The Last Crusade: A Harry Cassidy Novel

by Henry Hack

  The witches got closer as he was looking at the revolver, and one hand grasped at his silver shield. He broke free and ran, but stumbled and fell to one knee and then turned and shot at them. The bullets hit them all, two each, but they didn’t seem to have any effect. He groped at his belt for another clip, but then he realized a clip would be of no use and, where the spare clips should be, he felt cartridges neatly aligned in their old-fashioned, black leather loops sewn to his uniform belt. His fingers struggled to pry them loose, but he was too slow. The witches fell on him cackling and screaming. Their putrid breath made him gag and suddenly one face was directly in front of his and it snarled, “We’ve got it now, my pretty.” He felt his shield being ripped from his shirt and a grotesque hand held it up. It was gleaming in the street light and dripping bright, red blood. “Yes,” the witch said, “we’ve got it now.” The face was joined by a second one who smiled and crooned, “And we have you too, my pretty. You are ours now.”

  He screamed awake springing to a sitting position on the sweat-soaked sheets. He covered his face with his hands gasping for breath as his mind came back to the reality of this moment in time and space. He went into the bathroom glancing at the clock radio on his night table. The red numerals glared 4:17. He washed his face with cold water and drank from his cupped hands. When his breathing returned to normal and the trembling in his body stopped, he returned to bed, but recoiled at the feel of the cold, wet sheets. He grabbed the blanket and headed for the dry sofa in the living room where, after a few minutes of tossing and turning, he finally settled down in to a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Harry’s brain was humming. A buzzing sound, somewhere far away, was troubling him. It persisted, growing louder, and he finally opened his eyes to the bright, morning sunlight streaming into the living room. He sat up, confused, and finally realized someone was in the lobby, buzzing his apartment for attention. He stumbled over to the intercom and pushed the button.

  “What is it?” he asked, slurring his words.

  “What is it?” Rita said. “What it is, is me. I hope you’re not telling me I woke you up. We have to be in Brooklyn in an hour.”

  “Damn. Come on up. As soon as I buzz you in, I’ll head for the shower. Please put some coffee on.”

  She was up in thirty seconds just as a naked Harry was heading into the bathroom. “Rita, I’m sorry. I had the dream again and came out here to sleep on the sofa,” he said pointing to the disheveled blanket.

  “Just go shower and shave,” she said. “I’ll fix you toast and coffee. You can tell me all about it on the drive to the doctor’s office.” She did not tell him he looked awful. Better wait to hear about this latest dream first. It must have been horrible. However, his bare body did look pretty good to her as he walked away.

  They made it to downtown Brooklyn in a half hour and she put the car in a parking garage rather than scour the congested streets for a rare parking space. They were in the doctor’s office only three minutes late, and were ushered into the examining room ten minutes later.

  Doctor Johannsen entered shortly thereafter, and after exchanging greetings and handshakes, said, “Strip down and let me have a look.”

  He carefully examined the wounds with his headlamp and magnifying lens. He poked and prodded at them asking for a response if any hurt excessively. None did.

  “Can I go back to work?” Harry asked.

  “Yes, modified duty next week. That means inside desk work.”

  “Any other restrictions?”

  “No, do you need any pain medications?”

  “I’m not taking anything right now.”

  “Good, come back in two weeks so I can see how you’re doing.”

  They got in the car and Harry said, “Are you ready to hear about last night’s dream? Or do you want to wait until we’re back at my place?”

  “Tell me now.”

  He related what he remembered, ending with the fact the dream’s conclusion was the part that frightened him the most.

  “Have you ever had a dream before this incident with Winston that was some how related to the Job?” she asked.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Were any of those dreams similar to the ending you described? In other words, did you dream of being in a situation where you were being chased, or you were chasing someone, and at the moment of confrontation your gun did not work? Or worked incorrectly, or ineffectively?”

  “Yes, I did. I used to have one where a big guy was coming at me and I emptied an entire clip into him, but the bullets didn’t seem to hurt him at all, and he kept coming. I also had one a few times where, when I fired my gun, the sound was weak and the bullets just tumbled out of the front end of the barrel and never reached the guy at all.”

  “Typical cop nightmares.”

  “Typical?”

  “Yes, I’ve spoken to a few officers who have had similar ones and read a lot of case studies citing these types of dreams.”

  “What do they mean?”

  “There’s a strong component of self-imposed unworthiness. You feel no matter how hard you try, you cannot stop the event in the dream from happening, usually from keeping the bad guy from killing or attacking you, or someone close to you. And there is a component of helplessness—a lack of power to prevent the bad guys from winning.”

  “How come it got mixed in with the other dreams I’ve been having?”

  “I guess it means some sort of acceptance of the situation, which is a positive sign. But I’ll be honest with you Harry, I’m not sure. Dream interpretation is not an exact science, you know.”

  “So what now, Doctor Freud?”

