by Jackson, Gil
‘Revenge - plain and simple. Fariq had got involved in Giuseppi’s wage scam at the dockyard. He was paying them back in the old tried and tested ways of terror and harassment,’ Agent Johnson said.
‘It’s the same report all right. It was typed on the same machine: a Remington.’ Agent Sullivan said still looking through the two sheets.
‘That’s ridiculous one typewriter’s the same as another that report could have come off any machine ...’
‘No,’ Agent Sullivan interrupted. ‘Each character, its space, and its slight misalignment: these two reports came off the same machine. Lieutenant Weinberg’s Remington – your report has been altered – by you – and I bet a year’s salary if we dig deep enough in your records we’ll find others from your predecessor, signed, then altered in much the same way.’
He looked at the two men before him.
‘Gentlemen ... I have considered your questions, and have come to certain conclusions-’
‘Yes,’ Agent Johnson interrupted, ‘we understand that questions that have been put to you could be construed as accusative.’
Rivers felt let off the hook but it was a short lived emotion.
‘However, before you say anything further, and in your own interests, I advise against it, it is my duty to relieve you of yours, and, pending ...’ Agent Johnson held up his hand to stay his imminent protest, ‘... further inquiries and investigations into these matters I am arresting you for conspiracy to alter the course of justice ... and for your own protection ...’
Rivers burst like a boiled container of water. ‘You can’t do that ... I protest ... I’m not employed by you and what’s with the protection, by you, from you, I want to see my lawyer, does the Mayor, does Governor Brent know what’s going on here?’
‘I recommend that you contact your lawyer, as to Governor Brent he is well aware of what’s taken place here, and I do have the power to relieve and arrest you ...’
‘On whose authority?’
‘The President of the United States of America, Police Commissioner Rivers, Mr. Woodrow Wyatt. You can go quietly – say your sick, make whatever excuse you like, we’ve no interest in embarrassing you.’
Rivers sank back into his chair. He was trying to think that Agent Johnson must be wrong. That he couldn’t and didn’t have the authority to do this to a Police Commissioner; that there was probably a procedure for such eventualities but couldn’t imagine that they were as simple as Agent Johnson had suggested. So this was how the Bureau of Investigation moved. He tried his last card, quietly and assuredly.
‘I am quite sure your conduct and intrusive manners will be the subject of inquiry, however, until I have spoken to my employers, I’m forced to accept what you are telling me, however, fact is I’ve to put my house in order, speak with the person who will temporarily take over and-’
‘That will not be necessary, Police Commissioner Rivers, you will leave everything and the building, immediately. Take yourself to your home. You will be contacted.’ This time it was the voice of Agent Sullivan. Agent Johnson had decided that he had finished with him and was packing his brief case ready to leave.
‘But this is completely irregular - the police department cannot run itself.’ He stammered the words.
‘Of course you’re absolutely right, Police Commissioner Rivers, I wouldn’t presume that the department runs itself and you are probably good at that - and that’s why I have been directed to take over.’ Agent Johnson said with the authority of a man that could do that standing on his head.
* * *
‘You fucking idiot, Rivers, I suppose it hasn’t occurred to you your phone is being tapped. What are you calling me for; your problems are of your own making?’
‘You bastard, Brent-’
‘Tch, tch. That’s no way to speak to the Governor of the State of New York.’
‘Governor of the State? I’ll make sure that you don’t remain that for much longer - you didn’t tell me what was going on, and when I’m finished spilling the beans on you and your relationship with Giuseppi—’
‘Who? I don’t know who you’re talking about, Rivers. You must be getting me mixed up with someone else; my name is Governor Brent-’
Rivers slammed the phone into its cradle and stood there shaking for the second time that day. So Giuseppi had gone to earth and Brent was leaving him to face the music, aided no doubt by Weinberg and his ambitions. As for an Obscene section of the Bureau, he’d never heard of that one before. They were obviously using this case to break new ground. What was he to do? It had only started out as a bit of bribery and information — well he was the fall guy, and if he was to fall he’d make sure that Brent did too.
