Meet the New Boss

Chapter 3

Fisk gave Jim a worried look. "Are you OK?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jim replied, "just a little – surprised, I guess."

Fisk sat down. "Have a seat."

"Thanks, boss."

"I want you to know, Jim," Fisk began when Jim was seated opposite him, "I had nothing to do with this. I'm as shocked as you are."

"Thanks." Jim took off his dark glasses and set them on the desk. "Did Captain Greene give you a reason?"

"Not really," Fisk told him, "just something vague about the 4-0 needing 'more manpower'." Jim nodded resignedly. "Do you have any idea what's going on?" Fisk asked.

"No," Jim replied, frowning.

"How do you know Lieutenant Krause?" Fisk asked.

"We – worked together, at the 3-2, when I was first promoted to detective."

"And you butted heads?"

"Something like that," Jim agreed, with a pained expression.

"But that was a long time ago, right?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe I should call him," Fisk suggested, "let him know what a good job you've done here."

"Thanks, boss, but I don't think that's a good idea. It won't do any good anyway."

"OK. If you say so. But there's more to this than they're telling us."

"I know," Jim agreed.

"I have my sources at One PP," Fisk told him. "I'll see what I can find out."

"Thanks." Jim turned away from Fisk and bowed his head.

Fisk stood up and walked past Jim to the door. He opened it and called Karen, Tom, and Marty into his office. When he told them about Jim's transfer, Karen and Tom stared at him in shocked silence, while Marty demanded, "You're kidding, right?"

"Sorry, no," Fisk confirmed.

"Unbelievable," Marty muttered, more to himself than to Fisk.

Fisk dismissed the squad. "That's all."

The four detectives returned to their desks in silence, still looking stunned. Karen fell into her chair, then turned away from her fellow detectives and stared despondently out the window. Jim ran his hands distractedly over his desktop, as if trying to commit its contents to memory. Marty and Tom exchanged looks of disbelief. Finally Marty broke the silence, "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

Jim raised his head, startled. "Beats me," he said with a shrug.

"Well, something sure as hell is," Tom observed.

Karen swiveled around in her chair. "C'mon, Jim, you must know something."

"Not really," Jim told her. "All I know is, I worked with Phil Krause when we were both at the 3-2. He's had it in for me ever since." He rubbed his right eye. "He's no Gary Fisk. The guy's bad news."

"Someone's trying to get you off the job," Marty asserted.

"Probably," Jim agreed.

"You think it's Krause?" Tom asked.

Jim shrugged. "Could be. But I'm guessing someone knows about the bad blood between us and got him to do their dirty work." He grimaced. "That wouldn't be too hard. I'm sure he'd be happy to do it."

"But who? Someone at One PP?" Karen asked.

"Probably," Jim agreed. "I pissed off a lot of people there – "

"Yeah, you're good at that," Marty quipped.

Jim ignored him. " – when I was trying to get reinstated. But why now? I've been back on the job two years, for crissake. It doesn't make sense."

"You're right," Marty agreed. "All I know is, something's not right." He thought for a moment, then asked, "Hey, Jim, you know what really worries me about this?"

"No, what's that?"

"What if they find someone worse to replace you?"

Karen gave a disgusted sigh and rolled her eyes, but Jim just grinned and said, "I sure am gonna miss you, Marty."

Karen looked on sadly as Jim packed up his belongings at the end of the day. She didn't offer to help him. He didn't need her help. Besides, if she helped, that would only hasten his departure. Marty caught her eye and gave her a sympathetic look, but said nothing.

The last item Jim packed was the picture of Christie which had occupied the corner of his desk for the past year. After it had been there for about two months, Karen's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked him why he had a picture of his wife on his desk. She immediately told herself she was an idiot for asking, but Jim simply smiled and told her he liked knowing the picture was there. The picture's metal frame had an inscription in Braille. Jim never told her what it said, and she didn't ask. But once or twice she had caught him in a rare unguarded moment, running his fingertips over the raised dots.

His messenger bag packed, Jim put on his dark glasses and stood up, slapping his thigh to signal Hank.

"I'll drop you at home," Karen told him, "you've got a lot to carry."

"OK," Jim agreed. "Thanks." After a final round of handshakes and good-byes, he and Hank followed Karen out of the squad room for the last time.

