by Hack, Henry
“Unfortunately, the world has changed since I started on this Job.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll tell Susan you called. Any message?”
“Yes, please ask her to call me at home when she’s free.”
“Sure, and again I wish you two the best.”
“Thanks. I’m glad we were able to talk like this. I had begun to wonder if you were human after the grilling you put me through.”
“Just an act. Life’s just a stage and we are merely players, but I’m glad I was convincing. I hope the boss agrees.”
“Good-bye, Rita.”
“Bye, Harry. Be good to my girlfriend. Treat her right.”
“I will. Don’t you worry about that.”
●
“When did you say you go back to work,” Susan asked
“Tonight. How about we grab an early dinner?”
“Maybe it’s time to get off rotating tours and off the street. Maybe you should re-consider the detectives.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to leave my beat just yet, and I’m not thrilled by detective work.”
“What’s wrong with detective work?”
“You’re not there on the scene, where the action is, like I am. I have a front row seat at the greatest show on earth. The dicks come in after the fact and pick up the pieces. And then all they do is write reports about it.”
“There are other aspects than precinct squad work. How about Homicide, like your friend Hunter?”
“I don’t care for dead bodies.”
“How about Narcotics?”
“I did a stint in Street Narcotics. I can’t conceive of anything worse.”
“Why is that?”
“At least on my beat I deal with good people most of the time. There are no good people in the narcotics business, except your fellow cops. They’re all skells, liars, thieves and lowlifes – all of them. That’s why they rotate you out after a year or so. Dealing with the drug culture will screw you up a lot quicker than walking a beat.”
“Think it over some more. Maybe white collar crime might be up your alley.”
“I can’t think straight now.”
“Okay, pick me up at six and we’ll go for Chinese. There’s a great little place on Post Avenue not far from my place.”
“See you then.”
●
The next two weeks dragged by with more snow and cold temperatures. There had been no usual “January thaw,” unless you could call three days in a row where the temperature hit a high of one degree above the freezing point, a thaw. They saw as much of each other as their schedules allowed.
On Harry’s thirty-third birthday Susan had insisted on treating him to dinner at Mario’s, back where it all began on New Year’s Eve. Harry had tipped Mario to the fact “the lady” would be treating when he stopped in to make the reservation. Mario, perturbed that Harry or his girlfriend should have to pay anything, finally acquiesced, but treated them to a seventy dollar bottle of Barolo wine and a small birthday cake. “With all my compliments to a beautiful couple,” he said, when he brought the wine; and “to the best police officer on the Force,” when he brought the cake. Nothing new had happened on the Winston case and Pop and Nick became edgy and bored. “Let’s get out of here and let’s go see if the Nest has re-opened yet,” Pop said.
They stopped for a quick sandwich and then drove over to the bar. The absentee owner, Louis Malament, had finally called from Florida and spoken with Nick. He said he would come back and decide what to do with the Nest. He told Nick he knew Richie a long time and let him run the place mostly on his own. It never was a real money maker, so maybe he would close it down. However, he had recently renewed the lease in November for another year. He would try to keep it open at least until the lease expired.
“If you do, Mr. Malament,” Nick said, “please hire a more upstanding bartender this time. Maybe he can attract a better class of customer.”
“I know Winston was not a model citizen, but he always showed up for work. Certainly he didn’t deserve what happened to him, did he?”
“No, he did not, and I assure you we are working hard to make an arrest.”
“Good. I’ll be back in New York soon, and I’ll touch base with you then.”
When Malament came back and assessed the damage, he replaced the door, cleaned and painted the interior and hired a manager/bartender named Marty Baines to run the place. To Malament’s credit, he asked Nick to run a criminal history check on Baines, and Nick happily reported Baines had no priors. Nick concluded Baines just hadn’t been caught yet, but at least he was a lot better than Winston.
They pulled up in front of the Nest and, sure enough, it was open for business. They walked in and had to admit the place looked much better – brighter, cleaner, the gloomy atmosphere gone.
“What can I get you gentlemen on our first day open for business?” Baines asked with a cheerful smile on his pleasant face.
“You can get us a couple of Cokes and a few minutes of your time,” Nick said, flashing his gold shield.
“Sure, Officers. Be right with you.”
Marty went down to the two customers at the back of the bar and re-filled their beers. He came back with the Cokes and said, “How can I help you?”
Pop produced a copy of the composite photo and handed it to Baines. “That’s the guy who attacked your predecessor. We want him bad. Any help would be appreciated.”
“And I hope you get him quick. I know about the whole thing; the boss told me. Should I be scared working here?”
“I don’t think so, Marty,” Nick said. “We believe it was a one-shot confrontation between Richie and the perp, and we believe the perp fled New York. But just in case you see anyone resembles him, please give us a call.”
“I sure will. Hey, how do you guys know my name?”
“We talked with Malament,” Nick said. “He told us who you were.”
“Marty,” Pop said, “try to keep your good bartender’s eyes and ears open for any hints or rumors that may help us with this case. Anything at all.”
“The only thing I’ve been hearing is to watch out for some cop, I mean police officer, named Cassidy. They say he hates this place and he’s a mean dude.”