Opening a drawer in his desk he took out a bottle of gin and a glass, poured a large measure and sat down; thought for a moment and picked up the phone again and dialled. A woman’s voice answered, he supposed it was a secretary or something.
‘Hello, this is Harry Rivers, Police Commissioner; I need to speak with Mr. Ambrose urgently.’
‘Hold the line, Police Commissioner; I’ll see if he’s available.’
He was beginning to have difficulty holding himself together. His breathing had become laboured and he wondered whether it could be heard at the other end of the line. The phone clicked and a man’s voice answered.
‘Harry, how are you, long time?’
The voice was hesitant, as if he was embarrassed to be speaking to him. A Police Commissioner up for any kind of misdemeanour was not good for business whatever the outcome.
Rivers picked up his lawyers vibes, but had no choice but to carry on as if nothing had happened.
‘Art, I need to speak with you urgently.’
Art Ambrose was not the kind of lawyer that would not have heard that the Bureau of Investigation was looking into a Police Commissioner, it was not after all something that would have gone unnoticed for long within the legal profession; and that the bottom line would be an indictment: cut, dried and sliced like salami. Personally, and although a client, he’d never particularly liked Harry Rivers, far too cock sure of himself. He’d always acted like the police department was his own personal army - he’d heard the rumours of his running with the hound and the hare; but of course - client confidentiality - had kept it all to himself. He had become his lawyer more out of family obligation than choice. Family that was a laugh. Harry’s wife. With a family like hers you wouldn’t need any other diversions; they’d keep you going till you knew the constitution inside out. Little wonder that there were so many amendments. Still made him a wealthy man for as long as he could run with them, and that was more than enough. However, he’d decided earlier in the day, to cut this man and his family adrift.
His voice was heavy and cracking. ‘You haven’t heard? It’ll be all over the city by day break.’
Art Ambrose played dumb. ‘What are you talking about, Harry, you sound terrible. Whatever’s the problem?’
‘I’m suspended. That’s the problem.’
‘Suspended? You’re the Commissioner, how’d they do that?’
‘Look, Art, I can’t talk now. But I do need to see you. Like urgently.’
‘Busy, Harry. There’s Fishman though, my associate, good boy, he’ll see to you. Sorry can’t do anything myself at the moment, handling city litigation against the Railway Company. Always plenty of work there these days, Harry. You know what they’re like, anyway, Fishman, like I said he’s a good boy. Shall I get him to call you?’
‘No. I said its gotta be you. You’ll have to come here ... I’m under some kind of house arrest.’
Blast the man, Art Ambrose thought. He and my sister suited each other as man and wife; if it hadn’t been for him being Police Commissioner I could have disowned her years ago; it was all political with his practise: he was stuck with her. ‘Okay, Harry, if it’s like you say, I’ll be right there.’
‘Thanks, Art.’
The line clicked. Art Ambrose replaced the receiver. Perhaps the rum
ours about Harry were true afterall, he thought to himself, this was going to have to be his last dealings with Harry, he couldn’t afford a scandal in his practise, too many important people to think of. He couldn’t fathom out why the Bureau of Investigation would be interested in a Police Commissioner. After all – although a shit – he didn’t think that Rivers qualified for any special attentions in a world where bigger arseholes than him were running free to do as they liked. In fact, had he had anything to do with it he wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of thinking that he was anymore than his brother-in-law and left business out of their relationship. But, she is my sister. If they kick him out, he’ll have to live on half pension and the immoral earnings of her brothels, and they would have to live with the world knowing that Police Commissioner Shit that had been upholding their laws and order for their city, had been exacted the justice he deserves from a greater justice short of God. Except, the kind of circles he mixed in, they probably knew that. Still, the Bureau of Investigation, that was a turn up for the book.
* * *
A fucking dream come true, so it is. Just wish that Dore had been around to see it. Still he’d be laughing, he was sure of that, wherever he was. ‘Dear Boy.’ Charlie said mimicking Dore.