  “Stay with what I told you about acceptance, forgiveness, and forgetting. Deal with Winston and Susan consciously and deliberately in your waking hours. It will seep into your unconcious mind and gradually counteract and diminish your dreams.”

  “I’ve started already, and I’ll make it part of my regimen for the next month. I promise.”

  Rita pulled into a parking space around the corner from Harry’s building and they walked into the lobby.

  “I’m going to try the stairs,” he said.

  “Fine, but take it easy.”

  He did, but after reaching the second floor he turned toward the elevator.

  “Problem, macho man?”

  “No,” he said as his face twisted with pain. “No freakin’ problem at all.”

  “Harry, you were shot, remember? This will take time.”

  “Yeah, I know. Come on into my parlor and I’ll buy you a beer. I’ll show you my books.”

  “O-o-h, some porno, I hope,” she said. “Got some hot stuff to show me, sailor?”

  “I guess some cops consider The Penal Law and Police Administration to be pornographic, but I know one thing for sure—they’re awfully boring.”

  Rita arrived at eight on Friday morning and struggled through the apartment door with an armload of heavy books.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had all of these to carry?” Harry asked. I would have come down to help you. I do have one good arm.”

  “You’re sweet,” she said, “but the only help I need now is a good, strong cup of coffee.”

  “Pot’s just brewed, especially for you, my pretty.”

  “My pretty? Did you have another dream?”

  “No, and I took your advice about consciously thinking of the past. I think I’m coming to terms with Winston as I analyze the whole thing.”

  “Can you now believe your actions following your mistake were sufficient to atone for it?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. What about Susan?”

  “Do you see her often?”

  “No, since she was transferred I’ve only seen her once. And that was when we had lunch together about a week ago. But we frequently talk on the phone.”

  “What does Susan think about the situation now?”

  “She’s still very upset.”

  “Because she betrayed me? Or becaus
e she believes she did the right thing, but now has second thoughts?”

  “A bit of both, I think. It’s complicated for her.”

  “Let me throw something out for your consideration. If I must accept what she has done, and forgive her for doing it, what if I give her a call?”

  “That would be awfully brave. I had thought of suggesting that, but I’m not sure you’re quite ready now.”

  “When will I ever be ready if not now? I’ve got to sort this out. My nightmares have to go away.”

  Rita fished through her purse and came out with her phone book. “Okay, here’s her number at Public Affairs.”

  Harry took a deep breath and dialed the number. Susan answered on the second ring in a cool, professional voice. “Public Affairs, Sergeant Goldman speaking.”

  The hairs on his body rose when he heard her voice. He looked over at Rita and said, “Hello, Susan, it’s Harry.”

  “Harry? I didn’t…I mean, how are you?”

  “Healing up. I’m going back on light duty next week.”

  “That’s good to hear. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  “And you, Susan? How are you doing?”

  “This position is okay, but law school is still tough.”

  “Are you staying on the Job when you graduate?”

  “No, my future is not bright here, so I’ll go be a lawyer somewhere, maybe one of the DA’s offices. Harry, why did you call? After what I did to you I never thought I’d hear from you, or see you again.”

  “Susan, you did what you thought was right. I did a terrible thing and I understand you could not reconcile that with your position and our continued relationship.”

  “You understand…?”

  “Yes, and I accept it. Not only do I accept it, but I forgive you.”

  “I don’t know what to say, except I am truly sorry for what I did to you. I can’t believe you’re forgiving me.”

  “I guess you didn’t know me long enough then. I am not all bad.”

  “I knew you long enough to know that. I just….”

  She was sobbing now so Harry said, “Susan, I wish you well in the future. Don’t agonize over what you did. Put it behind you. Get on with your life.”

  “I don’t know what to say. You’re a better person than I am.”

  “I doubt that. We all have our good and bad moments, but we have to move on.”

  “I appreciate your call. This means a lot to me…and you meant a lot to me…”

  He hung up the phone and tears began to drip down his cheeks.

  “That took a lot of guts,” Rita said. “I’m proud of you.”

  “I thought that was supposed to make me feel better.”

  “It will, in time. Events like those you experienced in the past three months take time, a long time, to disappear from your every day memory. Patience, Harry, patience. I have to get to work now. I have three interviews today.”

  “Are you still thinking of asking out of that Mickey Mouse outfit?”

  “I already have. My request for transfer went in two days ago. Out to the real world, just like you told me—patrol.”

  “Good for you,” he said, but he inwardly frowned at the thought of her on patrol, alone in a supervisor’s car at three a.m., in some skell neighborhood.

  “See you tonight?” she asked

  “You bet. Bring the pizza and I’ll crack a bottle of red wine.”

  “Then we’ll study, right?”

  “Most certainly,” he said, rolling his eyeballs. “I can’t wait.”

  4

  That night, after the pizza was eaten and the bottle of Chianti half gone, Rita and Harry moved into the living room bringing their glasses and the rest of the wine. They sorted through the mountain of books and laid out a plan for study.

  “You know, Rita, I really am not into this. I mean, it seems a waste of time.”

