The Sins of a District

by Alexander Whittle

  “Peterson,”

  “Jesus! So he was serious then? What are you going to do?” asked Harry again.

  “It’s not what I’m going to do; it’s what you’re going to do. You are going to make him go away Harry, or I will show Ellis, every reporter in town and even your dear buddy Ryan everything that I have on you.” Claimed Eli Walker, he leaned over Harry in his chair and began to threaten him.

  “You wouldn’t...”

  “Wouldn’t I? This was the situation you got yourself in to. You were the one with the bad debts, you were the one who needed an out, and I gave it to you. In return I then effectively owned you, my own little policeman in my pocket, also don’t forget there was a reason you chose Peterson for this in the first place, I’m not quite sure he knew though.”

  Harry appeared frightened by this, Eli knew that the thought of his secrets being out there for the world to know could be criminally damming for the man and for the entire reputation of the force, as well as anyone who knew him. He sat silent while Eli stood there with a sadistic smirk plastered across his face.

  “How do you expect me to make him go away?” Harry asked Eli,

  “Its simple...You kill him. Not like before though, just make him go away, how you kill him I shall leave up to the master,” said Eli as he began to chuckle at the thought of someone doing his bidding. Eli had shown his true colours, he was evil. “Just make it happen fast,” Eli added as he looked at his watch realising it was time to go. Harry at this point had still not uttered one single word in response to Walker’s final demand, to kill Wayne Peterson for him.

  “This is wrong,” uttered Harry,

  “Yes, it may be, but still we do what we must to survive in this world eh,” replied Walker,

  As Eli left, Harry slammed the door shut behind him and rubbed the top of his head with his hands in disbelief at what had just been asked of him. The once good detective and city protector could become the hired killer. All at the behest of a selfish and vindictive madman out to protect his own and only his own best interests, and destroy anyone else’s. He walked to the sideboard as the sound of Eli Walker’s BMW tires could be heard screeching as he drove from the scene. In one of the drawers in the sideboard Harry kept his nine millimetre handgun, the standard issue for a cop, but behind that was an old revolver that had the serial number on the side scratched off and was unregistered to his address or to Harry himself. If he was going to kill Wayne Peterson then this would be the gun he would use to do the job, completely untraceable. Although he wasn’t thinking about the details just yet, instead he closed the drawer containing both the legal and illegal weapons and grabbed one of the whiskey bottles from the top of the sideboard and headed back up the staircase to his bedroom.

  * * *

  When Eli Walker arrived home from the office later that eventful Monday for all involved, he waited patiently for his daughter Christy to return from school. He was due to pick her up as usual, but instead she texted him to let him know she would be meeting her friends after school and would be home later than usual. Eli couldn’t let on to her that anything might be wrong so he was forced to grin and bear not knowing where she might be at times, allowing her to continue with her life as normal. She was vulnerable from the moment she left the school grounds and he knew it. Pouring himself a drink and sitting down in his favourite leather wing chair in the study, he laid his cell phone out on the table so he could see if anyone tried to call him. Eli also neglected to play any music while he lifted a cigar from the decorative box on the table top so he could hear if a car pulled up in to the driveway. It had been a long day for the City Councilman both at work and with Harry, so it was understandable that he would be tired. Eli gently drifted off to sleep sitting upright in his chair. Not even lighting his cigar he just left it hanging precariously from his wet lips also carefully holding the drink in his hand. Not even being asleep for a full hour he was suddenly awakened to the sound of the front door closing as his daughter arrived home that sunny and balmy early evening on Garfield Street. Eli’s dream left little to be desired while he had his nap, rather more of a nightmare to be precise. A nightmare that his beloved child had also left him like his late wife, becoming nothing more than a distant memory. Showing that even the strongest of characters have a weakness and they can be got at, assuming this was indeed Peterson’s next move.

  “Just where have you been?” asked Eli as she was half way up the stairs on the way to her room,

  “I told you, I was meeting my friends after school, don’t you ever listen?”

