by Walter Marks
Hated members may use the acronym LHDH, which stands for "Live Hated, Die Hated," as well as the numeric symbol 8668, which is an alphanumeric representation of "Hated Forever, Forever Hated."
The last line jumped right out at Jericho — 8668, which is an alphanumeric representation of “Hated Forever, Forever Hated”.
“I’m surprised,” he said. “I Googled 8668 and didn’t see anything like this.”
“Yeah, we did that too,” the older boy said. “Then my genius brother here typed in 8668 symbol and this popped right up.”
“Anti-Defamation League,” Seth said. “They’re an organization that fights racism.”
“I know what they are,” Jericho said.
Seth nodded. “It sure looks like my dad was murdered by this hate group.”
“The Hated,” Eric said bitterly. “My father... he was, like, a symbol of Latino unity. They hated him and killed him because he was standing up for all of us.”
“Detective,” Seth said. “You gotta find out who did this and make them pay.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jericho said. “And you guys did really good work.”
“Thanks,” both said together.
Jericho gave them his contact cards and told them he’d be in touch.
After they left, he went to his own computer and typed 8668 symbol into Google. The Anti-Defamation League webpage came up, confirming what the Lopez boys had shown him
The detective’s phone rang and it was Chief Krauss, telling him to come to his office.
CHAPTER 9.
Krauss was clearly annoyed. “That damn committee came in to see me.”
“OLA?”
“Yeah. You know about them?”
Jericho nodded.
“They’re insisting the Lopez killing is a hate crime,” Krauss said. “I told them at this point we’re just considering it a homicide.”
“Sid, it is a hate crime.”
“How do you know?”
“Those numbers written on his forehead. They’re the signature of a racist group called The Hated.”
“How do you know that?”
“Research.”
Krauss frowned. “Look,” he said. “Those OLA people are pushing me to call in a special Hate Crimes Unit. The Suffolk County PD has one, but I’ll be damned if I want those County cops crawling all over my district. It’ll look like we can’t handle a major investigation. I remember the Ted Ammon murder, back in ’01 — high profile case because he was a Wall Street biggie. The County cops took over and it made our department look like a bunch of inept amateurs. That’s not gonna happen on my watch!”
Jericho frowned. “This is a very tough case,” he said.
“Can you handle it?”
“Here’s the problem,” Jericho said. “Hate crimes, when they’re committed by a hate group, are tough to solve. Back when I was working in East Harlem, there was a rash of assaults and killings of black men in the Jackie Robinson housing project. The words Trinitarios 3ni were spray-painted on the walls of each crime scene. We knew that was the name of a Dominican anti-black gang. We even knew who some of the gang members were, but they had a code of silence and informers knew they’d be killed. So — none of those crimes were ever prosecuted.”
“You’re saying there’s no way to solve this?”
“Well, we’re not likely to find a snitch,” Jericho said. “So probably the only way is for me to go undercover, infiltrate the group and investigate from the inside. But even if I could get in, how the hell could I find out who killed Lopez? Frankly, that’s pretty chancy.”
“Which means you got a lot of work to do.”
Jericho hated Krauss rejecting County help because of his ego. But part of him liked the challenge — he’d gotten a start with the name of the gang. And he’d cracked other daunting cases in the past.
“I’ll give it a shot, Chief.”
“Sooner the better. I can’t keep those OLA people off my back for long.”
Jericho nodded, his mind already focused on what to do next.
At his computer, Jericho found the The Hated website. It contained a chat room subtitled:
“Live Hated Die Hated * 8668 * “Hated Forever, Forever Hated” OPEN THREAD
He had to use an e-mail handle to get into the chat room, so he went to Gorilla Mail – Disposable Temporary E-mail Addresses. He became [email protected]. He chose HASS because Google told him that was the German word for hatred.
Jericho entered the chat room and watched the online venom as it scrolled on the screen:
F*ckhead: Just logged on.
Sigheil: RU newbie?
F*ckhead: Ya.
PitBull: Sure you aint Turbanhead?
