by Chase Austin
36 times.
“I was nearby, and when I heard his cries, I ran to save him, but it was too late. I stayed with him until the first responder arrived. I saw them putting him on a stretcher. He took that last gasp. I was fifteen then. I remember because now I know what it means. That day I decided to be someone who could do something about such things. But I had no money; no one in my family had any money. To become anything, I had to save up the tuition, so I took a job bagging grocery. One of the cashiers had a brother who was a cop. The cop got to know me and one of the grocery clerks. One day, the officer suggested that we should sign up for the city’s police cadet program. We would get training, tuition for college, and a paycheck—all in exchange for agreeing to work flexible hours with the police.
“The other guy signed up, but I was unsure. That was 1968. That summer, police officers had clashed with protesters at the Democratic National Convention in what some called ‘a police riot.’ Reverend Jesse Jackson had described Chicago Mayor Richard J. Daley as a fascist; groups such as the Chicago-based Nation of Islam were ridiculing the early civil rights movement’s emphasis on nonviolence. I remember asking my friend why he wanted to be a policeman. He looked at me and said, ‘What do you have against the police?’
“I thought about it. I liked the police officer I’d gotten to know bagging groceries. So, I made up my mind and signed up for the gig. Three years later, I exited the cadet program with a college degree and an assignment as an officer with the Chicago Police Department.” Hudson looked at Karen, who was listening to him with rapt attention. “You must be thinking, why I’m telling you all this?” Hudson said while getting up leaving his cup.
Karen didn’t know how to respond to this but, partly, she wondered what this had to do with her situation. She followed his lead in getting up. The coffee was finished.
“You and I share many more things than you could ever imagine. I lost my mother at a very young age just like you did. Both of us come from a small town with dreams of making it big in this country. I’ve had my share of disappointments in my career, like the one you are facing now. It was never a rosy ride for me.” Hudson moved towards his work-table and leaned against its edge. Karen stopped at a comfortable distance.
“Despite all the stumbling blocks, I have always loved this job. And the thing I loved the most is the action—the adrenaline that came from making a good ‘pinch’. But it was one incident in particular that pushed me to think seriously about my future as a beat cop. One night, my partner and I had been called to the scene of a homicide involving a local drug dealer. The dealer was long dead. Two “wagon men”—older officers, both big guys, smoking cigars—arrived and went upstairs to the top floor of the flat to retrieve the body. When they came back, there was this boy with them, who might have been a protégé of the dead man, or maybe someone connected with the drug trade. I watched them struggle down the stairs, panting heavily, lit cigars pointing straight up to the night sky. The boy knew that those two could never catch him if he somehow succeeded in getting away from their grip. And he did get away, almost. The officers were unprepared, and the boy was free in an instant. One of the two older officers didn’t know how to react to this sudden situation and, without thinking much, trained his gun to the boy’s back and shot twice. I think it was the second bullet that hit the boy and, before anyone could do anything, he was dead. The officer was eventually tried in a court of law but, watching those two cops, I knew that’s not who I wanted to become. So, I signed up to take the sergeant’s exam the next day. Luckily, my timing was good. After decades of being segregated, the CPD was moving ahead in the direction of true integration. During the 1970s, the department embraced putting black and white officers in the same cars. ‘Salt and peppers,’ as they called them at that time. I made sergeant in 1977, lieutenant in 1984, before becoming commander of a district and then of the narcotics division. When Superintendent Roy Smith announced he was stepping down, I applied for the top job. But you know what, I didn’t get the job. One of my colleagues did.
“But that was not the end of the road for me. The next month, I got a call from a headhunter asking if I’d be interested in applying for the position as a superintendent. He was looking for someone to turn around the troubled police department. Two board members flew to Chicago to talk with me. That spring, I took the job and moved to here. My family stayed in Chicago.” While talking, Hudson had leisurely straightened himself and, suddenly, Karen found him standing too close. She had not moved, but Hudson had, and now was looking straight in her eyes while Karen had to raise her head to look back. She didn’t know if she should take a step back or stay in the same position. She could smell Hudson—a mix of coffee, cigarette, and cologne. But even as her mind whirled, Hudson continued without apprehension. “When I came here, I found the police department to be a complete mess. It was a very dysfunctional, under-resourced and demoralized department. I’ve never worked in a third world country, but it had to be something like that. I had no clue if I’d succeed in turning it around. Just like you are thinking right now about whether or not you will get out of this mess.”
Karen hadn’t noticed it soon enough, but when she did, Hudson’s right hand was already on her waist, moving down. She was dumbfounded by the turn of events, unsure of how to react.
Hudson saw Karen’s expression changing yet continued as if nothing had happened. “The need of the hour is to create partnerships among police officers to identify issues that contribute to crime and solve them. Karen, you must maintain close contacts with certain people and understand how fragile these relationships really can be. One wrong decision can jeopardize your entire worldview.” Hudson stopped speaking, but his eyes never left Karen’s. His lips curled into a microscopic smile as he loosened his grip, letting Karen go free. She quickly got away from Hudson.
