Since 911, all Precincts have their personal fears of the event repeating in their area. Or even something similar. It was one of the rare mornings where I got Jenny to prepared my breakfast. If you are imagining it was done in a post carnal appreciation, you are wrong. Sitting across me was her mother who had come to visit. Her mother was served double my portion and served with my cup. I sat down and smiled while looking at the cup that was mine for for months now bring entrusted to the lips of another.
"Jenny tells me you still liked Mickey Mouse?" I hate to be rude, but MM left my life four years after I married Jenny. I used to have those memorabilia until Jenny told me to move them out or stayed out. It was our first major fight. I sacrificed that for her, and still get the bitter 'below the waist' jabs from her mother. I smiled at the lovely older lady who still would not queue up at St Peter's gate. If she read my thoughts then, I bought her a one way ticket to there, but she was asking me on my MM.
The portable rang. I was saved from answering her. I rushed out after hearing the call.
"What we have here now, Frank?" The whole Precinct are down here looking at the rubbles of what had been a building with five levels. It was tore down by a large car bomb that rammed into the building.
"What you see is what we know." Frank motioned to the rubbles. "It could be anybody; home or foreign terrorists. Or some crank who likes bomb."
I saw Dan standing next to his station waiting for the bodies. I was told there could be about two dozen victims. The bomb exploded earlier as most fo the offices had yet to opened their doors yet. If it was an hour later, then the casualty list would be longer.
I tried to make myself useful but there was so much to do, whatever I was handling did not seem to come to any end. I made myself expendable and then drove off in my car. I stopped at Di Angelo and took my real breakfast for the last ten years.
"I heard." Di Angelo refilled my coffee. "We lived in fascinating times."
I would had laughed on other days, but not today. Today, I feared the worse. As a police officer for over many years, I seen most things that others are not allowed to see but never have I ever lived over some of it. I still cringed at the sight of blood and dismembered bodies, although I do find them fascinating. They won't find much to work on there but dead bodies. It was Di Angelo who gave me the updates. Sometimes, the people on the street are better informed but ex-cops knows how to segregate the information given.
"Jim, I heard some news." Di Angelo whispered. "You might want to start on it while the iron are still hot."
"You could had reported it. The Feds would give you the thumbs up." I replied as I was tired from lack of rest. I reached for my coat, but Di Angelo stopped me.
"Its not personal glory, but this one have your name on it. Rene Jurgen." I remembered Jurgen; Rene Jurgen; mixed parentage, killer and bomber. Came here three years ago, left his mark with a casualty list and two buildings. My cousin were among the deads. I almost got Jurgen and he sent me to the Medical High for one month while he fled on the plane.
This could be payback.
Brighton was home to the better ones, but the scums also dwell there. One of them was a big timer who runs a legit business above his illegitimate ones. The second was harboring Jurgen as told to me by Di Angelo. I cannot go in and barged there; they have legal representations longer than my toilet roll. So I had to be discreet, or dishonest. I called the Fire Brigade to responds to a fire alert. When they reached there, I was on their tail, with the sirens blaring. As the Fire Department to investigate any fire causes, they would need access to the house. When they got their approval to go in, I followed suit on the grounds of my following up the investigation.
I was shown the exit along with the firemen but I saw what was needed. Rene Jurgen was not there but I laid a listening bug, courtesy of the Narcotics Boys. I placed it in the Library; knowing the snots likes to speak there. I got my my frist break. It was the evening of the next day.
"Jurgen called. He is getting impatient." The one told his boss. The reply was simple; "fly him out tonight. He done his part."
"I would arrange for him at the Martin's strip." That was a personal landing strip of an eccentric man who runs all these personal banners on the tail of this plane, plus the occasional flying lessons. We knew him for being a front man for the mobs. The flight was tonight at midnight.
I was there with some backup with the blessing of the Captain just before the deadline. We spied the craft on the runway, and the hanger with the office structure. Martin the pilot was inside his office and there were three guys who had earlier arrived on a car. Now was the waiting game. Despite what you may had seen on the movies, we do take turns to do toilet breaks. It came with the excess coffee and the cold weather that night. Soon the car we were waiting for came.
Jurgen got out with another person who was the driver. He looked older from the days I fought with him, or maybe it was the infrared sights that made him looked old. He walked to the office and soon came out with Martin. That was our call then, as we all stood up brandishing the automatics and shotguns while declaring our identity.
I was expecting Jurgen to go for the gun or run so I can shoot him. He did the later and pulling Martin. The others did not drew their guns as they knew the odds of doing so was high on the list of getting shot first.
"Don't shoot!" I shouted as I raced across to intercept the duo who were running for the plane. I made my best dash in months and body slammed into Jurgen. We both fell and before he could recover, I landed two punches onto him. He did not retaliate as he was injured in the right shoulder; something which I only realized later. I stopped at my third punch and glared at him.
