Superbia (Book 3)

by Bernard Schaffer

  "Mention what?" she said.

  "Well, my hope was that maybe you'd give me a chance to buy you a coffee one day when we're not working and I could show you there's a lot more to me than what I've shown you so far."

  She didn't move as he spoke and didn't respond immediately for a while either. She let him stand there and stew, a fish hooked on the line that has not yet been dragged into the boat. "I don't like coffee, Officer Rey," she said.

  The air went out his chest all at once but he forced himself to smile anyway and he said, "Okay. I understand. Have a good day."

  "But I do like beer," she said.

  Five minutes later he was practically dancing as he left the squad, flicking the small scrap of paper with Marissa's phone number between his fingers. There was a dirty, disheveled man standing by his police car, staring at him. There were fresh bruises on his cheek and neck that were just beginning to turn from dark red to a deep, rich purple and Reynaldo stopped abruptly and said, "What the hell happened to you, Frank?"

  "I had a long goddamn night," Frank said. "You wouldn't return my phone calls so I had to track you down."

  "I've been busy," Reynaldo said. "Corporal Donoschik has us doing four traffic details a day."

  "Oh," Frank said. He shrugged and pulled out a sandwich baggie containing an index card and looked at it, "Well since you're a hot shot traffic cop now, maybe you don't want this. It's just the codes you need to put Fred Phelps in jail. That's all. No biggie."

  Reynaldo snatched the card out of Frank's hand and stared at it through the plastic bag. "Bullshit."

  "Nope," Frank said. "That's his handwriting. His fingerprints will be on it too. Give Amelia that card and tell her I said hello. Tell her..." Frank's voice trailed off and he found that he had to clear his throat. "Tell her that's the result of the last investigation of Not-Even-Promoted-Detective Frank O'Ryan, and he hopes she does a good job with it, because there will never be another."

  Reynaldo slapped the card with his hand excitedly and said, "No. Don't say that, Frank. Come with me and we'll do this together. Even if Tovarich doesn't want it, we can leak it to the newspapers. There is no way he'll screw with you after this."

  Frank looked at the eagerness in the young officer's face. The hope. The raw idealism. It looked painfully familiar. This was the look Vic had seen on Frank's face right before he ran into the woods, right before the older, tortured detective went back to the station and shot himself. This is what happens to all of us, in the end, Frank thought. No matter how strong we are, or how much we think otherwise, at some point, the pain and horror becomes too much and has to stop. I'm going to stop on my own terms, he thought. While I still can. He squeezed Rey's shoulder and said, "I'm going live a decent, normal life with my wife and little girls. But I will still read the papers to make sure you are doing your part. Now go nail Phelps and make me proud."

  Frank backed away then and turned around to head for his car, but Reynaldo followed behind him, shouting, "You're going to miss it, Frank. You can't leave it. It's in your blood. You were born to do this!"

  Frank opened his car door and said, "Everything has an end, Rey-Rey. Everything has an end."

  Chapter Thirteen

  The doctor looked down at the chart in his hands and said, "What police department are we talking about again?"

  Frank told him, and the doctor said, "I don't think I've dealt with them before. Is that the one that merged with Manor Farms?"

  "Kind of. They share the same chief now."

  "Did you hear what happened with that fire the other day?"

  "No. Since I've been away, I haven't paid much attention," Frank said. "There was a fire?"

  "The old Hilltop Train Station caught fire in the middle of the night and nobody noticed it because it's so remote, right? It was burning for hours before somebody saw this big column of smoke on their way to work the next morning and called it in. When the cops and fire fighters finally got there and started clearing out the rubble, they found two bodies."

  "No kidding?" Frank said. He threw in a, "That's horrible" for good measure.

  "Wait, it gets worse. Earlier that evening Philly 911 took a call from some kook who said an FBI agent shot and killed somebody at..."

  Frank held up his hands, playing along, "I give up."