  “Next time just come straight home!” Eli demanded,

  “No way! I do want to have a life by the way dad!” Christy replied as she held on to the banister leaning over shouting. Eli took one half step towards her with a menacing scowl on his face causing Christy to flee up to her bedroom for what her father might do. Eli would never dream of hitting or harming her in any way shape or form, but he always believed that the threat of violence was in fact better than violence itself to teach someone a lesson, except in Wayne Peterson’s case. Some would call this abuse these days, although Walker was from a different time, a hard time that required him to be stern and tougher with people than he probably should be. He could hear the door slam to her bedroom from downstairs and he immediately felt regret. The stress was really starting to show in his behaviour and in his actions, needing to go for a drive to try and clear his thoughts. Walker grabbed his keys and closed the front door on his way out. He was headed over to Mickey’s, he seemed to spend nearly all of his spare time at that place, he was almost part of the furniture there and certainly one the favourite patrons.

  Chapter IV

  Later that night as the sun set over Fairmont Street in Columbia Heights. Harry O’Neill was busy plundering from his liquor cabinet, which was handily placed in his living room where he had been sat perched on his couch for many hours. This all following Walker’s demand, Harry was still reeling and unsure of what to do. One thing was for sure being drunk certainly didn’t help matters as he tried to stand up. He managed to make his way to the second floor of his house to where he slept. Harry stumbled over when he entered the room, but managed to gather himself before walking to his pine dressing table which he kept in the corner of the room. It was mainly used for pictures and the odd bottle of aftershave that he had lying around. He looked on sadly at his treasure trove of memories from nearly a lifetime spent on the force, he smirked at the sight of a much younger Harry and Ryan the day they completed their academy training at the top of the class. Placing the picture down carefully in the centre of his collection, he then reached for a replica of his first detective badge that he had made. Harry breathed heavily over it before giving the badge a quick shine with the end of his sleeve to restore the glint it once had. “So much hope back then,” he muttered to himself. Harry slowly walked to his bedroom closet and reached for an old box that he kept on the upper shelf. From that box he grabbed a uniform and began to change from his now dirty robe in to the neatly folded garb. It was a wonderful charcoal black jacket with golden buttons across the front. He wore a white shirt underneath with the trousers also being donned. The upper sleeves of the jacket proudly showed a knitted badge shaped logo of the Washington D.C. Police department. The shoes were black leather and much like the badge on his dresser also needed a quick shine to remove the unwanted dust. He completed the dress uniform image by adding his white gloves as well as the hat. Harry stood for a minute, staring at himself in the mirror. It had been a while since he wore the dress uniform and it showed with his inability to wear the matching belt around his stomach anymore. He grabbed the badge and photo of his graduation from the academy from his table and ventured downstairs, almost looking ready to lead a procession through the streets. Harry again gently placed both the picture frame and the replica badge carefully down on the coffee table in his living room, where he had spent most of the working day leering down the end of a bottle as it emptied. Then he headed for
the sideboard where he kept his firearm. He grabbed the untraceable revolver and opened the barrel, to check if it was indeed fully loaded. If this was how he had chosen to dress to kill Wayne Peterson then it would be less than inconspicuous to say the least. Harry sat down and took one final swig of the now empty bottle that stood tall by his foot, and held the revolver to his head. Making sure to look at his photo and badge one last time as he did. Tears started to run down his face as he tried desperately to pluck up the courage to carry on and end his personal suffering. Harry finally took one last deep breath, then calmly squeezed the trigger. Hoping that the clicking sound of the barrel would be the final sound he heard, he instead opened his eyes to find everything still normal. He looked at the gun, he realised it had jammed, an unlikely outcome to what he had planned. Determined to see this through, he once again held the revolver to the side of his head and pulled the trigger one more time. It had jammed again. As he opened his eyes yet another time, this time he launched his gun across the room in a rage. The chances of the regularly well maintained firearm malfunctioning twice in a row were astronomical. Harry almost couldn’t believe his luck, first Walker and now this, was he ever going to achieve any sense of peace he wondered to himself. He wasn’t a very religious man, but he couldn’t help but wonder if a higher power had spared him. Unfortunately though, this would not spare him from what Eli Walker had planned if he didn’t go through with committing a murder to save his own skin. Harry leaned back on his couch and sighed; he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Hoping the brightness of another day might bring some cheer to his miserable life.

