by C. S. De Mel
“Few more steps, I dare you.” Oswalt kept his trigger finger steady as Rufus moved in closer. Rufus was now inches from the barrel of Oswalt’s gun. The moment Rufus grabbed Oswalt by the collar, the trigger was pulled. Oswalt sent it right between his eyes and Rufus fell to the ground dead. Oswalt gripped his gun tightly and slowly exhaled. It was the first time he had taken a life.
He looked out the doorway: Rufus’s two accomplices were nowhere to be seen. They had fled. Oswalt thought for certain that the man he shot in the leg was down for the count—his other buddy must have helped him escape.
Henry stayed leaning against the wall; he felt like his insides had been tossed around with salad tongs. He glanced down at Rufus on the floor, then to Oswalt in stunned silence. Oswalt collapsed into the leather sofa and smiled grimly at Henry. He waggled the gun in his hand. “Efficient...”
The sound of silence was Jeffrey Perkins’ signal to emerge from hiding and into the chaos that had defiled his living room. His eyes bulged. “Holy…Sh—”
***
Chapter 3 – Brooklyn’s Finest
Thursday, October 7th, 1999
Queens, New York, 4:00 p.m.
Roy Cameron chased down his perp, with a gleam of vindictive determination in his eyes. He was breathing heavy from running, but far from giving up. “I said freeze, asshole!”
The drug dealer’s sneakers thudded on the pavement as he ran for his life. Having spotted the cop down the road, Marlon the drug dealer had a large lead, but Roy was closing the gap fast.
Varick’s black Lincoln arrived on the scene and slowly inched up to the curb. From the passenger side, Bruce watched the show, thoroughly amused. “Hey, pull your pants up, man!” Bruce yelled out the window as Marlon ran by his door. “Don’t make it easy for him, come on!” Marlon looked back at Bruce, bewildered, and attempted to pull up the baggy pants that were hanging off his waist.
“Down you go!” bellowed Roy, while tackling Marlon to the ground from behind.
“Hey, get off me, man! This racial profiling!”
Varick and Bruce stepped out of the car. Bruce sighed. “Buddy, you let this old bloke catch you?”
“What are you two doing here?” Roy asked, while clapping a pair of cuffs on Marlon.
“Looking for you.” Varick looked disgusted when Roy pulled out a fat baggie of weed from Marlon’s pants pocket.
“Goddammit,” muttered Roy. “This is it? You aren’t carrying anything harder?”
Marlon grinned. “Not today.”
Varick scoffed. “So this is your other assignment, Cameron? Chasing down nobodies?” Marlon looked at Varick, deeply offended.
“Hey, I’m losing my edge. I need the legwork.”
Bruce laughed. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“So, what did you need me for?” Roy asked. Marlon surveyed them curiously.
Bruce turned to Marlon. “You mind giving us a minute, bud?”
“No problem.” Marlon tried to walk past Roy, who immediately grabbed him by his collar. Roy looked from Bruce to Marlon.
“Funny guys! You’re funny guys!” Roy gave Marlon a push. “C’mon, you scumbag.” He walked Marlon to his squad car, with Bruce and Varick following behind him. Roy tossed Marlon into the backseat and locked the doors. “Alright, now that we got some privacy...what’s this about?”
“We talked to Henry this morning,” Varick informed.
Roy raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You heard about the shootout in the condo?”
Varick nodded. “Yeah, he updated us on that situation a little while ago. It was a close shave for both him and his partner.”
“Yeah, crazy business,” Roy muttered. “Oswalt’s a piece of work, but he did good from what Henry told me. Oswalt had his back.”
Varick nodded again. “We told Henry to keep us posted, and we need to ask the same of you.”
“Yeah, sure. But on what exactly?”
“Well, definitely not on whatever this is here you’re doing,” Varick said, pointing a finger at Marlon, who was pressing his face against the door window and making obscene faces at them. Varick and Roy’s conversation was interrupted by the sound of a vibrating ringer. Bruce, who appeared to be in profound thought while he stared at Marlon, was jarred out of his stupor. Bruce pulled out his phone and looked at the display.