“Karen, you are beautiful. There are few like you in the force. I’m sure you must be proud of that.”
Karen didn’t respond. Her face was red with anger. She turned quickly to get out of the room.
“I spoke to Judge Anderson.”
Karen stopped at the door, her hand on the doorknob.
“He doesn’t like you. The jury doesn’t trust you. It looks like your father will be hugely disappointed soon. Watching his pride shatter will be painful, won’t it? I’d be disappointed, too. Nobody, especially me, wants to lose an asset like you for killing a Mexican. It would be a shame.”
Karen turned around.
“You know, I can get you out of this mess,” Hudson breathed without hurrying. His voice was calm and in control. It was either his confidence as the top cop of the state or as someone who had done this time and again with others. Karen knew what was coming next, yet she remained standing there. A lot of things on her mind stopped her from dashing out of the place.
“On the eve of Christmas, there is a huge party planned for the whole department at Gilly’s. You will get an invitation to attend that party and you will go there. But you won’t stay long. You will make an excuse and meet me at your precinct. If you come, I’ll take care of you. If you don’t, then…” He smiled, leaving his words hanging in the air. “You can go now. I’ve work to do.” Hudson concluded as if cutting a cord with a snap.
Karen remained standing, staring at the door. She could hear Hudson slowly walking to his chair. She heard him getting back to the file he was reading earlier. She stayed there for a second longer and then with a beaten look, turned the doorknob.
“Wear something nice,” Hudson spoke from behind. Karen knew that he was now checking out her rear. “Close the door softly.” He said. She could imagine him smiling again. The smile of a victor.
Karen wanted to slam the door, yet she couldn’t. She didn’t know what stopped her from doing it.
CHAPTER 7
Karen didn’t take the elevator down. She walked down the stairs. Her mind was blank, trying to process what had just happened. Was it her mistake? Did she give some kind of indicati
on to Hudson to make a move on her? Why had her body stopped reacting when it was happening? She could still feel Hudson’s hand moving on her body like a snake. She wanted to walk, move, digest, ingest, cry.
She kept walking.
There are moments in life when you know you’ve crossed a bridge and your old life is over. This meeting was her bridge.
She stepped off the curb. Her tears blinded her, but she kept walking. She was stepping off another curb, God knows where.
An hour later, she found herself on some deserted road. She finally stopped, shivering. She didn’t know where she was or how far she had walked, but she didn’t want to stop. Her legs hurt like hell, but her mind was screaming at her to keep walking. She didn’t know what time it was, but it was dark. Real dark. She checked her cell phone. The blue light shone like a star in the deserted street. It was half-past one in the night.
She had been walking for the last four hours.
CHAPTER 8
Earlier that Day
Karen looked at her image in the mirror. The girl staring back at her looked unreal. Karen had always been a looker, but her job and her aversion to standing out based on her features made her dress in the simplest of clothes and use minimal or no makeup. This, despite her being an expert in applying makeup during her teen years. But tonight, she wanted to look gorgeous. Not for anyone else, but for herself. Tonight would also be the night when her problems would either go away or amplify with renewed ferocity. Either way, she would take them head-on while looking stunning. Wearing a short red dress and high heels, she gave herself a sublime touch with deft, if slightly rusty, hands. The backless dress amply showed her assets. She had made sure that anyone would fall for her tonight.
She checked her cell and found that the cab was still five minutes away. She opened her purse and checked it one last time. Everything she needed was in it. She had meticulously prepared for the night and was satisfied with the result. Her destination was Gilly’s Grill and Bar, where the annual party was happening. The whole New Jersey Police department was expected to be there, without their families—a testosterone-filled gathering of law enforcement personnel who would be on their best worst behavior, all night long. Though she didn’t have to bear with it long; Hudson had asked her to leave the party in an hour or so and meet him at the precinct which would probably be deserted. She didn’t know why he chose her station, but she didn’t ask. She had decided what she had to do and why she had to do it. There was no turning back now. Her phone rang. It was the cab driver.
Putting on her velvet overcoat, she checked the living room one last time and locked the door behind her. Hiding the key beneath the third flowerpot from the door for her roommate, who had gone out for a dinner date with one of her co-workers and forgotten to take her own key, she walked towards the elevator.
Stepping out onto the pavement, she instantly felt the biting cold on her face. Instinctively, she tightened her posture and looked at the only car near the building, meant for her. The driver was waiting for her. She walked towards it and opened the door. Before sliding in, she observed the black sky. It would probably snow tonight, she thought and boarded the cab.
