While I’m walking back to my car I notice a good spot on the side street to park.
I back my car into the parking space, keep it running, but turn off all my lights.
There are so many ways this can go bad—Jasper’s on midnights in 1D, but Friday and Saturday are his days off. I’m sure every cop working 1D midnights knows him. Whoever rolls onto the scene after I make the call might let it go and clear the scene as a prank call once they find out who he is. It’s a roll of the dice. But if it doesn’t play out here, I’ll follow him into Maryland. PG County doesn’t fuck around, especially on midnight shift.
I feel good about it.
I recline the seat back to a cozy position and take a nice swig of whiskey from the sport bottle. I crack the window, too, and light up a smoke.
Cicadas aren’t so annoying tonight. This part of town, I guess. Not many trees to make love on. The ones that are calling out sound a little lonely.
Eighty-Four
Oh-three-hundred hours rolls around.
Oh-four-hundred hours rolls around.
It’s that special time in the morning when I used to get up to go to work because we had a search warrant. Used to love that feeling. Feels like that now.
I see a few people walk around from the front. Can’t see the front door with the stairs that lead up to the club, but I see four people come around the corner. Two women first, then two men. One of them is Jasper. One of the women is the bartender who served me when I was at the club. The other guy sure as hell looks like the officer who drove by Leslie’s home when we were sitting on her stairs. He gave us that odd, uncomfortable look. They’re both wearing suits.
I get my burner phone, and I pray those two hotshot officers who checked me out last time I was doing surveillance here are on the job.
I call 911.
A woman answers with “Nine one one. What’s your emergency?”
I disguise my voice by talking fast and in a lower pitch. I give her the location of the rear of the club.
“I’m just getting off work as a bartender, and I’m sitting in my car. I saw a skinny homeless man walk up to a large man who’s sitting in a red old-model Cadillac DeVille.”
“What’s your emergency, sir?”
“Please listen. The homeless man gave the man in the car a gun and a laptop in exchange for something that looked like drugs. The man put the laptop in the trunk of his Cadillac but held on to the gun.”
“Are those men there now?” she asks.
“Yes. Again, I saw the man from the Cadillac get a clear baggie of what looked like drugs out of the front of his car, then go to the trunk to do something.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m on the side street, just a few feet away. The man just gave the homeless guy something else that he got from out of his trunk. Maybe money, too. You have to hurry. The homeless guy is leaving. The man just carried the clear baggie back to the front. I think he’s getting ready to leave.”
“Describe the man, sir.”
I give her a good description of Jasper as well as a description of the vehicle and its tag number.
Jasper and the other three hit the parking lot. He shakes hands with the fuckboy FTO, who gets in a late-model Camry with the bartender. The other girl sticks around to talk to Jasper.
“Hold on, sir,” the dispatcher advises.
I hear her dispatch a primary and a secondary unit to the scene. No lights or sirens, so it’s not a code 1. Smart dispatcher.
“And you’re sure he had a gun, sir?”
“Yes. Positive.”
I hear her say, “Subject might be armed, so use caution.”
“I have units responding now, sir. What is your name?”
“Robert, but I don’t want to get involved.”
The other guy backs out and drives away with the bartender.
“The responding officers will need to interview you after they investigate.”
“No. He looks really dangerous. I just got married. No.”
“Please stay on the phone with me, sir.”
“They have to hurry. He’s talking to a woman now. I don’t know what he’s going to do.”
The woman hugs Jasper, then enters one of the other cars, looks like a Subaru. Jasper watches her drive off, then makes his way to his car.
“He’s getting ready to leave,” I say.
“Units are responding. Can you give me your name, please?”
“Robert. That’s all,” and I disconnect.
I see two units speed down Connecticut and make the left onto the side street. I recline my seat farther down and turn off my car.
The first one on the scene is a 10-4 unit. They roll in the lot and block Jasper’s car just as his rear lights turn on. The second car is a 10-99. The driver pulls behind the other cruiser.
The two officers in the first cruiser shine the car’s spotlight through the rear window of the Cadillac.
They jump out, guns drawn, and shield themselves behind their car doors. The officer from the second cruiser does the same.
Boys in the first car look like the two hotshots I met.
I hear the hotshot driver of the first vehicle yelling commands.
“Turn off your car! Turn off your car!”
The Cadillac’s rear lights go off.
“Let me see your hands out the front window! Palms up! Now!”
Sounds like Jasper is screaming out the window of his car. Something inaudible.
More commands.
Jasper obeys, and I think he stuck his hand out with an open wallet to reveal his badge. The officers are still cautious and shout more commands.
Jasper rises slowly from the car, yelling something like “I’m the police.”
The primary officer yells more commands until Jasper complies and starts to walk backwards to the middle of the lot and appears to go down to his knees. The driver and his partner slowly approach. The officer from the second vehicle approaches the front door of the Caddy. Bright light from his Streamlight lights the area ahead of him. Everything by the book.
Couple seconds later I can see Jasper being helped up, but not in handcuffs.
