jack smiled at her. “You’re right, sweetheart and we’ll move on.” Conley got up and laid the file on the dresser and then sat on the bed next to Ann. He cupped his fingers under her chin, leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek. “Catch a few more zees,’ Honey. I’m going to take a shower, and get cleaned up. Then I think we should all go out to breakfast. You don’t need to be cooking for us.” When Conley had left the bedroom, Ann got up, walked over to the dresser and picked up the file. “Let’s see what you’re up against, Big Man.” She sat on the end of the bed and leafed through the folder with its case files, mug shots and photos of living mob members, and morgue photos of both dead gang members and their victims. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and her hands began to tremble as she read the horrendous things they had been charged with and or convicted of. When she could take no more, she closed the file and dropped it back onto the bed “Oh my God Jack Conley, what have you gotten yourself into?” Chapter-52 When Conley walked into the living room, his brothers who were sitting around the coffee table like a pack of Irish Wolfhounds suddenly come to life; as though Sister Mary Thomas, the Mother Superior at their catholic elementary school had just caught them with their hands in the poor box. Finally Jack’s Brother Gene put his coffee cup down on the table in front of the couch, stood up, smacked his open left hand with his clinched right fist and said, “Ok Jack, what’s the plan? How are we going to get the bastards that killed our brother and his family? Jack looked down at his short stocky little brother, smiled, and said, “How are We going to get those bastards? Gene, you’re a butcher. Buddy over there is a cook; Ray, you’re a cab driver and Jimmy’s a stock broker. We’re not going to get anyone. I appreciate your concern and desire to help, but it would be too dangerous to drag you all into what’s coming down. I’m better off going this one alone. I’ll have enough to worry about without having to worry about your safety, too.” Sean, one of the middle brothers got off the couch, walked over to the window, stared out for a moment, then turned to his older brother. “That’s Bull Shit, Jack. And I’m not having any of it. We’ve looked out for each other our entire lives, and it’s not going to stop now because the going gets a little tough.” “A little tough? Sean we’re talking about the fucking Mafia, Buddy. You’re a fireman. What are you going to do? Smack them with your hose or chase them with your fire axe?” “Whatever it takes big brother. Whatever it takes.” “And you, Roy, you’re a fucking plumber with nine little mouths to feed. What does your wife think of all this? Has she figured out how she’s going to raise nine kids on her own after you’re gone? No, probably not.” Another brother Cliff, the quiet one finally spoke up. “Listen Jack, it’s very admirable of you to sacrifice yourself to keep the rest of us safe, but were the Conley’s and were sticking together. So stop the shit and tell us how were going to handle this mess.” Conley seeing no advantage in arguing any further with his brother’s, shook his head. “Ok, we’ll take this on as a family. But I’ll need a day or two to work things out so just sit tight until then.” As he turned to walk to the kitchen he looked over to Ann and gave her the look. “What!” she said. “Don’t give me that” he said. “You know what you did. You ratted me out to my brothers. I don’t want them involved in this. They have no idea how bad this can get. They have big hearts, and would do anything for me, but they’re not mentally or physically capable of doing what has to be done. They will only get hurt, or worse if they get involved. You should have just left it alone and let me handle it Ann.” “You can’t handle it alone Jack. You’re not talking about giving out a traffic ticket; you’re talking about killing members of the New York Mob. Have you lost your mind?” Conley stared at Ann for a long disapproving moment, and then walked into the kitchen. He took the bottle of Irish whiskey from its resting place in the glass cabinet above the counter, grabbed a glass from the strained, poured a stiff shot, downed it quickly, and then poured another. Fuck, he thought. What do I do now? Chapter 53 There wasn’t much of a plan. The bar where Pauley held court was located in the center of the block with two small café tables out front. Conley had driven past the bar