  The next morning, Harry awoke to find his head feeling worse than if it did in fact have a bullet hole in the side of it. He was hung-over yet again, and slightly surprised to find himself lying on his couch wearing an old police dress uniform that hadn’t been worn in many years. He glanced at the table as his eyes squinted from the brightness of the sun shining through the gaps in the curtains. Harry couldn’t understand what he was doing last night with the pictures, he also found the empty bottle by his foot, and he kicked it whilst he was trying to stand up. When he looked around the room he noticed the revolver still left on the floor. It was at that moment as he bent over to retrieve it from the other side of the room that he realised what he tried to do last night. One of the few things he could actually remember. Harry felt ashamed with himself for what would be in his words, “taking the easy way out.” When he laid the revolver back in the top drawer of the sideboard where it belonged he banged his fist on the hard wooden top. He knew exactly the reason why he tried to do what he did last night. That reason had a name and it was Eli Walker. Harry was done. Done taking orders and done being his errand boy for doing his unwanted dirty work. He vowed revenge and vowed to himself that whatever Eli had on him, if it was going to take him down then he was determined to bring Eli down with him. The days of him pushing around Harry O’Neill had come to a long overdue end.

  Part Six

  Chapter I

  The year was 1975, the month was December. A small boy by the name of Harry O’Neill was riding in the back seat of a rundown convertible. He was being moved from the orphanage where he previously called home for the first six years of life. Finally being transferred to what he thought was a loving home, something that had escaped him so far. The Bay City Rollers were played through the beaten up stereo that had certainly seen better days, as the social worker that was driving the car banged his closed fist on the top of the dashboard as it would provide a clearer signal to Bye Bye Baby. Harry had never really heard much music before so he started to enjoy whatever he could hear.

  “Stupid thing!” cried Harry’s social worker finally giving up on the closed palm treatment of the radio and switching it off. He looked through the rear view mirror at the young boy,

  “Relax kid, we are nearly there,” he added as the car turned up the road of some extremely low quality housing. Having never known what it was like to experience the potential foster home treatment, the young Harry was cautiously optimistic about what he might encounter. The convertible finally arrived at its destination, a dilapidated two story house deep in the bad neighbourhoods of D.C. The once white wood on the outside of the home was stained brown and rotting away at the slightest touch. The rusted flagpole that was nailed to one of the porch beams bared no semblance of pride or patriotism as the stars and stripes were left to soak in the damp and rain. From the outside of the house, as Harry and the social worker approached, the sounds of children playing and tearing around the house could be heard. A smile was seen on his face as he realised it might not be so bad after all, even though the house was a proverbial dump from the outside for any onlooker to witness. The social worker held Harry’s hand and politely used the door knocker to tap their arrival; perhaps even a knock could bring the door from the frail and rusted hinges. A rather grumpy looking middle aged woman answered the door,

  “Yeah? What do you want?” she asked the two standing in her doorway.

  “We’re here from the orphanage, with the kid, Harry,” he replied looking down at him and smiling. Everyone at the orphanage knew Harry was always a sweet boy who behaved himself, so he had no trouble setting him up with some foster care. Anything was better than seeing him in an orphanage day after day representing the sad image of a young boy with no parents.

  “Of course! Sorry I’m just all over the place today,” she replied stepping aside to let them in,

  “Actually ma’am, I can’t stay I have someone else to sort out today, if you could just sign this final piece of paperwork and I’ll be on my way,” he said, he grabbed a folder full of documentation from his briefcase to present to the woman. Harry had already walked inside the home and began poking around, ever the inquisitive type he quietly entered the main room to the right of the hallway entrance. Where he found several older kids aged from at least eleven and above watching a television show in colour. The laughter he had heard before from outside turned out to be the older children enjoying their program. This was slightly unsettling as he realised out of around seven children he would be the youngest, and therefore the most picked on. He may have only been six at the time but he still knew how the world worked from a child’s eye, the one who stood out was generally called out. Harry had also never seen a colour television before, the television he would briefly get to watch back at the orphanage was barely still working and still in black and white. He slowly walked up and touched the screen with his hand much to the sheer annoyance of everyone else who was trying to watch.

