Once Were Cops (7 page)

company or just riled up?” He moved past Kebar,

said,

“Deadwood, love it, since Brian Cox joined, it’s

moved up a notch, you think?” He tossed the box

on the table, asked, “So, you got any wineglasses?”

Kebar got a mug, none too clean, said, “Knock

yourself out.”

Morronni used his silk handkerchief to clean it,

poured a measure, looked at the Stoli bottle, said,

“Whatever gets you there, am I right?” Kebar

stayed standing, swaying actually, and asked, “The

fuck you want?”

Morronni pretended offense, then smiled, a

predator’s one, said, “It’s payday, my man.”

Tossed a fat envelope on the counter, said, “A

little extra this time as we have a favor to ask.”

Kebar didn’t touch the thing, asked, “And that’d

be?”

“We got a shipment coming in Friday, need to

know if the narcs know.” Kebar nodded and

Morronni asked, “You’re good to go on that?”

Kebar gave a bitter chuckle, said, “What you pay

me for, right?”

Morroni opened the pizza box, tore off a hefty

slice, stuffed his face, then midbite said,

“Slight problem has come up.”

Kebar was having double vision, would he have to

shoot the two Morronnis he was seeing, asked,

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Your kid, the Mick cop, he did a real number on

my boy Gino.”

Kebar was delighted, Jesus, that kid, said,

“And?”

Morronni was looking in disgust at his white shirt,

a dab of sauce had landed there and he seemed

pissed, said,

“Fucking hate when that happens, oh yeah, your

boy, he’s going to have to make restitution.”

“What did you have in mind?” Morronni debated

another wedge and decided against it, said, “I’ll

think of something.” Kebar had to know, asked,

“And if he doesn’t?” Morronni stood up brushing

crumbs from his suit, said,

“Then it goes on you.”

Kebar thought of the firepower he had so very

close to hand and for one brief mad moment he

considered blowing the scumbag to hell and gone,

but then what of Lucia?

Morronni, as if he read his thoughts, laughed, said,

“You’d like to lash out, eh, show some muscle, but

you know, you ain’t got no fucking juice, pal,

you’re a cop on the take, I own your ass, and

because of that little stunt, I’ve had to take some …

what’s the word, punitive measures, get you back

in the game, it hurt me to do it but let it be a lesson

to you.” Kebar went cold, asked in a very quiet

tone, “What measures?” Morronni was at the door,

said, “And spoil the surprise?” Then he was gone.

Kebar, despite the amount of booze he’d

consumed, had become stone sober, hurting,

hungover, but sober.

Time to pull out of the spiral and get his frigging

act together, he tore off his reeking clothes, got in

the shower and stood under it, ice cold for five

minutes.

It was sheer agony but it sure drove the toxins out.

Shivering, from booze and cold, he got his uniform

on and was wondering if he could stomach some

caffeine when the phone rang, he picked up, a

tremor in his hand, went, “Yeah?” “Mr. B, it’s Mr.

Kemmel, at the nursing home.” Kebar’s stomach

plummeted and he went, “What’s the matter?”

Pause. Then: “There’s been an incident.” “Stop

fucking around, what happened?” “I think you

should get out here, right away.” Click. He hung

up?

Kebar was going to call the fuck right back but he

better move, he threw the phone back in its cradle.

The drive out there was murder, tailgating all the

way so he slammed the siren on, his own personal

one he had borrowed from Property, and still took

him forever to get out there, his mind a mess of

snakes and dread.

He finally made it, tore out of the car, ran in and

there was Kemmel, a serious expression on his

face.

He motioned Kebar to his office and, biting his

lower lip, said,

“It’s your sister …”

Kebar grabbed him by the neck of his Hugo Boss

shirt, snarled,

“What?”

In a high voice, Kemmel said,

“Someone got in her room, broke both her arms

and, it seems, tried to strangle her.” Kebar let him

go, a sob breaking from him, asked, “Where is

she?” “At the hospital, she’s at the hospital and in

deep shock.” Kebar was in hell, asked, “Did she

say who did it?” Kemmel was shaking his head,

said,

“She’s receded into a catatonic state, she has

retreated into someplace safe in her own mind.”

Kebar demanded,

“Aren’t you supposed to mind the patients, isn’t

that your fucking job?”

Kemmel reasserted some authority, said,

“It happened in the early hours of the morning, we

only have night staff, and believe you me, they’re

stretched to the breaking point.”

Kebar got the address of the hospital and started

out. Kemmel said,

“Mr. B, in light of this … incident, we may have to

review her continuing stay here.”

Kebar kept going, if he’d responded, he wasn’t

sure if he could keep himself from beating the

schmuck to a pulp.

His uniform got him to see a doctor at the hospital

without delay and he was told that she’d suffered a

massive beating, her arms broken and her nose,

and they were just now checking but they suspected

she’d been … raped.

And the marks on her neck, the bruising, huge

welts, whoever had done this, he’d gotten off on

the strangulation, the doctor telling him this was

shocked, nigh shaking.

Kebar felt like he might pass out, asked, “May I

see her?” The doctor was sympathetic and said,

“This evening would be best, she’s in intensive

care now, we want to ensure there is no internal

bleeding.” Back in his car, Kebar remembered

Morronni’s words: “Punishment.” Lacking

anywhere else to go, he went to work.

O’Brien, the CO, had him on the carpet, reamed

him a new one, and warned:

“IA is on your ass, and what do you do, you take

sick leave without telling anyone, you were …

once … a good cop … but I think you better start

looking at the security ads, that or Leavenworth,

now get out of my sight.”

He passed the kid, who was behind a desk, and

tried to greet him but the kid stonewalled.

Kebar got down to the car pool and the guy

assigned there smirked, went,

“Back to the Lone Ranger again?”

