A Soul in Torment

by D. J Marteeny

  “It’s open,” he shouted and two people entered the room.

  Shaniqua Taylor came in first, apparently just finishing a phone call as she snapped her phone shut, shoving the instrument into her suit pocket. She was followed closely by her partner, Al Slokavich.

  “Please…” the Inspector said motioning towards two chairs positioned directly in front of his desk, “…both of you—take a seat.” When they’d situated themselves he continued, “Thanks for coming at this late hour but something’s come up and I’m going to have to re-assign you both—just for a little while,” he added quickly when he saw the stunned look on both of their faces.

  “What—re-assign—what’re you talkin’ about?” Al spat out, his voice beginning to rise but he stopped his rant as Shaniqua grabbed his leg and gave it a slight squeeze. He gave her a quick glance then cast his eyes downward, examining the wrinkled raincoat that was balled up in his lap.

  Shaniqua sat pensively, legs pushed together, hands now folded on her lap as her dark eyes bore a hole directly into the center of the Inspector’s forehead. “Give the man a chance to explain himself, Al. He’s well aware that we work for Eva so…” she said in a calm, steady voice. “…I’m sure he has a good reason for his decision.”

  “Yes—of course I do,” the Inspector told her as a twinge of doubt coursed through his body. He may be the inspector but Shaniqua Taylor was a well respected officer—and she was a little intimidating at times—even for him. “Look, I know you two have been running with Captain Meredeloupe for a long time but, well, with her taking a short leave of absence, I thought your skills could be utilized elsewhere—at least while she’s gone,” he added. “I’d like to assign you both to another case—another department.”

  “Another department, sir—and where might that be?” Shaniqua asked.

  “Uh, well, there’s been a rash of murders in the area around Central Park—a real nasty business.”

  Shaniqua now sat at full attention. This might just work out to her advantage after all. Maybe she’d be able to gather some information that would help Eva back in Moon Lake. “We heard a little about it, sir, but we didn’t get a lot of details,” she said as Al looked at her questioningly.

  “You’re kidding, right?” When Wells saw the questioning look on Shaniqua’s face he continued, “Then you two must be the only ones that don’t know what’s goin’ on. Some idiot at the M.E.’s office let it leak that the victims were butchered—hearts torn out and everything. Now the fucking Daily News is calling them the ‘Heart Attack’ murders! Can you believe that rag?”

  Shaniqua could barely contain her excitement. This is just what Eva was looking for. “So you’re sending us to homicide? But we’re narcotics, sir. We don’t mix well with certain other departments,” she pointed out to him.

  “Screw that! The Mayor is up my ass on this one. I can’t have good officers sittin’ around doin’nothin. I need this case solved, Taylor. Eva’s gone. With her suspect, Ramirez, dead you two are at loose ends so—you’re goin’ to homicide—end of discussion.”

  “Yes, sir. Umm, who’s heading up the investigation—who will we be working with?” Shaniqua asked, dreading the answer she knew was coming.

  “Frank Miller.”

  “Wha—Miller…” Al suddenly jerked to attention. “…hell no—I ain’t working with that s.o.b.!”

  “Listen, Slokavich, I know you and Miller have some kind of shit goin’ on but…” The Inspector started to say.

  “Shit—that bastard’s been tryin’ ta get me fired for years.”

  “That’s exactly why you three are gonna work together on this case. Miller’s been squawking about the crap you and Eva have been pullin’ with his case…”

  “He’s talking about Ramirez. That lowlife was our case and just because he got himself murdered doesn’t mean we give up on weeks of investigating. Miller wouldn’t share info any more than Eva would. He’s as much to blame as…” Shaniqua tried to explain.

  “Exactly—and I don’t need this kind of inter-departmental conflict. You’re all going to work together and solve these fuckin’ murders and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  “I ain’t workin’ with him. Put me back on the beat; put me on leave—I don’t care. Anything’s better than takin’ orders from that prick.” Al stormed.

  The veins on the side of the Inspectors neck looked as if they were about to burst as his face turned beet red. “You’ll work with him or I’ll fire you myself!”

