by Joe Conlan
“Knock it off, Contrell. I’m the only one that gets to beat his ass... So, what’s the deal, Pete?” Daniel twisted the cap off a Bud Light and held it out to his brother.
Nervous, but not about to have his manhood challenged by the person he admired most in the world, Peter grabbed the beer and chugged several gulps. The other boys showed their approval with some hooting and hollering, breaking open their bottles and attempting to swallow bigger swigs than the rest. Peter’s best friend, Ross, was the first to finish his beer. Unlike Peter, Ross didn’t keep strictly to the straight and narrow. When Daniel called him two nights ago to invite him to the gathering, he’d agreed without hesitation. Ross had been trying to get Peter to party for more than a year.
It didn’t take an hour for each of the boys to finish their respective six packs of beer. Peter was already slurring his speech and having difficulty keeping his balance when he stood. The other boys had more experience and were handling the alcohol a bit better.
“We need some more beer,” commented Ross.
“I have a friend who can get us some,” offered Contrell. “He’s twenty-one. I can get him to bring it to us, but we’ll have to pay him extra.”
“I’m in,” Ross raised his hand high in the air as if making a bid at an auction. “I’ve got twenty bucks.”
“Me, too,” said Daniel. “I’ll pay for Pete.”
Contrell walked the twenty yards to the bank of payphones east of the fountain and called his friend, who agreed to get them two more six packs. After notifying the group of his success, he pulled a small marijuana roach from his jacket pocket and held it up to Peter.
“I brought this for the birthday boy. He can probably get three or four hits from it. That’ll knock him on his ass. It’s really good kryp.”
“Man, I don’t know about that,” Daniel said. Drinking was one thing for Daniel, but drugs were a whole other issue. He already had aspirations to be an FBI agent. Drugs were strictly off-limits.
“Come on,” Ross replied. “It’s his birthday. You’re only fifteen once. He’ll be fine. He’s not gonna turn into a druggie.”
“Gimme that thing,” Peter slurred. “I’m a man. I make my own decisions.”
Contrell handed the roach to Peter, who promptly put it in his mouth. As Contrell was lighting it he instructed, “Inhale real deep and hold it.” Before Daniel could stop his brother, Peter sucked in a double-size dose then immediately started hacking uncontrollably. Daniel knocked the roach from his mouth and stomped it out, but his response was too late. A considerable amount of the potent kryptonite marijuana penetrated Peter’s blood stream. The drug in combination with the alcohol resulted in a high that would have significantly impaired the capacities of a grown man with a strong tolerance for mind-altering substances.
“What the fuck, man,” shouted Contrell. “That stuff is expensive. I could’ve smoked it.”
“Then you should’ve. Don’t be giving that shit to my brother.”
Peter mumbled something incomprehensible then proceeded to vomit up his dinner and birthday cake. Ross and Contrell found it quite funny but Daniel wasn’t as amused. “Serves you right,” he said. Minutes later, Contrell’s friend arrived with the beer and the incident with the marijuana was forgotten.
“You sure you can handle more beer, Pete? I’m not cleaning it up later if you puke all over yourself,” warned Daniel.
“I’m fine, dude. I feel much better.”
“If you say so. Just don’t pass out.”
“Let’s get outta here,” said Ross. “I’m sick-a-lookin’ at the lake.”
The horn of the Red line train blasted in the distance, giving Daniel an idea he would regret for the rest of his life. “Let’s go check out the train tracks,” he suggested. Near Michigan Ave., on the west side of the park, a series of bridges crossed over six sets of rails running north and south below ground level. From each trestle there was an unobstructed view of downtown Chicago, the train tracks disappearing into the base of the skyscrapers. By the time the teenagers arrived at the first bridge, they had each consumed two more bottles of beer and all had lost their holds on good judgment. It was Daniel’s idea to climb down the trestle support to the tracks twenty feet below and follow them into the heart of the city.