“One sec. guys, let me take this—it’s Santos.” Bruce walked off to give Varick and Roy space to talk.
“Anyway, where were we?” Varick asked.
“I believe you were criticizing my work. My very livelihood!” Roy boomed dramatically.
“Yeah…I don’t see it.”
“Well, I was planning to follow the trail up from the small fish. Surely you can respect that line of attack?”
Varick shook his head. “No time. Partner back up with Henry and get the inside track on the Solly angle. Scorcher’s going to be putting out more hits on Solly’s people, as well as Luxembourg and his crew in the Bronx—but focus on Solly for now.”
Roy sighed, sensing defeat. “Yeah, alright...I’ll talk to the captain and get back in the loop.”
“Good. We’re not exactly sure the scope of this thing, but we’ve been tracking Scorcher’s movements, and he’s making some major power plays. This is just the beginning.”
Bruce rejoined Varick and Roy after finishing his call. “Varick, listen...I need to borrow your keys.”
Varick stared suspiciously. “What for?”
“So I can borrow your car.”
Varick scowled. “Again, I ask—what for?”
“Santos needs my help with something.”
“Now? He can’t get someone else? We’re kind of in the middle of something.”
“Yeah, I know, but he said it was some kind of emergency—pressing Legion business and all that...”
“And this isn’t?” Varick was clearly annoyed. “Fine, here.” He pulled out the keys from his pocket and roughly handed them over to Bruce.
“Thanks, man.” Bruce turned tail and headed for the car.
“Hey, so how am I supposed to get back?!” Varick called angrily after Bruce.
“I’m sure Roy will give you a lift!” Bruce yelled back. He grinned and gave him two thumbs-up.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of him!” Roy shouted, waving in Bruce’s direction. He gave Varick a slap on the back. “Hey, look at you, you’re a copper again! Let’s go cruisin’ and bust some bad guys to finish off this afternoon.”
“Swell,” grunted Varick, as he watched Bruce drive off in his Lincoln.
“Doesn’t sound fun? You’re welcome to hang out in the back with Marlon.” Roy laughed at Varick but quickly stopped when he saw the look on Varick’s face.
Varick leaned against Roy’s squad car. He tugged on the locked passenger door impatiently. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”
***
Brooklyn, New York, 5:15 p.m.
Bruce drove into the parking lot of a small, dingy-looking coffee shop. He parked the vehicle and stepped out onto the lot. The glass walls of the shop looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned in months. Above the entrance was a dilapidated sign which simply read: ‘Coffee Shop’. Santos waved at Bruce; he was waiting outside in the parking lot for him. He trotted over to Bruce, looking relieved. “Thanks a lot for coming on such short notice. I owe you one.”
“Yeah, if Varick knew what the emergency was, he would’ve blown a fuse. I don’t know how you talked me into this.”
Santos ran his hand through his greying blonde hair. “Well, it is still Legion business—giving back to the community is a big part of what keeps us whole.”
“Yeah-yeah, enough preaching; let’s get on with it.”
The pair walked towards the coffee shop, but Bruce suddenly stopped. “Hey, what happened to the other guy anyway?”
Santos averted his gaze. “Well, he sort of backed out last minute; the pair of them didn’t really get along.”
Bruce suddenly had a sinking fee
ling in his stomach. “Why’s that?”
“Well…the old man has a bit of an abrasive personality.”
“Oh god, what have you gotten me into?” Bruce muttered. “And how abrasive?”
“No, don’t worry, Bruce; that’s why I called you especially. I’m sure you two will get along fine.” Santos urged Bruce to come along as he opened the door to the coffee shop. Bruce sighed and followed Santos inside.
***
Roy’s police cruiser glided through downtown Queens with no particular destination. He was accompanied by an irate Varick in the passenger seat and a bored Marlon behind the cage. Varick stared out his window, his thoughts far away. Roy turned up the radio. “How about that? ‘Crystal Blue Persuasion’—classic.” Roy turned to Varick expectantly.
“Yeah, nice,” Varick mumbled. “Where are we going exactly?”
“Well, I have to put in at least another hour on patrol. We’ll make it eventful, don’t worry,” Roy assured.
