Steve’s Shorts: Ride-Along…
[In my blog posts on writing, I’ve encouraged wannabe novelists to choose journalism over an MFA if they believe they need some formal education on how to write (the key word is “formal”—they don’t). Considering this story, though, maybe an MFA is safer?]
Ride-Along
Copyright 2016, Steven M. Moore
“Have you decided on a project yet?”
Danny Reid eyed Bert McAdams over his coffee mug. He didn’t like the burnt-toast flavor of Starbucks coffee, but the store’s location attracted students—several of his fellow journalism students had gathered around the table.
“Working on it,” Danny said, wiping latté froth from his upper lip—that was the only way he could drink the strong stuff. “What about you?”
“The UN is in session, so I’m heading over there to see if I can get a few interviews.”
“You’ll only get second- or third-tier diplomats,” said Connie Kingsley.
Bert winked at her. “I’ve got some leverage. My uncle is a security guard at a consulate and knows a few people.”
“It’s all about who you know,” said Danny with a grimace. “I’m at a loss.”
Connie, her dark brown skin glowing in the late April sun, smiled at him. Their eyes locked for a moment. “You could cover my aunt’s wedding with me. Maybe that will give you some ideas.”
Does that have a double meaning? Danny liked Connie but always figured she was out of his league. Her family was rich. His was poor enough that he wouldn’t even be in school if it weren’t for the low tuition and fees in the CUNY system.
“What about your dad?” said Ben Speyer. He was a sloppy, overweight, but brilliant Jewish kid and probably Danny’s best friend—Danny didn’t have that many white friends growing up in spite of New York’s touted diversity. “The NYPD must have lots of great journalistic stories.”
Danny’s father ran a precinct. Danny had only visited it a few times. He wasn’t close to his father because an early marriage had ended in a bitter divorce with his mother getting custody. “Mom wouldn’t like that.”
“You don’t have to hug or kiss the old man,” said Bert. “Just watch, observe, and write about it. That’s our term paper assignment in a nutshell.”
Danny thought for a moment. “Maybe. It’s about all I have right now.” He winked at Connie. “Besides a wedding. I hope you catch the bouquet.”
She smiled.
***
“Absolutely not!” Captain Carl Reid had been surprised to see his son’s face in the tiny screen on his phone. What he had proposed was even more surprising. “Our patrols can be dangerous. I might not be in your life that much—that’s your choice as much as your mother’s—but I still want to protect you.”
“I’m twenty-one. Three years ago I voted in the primaries and I just had my first legal drinks. I’m not interested in being a cop, but I want to be a journalist. Maybe a journalist specializing in crime stories.”
“Yeah, those guys get it all wrong most of the time. And you only voted in the primaries, not the general election.”
“My man didn’t win the nomination.”
“I still voted for the old woman. You slackers who didn’t vote are now stuck with the new guy.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference in New York State, Dad.”
Carl sighed. They’d had that conversation many times. Some cops thought the new guy was good for law enforcement. Carl had his reservations.
“Back to your project. Can’t you choose something different, something safer?”
“Nothing will happen, Dad. You told Mom that many times when you were on patrol.”
“It usually doesn’t. But then you could have a nutcase who thinks killing cops is a great high and his civic duty. You never know when something will happen. Domestic disputes, weirdos high on some drug, bank robberies—it can happen anywhere in the five boroughs, you know.”
“Consider it job security,” said Danny.
“You mocking me?” said Carl.
“No, sir, I’m talking about my future job security. There’s plenty to write about.”
Carl’s sigh was even deeper. Is this a chance to get closer to my son? “I’ll think about it and call you tonight. Please say hi to your Mom.”
“I won’t do that. She gets furious when she finds out that I’ve talked with you.”
He smiled. “Yeah, she does get intense. Only love I’ve ever had, though. Call you tonight.”
***
“Just because you’re the captain’s son, don’t expect any special privileges,” said Maude Jackson. The patrolwoman saw her colleague nod. “You’ll ride in the cage. We’ll put you out on the street if we need to put a perp in there.”
“Unless she’s a whore,” said Luther Rafferty with a smile. “That could be part of your education.”