on two separate occasions and both times there were four or five of Falcone’s soldiers out front sitting at, or standing around the tables reading their racing forms and sipping expresso. Getting past them to Falcone would not be easy. After a third drive by he picked up on something that he thought may tip the scales a little in his favor. He noticed that three of the soldiers standing near the table closest to the door were wearing wife-beater tank tops which probably made them feel real macho but also showed that they were unarmed. The two sitting at the table wore leather sport coats and probably were armed. Those two would be his first targets, followed by the three wife beaters and then whatever he found in the bar. He figured there could be another four or five inside that he would need to take out to get to Falcone. He didn’t like the odds, but he knew what had to be done and his years on the job had hardened him and remembering Collin gave him the courage and will to go on. As he drove back to his mother’s apartment, he wasn’t sure yet how to take his brothers out of the equation, but there were two things he was certain of. There would be no more Irish wakes for the Conley family any time soon; and that tomorrow he would settle all debts with Pauley Falcone. The next morning Conley got up early, showered and had coffee in the kitchen with Ann and three of his brothers, Sean, Gene and Buddy. “So what’s the plan Jack?” Asked Sean. “Do you guys remember Jimmy Boyle?” “Sure” said Buddy, “He and Collin and that O’Farrell kid were thick a thieves when they were young.” “Yeah, well Jimmy Boyle says he can get us some fully automatic AR-15’s. If he comes through, we’ll hit Falcone’s crew in two days.” “Why wait?” asked Gene. “Because little brother it will take a couple of days for Jimmy to get us the weapons. Or did you just figure to waltz right in to Falcone’s bar unarmed and kill them all with nothing more than your handsome Irish good looks? Two days Gene. Two days, and we settle all family debts. Ok?” “Sure Jack, two days. No problem brother.” Jack got up from the table and said he needed to speak to Detective McCranie about something, and then walked back towards to bedroom. Ann took him by the arm and asked. “Where are you going, Jack?” “I’m going to get my jacket out of the bedroom closet and then I’m going to have a talk with Detective McCranie about a few things. He kissed her, and left her standing in the kitchen when he went to get his jacket. He also retrieved the two 9mm’s with their silencers laid his coat over them and walked quietly out of the apartment. Conley parked his car at the end of the block about fifty yards from Falcone’s bar and waited. Just as it had been on his last three trips past the bar, the same five soldiers were out front. The two at the table and the three standing by the door. He watched the building for nearly an hour and no one ever went in, or left the bar. If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now, He thought to himself as he got out of the car, popped the trunk and slid the two weapons down into the small of his back behind his belt. He fluffed his jacket lapels to be sure the guns were concealed and started for the bar. As he approached the entrance, he pulled the two Glock’s and held them down behind his thighs. One of Pauley’s soldiers, the one closest to the door, looked at Conley and said, “Yo, asshole, what the fuck do you want?” Without a word, Conley raised the Glock and fired. Ignoring the man who had just spoken to him, he aimed the pistol in his left hand at the temple of Geno Argo who was sitting at the café table. The bullet entered the back of Geno’s head just above the level of his ears and exited through his mouth shattering the front teeth in his lower jaw. He fell forward onto the table shattering his expresso cup with his forehead. The second man sitting with Geno at the table began to stand while reaching for a weapon under his coat. Conley’s fired twice, the first shot entered his chest and he reeled backward looking up in disbelief. The second shot caught him in the forehead. He and the chair toppled backwards he was dead before he hit the sidewalk. The soldier who had originally stopped him made a run for the entrance yelling “Gino’s hit! Geno’s hit!” Conley followed him into the bar and before he could give another warning, Conley fired again putting a round into the soldiers back between the shoulder blades. The soldier stumbled