Superbia (Book 3)

by Bernard Schaffer

"Hey! That reminds me," Frank said. "While you were in there, I looked it up. It was Colombia."

  "What?" Reynaldo said.

  "Colombia. Where they have sex with the donkeys. There's movies, books, festivals, the whole thing. It's part of their culture."

  "Is this how you spend your time, Frank? Learning about the disgusting things people do so that you can talk about it later?"

  "It's my job to know about this stuff, Rey-Rey. Sooner or later, it all comes in handy."

  The station's parking lot was full by the time they returned. Three of the cops who'd worked the night shift were bleary-eyed, staring hatefully at Frank as he walked toward them. "This better be good, O'Ryan. I had to pull over on my way here and sleep in my car because I was afraid of getting in a wreck."

  "That's your fault for not sleeping on duty," Frank said.

  "It's different when I have to sleep in my car," the cop said. "I sleep better when I'm being paid."

  Frank chuckled and held up his hands as a sign of defeat, "Anyway, don't blame me. I was just doing what I was ordered to."

  "What the hell's this about us not getting paid?" someone else said.

  "I'm wondering the same thing. Where's Boxer? I tried to yell at him about it yesterday but he scurried off."

  "Nobody's seen him," the cop said. "His car's here, but he's not."

  "All right," Frank said. He looked at his watch, "Well, let's go in and get this over with."

  There was one box of donuts on the table in the meeting room with a single box of Dunkin' Donuts coffee and a stack of white Styrofoam cups. No plates or napkins. No cream, no sugar. The first few cops through the door swarmed the table like carnivorous bugs, devouring the contents of both boxes in seconds, leaving nothing for the second wave and laughing at their complaints.

  Frank moved toward the back of the room and stood on the farthest wall, keeping watch over everyone else. At two minutes to twelve, the supervisors walked into the room, followed by Officer Brian Boxer. As Mister Jones and Mister Frederick took their place at the front of the room, they waved for Boxer to stand at their side. "Did everybody get something to eat?" Mr. Jones said.

  Nobody answered, until Boxer finally spoke up and said, "Thank you for picking that up for us, sirs. We appreciate it."

  Mr. Frederick nodded and said, "Well, we're glad everyone could make it on such short notice."

  "Not everyone," Frank said. "There were a few I couldn't reach."

  Frederick's mouth tightened but he managed to shrug and say, "Well, you'll all bring them up to speed, I'm certain. So, Mr. Jones and I first want to say that we are aware you've all been working under some difficult conditions. It's been a rocky few years here, but for the most part, you've all managed to protect and serve this community without a hitch."

  "For the most part?" someone mumbled.

  "Obviously, Mr. Jones and myself weren't in office during most of that, so we can't really comment on what occurred previously. Luckily for you, we are here now and we both feel that what this department could truly benefit from, what you, the officers who rely on us to provide you with the right resources to do such a difficult job, could truly benefit from right now is some experienced leadership."

  "That's right," Mr. Jones said. "After extensive conversations with various members of your department and consulting with other township supervisors in the area, we've decided on a course of action that will both reaffirm your belief in us and the public's belief in you."

  The cops in the seats turned to look at one another, looking to see who the various members of the department might be, but everyone shrugged and shook their heads. Only Boxer, Frank noted, was staring at the floor. That answers that, he thought.

  "So, without further ado, we'd like to introduce your new Acting Chief of Police."

  The side door opened again and Frank's eyes widened as Highway Patrolman Donoschik and Wally Tovarich Junior both marched into the room, both of them dressed in Manor Farms uniforms with their hats pulled down so low the brim was sitting on the tip of their noses. They marched in lockstep and came to a halt in front of the crowd of off-duty cops and turned to face them. Donoschik raised his head and called out, "Ah-ten-hut!"

  Nobody moved, except for Donoschik and Tovarich who both snapped a salute as the side door opened again and Manor Farms Chief Wallace Tovarich walked in. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," Frank whispered.

  Chief Tovarich took his place at his son's side and said, "At ease, gentlemen. And ladies," he quickly added. "You have a female officer here, if I'm not mistaken."

  "She's not here this morning, sir," Boxer said.

