by Henry Hack
Another weekend seemingly passed without incident and on Monday morning Inspector Charlie Carson brought Harry his first cup of coffee. “Anything hot happening, Charlie?” he asked as he took his first sip.
“Chief O’Halloran wants to see you before the ten o’clock staff meeting. He says he has to give you a heads up on something.”
“Sure. Tell him to come right down when he’s ready.”
O’Halloran was there in five minutes with a grim look on his face. “I just heard from Carl Petersen. It looks like the Romens struck again last night and early this morning.”
“Same type of attacks?”
“Not quite. There were six drivers of SUV’s or high-end sedans murdered by them. The standard cardboard sign was around each victim's neck with the message printed in red ink, but this time it said – Individuals Are More Guilty than the Dealers – The Romens.”
“And the vehicles were burned?”
“No, none were. The drivers were found behind the wheel. Most were in isolated areas like parking lots or business locations. One was in his driveway – and one of the victims was a woman.”
“Wait until the media get their hands on this,” Harry said. “There will be a full-blown panic out there. Were any of the murders nearby?”
“No, thank God. Two in California, one near Denver, one in Dallas, one near Chicago and one in St. Louis.”
“What are we here in New York doing to protect the hundreds of thousands of our citizens who drive SUV’s and other gas guzzlers? What specific plans do we have in place to thwart the Romens when they target our fair city?” Harry asked.
“I…”
“Rhetorical questions, Bill, but that is what we are going to get from the media, I can guarantee that. Let’s see if we can come up with an answer, and a plan, at the staff meeting.”
There was no satisfactory answer, or plan, the top brass could come up with other than for millions of people to give up driving their gas guzzlers and store them in their garages. “When the papers and TV news stations get going on this,” Harry said, “a lot of people are going to be frightened – and that may be a good thing.”
The individual attacks continued relentlessly. Almost every day there were two or more, but law enforcement authorities all over the nation could not piece together a logical pattern that would allow a reliable prediction of where future shootings would happen.
The Romens were ecstatic as they watched, listened to and read accounts of their murders. It was clear fewer SUV’s and luxury sedans were on the road. Gasoline consumption was down significantly and the loss of demand had dropped the price of a gallon of gas by sixty cents. At meetings of environmental groups numerous conversations among their members began with the words, “Of course I don’t condone murder, but you must admit the Romens are having an effect…”
What was a small negative blip in the Romens’ plan was of the thirty-seven murders thus far committed, two disciples had failed to pull the trigger. The apostles at the scenes had completed the mission and dispatched the recalcitrant disciples and buried them in deeply-wooded rural areas. The Savior decided to wait until the entire action was completed before attempting to bring in replacements.
The death total reached fifty-two and no one could predict when, or if, they would ever end without law enforcement intervention. But law enforcement had not much more information than they had after the first death, the murder of Senator Edward Millard. They still did not know what Romens stood for, nor what their ultimate goal might be. They did know several of the murders were carried out with the same few weapons. But that fact was not of much value – none of the bullets matched any of those stored in the vast nationwide computer base. Attempts to pinpoint sales of gasoline in containers at service stations in the vicinity of the murders came up zero. Perhaps the Romens just siphoned the gasoline used in the dealership arsons from their own vehicles, or the target vehicles themselves.
“What do we do?” Harry asked his chief of detectives and his first deputy.
Chief O’Halloran, who had earlier been briefed by Inspector Petersen said, “We try to get someone inside the Romens, because unless we get extremely lucky and nab one of these guys in the act, all we have to fall back on are clandestine methods.”
“Surveillance, electronic eavesdropping and undercovers,” Dan Snyder said.
“Right, but we have no one to watch, or listen to,” the chief said.
“But you have a plan to get a UC inside the Romens?” Harry asked.
“Yes, the JTTF does, but there’s a little problem…”
“Ah, the proverbial little problem,” Harry sighed. “And what might that be?”
“Nobody knows where they meet, and nobody knows anyone who claims to be a member of the Romens.”
“Then how then does the JTTF, ours or any other in the country, get a UC inside?” Snyder asked.
“They need a lucky break there, too,” O’Halloran said.
“That’s it, Bill?” Harry asked. “That’s what the consensus is among all the law enforcement agencies in the United States including the New York Metropolitan Police Department? That we need a lucky break?”
“I’m afraid so, Boss.”
“Holy crap! Don’t tell the media that. They’ll crucify us.”
“Unfortunately, I think they’ve already figured it out,” the chief said.
“Harry,” Dan said, “can you and I can have a private chat later today?”
“Sure, stop in any time.”
Harry was having his afternoon coffee when Dan Snyder stuck his head in the door and said, “Can we talk for a few minutes now?”
“Come on in, Dan. What’s up?”
“Remember when you first became commissioner you told me if you ever got out of line, or became pompous, it would be okay for me to slap you down?”
“Do you feel I’m guilty of that?”
