Keegan 00 Soft Case

by John Misak

  They assigned someone from Vice to take me home. He was an undercover cop, judging by what he wore, and he must have been told that I was an asshole, because at first, that was how he treated me.

  We were driving in a Chevy sedan toward my apartment, when I decided to start a conversation.

  “Weather sucks,” I said.

  He just nodded.

  “What, you undercover?”

  He nodded again.

  “I did that for a short time. Rough racket, I’ll tell you that much.”

  He nodded, and I was about to smack him when he spoke. “Doing what?”

  “Vice, mainly. We tried nailing dealers, but you know how tough that can be.”

  “I do,” he said. “Name’s Kasim. John Kasim.”

  “I’m sure you know mine.”

  He extended his hand. I shook it. He was young, probably about 26, with dark brown hair and a goatee.

  “How’d you get this gig?”

  “Vice?”

  “No, escort service. Taking me home.”

  “Nothing else to do at the moment. I just came off a case. So I was pretty much the only one available.”

  “They tell you the story?”

  He didn’t want to answer that, I could tell.

  “No.”

  “They didn’t tell you that you were driving a dirty cop home? I find that funny.”

  “Dirty?”

  “It’s a long story. One you definitely don’t want to know.” “You really guilty?”

  “Would I be talking about it if I was?”

  “Guess not. I’ve heard of you before. You don’t seem like the type who’d go wrong.”

  “And I’m not. I’m telling you, watch your ass around here. Something is going on.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  That, I didn’t want to get into. This guy seemed all right, but I couldn’t go around blabbing my suspicions to random cops. Plus, I really didn’t have a handle on the situation. I didn’t know who to point a finger at.

  “Just a hunch, kid.”

  “Our department? It’s one of the cleanest in the city.”

  “Maybe so. Maybe not.”

  “What they get you for?”

  “Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. That’s why I am going home and not to prison. They want me to sit and think about what little they have on me, how they can screw me with that little bit of nothing. They want me to crack.”

  Kasim didn’t say anything, just kept driving. They had told him the story, I knew that. They had told him I was a scumbag cop out for my own good. Okay, so I was a scumbag at times, and I was always out for my own good, but not when it came to my job. Now, I’m not going to start pontificating about how good of a cop I was, or anything like that, but what happened to me was completely wrong. Not that it hadn’t happened before, to other good guys. You see, guys like Peters got ahead because they went along. Peters knew I did nothing wrong, and still he complied with what the higher ups told him to do. I would never do anything like that, and that’s why this was happening to me. That’s why my entire world was coming down on me. One thing I knew for sure, someone else was going to help soften the crash.

  We made it to my apartment, and Kasim stood in the doorway. He seemed uncomfortable coming in, doing what he had to do.

  “I’ll get what you need,” I said.

  “I’m sorry about this,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  I walked into my bedroom and got my ID and the other gun I had registered. I wasn’t allowed to carry anymore, that’s why they wanted the gun. This one was a standard Glock 9mm that everyone was issued and I never carried.

  I walked back into the living room and handed the two items to Kasim, who looked down at them, like he didn’t know what to do.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Hey, it’s not your fault.” I looked him over. Something about him seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I figured I had seen him at the station before.

  Kasim took the guns, and left. I stood in the doorway for a moment, everything hitting me all at once. I was tired, my jaw ached a little, and my future was completely uncertain. What a way to go to bed.

  I hit the pillow, and the lights went out. I don’t remember what I dreamed about that night, but I know my dreams were violent, almost revolting.

  Fourteen

  I woke the next morning around eight, and started to go through the routine of getting ready for work, when I realized I didn’t have to. I sat on the edge of my bed, my head swirling, and started to cry. Yes, that’s right, I cried. I felt like a helpless little kid with no parents around to comfort me. No one could comfort me right then. Even if I had been married, my wife wouldn’t have been able to help. This situation was all my own, and I was the only one who could make it right, if I could even do that. I had lost my job because I hadn’t been careful. I blamed myself for not seeing the signs of what was happening. I know now that there wasn’t a thing I could have done, but right then, I was my own worst enemy.

  I went into the kitchen, grabbed my last can of soda, and drank it. The refrigerator was bare, so I couldn’t even eat anything. I don’t think I would have anyway, because my stomach was unsettled to the point where I almost threw up the soda.

  I decided to call the only person it was safe to call. Rick Calhill, the dirty bastard who sold out on me. He might not have been directly involved, but he had to know what was going on.

  Before I got the chance to get to the phone, it rang.

  “Yeah,” I said, eagerly awaiting to hear who was on the other end.

  “Jesus John, What the hell is going on?” It was Rick. How coincidental.

  “Nothing Rick. Nothing at all.”

  “I heard about what happened yesterday.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, Geiger told me.”

  “Did he now,” I said. I let the sarcasm drip from my tone. Rick had done me wrong in one way or another. I needed to let him know that.

  “Yes.” He paused. “What’s wrong?”

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yeah, a little. I’m not going in today, though. Doc said to take a couple days rest.”