F*ckhead: I ain’t no Captain A-rab.
ZZpp: Hear about the Muslim who blew off his pecker with his suicide bomb? Lotta good that’s gonna do him with them 72 virgins in Heaven.
ChipperV: Heh-heh good one.
Vexxing: Aint scared of ISIS. Mex Ill-legals flooding my beloved country worse. Build the f*cking wall already.
Sigheil: Stinking up our whole country with Beaner-farts!
Pitbull: Bringing in coke, rape, aids, welfare queens. Throw them anker babies into the Gulf of Mexico. They’ll sink fer sure.
F*ckhead: Save one cute mamacita for me.
Pitbull: Better wear a condom made from industrial grade rubber.
Sigheil: THE FURRIER says remind fellow Haters about Eastern Suffolk meet-up in two weeks.
ChipperV: Love hating. Hate loving.
Jericho shuddered in disgust.
There were two buttons at the top of the page. One said CONTRIBUTE TO THE CAUSE. The other said JOIN US, which he clicked on. It contained a form asking for name, address, phone number, and E-mail contact. It required checking a box to indicate nearest city location. The choices were: Newark, Jersey City, Bronx, Smithtown, Hampton Bays. The prospective member was advised he would be vetted and interviewed in person by a representative of The Hated.
Jericho knew in order to register and infiltrate he’d have to set up a fake ID. He could get that quickly by enlisting the help of his ex-partner at NYPD — Detective Mickey (“Mouse”) Davis.
He called Mouse and told him he needed bogus ID for undercover operation.
“Undercover?” Mouse said incredulously. “Who you goin’ after in East Hampton? A syndicate sellin’ fake beach parking permits?”
“It’s a homicide case. Hate crime.”
“Hate crime?”
“Yes. Victim’s a Latino immigrant.”
“Geez, Battle,” Mouse said, using Jericho’s cop nickname. “You busted a sex trafficking ring and now you dealin’ with a hate killing. Sounds like you bringin’ bad Karma to the Hamptons.”
“So when can I get the ID stuff?” Jericho said. “I need it pronto.”
“I’ll get right on it. You’ll get a package... late tomorrow.” Mouse said. “Just scan your driver’s license and e-mail it to me, so I can use the photo of your ugly mug.”
“That’ll be fine.”
“So — who the hell you investigating?”
“A racist skinhead group.”
“Skinhead? ...You gonna shave your head?”
Jericho hadn’t thought of that. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“And you better get some tats,” Mouse said. “A couple nice swastikas should do it.”
“Whatever.”
“You sure you wanna do this?” Mouse said. “You know we got nowhere with those hate killings in the Jackie Robinson project.”
“That was a youth gang,” Jericho replied. “We were too old to infiltrate them.”
“We also figured even if we could get in, we probably wouldn’t learn shit. Plus — it was too damn dangerous. Remember?”
“Okay, okay,” Jericho responded. “But here’s the way I see it: If I get in, there’s two possibilities. One — I find out one of those skinhead mopes committed another felony, and I bust him, then squeeze him to name th
e killer or killers. Two — somebody who did the murder brags about it. Then I’m in business.”
“You gonna wear a wire?”
“Of course.”
“Dicey, man.”
“Mouse, you been on desk duty too long,” Jericho said. “Ever heard of the Spy Audio wrist watch?”
“What’s that? Some Dick Tracy gizmo?”
“It looks exactly like a Timex,” Jericho said. “Records up to three hours. I can get it online. Even if they pat me down or strip me, they’ll think I’m clean.”
“Still, if you haven’t read a suspect his rights, his recorded confession won’t stand up in court.”
“It depends,” Jericho responded. “Remember — Illinois v. Perkins says undercover cops don’t have to Mirandize their suspects. Besides, if I know the guy did it, I can dig further till I nail him.”
“I’d give that a great big maybe,” Mouse said.
Jericho didn’t respond.
Mouse went on. ”Where’s this group located?”
“Hampton Bays, Long Island.”
“They have meetings there?”
“I believe so.”