Shit.
My window is up, so I can’t hear. The officer who yelled all the commands gets on his handheld radio. Then he talks to Jasper, who seems to be smiling now.
It’s already starting to roast in here. I’m breaking out in sweat but will have to suffer through it.
I notice the officer from the second car shine the light into the front-seat area of the Caddy because Jasper left the door open. He bends down, like he’s trying to get a better view under the seat. He calmly walks over to the hotshot driver, who is still with his partner and talking to Jasper. The officer, now standing a couple of feet behind Jasper, gets the driver’s attention with a hand signal that I recognize as Need to talk. Driver walks over to him. Jasper watches. Driver’s partner stands beside Jasper, gun now holstered.
Secondary officer whispers something, then the driver walks toward the Caddy as the secondary moves easily to the other side of Jasper, but taking more of a defensive position.
Driver clicks his Streamlight on, stoops down to look under the seat.
Jasper appears upset, speaking loudly, but not worried. I can’t make it out. I’m fucking boiling in this car with the window up and the engine off. I hear the driver say something about “our safety.” Jasper is resistant but doesn’t fight them as they cuff his hands behind his back and lean him against the rear of the first cruiser.
Partner and the secondary officer stay with Jasper while the driver returns to the front of the car. He leans in. Driver moves to the trunk and opens it with the keys.
He shakes his head, something like disbelief.
Jasper tries to look back over his shoulder, like What the fuck is going on?
The officer from the second car pats him down and searches him. He pulls out a gun from Jasper’s right side, near his waist.
Jasper’s tu
rning, now screaming at the officers.
I can hear him yell, “Fuck, I’m one of you! What the hell is this? That’s my service weapon, fuckwad!”
What is there to do but smirk and smile big, despite the sweat all over my face?
Eighty-Five
Hot morning sun. Finished all my water and starting to feel dehydrated. A lot of officials showed up, even Deputy Chief Wightman.
Wightman looked happy. Probably already had Jasper on his bad-boy list.
Crime Scene Search just cleared the scene, and Jasper’s car is finally getting towed.
I’m good to go.
I start the car, get the seat back to its regular position, and blast the air.
Damn, that feels good.
I let the tow truck pull out.
I head home to take a cold shower.
After a shower, I plop on my bed wearing only my boxers. I think sleep is going to be my friend today.
I look at my phone for the time, remember the message Aunt Linda left but I never listened to.
I go to Messages, click it to play. I’m happy that we were able to talk face-to-face. I just want you to know that I believe in you, because the smile I saw on your face when we were sitting in the car is the same one I remember you having as a little boy. Don’t worry, Frankie. Every day has enough trouble of its own. We’ll talk soon. I love you.
Damn.
Eighty-Six
Midday, and I step out of the car onto Riggs Street, fold up the bag, and walk up to the house. Ring the doorbell. A minute later, a young lady answers. I know she’s not a relative because she’s Hispanic.
“Can I help you?” she asks with a kind smile.
“I’m a neighbor. I don’t really know the lady who lives here, but we all heard about what happened. Is she okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine. I’m with social services and here to check up on her. She’s in the living room if you’d like to say hello.”
“So she’s moving around?”
“A little every day, but she still has to use a walker. She can take care of herself, though.”
“Those troublemaking boys aren’t here, are they?”
“No. They’re both in jail, but that’s all I know.”
“Then I think I will come in and say hello. I don’t think she’ll remember me. It seems like forever since I saw her walking around.”
“Can you wait? I’ll go see if she wants company.”
“Of course.”
She returns, opens the security gate to let me in.
“She’s on the sofa in the living room.”
“Thank you.”
The social worker walks to the kitchen. It’s like this is a different house. Clean. Smells fresh. She’s on the sofa watching a talk show on the flat-screen, which is now mounted on the wall above the coffee table. I approach her.
She looks me over. Hard.
“You can sit down.”
I sit beside her on the sofa. It’s a new sofa.
“I don’t know you,” she says firmly.
“I live in the neighborhood, but it has been a while.”
She still looks frail but not so sickly. Looks like she put on a bit of good weight, too.
She looks at me direct. “I think I remember you now.”
“That’s good.”
“What are you doing back here?”
That throws me.
“How do you mean?”
“Yes, I remember you. You’re the tax man. The one who got rid of those terrible boys for me.”
Tax man? Oh, yeah. Shit.
“You’re confusing me with someone else, ma’am, maybe an officer.”
“No officer I know would have taken care of those boys like that.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t follow you, but this here is something my neighborhood collected for you. Like a fund-raiser.”
I offer her the bag.
She puts it on her lap and looks in.
The social worker returns from the kitchen.
The old lady folds the bag up again and sets it on the sofa between us. The social worker sits on a chair in the dining room, trying not to be a bother.
“Fund-raiser?” the old lady asks.
I’ve read hundreds of people’s faces in my line of work, and her face is utterly unreadable.
“Yes, ma’am, and we hope it helps.”