  “How convenient.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t fuck with me. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I have no idea…”

  “Cut the crap, Calhill.”

  “John, seriously, I don’t know what you are talking about. I mean, I heard what happened, with you getting busted, um, taken in and all, but other than that, I don’t know a thing.”

  “I find it hard believing that. Really hard.”

  “Why?”

  “You conveniently get sick yesterday, the day we are supposed to talk to this guy, and then I get taken. It just seems to coincidental.”

  “John, get a hold of yourself. I know things are all fucked up now, but I had nothing to do with it, I swear.”

  “Who told you to fake being sick?”

  “No one.”

  “Come on, someone told you to do it. Someone told you to be nowhere near me when this all came down.”

  “Nobody did, I swear.”

  “You had better stop swearing, or I’ll come down there and kick the shit out of you. Someone told you to do this, someone is behind all of this.”

  “Did you ever think that it was Mrs. Mullins?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “She insists on seeing you the day this all comes down, alone, without me around. Don’t you think that’s a little strange? Don’t you think the whole way she acted when we were there was a little strange?”

  Rick was making sense, but I didn’t want to hear it.

  “That has nothing to do with what you pulled yesterday. Nothing at all. I want answers.”

  “I gave you all I had. There is nothing else.”

  “There has to be something else.”

  “There’s nothing John
. I don’t know what to tell you. I know that it seems weird that I got sick when all of this came down, but you have to believe me. You want a doctor’s note or something?” “This isn’t fucking grade school.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “Forget it.”

  I hung up the phone.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, slowly rocking back and forth. I think I was on the brink of a nervous breakdown right then, only I wasn’t aware of it. If I would have been, I probably would have had it, right there. Fortunately for me, I didn’t pay much attention to my mental health.

  You know, when you think about it, some days are just days. They really have no meaning, other than to bridge the gap between the important days of your life. For instance, at that moment, it had been two months since I’d had sex. I’m not saying that the sex was any good, that’s a completely different story, but I feel it is important to note that most of the days in between meant absolutely nothing to me. Well, the day before was the day I got fucked, but I don’t think that qualified as sex. At least not in my book. This day was just another day. A day to sit around, perhaps lie on my couch and stare at the cracks in the ceiling which, when looked at from the right angle, made an impression of Jesus Christ. I took that as a sign He was looking over me when I first moved in. Now I know that he really doesn’t give a damn. He obviously doesn’t believe in me and I don’t believe in Him. And yes, I know that I capitalized the “h” in “Him” despite the fact that I said I don’t believe in Him. Let’s just say that I don’t, but I am afraid He might hear me say that, okay.

  So there I was, sitting on the couch and staring at cracks in the paint. Yeah, I was headed for the warm confines of a mental institution. I had reason, of course, to feel this way, and this was only made worse by the kid in the next apartment who kept ringing my doorbell because he knew I was home and wanted to play Cops and Robbers with me. He wasn’t a bad kid, I think his name was Jared, but he never understood the meaning of “Don’t bother me today.” The kid was on Ritalin. I saw his pills one time. Brown

  and dirty looking, and he had to swallow three of those a day. I didn’t even learn how to swallow a pill until I was fourteen, and this nine-year old kid was practically a pill-popping junkie. I think his mother just didn’t want to deal with him, so she had some shrink prescribe the kid these pills to keep him out of her hair. Yes, the kid could be a pain in the ass, but I always thought that’s what kids were here for. I was a pain in the ass as a kid, and despite a few fluoride-overdose incidents, my parents never tried to do anything to remedy it. They just dealt with it. I remember reading somewhere that 20% of children were on mood-altering medication. Of course, we live in an age of medication. Why not let the kids join in on the fun?

  The doorbell rang for the ninth time, and I decided to let it keep ringing. I just wouldn’t have been able to handle the kid right then. I wondered how he knew I was home. Maybe he heard me, or maybe he smelled me, God only knew.

  As if in time with the doorbell, the phone rang.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Is this John Keegan?”

  I suspected it was someone from the station, but the voice sounded a bit Midwestern.

  “It is,” I replied.

  “This is John D. Keegan?”

  “It is.”

  “How are you today?”

  “I am.”

  “Mr. Keegan, sir, my name is Ralph Smith, from I-tel, and do I have something that will make you smile today.”

  “You have a couple of people’s heads on a platter for me?”

  “He-he. No, I am calling you to inform you that you are qualified to receive our Premium Plus package.”

  “The Premium Plus?”

  Telemarketers are pretty much the bottom feeders of society. I decided to have a little fun. “Yes, you’ve heard of it?”

  “Two of my friends can’t stop talking about it.” I said in the most deadpan voice I could come up with.

  “That’s great.” He seemed a bit stumped. No one ever heard of his fucking Premium Plus package. He probably hadn’t heard of it until that morning when the boss came out with the promos for the day.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Well, what we are offering today, is free long distance service on weekday nights, and a discounted rate at all other times,” the poor guy said, following his script.

