On The Beat (Goosey Larsen Book 3) (15 page)

Regan’s eyes went wide as he stared down at the duffel bag. His face went ghost-white, and he nearly choked on his voice. “I’m sorry, Officer Larsen… there must… there must be some kind of mistake. That bag doesn’t belong to me.” He paused for a second, searching for his next words. “In fact… I’ve never seen it before in my life.”

My patience had fully eroded away by that point, and I let out a loud sigh of exasperation. “Look buddy” I snapped, “cut the crap. We both know good and goddamned well that this is your bag! Jesus Christ, it’s got your initials stamped right on it! Save us both some trouble, why don’t you, and just go ahead and take it now. You’ve already pled guilty and paid your fine, so you might as well clean up your mess too.” That was no way for a lowly cop to speak to a real estate mogul, but I’d reached the end of my rope. I raised the bag a little higher to hold it directly in his line of sight, giving it a couple of shakes for good measure. Small gusts of white powder leaked out and drifted away on the breeze.

Regan sucked in a lungful or air, looking absolutely terrified. I swear, that guy might have still been holding his breath today if his lawyer hadn’t stepped in between us. “Excuse me, Officer Larsen. As you said yourself, this case has already been resolved. My client and his co-defendant have both entered their pleas, which have been duly accepted by the court. Since my client repeatedly stated that he is not the owner of that bag or any of its contents, I suggest you return it to your evidence custodian forthwith. If I’m not mistaken, I believe your agency has an established procedure for disposing of found property such as this?”

My shoulders slumped forward in defeat. The thought of having to fill out one more pointless form for the sole purpose of signing Regan’s crap back into the property room was almost too much to bear. It seemed like a huge amount of effort for such a meaningless case, so in a last-ditch attempt to streamline things I turned towards Antoine and held the bag out to him as if I was extending the olive branch of peace. He just stayed silent, staring back at me with a look that was slightly fearful. With his thick pink lips firmly sealed, the young dude just crossed his arms and shook his head.

Smart kid
, I thought.

With nothing more to say, the three of them turned and walked off through the parking lot. As I stood there literally holding the bag, I actually found myself feeling a little envious. Rich folks like Regan seemed to play by a different set of rules, and whenever they broke the law all they had to do was hide behind their lawyers. To tell you the truth, I even found myself a little jealous of that young punk Antoine. It might seem like the kid had been cursed at birth by the color of his skin, but being born black could have actually been a blessing in disguise. He’d probably always be able to get an extra boost in life thanks to affirmative action programs and minority scholarships. Come to think of it, it sure seems like most of the black cops at CPD consistently managed to leave me in the dust on the promotion lists too. I think their pigmentation must somehow rate those guys a few extra points on the written exam, and it probably doesn’t hurt one bit that the brothers naturally intimidate all the white college boy supervisors who sit on the promotion panels. Yeah, if you didn’t have the good fortune to be born into a life of privilege like Regan, being born into a protected minority group was probably the next best thing.

At that point, even though it looked as if I wasn’t going to be able to dump off my work on anyone else no matter how hard I tried, I was still bound and determined not to knuckle under and follow procedure. It was more a matter of personal pride than anything, so I forced my legs to hustle away from the station just as fast as they could pick my feet up and put them back down. Five seconds later I was sitting behind the wheel of my Tercel and firing up the engine, and ten seconds after that I was pulling out onto Lockwood Boulevard with Duke Regan’s duffle bag tucked under my seat for safekeeping. There was no point in staying downtown one minute longer than I had to, so I had decided to take it directly back to the house. After all of that morning’s excitement I was close to exhaustion, and long overdue for a well-deserved nap.

10.

It seemed like I’d only closed my eyes for a few short minutes before my nap was rudely interrupted by my cell phone. I guess I must have forgotten to turn the ringer off before I laid down on the couch or something, and being jolted awake was the price I paid for my absent-mindedness. I did my best to ignore the noise like I would a pesky mosquito, but the noise was persistent and I knew my body too well. There was no way in hell I’d be able to dive back into a normal sleep cycle, so I resigned myself to my fate and reached up onto the coffee table. My palm slapped around until my fingertips brushed against the phone, and with a practiced flick of the wrist I snapped it open and held it up to my ear. “’Yello?”

