Doakes wasn’t happy about it, wanting to go to the nearest bar and down something strong after a long shift, but he agreed to turn the squad car around. “You’re the boss, Cap.”
They crossed the bridge over the river to the area known publicly as the Tanneries. The residents called the six block ghetto the dumping grounds. Families had it rough over there. They were considered the scraps of the city. City hall officials didn’t seem to care what happened either. They were a law unto themselves. Families of six, seven or more lived in derelict or poor quality homes, some without even the most basic necessities like washing facilities or beds. It was the kind of place where, if the living standards didn’t kill you, the local street gangs, the Razorbacks or Redskins would.
Unemployment was the norm around here. The so called main city folk or main landers preferred to employ immigrants rather than hard working men and women from this poor district except to stand on a street corner of push snow to teenagers. The slums were the worst garbage built homes where many war veterans made obligatory residence. Injured veterans were forgotten and left to rot, just like their garbage-based abodes. Morgan’s thoughts were stuck on the poor child’s face. Her black jet like eyes glazed over looked deep into his soul, un-easing him. It reminded him of his daughter who was cruelly snatched from him when a stray U.S bomber crashed into their neighborhood on way back to its air base.
“Squad car one Foxtrot. Hey Miller, it’s Doakes. Me and the Cap are double-backing. Can you come join us back in the Tanneries? We’re going to do a drive around. Be ready to do an assist if needed,” Doakes said as the smell from a makeshift slum hit him like a Gatling gun.
“Jesus, that smell. You sure your aftershave isn’t made here, Doakes?”
“Very funny, captain. A real riot. We got a joke of a department, all killing ourselves one way or another for a supposed better Central and yet when people live like this… Sorry. I mean, they’re forced to live like this. It makes me want to almost throw away the badge.”
“It don’t matter, Doakes. It’s no worse anywhere else. I’m told reliably that, even in the supposed perfect Liberty City, where everyone lives a God damn fairy tale, the slums are the same. People just don’t care about what they don’t see daily. We all get dumped on by city hall or that pompous DA Stevenson,” Morgan replied still not really paying attention
“Their one and only kid you say? Well by anybody’s book, that’s a poor hand.”
“Yeah, captain,” Doakes said as he pulled up to the side of the road. “The farther drives a garbage wagon for our fair, clean city. That’s why he made the wise guy remark about his job. Scared of losing the only income they got. The old doll is the granny. You can’t tell me, boss, that the old dear face didn’t melt your mush.”
Morgan took it in gruffly. “Oh, I saw it. That’s never nice, seeing folk who’ve lost everything hold it together when all they want to do is fall apart. The system failed them. Ya get me, Doakes, my friend?” The car’s radio kicked up fuzz, then crackled.
“Squad car bravo Oscar. Captain, it’s officer Miller. Got a call we’re needed over the bridge. Got word of a B&E. Decker asked for an assist and base wants us over there. Sorry to have to ditch you. Happy hunting, captain.”
“Roger one foxtrot. Have fun and give Decker my best,” Morgan replied “Hey Doakes, when you think about it, it’s a bit pointless. What if we do find our nasty little hornets? We do our job bring em’ in by the book, they’d be out on the streets by Monday morning thanks to a jury.”
Doakes slammed his hand against the car’s dashboard speaking coldly. “If the punks get put in front of a damn jury”
“You mean… Come on, buddy, a tin-can job is crazy. This ain’t one of those Chandler novels you always have your nose in. You can’t pull crap like that, not these days. There are God damn weasels everywhere. If it was the Lot's or the Razorbacks, both have connection’s, you hear me Doakes? And they most probably have a shield or two, maybe even an ADA on the payroll knowing this city,” The captain said surprised by his partner’s thoughts.
Doakes growled taking a long draft from a hip flask, offering a drink to his captain, who promptly refused. “Maybe I did cap. Maybe I didn’t. All I know is something needs to be done.” Pocketing the flask, he took out a Benton, and lit it taking a long hard drag from the cigarette, cracking the window to be polite to his boss he inhaled deeply as his thoughts took over. He let the cog’s tick. Morgan was quiet. He hated to admit it, but he was slowly coming around to Doakes shady idea. The squad car turned into another run-down derelict block, with a half-boarded up grocery store still open, and a seedy liquor store, was doing better business than the rest of the stores in this block. But the hunt was on.
