Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

That could have gone better.

2041 hours

Valeriy Romanov sat in the passenger seat of the gold Honda parked in Sergey’s driveway. He pulled his cell phone away from his ear and pushed the cancel button. He drew a line through the third name on his list. Then he dialed the last name on the list.

Sergey stood in the kitchen window, staring out at him. Val nodded to say that all was well. Sergey didn’t return the gesture.

The telephone rang several times before a woman picked up. “Fuck you want?” she asked in a drunken slur.

“Put Krueger on phone,” Val said in a cold voice.

“Who’s this?”

“I speak to Krueger,” Val said.

There was a jostling noise, then a sleepy male voice answered. “It’s your dime,” he said. “Talk.”

“Krueger,” Val said. “Do you know who is calling you?”

Krueger started to answer, then paused. He cleared his throat and asked, “Uh, is this my, uh, new partner?”

“Da,” Val said. “And I want for you listen very careful. You will do a thing for me. I will explain exactly what and when. You are for to listen.”

2059 hours

Officer B.J. Carson hurried into the drill hall. Being late to roll call and being the rookie were two things that did not go together. Especially on graveyard.

She burst through the swinging door to find all three platoon tables full of her coworkers. Most glanced up when she came in. Some looked away, but a couple of the male officers let their gazes linger appraisingly. A few of the assembled group looked up at the clock out of habit.

One minute to spare, thought Carson, but she glanced at the clock to make sure it was still synced with her wristwatch.

It clicked over to 2100 as she slid into the rookie chair, which she had started to think of as hers. Across from her, Battaglia did not look up from the intelligence flyer. Chisolm gave her an unreadable look that made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t at all like the looks Kahn sometimes fired her way, which were obvious leers or overtures. In fact, although she was nervous around Chisolm, it wasn’t him that made her nervous. It had more to do with his status as the veteran on the platoon and being a near legend on the department. What Chisolm thought of someone was usually echoed by most other graveyard cops.

Maybe that was the key. Maybe she needed to show Chisolm that she was a good cop, like Katie said. But Katie hadn’t suggested the Chisolm part. Just the good cop part.

Lieutenant Saylor strode through the drill hall door. The chatter from all three tables fell off, then stopped as he stepped up to the lectern. Saylor read the information on the hot board, which consisted of two new stolen vehicles and a subject wanted by Detective Finch for a pair of stabbings downtown. Then he turned things over to the platoon sergeants.

“I only have a couple of items,” Sergeant Shen told them. “First up, we’re still tasked with relieving day shift on the babysitting detail with the feds.” He looked over at Carson. “Officer Carson, you’re up.”

Carson flushed for a moment, wondering if her near tardiness was the reason. “Yes, sir,” she replied.

“Head up to the Quality Inn on Division,” Shen told her. “Room 420.”

She nodded.

Kahn chuckled and muttered something about her turn in the barrel, but no one acknowledged him.

Shen continued. “Second up, on that stabbing suspect-”

Battaglia cleared his throat. “Uh, Sarge?”

Shen stopped. “Yes?”

Battaglia glanced at Carson, then at Chisolm. “I’ll take that babysitting detail.”

Shen’s expression did not change, but there was a question in his eyes. Carson could understand why. No one wanted to babysit prisoners or witnesses. It wasn’t real police work. Most cops, her included, thought that details like that sucked.

She felt the eyes of the platoon flick from Battaglia to her. She could almost hear the collective eyebrows go up.

Great , she thought . Why don’t you just announce it to the world that we’re screwing?

“Are you sure?” Shen asked. “It’s her turn.”

“Yeah,” Battaglia answered. He cleared his throat again and then cast a dark look toward Chisolm. “I’m not feeling so hot tonight. Sitting around watching TV is probably just what I need.”

Shen studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “All right. Officer Battaglia will cover the detail with the FBI.” He looked back at Carson. “It looks like routine patrol for you tonight, Officer Carson.”

“Think you can handle that?” Kahn rumbled.

Carson nodded, not caring if it was interpreted as an answer to the sergeant or the abrasive Kahn. She had an unsettled feeling in her stomach. Something was going on.

Shen continued with roll call, then dismissed the team with his customary “Be safe.” Battaglia rose first and walked straight out of the drill hall. As badly as she wanted to talk with him, she wasn’t about to go running after him. That would set even more tongues wagging.

Instead she gathered her patrol bag and headed down to the basement sally port with the rest of the group.

2112 hours

Sergey opened the door before Val had a chance to knock.

“You have made the calls?” he asked.

Val nodded. “Everything is in place. I am going now to finish it.”

“Who are you taking?”

“Yuri will drive. Black Ivan will accompany me inside.”

Sergey nodded. Then he said, “I am coming with you.”

Val frowned. “That is too dangerous.”

“Life is dangerous,” Sergey snorted derisively.

“This is an unnecessary risk,” Val said. “Ivan and I can take care of matters.”

Sergey smiled darkly. “No doubt. But I think people need to hear how it was Sergey who traveled to the hotel room where the traitor hid. That Sergey fired the gun that ended the man’s life.”

“You have ordered it,” Val said. “And it was your reward that brought the information forward. That will be enough.”

“No,” Sergey said. “No, Valeriy Aleksandrovich, I don’t think so. It might be enough for business as usual. But it isn’t enough for the legend.”

“Legend?” Val asked.

“People don’t follow men,” Sergey said. “They follow great men. And every great man has a legend about him. This will be an important piece of my legend here in America.”

You are a fool , Val thought. That will be your legend.

Val’s frown turned into a grimace. “It is a risk, that is all. But you know best.”

“Best that you do not forget that,” Sergey told him. “Now, let’s go.”

2117 hours

Chisolm walked down the stairs behind B.J. Carson, watching her ponytail bounce and bob with each step.

Should he talk to her? Would it do any good?

He tried to remember what it was like to be a rookie. He’d come on the job already battle-tested from the jungles of Vietnam, so it was different for him. The closest thing to it, probably, was his early days in the military. Had someone pulled him aside?

Chisolm smiled slightly. Hell, when he entered Special Forces, it felt like Captain Mack Greene pulled him aside every day with some sort of wisdom or another.

But police work was different than war. In some ways, it was harder, more limiting. But the prospect of getting your ass shot off didn’t happen quite as frequently as in combat, either.

So what do you say to a rookie today? If it was a man, he could use the tried and true warning about the two things that get most cops in trouble-booze and broads. Or as he heard it more often put, “A wine glass and a woman’s ass.”

It didn’t really matter how you put it, though. The important thing was that someone warn the newer cops about the pitfalls they faced in their upcoming careers. Not just what the bad guys did or what the administration might try to do, but what stupid things cops did to themselves.