And the Tide Turns

by Timothy Dalton

  “And who exactly is on their radar?” Ethan asked.

  Again, a hesitation. “You. But I have this gut feeling that isn’t a surprise.”

  “That gut feeling is probably just gas.”

  Uncharacteristically, Art didn’t respond to Ethan’s jab. Either he was in no mood for humor, or maybe it really was indigestion.

  Ethan reigned himself in. “So was it the guys from uptown at the estate?”

  “I can’t be sure, but all my instincts are pointing in that direction.”

  “Mine as well. Did they leave tracks at my place?” Ethan began doodling in the notepad.

  Art let out a puff of air. “I looked into that, but everything at your place seemed undisturbed.”

  Ethan’s pen stilled. “They were there, Art. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

  “No, I believe you. Eyewitnesses came forward about the shootout on your street, but don’t even ask who was gunned down. When they got the hell out of Dodge, the body was taken with them – left us nothing but blood on the sidewalk. Also, your buddy Donald admitted that several men came in with IDs saying they needed access to your room and mailbox.”

  “What kind of ID?” Ethan frowned and resumed sketching patterns on the page; they didn’t come close to being artistic, but the mindless action helped focus his thoughts.

  “He wasn’t one hundred percent sure but he thought F.B.I.”

  “Fake?”

  “Can’t say. But I did call one of my contacts at the Bureau, and he has no record of any teams being there – or even remotely in the area.”

  Ethan mulled this over before asking, “Outsourcing maybe? Any groups off the grid?”

  “Listen Ethan, this shit sounds deeper with every phone call – looks like you’re in it up to your ball sack. You need to get yourself somewhere safe.”

  “Why the sudden interest in my ball sack? And no one knows where I am except you. As long as I keep moving, and you aren’t sweated for details, I should be fine.”

  Art huffed again at Ethan’s blasé response. “OK, but for the record, I don’t like this. And a couple more things: J.B. Wilcox called again. He seems very determined to get in touch with you. He said he’ll need the death certificate to get the paperwork started, and he’d like you to drop it off at his office personally. Speaking of getting sweated, Fredericks has been hounding everyone about you. I’ve managed to dodge him, but I don’t know how long I can keep that up.”

  “I figured as much. I’ll be calling him shortly. Do you have his home number?”

  There was a shuffling sound as Art searched his Rolodex and then read off the digits.

  Ethan jotted them down then said, “Thanks buddy. I’ll call if I need anything else.”

  “I’ll be off tomorrow; the wife and I are going shopping.”

  “Awww, you guys are picking out coffins – how sweet. Are they going to be a matching set?”

  “You’re a dick, Ethan. Leave it to you to never let an old joke slip by.” Art’s words were caustic, but his underlying chuckle was evident.

  Ethan grinned. “It’s what I do best.”

  “Yeah, well – when the time comes, we’re both going to be cremated. I’d always envisioned having our ashes put in the same urn together because we’re a team and I never want to be without her. Maybe every now and then the kids can give the jar a good shake so we can still get it on in the afterlife.”

  “That’s probably the most touching and disturbing thing I’ve ever heard, Art. And for some reason I feel like I need to take a shower now.”

  “Just don’t catch an STD in that place.”

  “I’ll try to be careful. Anyway, touch base with you tomorrow, okay? And I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass lately. It’s just been a rough couple of days.”

  “We’ve all had ‘em. I know what it’s like to be in your shoes.”

  The remark left an opening for questions, and Ethan could never help but chase a lead; it seemed that was all he’d been doing lately anyway. “What was your worst day Art? And don’t say when I became your partner or this conversation is over.” He laughed at his own wit, but Art didn’t join in.

  “I’m sure word got to you at least once or twice, but it was probably that whole Lewis Martinelli business.”

  Oh shit. Ethan knew where this was going. “Yeah, I did hear about that, but I chose not to bring it up.”

  “I hope you never know what it feels like to be betrayed like that. Every judgment call I’ve made since that day still gets questioned. I trusted him – for fourteen years. He catches her cheating on him, and does he just divorce her? No. Does he just kill her in a fit of rage? No. He planned and schemed for weeks. That’s just sick.”