Charlie assured Frank it wasn’t him - he’d never heard of the Bureau of Investigation - which left Frank with a dilemma, who did inform the Bureau? The character that he’d had hold of? And that didn’t make any more sense than Rivers turning himself in. Still the posted notice had said: Relieved of duty. They hadn’t mucked about; must have been sure of themselves, but where had they got all their information? Gave him faith in a justice system after all; still mustn’t get to cock sure, they want to speak to us next, and we haven’t been models of discretion in the world of law and order. Rivers had been right about them in one respect, playing by the book had certainly not been their forte. He laughed to himself at the thought of him and Charlie sitting inside Coleman’s Pledge the pawnbrokers one night, after they’d had a tip-off that it was to be hit by Jack-the-Cat, a known smash and grab merchant. And Charlie getting cramp (which was hardly surprising after being in the same building for three nights, so determined was he to catch his man), standing up, deciding to relieve himself; finding the first thing to hand: a collapsible opera hat; the same moment that Jack-the-Cat, let go half a house brick through the front window. If Charlie hadn’t been wearing his derby bowler hat that night his injuries would have been a lot worse. The look on Jack’s face when he reached in to snatch a tray of gems. Charlie — hat dented and askew, trying to stifle his dick from urinating anymore and stuffing it back into his trousers at the same time — not successfully; his face taking on that ruddy complexion whenever he’d lost his dignity; and raging, as he did.
Jack-the-Cat, a technician in the world of cat burglary where he acquired his name and reputation until he fell three floors from a window ledge trying to get into Webster the jewellers the hard way. Sustaining both multiple broken bones and terminal vertigo he’d been forced to do odd jobs for his living by throwing bricks through shop windows; and had that week had a run-in with Charlie over some spilt stout in a local bar: seeing his life playing out before him; left the scene quicker than Pierre the French Trapper, who, working the Appalachians had accidentally stepped out of his cabin backwards one morning, traps in arms, trod on the balls of a sleeping wolverine that had lain there all night waiting for him to open the door, rush in and grab some food; taking it out on Pierre instead by taking a lump out of his leg.
He was still laughing when Charlie came in.
‘What’s funny?’
Quickly bringing a degree of seriousness to his face, Charlie hadn’t yet found its historical time span long enough to laugh at it himself yet. ‘Rivers suspended, eh!’
Charlie couldn’t see that it would warrant laughing like Frank was, but decided to let it go.
‘They want to see us, so, if it was you that’d called them ... better to tell me now.’
‘Like I told you, I’ve never heard of such an outfit, anyway, what’ve we done?’
Frank gave him that old fashioned look that said don’t you try that one on me, you know full well the way we behave.
‘What choice did we have, the girl had to come first?’
‘I know that, Charlie, I’m not pulling rank, you were acting under my orders I’ll see you’re in the clear. I’ll say this much though, I don’t think we’ll be able to fob them off.’
‘Do we want to?’
‘If we did, the way they’ve dealt with Rivers suggests to me if they don’t know everything they know enough.’
‘Well, you’d been on to Rivers for a proper investigation of Giuseppi for long enough, and he’d done nothing, he’s brought it on himself. Perhaps they overheard you.’
‘I don’t think so. You sure it wasn’t you?’
Charlie’s face reddened. ‘Would I go over your head?’
‘OK. I believe you.’
‘Might be as well if we listened to all they had to say before we commit ourselves, Frank.’
Frank nodded as the telephone rang. Charlie picked it up. He said a couple of words before putting it down. ‘That’s them. They want to see us in Rivers’s office immediately.’
Charlie looked at Frank. Perhaps in their efficiency they had arrested Giuseppi and found Fariq and his daughter alive. Would that be too much to ask? That another law enforcement agency was not prepared to stand by and let people suffer because they tried to stand for their rights. The more he thought of Harry Rivers and his connections with Giuseppi the more he realised how much of it he had put to the back of his mind because there was little he and Frank could do to help. This bribery was bad enough, and God knows the whole of New York city seemed to be awash with it at the moment, but murder and violence against ordinary people, he might as well had stayed in Ireland.