“You’re a prick,” said Maude. “Ignore him, Danny.”
“Just conversation among friends,” said Rafferty with a scowl. “You ready, boy?”
“I’m not a boy,” said Danny, frowning. “And please remember I’m generally on your side, although you’re making it difficult.”
Rafferty’s eyebrows did a surprised dance. “We got a live one, Maude. Let’s go show this young man the rotten core of the Big Apple.”
The lot was only half full with a mix of patrol cars and a few unmarked detective’s cars.
“Do you use the same cruiser every day?” said Danny as he slid into the back behind Maude.
Luther, taking the wheel, said, “Pretty much. Don’t worry. My partner makes me keep it clean—I’m a bit sloppy with candy bar wrappers and so forth—but we both pitch in when some drunk vomits in back or a woman breaks water there. Hazards of the job. That backseat has been changed a few times, and even this new one still smells like Lysol.” He turned to face Danny. “Let’s get this straight. You’re to stay right where you are until we say otherwise. Got it?” Danny nodded. “Good. Let’s start the city tour then.”
If he hadn’t taken copious notes on his tablet, Danny would have died of boredom. He watched Maude and Luther break up a fight between a homeless man and woman, call in a hit and run, close down a stall selling illegal knockoffs, and disperse a youth gang that was harassing two young high school girls. No arrests were made. A fast food lunch was a welcome break, but he was glad to return to the lot after the long shift.
“Get what you needed?” said Maude, nodding at the tablet.
“Enough to describe your usual day, I suppose. I would have liked to see an arrest.”
“Doesn’t happen that often,” said Luther with a growl. “And maybe not often enough. We should have nabbed that homeless guy, Maude.”
“He’s crazy but not dangerous, just like the woman.” She smiled at Danny. “In the winter, they’re in shelters for the most part. It’s too cold for them to cause a lot of mischief. With spring, they’re out and about and start acting up. The guy was in the Iraq war. The gal is an ex-whore whose pimp abandoned her. Society pretty much ignores both their plights.”
“Spoken like a true New York liberal,” said Luther.
“What would you suggest doing?” Danny said to Luther.
“Taking care of them. Stupid politicians have closed all the mental hospitals. We’re like a Third World country making all our crazies live on the streets. In the case of the guy, he went overseas and fought for his country. Now his country abandons him. Not much logic there.”
Luther walked away from them and entered the precinct.
“Crusty old fellow, isn’t he?” Danny said to Maude.
She eyed him. “Don’t underestimate the old bastard. He’s a good cop. He’s just seen a lot of shit. Best partner I ever had, though.”
Danny decided he’d make a note of that too.
***
Day two was pretty much the same thing. Day three also went that way in the morning. After lunch, Danny got more of a story than he wanted.
They were two blocks away from a jewelry robbery. Luther hit the lights and siren while Maude told the dispatcher they were responding. The patrol car stopped in front of the store. Three thieves exited as Maude and Luther got out of the car. The cops were greeted by automatic machine gun fire and went down.
If Danny hadn’t moved in the patrol car, they might not have seen him. Instead, he panicked when he found he was locked in behind the mesh screen. But the small door to the front seat was open. He slithered into Maude’s seat and got out. One of the thieves who had been examining the cops spotted Danny, who later figured out that he had probably saved the cops’ lives.
The thief swung his gun toward Danny. It chattered, but bullets riddled the car, not his body. Bits of safety glass peppered him, though, and that saved him. When the thief came to admire his handiwork, clown mask in hand, Danny was on the ground and covered with blood.
“C’mon, man, we gotta get out of here,” said a distant voice.
“Dude’s dead or dying anyway. He’s not a cop. He ain’t white either.”
“Leave him,” said the third thief. “We need to contact some fences.”
***
“They’ll be OK,” said Carl Reid, who was facing the sitting Danny. He had just arrived at the Bellevue ER’s waiting room. “I told you shit can happen, son.”
Danny uncovered his face and stared at his father. “Why do you do this?”