Daniel was the first to reach the platform, followed by Contrell and then Ross. The three managed not to hurt themselves despite their inebriated state. Peter was not as fortunate. The instant he lifted his second leg over the railing of the trestle, he lost his grip. He was in free fall, his body perpendicular to the platform, feet first. To Daniel, it seemed as though it were happening in slow motion. His first instinct was to attempt to catch his brother before he hit the ground. He tried to make a move to the spot he calculated Peter would land, but it felt like his feet were glued to the cement. Looking up, he watched Peter’s fall as if he were reviewing a film frame by frame, powerless to edit the outcome. Peter reached out for something to grasp with his right arm as his body bent at the waist with his hand outstretched. He clutched his fist catching nothing but air. Both arms began to flail. He looked down toward the platform and tucked his chin against his upper chest and placed his hands behind his neck in a learned protective maneuver. Due to an instinctive defensive reflex, his legs bent at the knee. His position shifted in midair as he performed a perfect half somersault in his descent, a torturous slow turn to first, parallel to the earth and then upside down.
When Daniel was finally able to respond, it was too late. He launched himself toward Peter without any real plan. The only purpose it served was to give him a close-up view of his brother’s impact with the ground. Daniel landed on his stomach inches from the point where the crown of Peter’s skull struck the concrete platform, smashing the brain’s only protection into a hundred pieces. While fragments of bone lodged into his parietal and frontal lobe, his neck snapped backward severing the spinal cord at the first vertebrae. Peter was dead before the rest of his body hit the ground.
Lying awake in his jail cell, Daniel wondered if he were finally paying for the terrible sins he’d committed back when he was a teenager, and all the subsequent mistakes he’d made as a result. Even his tendency toward overachievement could be traced back to Peter’s death. It solidified his choice to pursue a career in law enforcement, driving him to dedicate just about every ounce of his energy to putting bad guys behind bars. Maybe it was a subconscious effort to cleanse his soul. At the end of the day, he knew it wasn’t enough.
Before everything went wrong, he had taken great strides advancing both his personal and professional lives. Though his marriage was teetering at the edge of a cliff for some time, he and his wife, Deborah, had made a major breakthrough working toward reconciliation. Unlike his father, she was willing to try to forgive him for his previous transgressions. At the office, he was the best agent by far. His progression through the ranks of the FBI was on an unprecedented fast track. He was the youngest agent in the history of the Bureau to be appointed as a Special Agent in Charge of a field office. For his significant contribution to the resolution of several high profile crimes, he received national accolades and achieved worldwide notoriety. He established contacts with major players in Washington D.C. and was described by the Director of the Bureau as its “Golden Boy.” Just two weeks before his arrest, he was invited to the White House to be honored by the President of the United States for his contribution to the war on drugs.
All that changed in a horrific twist of fate when he and Deborah decided to accept a gift to sail on the King Luxury Cruise liner, “The Joy of the Seas.” The carnage was discovered by Chief Cabin Steward, Co Chi Cuyengkeng, who was having his usual difficulty sleeping that night. During his ritual early morning walk through his team’s assigned territory, he found Daniel covered head to toe in blood, stumbling through the halls of the lido deck in a zombie-like trance. It was a massacre that made international news and dubbed Daniel the “Blood Boat Butcher.” Charged with three counts of homicid
e by the very people he had called friends and colleagues, he couldn’t deny that all of the physical evidence pointed to him as the killer. Although he was unable to explain his behavior on that infamous morning, even to himself, he was absolutely sure of one thing. He was innocent.
Chapter 2
Two years earlier.
The sun hung low in the western sky, splashing the clouds of the horizon with the spectacular fluorescent colors often seen after an afternoon of perfect weather. FBI Assistant Special Agent in Charge, Daniel Falcone, gazed out the window of his North Miami field office, admiring the stunning sunset as he packed up for the night. It was a beautiful South Florida evening and a fitting end to an amazing day. He would miss the view from this office, but was looking forward to facing the challenge the move to the second floor would bring.
