JUSTICE REBORN (A Charlie Taylor Novel Book 1) (6 page)

These issues and a home front with an
unhappy wife meant Duncan longed for the good old days where everyone knew the
rules. How to simplify his life? That fucking Charlie Taylor needed taming, and
their past history no longer counted.

Jesus, I have to hurry. The Chief wants to
see me

 My head is splitting, mouth unbelievable,
and the rest of the classic signs are all present. What a helluva weekend. I
think the Spring Dance was a success. Unfortunately, all I remember is arriving
and having a few drinks, after that a black void, nothing, nada.

I’m close to my destination, the Hall of
Justice, which houses most of the Investigative Division, including
Administration, Homicide, Records, and the Dispatch Center. It’s early morning.
The Chief said ‘early’ and made it sound like a few seconds delay would be
fatal, and not for him. I think this is the day we discuss Mamma Mia.

The street vendors are setting up. It’s
bright morning with sunshine bouncing off any reflective surface, but once I go
through those two massive front doors of the Hall, the setting will change.
Inside there will be long, narrow, dark hallways with rows of offices, some
doors opened, others closed, but all blinds will be pulled to ward off the hot
sun.

 I’m trying to remember the dance, the
recollection a frustrating, useless exercise. God, this is getting scary. Best
not tell Sam or Monk. I run up the staircase in front of the Hall of Justice,
push through the front giant doors and start for the bank of elevators at the
end of the hall; I hear someone calling me. Wes Krause, my old partner and good
friend, is trying to get my attention.

“Charlie, I hear the Chief wants to see
you. I bet I know why. I’m surprised you were able to dress yourself this
morning. Why’re you looking so stunned?’

“Smart ass. Tell me. Come on, tell me.” I
really like Wes but he does enjoy playing games, and I’m not in the mood. Wes
more closely resembles a 1960’s hippie than a homicide detective. He has a dark
complexion and is tall, with a long dark brown ponytail, a beard which is
occasionally trimmed, black plastic framed glasses because corrective surgery
not possible, a relaxed persona. In reality, he’s an excellent athlete, with
strength and speed, who plays on the same recreational basketball team as I do.

Wes is a follower which makes him a good
partner for me, a guy who often moves on instinct and occasionally needs
someone to flash the warning lights. He is a close friend and his loyalty is
evident to everyone, even if they don’t understand the origin. Around the
station he has developed the reputation as ‘Charlie’s bodyguard’. At times, I
find his loyalty embarrassing but our street bonding goes deep.

“You don’t know? You had another blackout.
Didn’t you? You can’t remember the goddamn mess you created. Recall the shit storm
which followed? Can you?”

This time I’m really uneasy; he’s right I
can’t remember, no matter how hard I try. Wes stares at me, and my response is
to look stupid, but there is nothing but a blank wall, almost the entire
weekend a vacuum; I don’t have to say anymore, he knows.

“I better get you up to speed because you
are going to hear about this one. Even with all the booze you were doing ok for
most of the party, until near the end. I thought you were safe, and I wasn’t
paying too much attention to your wandering. At some point you spotted the
redhead and her girlfriend; they were both wearing gowns with a lot of bare
shoulder and back which presented a target for…”

“Oh, Christ, don’t tell me. I don’t want to
know!”

“I’m just getting started. Their dates had
left them to get more drinks. That’s when you arrived. The ladies certainly
weren’t impressed.

I don’t know what you whispered into Red’s
ear. And, I was still on the other side of the room when you started on her
shoulders; it was a combination of licking and kissing her bare shoulders and
bare back. Man, this was serious shit; your face was all over her back. I think
the only reason she didn’t scream was she was in shock.”

 I can’t believe what I’m hearing. The lady
in question, Red, is Emma Collins a senior medical technician in the Forensic
Division, a real beauty. I had thought, numerous times, of asking her out but
never found the courage to ask. Apparently the other night I had plenty of
courage.