  "The Hilltop Train Station! It took Philly Dispatch forever to figure out what county the call was supposed to be transferred to, and by the time they finally dispatched to your PD, it was hours later. The worst part is, the cops never bothered looking because they assumed it was a hoax and they were all tied up on some kind of aggressive DUI detail."

  Frank shook his head and said, "Jesus."

  "Exactly! Now they're waiting for the medical examiner to identify the bodies. If it turns out one of them actually was an FBI agent? Wow, heads are gonna roll."

  "I'm almost glad to be getting out."

  The doctor set the chart down and said, "I can't blame you. And that's where the good news comes in. Based on my examination and a review of your medical records, I'm recommending you for full disability, effective immediately. You'll be collecting seventy-five percent of your salary for sitting at home from now on, my friend."

  Frank nodded and tried to look more pleased than the doctor's words made him feel. "Will I still be able to do other things? I don't want to have to spend the rest of my life pretending to be a cripple."

  "Sure you can do other things. You can even get another job as long as it doesn't require strenuous physical labor. And don't join any basketball leagues."

  Frank stuck out his hand and said, "Well, I guess that's that, doc."

  "I'll schedule another appointment with you in a few weeks just to keep things above board. Will you see Marcus any time soon?"

  "Today, in fact. I'm helping him with a court case."

  "Excellent. Tell him he owes me a rematch on the golf course. Do you play?"

  "No," Frank said.

  "Well now have all the time in the world to learn."

  Frank told the doctor goodbye and headed out of his office, going down the hall toward the reception area to leave. He didn't notice any pain in his knee, at least, not any more than usual. Maybe I've just grown used to it over the past few years, he thought. Maybe he'd been fooling himself all this time by sucking it up and pretending that he had to press on and continue to protect and serve.

  Or, maybe you're a nothing more than a conniving freeloader now, something said in the back of his mind.

  He walked past a skinny girl no older than twenty. Her arms were bruised and she had large empty holes in her ears, stretched out loops of skin with no tribal disks in them. She handed the secretary a handful of dirty cash and the secretary was issuing her a receipt. Frank walked out the door and said, "I wasn't born to do just this." He went to his car and sat down, gripping the steering wheel. "I have more to offer. I can learn new things, and I'll do them just as good."

  The doctor's front door opened as the girl came racing out, waving a small white prescription in the air happily at the driver of a rusted station wagon parked next to Frank. The dirtbag behind the wheel waved for her to hurry up and get in.

  She kissed him as soon as she got in, but he pushed her away and jammed on the gas, burning tires as he peeled out of the parking lot. They'll be at the pharmacy in five minutes, Frank thought. Crushing the pills up to snort them or shoot them in six. But these are the things I don't notice anymore. These are the things about which I no longer have to care.

  Courtroom 9-44-852, of the Honorable District Justice Harriet Buhl, was a modestly sized affair set in a shopping center next to a Post Office and a Dollar Store. The room where cases were heard was spacious and open, with a fine oak bench and witness stand, but second-hand tables and chair for the prosecution and defense. Worse, the audience seats were metal folding chairs.

  Marcus Horatio checked the cuff break on his deep blue, red-threaded Hermes suit. His suit didn't belong in such a place. He promised himsel
f to go out to dinner at Bibou or Zahav that night, just to get the hackneyed workaday stench out of it. He looked at the young man sitting next to him and tried to smile reassuringly. At least he got dressed up for the occasion, Marcus thought drolly. A black Polo, Dockers, and Eurotrash sneakers. Thank God I got the money up front.

  The young, uniformed police officer walked past Marcus toward the witness stand and raised his right hand to be sworn in. He looked at the stenographer and said, "My name is Officer Charles Carter, with the Willingdon Police Department. I've been a police officer for three years." He sat down and turned to the judge, "Your honor, may I testify from my affidavit?"

  "No objection," Marcus said dismissively. The cop had not even been smart enough to bring an Assistant District Attorney with him. Not even an intern.