  “Someone get that stupid kid out of the way,” a grown-up male voice from the back of the crowd said,

  “You’d better listen to him kid, if you know what’s good for you,” a young girl added.

  Ryan retreated and walked backwards into the hallway to find the social worker gone and that he was all alone. The woman who ran the household approached, her demeanour was shown to be different this time as she handed him a tatty and old broomstick,

  “Sweep!” she demanded of the young boy, “And after you have done that, I will show you where you can sleep, deal?”

  Harry chose not to make waves with his new housemates but rather play along for the time being. He nodded his head and agreed to sweep the floor for the woman; she sat down in the kitchen and removed the curlers from her dark brown hair. By the time Harry had finished tidying the floor, the floor that looked like it hadn’t been swept in a while, he was finally ready to go to his room. The woman stood up from her chair in the kitchen and began walking up the stairs gesturing him to follow her.

  “This here is your room, we have a rule here ‘smallest person, smallest room’ and unfortunately for you it’s your turn. At the end of the corridor there is Wayne’s room, don’t go in there whatever you do. He’s sixteen now and pretty much out the door and ready to move on with his life, in ten years that will be you. A few rules, you go to school every day, you work hard around the house and most of all you don’t cause no trou
ble in my home. You got all that kid?” she asked having finished her lecture towards the young boy. Unsure if he could even remember what she said he simply nodded with an innocent smile stretched across his face. The woman rolled her eyes and walked off in to her bedroom locking the door.

  Harry entered his own bedroom, the smallest one at the beginning of the upstairs corridor, with his little bag full of old and worn out clothes slung over his shoulder. He placed his bag down on the bed that he soon realised he would struggle to climb on, he surveyed his new digs. Even he had to admit he preferred having his own little place to call his own, no matter how small or dank it may have been. Anything was better than the bunk bed situation in one large room at the orphanage, where it became a free for all every night as to who would sleep where for a few hours. He then heard movement from downstairs, the others had finished watching television and began heading their separate ways. The young girls were travelling together, and the other young boys were herding in a group, and then there was Wayne. The older boy who was sixteen, drank beer, had a part time job and already one or two tattoos. He was thought of as the ‘cool older guy’ by the boys and the ‘cool mature guy’ by all the young teenage girls. Harry however, was six, having absolutely no idea what the word cool meant or how to use it. All Harry knew was that he needed to keep clear of trouble. A few weeks had passed and the young Harry O’Neill was settling in well, so far he had managed to keep clear of arguments and trouble. Although the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the household, it seemed arguments and frays amongst the other children were a daily and inevitable occurrence. It was also nearing to Christmas, a word that meant absolutely nothing where he was currently staying. Harry had never once had a real Christmas, so it was normal for all the children to forget about it, to let it pass by like just another normal day on December the twenty-fifth. In the New Year Harry had turned seven and no celebration was made of that date either. One thing that had been noticed was that Wayne was becoming more and more furious towards the other children in the home. He would even strike one or two of the young boys if they didn’t do what he asked on a regular basis. He had even approached Harry a few times and pushed him, but had so far never gone as far as to hit him. One night however on the twenty-ninth of January, Harry had awoken in the middle of a rainstorm outside and headed downstairs to help himself to a drink of water from the kitchen tap. He found Wayne down there however, in the middle of the night sat at the kitchen table with two of his unsavoury looking friends. They were all three snorting what Harry could only assume was baking flour. Wayne was startled that Harry had seen him, he quickly grabbed the young boy by arm and gripped tightly. Harry let out a wince in pain and tried desperately to stop him.