Frank got up from the desk. ‘Come on, its show time let’s get it over with.’
* * *
A sober looking man beckoned them to come in. They both looked around the room; it had been stripped to the wallpaper. Filing cabinets that had once lined the walls had been emptied, the contents packed into cardboard containers piled next to them. The cabinets themselves had been dismantled where once they had been screwed, their side panels propped against the wall. As for the carpet, that was rolled up neatly in the corridor leading to what had once been Harry Rivers’s office. All that was left was the photograph of Harry in full dress uniform standing proudly at his inauguration when being made Police Commissioner. All that was different was that the backing card had been removed from the glass surround and what was left was perched on top of one of the filing cabinet drawers. The door closed behind them, the air pressure in the room altered and the portrait fell onto the floor shattering the glass in its frame. All three of them looked, ignoring it.
Agent Johnson spoke without introduction. ‘No doubt word has reached you that Commissioner Harry Rivers has been arrested. Please sit down gentlemen.’
‘What charge?’ Frank said.
‘I cannot say at this stage. However, I can tell you that the President is not happy about the situation and is seeking new order in crime and morality and that Mr. Hoover has been given an edict to rout out what he, the President has called the “the unacceptable forces of evil that are pervading society”.’ Agent Johnson looked from one to the other of them before continuing. ‘In particular the safety and protection of children both nationals and immigrants. Furthermore the department for whom we are employed is pleased with the manner that you two gentlemen have carried out your duties in the matter of the Fariq family and relevant issues pertaining to those forces of evil
a-fore-mentioned.’ He drew the word out.
Charlie could not believe what he was hearing.
Frank interrupted, mindful of their acting on their own behalf and said that they hadn’t especially gone out of their way to help the family and were surprised that it had reached
Hoover’s ears.
Agent Johnson continued as if he hadn’t heard Frank’s remarks; continuing where he’d been interrupted. ‘You disregarded the specific orders of a superior officer who could, have had you disciplined for insubordination. Your job was on the line, and no, Hoover wasn’t necessarily looking at the Fariq case in particular that you are at pains to mention - there are many more - but in the general moral decline of the nation. You two officer’s, without knowledge that greater forces were at work had been courageous in your attitudes to that decline. Gentlemen ...’
To Frank’s surprise Agent Johnson stood up and held out his hand to first Frank and then Charlie. Shaking them soundly, said that it had been a pleasure and relief that a line in the sand had been drawn and that others had better recognise it for what it was. Charlie’s face took on his ruddy Irish complexion this time not out of anger but embarrassment and sheepishly smiled from ear to ear. Frank kept a straight face not sure of what he was hearing and whether perhaps there was some ulterior motive in Agent Johnson’s praise of them. He wasn’t wrong. Agent Johnson bade them resume their chairs which they had half left in the invitation to have their hands shaken.
Agent Johnson had a grin on his face. ‘We understand that you’ve both, how shall I put this ... got the reputation for the fight.’
Charlie looked at Frank as if to say: Now what?
‘Well I’d better warn you, gentlemen, that’s not quite the way the new Bureau of Investigation works and I make no apologies for your having to leave the police department.’
Frank was horrified. So they were to be dismissed. All that bull that Agent Johnson had come out with and they were to be given their marching orders. He stood up and demanded to know what kind of a game Hoover was about, talking morals one minute and sacking them the next.
Agent Johnson listened to him patiently before responding. ‘Frank, Lieutenant. I haven’t finished. Both of your positions within the New York Police Department have to be at an end - for your own safety and your family, believe me it’s too dangerous for either of you to remain: you’ve picked up to many enemies, honestly. He held out his hand to Charlie’s imminent protestation and quietened it with a lowering of his head and a quiet word.
