“Hi, Sara,” said Morningstar.
“Sara,” nodded Billy.
“Actually, it was you, Mariana, who told us President Quince had long been scheduled to visit the Miami Beach Convention Center in a couple of days anyway.”
“That’s right, Sara. He was to address the International Municipal, Urban & Regional Parking Administration Professional Policy Institutes, or IMURPAPPI for short, meeting in South Beach to discuss the public reaction worldwide if parking administrators raised the average expired parking ticket in the U.S. from its current standard of $18 (currently bumped to $45 if you don’t pay within 30 days), to $23 (bumped to $55 after 30 days).”
“Why was this increase only to take effect in the United State?” asked Sara.
“I’m told that IMURPAPPI officials think foreign motorists won’t put up with it and might riot, but that American motorists will put up with anything; that, in fact, they’re quite docile when compared to your average motorist in Sicily or the Ukraine.”
“That’s correct, Mariana,” Billy jumped in. “The president very quietly cancelled his appearance before IMURPAPPI after the second meter maid murder, so nobody really knew he was coming down for this event anyway.”
“What was the president’s position on the IMURPAPPI proposal?” asked Sara.
“He totally supported it, Sara,” said Billy, “as a way to raise hundreds of billions of dollars which would help reduce the deficit after the wars in the Middle East.”
Mariana added:
“It’s well known that President Quince is frustrated that he can’t start his own war because the U.S. is still paying for wars launched during the Bush years.”
“While the president is on South Beach,” Sara went on, “he will present Detective Sergeant Jake Bricker with a special citation honoring him for his singular action in apprehending the meter maid murderer, Barney Weiner.”
“I believe I can hear the president’s helicopter approaching, Sara,” said Mariana.
“Yes, they’re coming into view now... it looks like about five or six helicopters escorting the president. Where will they all land, William?”
“Well, Scilly Hall is next to the huge convention center parking lot, and police have towed away about a hundred cars to make room for all those helicopters following the president.”
“Isn’t it ironic that the city is towing the rental cars of the attendees of the IMURPAPPI convention?” asked Mariana.
Billy snorted a laugh.
“Ironic is a good word. But my source at TWERP Towing said these cars would only be charged a hundred dollars instead of the usual fee, since these conventioneers are all in the same business.”
Moments later, President Quince’s presidential helicopter, Marine One, came into view, fluttering to a landing on the helipad. The other choppers landed in the parking lot adjacent to Scilly Hall and in short order all the officials had gathered on the platform, Jake Bricker standing next to Chief Ramirez.
Mayor Johnny Germane walked up to the mic wearing the same self-satisfied smile as everybody else on the platform, and began.
“I’d like to thank the governor and the president for joining me here today to honor the memory of the meter maids who died during this terrible ordeal. I’d like to thank especially the members of the PMS Force who have so valiantly continued to perform their duties during this difficult period. After consulting with Freddie Flumenbaum and our finance department, we determined we’d only lose about $25,000 if, for an hour only, we pulled the meter maids currently working the streets and brought them here to join us. If you’ll look over your shoulders, you’ll see the members of our PMS Force gathered here right now. Please give them a round of applause for the courage they’ve displayed.”
People looked over their shoulders, and behind the assembled crowd were several hundred meter maids and misters. They looked truly dumbfounded as people started—rather weakly, thought Bricker—to applaud. Nobody could really work up any enthusiasm to applaud a meter maid.
Germane introduced Governor Kudzue, who went on mostly about nothing, and then he introduced President Quince.
“Finally, our long national nightmare... is over,” the president said with emphasis, gravely hanging his head for a moment to indicate how moved he was.
“The mayor and governor have thanked a lot of people here today, but no one deserves our heartfelt thanks and gratitude more than the man who single-handedly captured Barney Weiner, and that man would be Jake Bricker.”
There was riotous applause and cheering as the president, in a grand gesture, swept his arm around and pointed to Bricker, who smiled and nodded.
“Thank you, thank you,” he muttered.
“Come up here, young man,” called the president. “I want to reach out and hug you on behalf of all thankful Americans.”
From the press box where the XYZ News team watched as Bricker came up and the president gave him a big bear hug, Billy was seething. He wanted to reach out and strangle the son of a bitch.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” Bricker said shyly with a demure glance at his shoes. “It was nothing.”
I’ll say, thought Billy. Fuckin’ asshole got it wrong, as always.
Quince was extolling Bricker’s virtues.
“And I do hope, after Jake Bricker has shown what kind of cop he really is, that there’s a long overdue promotion in his future.”
Quince glanced around to all the city officials ranged behind him and their heads started nodding up and down like a shelf full of those bobble head puppy dolls you see in the rear car windows of mentally challenged drivers.
Just when Billy thought his personal nightmare was over, the news editor whispered into Sara’s ear and then she turned to him.
“They’ve set up an exclusive interview with Bricker right after the president finishes—it’ll be just you and me and Bricker.”