“So — you’re gonna start attending, win their trust, then hope somebody talks? Jericho, it’s a fucking long shot.”
“I’m going for it.”
“Listen to me, buddy, Mouse said. “I just don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either,” Jericho said. “But there’s too much hate goin’ on in this country. And hate groups think they can kill with impunity. This is just one case, but it’s in my jurisdiction. And nobody gets away with murder in my jurisdiction.”
“So you’re makin’ a statement.”
“You could say that.”
“I just did,” Mouse said.
“Send the package to my house, not my office.”
“Same address in Montauk?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Mouse said. “Oh, and GLHF.”
“Huh?”
“Internet slang,” Mouse explained. “My teenage daughter texts me all the time with these nutty acronyms.”
“What does it mean?”
“Good luck, have fun!”
After sending a copy of his driver’s license to Mouse, Jericho shut down his computer, and leaned back in his office chair, eyes closed.
He thought about Carlos Lopez and the painful loss his family was suffering — his wife, his two sons, his adorable daughter.
Then he thought about his own daughter — Katie. If she comes for Easter, how the hell am I gonna I manage it?
CHAPTER 10.
Jericho was finishing dinner at the home of the Salazars, Maria’s parents.
“No thanks, I’m stuffed,” he said, pushing back from the table. Mrs. Salazar would have none of it. She ladled another portion of lamb stew onto his plate, saying he needed more meat on his bones.
It was true. Jericho hadn’t been eating much during the past few months, ever since the tragic death of his partner Maria. The memory loop kept playing in his mind; that single shot from her gun, exploding the head of the Russian thug who was about to kill him — Maria’s last act before she died.
From the start he’d been amazed by her courage — her willingness to help bust a Russian gang. She never hesitated, even when he said she might be in grave danger.
It wasn’t only that he missed her. The stark truth was that she’d given up her life to save his, and he was haunted by guilt — regretting he’d brought an inexperienced rookie into a risky undercover operation.
The aftermath was a dark period in Jericho’s life. The grief would tug at him, then vanish, then re-surface at odd times, triggered by a sound, a scent, a memory. He’d found some solace with Maria’s parents, who shared his loss.
They invited him over for Sunday dinner, which then became a standing invitation which he always accepted. He never ate much, but the sense of family was a great comfort to Jericho. Sometimes he wished he could tell them he and Maria had a loving and ultimately intimate relationship, but he knew that would be inappropriate.
He looked over at his new “family”, marveling at their strength and kindness. Juanita Salazar was dark and elegant, reminding him of the self-portraits of Mexican artist Freda Kahlo, including the faint shadow of facial hair above her lips. Her husband Pedro was stern-looking and intense. He rarely smiled, but when he did, it came on gradually — like a sunrise lighting up the sky. Next to him sat Rosario, the sixteen-year-old Jericho and Maria had rescued from a life of sexual slavery. Rosario had no parents, so the Salazars took her in. That was just their way.
“Did you do your homework?” Pedro asked.
“I did the math, Papa. But I haven’t finished the Shakespeare.”
“What play?” Jericho asked.
“Romeo and Juliet,” she answered. “I couldn’t make heads or tails of that ‘thee, thy, and thou stuff’. But my girlfriend, she gave me this comic book version, called YOLO, Romeo. It’s very cool and easy to understand.”
“Read the Shakespeare,” Pedro said firmly. ”We don’t do things the easy way around here.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said. “Listen, I don’t want dessert, so may I be excused?”
“Yes, darling,” said her new mom.
After she left, Jericho spoke hesitantly. “You guys know I’ve been working on the Carlos Lopez murder case.”
“Terrible thing,” Pedro said. “You getting anywhere?”
“Workin’ on it,” Jericho said. “But I need to ask you something.”
The Salazars looked at him with interest.
“My daughter Katie — I told you about her, she lives out in Tacoma with her mother. Well, Easter’s coming up and she has a vacation. I want her to come for about a week, but because of this case, I can’t be sure about my schedule. I was wondering if... maybe I could drop her off here if... if sometimes I have to work.