  Ethan remained silent.

  “Here’s something not everyone knows: it was all swept under the rug – as best as possible, anyway – from the rest of the guys and never revealed publicly. Not only did he stage the break-in at his house and murder her, but he also killed four other women before that using the same MO just to keep us off the scent. Then, when the wife showed up dead, he tried to pretend he was just another victim in a long line of others.”

  Art heaved a jagged sigh and didn’t say anything for a moment. Ethan waited for the rest. Finally, it came. “We figured it out, but not before he murdered two more. I guess he thought it would be suspicious if the final victim was his wife. Did you know the Feds got pulled in for the case? They thought it was a serial killer. I guess he sort of was, just not your garden-variety type.”

  Ethan almost didn’t know what to say for once. “Why haven’t I ever heard about this?”

  “Like I said, swept under the rug as best they could; the big guys didn’t want it to get out that one of their own boys went rampage on the city. Makes us all look bad, that kind of thing.”

  “Holy shit – that’s terrible, Art.”

  “The worst part is I began to blame myself. Here we were the two of us together, trying to solve this case, and the whole time he was faking his distress and I didn’t see it. It was right in front of me.”

  “But you couldn’t have known what he was doing,” Ethan said.

  “It doesn’t change anything. Seven women are dead, and to this day those same big boys upstairs think I’m not the detective I should be. How could I not figure it out? He was my partner, you know? How did this happen?”

  “Sometimes there are just people who do a good job at hiding their crazy.”

  “Trust me, I know,” Art said. “I think I’ve nearly seen everything, and I’m not sure I want to see much more – because just when you think you’ve seen it all, something happens that blows your world away.”

  Art’s revelation had been unexpected and eye opening, but a glance at the clock told Ethan the night was dwindling and this conversation would have to be picked up later. “Hey man, thanks for sharing that. I know it must have been hard. I wouldn’t mind hearing more sometime, but I’d better give Fredericks that call before he cans my ass permanently.”

  “Give ‘em hell, kid.”

  “Yeah, I’ll try. And Art – thanks again for everything.”

  “No problem, buddy.” There was a touch of sadness in the big man’s voice, as if he had so much more to say and Ethan felt a tinge of guilt for not having more time to continue the conversation.

  He disconnected the line and dialed Fredericks’ home number, but his mind was still glued on the story of Lewis Martinelli. He imagined himself in Art’s situation, and wondered how it must have felt to have been deceived so completely for so long. Ethan hoped he never had to experience something like that.

  Fredericks answered the phone then, breaking his thoughts. Nine minutes later – after a series of outbursts, rants, and grumbles from his boss – the man finally calmed down and agreed to meet at Jo Ann’s Café in the morning.

  Shortly after ending the call, Ethan flopped back on the bed. It had been a long damn day. Moments later, he drifted into sleep surrounded by a pile of Tobias’s pap
ers.

  18 The Breakfast Slug

  April 23, 1986, 6:47 AM

  “I gotta hand it to you Ethan, you sure do have some stones with the crap you’ve pulled lately,” Fredericks said as he slid into the seat opposite Ethan.

  “I was born that way; it’s my cross to bear.” Ethan smirked around a mouthful of breakfast. Jo Ann’s Café didn’t sit in the safest of neighborhoods but the food was amazing and worth the risk. “So were you able to get what I asked for?” Ethan said after swallowing.

  Fredericks leaned back. “Would I be here if I wasn’t?” He produced a light brown folder he’d been carrying and slapped it on the table. “I’ll admit, I thought you were getting your panties in a bunch about your uncle, but after that raid at his estate, even I’m starting to believe there is some shady shit going down.”

  A waitress bearing the name tag ‘Aurelia’ walked by to tend to other patrons, and Fredericks raised his finger to snag her notice. She stopped when she saw the badge hanging from his chest pocket, glinting like pure gold, and her dark eyes flashed as if saying, Anything for the boys on the street. “What can I get ya darlin’?” Her twang made her sound like a member of the Kennedy family.