“Oh, great!” Billy said, puffing out his chest to show the excitement swelling up inside. But when she turned away to say something to Mariana Morningstar, he bit his lower lip so hard it bled.
President Quince left shortly thereafter to have a private meeting with Germane, Kudzue and Colonel Mouldy of the National Guard where they were going to discuss troop demobilization and a return to normalcy.
It took about fifteen minutes for the handlers to get Bricker over to the outdoor booth where the XYZ team was set up. Sara, of course, began:
“This is Sara Succubus, along with William Willoughby, and we have with us the star of the moment, Jake Bricker. You must be on Cloud Nine, right, Jake?”
“Maybe Cloud Ten,” Bricker gave a little laugh at his witticism.
“The president indicated you might be getting a promotion...” Sara said.
“Well, they’re talking about lieutenant.”
“How soon?”
“Tomorrow.”
“What was it that made you suspect Barney Weiner in the first place?”
“Well, now that Weiner’s safely behind bars, I guess I can be more specific about my methodology...” he began.
Methodology? Where the fuck did he get that word? Billy wondered. Like he even knew what it meant!
Billy could see that Sara was enrapt, hanging on Bricker’s every word. He forced himself to restrain his impulse to reach over and slap him upside the head with his handheld mic.
“Go on,” she encouraged, and Sara normally was not the type to “encourage” someone to use up airtime she could be using for herself.
“I made it a practice of dropping by the PMS Headquarters every few days to walk around the perimeter...”
“Oh?” said Sara.
“Just to see that it was secure.”
“You wanted to prevent the meter maid murderer from sneaking into the compound to kill more meter maids, correct?”
“Well, I think it’s one thing to kill one meter maid at a time, but I didn’t want him getting in there to kill ten or twenty in one fell swoop.”
“I s
ee.”
No, you don’t see shit, you stupid bitch! thought Billy.
“So when I was in the break room getting coffee, I noticed last year’s meter maid calendar.”
“Calendar?” Sara leaned forward.
Bricker gave a sidelong glance at Billy-Boy, but it was too late to back out now.
“They give an award every year to the top twelve meter maids who write the most tickets, and then they do a special calendar of them, one meter maid per month.”
“Yes?”
“Well, I noticed that several of these meters maids—featured on the calendar—were also victims. Then I thought to myself, if I’d been the thirteenth highest ticket writing meter maid on the PMS Force, I’d be angry, hurt, furious, maybe even viciously resentful.”
“And?”
“I merely checked a few sources, found out that Barney Weiner was the thirteenth highest ticket writer on the force, followed him around for a couple of weeks and determined he was the murderer.”
“And the proof?”
“Well it’s more of a hunch, really.”
“A hunch?”
Bricker smirked.
“Other cops work with evidence. I prefer using my brain.”
What little of it there was, thought Billy.
It went on and on for a few minutes, with Mariana Morningstar asking a few questions, but Billy remained silent till Sara brought him into the conversation.
“Jake, I understand you went to school with our reporter, William Willoughby.”
“That’s right. Billy-Boy and I go way back.”
Sara turned to Billy.
“Billy-Boy?”
Billy just smiled weakly.
“I’ve always called him that. He doesn’t like it, though,” Bricker explained.
Sara was still looking at Billy.
“You must have very strong feelings for your pal here, William?”
“Oh, I do, Sara. Very strong indeed.”
Oh, they’re strong all right, he thought.
Bricker could feel the intensity behind the words as Billy spoke them.
“You must be very proud of him,” Sara beamed.
“Oh, Sara, I can’t tell you how proud I am of this guy. He, well, he... he’s just something. A real piece of work.”
“I have to ask you something, Detective,” Sara said, turning away from Billy.
“Sure,” said Bricker.
“What color are your eyes?”
Bricker fluttered his eyelashes and let loose his dimpled smile.
“Well, my mother calls them... powder blue.”
Billy smiled for all he was worth until the agony was over and other media wanted a piece of Bricker, freeing Sara and him to go back to the studio. Once there, Billy went into the men’s room and threw up his guts.
23 - Bricker the Celebrity
Over the next three weeks, two parallel stories unfolded.
One involved Jake Bricker as he basked in the international limelight of adoration.
The other involved Billy Willoughby as he bided his time, waiting for the next New Moon to come around so that he could kill Miss November and put his best fucking friend and Doofus Extraordinaire back in his rightful place.
Bricker was indeed promoted and he was now Detective Lieutenant Jake Bricker. There was talk of skipping lieutenant and moving him straight up to captain, but Chief Ramirez put a very firm kibosh on that, saying it would demoralize all his other officers who knew in their hearts that Bricker had lucked onto the solution, not really worked it out.
Bricker was lionized in the international press. News crews couldn’t get enough of the handsome, charismatic detective. When Chief Ramirez tried to limit access to Bricker and keep him working as a cop, Mayor Germane stepped in and countermanded him, telling the chief to make Bricker available whenever anybody wanted to interview him because the interviews made the city look good. Result was that Bricker spent half of his workday doing interviews and keeping other publicity commitments to bolster the city’s image.