“Why are you so stubborn about John McKee? Have you forgotten what you two went through together?”
“Of course not, but you know my policy, and you agree with it if I remember correctly – new promotees have to move to new challenges. John’s been there too long.”
“But there are exceptions – and this should be one of them.”
“Why?”
“Did you see Carl Petersen this morning? He’s going to be running ragged all over the country with this thing. You need the solid leadership of John McKee right here in New York, and I wouldn’t care if he was a captain or a chief.”
“I’m not convinced.”
“Then let me convince you. John is extremely upset. He thinks you’ve forgotten your roots in the JTTF. I hear if you go ahead with this transfer he’ll put his papers in. I also hear he would be willing to decline his promotion to captain if he can remain in the Task Force as a lieutenant.”
“And how did you hear all this?”
“A little bird told me.”
“Why didn’t John come to me directly?”
“After you made comments as, ‘I cannot justify a captain also’ and ‘don’t ask me about John again,’ everyone is afraid to approach you. It seems you’re acting as the big, bad police commissioner now and Harry Cassidy, the good old beat cop, is a distant memory.”
“So you think I’m acting as if I am a narrow-minded asshole?”
“Major asshole, Harry.”
“Thanks for your candor, Dan. I’ll definitely re-think the situation with John. I’ll let you know soon.”
“I’m sure you’ll do the right thing,” Snyder said as he got up and left the office.
A few moments later Carson buzzed him and said there was a Theresa Faliani on line two, insisting on speaking with him.
“That’s Nick’s wife. I’ll pick it up,” he said. “Hi, Terry, how are you and the kids?”
“How are we? How could you do this to us?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re transferring my husband back to the Task Force? Hasn’t he paid his du
es? Do you want to get him killed? We got three kids and another on the way and…”
“Hold on, Terry. Calm down, please. Did Nick tell you he didn’t want to go back?”
“Nick? He wouldn’t say a word. He’ll just go. He’s loyal to you, damn him. But if you send him back I’ll make his life so miserable he’ll have to retire. I’ll take the kids and I’ll move away. I’ll….”
“Stop, Terry. I…”
“And another thing, you’re throwing John McKee out when he wants to stay. Boy, this goddamn commissioner thing really went to your head. I never thought you’d turn on your friends like a snake. Fuck you, Commissioner Cassidy.”
With that, Harry heard a loud click. He replaced the receiver and leaned back in his chair. First Dan Snyder and now Theresa Faliani. Two shotgun blasts to the ego in ten minutes. Had the position changed him? Had he become the pompous brass bureaucrat he had always loathed? Was he abandoning friends who saved his life in the name of administrative efficiency? Susan would tell him tonight – that was for sure.
“Harry, you dumb shit! How could you even think of exposing a man with all those kids to that danger again? Put some young single guys in that unit. And how can you transfer John McKee? Have your brains fallen out of your asshole?”
“Gee, honey, tell me how you really feel.”
“This is not you. What’s going on?”
“I agree with you. I came to the conclusion I was acting dumb after speaking with Dan and Theresa. I just wanted you, my soul mate, to confirm it. You could have been a bit more diplomatic, though.”
“Sorry, Commissioner, but you deserved a blast from me, too.”
“I’ll make things right for John and Nick. The transfer order won't be finalized until later in the week anyway.”
“Good for you, but you didn’t answer my question – what’s going on?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Want to hear what I think?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“I think the reality of being the police commissioner has set in on you. You are a pure administrator now and no longer in on the active part of the Job – real police work, as you refer to it. You’re acting petty because you, with all your power, can’t transfer yourself back to the Task Force and fight evil once again.”
“You think that’s it, Doctor Freud? I thought your girlfriend Rita was the psychoanalyst between the two of you.”
“She taught me a lot – especially about you.”
“I’ll take your assessment of the situation under advisement and give it my careful consideration,” he said.
“What bullshit! You know I’m right.”
“Yeah, I know. Can’t a guy save a little face around here?”
“Sure, let me kiss that old face of yours and I’ll make everything better.”
The next morning Harry reached out for Nick Faliani at the Manhattan DA’s office. “How are you, Nick?”
“I’m fine, Harry, but how are you after having to listen to my crazy old lady? She told me she called you.”
“I’m still picking buckshot out of my ass, but let me tell you right up front – she was dead on the money. I’m not sending you back to the Task Force.”
“I’m willing to go, you know that.”
“Sure, I know, but it’s a younger man’s job now. You paid your dues and I’ll never forget it. Go home to your family tonight and kiss them all for me – even that wild Eye-talian wife of yours.”
“Will do, Harry. Could I ask about John?”
“He’s my next call. If the dumb bastard wants to stay and fight another battle, he’s welcome to it.”
“Good decision. He’ll be ecstatic.”
Harry dialed the Task Force and got John right away.
“Yes, sir, Commissioner,” McKee answered.