It was Morgan who clocked the custom smoke gray sedan rolling past a burnt out car. Morgan nudged Doakes with an elbow whose grin said it all. “Losts!”
Morgan saw Doakes’s grin broaden and heard a dark laugh sneak from his grin. Morgan now agreed completely with Doakes. The child’s lifeless eyes still haunted him. She needed justice.
“Doakes, whatever you’re going to do, I’m in. I’ve got your back however this unfolds.”
Both men’s eyes locked onto the sedan which had stopped to make a drop off to a hooker, before driving off again towards an intersection.
“Doakes, put ya’ foot down. Spin that piece of crap. I don’t give two hoots if we end up in a heap.” His partner nodded as he slammed the car into gear.
“Doakes, just don’t let em’ get away. We have only one shot at this.”
Doakes depressed the accelerator and blasted diagonally across the intersection. The car’s siren and red lights gave one abrupt growl as he rammed the sedan over to the curb, pinning it hard against the upturned wreck. The smoke gray sedan just sat there, not bothered about its predicament. To avoid his bump ending worse, the driver had managed to brake hard. He thrust his head out of the driver side window, ready to give whoever was behind him both barrels of his tongue.
“Hey, what the hell’s the idea,” he began, stopping promptly when he saw his old, unwanted friend Doakes, who had jumped over the squad car’s hood, gun already in hand. Morgan followed and threw a torch beam into the closed car, clocking the car’s passengers. Unlike the driver, the car’s passengers were less than calm, squirming like caged rats. The larger of the two passengers nervously grinned, wiped the brim of his hat, then stepped out, towering over Doakes. His short, stout companion followed suit.
“And you pal, come on,” Morgan growled at the driver who angrily did as he was told.
“What the hell is this? A pinch? No, wait. A tin can job? Come on, boys. I’m dying to know.” Binky spat, yawning in mock boredom.
Doakes grabbed and spun him around sharply. “Shut ya’ trap, Binky. We’ll start with a good ol’ frisk. What do you think, cap?”
“By the book, Doakes. Wouldn’t want to upset these oh so law abiding folks,”
Morgan replied, flashing the light beam over the car’s Liberty City plates. Doakes got to it quickly. Well practiced hands made short work of the frisk, until they found a switchblade stuffed in his waistband and a 38 automatic. He laid the weapons on the squad car’s driver seat. “Well, what do we have here, Binky?”
“I gotta legit license to pack that piece, officer. So don’t think of taking it! “Binky offered. Morgan searched Binky’s friends “Clean!” he said to Doakes. “Frisk the damn heap. I got an eye on our pals here.” Morgan lined the three men next to the upturned wreck while Doakes got to work.
“And what do we got here then, sir?” Doakes pointed a finger in the direction of the bigger man.
Binky grinned. “And gentleman, I assume at least one of you has a legit warrant to search my car. Who do I send the bill to? Someone’s got to pay for the repair. You said this was all by the book captain.” Morgan ignored the question. Doakes nudged Binky forcefully. “I don’t need a warrant to frisk a heap of rusted, probably stolen bolts like this.”
> Binky shrugged playfully. “No? Well, maybe they changed the good old constitution since I woke up next to a pretty blonde an hour or two back.”
Doakes came up from around the back of the sedan. He had a sawed-off shot gun in his hands his prints protected by a handkerchief. “The car was clean, cap,” he snapped, “but I found this beaut’ in the gutter, one of our friends here must have thrown it when we decided to have our little chat.”
Binky smiled maliciously. “And your proof is?”
Morgan suddenly connected with Binky’s jaw, the punch sending Binky and a tooth flying into the air.
“You damned ass!” Binky spat, as he tried to get his breath back.
Doakes caught his partner’s arm. “Easy, cap. We ain’t got a thing on em.” The broken smiled man came up from the floor, nursing a broken smile. “Pig, that will cost you, your damn job, flat-foot. You just wait and see, pal.”