  “What are you offering tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “I said, ‘What are you offering tomorrow?’ I just want to make sure that tomorrow’s deal isn’t better than today’s. I mean, if this is the deal of today, tomorrow’s just has to be better by definition.”

  “What could be better than today’s deal?” the guy asked, clearly outwitted, something I enjoyed a little more than I should have.

  “The option to not pay the bill,” I said,

  “Ha, yeah we don’t have that option.”

  “Maybe tomorrow you will.” I hung up the phone. There is only so much fun you can have with a mentally thwarted individual. I felt bad for myself that the only entertainment I could find was with a telemarketer. My, how the mighty had fallen.

  The doorbell had stopped ringing, but not because Jared had given up. He was a persistent bastard, no doubt about that. Instead of ringing the doorbell, he went outside and rang the intercom buzzer. If he wasn’t such a cute kid, I would have strangled him. Hell, I was thinking about doing it right then, whether he was cute or not.

  Then again, I couldn’t blame the kid for having a jackass for a mother. I had talked to her a few times, and despite the fact that she had some of the nicest cans I have ever seen in my life, she was so two dimensional, I could see right through her. Get the pun? I never said I was a literary genius. She was a typical Queens woman, about thirty-four, with fake blonde hair and a fake smile. Her accent belied where she came from, and I could picture her working in a beauty salon, chewing gum and gossiping all day. To make matters even more interesting, she was actually a fairly successful CPA. But she was dumb as stump, and couldn’t carry a conversation longer than thirty seconds. Jared was probably the product of one of the few conversations that made it past that point. She came on to me a few times, well, all women do, but I had to turn her down. I had met the kid first, and I had seen how she treated him. That turned me off. And it takes a lot to turn me off.

  The buzzer kept buzzing, and I saw that it was going to be nearly impossible to sleep the afternoon away, or sit in my apartment and feel sorry for myself. I would have to find something else to do that. That, unfortunately, required me to get up, take a shower, and get dressed. Well, it only required me to do two out of those three, but I don’t want anyone spreading rumors about my not showering. So, for all intents and purposes, I took a shower too. A long, clean shower. And I scrubbed every comer of my body. Okay?

  I went to get dressed. Guess what? I forgot to pick up my dry cleaning. I couldn’t really blame myself. It was a busy day, with a lot of unexpected twists and turns. I cursed out loud, and rifled through my drawers to find anything that was clean and wearable. I found a pair of jeans that were a few years old and never worn because I never liked how they fit, and a Yankee sweatshirt. I never wore that either. Not because I wasn’t a Yankee fan, I was, but this was one of those cheap knockoffs you buy outside the stadium after a game when you are drunk. I hadn’t even taken the tags off, and the shirt was over three years old.

  What an outfit.

  I got dressed, brushed my hair, and snuck into the hallway. I looked both ways, and didn’t see Jared anywhere. Thank God. What Jared was unaware of was the side exit. He was still buzzing me from the front, so I easily exited through the side and ended up on Fourth Avenue.

  Standing outside, I thought about where I was going. I didn’t want to go to the station, even if I had to check in there. The whole process would only piss me off. With nowhere else to go, I decided to drop by my parents’ place. Dad took off Fridays, and I knew my mother would still b
e there. I needed the comfort of my parents right then, and I am not too much of a man to admit it. I could only hope that they hadn’t heard anything about what has happened the night before, and I also hoped that no one was watching the house.

  “Hope” sure is an interesting word.

  Fifteen

  I made it to my parents’ house by 11:15. They lived in Rego Park in a more residential area. It was considered a great place to live in when I was growing up, but by the time I had graduated high school, the neighborhood was falling apart, with gangs and punk kids running rampant. They didn’t mess with my old man, only because I think they were afraid of him. He had no problems confronting them, and gang kids have a problem with direct confrontation. Dad didn’t.

  I saw Dad’s car in the driveway. He still drove the 1984 Toyota Camry he had bought brand new. It was his first new car, and he hadn’t bought one since. He always argued that he didn’t drive that much, and would rather spend the money on a vacation, or something else he would enjoy more. I couldn’t argue that.

  I also noticed the Chevy Suburban in the driveway, which belonged to my loving sister and her husband. They had moved back in my folks three years before. It was supposed to be for only a year or so, but I guess the “so” turned out to be indefinitely. I knew it pissed my father off, but my mother was happy to have them and their two kids. And Mom pretty much got what she wanted.

  Speaking of Mom, she was standing in the doorway, looking at me. I looked up, noticed her, and smiled. She didn’t smile back.

  She opened the door, and I walked up to her.

  “I’m not so sure you came at a good time,” she said. “But I guess I should be happy you decided to show up at all.”

  “I’ve been busy. I’m sorry.”

  “Your father, when he was building up his practice, worked twice the amount of hours you do, and he still made time to see his family.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Really.” Man, Mom could really make me feel like shit when she wanted to.

  She gave me a look, the sort of look that said she wanted to be mad at me but couldn’t. That was part of my allure, my charm. I gave her a hug and she returned it with a tight squeeze.

  “What’s this about it not being a good time?” I asked.