Mike Faricy - Bombshell

“I’ll help.” I said.

“You want to walk away that’s…”

“I said I’ll help, Manning. Stop beating me over the head and just tell me what you want me to do.”

He studied me for a moment, his jaw sawed back and forth on his hapless piece of gum. The blue eyes were back to looking like lasers, and they zeroed in on me.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he said, sounding a hundred percent genuine. “Here’s what we’re thinking. Someone fingered you, pardon the pun, tried to set you up. I’d like to play that card, make it look like you’re our guy. See if that takes us anywhere.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Well hang on, what this means is we may release your name to the media.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, we’ll play like we normally would. You’re brought in for questioning, as a suspect…”

“I know how that part works,” I said.

Manning gave me a genuine smile.

“We’ll send you home then pick you up tomorrow, make an arrest we’ll release your name, say you’re being held as a suspect.”

“And?”

“And then we wait and see, we’re looking at someone, we’ll see if they make a move.”

“Make a move?”

“Make a move,” Manning said and didn’t add anything.

“I’m glad to help, but I want my attorney in on this and Aaron LaZelle, too.”

“LaZelle, your buddy over in vice?”

“Yeah, no offense but if Louie and Aaron give the nod I’m on board. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I really have to be sure, okay?” I extended my hand over the desk.

“Not a problem, under the circumstances I’d do the same thing,” he said and then shook my hand. “Haskell, for the record, thanks.”

“For the record, Manning, if anyone can do it you can, so get this bastard.”

Louie and Aaron gave their approval just before the noon hour in a conference room down the hall. Louie drew up the paper work. Some guy named Captain Elkers who Manning and most of the department seemed to report to signed off on it, literally.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way gentlemen, but my client, Mister Haskell, has had a bit of a checkered history in some, shall we say, gray areas and I’d just like to be sure here. Once you sign this, absolving Mister Haskell of any complacency we can move ahead.”

“Damn unorthodox,” Captain Crabby grumbled, but signed then quickly left the conference room.

Aaron looked serious, but winked at me as he signed.

Manning signed and looked relieved.

“Thanks Louie, I owe you dinner,” I said.

“You’ll owe me a lot more than that,” he said. Then looked over at Manning, “What’s the next step?”

“We release Mister Haskell and then we’ll make a very public arrest later tomorrow, in time for the six o’clock news. Your choice, where,” Manning said, turning to me, home or the office.

“I think I’d prefer home, the office would be bad publicity.”

Manning nodded, you need a lift home.

“I can give you one,” Louie said.

“Me too,” Aaron said.

“Is Officer Trang available?” I asked Manning.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure she is.”

“Nothing personal, guys,” I said.

“You’re sure getting the special treatment,” Officer Trang said. It was close to one-thirty by the time she was driving me home. As she spoke she looked at me in her rear view mirror, viewing me through the heavy mesh screen.

“What can I say, I have that effect on folks.”

“Gee, who knew? And all this while I was thinking that woman was right.”

“Woman?” I asked.

“Menace and detriment are two of the words that spring to mind. I’m sure she has plenty of others.”

“I’m sure she does. So, who did you piss off to get the short straw and draw this gig.”

“Driving you around?”

“Yeah.”

“I was involved in an incident, standard procedure, you’re off the street for a few days.”

“Here I was thinking you were trying to get on Manning’s good side.”

“That would suggest he has one.”

“You got me there. An incident, it wasn’t that shooting? The one over on the East side, two or three nights ago?”

“Yeah,” she answered, but with a tone that suggested she didn’t care to go any further.

“Sorry, been there. So, you got time for a late lunch?”

Her eyes flashed in the rear view mirror, but I could detect a smile.

“Thanks, but no. How ‘bout a rain check after hours sometime?”

“For sure, I’ve got a busy next few days, but maybe if you gave me your number and…”

She had just pulled to a stop in front of my house; amazingly the old bat with the little dog wasn’t in sight to tell everyone what a low life I was. She didn’t tell me her number, but climbed out, then opened the rear door for me.

“Here’s my card,” she said, smiling as she handed me the card, “give me a call when things lighten up. I’d like that.”

“You can count on it. Thanks, a real pleasure meeting you,” I said, then held out my hand.

She took it, gave me a double squeeze, maybe just the hint of a lingering look. Then climbed back behind the wheel and drove off.

I felt my heart thumping, slowly calming down as she turned at the corner. Now all I had to do was wait around until I got arrested.

It was a little after four the following afternoon, I’d just taken a couple of burrito’s out of the microwave, popped open a can of Dr. Pepper and strolled into the living room to turn on the television. I glanced out the front window, noticed a Channel Four News van up the street with a black and white parked behind it. I looked down the street in the opposite direction a black and white was parked on the far corner. I guessed there would be one or two uniforms in my back yard shortly if they weren’t there already. They had really set the stage. I quickly gulped down my burrito, drank some of the Dr. Pepper and thought I better use the bathroom and put on a clean shirt for the cameras before they walked over and knocked on the door.

I was coming down the stairs maybe three minutes later. I heard the heavy clomp of shoes on the front porch floor and hoped it might be the luscious Officer Trang returning to put me in handcuffs.

I had one of those nanosecond thoughts; the police would ring the doorbell, I’d answer, “Hi guys, be with you in a minute let me just turn off the television and the kitchen lights. Anyone want a Dr. Pepper?”

That wasn’t exactly how it went down. I was on the staircase, thought I heard shoes clomping, although in retrospect they were wearing combat boots, not uniform shoes. As I descended the stairs I could see trousers, Kevlar vests, shirt sleeves, protective plastic strapped over elbows and knees, all black. That should have been my first clue; St. Paul’s finest wears blue uniforms. Clue number two would have been the locked door suddenly flying open and the six guys storming in with weapons drawn. Two guys flew into prone positions on my entry way rug and leveled automatic weapons at me. I don’t know what kind they were, AK’s, maybe M-16’s. All I saw was the end of a barrel about a foot wide and pointed at me.

“Hands up, hands up!” someone screamed on the floor.

“Don’t move, hands up!” another guy yelled from the doorway.

“Hey, watch the woodwork, damn it.” I said and hurried down the steps carrying my Dr. Pepper can to inspect my damaged doorframe.

“Don’t move, hands up, get ‘em up, get ‘em up.”

“Gun!” someone screamed.

I had about four steps left to descend figuring I’d just calm everyone down when suddenly a very large arm grabbed my shirt, flung me over the railing and slammed me onto the oak floor.