Officer Down
2 + 2
The phone rang.
"It's too early," Christie moaned as she snuggled closer to Jim.
It rang again.
"Can't we pretend yesterday never happened," she whispered as Jim's grip pulled her tighter still.
A third ring.
"But it did." He kissed the top of her head before reaching for the phone. "Hello… yes… right here… Christie, it's for you." Jim handed the phone to Christie and rolled out of bed. If the Sullivan women held true to their nature he could start the coffee and grab a quick shower before his wife got off the phone. That was when his pager went off and Jim had to find another phone.
Boscorelli pulled in front of the converted warehouse to pick up Dunbar. First he had to count widgets and whatzits in the property room and now he had to baby-sit the amazing gimp detective. What had he done to deserve this shit? The Dunbars and a big police dog came out. Hot damn was that woman gorgeous; too bad it was wasted on a bat. Hope like hell when Dunbar's fingers did the walking that they both enjoyed it.
"Detective Dunbar," Bosco approached the couple, "I'm to take you to One PP."
"Thanks, a couple of detours first," Jim said as settled Hank into the back seat where he would soon join him and opened the front door for Christie. "First we'll drop my wife off at Columbia Presbyterian and then we'll stop at St. Clair's. If anyone asks, you were just following orders… mine."
Well, Bosco had been told Dunbar had big brass ones. Just turn him into a cabby while the detective disobeyed orders. What the hell, he just got in and drove.
"What are you doing here," Deakins barked as Dunbar and Boscorelli entered Major Case. "Shouldn't you be with your partner?"
"Karen's parents are taking her home today. There's not a lot I can do there, so I came to work." Jim headed to Goren's desk. "Bobby, did you find my cell phone?"
"Yeah. You haven't heard the text message, have you?" Bobby said as he handed Jim the phone.
"I've got number four;
I want to shoot some more.
When I hit number ten
I'll start all over again.
"This is one sick puppy," Bosco quipped.
"Jim, go home, go to Karen's home but do not go to the Eighth." Deakins said as he looked at the lines on Dunbar's face. "Just book off for the rest the week and we'll see you Monday. Bosco, take Detective Dunbar home and see me when you get back."
Together the men headed back to the elevator.
"So, I'm taking you back, right?" Bosco asked.
"Actually, I grew up in Red Hook," Jim smirked.
"Hey, who says ya can't go home again." Bosco answered as he hit the down button.
"This reminds me of home," Bosco said he entered the area.
"So you grew up in a crappy neighbourhood too," Jim shot back. "Was your neighbourhood used as the location of a horror story."
"Nyah, just the usual stuff, ya'know, robbery, rape, murder… really basic stuff."
"Sounds like Saturday night at Sammy's Bar. By the way, that's where we're going… Sam's Bar on Dikeman."
Bocso pointed the car down the narrow cobbled streets of Red Hook. One blue-collar neighbourhood usually looked like another, but this piece of Brooklyn had an aura all its own. The sea was not far from any spot here. Diners, bars and grocery stores, it was the stuff of any small town, tucked right in the shadow of Manhattan.
Bosco parked in front of Sam's Bar and watched Dunbar as he made his way into the place. He handled the dog as if it was a part of him. Well, guess it was, guide dogs were big, furry eyeballs. He shrugged and followed Dunbar inside. Jim entered and drifted to the left, heading to the bar he knew was there. The place smelled like he remembered of old men, old sailors, and old drunks. In his head he could smell the stale beer and tobacco smoke that always surrounded his father.
"Ya' lookin' for someone?" the bartender asked as he pushed a dirty rag across the dirty bar.
"Rocco Benicasa here?"
"Who want's ta know?"
"Duke Dunbar's kid, just here to pay Mr. Benicasa some respect." Jim sat on a barstool as he heard the man walk to the back of the bar.
Bosco settled next to him. "What now, boss man?"
"Don't drink the coffee… that pot probably hasn't been washed since it was bought."
"That's scary," Bosco shuddered, "it'll be bottled or canned for me. Hey, here comes Mr. Personality."