forward, fell over a cafe table and laid motionless on the floor. Conley quickly scanned the room. There were three men plus the bartender staring at him in amazement. Then the bartender yelled, “You mother fucker” and raised a sawed off shotgun above the bar. Conley put three rounds into the big man before he could cock the hammers back. He fell back behind the bar and Conley focused his attention on the next man in line. Bruno Vincente. Bruno got off a shot but didn’t take the time to aim and the bullet grazed Conley’s shoulder. Conley returned fire and hit Bruno in the neck. He dropped his gun and fell to his knees holding his throat with both hands, the blood pulsating through his fingers with each beat of his heart. He fell back into the flood and looked up at Conley with scorn and then said with a pronounced gurgle caused by the blood pouring into the back of his throat. “Who the fuck are you?” “I’m Jack Conley, You killed my brother you, son-of-a-bitch” He then put two more rounds into Bruno’s head. The last man standing was obviously unarmed and ran to the back of the bar, and down into the basement. Conley followed him to the back of the bar and slowly descended the staircase to the basement. He found a thin little man standing in the corner with a baseball bat in his hands. Conley held both Glocks on him and said, “Really, a ball bat?” “Fuck you” was the response as he waved the bat over his head. “I’ll fucking kill you, mother fucker” Conley just smiled and said. “Not today son. I’m looking for Pauley Falcone. Where is he?” “Fuck You I ain’t telling you shit” Conley smiled again and shot the young man in the leg, putting a bullet into the center of his knee cap. The soldier fell to the floor dropped the bat and clenched his knee in agony. “I’m going to ask you again kid. Where is Falcone?” Even in extreme agony Falcone’s soldier refused to give him up and still managed one more, “Fuck You” Conley looked down at the man squirming on the floor, “Have it your own way,” he said. And then fired a second round into the soldier, the bullet pierced his heart and ended his miserable life forever. There was a searing pain at the back of Conley’s head and then everything went black. When he came too, he was sitting on a wooden chair in the center of the basement. Bound and gagged with duct tape. The bartender, with three bullet holes in him still managed to make it to the basement followed by Pauley Falcone who had just arrived at the bar to find most of his crew shot to hell. The big bartender had hit Conley with the butt end of the shotgun and knocked him cold. Big Pauley grabbed Conley roughly by the chin yanking his head up and said to him, “You gotta be related to that Irish Bastard that killed my son. I can appreciate your wanting revenge, but it’s not gonna happen and by the end of the day, you’ll be in the same dump as your son, or brother, or whatever the fuck he was. Capeesh? And you know what; it’s gonna be one of your own kind that ends your miserable fucking Irish life. Falcone turned to a shadowy figure in a darkened corner of the basement and said. “Take care of this and the mess upstairs. I’ll be at the house. Call me when it’s done. You got that?” “Yeah, I got it Mr. Falcone” The voice was familiar to Conley and as the figure in the darkness moved into the light, he knew why. It was Jimmy Boyle. “I’ll take care of things here, no problem Mr. Falcone.” “Good, don’t fuck this up kid. Rocco’s upstairs, he’ll help you with the bodies.” Pauley and the bartender made it to the top of the stairwell and then the big man finally succumbed to the bullets he had taken and collapsed, falling backwards down the stair well landing with a distinct thud at the bottom. Big Pauley looked down for a moment at the limp body on the basement floor then told Jimmy. “Take care of that too.” Conley sat taped to the chair, and thought it might not have been one of his better ideas to hang Jimmy Boyle from the bridge, but it was too late to do anything about that now. Jimmy hollered up to Rocco to come down and help him with the bartender. Rocco came down the stairs, stepped around the big man on the floor and walked over Jimmy who was standing next to Conley. “Is he the one that made all that frigging mess upstairs?” “Yeah” “Who the fuck is this guy, Jimmy?” “He’s Jack Conley the brother of the guy you dumped into the land fill.” “Well, fuck him, and fuck his dead brother too. Waste him now Jimmy. We have a lot of shit to clean up and