“Not a problem.” Juanita said.
“I’m really sorry to ask,” Jericho said. “You’ve been so generous already, and I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s no imposition,” Juanita said smiling
“She’s six years old,” Jericho said. “But she’s real easy...”
“Not to worry. She can even sleep over if you have to work nights. There’s another bed in Rosario’s room.”
“There’s a Pitch ‘n’ Putt golf place in Montauk,” Pedro said. “I could take her there. Maria used to love it when she was a kid.”
Maria. The stab of memory hit Jericho again. He was never prepared for it. He knew the Salazars felt the same pain, but they seemed to handle it better. Maybe it was their generosity of spirit, their loving nature that overrode their grief.
“Thank you,” Jericho said softly. “I... I really appreciate your looking after Katie.”
“You’re a police officer,” Pedro said. “You look after all of us.”
There was that Pedro smile, like a sunrise. Suddenly Jericho recalled his high school Spanish. The Spanish word for smile was — sonrisa.
CHAPTER 11.
Jericho went home, called his ex-wife, and told her Katie could come for Easter. Sarah said she’d make the travel arrangements, and that she and her husband would be glad to foot the bill. Jericho said no, he’d reimburse her. This was an ongoing argument. Sarah thought she was being generous, while Jericho felt she was putting him down because he was only earning a cop’s salary. In the end, Jericho always prevailed.
Katie got on the phone and Jericho gave her the good news. His daughter uttered a one-word response.
“Yay!”
Relieved that the problem with Katie was resolved, Jericho got on his computer. He went to the “Hated” chat room and used his fake e-handle HASS1987.
HASS1987: Logging on. Newbie here.
Sigheil: Wilkomen.
HASS1987: Danke.
Spazzz: Why’d u sign on?
HASS1987: Fed up. Immigrants ripping US off. Multi-colored freeloaders everywhere. Work fo
r shit wages, steal our jobs, jamming up emergency rooms with their venereal diseases.
KILLER-DILLER: Clap! Clap! Tell it like it is, bro.
HASS1987: WYA-BYB-SD
Spazz: Say wha-a-a?
HASS1987: White — you alright. Black, Yellow, Brown — step down!
Sigheil: That ain’t bunk, HASS.
Spazzz: Chinky Chinagals have slanted vah-jay-jays. Nee —gresses stretched outta shape by donkey hung Mau Mau boyfriends. Ungawah!
KILLER-DILLER: Can't even talk to those wetbacks. No Spic Inglish. Gimme a AK-47. Then I’ll solve the immigration problem.
Sigheil: KILLER-DILLER baby — YOU KNOW WE’RE NON-VIOLENT SO COOL IT WITH THE ASSAULT WEAPON SH*T.
KILLER-DILLER: QUIT SHOUTING. What me violent? Shoot, you gotta be kiddin’. (-;).
HASS1987: Luv to get up-close n personal with y’all. When’s next meet-up?
Sigheil: You reachable?
HASS1987: Email [email protected]
Sigheil: You’ll hear from us.
HASS1987: Danke. My Mexican cleaning lady just left. Gotta go clean up after her. Logging off now.
Jericho had almost made himself sick, spewing out that garbage. But he had to make the connection.
He went online to dpl-surveillance-equipment.com. and ordered the wristwatch digital recorder, for express delivery.
CHAPTER 12.
Next morning Jericho drove to the precinct house. At the entrance, there was a group of demonstrators marching back and forth, all wearing OLA sweatshirts. They were carrying signs: JUSTICIA PARA CARLOS, LA POLICIA NO LES IMPORTA, LAS VIDAS LATINAS TIENEN SIGNIFICADO and in English: JUSTICE FOR CARLOS, THE POLICE DON’T CARE, LATINO LIVES MATTER.
They were chanting — “Chief Krauss is a louse! Chief Krauss is a louse!”
Off to the side was a small group of counter-protesters. All men, they carried signs reading: “LET THE POLICE DO THEIR JOBS” and “WE’RE FINE WITH THE THIN BLUE LINE.”