She is tall and thin, a typical runner not
a classic robust build with pronounced curves. She is a light brunette with a
natural pronounced red sheen which she wears as a short crop instead of the
current fashion of long straight hair. Emma isn’t cute but is best described as
handsome with light Saxon complexion and startling blue eyes. At 27 years old
she is an urban female whose primary focus is her career, someone not prepared
to associate with nits.

As you can see I’ve done my homework, just
never did anything about it. From what my sources tell me, her current workload
is massive with the new legislation forcing her to continue to adjust and
innovate. Technology is being rolled out at breakneck speed.

Wes sees I’m a blank and continues. “About
this time her date arrives with the drinks. He is a sergeant from the Robbery
Division, looks about 6’ 4’’. Looks like an ex- Marine. He pushes you away, and
when you persist, he reaches for your neck.

This is where your luck kicks in; I think
your wobble and swaying made it difficult for him to find you throat. So even
in your state, you’re able to isolate one of his fingers. You apply a  finger
bend on him……son of a bitch ….it looked like you turned the finger down to his
forearm.

At this time, the band stopped playing. And
in this quiet lull, our ex -Marine, now on his knees, comes out with a Comanche
style scream. Of course, the entire hall turns to the wailing; everyone, and I
mean everyone, is peering at the scene. There is no one else on the dance
floor, except for the screaming sergeant, a grinning pie-eyed ex-homicide
detective.  Red, close to tears, tried to pull you off. I got there in time to
get you away before his friends arrived. Shit, I never knew a man could scream
that loud.”

“No bloody more! Jesus Christ! The Chief
was still there?”

“Listen everyone was there. You have to
stop drinking. The blackouts are bad enough, but the behavior will get you
killed.”

We’re almost at the end of the corridor
when we both see her. It’s Red, and she is coming straight at us. Time for a
quick decision. I have to apologize. She’s going to walk right by us as if we
don’t exist. I wonder why. I step in front of her and give it a shot.

“Emma, listen I want to..” That’s as far as
I got.

 She glares at me. “You frigging asshole!”

I try a second time, she beats me to it and
belts out ––– “frigging asshole”––– and walks away.

Wes is grinning. “That was very smooth.
Went well. I think she likes you.”

Screw it. I can’t fix it. I leave Wes and
head for the elevators and Division Headquarters. The reception area is
exceptionally large; it allows for staff to congregate while waiting to see the
Chief. There is a mixture of small lounges and a few armchairs; the steno’s
station is vacant, too early in the am. There a few other detectives in the
office area, in particular a group from the Vice and their head man, big mouth
Webster, who is smirking (what the hell does everyone find so funny today?).
I’m not ten feet into the office and Webster starts.

“Looks who’s here. It’s lover boy. Is it
true you bit Red’s ass last night in full view of the Chief? So was it the
booze or just really horny?”

 His pals get into the act. “Charlie puts a
whole new meaning into tearing one-off”.

 At this point, a few of the idiots slip in
sets of huge plastic false teeth and start making clicking sounds. This group
came prepared——Webster is aware of everything that is going on in the Division.
Of course, they know I never bit anyone but it makes for a great story, and I
will be part of the Division’s oral history for years. As the prank continues the
laughter gets louder, some are crying (Christ, it’s not that funny), and the
giant false teeth keep up the vigorous chomping.

Someone lets out a mock moan and groans.
“Bite me baby.”

 The room sounds like it is full of a bunch
of goddamn beavers who are going to chew up all the wooden fixtures. The place
is full of the clacking sound, laughter and hooting, clack, clack and more
clack….the false teeth an unholy symphony.

I’m no longer amused and step towards
Webster. We all stop, when the Chief steps out of his office.  “Charlie, get in
here. The rest of you get moving. Now.”

The Chief and I go way back. Once I get
into his office, I think about how to apologize. I walk to the empty chair and
begin to sit down.

“Hold it, did I tell you to sit? Stand and
listen closely. At the beginning of last week, I convinced the Judge you should
be appointed the new head man in Homicide. He agreed but wanted the
announcement delayed until he had an opportunity to talk to Doug Brewster and
Jake Konahouse, neither one your biggest boosters.

