Soft Case (Book 1 of the John Keegan Mystery Series)

by John Misak

have even been decent people.

  I walked away, got back into the Caddy, and realized I was heading nowhere. Despite the information I had gotten on tape from Agnelli and Chapman, I wasn’t even an inch closer to solving the Mullins case. Sure, I was pretty close to clearing myself, but that wasn’t the most important thing to me right then. It should have been, mind you, but it wasn’t. At that moment, I didn’t care whether or not I would report back top duty as a detective. As a matter of fact, I didn’t want to be a cop anymore, despite how much I enjoyed it. I was fed up with them, all of them, and the mere fact that someone in Agnelli’s position would do what he did to me only made me feel even more so. It was all political bullshit. People are garbage, and they will illustrate this truth whenever you give them the opportunity. All you bleeding hearts out there, the ones who think all people, at their core, are good, need a real lesson in life. The whole idea that most bad people just went wrong somewhere is just wrong. The average person on the street would consider selling out their own mother for the right sum of money. I’ve seen it firsthand more times than I would like to admit. For some, that amount might be a million, for others, it might be as little as a thousand, and most people fall in between. My mother, if you need to know, is currently going for five hundred thousand.

  The only thing that prevented me from walking into Agnelli’s office and telling him to stuff his job up his ass was the fact that I had no backup plan. It wasn’t because of fond memories, a deep enjoyment of my job, or a feeling of duty that prevented me. It was just the fact that I had nothing else lined up. If someone would have offered me half my salary to wipe their ass three times a day, I would have followed through on my urge to let Agnelli have it.

  So, there I was, sitting in the Caddy, smoking a cigarette, and again wondering what I was going to do next. I had a suspect, Chapman, and I had a possible informant in Eckert. I had an accomplice, Agnelli, but I had no real motive, I had no hard evidence, and I had no leads to getting either. I’ve seen all the cop movies where the hero talks about going with their gut. Detective work, though often involving shot-in-the-dark luck, requires more mental work than those movies depict. For instance, the only thing my gut was good for was notifying me when it was time to eat, and the occasional strange rumble. Other than that, it was good for nothing. Sure, I talk about gut feelings, but they rarely got me anywhere. Besides, most of those feelings came from extensive thought, not some involvement with my stomach.

  I put the car in drive and decided to head back to the city. On the way there, I realized that I might as well stir the pot a bit. I took out Uncle Paulie’s cell phone, and dialed my good friend, Steve Eckert. I wanted to rattle his cage a bit by calling, and see what sort of shit fell out.

  He answered on the second ring.

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit out of breath.

  “Mr. Eckert?”

  “Yes. Who is this?” He knew damn well who it was.

  “Detective John Keegan.”

  “Hello Detective Keegan. How is the investigation going?”

  “Not much different than most.”

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Actually, you can. I need to talk a few things over with you, and would appreciate it if you would meet me sometime today, if that is possible.”

  There was a noticeable silence.

  “I’m going to be in the city for a good part of the day.”

  “That’s perfect. I live in the city. Meet me at a bar called Kasey’s.” I gave him the address and directions. He said he’d be there, but then he said something that took me a bit by surprise.

  “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  What the Hell was he looking forward to? I knew for damn sure he didn’t want to see me, so why was he giving me a wisecrack like that? Maybe he still harbored a little anger for me because of how I treated him about the tape that time. Maybe he was just a wiseass. I didn’t know for sure, but I told myself to watch out for this guy.

  “I’m sure you will be,” I said.

  Twenty-Three

  With my appointment with Steve arranged, I realized that my evening was taken up, and my plan to call Roseanna after my day was over didn’t look so good. I wasn’t used to relationships and all their twists and turns. I had decided, about four years earlier, that I really wasn’t made for the dating world. I would meet someone, be interested in them at that moment, but the next day, the mere act of calling them seemed tedious at best. I’m not talking just about one- night-stands, either. I mean just meeting someone, at a bar, the supermarket, just about anywhere. I’d ask for a woman’s number all the time, but more often than not, I would never call. It just seemed like an intrusion on the time I had to myself. It wasn’t like I did much with that time, but I liked to have it, and didn’t want a relationship to get in the way.