  Al jumped up from his chair, shaking as he stood before the Inspector’s desk. He ripped the badge from his breast pocket as well as his revolver from his shoulder holster, slamming both items down onto the desk in front of him. “Let me save you the trouble—I quit!”

  “Al!” Shaniqua shouted, grabbing him by the arm. “Think about your retirement. You’ve got such a short time left.”

  Al shrugged her off, “I ain’t workin’ with Miller, Shaniqua. He’s a waste of flesh—you know what he’s been sayin’ about me.”

  “Al—be reasonable,” she begged but he wouldn’t listen. He turned quickly, knocking over his chair in the process. He stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. “Inspector, do something. Al’s a good cop— with years of experience. You know you don’t want to lose him. Pull him off this case and let him work out his retirement on something else. I’ll go and work with Miller.” Shaniqua pleaded.

  “Al’s an insubordinate ass, Taylor, and he’s gonna take you down with him. He’s made his bed—now let him lay in it.”

  “Inspector—please.”

  The Inspector slammed his fist onto the desk top, “Jeezus Chrissst! Alright, Taylor—go after him and see if you can talk some sense into him.” Wells shouted in frustration. He really couldn’t afford to lose a good cop.

  Shaniqua flew to the door, stopping only for a moment to turn and stare at the man behind her.

  “Thanks, Inspector.”

  “Don’t thank me ‘til you’ve talked to that crazy bastard.”

  Once out on the street Shaniqua could just make out Al’s rumpled form heading east on Sixty Seventh street. “Al—wait up!” she shouted as she took off at a slow run.

  Al turned to see his partner’s large frame bouncing down the sidewalk after him, a big black purse dangling from her arm as it flopped in synchronized motion with her huge breasts, her arm waving frantically in the air in a desperate attempt to catch his attention. He stopped and waited for her to reach him.

  Shaniqua paused, gasping for breath as she held onto Al’s arm to steady herself. “You know, Al sometimes you can be a real idiot.”

  “I don’t care. I wasn’t going to get railroaded into Well’s scheme to help Miller’s inept department—something Miller would fail to appreciate anyway, I might add.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the Inspector’s plan. I was talking about the fact that you made me run half a block to catch up to you. Do I look like a freakin’ jogger! Man I gotta give up the smokes,” she said as she bent forward to catch her breath, her body convulsing into a fit of coughing.

  “I’d say that’s an understatement, woman.” Al said as his shoulders shook with laughter. Shaniqua lifted her hand to give him the finger.

  “Nice.” Al turned toward the traffic clogging the streets, his face a mask of hopelessness. “All my life I just wanted to be a cop, you know, do some good—make a difference. Then I’d retire with a decent pension and go fishin’ for the rest of my days. Guess I really fucked that up, huh?”

  “It sure does look that way, my friend.” Shaniqua replied as her breathing slowed to a more normal pace.

  “Sorry—I didn’t mean to let you and Eva down—didn’t mean to cop out. I just couldn’t do what Wells asked. Why the hell did Eva have to leave now? That girlie coulda’ made it home on her own. H
ell, she survived living with Ramirez. How hard could a bus ride be?” he ranted on.

  “I know what you’re saying, Al, but there’s something about this Ramirez case that’s really messed with Eva’s head. She thought she could get the girl to remember something important if she rode with her and gave her some time to think about things. She would’ve never left otherwise. And, Al—I talked to her briefly tonight.”

  “Yeah—about what?”

  “Seems there’s been some murders near Moon Lake—murders that, strangely enough, mimic the ones happening here in the park. She wants me to send her some info. So, you see, this little job that Wells wants us to look into might not be a bad idea. I can send anything we find out back to Eva and Miller can’t say a thing. Maybe we can even solve this thing before the great Miller does. Wouldn’t that be a feather in your cap?”

  “Yeah—maybe, but I just quit, Shaniqua —Wells isn’t going to just overlook that. He has my gun—my badge.”