  "Anyway, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, your supervisors have approached me and asked me to oversee this department during this time of unprecedented trouble. I will be maintaining my duties to Manor Farm as I take on this new responsibility, but rest assured, I am up to the task."

  Frank raised his hand and aimed it at Boxer, "Wait a second. Did the PBA authorize this? We already have an acting chief."

  Boxer shouted back at Frank to not interrupt the Chief and the cops in the crowd all raised their voices in protest. Corporal Donoschik came around the Chief's side and started shouting, "Stand down! That's an order! All of you, stand down!"

  Both Mister Jones and Frederick raised their arms to quiet everyone down and Jones said, "There are certain things at play here regarding Officer Iolaus that all of you might not be privy to. Let's just say that we wish him well in his road to recovery, and once he's able to return to full duty, we'll take it from there."

  Chief Tovarich smiled thinly at them all and said, "I appreciate your loyalty to your former superior officer. I trust you'll afford me the same. I'm tough, but I'm fair."

  Behind him, both his son and Corporal Donoschik nodded and mumbled, "That's right."

  "My orders will be detailed and complete. If you follow them as you are instructed, you will never have any problems. I can be your best friend, or your worst enemy. If you cross me, I will burn you down. Down to the ground."

  "Without a sound?" Frank said quietly, making the cops around him cover their mouths as they snickered. "So don't mess around?"

  "I'll be making some necessary changes to your department to streamline things. Extraneous duties will be covered by my Manor Farms divisions to free up resources for the street, where it counts. Further, select officers from this department will be given the chance to form an elite Highway Task Force, headed up by Corporal Donoschik."

  Frank raised his hand, "What kind of extraneous duties?"

  Chief Tovarich smiled at him and said, "Investigations."

  "I figured."

  "Because I cannot be here on a full-time basis, I'll be placing a liaison in the department so that you can receive immediate assistance if I am not available." He looked back at Wally Junior and held out his hand for his son to come to his side, "Effective immediately, all command decisions and requests will be forwarded to the Deputy Superintendent Tovarich."

  Wally Junior's face brightened as he looked out into the crowd, lording over the cops seated before him with supreme satisfaction.

  Mister Frederick tugged on the Chief's sleeve and said, "Technically, it's not until tomorrow morning, Chief. That's the soonest we can get it sorted out with our insurance carrier."

  Frank raised his hand again, "So he's not our boss yet?"

  "Not technically speaking," Frederick said. "But for all intents and purposes."

  "Good, then I can't be insubordinate when I say this." Frank pointed at Wally Junior and said, "Almost two years ago this fucking simpleton interviewed for our police department and was rejected because he didn't have the common fucking sense to help a woman screaming for help. He finally got hired by his daddy. Since then, he's worked in the station and has no street experience. Now you expect me and all these other guys to take orders from him?"

  "How about you clean out your ears, O'Ryan?" Corporal Donoschik shouted. "Not from him. Orders will be given fro
m the Chief, through the Deputy Superintendent. Or is that too complicated for you to understand?"

  "No, I think I understand all too well," Frank said. "We'll be dealing with someone who can issue any order he wants as long as he uses the caveat: My daddy wants it done this way."

  Wally Junior knocked his hat back and stormed forward at O'Ryan, but the Chief grabbed his son by the arm and held him firm. He looked back at Mister Frederick and Jones and said, "It's one thing to be insubordinate, but at the very least this officer is in violation of using rude and offensive language in a public forum. Surely you have that in your procedural book at least."

  "I…I don't know," Jones said. He looked at Boxer, "Do we have that?"

  Boxer looked at Frank and sighed, "I'm not sure how it applies, but listen. I've talked this over extensively with the supervisors and the Chief, guys. It really is for the best, for all of us. I'm sure, as long as we work hard and do our jobs just like we've always done, everything will be fine."

  "What do you get out of this, Boxer? They making you part of their fancy highway task force, is that it? You'll finally get to be some traffic faggot who gives tickets to little old ladies on fixed incomes?" Frank shouted.

  "You're one to talk, Frank," Boxer whined. "You've been on that drug task force for years!"

  "That is enough, Officer O'Ryan!" Mr. Frederick said.