  “Coffee, black.” Fredericks faced the woman, offering Ethan a glimpse of his legendary ear hair. Ethan usually tried to avoid looking at it but he was almost a captive audience here. It was like the Garden of Eden and grew in wicked formations. He half expected a slithering serpent to shoot out and offer a bite of the forbidden fruit. Ethan suppressed a shudder and quickly averted his eyes.

  As the serving girl left on her newly given mission, Fredericks gazed back at Ethan. “I want to get something straight with you before we move on. Art isn’t your errand boy, and I don’t like my detectives running around on the city’s dime chasing down leads I’m not aware of. No more behind my back shit; everything goes through me from here on. Are we clear?”

  Ethan nodded, and Fredericks continued, “I assume you already spoke with Art so you’re aware that Bracamontes didn’t tell us too much we didn’t already know. Also, our boy Bailey is still in the hospital. He’s pretty shaken up by the whole ordeal. I’d be surprised if he decided to wear blue again.”

  Fredericks was probably thinking the same thing as Ethan. He’d seen it several times during his short career, so he couldn’t fathom how often his boss must have witnessed it: a cop gets a close call and decides to throw in the towel. Much like a guy with a motorcycle who loves to feel the speed of the machine beneath him and the wind in his face, then sells the cycle at half price just to get it out of the garage when fate nearly claims his life.

  The serving girl came back and set the mug on the table, then gave a quick top off to Ethan’s cup. She flashed a grin and moved on to her other customers before they had a chance to ask for anything else. Coffee wasn’t a big tip opportunity for her, cop or not.

  Fredericks rubbed his hands together and wrapped them around his cup, then took a giant swig. “Jesus, this coffee is so weak it’s helpless.”

  “It’s okay to me; I think the cigarettes are killing your taste buds.” Ethan dumped a heaping spoon full of sugar into his own java.

  “If you keep using too much of that shit you’re going to die young, Tannor.”

  Ethan could feel Fredericks eyeballing him, but he pretended he didn’t notice and returned to his breakfast. “Life is short, right?” He pointed to the file. “Do we have new leads?”

  “Contrary to popular belief – and despite its strangeness – your uncle’s case isn’t the only one on my desk. A lot of shit’s going down all at once. The higher ups and the Mayor want that Brooklyn Vigilante case closed; there’s been another killing.”

  “Same MO?”

  “It’s not really an MO – unless taking out each of The Seven Kings systematically can be considered that. But you know the really odd thing?”

  Ethan shrugged, waiting for Fredericks to elaborate.

  “I knew every last one of those sons of bitches almost twenty years ago, when they were small time. Couldn’t seem to put them away except one, but even then it wasn’t for long. It’s like someone found my short list of names and is cleaning up what I couldn’t.”

  “Wait a minute. The Kings? You knew them all?”

  Fredericks gave a slow nod. “There’s Eduardo Dominguez, Don Chuey, and Rogelio Gomez.” He ticked off a finger for each name. “They’re all six feet under now. That still leaves Raul Salazar – who’s currently locked up and maybe in the safest place – Marco Murillo, Javier Menendez, and then there’s La Sombra – who nobody seems to know. He’s the only one I don’t have information on.”

  “The Shadow,” Ethan said. “The name seems to fit.” He didn’t know much Spanish, but Art had spoken about this guy before and he remembered the translation.

  Fredericks was still talking. “And no one has been able to get an eyewitness to say anything. I get it, they’re looking after their own and don’t want to send a man to the gallows. After all, these aren’t good guys dying. If you ask me, the man’s doing us a favor. But you know the politics of it; every murder needs to be solved. I say let God sort them out.” He finished with, “Then there’s this business of your uncle that’s turning into a cluster fuck and it’s caught the Commissioner’s eye.”

  “What are you going to tell the Mayor then?”

  Fredericks pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I’m still trying to think of a way to tell him to fuck himself without hurting his feelings.”

