The Striver

by Stephen Solomita

  ‘Nothing to say, Boots?’

  ‘Nada, Chief.’

  Shaw’s voice hardened, though he continued to speak in a near-whisper. ‘I’ve already told you about the use I made of the most talented detectives on my way up. Now I’m telling you that I’ve continued to make use of them. The four men and two women who comprise my Special Investigations Unit are superb investigators, one and all. They’re also at my disposal. My eyes and ears, so to speak.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m surprised.’ Boots was focused on a simple fact. He wasn’t being invited to join this unit. He was being sent back to the Six-Four. ‘In your place, I’d do the same thing.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking for approval, but I thank you nonetheless.’ Shaw took off his hat, a narrow-brimmed fedora. He ran his fingers through his hair, then returned the hat to his head. ‘From time to time, mainly because my office is a sieve when it comes to leaks, I need a true outsider to conduct an investigation. That outsider must be talented, obscure, and not currently assigned to my office. A man, for instance, who insists on working in a backwater Brooklyn precinct, running down burglars and stickup men. A man who’s taken great care to hide his light under the proverbial bushel. That would be you, Detective Littlewood.’

  ‘And Kelly?’ Boots asked. ‘Detective Jill Kelly, too?’

  ‘I’m explaining, not negotiating. And I don’t require your assent. When the time comes, you’ll accept your assignment. And not because you’re afraid of Michael Shaw, though you should be. You’ll do it for the adventure. You see, Detective Littlewood, given what you’ve been through, you’re certain to find your little precinct as boring as it really is.’

  Shaw yanked the door handle, then waited for his bodyguard to come over and pull the door fully open. Up ahead, Jill appeared in the entranceway of Citizen’s Rest, along with her mother. Theresa Kelly was in a wheelchair, but she got up and took a few steps when her brother-in-law approached. Though Boots was looking at Shaw’s back, he knew the man was smiling. His arms were outstretched, his cane dangling from one hand as he briefly embraced his sister-in-law. Jill stood off to Shaw’s left, clearly amused. She turned to Boots and winked.

  Boots started the Taurus, then turned up the heat. A week, a month, a year from now, Michael Shaw would come calling. And Boots would accept anything short of a suicide mission. He was no hero. In fact, when he really thought about it, he was pretty much a coward. That’s why he’d insist on having Jill Kelly by his side.

  Up ahead, Jill said something to Uncle Mike, then lit a cigarette. Boots could only imagine how much it aggravated a man like Shaw to face off with a woman who never took a backward step. Jill’s dismissive smile only broadened at her uncle’s response.

  Boots got out and circled the car. Theresa Kelly was walking toward him, her hand on her daughter’s arm. A lot stronger than the last time he’d seen her, she let go of Jill’s arm and allowed Boots to help her into the back seat.

  ‘Detective Littlewood, it’s good to see you again.’

  ‘And you, too, Mrs Kelly.’

  Boots hustled back to his own side of the car and settled in behind the wheel. He waited for Jill to fasten her seatbelt, then pulled out into traffic.

  ‘Guess what, Boots? I’m headed to the Academy as a firearms instructor.’

  ‘Your uncle told me. I assumed he meant it as a punishment.’ Boots caught Theresa Kelly’s eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘You warm enough back there?’

  ‘I’m fine, Detective …’

  ‘Do me a favor. Call me Boots. I reserve Detective Littlewood for criminals and superior officers.’

  ‘All right, then.’

  Now that she was off the booze, the docs had upped Theresa’s pain meds and her eyes were hazed. Boots laughed to himself. Doctors loved euphemisms, but Theresa’s pain med of choice, according to Jill, was plain old morphine. The woman was stoned and she’d almost certainly have to deal with an ongoing addiction if she got a piece of Jill’s liver. Or would her doctors keep on supplying the morphine, maybe figuring, since they’d gotten her addicted in the first place, that they owed her one?

  ‘Did Uncle Mike really tell you I was being punished? Because I swear to you, I would have paid him to arrange the transfer.’

  Boots crossed beneath the Bruckner Expressway, elevated at this point, and turned left onto Bruckner Boulevard. He was heading for the Whitestone Bridge, connecting the Bronx to Queens. Earlier that morning, Jill had invited him to dine with the Kellys, mother and daughter. After which, she was quick to assure him, he’d be spending the night.

  Call it a small victory, a tiny chip in Jill’s case-hardened façade.

  ‘No, he didn’t actually say he was punishing you. But he did say that we defied him and he had to do something about it. Maybe he just hopes to keep you out of trouble.’

  ‘Right.’ Jill leaned forward to lower the heat. ‘You know, Boots, the new Academy has a below-ground firing range.’

  The old Police Academy on 19th Street in Manhattan, after fifty years of service, had finally closed down a month before. At the same time, the NYPD’s firing range on City Island had shut its gates to all but sniper training. The new Academy in College Point, only a couple of miles from the Kelly homestead, had its own firing range. And unlike the outdoor range on City Island, it wouldn’t be the subject of voter petitions signed by locals protesting the noise.

  ‘So, it’s all good, right?’ Jill said. ‘You’ll meet me after hours and we’ll practice together.’

  ‘Toward what end? You want me to compete?’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking, given your temper, that it would be a good idea if I made you lethal. Would you like to be lethal, Boots?’

  Boots thought it over for a moment as he worked his way around a pothole repair crew. Finally, he glanced at Jill and said, ‘Outside of counting your stitches blindfolded, there’s nothing I’d like more.’