  “Then go back and get them back,” she said as her partner looked at her skeptically. “Look—I got the impression he’d listen—maybe give you another chance if—if you just go and apologize—tell him it was all a mistake.”

  “Apologize!”

  “Yes, Al, apologize. He’s the Deputy Inspector, for god’s sake. I can’t even begin to understand why he’d even bother to give you another chance after the stunt you just pulled. Anyway…” her tone softened a little when she saw the defeated look on her partner’s face, “…he sent me to try and talk some sense into you so there’s still hope. Go talk to him before he changes his mind.”

  “He won’t change his mind, Shaniqua. He needs us and he knows it—even if he is pissed at me right now. Eva’s team has a record matched by no other department and Wells knows Miller’s a screw-up. If Wells wants this case solved he has to find the right people to do it. I don’t know, Shaniqua. I ain’t got it in me to make Miller look good—and get no thanks for it. I need to think—I need—awe, I don’t know what I need.”

  “Really, Al—really? You’re going to make the Deputy Inspector wait while you try to figure out what to do with your life. You’re an ass!”

  “Yea, well this ass is tired—and I need a drink.”

  “Go ahead throw your life away—drown it in a bottle of booze.” Shaniqua ranted. Gripping her purse, she ruffled through it until she found what she was looking for. Pulling out a crumpled pack of Marlboros she withdrew her last cigarette. Shaking her head in disgust she lit it, inhaling deeply as she turned to walk back towards the precinct. “What the hell am I going to tell the man—what an idiot—how do I…”she mumbled to herself as she tried desperately to come up with a plausible story for the Inspector that would save Al’s job.

  “What’re you gonna’ say to him?” Al shouted from behind her.

  “I have no freakin’ idea—and what the hell do you care anyway?”

  Al stared as Shaniqua’s large figure slowly dissolved into the sea of humanity that clogged the city sidewalk. After a while, the only sign he had that she was still there—still walking—was the occasional puff of blue smoke drifting away on the soft breeze. With a sigh, he turned towards Fifth Avenue then, hesitating, he turned back for one last look. “Thanks for being a friend, Shaniqua.” The words were a whisper on the wind only he could hear as he absently straightened his tie and shuffled down the block towards his favorite bar—and sweet oblivion.

  Chapter 12

  Bar Nine on Fifty Third and Ninth streets looked like any other neighborhood joint in New York City. On the front of its red façade was an ancient wrought iron fire escape snaking all the way up to the fifth floor. On either side of the old building vacant lots hid behind construction barricades of faded gray, plastered with torn and shredded concert and movie posters. Two dying shrubs sat in black pots near the entrance to the bar, a failed attempt to spruce up the place—even if only for a little while.

  What made the Nine different from similar establishments was that this particular bar had long been the hangout for the officers of the Nineteenth precinct—all of them. Frank Miller entered the bar slamming the door behind him. Jay, the bartender, looked up from his post at the cash register with disgust. He’d never liked the man but, hey, he was a paying customer so he put up with the detective—on most occasions.

  “Hey Frank, you wanna take it easy there—unless you’re gonna pay for a new door?”

  Miller returned the bartender’s look with an angry glare of his own. His weasely face was tense. I don’t need shit from no bartender—I’ve had enough from everyone else today, he thought. He’d come here for one reason only— to bury the frustration and embarrassment of the day in a bottle of booze. He’d just spent the better part of the afternoon with the Deputy Inspector getting his ass reamed out over the attacks in the park and all he wanted to do was forget—everything—for just a little while.

  “Stupid shit,” he mumbled under his breath as he walked towards the bar.

  “What’ya’ say, Miller?” questioned Jay.

  Miller suddenly realized that the bartender thought he was swearing at him as the much larger man stepped out from behind the bar and angrily headed towards Frank. Miller retreated back three steps, putting his hands out in front of him to create an imaginary barrier.

  “Whoa, whoa there, Jay— I wasn’t talking to you. Sorry man, I’ve just had a really bad day,” he explained.