“Cassidy is one of the beat cops on the post here,” Pop said. “He’s a good, hard-working officer, but he and Richie did not get along. I’m sure when Cassidy meets you and sees the improvement in this place, you won’t have any trouble at all.”
“That’s good to hear, Detective. I’ve been dreading the day when I see him walk through the door.”
“He should be here working the midnight-to-eight shift, I think. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
They got up to leave and, as Pop reached for his wallet, Marty said, “That’s okay, guys. Cokes are on me. I appreciate your stopping by.”
“Thanks, Marty,” Nick said. “Remember, anything at all, give us a call. Here’s my card.”
●
“What are you doing this weekend, Susan? Will you come with me to the Super Bowl party at Pop’s?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why? Vera is dying to meet you.”
“And I’d love to meet her, but not with five or six cops and their wives there. The stories about us would be back to headquarters in a flash.”
“You’re right. We’ll get over there some other time when it’s just the four of us together.” He drew her close and kissed her on her full lips, a long deep kiss and said, “Then what will you do tomorrow?”
“While you’re partying at Pop’s, I’ll be fighting the crowds at the Hofstra book store, which will be open and mobbed, and then preparing for Monday’s grind –a full eight hour day at IAD followed by three hours of law school.”
“Lucky you. I’ll call you from Pop’s tomorrow at half time, around eight. Talk to you then.”
They embraced and kissed one more time and Harry grudgingly broke away and headed home to suit up for hi
s last midnight tour.
He drew in a deep breath of the crisp, cold, night air as he walked eastbound on Hempstead Avenue. He turned down 18th Street and was surprised to see bright light streaming from the vicinity of the Bird’s Nest Bar. As he approached the newly glazed door, he noticed an impressive number of patrons, perhaps a dozen, quietly drinking at the shiny, mahogany bar. He walked in and the smiling bartender walked down to the end of the bar and said, extending his hand, “Good evening, Officer Cassidy, a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Marty Baines.”
Cassidy shook Marty’s hand and said, “Good to meet you, Marty. I must say, the place is much improved.”
“Yes, it is. The owner put some money into it and the people are starting to come back in.”
“I hope you attract a better group than Richie Winston did. Are you aware of what happened to him?”
“Detectives Hunter and Faliani stopped by today and told me the whole story. Is there anything new on Richie’s condition?”
“No, he’s still in a coma. Richie was a pain in the neck and a low-level criminal, but he didn’t deserve to be slashed like that.”
“You’re right, Officer, I don’t know of too many people who are evil enough to warrant that treatment.”
“Call me Harry. Did the detectives say how the investigation on catching the guy is going?”
“Not good. They left me this picture in case he shows his face around here.”
“I doubt very much he’ll do that.”
“Can I get you something, Officer,…Harry?”
“No, thanks. Best of luck with this place. If you can keep the thieves and dopers out, you should do fine. I have to get back on patrol now.”
“Thanks, Harry,” he said. “Good night.”
When the tour was over he headed over to the eight o’clock. mass at St. Vincent’s and stopped in afterwards to chat with Father Ryan at the priest’s residence.
“Good to see you again, Harry. You certainly look a heck of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”
“Things are a lot better. The stress and strain are gone and things are looking up for a change.”
Father Ryan smiled and said, “I’m happy for you. I guess you don’t want to have that serious chat with me now?”
“No, and maybe I’ll never need to have it.”
“I’m glad. Keep the faith. I have to run now. We’re short-handed and I have to say another Mass.”
“So long, Tom. I’ll stop by again when I reach the eight to fours.”
Harry slept until four, took a shower and headed over to Pop’s, stopping for snacks and beer.
“And where is that lovely lady of yours you promised to bring?” asked Vera when she opened the front door for Harry.
He explained the reason for not bringing Susan and promised to bring her over shortly. Vera was reluctantly satisfied and they went inside. Harry exchanged greetings with a couple of the other early arrivals, and then said, “Got a minute, Pop?”
“Sure, Hoppy. What’s up?”
“Anything new on the case?”
“Not a damn thing and it’s bugging us bad. It’s at a dead end.”
“No change in Richie’s condition?”
“None.”
Pop grabbed Harry’s arm saying, “C’mon, Hoppy, let’s go watch some football and you can tell us all again how you could be playing today, if only…”
Harry called Susan at halftime as promised and she related her experiences at the book store. “Would you believe $473.86 for five books? And two of the professors left reading assignments for tomorrow night.”
“Frankly my dear, you’re the one who wanted to be a lawyer, so stop griping and start reading.”
“Thanks for the sympathy. How’s the game going?”
“Boring, so far. No offense. They could use me in there. Pop and Vera were asking for you. We have to get over here soon.”
“We will, but I can’t say when. I feel overloaded already.”
“By the way, there’s nothing new on the investigation or Winston’s condition. And the Bird’s Nest has re-opened for business.”
“How did it look?”
“All spruced up with a clean looking bartender this time. Listen, I know you have to get to the books, so I won’t keep you. Good luck tomorrow. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye.”