President Quince summoned him to the White House to receive a special award.
Both the Florida Democratic and Republican parties wanted Bricker to run for Congress. When they interviewed him and realized he didn’t even know which party President Quince belonged to, they backed off. Truth was, Bricker’d never voted—wasn’t even registered to vote.
He spoke before the National Association of Park Meter Science Academies in Washington where he was greeted like the hero they thought he was. He asked Billy to help him with his speech, but Billy hung up on him. Alice ended up helping him.
He even flew to The Hague (first-class) where he spoke before the International Institute of Parking Meter Science Academies. Again, Bricker asked Alice to help with his speech, but she had to bring in Major Bunstable to help because Bunstable knew more about the international aspects of parking meter science than Alice did.
Again in Washington, Bricker was asked to testify before several committees in Congress.
He spoke to the Council of Economic Advisors about the importance of parking meter revenue to the national security interests of the United States, again with Alice helping him to craft his speeches.
A few days before the New Moon began, Billy broke down and called Bricker’s cell phone
“So, now you’re comin’ around,” said a smug Bricker. “I knew you couldn’t hold a grudge.”
“Hey, maybe I’m a little jealous. You can understand why.”
“Why would you be jealous?”
“Oh, maybe because you got your promotion, you got a raise, and where’s my Emmy? Weren’t we going to take the tape in together, expose the story together? You’d get a promotion? I’d get an Emmy for my reporting?”
“Oh,” said Bricker. “That’s right. We did talk about that, didn’t we?”
“Ahh, now you remember.”
“Well, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
“Look, why don’t you meet me for lunch. I wanna go over something with you.”
“Sure.”
They agreed to meet at Michael’s Genuine Food & Drink in the Design District. When Bricker showed up, Billy was eating his second deviled egg and drinking a tall schooner of Bitburger. Bricker sat down, popped a deviled egg into his mouth and told the waiter he’d have what Billy was drinking.
“I’m glad you called, Billy-Boy.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Bricker went on, oblivious.
“This is pretty good. You ever have those deviled eggs at Prime 112?”
“Yeah, they use truffle oil in ‘em and they cost like twenty bucks. Here, they’re just as good and cost six bucks.”
“Well...” Bricker demurred.
“And I’m not fuckin’ the barmaid and gettin’ ‘em for free.”
“Well, there’s that... so what’s new?”
“Oh, just the usual grind,” Billy started, forcing himself to keep his emotions in check and not throwing his beer into Bricker’s face. “Have you been following the Barney Weiner investigation?”
“Naw, not really. Chief has other guys developing the case. I been too busy with other stuff,” Bricker said, drinking deeply from his glass of Bitburger.
“Yeah,” said Billy. “Well, word has it that they don’t have a case.”
“No?” There was a pause as Bricker absorbed Billy’s remark. But all he said was: “Let’s order. I’m starving.”
Bricker got the short rib and Fontina cheese panini. Billy got the pulled port sandwich with picked onion and a side of braised Brussels sprouts.
Bricker went on:
“So, what’s this about Weiner?”
“Well, seems like there’s no actual proof that he did any of the murders.”
“Proof?”
“Yeah, proof... It’s what they generally need to convict somebody of murder.”
“Hey, they’ll dig it out, and when they do they’ll have plenty.”
“All they have
, Jake, is your hunch.”
Bricker was getting defensive, Billy could tell. This is not what he wanted.
“Lissen, Billy-Boy, I’m telling ya...”
“I’m not here to argue, Jake, really I’m not. I’m here because I’m your friend.”
“You’re not bitter?”
“No.”
“At all?”
“No. What I’m suggesting... just suggesting, that’s all... is that you follow Miss November the way you did the other meter maids, on the off chance that the meter maid murderer will strike her if indeed Barney proves to be the wrong man.”
“But we’ve already got our man.”
The food arrived and was so good they were now digging in like starved shipwrecked sailors.
“Sure, okay, fine. I’m just pointing out that, on the off chance, that’s all, that’s all I’m saying—on the off chance Barney’s not our man, wouldn’t it be great if you were there to catch the real killer?”
“What would be my excuse? How could I explain I was there?”
“Well, you already spilled the beans about the calendar being your reason for suspecting Barney Weiner. All you have to say if you catch the real meter maid murderer is that you were having second thoughts because the case wasn’t coming together so fast, let’s say as fast as you would like, and you wanted to be sure—absolutely sure—so you followed Satty Gomez to see if she might attract the killer. If he shows, presto! You got the real guy and you’re still a big fuckin’ hero.”
“Yeahhhh,” Bricker said slowly, squinting his eyes, always a sign that he was thinking deep thoughts.
“You keep your raise, keep your promotion, keep your spot in the limelight.”
“And you, Billy-Boy? What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you get out of all this?”
“The satisfaction of you not getting run out of town on a rail if they do catch the real killer and you don’t.”
“Well, there’s always that... I’ll get the check.”
The Meter Maid Murders Page 20