“You mean, why do cops do this?” Carl thought a moment. “Sometimes you have to wonder. Cops can have PTSD too. Others can coast through all their professional lives without ever being in a firefight. But they all know they can buy the dirt farm at any time, no matter where they’re doing police work. I can make a lofty speech about protecting the citizens of a free and democratic society, but your question doesn’t have an easy answer. And the complex answer can cover a spectrum from sense of duty and honor to it’s in my blood when dad and brothers and sisters are serving.” He sat down on the bench next to his son and put his arm around them. “I think I’d rather have you writing the story than taking part in it. Your ride-along days are finished.”
Danny nodded. “Maude and Luther will be here for a while, right?” Carl nodded. “I wouldn’t like to start up with anyone else right now. So what you’re saying isn’t a punishment.”
“I never intended it to be a punishment. Write your journalism article and try to forget about this. Does your mother know? She’ll ream me out.”
“She won’t know until the six o’clock news,” Danny said with a smile. “Did you have days like this?”
“Yes, there were bad ones, but I was never shot. One of my partners was killed. That started the problems with your mom. The reality hit her that she could also end up being a young widow.”
“I don’t understand how being divorced is any easier.”
“That’s a statement loaded with wisdom. C’mon. Let’s go have a burger and beer.”
***
“Can I give you a lift home?” said Carl as they finished their dinners.
Danny glanced out the window at the unmarked car his father had used to travel from Bellevue to the bar that was half-filled with cops. “No, I’ll take the subway. No sense you going all that way.”
“I’m on call but off duty,” said his father. He saw Danny look at the half-empty mug and then at him with raised eyebrows. “With the food, it’s not enough to affect my judgement. You, on the other hand, had better watch yourself on stairs.”
“They binge drink in college, Dad.”
“Do you?” Danny shook his head in the negative. “Your mother is doing a good job then. Sorry I haven’t been much help in that.”
“Mom still prays for my soul,” said Danny with a wink.
“She needs her church, I don’t. When you’re dead, that’s it. So you’d better make good use of whatever time you have. Being a black kid, the odds are against you having a lot.”
“What about a black cop?”
“I’ve improved mine by becoming a bureaucrat. It’s boring but healthier. You can improve yours a lot by choosing a safe profession. NASA scientist, CPA, pharmacist, whatever.”
“I’m not going to be any of those, Dad. I’m a journalist.”
“Write some nice society column in Kalamazoo then.”
“That’s Connie Kingsley’s project. She’s covering her aunt’s funeral.”
“She the Assistant DA’s daughter?”
“Maybe. Her father’s a judge.”
“That’s the Kingsleys. The judge’s father made a lot of money in shipping. You could move up a bit in status by pursuing this Connie.”
“I won’t pursue a girl for her money, Dad, or social status.”
“I didn’t either. That was part of our problem. A cop and a teacher make barely enough to survive in this damn city.” He looked at his watch. “I need to get some sleep.” Carl put 40 dollars on the table. “Tell the waitress to keep the change. I’m heading for my bear’s den AKA studio apartment.”
Danny nodded. He watched him go, recognizing he had just had the longest conversation of his life with his father.
***
At the subway entrance, the thief and Danny spotted each other at the same time. The thief whipped out a gun, but Danny was already running. He was mentally kicking himself for stupidity as he ran. He was probably the only one who had seen any of the thieves’ faces. Had this one been looking for him?
Shots rang out. He started to zig and zag, knowing the more erratic his run, the less the thief could target him. He dashed through a crowd of diners in a Chinese restaurant, causing yells and screams there in a variety of languages. Through the kitchen and out the back—only one language, presumably Chinese. He remembered Ben Speyer telling him once that there were two languages in China. Ben, a bit of a nerd, thought that was important. Danny didn’t care, especially at that moment.
He tossed garbage cans across the backdoor to the restaurant and continued to toss them as he ran down the alley. There was another man waiting at the exit to the street, though, a gun pointed at Danny. He jumped from a garbage can to the top of a trash bin and was swinging from a fire escape’s ladder when bullets passed beneath his feet.
On the first landing, he broke into an apartment. Two people were going at it in bed—he thought they were two women but it was hard to tell in the twilight—and he dashed into the hall. He had to catch his breath.