  The big man stopped, looking at Frank with suspicion for a few seconds. “You watch your mouth in my bar, Frank, or I’ll make it about me. I don’t give a shit if you are a cop.” Jay said before returning to his seat behind the bar.

  “Sure thing, Jay.” Miller said as he retreated to a spot at the opposite end of the bar. Gathering his courage he asked, “Ah, can I get a beer, Jay?”

  The big man dismounted from his stool and poured a glass from the tap. Without looking he slung the foaming mug down the long bar towards Miller before returning, once again, to his seat. Frank barely caught the glass as it sloshed to a halt in front of him, spilling some of its contents onto the cuff of his shirt. He cast a contemptuous glance at the bartender before taking a long slow swallow of the cold liquid in an attempt to obliterate the last few hours of his day.

  As the liquid traveled down his throat he glanced at his reflection in the tarnished mirror behind the bar. The park murders and the bad press had certainly taken their toll on him. His skin was pasty, even more than usual, and the dark circles under his eyes had spilled across his hollow cheeks. His eyes were sunken into his skull making him look like a modern version of Max Schreck.

  He pulled his eyes away from the sallow face staring back at him, focusing on the script that decorated every inch of the walls in the room. Put there by the patrons over the years, most of the writings were tributes to officers killed in the line of duty. There were a few attempts at artwork that resembled Picasso on acid as well as a few sentences about 911. On the lighter side; there were some bad poems and lewd rhymes, poor attempts by drunken patrons to be creative.

  He’d even written one himself although he noticed with a scowl that someone had crossed it out, the word dick scribbled across it. Angry all over again at the written assault, Frank drained the contents of his mug, slamming the glass down onto the bar when he’d finished, earning another angry glance from Jay. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar rumpled figure hovering in the corner watching him intently.

  “Slokavich!” he spat out the name with contempt.

  Miller slid off his stool and walked towards Al’s table, the top of which was cluttered with bottles of St. Paulie’s Girl. Al stared at the approaching man with bloodshot eyes, a combination of hatred and disgust pushing their way through the stupor produced by the beer.

  “Well hello there—Al. I see you’re in your normal state of drunken oblivion.”

  “Fuc
k youssself, Miller. I’m done takin’ ssshit from you.” Al’s words were slurred, a testament to the amount of alcohol he’d been drinking.

  “Where’s your buddy, Eva? Oh right—she’s out of town with my witness. Well, you can’t hide behind her skirt now, can you—Al?” taunted Miller.

  “Fuck you, Frank!”

  “Oooo—that’s real intimidating. Tell me, Al, what’s it like to go through the world as a fuck-up?”

  “Whad’ya askin mefor? That’s something you should already know—Frank.”

  Miller bent forward placing both hands onto the table as he leaned in close to the drunken man but Al wasn’t as drunk as he appeared. Just as Miller was about to launch another verbal attack, Al grabbed the smaller man’s dangling tie and yanked—hard. Miller pitched forward knocking bottles onto the floor with a crash as his nose slammed into the beer soaked table top.

  “Ahhh!” Miller screamed in anguish clutching his nose in his hands as he pulled away from his captor. Tears welled up inside of his eyes as blood splattered down the front of his shirt. “You son of a bitch— I’ll kill you!” Miller screamed in rage just as the bartender whipped around the bar heading towards the two men.

  “Miller—I told you to keep your ass in line. Outta my bar—now!” Jay screamed. The large man grabbed Miller with his massive fist and pushed him towards the door but Miller wasn’t through causing trouble just yet.

  “He’s as much to blame as I am. If I go—he goes too. Come on, Slokavich—move your fat ass.” Miller screamed in hatred.

  The bartender turned to Al. “Come on, Al, you’ve had enough—out with you.”

  “Why me? I was just sitting here mindin’ my own business until he showed up,” he said glaring at Miller.

  “I got no time for personal vendettas. I want you both gone from here—right now. Don’t make me repeat myself again.” Jay said as Al was about to reply. “Come now, and Al—wait outside. I’m callin’ your partner. You’re in no condition to drive. ”