“What’s shaking, Loosey Goosey?” A thunderous, cackling laugh came over the line, followed immediately by a series of powerful, hacking coughs.

I sat upright at the unmistakable symptoms of early-onset emphysema. “Big Jim! What’s the good word, boss?”

Eventually Jim managed to catch his breath, and he cleared his throat several times in quick succession. “The good word, huh? The good word is, you are one lucky son of a bitch! The good word is, the Chief absolutely loved the way you ran that prick Regan in for vandalism! Word around the second deck is that your buddy Burgos, the chubby little queer, has been positively singing your praises to anyone and everyone who’s dumb enough to listen. You’re the toast of the town right now, Goosey—from zero to hero, the cop who can do no wrong!”

I smiled at his words of praise, but my mind was already busy trying to find a way to exploit the fortuitous turn of events. After a moment of brief consideration, I opted for playing the role of a humble public servant. “Well, it was really more of a group effort, you know. Those kids from Burgos’ squad were indispensible. And who knows, maybe this case will be enough to get ol’ Shakey McShivers off my back for a little while.”

Jim chuckled again. “Yeah, hopefully he read about it in the News and Courier ‘cause you know damn well that deaf bastard wouldn’t be able to hear about it. But hey, why settle for getting him off your back for just a little while? Why not a good long while? As in forever?”

He had captured my full attention. “I’m listening.”

“So, yours truly managed to corner Chief Greene after this morning’s staff meeting. I timed the conversation perfectly, just as his morning blood pressure meds were starting to kick in, and it was just beautiful, man, let me tell you. I went on at length about how lost I was up there without your crimefighting expertise.”

My pulse quickened, picking up into a trot, and it took some serious effort for me to hold my voice steady. “Oh yeah? So how’d that work out for you?”

Big Jim laughed again. I could tell by his jolly demeanor that he must have had some good news to share, but that jerk was making me wait. “You’ve been pardoned, son!” he finally shouted, causing me to wince and hold the phone away from my ear. “Report to the squad room at 0730 tomorrow for your new assignment. Don’t be late and for the love of God, try to look sharp for once in your life! Borrow an iron from one of your neighbors if you have to, all right?”

Jim was clearly elated. Me, not so much. My body broke out in a cold sweat at the mere mention of roll call, and I found myself shivering uncontrollably. “The squad room, boss? As in…the patrol division?” Going back to uniform patrol would be a dicey proposition to say the least. I had absolutely no desire to go around prowling the streets in search of crimes, and especially not if it required me to work rotating shifts. The moment was pressure-packed, and to make matters worse I’d been caught off-guard with no backup plan. The short notice didn’t even leave me any time to try and stall the transfer by faking another death in the family.

He laughed again, clearly enjoying the thought of me pulling over a drunk driver or stepping in the middle of a domestic dispute. “That’s right, young man. Jughead will be expecting you, so make sure to be on time tomorrow! You don’t want to get off on the wrong foot, and you know what they say: you only get one chance to make a first impression!”

There it was, the very first ray of sunshine in Big Jim’s breaking news update. Jughead was also known as Lieutenant Mark Hammers, the patrol commander of Team Four, this huge suburban area west of the Ashley River. There were an endless number of strip malls and retail outlets over on that side of town, which made it the perfect place to work if all you wanted to do was hide out. I remember this one time a few summers back when I’d managed to kill an entire dayshift simply by sucking up the air conditioning and skimming through magazines at the Barnes and Noble. And even though Jughead’s always been this real hard-charging, Type-A manager who liked to stack his patrol squads with aggressive young cops, no one’s ever accused him of being the sharpest tool in the shed. I’d probably be able to get away with burning all kinds of sick time that I didn’t have, especially if I wound up with some pushover corporal for a supervisor. Even better, Jughead had already retired earlier that year and was only staying on the job to cover his two sets of alimony payments. I’ve noticed that once most of these retired-on-duty bosses get one look at their first pension check, they tend to stop focusing on all of the smaller details. Things like employee productivity and arrest statistics quickly take a back seat to more important matters, like how they’re going to spend all their money.