“I’m calling 9-1-1,” a woman said, her shrill voice piercing the walls of the building.
Danny was bent over, hands on his legs. “Please do,” he said with a groan. “Someone’s trying to kill me.”
He wondered if his father would hear the 9-1-1 operator dispatching cops to the scene. Probably not. He decided not to wait to find out. Still breathing heavily, he found his way out of the building.
***
Where to go? Do the thieves know where I live? He had first concluded that the encounter with the first one at the entrance to the subway was completely random. But the presence of another thief at the end of the alley had told Danny he was wrong—they were looking for him.
At Bryant Park he found a bench, sat, and began to rummage in his backpack. No cellphone! I must have left it in the bar! Sending a text message to his father was out of the question. He had the tablet, though. He made a wi-fi connection. Now what? His father might be asleep already and would certainly not check email. He wrote a desperate email to Connie Kingsley: “I’m the only witness to a cop shooting. Can your mother protect me? Witness protection or something?”
In spite of the people at the park, mostly couples, he felt exposed, but waited long enough to see an answer: “Yes, she can help. Where are you?”
He searched his memory and named a deli. It would be easy to beat Connie there.
***
The woman who came into the deli looked like an older Connie. “I’m Dora Kingsley. Follow me!” He tagged along behind her to a blue Mercedes parked at the curb with motor still running. Connie was in the backseat. “Get in!” He barely had time to buckle his seatbelt before the woman was making good time toward the Brooklyn Bridge. “Tell me what’s happening, Danny.”
“Thank you for helping me, Mrs. Kingsley.”
“No time for social graces now. Fill me in.”
By they pulled into the driveway of an upper-crust home, Danny had recounted all that had happened to him.
“I know your father. He’s a good man. We had better get him in the loop.”
“What am I going to do?”
“Right now, we’ll have some hot chocolate. There’s still a nip in the evening air, and a soothing cup will reduce our adrenalin levels. Connie, get this young man cleaned up while I see to the chocolate and whether your father left any of that cake after his midnight raid on the fridge.”
Five minutes later Connie was admiring her handiwork and Danny was feeling a bit uncomfortable facing her shirtless.
“Get out of your pants,” she said, “and I’ll find some of my brother’s old clothes.”
“He might not like that.”
“Lot he can do about it. He’s at Penn State.” She dashed off. Soon there was a knock at the bathroom door. “Are you decent?”
“I’m in my underwear. Just hand in what you found.”
The door opened slightly, a delicate hand came through with pants and an old Giants jersey, and Danny took them. When he exited, Connie studied him.
“Not bad. The jersey’s a bit big. And I liked you better shirtless. You look like a young Will Smith.” She smiled. “Let’s go have some cake and hot chocolate.”
“Your mom said there might not be any cake.”
Now she laughed. “I always beat my dad downstairs and hide a piece for myself. We’ll split it three ways.”
But they each had a full piece. The judge had been lenient…or temporarily dieting.
***
“You’re only a danger to them if the police apprehend them,” said Dora Kingsley.
“But then they couldn’t kill Danny,” said Connie, looking at him. He pointed to his lip. She wiped off chocolate frosting and smiled.
“Depends on what friends they have,” said the mother. “As a faithful servant of the people, I want you around to identify the thief. We will work on him, maybe cut a deal, so he implicates his buddies.”
“I can ID the shooter at the end of the alley too,” said Danny. “But I wish this would all go away!”
“Bro, think of the story you’ll have for your journalism project.” Connie stabbed her fork into the remaining cake. “That’s an A+ for sure!”
Danny smiled at her. “I still have to write it.”
“Just keep me out of it,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “And Connie. My job has too many headaches already. I don’t need these thugs coming after us too.”
Danny thought that sounded a bit selfish, but he understood her sentiment. “What’s our next step?”
“Two detectives will soon be here. The three of us will decide how to proceed. The important thing is to keep you safe.” She frowned when the phone rang. “Probably one of the detectives. They sometimes get lost coming out this way.” She picked up the receiver and listened. When she put the old kitchen phone back in his cradle, Danny knew something was wrong. “They have your cellphone. You had Connie’s number on it.”
“What did they say?” Danny knew Connie was upset.