The ride was going to take forty-five minutes. The good thing was that Karen wasn’t in any hurry. Since she met Hudson six days ago, she had spent a lot of time thinking about her options. Off work, confined to her cramped apartment, eating and sleeping and watching the world in motion from her window while she sat still, she had a lot of time to think about and consider everything. In the cab, she was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn’t keep track of time. The ringing of the phone interrupted her train of thought. She checked it and found that it was an unknown number. She still picked up.
“On your way to the party?” the voice asked.
“Yes.” She knew who was on the other side. The voice was unmistakably his.
“You know the bakery, My Daughter’s Cakes?”
“Yes.”
“Get down there. A BMW will wait for you.”
“But Sir.” Karen was surprised at the sudden change of plan.
“Karen, I told you to call me Hudson. Meet me there.” Hudson sniggered and disconnected the call.
“Drop me at the ‘My Daughter’s Cakes’ bakery.” Karen told the driver.
Karen waited for the cab to leave before walking towards the only vehicle parked near the bakery. She knocked on the driver’s side window and found a familiar set of eyes looking back at her. Without saying anything, Samara unlocked the back door and signaled Karen to get inside. Karen asked nothing, even though she wanted to. Hudson was using Samara, his personal assistant, to get to the girls but, more importantly, what made Samara agree to this? Why was she doing it? Samara pressed the accelerator, and the BMW lurched forward.
Except for the first hiccup, Samara proved to be a deft driver. The BMW sped along the empty streets effortlessly. Neither of them felt the need to speak to each other. They were both doing things they shouldn’t be, and yet here they were. Only they and their God knew what made them agree to be a part of it.
Karen checked her cell. It was 10:25 p.m. She had been traveling for almost an hour and didn’t even know where she was going. The last-minute change was worrying, but then again, what could be worse than her current situation? She looked out of the window and found the surroundings familiar. She was on the same street where her station was—their earlier meeting place for tonight, but not anymore. She observed the station building fading away, but Samara didn’t make any effort to slow down. The journey ended soon afterward, though. The BMW sped a couple of blocks further down and then turned into an alley.
Pelican Motel.
Samara slowly brought the BMW to a halt and unlocked Karen’s side of the door. Karen knew what Samara wanted and got out of the car. Without looking at her, Samara geared the BMW in the reverse to get out of the alley. The place was the backside of the Pelican motel. It was one of those places where Karen expected the next crime to occur. Despite being close to the station, she had not been here ever before.
Standing in that dark alley alone, in a tiny red dress, hundreds of uneasy feelings crossed her mind. What if someone attacked her? She didn’t have her gun. Standing there, she was thinking hard about what she should do next when her phone rang.
“Get in. Use the back door.” It was from Hudson. Samara must have informed him.
Using her cellphone’s weak flashlight, she looked around for the door. And then she saw it. She grabbed the door’s handle and pulled. As the door opened, the light from inside spilled out into the alley. Without pausing for thought, she got in. Whatever she would have to face on the other side would be better than where she was right now. She closed the door behind her and settled her nerves. She had not noticed it earlier, but her breathing had accelerated in the darkness of the back alley. Once calm, she looked around. She was standing in a poorly lit long corridor.
“Walk.” Hudson was still on the phone. Hearing his voice brought Karen back to her reality. The thought of why she was here started to haunt her again.
Yet she walked.
At the end of the corridor, she could see a door. She opened it and found herself in the reception area of the motel. There was a reception counter standing next to the door from which she had just exited. The man behind the counter looked at her with indifference and slid a key towards her.
Room 215.
She looked back at him and found him gesturing towards the elevators near the stairs. It was very well orchestrated, as if she was in a live-footage kind of movie, with cameras hidden, tracking her every step. She didn’t know how her face would have looked just then, but the prominent expression would likely be one of shock.
She didn’t know if asking this man questions would amount to anything, so she moved towards the elevators. The elevator car was already on the first floor, ready for her, but she had to pause. She didn’t know which floor she had to go. As soon as this crossed her mind, she looked back at the man
and found him still watching her.
“Third floor. Take left. Last room.”
Mechanically she walked inside the elevator car and pressed three. The doors closed at their own pace while she stood silently. On the third floor, she turned left as told and walked towards the end of the hallway. On her right was room 215. She knocked.
“Come in.” She heard Hudson’s voice from inside the room and twisted the doorknob. Inside, a foyer led to a large room. She walked inside and closed the door unhurriedly. The room smelled aromatic. The lighting was dim. As she appeared in the large space beyond the foyer, her eyes found Hudson, sitting in his bathrobe on a large chair kept at the end of the double bed, watching her keenly. A bottle of sparkling wine shone on a sturdy wooden table beside his chair. She couldn’t read the name on the bottle but, by the shape of it, the wine looked expensive.
“Keep your bag there.” Hudson instructed.
Karen looked at the wall-mounted shelf and put her purse on it.