"That was for the stay in the Medical." Jurgen looked at me, and smiled with his bruised jaws. I would had clobbered him more but he was not resisting arrest. I arrested him and took him to the Precinct.
We sat in the Duty Officer room trying to share some old times, but he denied all charges and his only crime was coming back illegally. We would had spoken longer, but he was was bailed out by his benefactor. On the way out, the Feds came in and took over his custody. They got a list on him but he was not a suspect in the recent bombing.
That was a blow to us.
And it back to the suspects round up and some hard talking but still no one spoke. I checked at Dan' for any clue and he told me the same thing everyone did; we don't know. Forensics came back with their astounding conclusion; Bomb was made from manure and chemicals all mixed inside. In other words, it was home made bomb, and that means we have a bomber in the local making niche.
I roused up some informants on who who's on the local list now. The names came up and all were cleared the previous nights.
So who was the local new boy in the city? College dropout with a zing for bombs? Sent home soldiers who decided to blow up a building? Or disgruntled citizen with access to manures and chemicals?
I checked the reports again. The building housed several Federal Agencies including the Agriculture Development Board, Immigrations, and also the Treasury. It was a bonded office unit for them to bring up work process and saved on the austerity drive from the Federal Agencies.
It then crossed my mind. There was one case.
I remember Frank told me that his boys responded to a call for a 594 ( mischief ) turned out to the neighbor had piled his back garden with two loads of stinking manure. The interesting part was the culprit was a notorious racist gang leader who believes in cleansing of the other unworthy races. The report stated that the culprit wanted to trade in the manure and was let off with a fine and warning. I knew the culprit; brought him twice for weapon violation and used to grow his own drugs in the backyard but this time it was over done in the fertilizer end.
Two months ago he was brought in by the others for public disturbances. He was making a scene at the Immigration Office on their refusal to issue him a visa for his visiting mother from the Southern continent.
I went over with two of my colleagues over to his place. We could smell the manure from a block away. I knocked on the single level unit door and was greeted with a warning to leave or die. He had a shotgun lined up on us.
"Erich, this is Detective Jim Barnes. Open up and we can speak like decent folks." I stepped off the porch before moving to the side while I drew my M1911.
"Screw you, Detective." Erich Mann was a fool that day. His shot blew a hole in the doorway, but he did not stopped at there. He fire three more rounds in random at us but we were saved from the years of tackling criminals like him. I told one of the colleagues to call in a 10-71 ( shooting ) while the other colleague went to the rear. I peeked in through the blown out doorway and saw the suspect still holding onto his shotgun. He looked intoxicated and had trouble loading the shotgun. I spied a shot and took it. I blew his left kneecap off before I rushed in with my gun firing another round into his chest. He was dead by then. He was not alone, as his girl friend was in the bedroom trying to get her daily fix.
We cleared the scene of any hostiles and took his girlfriend there into custody. The lady splattered it all out when she was sobered.
"Erich laid the bomb there. He got this German to fixed it up for him before he drove the truck there. He parked the car in the basement and told the night watchman it was for the landscape." Funny, as I could not recalled any landscaping needed on that building. "The night watchman allowed him in, and he left. The bomb was to go off at 0800hrs but the German did not reset his clock. It was one hour ahead. The bomb went off earlier at 0700hrs."
I blew out a sigh of relief. We are not the incompetent ones sometimes.
"Erich got upset and fought with the German. In the process, he shot the German in the shoulder. Since then he was trying to build the second bomb by himself, but he was not sure. He got agitated and tried to stay calm, when the police came." Erich' idea of calmness was the drugs which made him unsteady. We found more crude bombs tools and detonators.
The charge on Jurgen was compounded when the lady became our witness. Even with the highly paid lawyer, Jurgen could be freed as our witness was a compromising one with a habit. I could not not shake off the feeling he was going to be let off on a minor charge.
"Good job, Jim." The Captain beamed his smile at me. "One day you would sit here on my chair."
I looked at the Captain and smiled. That chair means nothing to me. I did not get my vengeance and in the process, more than thirty bodies were found and one of the killers would be still be walking free.
I drove over to Di Angelo and met Dan there. He was drinking coffee and refused my offer of any main meal. He claimed that he had eaten at the Morgue.
"So Dan, what did you have?" Di Angelo was sighted by the refusal of his meals. "Live juicy liver and kidneys, with the blood oozing off the sides."
Dan looked Di Angelo and smiled before nodding. There was a message from Frank. Our witness denied the last statements. She claimed I coaxed her to say it.
So much for justice when the scale can be upturned by power and wealth.
No comments:
Post a Comment