“It’s Harry, John, just as I always will be to you. I’ve been acting stupid lately. Maybe some mysterious ailment came over me, but it’s gone now. You’re staying there Captain McKee. They need you there and now I know I need you there.”
“Great! We were all worried about you. Thanks for changing your mind. I’ve always believed you were a special guy.”
“Thanks, but maybe I don’t deserve those gracious words.”
“Sure you do. As you told me many times – we all need an ass-kicking once in awhile to keep us in line.”
“That’s right, and I deserved it this time, for sure. You take care over there. Nick Faliani won’t be joining you after all. I’ll have O’Halloran find someone else. Nick will miss you and the guys, but it’s the right thing to do. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Absolutely. We’ll get a good guy to replace him. I think Danny Boyland has already spoken to the chief about bringing his partner, Virgil Webb, over from Nassau Homicide if an opening arose. We can fill Nick’s place right away.”
“Yes, I’ve met Detective Spider Webb. An excellent choice. I’ll check with Bill and put him on the order.”
On Monday morning Charlie Carson went into the commissioner’s office with the ten o’clock cup of coffee. Things were quiet and the weekend had passed without further attacks by the Romens. “How are the promotion and transfer orders coming along?” Harry asked.
“Just about done except where you are going to send me, and who my replacement is going to be.”
“Are you still high on that Captain Hayes in Chief O’Halloran’s office?”
“Yes, and he’s due for a promotion.”
“Okay, pencil him in for a promotion to deputy inspector and a transfer here. Set up an interview for this afternoon.”
“He’s a good man, Commissioner. Loyal, close-mouthed and of the highest integrity.”
“All well and good, but can he make a good cup of coffee?”
“You’ll have to ask Chief O’Halloran that.”
“He’ll probably say no, just so he can keep Hayes. What else?”
“My assignment? You haven’t told me where I’m going yet.”
Harry studied the draft of the order and said, “There will be three detective boro commands open – Nassau, Queens South and Manhattan North. You pick it.”
“Any advice for me on that choice?”
“Manhattan North. That way I can keep a watchful eye on you.”
Thursday morning arrived and the order was transmitted to all commands. Promotions and transfers would be effective on Monday. Harry relaxed back in his chair now the task was done. This was the final shake-up needed to put his stamp on the leadership of the Department. Things were now finally in place to accomplish his goals – a non-adversarial approach with the police union; a kinder, gentler Compstat process where individual belittling attacks on the precinct and squad commanders would not be tolerated; and a mindset in the brass they were there to guide and assist the working cops and detectives, not to harass them or step on their backs to enhance their climb up the ranks.
Dan Snyder poked his head in the door and said, “Don’t you look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
“I am feeling content. I just signed the order and it’s on its way. If I were still a smoker, I’d light up a big stogie.”
“How about a cocktail at lunch instead?”
“Great idea. Now if only the Romens would go away forever my life as commissioner would be complete.”
6
Unfortunately Harry’s wish for the departure of the Romens was not to be fulfilled. The murders continued without respite, and as the pressure grew for a break in the case, George Richter reflected on his mission. He had proven to be a most valuable aide to Ted Gillenbock in building the Romen Society up from the ground floor. His computer skills were critical in establishing the network among the twelve apostles and for the time consuming background checks of prospective members demanded by Ted. George accessed existing databases to meticulously verify a proposed member’s education and employment history, financial and credit information, residences back to birth, religious affiliations, professional
and fraternal organizations, criminal history and family relationships. He knew Ted was paranoid about being infiltrated by law enforcement, and George agreed with his assessment.
Each apostle was responsible for establishing his base of operations in a pre-selected location and recruiting his members. All potential recruits were screened by George with the same attention to detail he had used in selecting the leaders themselves and, in just about four years since the day Ted and George had committed themselves to the project, it was now complete. The twelve apostles were safely ensconced in locations ranging from California to North Carolina. They would gradually move eastward and target the heavily populated northeastern areas of the country if things went well.
One day Ted said to George, “Now you have completed your work and have some free time, I was wondering if you could research your computer and do a personal favor for me – some digging.”
“Sure, on what?”
“My family – my brother and sister.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother and sister.”
“After my mother was killed in the accident I was placed in foster care, as were Joey and Melissa. I never saw them again. Can you find them for me?”
“I’ll give it my best shot, Ted. Let me have their complete names, dates of birth, social security numbers and anything else you might have on them.”
“Sorry, all I remember are the months and year they were born. Nothing else.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll just work harder.”
“You’re a good man, George – my Apostle Peter – and I know you’ll try your best. If you’re not successful, I’ll have to live with it.”
“How long has it been since you were separated from them?”
“I was ten so twenty-six years. Joey would now be thirty-four and Melissa thirty-two.”
“What a shame. I’ll start right now.”
A week later George called Ted and said, “I think I found Joey.”
“That’s great! Where is he?”
“New York City. He teaches math at Queens College.”