I don’t want to be here all frigging night. Yeah, sure, no problem” said Jimmy lifting his shirt up and pulling a stub nose 38 caliber revolver from under his belt He leveled the barrel at Conley’s forehead then turned to Rocco and said, “You know Rocco, I only had two friends in my entire life, and you ginny mother fuckers killed both of them.” He swung the barrel of the gun away from Conley’s head and put two rounds into Rocco’s chest. As he lay on the basement floor coughing up blood from his punctured lungs Jimmy squatted down next to him and said, “Hey Rocco, look on the bright side. You’ll get to see all your dead ginny relatives tonight in Goomba hell.” He then put one last round into Rocco’s head. Jimmy pulled the tape from Conley’s mouth. He then knelt down and cut the tape binding his legs to the chair. Looking up at Conley he said. “You ok, Jack?” Conley nodded he was, and then said. “We have to get the hell out of here now Jimmy.” Jimmy stood up and slit the duct tape wrapped around Conley’s chest and the chair, allowing the big man to stand. Jimmy saw the hole in Conley’s jacket oozing blood. “You’ve been hit. Will you be ok?” “I’ll be fine Jimmy, but I don’t know about you. This isn’t going to go very good for you with the Moretti mob.” “Everyone who knew I was here is dead except for Pauley Falcone. If you take out that ginny bastard, I’ll be fine. “That’s the idea Jimmy.” Back upstairs Conley heard a loud moan over by the upturned café table. It was the soldier who was shot in the back. Without hesitation, Conley emptied one of the Glocks into him, laid the gun on the bar and left with Jimmy. When they got back to the car, Conley asked if he could drop Jimmy off anywhere. “No Jack, I’m good. Just take care of that bastard Falcone.” He then turned and walked away from the car. As Conley was getting into his car, he could hear the wail of police sirens getting progressively louder as they approached. As he pulled out of the parking space he thought to himself, one to go. Chapter-54 Pauley Falcone slipped the key into the deadbolt, opened the front door, took one step in and then stopped in mid stride. He turned and faced the street as if expecting someone. Seeing nothing, he leaned over a small hand rail and peered into the hedges lining the front of the house. Again seeing nothing, he shook his head, opened the door and went in. Walking through the living room he entered the darkened den. Sitting in the center of the room was an expensive antique pool table he had gotten years earlier for an unpaid gambling debt. He walked around the table to a bar in the back corner of the room. He flipped a wall switch and three small halogen lights under the overhead cabinet lit the bar and liquor bottles on it. Pauley took an ice tray from a small refrigerator under the bar, tossed a few cubes into a crystal glass and poured two fingers of Johnny Walker scotch into it. He downed the shot in short order and as he poured the second, a voice in the opposite corner of the room said. “I’ll have a shot of Jameson’s if you got it. Never cared much for Scotch I hear you have to acquire a taste for it.” Pauley slapped his glass down on the bar top and reached for the gun in his waistband. Conley stood and fired one shot sending a bullet into Pauley’s forearm. “No, no, no, no guns,” Jack said as he approached Pauley and kicked the pistol the Capo had dropped, sending it sliding under the pool table. He then forced Pauley’s good arm behind his back and threw him up against the bar. Pauley, bleeding profusely from both the entrance and exit wounds in his arm screamed back at Conley. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that Irish piece of shit Jimmy Boyle. When I’m finished with you, I’m gonna kill that son-of-a-bitch, too, And dump the both of you in the same land fill where I dumped your fucking brother. “You’re not taking anyone anywhere Goomba.” Conley said pulling open his jacket to reveal the gold detectives badge attached to his belt. “I’m your worst nightmare Falcone. I’m a cop who doesn’t give a shit.” “You’re a cop? You can’t do this. What do you want, Money? We can work this out, just tell me how much you want and I’ll get it for you.” Conley said nothing. He did however pick up a pool cue that was lying on the table and rammed the butt end of it into Falcone’s stomach just below the solar plexus. Falcone gave out a tremendous groan and grimaced in pain. “Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch don’t it?” He then grabbed Falcone by the throat and wrestled him up onto the pool table. Using cords he cut earlier from lamps in the den, he tied Falcone’s wrists and ankles to the four corners of the pool table. Conley looked down at Falcone who had stopped struggling with the lamp cords. He pulled the automatic weapon with the silencer from his waistband and slowly walked around the table. “You know Pauley these silencers are terrific. No noise at all. Just a little poof sound,” he said as he fired a round into the palm of Falcone’s right hand. “See what I mean?, I didn’t hear a damn thing, did you?” Pauley yelled back, “Fuck you mother fucker, you’re fucking dead. I’m talking to a dead man.” Conley reached into the side pocket and took out two balls, a black eight ball, and the yellow and white nine ball. “This is a hell of a table Pauley. It must have set you back a bundle.” Conley held the two balls up and asked Falcone which game he preferred, eight ball or nine ball. “Fuck You.” “You have a filthy mouth Pauley, did you know that?” And then said, “You look like an eight ball kind of guy to me.” He slammed the black ball into Falcone’s mouth. The ball wedged tightly between his upper and lower jaw, occupying the space where his front teeth had been just a moment before. Pauley’s ranting’s were muffled by the pool ball, but the pain and glaring hatred in his eyes spoke volumes to Conley who continued around the table and fired a second round, this time into Falcone’s left hand. The large caliber bullet left a gaping hole in his palm, and blew the hell out a pool ball sitting in the pocket just below his hand. And just like the bullet that destroyed his right hand, the shot fired into his left was nearly silent. Conley continued around the table. When he reached the side pocket he stopped, looked down at Falcone and then pumped another nearly silent round into Falcone. This one into the Capo’s left knee cap. “Hey, I bet you didn’t think they would recover my brother’s body from the landfill so quickly did you?” Well, they did, and they took a blood sample from his shit and they’re running a DNA test on it as we speak. I’m guessing it will match a sample their going to get form either your cold dead body or one of your dead goomba’s from the bar. Conley laid his weapon down on the railing of the pool table and leaned over until his eyes met Falcone’s. “I know it’s hard for you to talk right now, so just listen to me. This is your last day on earth and I want you to know what you’re dying for. My brother didn’t kill your son. One of your soldiers took a swing at him with a pool cue. The cue snapped and stuck in your son’s throat. If your guy hadn’t pulled it out, he would probably still be alive today. Here, let me show you what I mean. Conley snapped a cue stick over his knee. He tossed the butt end on the floor, and stabbed the splintered shaft into Pauley’s neck, then just as quickly pulled it back out. The blood sprayed profusely from Pauley’s severed artery as he looked up in horror at a smiling Jack Conley. See Pauley, just an unfortunate accident. As Conley stepped out of the house, he came face to face with Detective McCranie. “You left quite a mess back at that bar Conley. What kind of mess did you leave here?” Conley smiled. “Well you won’t have to worry about Pauley Falcone anymore.” “Where are the throw down’s I gave you?” “One is on the pool table inside, and the other is on the floor at the bar.” “Good. It looks to me like the Jamaican Posse got some payback for a hit on them last year.” McCranie scratched the back of his head and said. “We’ll run ballistics on those two weapons, but I’m pretty sure they’ll match up with slugs pulled from the bodies at a known Jamaican Posse hit.” Conley looked at McCranie with a puzzled expression on his face, and then said. “You took those weapons from a crime scene?” “Hell, no! That would be unethical and criminally negligent, not to mention highly illegal. Now get the hell out of here so I can call this in.” “Thanks Dave.” Conley said extending his hand to McCranie. The New York Detective took Conley’s hand, shook it and then said. “I don’t expect to see you in Hell’s Kitchen again for a very long time.” “I can’t promise you that, McCranie I still have family here. But I will promise to behave myself when I’m in town, good enough?” “Yeah, good enough. Now get the hell out of here you Irish Prick.” The End |
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