Morgan was more than a little riled. He shook off Doakes’ grip and went for another swing at the con, but the slimy weasel managed to put a bit of distance between him and the punch, taking Morgan off balance and sending him barreling to the road. The captain pulled himself together and took a big stride backward. “All right,” he groaned, “pile in!” He waved Binky and his friends into the back of his car with his gun. Doakes radioed for a beat-cop to come and pick up the smoke gray sedan and take in to impound. Then, he sat sideways in the squad car to make sure he covered the trio of cons in the back seat.
“You can’t lock us up, not in this town flat-foot. We own it, ya’ hear?”
Binky’s statement unsettled Morgan a little, and he hated feeling knowing a con had gotten through his thick skin. He also knew there was a good chance that it would be true. Binky repeated his threat one more time to send the message home. By the time they had reached the station, Binky's prediction had come true. He was free within moments of hitting the custody pool. A criminal lawyer by the name of Alison Sims appeared from the ether, armed with writs of paper work of one kind or another that would more than likely save the crooks hides. The three cons strolled out from the station Scott free from the ominous shadows of the custody block. Morgan and Doakes sat in angry silence, knowing full well someone had been tipped off the second it was radioed in.
“Christ, this is wrong. I wish it was like it was twenty or more years back, cap, when my old man had a badge,” Doakes moaned.
“Doakes your pop was a man’s man, a real cop,” Morgan snarled through clenched teeth. “Your namesake would have canned us hard, if we hadn’t done a Picasso on them cons so they couldn’t walk or talk. Our so-called chief is a puppet, a real Pinocchio, and not a good one either.” Morgan knew his chief was right this time, but only this time. He’d lost track of the times the chief had bent the rules or broken them completely for someone else.
“Screw it. I’m going to bed.” He turned, grabbed his flat cap and stormed out the way he came in, looking for a bar, his broad and then bed, not necessarily in that order.
Part Two
A court appearance in the morning meant a lengthy conference with the assistant prosecutor, Morgan’s on and off again broad for the last three years. This kept Captain Harry Morgan away from HQ until late the following afternoon. When he finally made his way in, a sergeant collared him.
“Chief Banner wants to see you, cap. He left orders to shoot you right up to his desk the second ya’ got in.”
Morgan just nodded and made his way towards the stairwell and Banners office. Once there, he was admitted. Chief Banner hunched at his desk, his broad back to the small, slatted window. His double chinned face was an off shade of purple, his heavy jowls rolling up over his collar band almost as if it were a noose. Banner had a small, pug-like mouth that looked like it was about to drool everywhere. What hair he had left was hidden under a road-kill toupee. His thick hands toyed with a sleek ebony fountain pen.
“Excuse me, sir. You wanted to see me?” Morgan asked mustering all the politeness he had in him.
Banner nodded sourly. “Yes, sit down.” As Morgan complied, Banner heaved himself to his feet using a light cord which almost snapped under the chief’s weight. He circled the office twice, then slammed his stubby hands on his desk.
“What in hell kind of shield are you, huh?” he roared?
“I’ve got wind of a report that you stopped a carload of good, honest, law abiding citizens last night without a damn good reason or shred of evidence. Then, you beat one of them up. Thankfully, that hasn’t resulted in a law suit. Then, you hauled them all in with nothing to hold them on.”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed.
“You’ve got it all wrong, sir, with respect,” he said back dryly. “I stopped a sedan of professional hoods for a frisk. A low-down dirty rat named Binky, an ace of Victor Renetti’s and now Allegra's got tough, so I slapped him. Binky had a gun and—”
“For which he had a permit,” cut in Banner. “What authority did you have to search these good citizens’ vehicle?”
What little respect and warmth Morgan had left dried up.
“By what God damn right, you ask? Sir, do you know what happened down there last evening? A child was cut down by a mob of killers! They were trying to off another gang banger for who knows what reason, and this poor kid took two or three in the back instead.”
Banner made an obscene gesture with a hand before continuing “A wop kid from the Tanneries. No great loss. Just one less mouth sucking money from welfare. In fact, these so-called hoods probably did this city a great service.”
“She lived and breathed, jackass” Morgan said slowly. “She died because we coppers are made by the likes of you higher ups to put up with rats like them on the streets in this town and say nothing about it.”