“It does indeed.”
“Okay. I’ll be on my way, then. I’m happy to see you home.”
“Happy to still have a home.”
I stand up to leave.
“You can visit again,” she says.
“Okay.”
I smile, shoot the social worker a wave, and walk out.
Eighty-Seven
Later that afternoon I get a call from Hurley. He wants to meet me at the 3D. It’s a short drive there. I park on 17th, where a lot of the cruisers are parked.
Hurley is waiting for me in the front lobby area. He’s alone. Place looks cleaner than it was last time I was here.
“What’s up?” I ask as we shake hands.
“How you healing?”
“Some nerve damage in my hand, but nothing I can’t handle. Stitches are coming out.”
“Good to hear, but sorry about the nerve damage.”
“Like I said, no big deal.”
“Need to see if you can identify some items.”
Oh, yeah. Please let it be…
“In the community room.”
I follow him to a set of double doors. He swings one open.
My record and CD collection, laptop, and all the stereo equipment Hurley recovered from Thrift World are all nicely displayed on a rectangular foldout table. Everything is coated with fingerprint powder.
“You’re kidding me,” I say with excitement.
“Sorry about the mess. They had to dust for prints.”
“I can clean that up. Damn. It’s all mine. All my mom’s shit. Where did you find the records and the laptop?”
“Laptop on a search warrant and everything else in the trunk of a car. Obviously you know where we got the stereo equipment.”
I pick up one of the records, wipe the fine powder off with the palm of my hand.
“They don’t look warped,” I say. “I’m assuming you got an arrest.”
“Oh, yeah, bro. Willy Jasper.” He smiles from ear to ear.
“You serious? Fuck. Can you talk about it?”
“You still don’t have a television, huh?”
“No.”
“So that’s why I didn’t hear from you first. It’s all over the news, brother. He got arrested in the parking lot behind his club. Some anonymous call about a drug transaction. Officers get to the scene, are ready to clear it as a bad call when they find out he’s an officer they know, but Jasper leaves the front door open and a curious rookie looks under the seat from a distance—plain view—and makes a sweet discovery. I mean, we got a lot of powder cocaine, a gun that comes back to a burglary, bunch of cash, paraphernalia, and of course all this here.”
“No shit? You put your cuffs on him?”
“No. We didn’t find out he was locked up until the next day. After that we took it over. We hit his home and took everything. Cleaned his house out. Put it all on the book as suspected stolen property. All I have to do with your stuff is sign it over to you. I already took photos, and the AUSA approved it. Said the photos and you would be more than enough for court.”
“Joe, this is incredible news. They put a hold on him?”
“District court, baby. They held his ass. PWID while armed, receiving stolen property. Throw in the two from Riggs Street, and we’ll add conspiracy. His operation connects, Frank. It connects to everything.”
“Well, you are officially Supercop now.”
“Yeah, right. But we’re going to work it, tie him to everything else, I hope.”
“Great work, man.”
“We got lucky.”
Lucky. Yeah.
“What about the o
ther cop who worked for him at the club?” I ask, referring to the one who gave me and Leslie the snake eye when we were on her stoop, the one I saw walking out of the club with Jasper that morning. “I got a feeling you wanna be looking at him, too.”
“We are. Don’t worry about that. He’s on administrative leave.”
I’m confident it goes deeper than Snake Eyes.
Joe helps carry my stuff to my car. I shake his hand again and give him a bro shoulder hug. It hurts a little.
I get all my property home.
First thing I do is set up the stereo, then flip through my albums, decide on Johnny Cash because he was one of my mother’s favorites. I wipe it clean with a rag I got, put it on the turntable, sit on the sofa, and light a cigarette.
I think about my mother and how she’d always listen to music in the privacy of her room. It was only meant for her. Not something she shared. I heard the songs through the closed door and always knew how she was feeling by the record she was playing.
My mind wanders, and my mother follows, until “It Ain’t Me Babe” plays, and that takes me to Leslie. Maybe after all this she’ll talk to me again. Big maybe. I gotta clean up first.
I take the record off, find Violent Femmes, which has “Blister in the Sun” on it. I used to play it for Jeffrey all the time. Used to make him hop. Looked like a comical version of the pogo dance.
When it’s over I lift the needle from the record. I need to get out of the house now, so I decide to take a drive to Alexandria to pick up my gun at the police department there.
I take the GW Parkway, the Potomac at my left. It looks inviting, like I should be out there on a johnboat.
Fishing.
Haven’t been to the river for a long while. The good part of the river. There is a bad part, but that’s behind me now. At least I hope it is. Don’t want to even think about it.
Maybe Ohio? There’re a couple of nice lakes near Aunt Linda’s house. Good bass fishing, maybe walleye. A good reason to visit.
Yes, it is a good day. I got my stuff back and wrapped up that piece of shit Jasper. That alone should be enough, but it’s not.
I get to Old Town and slow down as I pass the motel where Biddy stayed.
Crime Song Page 26