Marlon leaned up against the cage. “You know what, Roy? I can call you Roy, right?”
“Nope.”
“Cam?”
“Not a chance.”
“Ill trigga bad-ass mutha coppa?!”
Roy winced. “What do you want?”
“This oldies white boy music—it’s alright, man. Real chill.”
Roy beamed, his demeanor changing. “Yeah, It’s good, right!?”
“Yeah, makes you wanna roll one up and cruise, don’t it? Hand me my bag back; I can make a mean one.”
Roy smirked. “Yeah...no.”
Marlon bopped his head to the laid-back beat and drummed his hands on the cage.
“Don’t—do that,” Varick growled icily.
Marlon leaned back in his seat and sighed. “You sure you don’t want a session, Roy? Your boy here sure as hell could use one.”
“Positive. But you know what we could use? Some authentic Brooklyn-style pizza. I know I’m flamin’ starved. What do you say, Varick? We got some time.”
Varick realized he hadn’t eaten since morning. He felt a surge of gratitude towards Roy, despite wanting to sink into his own despondence. “Sure, why not.”
Roy looked in his rear view mirror. “Maybe if you behave yourself back there, you’ll get a slice too.”
Marlon flashed a grin. “Bosssss.”
***
Bruce and Santos had joined two elderly gentlemen at their table in the coffee shop. One was looking particularly sour as he stared down Bruce.
“Santos, who is this? Where’s that other nancy-boy?”
Santos shuffled his feet uncomfortably under the table. “Tobias was feeling gravely ill, dreadful thing...don’t know how long he’ll be away.”
“Don’t pedal that tripe my way, boy! More like he couldn’t stomach harsh reality! You’re a terrible liar, Santos. Absolutely terrible.”
“No, really…”
The other man casually blew on a spoonful of soup and placed it into his mouth. He was looking over a newspaper, indifferent to the tension at the table.
Bruce smirked. “He’s got you dead to rights, Santos. Don’t prolong it.”
“What are you smirking at, Sonny Jim? You were in on this terrible facade—should’ve talked him out of making an ass of himself.”
“Nah, it’s always amusing to watch close friends squirm uncomfortably.”
Santos’ stare bore into Bruce, trying to communicate without talking, for him to stop goading on the situation...and then a dry wheezing sound broke Santos’ focus. He turned to look at the sour old man in amazement. He was laughing.
The old man stifled his chuckle. “I couldn’t agree more—sometimes they just need a good ego deflation. What did you say your name was?”
“Bruce.”
“Well, Sonny Jim, you can call me Uecker. And the soup-slurping fossil over here is Taz.”
Bruce waved across the table. “Good to meet you both.”
Uecker nudged Taz with his elbow. “You hard of hearing, Taz? Say hello to the new kid.”
“Hello, new kid,” Taz mumbled through a mouthful of soup. His eyes were still focused on his paper.
Uecker leaned in over the table and whispered to Bruce: “He’s hard of hearing.”
“Then why do you need to whisper?”
Uecker shrugged. “Would you dress a blind kid in a shirt with a slogan stating ‘I like ‘em large’?”
Bruce scrunched his eyebrows, puzzled. “That’s not—really the same thing. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”
“It’s about the respect. And Taz here is a good guy that’s earned my respect.”
Bruce grinned. “And by respect you mean referring to him as a deaf soup-slurping fossil?”
“And that’s why I respect him—the man can take it. Ribbings, criticisms, terrible verbal abuse the likes of which a young pup like you has never heard. And all the while, he can still sit there without saying a word and enjoy the newspaper.” Uecker took a sip from his coffee. “But that’s what happens; this modern society makes people weak and sensitive. And before you know it, you get old, with no family, no friends, and are stuck in a retirement hole, where you’re reduced to talking to nancy boys and Taz.”
“Well, thanks for that insight, old man...”
Santos frowned. “Uecker, I thought you had plenty of friends at the retirement home?”
“Nah, we’re all just a bunch of loners that hang out and talk about that common fact.”
“So...individuals spending time together and bonding over similar experiences... Sounds like friendship to me.”
Uecker grinned. “Well, I’ll be damned—I have friends.”