The chief’s mouth shrank. “Captain Morgan,” he rasped, “you’re… relieved of your command effective immediately. You are suspended for ten days with no pay. Hand over your badge and piece to the custody sergeant. After your suspension, you will report promptly in a nice, clean uniform to night patrol duty in vice. Have fun being the only man in the vice squad. Have fun with all the nice friendly, hookers and pimps down there.”
Morgan ran a hand though his hair. “Oh I see. And I got this because?”
“Because of conduct unbecoming an officer of the law. Because you violated the very damn law you swore to uphold. Because you have a temper and are a loose cannon, because…”
Morgan stood, his temper now well and truly stoked. “Banner, you total jerk! You just follow the script and it’s not even a cop’s script; it’s theirs, The Losts! You’re playing Lady Renetti’s God damn favorite tune. You’re doing it because Allegra told ya’ to. You got rid of me, ya’ sap. Binky pretty much told me ya’ would. Told me this was coming.”
The chief puffed out his chest, trying to get back his power.
“Wait a minute, Captain Morgan—”
The older copper interrupted him. “Just shut the hell up! You can take your bent, in the pocket police force an’ go straight to hell in a bread basket.” With an explosive blast of profanity, he turned and walked out the room. He went down to the street his temper visible for anyone passing by. Rivers of enraged sweat stood on the cracks of his forehead. It took him twenty minutes to cool off then it dawned on him.
He had quit!
Quit. He was no longer a member of the C.C.P.D. He was off the force. It was thirty-five years that
September that he’d joined up. Hell, he’d pretty much run the homicide squad for half that time. During that time, he’d been haunted by many faces, knowing every victims name. Those names always pushed him harder, even when he thought the case was lost, or the line was close to being crossed. He’d quit. That meant he no longer had the coveted gold shield. Or did it?
Morgan spread his big hands out in front of him, battered, calloused knuckles, his left pinky missing. His eyes teared up. He’d quit he was no longer a cop. This whole mess is a riot, he thought with a whispered laugh. What was wr
ong? It hadn’t been like that in the good old days. It was hard, no doubt there. Crooks were still crooks. It was still hard work, but nine times out of ten it was all small-time stuff, not like now. But murder was murder. Then, at least the killers mostly kept to the unspoken rule that women and babies were off limits. Now crooks were smarter and crueler. They knew the law better than the cops who swore to uphold it. Most crooks worked for a totally legit businessman or politician with deep pockets and black motives. Or was it already twisted. Had it been all along but just ignored out of blind obligation? The law now protected crooks instead of scaring them.
Banner had accused him of bad conduct. What had he done to deserve that? All he did was give a child killer a nice, gentle slap! Was that bad conduct? He knew many cops would have shaken his hand for it.
The chief had called him a law breaker!
What was he paid his pitiful salary for anyway?
Unable to find solace or answers to his questions Morgan sighed. Now what? The night blanketed the city. A crisp white moon hung proudly in the velvet night sky. Sounds of a city going to sleep came down to Morgan, who found himself whistling a sad tune as he stood under a flickering street lamp. He gazed at the home of his now former partner. He was miles from home and not even in the same district of the city. He’d just followed his feet and they led him here.
A sudden wave of genuine worry came over him. Had Doakes gotten the boot to?
He had a wife and two kids to think of. Morgan wiped his face with a dirty sleeve. He knew he best talk to Doakes. He owed his friend that much. It was one thing to can him. He only had a sultry but waning on and off again broad which was never going to get serious, even if he wanted it to one day. Morgan did want the wife and children package, but his life and troublesome career never really gave him time to look into it. But he knew he wanted it to be real and last until he was old and gray. It took five minutes to reach Doakes’ duplex, the one and only place he’d ever called home. A woman let him in with a smile and a large steaming mug of coffee. The woman was short for her age, and a negro, a thing that never bothered Doakes. Doakes protected his wife like a brave knight from any racial slurs that came her way. Despite her size, she had a figure. She was a classic beauty. Morgan still thought she was as beautiful now as she was the day he was the best man at his friend’s wedding. Her name was Grace Doakes and now she was more like a loving sister to him than the wife of his friend.
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