When I still didn’t say anything for another long moment, Big Jim finally piped up once again. “What’s the matter, Goosey? Cat got your tongue? Don’t tell me you’re not excited about the chance to get your take-home cruiser back?”

It took me another second to come up with a suitable response. “No, no! That’s not it at all, Jim. I mean, I’m really grateful about the chance to get out of foot patrol and all….thank you. But riding calls? Christ, it’s been almost ten years since I’ve worked in the patrol teams, and just between us girls I’m not really sure if I was even any good at the work back then. If you were to quiz me right this moment, I’m not a hundred percent certain I could actually remember all our radio codes.”

He laughed again, and I could instantly tell that the old codger had been holding out on me. “Riding calls? Hell no, son! Not for a man with your extensive investigative experience! The Chief was tearing into Jughead over all of his unsolved car break-ins, so I humbly suggested to the batty old S.O.B. that Team Four might need an extra body to help close them out. You, young man, are going to be working as the new team investigator over on that side of the bridge.”

I was speechless for what seemed like an eternity, and my mind raced forward as I struggled to connect the dots. Working as a team investigator wasn’t nearly as prestigious as being a detective up in Central, but for all intents and purposes this transfer might work out just as well. The cases that the team guys handled were all misdemeanors, petty crimes like car break-ins and simple assaults. Those kinds of reports kept came in day after day, much more quickly than they could ever possibly be solved, so there would never be any real pressure for me to actually solve any of them. Combine that with a headstrong but absentee lieutenant, a business casual dress code and a sweet dayshift schedule with enough room to roam so I’d never have to account for my whereabouts? Yeah, this new position was looking like it might actually be the best gig of my entire career!

Big Jim must have mistaken my silence for disappointment, because he fell back to his rehearsed sales pitch. “Listen Goosey… I tried to get you back, I really did. But I know how unhappy you were walking the beat, and this spot was the first thing that opened up. I wanted to make sure you got considered for a transfer, so I had to put a bug in the Chief’s ear before Shakey McShivers could change his mind and decide he wanted to keep you after all. But hey, who knows? Maybe after a couple months, if you keep your nose clean over there, we just might be able to swing another move and bring you back upstairs where you belong.”

I jumped in before he had the chance to go any further. “Jim…no! This is perfect, really. I can’t wait to get started! I owe you one, boss, I mean it, and I promise I won’t let you down.”

He laughed again, clearly sensing that my gratitude was the genuine article. “Well, just take it easy over there, would you? Don’t make any of us old dogs look bad. You’ve already doubled your arrest numbers from last year, so there’s no need to overdo it from here on out.”

It was my turn to laugh at that one. My statistics had indeed spiked, and in just a single weekend I’d probably ruined the curve for all the other cops in foot patrol. “I’ll do my best, boss. Thanks again, and I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.”

As he clicked off, I swung my feet down off the end of the couch. My head spun for a few seconds, but the dizziness quickly passed as I revved my brain into high gear. It was a struggle to fully comprehend the windfall I’d just received, but it actually seemed as if my ship might have finally come in and my time in purgatory was over! Even though I’d probably have to put forth some kind of token effort over the next month, maybe scribble out a few “no suspect could be located” supplemental reports in order to close out some old cases, it’d be well worth my time if it meant I could breathe new life into my stalled career.

After one long, last moment of reflection, the flurry of excitement in my stomach began to yield to the normal hunger pains. I stood up and began dashing about the apartment, trying to get all my dirty laundry assembled together into one big pile. Jim’s well-intentioned advice had sunk in, and it actually made sense in an awkward, outdated sort of way. If I wanted to keep this sweet new job, then it’d definitely be in my best interest to make a good first impression. It was time to turn over a new leaf, and that meant showing up for work in a clean outfit for once.