Earlier that morning, the FBI’s Assistant Director, Howard Evans, made an unannounced visit to Miami. Thirty minutes after Evan’s arrival, Daniel was called to Special Agent in Charge Rick Suarez’s office to meet with him and the Assistant Director. Of all the people at the North Miami office, Suarez was no doubt the agent Daniel admired the most. The Special Agent in Charge was more than a boss. He was Daniel’s friend and a part of the family. Daniel looked up to him as a father figure, replacing the man he called Dad for most of his life. The head of the Falcone family was never really emotionally available and had all but disowned his firstborn after Peter’s accident. It was a hard pill to swallow when Daniel learned that Suarez was diagnosed with lung cancer. What Daniel didn’t know was that Rick had handed in his resignation and was planning to retire. Though the doctors had assured the Special Agent in Charge they had removed all the cancer, he felt it was time to turn the reins over to a young, talented agent and enjoy the remainder of his life with his family.
Daniel couldn’t imagine why he was being summoned and was somewhat nervous as he turned the corner of the hallway leading to Suarez’s office. Daniel knocked twice on the door then proceeded into the room where Richard and the Assistant Director were waiting for him. The S.A.C’s large office was on the second floor of the Dade County FBI headquarters. Its rear wall consisted of four floor- to- ceiling bullet-proof, one-way windows with a less than inspirational view of the parking lot and industrial area beyond. There were two government issued chairs facing the large, polished, faux cherry wood desk and a cheap, pleather sofa against the wall opposite the entrance.
Evans was standing next to one of the chairs, extending his hand to Daniel. The Assistant Director was uncommonly tall, at least 6’ 6” in Daniel’s estimation. Evans towered over him though Daniel was not exactly short at 6’2”. The Assistant Director was in decent shape for fifty-four, though he was beginning to show signs of a few extra pounds around the midsection, and was graying at the temples. The remainder of his hair was jet black, which was striking against his sparkling blue-green eyes. After the initial greetings and obligatory conversation, the Assistant Director sat in his chair and suggested that the Special Agent in Charge begin the meeting. He invited Daniel to take the seat next to him while Suarez assumed his position behind the desk.
“If I know you, Daniel, and you know I do, you’ve been makin’ the rounds since the Assistant Director got here trying to find out what’s up. Anyway, I’m not gonna keep you guessing. I made a decision a few weeks back that I haven’t shared with anyone but my family and Assistant Director Evans. I’ve decided to step down.”
Daniel relaxed for the first time since he was called to his boss’s office. He didn’t like the idea that Rick was leaving, but he had a feeling some good news was coming his way.
“I’m still gonna be around, not every day of course,” Suarez continued. “I’ve offered my services to act as a consultant to the agent who takes my place. I’ve given the Assistant Director thirty days notice. As the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the criminal division, you’re next in line for my job. There are just a couple of issues we need to discuss.”
Daniel had a good idea what his boss was talking about. It really didn’t take rocket science to figure it out. He responded, “Ok, Rick. What’s on your mind?”
“For the most part, it was an easy decision choosing you,” Suarez explained. “Your work is exemplary and your leadership skills are exceptional for a man your age. We do have some reservations, however. First, your relationship with the media. You’ve made it pretty clear over the years they’re not your favorite people. Telling Clifton Harris over at the Herald to shut the fuck up at a public press conference didn’t help. Your communication skills with political officials are for shit too...at times, of course, not always. If you take this position, you’ll have to work hard on changing your approach. It’s imperative you treat members of the press and community leaders with the utmost respect if you’re gonna lead an FBI field office.”
“You’re an outstanding agent, Daniel,” Evans took over. “If that was all we needed to consider, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I don’t like politicians or the media any better than you do. But, as leaders and representatives of the Bureau, we have rules of decorum. We’re taking a bit of a risk offering you this position, considering these issues and your youth. On the other hand, we have confidence you’ll work hard to correct it. What are your thoughts?”