Then a couple days later I have to talk a
blond into not pressing charges because you squeezed her breast at a basketball
game. Not my favorite chore, playing a humble servant to a groupie. But you
managed to top all that this weekend. I didn’t see what triggered the incident
with the sergeant and I don’t want to know, the spectacle on the floor was
enough.

My problem is: I went so far out on the
limb to get you back into Homicide I can’t afford to make an immediate reversal
and throw you back into Records.  But you have to understand this, from here on
there are no more free passes; one more drinking incident and you’ll be buried
in Records or completely off the force. The loss of your wife and daughter
started all this, but it’s time to move on. Either you move on or get out. Do
you have anything to say?”

My mouth isn’t going to work. I shake my
head. As I said the Chief and I go away back, and I know when he is talking
tight and under control that he is furious––– best to sneak out as fast as
possible.

 “At three pm today the Judge has asked
that the Section Heads attend a special Board session. This means you. I can’t
begin to tell you how disappointed I’m in what is happening with and to you.
But the gloves are off, and if you let me down one more time, I’ll kick you so
goddamn hard you may never recover. Now get the hell out of here and get ready
for this afternoon.”

                                            
###

I leave and almost run to the Homicide
department, three floors down. The entrance hall leads into an open area
cluttered with whiteboards, filing cabinets and some portable cork boards; we
are fortunate in that senior staff also have real offices, with full walls,
even windows. Wes is waiting, no longer grinning.

 I guess. “You knew about the reinstatement
and promotion. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Come on, forget it. The rumor has been
around here for the last week, but I thought it best to keep quiet in case it
was false. Time to go. You have a room full of detectives who want to bring you
up to speed and don’t get sensitive if you get an uneasy inspection; you
deserve it.”

I know he’s right, and I think about how to
recover the respect of the group. This is not going to be easy. There are three
others in the room when Wes and I get there: Karen Zubik, Manuel Moreno, and
Terry Patterson are detectives in Sector 14 homicide. They know about the
promotion and make all the proper sounds; no one mentions the spring party. We
assemble in the meeting room, everyone around the large table, and we start a
quick review of all the active cases; most of it’s routine, except there are
two serious open cases.

Wes is in charge of the first major case: a
serial team, known as the Five Star Couple, who kill prostitutes in four or five-star
hotels. He starts his summary. “Although it’s not confirmed, it does appear our
Five Star Couple have been at the Ritz. A body was discovered this morning. If
the Forensic team confirms the initial assessment, this will be number five. I
haven’t been over to the hotel but if it is number five the pressure is really
going to mount. The Tourist Association has already phoned the Chief and the
Mayor, and I suspect the Judge will get the next set of calls.”

I know he is right. The Ritz is a world
class convention center and hotel complex, the hub for many international
events held in the city. It will get a lot of video and be an evening news as
an exclusive feature. “Wes, once you get confirmation I want to know. I’ll get
over to the hotel and walk the crime scene with you. In any case, I’m going to
put together a brainstorming session. This couple is too damn smart for a
conventional approach; we need a different perspective.”

I turn to Karen. She is the oldest
detective in the squad. Her first years in a patrol car were spent with Duncan
Stirling, an exuberant and easy going young man who would eventually become the
Chief. He had been protective of the rookie, taking the time to pass on all his
street smarts. He was a great mentor and, with his love of the book and
structure, made sure she understood the written rules and regulations.

Today she is in excellent condition, a
small woman, not a prankster, a  face with a few hard earned wrinkles, more
years on her frame than the rest of the squad but still a significant force.
Her petite physique means she is frequently challenged; her hours with the
martial arts fraternity soon prove this to be a mistake. I’ve become her
champion, as I see tenacity, intelligence and a commitment hard to match, and
always allow her maximum freedom on most of her cases. As well, she is the only
one on the squad who knows about the sting I ran to help Wes. She never told me
how she found out, and she never shared her knowledge with anyone else.