  “Why do you think that? The lieutenant’s test is in October or November and next week it’s April already. You know you need at least six months of study to be prepared.”

  “I know, but I’m not even a sergeant yet, and who knows about that retroactive promotion date.”

  “It’s going to happen, and what do you have to lose if it doesn’t?”

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  After they planned their assignments and divvied up the texts accordingly, they relaxed and finished the rest of the wine. Rita snuggled up against Harry and he said, “Rita, I know I said this before, but I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be making love to a case of beer and a gallon of scotch.”

  “Is that an offer?”

  “Huh?”

  “Are you offering to make love to me? Are you telling me you find me more attractive than booze?”

  “Much more.” He took her in his arms and kissed her softly. “But as far as making love to you, the spirit may be willing, but the flesh is weak.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said, and kissed him passionately. In a few moments they were groping and kissing like a couple of teen-agers in the backseat of a car on lover’s lane. She reached down below his belt and said, “Ah, ha, sailor, I believe the flesh is getting stronger. Come weez me into zee alley.”

  “Be gentle with me, ma’am. I’m just a poor shot-up cop.”

  “Be quiet, take your clothes off and lie down on the bed. I will do the rest.”

  Rita made love to Harry gently and tenderly. He hoped it would never end, but it did, all too soon.

  “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” she asked.

  “Yeah, how about you?”

  “A lot longer. My sex life would fill a thin volume.”

  “Maybe you and I can expand that thin volume into a thick book.”

  “I’m sure we can. You know, Harry, I wanted to jump in the sack with you the minute I laid eyes on you, but Susan got there ahead of me.”

  “You find me sexually attractive?”

  “Are you kidding? Didn’t I just roll around under the sheets with you? And when Susan was debating whether to go out with you on New Year’s Eve, I told her to send you my way if she decided against it.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Not only are you a tall, dark, handsome old-time movie star mixture, you are a bright, witty, college-educated man who I enjoy being with.”

  “Now,” he said with a big smile, “if only I were Jewish…”

  “Hey, beggars can’t be choosy, but at least you’re circumcised, as I just noticed, and as I had already found out from Susan.”

  Harry blushed at Rita’s candid choice of words and said, “I saw Susan first, and the bells went off. After that I had blinders on. I’m sorry I didn’t look closer at you then.”

  “Are the blinders off now? Can you let the beautiful Susan Goldman go gently into the past?”

  “I believe I already did, Rita. I can see much better now.”

  They spent the weekend together alternately studying, exercising, and making love. Rita had gone back to her place on Saturday morning and came back with enough clothes to get her through until Monday.

  On Saturday night they took the subway into Manhattan and had a leisurely dinner at a downtown Italian restaurant called Il Giglio, and after dinner they took in a movie in midtown. On the ride home Rita asked, “How does Il Giglio’s compare to Mario’s?”

  “Il Giglio is top-notch, but Mario’s will always be my favorite.”

  “I can’t wait to go there with you.”

  “But…”

  “That will be another step in letting go of Susan—taking someone else to your place, and facing the fact it is someone else.”

  Monday morning arrived and they went their separate ways to work, Rita wishing Harry good luck on his return, and warning him again to take it slow.

  “I will,” he said. “Should I stop at a hardware store and make a key for you?”

  “Sure, and I’ll do the same.”


  The whole team was waiting for him when he got into the office. They smiled and shook his hand, and traded jokes and digs with each other. Lieutenant Campbell brought him up to date, which wasn’t much more information than he had told him on the phone a couple of days ago. “It’s just a matter of when and where they will strike, and if we can gather enough intelligence to stop them,” he said.

  “You said when, not if,” Harry said.

  “That I did. Do any of us actually believe these guys are going to give up their jihad and slink away?”

  The rest of April flew by and Harry’s days and hours were filled with exercise, study and time with Rita. On his next visit with Doctor Johannsen he pronounced him fit for full duty.

  Meanwhile, nothing at all was happening in the Task Force’s search for Ramzi and those who had gotten away after the shooting. Don Campbell decided it was time to stir things up and put some pressure on Ziad and the two others. He said, “We’re going to have to get that composite of Ziad out in all the metro area in volume. We have to shake something loose.”

  “How about we flood the neighborhoods where Middle-Eastern people predominantly reside?” John McKee asked.

  “And maybe,” Walt said, “we could mention he may be involved with terrorist organizations.”

  “Good ideas,” Campbell said. Let’s get moving on it. At least we’ll be doing something.”

  Harry began to be bored and to wish he was back walking his beat. “I’m thinking of asking Campbell for a transfer out of the Task Force,” he said to Rita at dinner that night.

  “I figured that from what you’ve been telling me. Is it that dull?”

  “Yes, it is, but I need your advice. I don’t know where to ask to go.”

  “Don’t ask to go anywhere.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t do anything. In a couple of months the big order is coming out. You’re going to get promoted to sergeant, which means a four-week training session at the Academy. You will be assigned somewhere at the conclusion, probably patrol.”