They rode most of the way to Brooklyn in silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Jim hated to admit it, but the squad – especially Karen – had become a necessary part of his support system. He knew he wouldn't get that kind of support in a squad run by Phil Krause. But he would manage, one way or another. He always did.

When the car came to a stop in front of Jim's apartment building, they both spoke at the same time.

"Jim, I – "

"Karen, I – "

They both laughed a little nervously, then Jim said, "You first."

An uncomfortable silence descended on them. Finally Karen spoke. "Oh, man," she said, "I can't do this. . . ." She hesitated, then continued, "I can't believe I was such a bitch, back when we first started. . .you didn't deserve that, not even on account of. . . ." She didn't finish the thought. She didn't have to. "You told me you'd make a good partner, and you did – the best." She paused, then added, with a smile, "Except when you were a royal pain in the ass."

Jim smiled, too, then added, "Which was most of the time."

After another nervous laugh, Karen went on, "Seriously, Jim, I've been damn lucky to be partnered up with you."

Jim turned away to hide his embarrassment. When he turned back to face her, he told her, "You didn't get lucky – I did. You gave me a chance. I want to thank you for that, and for, you know, for – everything," he concluded awkwardly. He reached out and touched her hand briefly, then added, "I should get going."

"OK. You need a hand with your stuff?"

"No, thanks, I got it." He picked up his bag and got out of the car, then opened the rear door for Hank.

Before he could walk away, Karen called out to him, "Jim!"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck – and if you ever need someone to watch your back, you know where to find me."

He nodded gravely. "Thanks," he said, then turned to go. Karen watched him until he disappeared inside the building before she drove away. At the first stoplight, waiting for the light to change, she thought about what Jim was facing, and she felt a sudden stab of fear. Better than anyone else in the squad, she knew his vulnerabilities. If what he had told her about Krause was correct – and she was certain it was – Krause would quickly find a way to exploit those vulnerabilities. But, she reminded herself, Jim had dealt with plenty of tough situations before. Surely he could handle this one, too.

The light turned to green, and she continued on her way, thinking back on her two-year partnership with Jim. What she'd told him was true: she was lucky to have been his partner. She'd learned a lot from him – not only about police work.

Christie knew something was wrong as soon as she walked in the front door and heard the jingling. It was the bell inside the ball Jim used to bounce against the wall, sometimes for hours, when he retreated into himself and shut out everything and everyone, even her. Then she noticed the picture of herself on the desk – the picture which should have been on Jim's desk at the squad. Her heart sank.

"Jimmy?" she called softly as she walked toward him. "Is something wrong?"

He turned to face her, looking startled, as if he hadn't heard her come in. "I've been transferred," he said bleakly.

"Transferred?" she asked, puzzled. "Transferred where?"

"The 4-0. Lieutenant Phil Krause."

"Phil Krause? Who's that?"

"I worked with him right after I was promoted to detective. It was before I met you."

"What's the problem?" she asked. When Jim didn't answer her, she prodded gently, "There is a problem, isn't there?"

"Yeah," Jim admitted. Christie took both of his hands in hers and pulled him to his feet, then led him to the couch. After they sat down, he rested his chin on his hands, trying to decide how much to tell her.

"You want to tell me about it?" she asked, after a moment.

Frowning, he turned to face her. "Phil Krause is dirty," he told her. "I know he's dirty, and he knows I know. He was working at the 3-2 when I was assigned there. I'd been there a couple of months when I walked in on him planting drugs on a suspect." He shook his head grimly. "I'm not proud of what did. I pretended I hadn't seen anything. Then I transferred to the night shift the first chance I got."

"Oh, Jimmy – " Christie began, but he didn't seem to hear her.

"I told myself I'd worked too hard to become a detective to blow it by being a snitch for IAB. I thought I could do more good staying on the job and putting away the bad guys." He gave a humorless laugh. "Besides, if I blew the whistle on Krause, he probably would've claimed I was the one who planted the drugs. It would've been my word against his. Who d'you think they would've believed?"

"God, Jimmy, I had no idea," Christie said, "I mean, I've heard about stuff like that happening, but – "

"He's had it in for me ever since. And now he's my new boss. You know what that means, don't you?"

"Someone wants you off the job?"

"Yeah."

"What can you do about it?"

"I don't know," Jim admitted, "but I'm not gonna make it easy for them."

Christie murmured, "I'm sure of that," as she put her arms around Jim and held him.