"Mr. Benicasa will see you," the barkeep said as he went back to mucking the bar.
"Ya need some help there, Dunbar?" Boscorelli's eyes scanned the dark, dirty bar.
"No, I know where I'm going, Bosco." Jim said as he directed Hank to the booth in the back.
"So, you're Duke's kid," the old man looked at the detective as Jim settled in the boothopposite him. "Nice dog you got there… bet he's a real help. Can I get you a beer?"
"I'm on duty, sir." Jim made sure he was deferential to the old man.
"You still a cop? God, the Dunbar men were always too god damn thick to know when to stop. How's your mother? She was too good for your father, ya know."
"She's happy, back on the farm." Jim kept the conversation light for now. "My brothers live near her… I'm the only one who stayed in town."
"I know, I like to keep track of my friends," Benicasa sipped from his glass, "and their children. Family is everything. What can this old man do for you?"
"You heard about the shooting outside Lilies yesterday. Would you know anything about it, Mr. Benicasa?"
"I'm just an old man, sitting here watching the world go by and drinking myself to death."
"With apple juice?" Benicasa started and looked up at Jim, who was tapping his nose and smirking, "Either that or you have the weirdest whiskey ever made."
"You're smarter than your poppa too." The old man put down his glass. "I'm a sub-contractor and I know other sub contractors. I was asked to…encourage a police officer to consider early retirement. I turned it down. I'm an old man with old fashioned ideas and I don't like hurting women."
"Mr. Benicasa, you have been very helpful. Still, my partner is much too young for early retirement."
"Your partner, I thought Goren's woman that the… one sub contracted for retirement."
"Alex Eames?" Jim wondered if Karen could have been mistaken for Alex. "Someone is particular about who to offer… retirement."
"Seems the buyer of our services wanted Goren to go nuts. His mother's nuts, ya know, in some asylum in Westchester I think. "
"What about Akbar or Balfor or Taylor?" Dunbar's voice took on a hard edge, "who wants them… nuts."
"Not crazy, just punished. Cops make enemies. Someone is making some dreams come true, maybe not your dreams, but someone's." Rocco took another sip, "Jimmy, who have you aggravated? You've been doing this job for how many years? How many toes have you stepped on? Who would want to hurt you? You already been hurt Jimmy, who would want to take out your seeing eye girl?"
Jim gripped the table until his knuckles went white. This old man was the neighbourhood boss, or at least he used to be. Yet in New York City crime world Rocco Benicasa just a minor cog in a big machine. Was he exaggerating his importance by feeding false information to some pushy cop or was this the real deal.
"Mr. Benicasa, this seems too cowardly for a man like you."
"Exactly, if you have a beef with a man, you deal with the man and not his woman. But I can see that sometimes it is the woman causes the problems and receives the consequences. Not this time. It was Goren they were after." Benicasa looked at Jim. "You look like your father. I liked your father; didn't trust him but I liked him. You're a brave man and I could have used someone like you, but you took after your mother in that respect. You go walk your dog at the stores. You never know what you might find there."
"Thank you." Jim slipped out off the booth.
"You should come home more often. I would make sure things were good for you."
"I make my own way, Mr. Benicasa, like every man should."
The old man smiled, "you never learned that from your father. Good luck, Detective Dunbar."
"Good bye, Mr. Benicasa," Jim felt a gnarled, arthritic hand pat his as he turned to leave.
Bosco joined him on the way out. "Where to now, Dunbar." He asked as he hit the sidewalk.
"As far away from here as possible." Jim said as he wiped his hand on his pants.
"You already are, man. You already are."
I found out H. P. Lovecraft wrote a story "The Horror at Red Hook". Our man really did not come from a good neighbourhood.
Thank you for all the reviews lately, they gave me a needed push to continue, but right now I have to slow down a little and complete some writing assignments for a clss I am taking. I do hate to stop because the story is flowing so well, but I want to do well with this creative writing course.
Thanks you all, something new will appear within two weeks.