by Tom Schreck
“Drop the knife, Tyrone,” I said. “Leave the girl alone.”
“You ain’t seein’ things right, my man. You drop the motherfuckin’ gun or I open her neck.”
Shony was shaking and tears ran down her face, though no sound came out of her mouth. I held on to the gun.
“I ain’t playin’ with you. You wanna see her bleed?”
He stuck the tip of the blade into the flesh of Shony’s neck. A drop of blood followed by a small trickle flowed around the blade and down the front of her shirt. I slid the gun down and up against the wall.
“You see, you ain’t done nothin’ here. Ain’t nothin’ gonna change here, motherfucker. We own these people.”
Tyrone ran his tongue down the side of Shony’s cheek. She tried to recoil but he held her tighter and put more pressure on her neck.
“I’m even goin’ get me some of this tonight, man.” Tyrone started to slide his hand down Shony’s body as she let out an almost silent cry and the tears ran down her face. He was moving his hand to the snap on Shony’s jeans, still holding the knife to her throat, and smiling up at me. He undid the top of Shony’s jeans and began to pull down the zipper.
That’s when I heard the blast from the doorway.
Half of Tyrone’s head blew off and landed somewhere behind me. My ears were ringing and the room was filled with the smell of cordite. A shower of blood sprayed the wall and Tyrone fell face-or at least what was left of his face-first down on the floor. His blood sprayed all over the women next to him.
“Police. Up against the wall, hands in the air. You’re all under arrest,” yelled Officer Michael Kelley.
Shony ran to me and wrapped herself around me and let the tears come. She buried her face in my chest and sobbed and shook. In a matter of seconds, there were half a dozen police cars and a dozen or more cops at the halfway house. The cops had them all face down and cuffed, and then ushered the group of handcuffed scumbags into a paddy wagon. Blankets were thrown over the bodies of Dunston and Tyrone. Two cops carried a groggy, handcuffed Espidera past me. He was crying like a baby.
Kelley was too busy to talk, but it was great watching him work. When Shony had calmed down a bit, we walked to the parking lot where there seemed to be nothing but sirens and cops and confusion. It was then that I noticed that only one of the police cars was from the Crawford Police Department and the other five were from Eagle Heights. Kelley was out of his jurisdiction.
I ran out the door to the parking lot just in time to see the Crown Vic pulling up. It was the same two guys from before, but this time they had four more guys with them. When they got out of the car I could see they now all had windbreakers with “FBI” in gigantic letters on the back and “Office of Homeland Security” on the front. Pockmark had a lousy tape job on his face supporting his nose and it was caked with dried blood. He had “Special Agent Singh” embroidered on the front of his jacket. His partner had “Agent Wilkinson” stitched on his. They weren’t coming for me this time.
“Dombrowski, where is Gabbibb? We need to find him immediately,” Singh shouted at me.
“I don’t know. He got away and he has a cell phone on him. He was here about twenty minutes ago.”
“He’s got to be found. We have new evidence supporting his involvement.”
I looked toward Kelley’s patrol car and saw four civilians standing on the passenger side. With all the lights I couldn’t make out the faces.
“Hey Duff, busy night?”
“Jerry? Holy shit-what are you doing here?” Next to Jerry Number Two were TC, Rocco, and Jerry Number One.
“We took the ride with Kelley.” Jerry Number Two smiled. Shony’s three girlfriends were in Kelley’s squad car with blankets over their shoulders.
“Turn on the fucking Yankees game,” I yelled.
“Duff, I’m as big a fan as you, but man, forget about the Yanks for tonight,” TC said.
“Not that-it’s Clogger. Gabbibb has his plane wired to be blown up with a cell phone call and we can’t find the asshole. He’s got a dirty bomb ready to blow up Yankee Stadium.”
Jerry tuned in the Yankees. It was the bottom of the fifth and there were two outs. Singh and his agents gathered around Kelley’s car, listening.
John Sterling had the call.
“… striiiiike three. Giambi goes down looking to end the fifth. No runs, one hit, and one man on-”
“Fucking Giambi, lookin’ at a called strike,” Rocco said.