There it was – the love you. She had wondered who would be the first to say it, when it would be said, if it would be said, and Harry had said it naturally, almost casually. And she came back and said it, too, as if they were an old married couple on automatic pilot. Wow!
Chapter Seventeen
Harry and Susan settled down into the routine of their day to day duties, and the times when they had a few hours together had been rare. Susan had classes four nights a week. The courses were the most difficult she had yet encountered, and the twelve hours of class time demanded an additional thirty to forty hours of study and written reports. Fortunately, Harry’s tours began rotating into weekends off, but it would be Saturday and Sunday, February 18 and 19, before they would have a full weekend together.
It was Friday and Susan’s first free night since classes began and Harry’s last day off before starting a set of four-to-twelve’s on Saturday. They sat in Mario’s once more enjoying their dessert and espresso with a splash of anisette.
“Gee, Sue, it’s good to see you for two whole hours in a row.”
“Isn’t this awful? Our schedules are not meshing at all. But, we’ll make up for it when that weekend comes around. I guarantee you.”
“We’ll make up for it tonight. I’m horny as hell. It’s been six days since we were together.”
“I want you bad, too. Let’s drink up and get out of here.”
They finished their espresso and Susan stopped in the ladies lounge as Harry settled up with Mario at the front counter.
“Harry, you look wonderful. This beautiful woman you have been dating, it is serious?”
“Yes, it’s serious.”
“That’s good. You’ve never looked better, so relaxed. She is good for you. Hold on to her.”
Susan came out of the rest room as Mario left to escort a couple to their table. She had a stricken look on her face.
“Susan, what’s the matter? Are you sick?”
“I just got paged when I was in the lounge. It’s the hospital. Let’s go outside. I’ll make the call on my cell phone.” She was not on the phone very long. “I have to go. Drive me home and I’ll get my car. Hunter and Faliani are also responding.”
Now it was Harry’s turn to feel his stomach flip. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he swallowed hard. He’d lived through this all before on New Year’s Eve when Susan had rushed from his apartment to the hospital. Now, eerily, it had happened again. “What happened? Did he wake up again?”
“No, he didn’t. Richie Winston is never going to wake up. He flat-lined fifteen minutes ago, at 9:34 to be precise.”
“Jesus! But if he’s dead why do you have to go over there?”
“He thrashed around for several seconds before he died. I have to check the tape to see if he said anything relevant.”
They drove in silence to her home and she didn’t bother to go into the house. As she got into her car, Harry said, “I’ll go inside and wait for you. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m just wondering how this is going to change the case.”
“Now Pop has a full-fledged murder on his hands. I’m sure the pressure on him and Nick to find the perp will increase dramatically.”
But Susan had not wondered about Pop’s case. She wondered about her case. Would Gregorovich up the pressure on her? What would he say when he found out Harry could now be an accessory to a murder if his theory were true?
As on New Year’s Eve, Susan found herself in the hospital’s lobby with Pop and Nick. “It seems you now have a murder on your hands,” she said. “Shall we go up and see if Mr. Winston had any parting words for us?”<
br />
“Let’s go,” Nick said, giving Susan the once over.
They came up to Winston’s bedside and looked at him. He appeared peaceful enough, except for some possible lingering fear in his half-closed eyes. Susan re-wound the tape to 9:30 and then asked the staff doctor if that was enough.
“I think so, Sergeant. His heart monitor reacted first at 9:32 and by 9:34:27 it was all over.”
“He had a heart attack then?” Pop asked.
“It sure looks that way. That’s not uncommon in coma cases, but we’ll know for sure after the autopsy.”
“When will it be done?” Pop asked.
“First thing in the morning.”
“We’ll be there,” Pop said. “How about you, Sergeant?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary I attend, but please forward me a copy of the autopsy report and the death certificate when you get them.”
They ran the tape. At 9:33:07 they heard a slight moan. Again at 9:33:42. And at 9:34:03 a loud gurgling sound that lasted until 9:34:17. Then nothing but a long, low sigh which ended at 9:34:27.
“Too bad we didn’t get any more help from Richie,” Nick said.
“No,” Pop said, “and now we never will.”
They thanked the staff doctor for his help and Susan removed the tape from the machine. She said, “I’ll have the Electronics Unit retrieve their equipment on Monday.”
●
After Susan drove away, Harry had let himself in – they had traded keys to each other’s place a few days before. He sat down at the kitchen table, lit up a smoke and inhaled deeply. The death of Richie was a nerve-wracking situation which not only called for nicotine, but the burn of alcohol as well. He found the scotch Susan had bought for him when he stayed here and poured some into a low ball glass, no ice, and took a long swallow. Richie was dead. It was over. He was off the hook. No one would ever know the meaning of Richie’s mysterious words uttered on New Year’s Eve, unless Harry told them, and he would never do that. Then a sudden chill went through him. What if Richie had said more before he died? Maybe Susan and Pop had already listened to those words. He took another drag on the cigarette followed by another swallow of warm scotch. What if they now know what I did, that I betrayed my shield? He ground out the cigarette and immediately lit another and refilled the tumbler with scotch.