  "You know what? I think you're right," Frank said. He headed for the door and stopped to look back at the three Manor Farms officers, "Fuck you, fuck you, and definitely fuck you."

  "Be in my office tomorrow morning at 0900 hours, Officer," Chief Tovarich hissed.

  "Sorry, I'll be on vacation," Frank said.

  "Who approved that?" Chief Tovarich said.

  "I did, as a matter of fact. Since you aren't in charge until tomorrow, I just approved myself to use all my vacation time, holiday, and comp time for the entire year. See you in six months."

  Frank slammed the meeting room door shut and jogged toward his car, worried that if he stopped he was going to turn around and choke the living shit out of that insipid bastard and the sludge standing at his side. His hands were shaking as he tried to get his car keys out of his pocket. "Hey! Frank! Wait!"

  He turned around to see Reynaldo racing across the parking lot toward him, "What?"

  "You okay?" Reynaldo said.

  "Hell no, I'm not okay. I'm sick of these fucking assholes playing games with our livelihoods like this. I'm sick of the whole fucking job."

  "Were you serious about taking leave?"

  "Dead serious. You think I'm going to stick around for this bullshit?"

  "What happens when you come back?"

  "I'm not coming back."

  Reynaldo looked at him, "What do you mean?"

  "I mean I'm not coming back. Period. I'm going to get a CDL or my Act 235 or something. Fuck it, I'll work construction, but I am not coming back."

  "Okay," Reynaldo said gently. "Sounds good. Listen, go home, chill out, try to relax. Things will settle down around here."

  Frank opened his car door and said, "Goodbye forever, Reynaldo. I'm not coming back."

  "I know," Reynaldo said. He raised his hand to wave at Frank as he pulled out of his parking spot. "Talk to you soon."

  "No you won't because I'm never coming back," Frank called out through his window.

  "Okie dokie. Adios. Bye bye."

  Special Agent Dez Dolos leaned forward to get real close to the suspect's sweaty, bewildered face. "I'm going to ask you one more time, Miguel. Where is the gun your brother gave you after he shot that store clerk?"

  "I told you, I don't know no guns," Miguel whimpered. "He never give me nothing!"

  Dez shook his head sadly and looked up at the other men surrounding them, all staring eagerly at the small Latino man sitting duct taped to the folding chair in the middle of the warehouse. "I tried, right?" Dez said to them.

  Skip Fitzpatrick, a tall, Irish narcotics officer from the Philadelphia District Attorney's Office nodded and said, "Yeah, you did."

  Ondrey Williams ran a hand over the top of his smooth, shining brown head and said, "Some motherfuckers need proof of action to understand what they up against." It was Ondrey's case, brought over from the twenty-ninth district where he worked plainclothes.

  Dez hitched up his slacks by his thin leather belt and said, "All right, let him in."

  Miguel's head shot up as the rusted metal door banged open from across the room and an enormous man in a rabbit costume stepped out of the shadows, his fur a bright shade of pink with hearts printed all over it. "Not el conejo verdad. Please, I don' know anything! I have no guns!"

  "That's not just any old verdad conejo, Miguel," Dez said. "This here is the Psycho Rabbit. He's what you might call troubled."

  Psycho Rabbit twirled a bright orange nightstick in its hand, slapping it into its padded palm eagerly as it stalked Miguel. The stick's hickory length was dented and scarred by decades of use, passed down from generation to generation, the only alteration being the occasional new layer of orange paint. They hadn't painted it in a while and the stick was turning dark orange from dried blood. "Last chance," Dez said. "Where's the gun?"

  Miguel's hands flexed and twitched under the tight strands of tape binding his wrists to the sides of the chair, and the lap of his tan khakis turned dark brown and wet, but all he could do was cry out, "No, no, no, no!"

  There was a flash of dayglow orange as the nightstick whirled through the air in an arc, followed by a sharp crack of hickory against Miguel's kneecap. Miguel threw back his head and howled in pain, screaming for mercy. "Tell me where the fucking gun is!" Dez hollered.

  The rabbit gripped the stick with both hands and reared back to thrust the front end into the side of Miguel's jaw like a battering ram. The impact drove him sideways enough to topple the chair over and leave his jaw hanging like an unhinged drawer. He opened his mouth to moan and chunks of his broken teeth scattered onto the cement floor like dice.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dez cried out.