As I kicked the last pair of dirty socks into an overflowing Hefty bag, I was interrupted once more by my cell phone. This time I remembered to glance at the ID before answering, and I shuddered when I saw that it was Katie Maslow calling. After a moment’s consideration, I figured that even a short conversation with my girlfriend wouldn’t be enough to kill the buzz I had going. As I flipped open my phone I said, “Hey, babe.”

She whinnied with laughter. “Hey yourself! You’re a hard man to catch up to these days, you know that? When are you going to get off these damned night shifts so we can have a date every once in a while? You know, the way that normal couples do?”

I had to smile. “Maybe sooner than you think, hon. I actually have some pretty big news to drop the next time I see you.”

“Oh yeah? Is it big enough to share over lunch at the Chinese buffet? My treat, of course…”

My stomach growled with pleasure as she purred those magical words. I hadn’t actually planned on seeing Katie until the weekend, or maybe even the week after if all went well, but that girl was pushing all the right buttons. At that particular moment, a free lunch was not something that either my empty stomach or my empty wallet could afford to pass up. “I’d love to, babe! But it’ll have to be just a quick bite, no dessert. I absolutely have to run some laundry today, I’m down to my last pair of boxers here!”

She let out another laugh as she said, “I’d like to see that.” I blushed, but she soldiered on. “You know, I could stand to put through a load of scrubs myself. You want to meet up at the coin wash right there next to the buffet? I’ve got the quarters, you bring the detergent. We can run our clothes through the spin cycle during the first course, then have a leisurely dessert while they’re in the dryer.”

I wasn’t keen on the idea of mixing any of my nice work clothes in with Katie’s plus-sized unmentionables, but I had to admit that a ninety-minute session at the Chinese buffet would do me a world of good. Also, it didn’t hurt one bit that she was willing to foot the bill for the entire date, laundry and all. It looked to me like Katie was holding all the right cards, and I was man enough to admit when I’d been beaten. After a loud sigh, I heard my voice saying, “Okay, it’s a date. I’ll see you there in fifteen.”

I pulled my cleanest pair of sweatpants out of the pile and threw them on, dragging the rest of the laundry over towards the front door. I moved fast, stopping only long enough to grab a few Tupperware containers down from my empty kitchen cabinets. It would still be another three whole days until payday, so I’d have to try and smuggle out as much General Tso’s chicken as I possibly could if I wanted to survive the week. Outside in the parking lot, I tossed my dirty clothes into the backseat and fired up my hardy little set of wheels. I backed out of my spot with speed, nearly clipping one of my elderly neighbors in the process before racing out onto Camp Road. The strip mall was only half a mile up ahead, so unless my transmission fell out in the middle of the street I’d probably be able to reach the buffet first. I was hoping that maybe, if I looked like I was already comfortably seated and loaded down with my first plate of grub, there was a fair chance I’d be able to con Katie into throwing all my clothes into the wash for me.

As I coasted up to the stoplight, I suddenly realized that I’d have to shoplift a box of laundry detergent from the gas station yet again since both of my credit cards were maxed out. I banged my fist on the dashboard in frustration, my gaze falling down to the floor in despair. There, directly in front of my field of vision, one of the confiscated packages was peeking out at me from inside Duke Regan’s unzipped duffel bag. Taking full advantage of the stopped traffic, I used the time to snatch up the contraband powder and examine it more closely. It seemed much finer in texture than my usual generic store brand of soap, and the grains were this almost ridiculously bright shade of white. The stuff looked so powerful that I figured it might just be able to scare the dirt off my clothes, no water required. It was probably some new type of hypoallergenic, eco-friendly mix that cost twice as much at retail, but who was I to judge? After all, I had no problem with the price I’d paid for it. A single package of Regan’s detergent was surprisingly heavy, weighing at least two pounds or so, and I figured I had more than enough now to handle a year’s worth of laundry.