  This gets strange, because despite this attitude, one of my biggest fears was ending up alone. I had the foresight to understand that life moves quickly, and the 30-something single guy rapidly turns into the 45-year-old single old man that no one wants to have anything to do with. Like most things in my life, I was left weighing two different options, neither of which seemed to take the forefront.

  I knew, while I was cruising along in the Caddy, that the right thing to do was call Roseanna. Not because she would save me from my fears, and not because she was the answer to all my relationship problems, but instead because it was the exact opposite of what I would normally do. It was the right thing to do because what I would normally do had gotten me absolutely nowhere. A step in the right direction was what I needed, even if it was a small step.

  I picked up the cell phone, full of all the promise and aspiration that comes with an epiphany, started to dial the number, let it ring once, then ended the call. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t know what to say, and I wasn’t much for small talk. Hell, she might not have even been home, and I might have been saved by the answering machine god, but I couldn’t gamble that. By the time I had realized how much of a failure I was, I was back in the city. I took the 59th St. Bridge this time, mainly because I was tired of paying the Midtown Tunnel toll. Three-fifty each way adds up, let me tell you.

  I got on FDR drive, and cruised toward the Techdata building again. I had the camera with me, though I really didn’t intend to show it to Chapman, mainly because I had no backup of the information on there. That reminded me of the one person I might be able to trust in a pinch down at the precinct. Jacob was no lover of any of the higher ups, and just loved sound editing. He wasn’t there for any other purpose, and if anyone was unaffected by the politics and corruption it would be him. With nothing to lose, I got on the horn.

  The precinct operator answered. I had called there several times, and she had heard my voice over the years, so I had to disguise it a little. I felt stupid, but that certainly wasn’t the first or last time I felt that way.

  “Jacob Nomar,” I said in a voice an octave deeper than mine.

  “Who is calling?”

  Shit. I didn’t expect that. She never asked who was calling. I had to think fast, because I didn’t want anyone to know I was calling the department, especially because I hadn’t reported like I was supposed to.

  “Alec Renkin,” I said, recalling a name of someone I knew Jacob spoke to from time to time. If I remembered correctly, Alec was a representative from some audio company.

  “One moment.”

  I heard the line click a few times. Then it rang. On the third ring, Jacob picked up.

  “Hello John,” Jacob said.

  “How the Hell did you know it was me?” I asked.

  “Two things. Number one, I don’t know an Alec Renkin. I do know an Alan Raskin, however, and I also know that no one really calls me here. The only person who would do such a thing would be you, considering the fact that you don’t want to come here.”

  “You’re good Jacob. Ever think of becoming a detective?”

  “I hear there is a position open,” he sa
id.

  “Thanks for the stab in the heart.”

  “No problem. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, that depends Jacob. I’m not really in a position to trust anyone right now,” I said.

  “But yet I find you on the other end of the line, sounding like you need something. So, maybe I am in a different category?”

  Perhaps Jacob could make a good detective, I figured. “I could use some assistance.”

  “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. People are acting real strange around here. No one even mentions your name. When I did the other day, I got hushed. Something ain’t right, that’s all I can say without reaching too far, if you know what I mean.”

  That didn’t surprise me. My guess was at least half the guys in the department knew the truth and the others just didn’t want to know. I couldn’t care much about that. I had to expect it.

  “Well, thanks for thinking of me,” I said.

  “You got screwed John. No doubt about that. There’s something going on around here.””

  “I have proof of that. Real proof.”

  “And you want me to do something with that,” Jacob said. “That’s what you want, right?”

  “I need the evidence backed up, and don’t have the equipment. It’s video, though, so I am not sure you handle that.”

  “I have what you need.”

  “And you’re willing to help?” I asked.

  “Listen John, I’ve been here for years.