“Rocco! Jesus Christ…” I said.
Sterling continued.
“End of five and you know what that means… It’s time to flush out the Clogger. Annnnnnd here he comes… taking a wide sweep of the Stadium… the Clogger’s in special form tonight… and he heads for the center of the Stadium…”
Sterling did his trademark long pause. It was the longest and most dramatic pause I ever went through.
“… annnnnnnd Clogger cans it!”
And then we waited. The Foursome, Kelley, Singh and his men, the girls, the cops-everyone was silent and holding their breath.
And nothing happened.
Clogger literally flew off to the horizon on his way to Staten Island. A spontaneous cheer rang out in the parking lot. There were high-fives all around. I exhaled as hard as I can ever remember exhaling and slid down the side of Kelley’s car. I was exhausted in every way you can be exhausted.
All at once I remembered Al. That dog had saved my life twice tonight and took a bullet in the head for me. I had remembered hearing something about how animals will go off alone when they know they’re going to die and my tears just came. That dog had given everything for me. Everything. The whole fucking month seemed to collapse on me right there, especially the loss of Al. I cried so hard it was hard to breathe, and I sat with my head in my hands as the exhaustion hit me.
I was reaching the point of not being able to cry anymore when I heard Jerry Number One say something.
“What the hell is that noise?”
“What noise?” Rocco said.
“Listen…” Jerry Number Two hushed everyone.
From deep in the woods beyond the halfway house there was a commotion that was hard to make out. I got up and headed toward the woods. I could barely walk but I headed for the tree line about a quarter-mile away.
Singh and his men were behind me with the Foursome and Kelley. As I got closer, the racket became clearer. I stopped to make it out.
“DAT, WOOOF, DAT, WOOOF, DAT, grrrrr. Shit… excuse me. DAT, AHOOOOO, DAT, SHIT!!!.. excuse me DAT, DAT, WOOF, DAT, grrrrrrr, shit
… excuse me.”
It was.
I sprinted as hard as I could with everyone behind me.
“DAT, WOOF, WOOF, DAT, DAT, grrrrrrrrr… shit, excuse me.” It was loud and it was beautiful.
There, about twenty-five feet into the woods, was Gabbibb, pressed against a big oak tree, shaking. His Yankees’ jersey was in shreds and underneath was a Red Sox T-shirt that said “The Yankees Suck.” Gabbibb was doing his “DAT, DAT, DAT” routine like he had overdosed on Sudafed. In front of him, five feet away was Al, teeth bared. A howling, barking, growling machine.
Between his legs was a slightly chewed cell phone.
Al stopped his noise long enough to see me. His tail went into overdrive and he grabbed the cell phone between his teeth and ran as fast as he could toward me. Gabbibb took off into the woods.
“The dog has got the phone. He could set off an automatic call,” Singh yelled and crouched in a shooter’s position, aiming at Al.
Rocco was right next to him and as Al sprinted toward me with the cell phone in his mouth, Singh pulled back the hammer. As Singh was aiming, Rocco-crazy-ass bastard-hound-loving old Rocco-delivered the most perfect elbow strike I had ever seen to a man’s already broken nose.
I watched from the corner of my eye as Singh’s legs went out and he crumpled to the ground, writhing in pain and holding his nose. Al was so happy to see me, he went airborne. Ears flapping, tai
l wagging, he flew to greet me, crashing as hard into my nuts as he ever had and spitting out the cell phone. It bounced harmlessly to the grass.
Al crushed my nuts and the pain went through my entire nervous system as he walked the length of me to lick my face. It felt wonderful.
“Assalaamu alaikum, my brother,” I said to the best friend a man ever had.
Al barked right back at me.
On top of his head was some dried blood from where Espidera’s bullet had only grazed him.
38
I got patched up at the hospital; they gave me some blood and took some x-rays. The x-rays came back and it was clear that I had gotten my ass kicked, that some ribs were cracked but nothing was seriously messed up. The gunshot was a flesh wound, and though it stung like a bastard, it wasn’t going to cause any permanent problems.