Having guessed correctly regarding the topic of the discussion, Daniel already had a response prepared. He had to admit to himself that part of the job would be the most difficult for him. He’d had his share of run-ins with the media and wasn’t a favorite of many public officials. Working on not letting them get on his nerves would require a great deal of self-control and discipline as he certainly felt justified about his feelings. He had seen too much corruption in politics and the press thought they were untouchable and above it all.
The seed of mistrust for both factions was planted long before he ever became a law enforcement agent. During his junior year at George Washington University, tragedy turned Daniel’s young life upside down for a second time in a matter of five years. His beloved grandmother, who was seventy-five at the time, was run over and killed by a drunk driver while crossing the street. To make matters worse, the case against the guilty party was dismissed due to a legal technicality. Daniel wasn’t so sure there weren’t some shenanigans involved. The driver happened to be the son of the Mayor of Chicago. For Daniel, it was undeniable that evidence was hidden from the public. There were, suspiciously, no witnesses to an accident that occurred on a summer evening in broad daylight on a major street in Chicago. The Mayor was a media favorite. It was clear the story wasn’t going to be given the normal attention worthy of an incident involving a major politician. Daniel took it upon himself to go to great lengths to get the police and the press to conduct a more in-depth investigation. His pleas fell on deaf ears. It became obvious to him there were times when the media wasn’t interested in the truth. It was a lesson learned that he never forgot and a breach of justice he refused to forgive up to the present. Perhaps the time had come to put it all behind him, especially if his career depended on it.
“Well, I’ll be the first to admit my attitude toward politicians and especially the press isn’t great. You guys know I take my job very seriously. My career means everything to me. If you give me this position, I’ll do everything in my power to improve my relations with them. You have my word,” Daniel replied.
“You’re definitely not afraid to call a spade a spade,” Suarez added. “It’s something that we respect about you, but in this position it can come back to bite you in the ass. Sometimes, you have to bite your fuck’n tongue. You know what I’m talkin’ about?”
“I understand. Believe it or not, I do have a filter. I actually know when I’m saying something that’s not exactly politically correct before I say it. I can be more discrete. I’ll make sure I work hard on it. You know, Rick, better than anyone, when I make a promise, I keep it. I can do this.”
“We’re gonna take a chance on you, Daniel,” replied Assistant Di
rector Evans. “You’ve done amazing things for the Bureau and I’m sure there’s plenty more to come. The position’s yours.” Both Suarez and the Assistant Director rose to shake Daniel’s hand and congratulate him. He was notified that the official ceremony to bestow him with the rank of Special Agent in Charge would be held on Friday, which was only two days away. After Daniel expressed his gratitude and the meeting was coming to a conclusion, Assistant Director Evans turned their attention to one of the criminal division’s most publicized cases.
“By the way, have we made any progress on the King Cruise Line honeymoon disappearance? I’ve been catching some flak from the director himself; he wants this resolved.”
“Leland is the lead investigator in that case,” Daniel responded. “I’ll have to get back to you on the latest, Howard. I know that the cruise line is pushing for us to conclude it was an accident.”
“Well, keep an eye on Leland. If at this point we haven’t come up with any evidence this was a homicide, we should throw in the towel. Let me know by the end of the week what you hear from him. I’ve got a plane to D.C. to catch. Daniel, be sure Rick’s secretary schedules an appointment for you to come up and meet with me within two weeks of the time Rick leaves.” He wished the two men good luck as he rushed out the door.
On the way back to his office, Daniel was thinking there were going to be a few senior agents moping around the building with bruised egos and ruffled feathers. The promotion wasn’t a total shock to the new Special Agent in Charge. Then again, it came a little earlier than expected. There were plenty of agents who could have been considered for the position who had many more years with the Bureau. That wasn’t to say he felt he was undeserving of the role; Daniel was confident he was more than capable of judiciously performing its functions. It was his life’s ambition to rise to the top of the FBI and he was ahead of schedule. Being the structured, obsessively organized person he had become since his brother’s death, his career schedule was being planned when most other boys were preoccupied with fighting acne and chasing skirts.