  Both men laughed, and Fredericks started up again. “This job will get to you, though. I know we had our words the other day about drinking, but seriously – heading down that path isn’t worth it. I had a friend who told me things about his addiction. He said everyone has to hit their own bottom. Do you know what that is?”

  Ethan had his suspicions, but he shook his head and continued enjoying his breakfast.

  “He said hitting bottom means having shit happen in your life faster than you can lower your standards to convince yourself that everything is okay.” Fredericks gave a quick head bob in soundless agreement of what he’d just relayed.

  Ethan studied Fredericks a moment. There was something about the way his boss had delivered the line that made it seem very personal. Like they weren’t words fostered by a friend but something from his own life experience.

  The Captain blew into his coffee and took another gulp. “What about you? Have you found out anything new?”

  Another bite of Ethan’s egg and bacon sandwich was on its way to his mouth when he froze, then pulled it away. Should he really divulge everything he’d learned so far? He eyed the brown folder; he’d have to give Fredericks something, or the Captain would think him crazy and snatch this lead away from him.

  “Well, it’s all sort of jumbled and I’ve got nothing concrete, more of a hunch than anything. I’d hate to jump the gun and not follow the book. You know – due process and all.” Ethan took a quick bite of food, hoping to buy some thinking time if another inquiry was launched his way.

  “Are you fucking kidding me Tannor?” Fredericks hissed, reaching up to loosen his tie. “I’ve stuck my neck out – you can’t pull this crap, especially when I’ve thrown you a pretty big bone as a favor with this here.” He tapped the folder. “Your activities lately have been a fucking mystery, and I don’t even know where the hell you’ve been staying because it sure isn’t at your house!”

  Hypertension reddened the Captain’s face. He set his coffee aside and leaned closer across the table, lowering his voice an octave or two. “A day after your uncle dies you demand I release you back to full working status. Now it seems you’re making headway on your personal time – let me remind you I’m giving you full access to investigate – and for some unknown reason, now you can’t stay far enough away from the department.”

  Ethan finished chewing, taking his time before swallowing. “There’s a lot of heat on me right now, and I don’t think it’s safe. Did you k
now some sinister types were ransacking my place?”

  Fredericks’ eyes narrowed. “Yeah, Art told me about that. I had it looked into, but your place was untouched. Can’t say the same for outside the building, what with that OK Corral showdown. It’s too much of a coincidence to say these two events aren’t connected. Tell me what the hell is happening.”

  The look on Fredericks’ face made Ethan want to ask if the man had taken his blood pressure medication, but he decided it wouldn’t be a safe question. He took a slug of coffee instead. “Look, I’m still trying to figure that out myself. If I find anything significant, I’ll let you know. I just need four more hours.” He worked to keep the pleading tone out of his voice. Fredericks had the ability to shut him down if he wanted and that meant playing this conversation smart.

  The Captain scoffed at his subordinate, pinning Ethan with an intense look. This was the patented ‘Fredericks Stare’, which he used when attempting to get a read on his quarry. Ethan forced a neutral expression. Fredericks was rarely wrong in his assessments.

  Ethan looked away from the man’s scrutiny and put his cup down. The bottom edge of the mug caught the lip of his plate, spilling its contents.

  “Jesus Christ!” Fredericks thundered, pulling his arms back to escape the wave of coffee flowing across the table.

  Ethan leaned over, snagging a handful of napkins from the dispenser. There was a sudden crashing sound and for an instant, he thought his elbow had knocked the cup to the ground, shattering it to pieces. Damn, I’m clumsy today! He chanced a look at Fredericks, knowing he’d see deep agitation lines creasing the man’s face, but all he noted was shock. The Captain’s mouth was agape, and on his crisp white shirt a bright red splotch was blooming.

  Time came to a standstill as Ethan’s mind detached itself from reality and only one thought managed to push its way through: The coffee splashed all the way over there? Wait … that’s not coffee, that’s –

  He ducked down on instinct just as the sound of a second crash exploded around them. Fredericks took another shot, this one to his shoulder. The impact shook his body and he grunted out a moan of pain.