“What happened to your wife, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bruce leaned in with a crooked smile. “She couldn’t stand your verbal tirades either?”
Uecker looked at Bruce dumbfounded. “What happened to her? What do you think happened to her, ya dang fool?!”
“My guess would be she left you at least twenty years ago.”
“No one left me!” Uecker barked. “I never got married.”
Bruce eyed Uecker suspiciously. “Really…”
“Yeah, really!”
“Then what’s with the wedding band, old man?!”
Uecker gave Bruce a devilish smile. “This isn’t a wedding band…it’s a chick magnet. Women love the thrill and drama that go with being involved with a married man. So I feed them that illusion. Or I’ll play the sad old man that lost his poor darling wife. Oh boo-hoo-hoo!” Uecker wiped at his imaginary tears. “It’s all so terrible! We were married fifty years, and now I have no reason to go on!” Uecker regained his composure and shrugged. “Whatever ruse will work better—depends on the woman.”
Bruce laughed. “You’re twisted.”
“Better believe it,” Uecker said, grinning. “You married, Sonny Jim?”
Bruce rubbed his chin. “Hmm…well, I was.”
“And why was?”
Bruce hesitated. “Let’s just say it didn’t really work out.”
Uecker nodded as if expecting the answer. “That’s what I thought…heh, you really are a dang fool.” Bruce stared at Uecker, slack-jawed—then laughed again. “What about kids, you have kids, Bruce?”
“Yeah, two boys. One’s still under my roof. The other...well, it’s complicated.”
“I see. Your past is just one big mystery that’s too complex for my feeble brain to process, isn’t it? Well, I’m not going to press the issues with you.” Uecker reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a hip flask. “You boys want a little something in your coffee?” Uecker waved the container in the air with no discretion.
Santos shook his head. “No, thanks. I don’t really drink.”
“Church boy pansy.”
Taz gave an encouraging wave. “Spice up my soup, will ya?”
“Good man!” Uecker poured a generous amount into Taz’s bowl. Uecker turned to Bruce. “What about you, Sonny Jim?”
“Well,
at the risk of being called a pansy...” Bruce shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
***
Thirty minutes later, the table was a lot more festive. Uecker leaned across the table to Bruce. “What you need is a lady. I’ll fix you up, Sonny Jim, don’t you worry.”
“Dear god, I wasn’t worried until now—is she gonna be old enough to be my mother?”
Uecker let out a derisive laugh. “You wish…try grandmother.”
Santos, however, wasn’t having much luck. He was trying to keep a conversation going with Taz, but Taz seemed more interested in reading than talking, only giving short courtesy responses. Then suddenly, Taz gave a loud whistle. He turned his paper upside down and slid it across the table to Bruce. He pointed at the image in the paper. “That’s you, ain’t it? You definitely looked familiar.”
Bruce looked down at the black and white photo of himself at the press conference. He was standing behind the podium, looking gallant. “Well, look at that; they captured my good side.”
“I already knew who he was,” Uecker said indifferently.
Taz scratched his head. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“I wanted to talk to the man first, not the army captain—or the Legion guardian extraordinaire, for that matter. But now that it’s been brought up, how’s the war on evil treating you, Sonny Jim? Santos here mentioned some of the stuff you Legion boys get into.”
Bruce glared at Santos. “Really...Santos told you, did he?”
Santos grinned. “Nothing to hide, right?”
Bruce was slightly annoyed. “You told him I was a guardian?”
“No, Santos never said anything specifically about you,” Uecker interrupted. “Even though I give him a hard time, he’s a good lad like Taz here.” Uecker looked at Santos. “You know that, don’t you? You don’t take my ripping seriously, right?”
“Rolls right off.”
“Good lad!” Uecker boomed approvingly. “Not one to talk about someone when they’re not in present company. But he did explain to me what type of work you guys do and the ranking structure of the Legion. Everyone starts as an acolyte and advances to paladin when they have proven their worth. But only extraordinary men and women can attain guardian rank.” Uecker stared hard at Bruce. “And from what I’ve read and heard—you, much like Santos here, are indeed extraordinary…”