  Ondrey Williams ran up behind the rabbit and smacked him in the back of his fluffy head and yanked the nightstick out of his paws. "Asshole! What the hell are you doing?"

  "Pick him up," Dez groaned, sending Fitzpatrick to Miguel's aid. He grabbed the rabbit by the arm and pulled him away from the others. "Dude, you aren't supposed to permanently injure them. That's not what this is about."

  "You told me to play this up, remember? The old Truth Rabbit gimmick wasn't working like before. That was what you said, Dez."

  "Well he's not much good to us if he can't talk, now is he?" Dez hissed.

  The rabbit lowered his empty black eyes to the ground and said, "I missed because he moved. It's his fault."

  Dez looked over his shoulder, "How's Miguel?"

  Miguel's face was slumped forward and blood was leaking onto the front of his shirt. "He's fucked up," Fitzpatrick said.

  "He's faking it," the rabbit said, moving around Dez, "You thought that was bad? I'm going to shove this up your ass until it comes out of your mouth you little faggot!"

  Dez grabbed a handful of the rabbit's zippered-up collar and said, "That's enough!" He pushed Psycho Rabbit back and assessed the situation. "How fucking hard is it to get a good rabbit these days, anyway? All right, untie one of Miguel's hands and put him in the closet. Give him a cup of water or something. We'll see if he's ready to talk in an hour or so when those busted stumps in his gums start to swell up."

  Ondrey Williams turned Miguel over in his chair so that the headrest was against the cement floor and he grabbed the front legs and lifted it, dragging Miguel across the concrete like he was dragging a wheelbarrow. A sudden knock on the building's front door made everyone stop. "Who the fuck is that?" Fitzpatrick said to Dez. "If it's your crazy bitch Aprille again, I'm gonna slap her across the face with my dick. She was told to stay away."

  Dez dug in his front pocket for his phone and opened the screen that connected him to the small survei
llance camera sitting above the door. He waited for the feed to load into his phone and said, "Your tiny little Irish potato wouldn't reach past your zipper, Skip."

  "It might not be long but it's as fat as a cheesewheel," Fitzpatrick said with a grin.

  The screen loaded the image of two men in suits standing by the front door, the right hips of each jacket bulging with barely-hidden firearms. Dez didn't recognize them and held up the phone, "Anybody know these two?"

  Fitzpatrick looked down and said, "Nope. They're not from the DA's office."

  Ondrey Williams snapped his fingers at the rabbit and said, "Take him into the closet wit chu and shut the door. Keep him quiet." As Psycho Rabbit pulled Miguel's helpless form into the darkness of the room behind him, Ondrey said, "And do not touch him while you're in there, or I will personally fuck you up."

  "If they had a search warrant, there'd be more of them," Fitzpatrick said. "I say we ignore them and they'll go away."

  The door banged again and Dez said, "Fuck that. I want to know what they want." He tucked his shirt into his pants and nodded his head at the blood drops sprinkled across the floor that led to the closet. "Get the mop. And pick up those teeth." Dez watched Ondrey scowl as he plucked up Miguel's loose teeth from the ground and carry them over to the back door before he buttoned up his suit coat and headed out to greet the newcomers. "Hang on," he called out.

  He pulled the two heavy bolts that kept the door locked and pushed it open, squinting in the harsh glare of daylight. "Can I help you?"

  "Special Agent Desmond Dolos?" the first man said. When Dez nodded, he held up a small silver badge and said, "I'm Sergeant Phillips and this is Sergeant Rand. We're with Internal Affairs."

  Dez smiled blandly, "That's interesting that you know my name and how to find me. I guess we're not running as undercover an operation as I thought. What can I do for you boys?"

  "We get that a lot," Sgt. Phillips said. "We're looking for Officer Ondrey Williams. Is he here?"

  Dez looked past the IAD men and saw Williams' car sitting on the street a block down from the building. He was sure the men standing in front of him had seen it too. "Sure," Dez nodded. "But we're kind of in the middle of something. Can I ask how you boys knew to look for him here?"