Chris Grabenstein - Tilt-a-Whirl

“Doesn't really fit with the whole Sea Haven ‘family fun’ image, does it?”

Ceepak just shakes his head.

I think he's very disappointed in his fellow soldier. His brother in arms. Chief Cosgrove knows The Code, but chose not to follow it because, frankly, he didn't feel like it. I guess that's what a lot of guys do.

We're at Ocean Avenue and Locust Lane.

The Smuggler's Cove is about three blocks up and two over.

I see flashing lights in my rearview mirror.

A cop car requesting that I, another cop car, pull over.

“Pull over, Danny.” Ceepak sees them too. His eyes are glued to the side mirror.

I ease to a stop in front of Santa's Sea Shanty.

Some of the women hauling Sailor Santa Nutcrackers out of the year-round holiday store stop to gawk as Ceepak and I climb out of the Ford.

Two cops step out of the other cruiser.

Malloy and Santucci. Two of the chief's favorites.

“Hey, guys,” Ceepak says. “What's up?”

“You need to come with us,” Santucci says, giving his chewing gum a sharp snap.

“We're on a run-”

“It can wait. The chief needs you in his office. Now.”

“That'll work,” Ceepak says. “We'll follow you guys in.”

Santucci takes another step forward. He even does the lean-on-his-gun-belt thing I've seen Ceepak do.

“It'd be best if you rode with us,” he says. “Both of you.”

“Jesus! What the hell did you guys freaking do?”

Gus Davis greets us from the desk as we enter headquarters. Santucci and Malloy are flanking us as they escort us into the building like we're on a perp walk.

If our theories are correct, if the chief is capable of helping his girlfriend bump off her ex-husband and then masterminding a kidnapping hoax with cold-hearted, military precision, I'm sure he's worked out some clever way of taking care of Ceepak and anybody else who might stand in his way on the road to riches. People like me.

“Ceepak? Boyle? Get your asses in here.”

The chief stands behind his desk. His face is flushed, redder than raw meat.

“Move it! Now! Move!”

I pick up my pace.

Ceepak takes his time.

“You need us, boss?” Santucci asks.

“Wait outside.”

“Yes, sir.” Santucci and Malloy leave.

“Would you like me to close the door?” Ceepak asks pleasantly.

“Yes! Close the goddamn door! Now!”

When Ceepak pushes the door shut, I see Gladys, the bag lady from the hotel.

Ceepak sees her too.

“Good to see you again. I take it you safely evacuated the hotel?”

“Fuck you, fuzz!”

Gladys has not mellowed much in the hours since last we met. She hasn't bathed either. I can still see those white streaks on her cheeks where the tears trickled down.

“What am I going to do with you, John?” the chief says.

“Sir?”

“I gave you this job to help you recover from what you've been through. To take you away from the horrors of war. The senseless loss of lives….”

“You’re a war criminal,” Gladys shouts. “A baby killer! I heard what you did! How you gunned down that taxi driver's family! Baby killer!”

Guess the chief shared some stuff with Gladys he might've kept confidential if he lived by a different kind of Code.

“I thought I could bring you home,” the chief says, all hushed and earnest. “Thought I could give you a chance to put it all behind you. Instead, you go all gung-ho? Become some sort of vigilante? You hunted down and killed your suspect?”

I'm going to keep my mouth shut.

Not because I'm afraid, even though I totally am, but because I have a hunch Ceepak doesn't want me saving his butt by blurting out the truth about Squeegee. Otherwise, he wouldn't have hidden it from me last night at the hotel.

“Goddammit, John.” The chief shakes his head in disbelief. “You took a sniper rifle upstairs to execute Squeegee?”

“His name is Jerry!” Gladys screeches. “Jerry Fucking Shapiro!”

The chief raises his hand, cueing the radical socialist bag lady to put a lid on it.

“You shot him like a dog?”

“He did!” She's spitting with rage. “I was there when it went down, man. I'll fucking tell the world what you fucking did, you fucking motherfucker!”

“I'm sorry, sir,” Ceepak says. “What is it I'm supposed to have done?”

“You fucker!”

“Miss? I'll handle this.” The chief rivets his gaze on Ceepak.

Ceepak doesn't flinch. In fact, he smiles and raises his eyebrows as if he's eager to hear what the chief has to say.

“Last night, you tracked down your suspect, this woman's fiancé….”

They're engaged? I'll have to find out where they're registered.

The chief checks his legal pad.

“Mr. Gerald Shapiro, a.k.a. Squeegee. You tracked him down and proceeded into the old Palace Hotel with an M-24 sniper rifle….”

“Awesome weapon system, sir. But, of course, you already know that. You're the one who gave it to me.”

The chief ignores that shot across his bow.

“You then went upstairs and, instead of apprehending the suspect for further questioning, you shot him….”

“Negative. I did not shoot Mr. Shapiro.”

“John, John, John.” The chief kind of chuckles, one for each John. “I will not lie nor tolerate those who do. Remember our Code? You shot this man because you suspected him of being a child molester. You took the law into your own hands.”

“No, sir. I did not. However, I'm certain that was your intention.”

“Come again?”

“Was this the final phase of your plan? To dispose of me via these false accusations?”

The chief puts down his notepad.

“What plan?”

“You brought me here to Sea Haven, sir, not, as you claim, for rest and relaxation, but to kill whomever you and Miss Bell decided to blame for your own nefarious actions.”

“What's he talking about?” Gladys asks. I think the word “nefarious” got her attention.

Ceepak turns to her.

“I did not complete my mission as envisioned by Chief Cosgrove here. Your fiancé? He's safe.”

“What?” The chief is even redder.

“In fact-if you walk to the top of the Ship John Lighthouse, I believe you will find Mr. Jerry Shapiro up there enjoying the view, perhaps taking a well-earned nap. I did ask him to not indulge in hallucinogenic drugs while sequestered there. It wouldn't be prudent. The steps inside are quite steep.”

“Jerry's alive?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You didn't kill him?” the chief looks like he was just sucker-punched.

“No, sir. I know you wanted me to. In fact, I know gunning Squeegee down was the sole reason you invited me to join your police force. Why you said ‘you don't even have to drive….’”

“You’re nuts, Ceepak. You know that?”

“Can I go now?” Gladys has forgotten her righteous wrath. A reunion is what's on her mind, and she's in a hurry.

“Get the hell out of here!” the chief screams at her.

“Fuck you.” Gladys bolts.

When she swings open the door, I notice we've attracted quite a crowd in the hallway.

“Go back to work!” the chief yells. “All of you!”

Nobody moves.

I suspect folks have been eavesdropping.

“Now! Move! Go! Boyle? The door?”

“Yes, sir.” I swing the door shut. When he does that coach-yell at me? I do as I'm told. Reflexes.

“You two? You're fired. Both of you.”

“Earlier today, I did some research,” Ceepak says, moving closer to his old friend's desk. “Asked Gus. Adam Kiger. Even your pals Santucci and Malloy. Nobody has ever heard of one Jennifer D'Angelo, the young victim of a rape perpetrated by a homeless man underneath the boardwalk….”