I spent about three hours telling various detectives and FBI agents what had happened. They wrote it all down and each and every one of them told me that I had acted inappropriately and could’ve been killed. I thanked them for the advice.
Toward the end of their questioning, around three in the morning, Kelley came in with Al. He lifted Al onto the bed and this man’s best friend proceeded to lap my face. Kelley had a hint of a smile going.
“Duff, you’re fuckin’ nuts,” Kelley said.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“All right, how’s this? The FBI just confiscated a dirty bomb from Clogger’s plane. It was large enough to kill thousands and render Yankee Stadium and the surrounding area uninhabitable for decades.”
“What happened to Gabbibb?” I asked.
“He went with the FBI Homeland Security guys. They’re trying to figure if he was with the other hospital employees or if he acted independently. How’s this for weird? When they were putting him in the car and taking him away, in between all his DAT, DAT shit, he was cursing about the Yankees.”
“You don’t think this was all about destroying the Yankees and the stadium?”
“Hey-you ever been to Fenway? You know what those assholes are like. Anyway, the FBI will look into everything and we may never know.”
“Are you going to be in any trouble?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. Even cops sometimes realize there are things more important than procedures sometimes. I’ve got some other good news.”
“What’s that?” I said.
“The DA says they don’t plan to charge you in Dunston’s death or me in Tyrone’s.”
“Holy shit, I forgot about that. What’s it say when you forgot that you killed a man?”
“That the piece-of-shit that you killed wasn’t worth giving any thought,” Kelley said.
I didn’t say anything and the room got quiet. Kelley and I were a lot alike and a lot different. I killed a man tonight, and I wasn’t convinced that killing a man like Dunston was wrong, but I also wasn’t convinced that killing him was my job.
“What was the deal with those Homeland Security guys? Are they regular FBI?” I asked.
“Way I understand it-yes and no. I know they don’t have many rules to follow,” Kelley said.
“Yeah, that’s for sure. I gotta tell you the blond guy froze when I went after Singh. I attacked his partner and he couldn’t shoot.”
“Says a lot about security, doesn’t it?”
The nurse came in and told me that my vitals were good, that they thought I was dehydrated and my blood count or something was approaching normal. They also told Kelley he’d have to leave and that the dog wasn’t allowed. The nurse moved on to the next room.
“No dogs? That seals it. I’m out of here. Give me a ride to AJ’s,” I said.
“I know better than to say ‘no’ to you,” Kelley said.
The nurses at the desk threw a bit of a fit and they made me sign a bunch of forms, but they knew they couldn’t keep me. I was moving a bit slow and so was Al, but we were moving and we were moving right out of the hospital door.
We pulled in front of AJ’s at ten of four, which meant we supposedly had ten minutes to drink. I wasn’t worried. Kelley went in first, followed by Al and myself. The Foursome were all still there and they were in rare form.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the superhero trio-the Mick, the Mick-Polack, and the world’s bravest canine!” Rocco announced. He then led the Foursome in a standing, albeit wobbly, ovation.
“AJ, set them up on me,” TC shouted, raising his B amp;B to our presence.
“Nah, TC, this one’s on me,” AJ said.
“Holy shit-this must be an occasion,” Jerry Number One said. “AJ’s buying!”
“Fuck you.” AJ poured shots of Jameson for everyone. “Here’s to ’em. I’m proud to be your friend,” AJ toasted.
They all yelled “hear, hear” and threw the shots back. Unfortunately, TC tipped over with the motion of throwing the shot down. He was down on all fours when Al ran over and licked him on the lips.
“Ahhh…” TC screamed. “I’m goin’ to get AIDS.”
Rocco helped TC to his feet and steadied him on his barstool.
“That dog’s a hero. Don’t be saying anything bad about him,” Jerry Number Two said.
“That’s right,” Rocco said. “Let me buy that bastard a cheeseburger.”
It went on like that for a few hours. By six in the morning, everyone was filing out, shading their eyes from the sun’s light. Kelley drove me to the Moody Blue and made sure Al and I were going to be all right. I figured I’d sleep for a week.