Kebar didn’t rise to it, got in the prowl, burned

rubber outa there.

His mind was hopping with every form of revenge

known to man, and his first order of business was

to find out who did the number on Lucia. Morronni

would have contracted that out, and Kebar knew

exactly who to ask.

He drove to Little Italy, went into a barbershop

there, and sure enough, a bookie by the name of

Lonnie was sitting in a chair, marking up the form

sheets, he wasn’t happy to see Kebar, who said,

“Get your ass in gear, we’re taking a little ride.”

Lonnie looked around for help but the other

customers were suddenly engrossed in other

activities, no one was going to run interference for

him with the demented cop. Lonnie made a show of

putting the paper aside, sighed, and followed

Kebar outside. As they got in the car, Kebar said,

“That sigh you gave, hold the thought, you’re gonna

fucking need it.”

Kebar had the radio on, not the police scanner but

the C and W channel, they always played Johnny

Cash and sure enough, here he was with “The Man

Comes Around.”

Listening to Kebar sing along with Cash, that

scared the be-Jaysus out of Lonnie more than

anything else, and the way he leaned on the line

about a guy taking names, something very ominous

about that.

Kebar took Lonnie to the same area of ground

where he’d sent the kid sprawling in the dirt,

pulled up, let his window down, said, “Good spot

to dump a body, you think?” Lonnie thought, “Oh

sweet fuck.”

Kebar took out his Glock, let it lie loosely in his

lap, said, “I’m going to ask you one time for some

information, and if you stall, shoot me a line, I’m

going to shoot you in the balls, you real clear on

that?”

He was.

Kebar turned the radio off, leaned back, then

asked,

“Morronni got some scumbag to do a number on

my sister, the full beating and …”

He had to grab a breath, then:

“And … violated her, she’s a little handicapped

but she’d have known she was being hurt, now take

your time, I want to know who’d be up for that type

of… job?”

Lonnie racked his mind for some out, couldn’t find

one, said,

“There’s a psycho, a real piece of work, that kind

of… stuff, he loves it and if it was a retard—”

He instantly regretted using the word but fuck, he

was nervous.

He chanced a look at Kebar, and no reaction save

a slight tightening of his mouth. Kebar asked,

“The name and where he hangs?”

“Fernandez, he likes to go to the strip joint on

Eighth and Twentieth, he’s a real dangerous

mother, does crystal and has a crew of some very

deranged bikers.”

Kebar nodded, said, “Good, you did good, just one

thing.”

Then he suddenly whacked Lonnie under his chin,

hard and brutal, said,

“Retard, that’s a real ugly word, try and drop it,

okay?”

Lonnie was seeing stars and he was fairly certain

he’d had some teeth loosened. Kebar put the car in

gear, asked,

“Drop you someplace?” Lonnie, barely able to

speak, muttered, “Any subway station, any one

that’s near.”

Five minutes later, he was getting out of the car,

blood and sweat running down his face. Kebar

said, “You won’t be tipping off anybody, will you,

Lonnie?” Lonnie swore on his mother’s grave.

Kebar smiled, said,

“Be seeing you.”

Lonnie watched him drive off and hoped Kebar

wouldn’t find out his mother was alive and well.

How well I have learned that there is no fence to

sit on between heaven and hell. There is a deep

wide gulf a chasm, and in that chasm is no place

for any man.

—Johnny Cash

I’M NOT GOING TO MAKE EXCUSES HERE,

AS THE YANKS say, it got away from me.

Lucia.

The darkness had been building in my head and I

liked Nora, Jesus wept, I never liked no one me

whole life and she was me shot at the other life but

I was afraid if I didn’t get release soon, I’d go

after her. Then I zoned, and I was outside the

hospital, I could see meself, walking along the

corridors, it was night and the dimmers were on

and all I could see was that beautiful white neck,

I’m not even sure if I knew who it was it belonged

to anymore and a tiny part of me was saying,

“This is a good thing, going to see the poor girl,

give her a bit of company.” And then …

It gets all fuzzy here and next thing I was back in

my car, the darkness lifting, and I was thinking of a

nice place I might bring Nora for dinner.

I BEGAN TO SEE NORA REGULARLY, IT

STARTED SLOW, BUT in jig time we were

seeing each other about three times a week. I liked

her a lot and thing is, she made me feel good about

me own self and I don’t want to go on about it, but

her neck … just waiting … after Lucia, I was …

what’s the word, sated, she was my swan … didn’t

know exactly what I was doing … that’s the best

bit.

How rare is that?

The last thing I’d planned on was getting involved

but it snuck up on me. The lovemaking was real

fine and one evening, exhausted, she asked me, her

head lying on my chest, “You like me, huh?” I

smiled, said, “Well, you’re not the worst.”

Then, of course, the woman’s question, the one that

guys hate: “So Shea, where are we going with

this?” I had her neck in me sights but no hurry …

right? I said, “Let’s see how it goes.” Wrong

answer. She was up, getting dressed, said,

“Fucking guys, all the same, you call me when you

know what you want.” And was gone. I muttered

the mantra of men all over the planet: “What’d I

do?”

Course I knew, I’d behaved like an arsehole …

sorry, asshole.

I figured I’d give her a few days to cool off and

then we’d be back on track.

Whatever track that was.

I was still riding the desk, desperate to get back on

the streets. I knew Kebar was out there, doing his

gig, and I missed it, and him. Whatever else, he

was never boring. I was getting a cup of the burnt

grains that pass for coffee with cops, adding lots of

cream to kill the taste, when one of the old guys

approached me, these were the beat cops, grizzled,

bitter, but the very best if you needed backup, I’d

been thinking of Kebar’s sister a lot, something

about her really twisted me heart and I was sorry,

well, a bit that I’d done such a number but like I’ve