“They want Danny.”
“But they can’t have him! And they don’t know where he is.”
“I’m afraid they do. With the landline, it’s easy to check.”
“But what leverage do they have?”
“Your mother,” said Mrs. Kingsley in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll have to meet them,” said Danny. “There’s no other way.”
“Maybe there is.”
***
Both the detectives were as gruff as Luther, but Danny liked them.
“We’ll have to get the Feds involved,” said one. “We have a kidnapping now.”
“No, no Feds yet,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “Let’s not complicate things for the moment. Let’s find out where the thieves are. We can locate them using Danny’s cellphone. Get my laptop, Connie.”
“We can use my tablet,” said Danny. He pulled it out of his backpack. “Bear with me. I’ve only done this once.”
They all watched over his shoulders as he brought up Chrome and logged onto the Google account he had set up for his phone. He stared at the ceiling for a moment and then typed “find my phone” into the search engine. A map appeared.
“I’ll be damned,” said one detective.
“We’ll need a SWAT team,” said the other.
“Be careful, please,” said Danny. “I only have one mother.”
“Don’t worry,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “They’re pros, just like your father.”
***
Danny’s mother saw the cop through the dirty glass window of the abandoned building’s basement. He raised one, two, and three fingers, and then lowered his other horizontal hand. She thought a moment and then nodded a bit.
The next time he went through the three finger routine, she hit the floor and the SWAT team broke through the basement door. Two thugs fired back and took bullets in return; the third dropped his gun and held up his hands. Mrs. Reid waited and then looked up.
“Thank you,” she said to the first team member she saw.
“Just doing our job, ma’am,” he said.
“That’s right,” said a tall man at the bottom of the basement steps. She couldn’t make out his features with the streetlights in back of him. “I have a cellphone. You should call our son.”
“Carl?” She rose and ran to him, weeping and pounding his breast. “Did-did you cause all this?”
He grabbed her arms, separating her from him until her anger subsided. “I let our son do a ride-along for his journalism project, so I guess the answer could be yes. I’m sorry.”
“Is Danny OK?”
“As far as I know. There are EMPs outside. Let them check you over. I’ll help you up the steps.”
***
“Your mother and father seem to be a loving couple,” Danny said to Connie as he waltzed her around the floor. “That’s a new experience for me.”
“Oh, they have their little spats. My father thinks my mother’s job is too dangerous, and vice versa. Not as dangerous as a cop’s, I guess.”
“Or a journalist on a crime beat,” he said with a smile. “Your aunt looks pretty happy too.”
“She was a mess earlier on. Wedding day jitters. She’s only a few years older than me.”
“Too young to be married maybe. What’s her new hubby do?”
“You haven’t met him?” Danny shook his head. “He’s an editor working at a Philly newspaper. That’s where they’ll be living. Works well because my aunt writes articles for magazines.”
“Near enough for holidays,” Danny said with a smile. “Are you taking notes?”
She pointed into her cleavage. “I’m wearing a wire and recording the whole thing. Between that and the video, I’ll have my project.”
“Good. Maybe we can help each other write our projects. That’s the hard part.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Look!” The music had stopped. “They’re leaving. Now you’ll start hearing all the off-color remarks.”
“About what?”
She winked at him. “Oh, please, you’re not that innocent, Danny Reid.”
“I was staring there to try to see the microphone.”
“That’s all?”
“Just give me a kiss, girl. I’ve been waiting for one all afternoon.”
He decided the kiss held a lot of promise.
The people in the reception filed out to bid adieu to the newlyweds. Danny’s mother caught the flung garter; he caught the bridal bouquet.
“They sure got that wrong,” he said to Connie.
“Maybe not,” she said. “Give it time.”
***
Teeter-Totter between Lust and Murder. #3 in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series,” this mystery/suspense/thriller novel has more twists and turns than a carnival pretzel. Chen is accused of murder, so naturally Castilblanco tries to help her. But there is a lot more to the murder than meets the eye. Readers will have a great time unraveling it all with these NYPD homicide detectives and will be kept guessing right up to the climax. Soon available in all ebook formats.
In libris libertas!