“You guys goin’ to be okay?” Kelley asked at the door.
“Yeah, until Monday.”
“What happens on Monday?”
“I just remembered, I get fired. Monday is a month since my extra-special written warning, and they’re charging me with looking at porn on my computer.”
“Aw man, Duff. You and Rudy losing your jobs, and on the same day, no less.”
“What are you talking about? Did Rudy hear something?”
“I’m sorry, Duff. I thought you knew. According to Rocco, he was in AJ’s yesterday afternoon, bombed out of his mind, saying he had to go in front of the administrator and the board on Monday.”
“Shit, that ain’t right.”
“Duff, I heard it was awful. Rudy was carrying on, they had to get him a cab and help him in it. He was crying so hard, it was pitiful.”
“We’re going to have to do something,” I said.
“Duff, you’ve done enough saving for a while. You need to rest and let some things go.”
“Not this, Kel. Not Rudy.”
I said good night to Kelley and Al and I got into bed. I was exhausted and everything hurt. Tomorrow was Sunday and I had a day to help Rudy out before I got my ass fired on Monday.
39
I got up around noon and, walking through the Blue, I found new parts of my body that ached. Al opened his eyes just enough to see me and then went right back to sleep. I looked at the paper and the only thing that made it from last night was an arrest of a Lawrence Espidera for promoting prostitution and for kidnapping, and several arrests of the women for soliciting. There was also a mention of the parties resisting arrest and assaulting an officer. Seemed to me that they were missing a whole bunch of minor details, like the deployment of a radioactive bomb in the Bronx and the local connections to an international terrorist organization by a prominent area oncologist. Thank God, I didn’t make the news.
I poured myself some coffee and flipped on the TV. I forgot about Duffy’s cable world of “All Lifetime, All the Time,” but I didn’t have the energy or motivation to get up and do anything about it.
It was early afternoon on Sunday, which meant there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of programming on Lifetime except for infomercials. The one on in front of me was from Crawford Medical Center, and it was advertising their new state-of-the-art Incontinence Treatment Center. I didn’t really want to form any visuals about the state of the art of incontinence care, so, despite my fatigue and pain, I start
ed to get up to change the channel. No amount of pain would be worse than a half hour of incontinence treatment.
I got up and was at the TV when the hospital administrator, Dr. Broseph, came on. He was at his desk with his white lab coat on, talking about the pain and suffering that comes with incontinence. This was the asshole that was getting Rudy fired, and I felt my hand ball up in a fist as I listened to his saccharin-laced speech about person-centered patient care.
“… at Crawford, our mission is caring for the body and the spirit,” Broseph said. “It’s what makes the difference at Crawford. We care about you.”
I looked at his white coat and thought about the expression, “body and the spirit.”
I had an idea.
I threw on some clothes, took half a dozen Advil, woke up Al, and headed to AJ’s. The NFL season had started, and the Foursome would be there-they’d be hungover and miserable-but they’d be there.
I got there at halftime of the first game, which was good because I had a chance of getting some of their attention. They kept quiet during the game, but at the half they usually got right back into it.
“It fucks up the entire water supply for weeks,” Rocco said. He was clearly angry that Jerry Number One seemed to be doubting him. “Everyone is flushing at the same time during the commercials and the water pressure gets dangerously low.”
“I’ve taken a shit during a commercial on Super Bowl Sunday and everything went down okay,” Jerry Number Two said.
“It’s not that it won’t go down-” Rocco didn’t have time to finish before TC interrupted.
“You know, in South America the water swirls down the toilet the opposite way,” TC said.
“The opposite of what?” Jerry Number One said.
I decided it was as good a time as any to break in.
“Uh, fellas, I need some help,” I said. The Foursome stopped and looked at me.
“Rudy’s going to lose his job tomorrow unless we do something,” I said.
“Look, Duff, I like Rudy as much as the next guy, but what can we do to save a doctor from the hospital bigwig that has it in for him?” Rocco asked.