  "Go ahead," Judge Buhl said.

  Officer Carter cleared his throat and lifted the page to begin reading in a flat, robotic voice, "On the aforementioned night this officer was on routine patrol in full uniform displaying his badge of office, and this officer was operating a fully marked patrol unit bearing both decals and a functioning light bar. At that time, this officer did observe a vehicle parked in the Wawa parking lot, occupied two times. The subjects inside the car appeared to be smoking a substance that based on my training and experience was marijuana. At that time, this officer did approach the vehicle and identify the defendant." Officer Carter's hand shot up over the page and he pointed without looking in the general direction of the defense and said, "Let the record reflect I have identified one James Alcott, seated in the courtroom before you. At that time, this officer did speak with the defendant's girlfriend, who told him−"

  "Objection, your honor," Marcus said. "Hearsay."

  Officer Carter's face shot up, "But your honor, it's what she told me."

  The judge leaned forward and said, "Just testify to what you said and did."

  Carter looked back at the affidavit, eyes scanning the page for the next appropriate line. "At that time, this officer did remove the defendant from his vehicle and conducted a pat down of Alcott's person, which yielded evidence consistent with the crime of possession with intent to distribute a controlled substance. At that time, this officer then did submit those controlled substances to the crime lab for chemical analysis and received this report."

  Carter held the lab analysis toward the judge and started to read again when Marcus said, "Objection. May I please review the evidence before the officer submits it to the bench?"

  "Sustained," Judge Buhl said.

  Officer Carter slid off the witness stand and carried the form over to Marcus. Marcus took it and said, "Thank you," finally beginning to feel bad for the kid. He was still wet behind the ears. At least, he was wet beneath his armpits. The people in his department probably told him this was an open and shut case and the defendant would probably waive. No such luck, Marcus thought. He handed the evidence report back to Carter and said, "You may take it up now."

  Carter sat back down and picked up his affidavit again and mumbled, "Where was I?"

  "It was somewhere between 'At that time' and 'this officer did'," Marcus said with a quick smile.

  The judge shot him a look, and Marcus nodded that he understood to knock it off.

  "Okay," Carter said. "Here it is. The laboratory report confirmed the controlled substances to be fourteen separate baggies of marijuana containing between five to ten grams each. Based on this officer's training and experience, this is consistent with someone who has intent to distribute controlled substances. Further, he had a folded roll of United States Currency in his right pocket in denominations of fives, tens, and twenties, totaling six hundred dollars. This is also consistent with this officer's training and experience as being evident of narcotics distribution." Officer Carter put down the page and looked up at the judge and said, "Nothing further, your honor."

  "Mr. Horatio, do you have any cross examination for this witness?" the judge said.

  "Just a few questions," Marcus said. He stood up and bent forward on the table, "Officer Carter, you mentioned your training and experience multiple times in your testimony. What exactly is your training and experience in narcotics investigations?"

  Carter folded his hands together on the stand in front of him and said, "We received training in the Police Academy in narcotics, and I attended a three-day class put on by the DEA in investigating international drug traffickers."

  "I see," Marcus said softly. "And during your three-year career, how many arrests have you made for distribution of controlled substances?"

  Carter swallowed dryly and said, "I've made multiple arrests for possession of drugs. This is my first one for possession with intent to distribute."

  "Did you ever ask my client if he was a drug dealer?"

  "No, I didn't, because−"

  "Did he ever say he was going to sell the drugs you found?"

  "No, obviously."

  "Did you, in fact, conduct any further investigation than to pat down my client and remove his personal belongings and then submit them to the lab?" Marcus said.

  "I consulted with officers from surrounding agencies who have made these kind of arrests before and asked them for their opinion," Officer Carter said.

  "Are you aware that the possession with intent to deliver charge is a felony, Officer Carter?"

  "I wrote it in the charging section, didn't I?" Carter shot back.

  Marcus smiled thinly and said, "No further questions, your honor."

  The judge told the officer he could step down and asked him if he had any more witnesses. Carter said no. Marcus smiled at the judge and said, "I do. The defense calls Mr. Frank O'Ryan."

  Carter's face fell as Frank walked into the courtroom and headed for the witness stand. Frank raised his right hand to be sworn in and sat down. He looked at the cop and nodded his head, careful to acknowledge him before anybody else in the room. "Please be seated," the judge said.

  "Mr. O'Ryan, what is your experience as a narcotics investigator?"

  "I've arrested over thirty people for possession with intent to deliver over the past two years," Frank said. "I've conducted at least one hundred covert operations using confidential informants to purchase controlled substances and also acted in an undercover capacity to do the same. I have attended over ten classes that dealt specifically with the sale of drugs, and am a graduate of Top Gun. Further, I'm a recognized expert witness at the district court level in both narcotics investigations and the crime of possession with intent to deliver controlled substances."

  Marcus held up his hand and said, "Your honor, I submit this man is an expert witness capable of rendering an opinion for the purposes of this hearing."

  The judge looked at Carter, who simply held up his hands in defeat. "So granted," Judge Buhl said.

  Marcus walked Frank through the facts of the case as the officer had laid them out and said, "Is it your expert opinion that Officer Carter established prima facia evidence that my client was going to sell the marijuana he had in his possession that night?"

  Frank looked at the kid sitting next to Marcus. Young, white, not too scared looking. Maybe a little entitled, but not a scumbag. He glanced over at Officer Carter sitting directly in front of him, probably just a few years older than the defendant. His pale face was red and splotchy with either anger or embarrassment. Probably both, he decided. It's okay, kid. You'll live to fight another day.

  "No, he did not," Frank said.

  Officer Carter let out an audible sigh and rocked back in his chair, clenching his hands together across his waist. Marcus came around the table, "What makes you say that?"

  "The intent to deliver cannot be established by quantity or packaging alone. The defendant could have bought the marijuana like that, or simply bagged it up in small quantities to control how much he smoked at any given time."

  "Oh, come on," Carter said.

  The judge shot him a glance that was enough to silence the officer.

  "And wha
t about the money?" Marcus said.

  Frank shrugged, "Certainly a large amount of money in small denominations is one of the factors we look for in establishing delivery, but it has to be corroborated with other factors. For all we know, the defendant is carrying around money he got for cutting grass or shoveling snow."

  "Nothing further, your honor," Marcus said.

  The judge looked at Officer Carter and said, "Any cross?"

  "No," Carter said.

  Neither side offered closing statements, and the judge lifted her gavel and said, "In the charge of possession of a controlled substance, the Commonwealth has proved prima facia and it will be bound up to county court. In the charge of possession with intent to deliver, the charge is dismissed." She knocked her gavel against the bench and got up to head into her office.

  Marcus immediately spun in his chair to face Alcott and said, "The tough one's out of the way. Now all we have to do is knock down the possession charge in a suppression hearing and you're good to go."

  "Thank you so much, Mr. Horatio," Alcott said, pumping Marcus's hand.

  "Don't thank me," Marcus said, spinning in his seat to find Frank. "Thank that man."

  Alcott leaned over the railing to shake Frank's hand and said, "I owe you my life, sir. Thank you so much."

  "You can thank me by never doing this shit again," Frank said. "If you ever sell drugs again, I'll help the cops nail you to the wall, you understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Marcus chuckled and put his arm around Frank, leading him away from the table. "We don't scare away our repeat clients in this business, Frank. It's how we stay paid, you feel me?"

  Frank was too busy watching Officer Carter collect his things, stuffing all his reports into a case file. The kid stormed past Frank and hit the swinging doors so hard at the exit that they cracked against the stoppers on the wall. "He'll get over it," Marcus said. As he reached into his suit jacket he said, "And so will you."