D&C 2.3; Memories to treasure, but not all.

Memories to treasure, but not all.

I knew Di Angelo when I came on as a rookie back then in 80's. He was the top honcho then; the officer you looked to for advise. Frank was around, but he was still the junior like myself. Or senior junior; he was here earlier by eight months. I remembered Frank well; he drove the 1969 white top and blue body Dodge Charger. It was originally painted turquoise but Frank wanted the police colors. His dad ran the second hand dealer shop, so he had his wish. Myself ? I had a Pontiac Catalina 1963; my mum's gift for my graduation. She told me you sat in it to school. I used to parked at the far end of the yard next to the crashed cars. One day the tow truck driver offered me to drag my car home for fifty bucks. I could had given him my fist not for his older age.

During my first week, I was partnered with another senior guy named Harper. We drove in a LTD Ford Crown Victoria; It came standard with the high output 5.0 L CFI V8 engine, four-speed automatic transmission with overdrive, 600 lb-in front and 270 lb-in rear coil springs, front and rear sway bars, 10 inch front disc and 10 inch rear drum brakes, and a 3.27:1 rear gear ratio with a Traction-Lok differential. I was given the co-driver seat and made to answer the radio or turned on the siren.

We had it go then; days and nights of patrol with the sweet smell when you read them the Miranda Rights. Thirty years now, and I am standing in front of the Intensive Care Unit while Di Angelo fought for his life. He was not shot; they don't get shot in cafe. He was caught with a cardiac arrest, collapsed on the serving counter among his apple pies and scones.

"I told him not to bake those scones." Frank had just paced himself from the snack dispenser. " I..."

I stopped him.

"He did not bake those scones. He had them delivered. Its probably the only thing that does not had his greasy ingredient inside it." I spied his immediate families were all there. His daughter was there with his new wife. Unlike myself, I never got over Jenny. She ws not dead, not spiritually but physicals; we don't see touch anymore.

Okay, Rose was different. With her, we are sex fiends with no more care in the world. Sex and love are two different forms of expressions. One was purely lust and the other was truly feelings.

"....scones don't suit the ..." I heard part of it while I was watching Dan arrived. He was carrying a box of scones and some coffees. I took the offered food and looked at the label. I dropped the coffee. Dan looked at me.

"It ain't Di Angelo. We only drink his coffee." I passed the scones to Frank. The phone rang me; it was a Code 245 ( Assault with a deadly weapon ). I grabbed my overcoat and walked. Soon I was there at the given address; the uniformed had cordoned the area, and the network was there. I walked in and met the uniformed in charge.

"We got a 415 ( Disturbance ). We responded. On our arrival, the guy in the house started threatening and pulled out the gun. We rushed and disarmed him. Then we called in the 245." I had walked to the room where the suspect was seated while the uniformed was walking. I stopped when I saw the suspect.

I knew him. A long time ago. More like thirty years.

"Hello, Harper." I looked at the man who was in his sixties. "How are you?"

Harper looked at me. He had some trouble recognizing me. Then he frowned his face.

"Why didn't you come when I called?" Harper threw me the portable. I checked the number. He called my house; one that I used to stay when younger. I looked at the gun S&W 686 chambered for the .357 cartridges. It must be his service gun. I sat down next to him and he told me a tale.

A tale of his family and when they moved over the place was a nice neighborhood. They had good friends, but soon everyone either moved out or died. Last month, one arsehole; in his words, moved in and caused life difficult for the recently widowed Harper. I got a name to check on.

Paul Hardy.

Later at the Precinct with Harper secured in the visiting room, I ran the checks on Paul Hardy. He was clean in the records. Not even a ticket. He was too clean in my review. I ran checks with the Federal database and then even with Interpol. All I got was a blank sheet and later stonewalled by the system. I went over to speak to Mr.Hardy. I was to knock on the door when I was stopped by two beefy looking men in a suit.

"Detective Barnes," They pulled out their badges; US Marshall."We need to talk."

The talk was swift before I was sent off on my way. I went back to check on Harper but they had released him on bail. An hour later, I had the call; 10-71 Shooting. The address was given at Harper's. They had called in also the SWAT.

"Detective, the suspect shot another before coming back here." The other address was Hardy's. "The victim suffered some shots but would pulled through."

I wanted to act but the SWAT was given the command to move in. I pushed myself past the SWAT members and rushed while shouting for Harper. Soon I made myself to the door and barged in. Harper was there with more weapons, including a M16A1.

I came out strong.

"Harper, why did you shoot that guy? His name was Paul Hardy." I shouted out while peeking out the window. The SWAT guys were holding their positions. I was blessed despite my bad rush in.

"Hardy? That was Keane. Daniel Keane." Harper spoke out. The name rang up some memories. That was our first major collar.

Daniel Keane was caught on the street with his car boot holding a dead body; his latest victim from the long list of hits he done for the organized crime. The suspect was shipped out on a Federal charge and never heard of for years. We were uniformed officers then and had no rights to questioned the accursed.

"You are wrong. That was Paul Hardy." I tried to reason with him. "Even if Keane was alive, he would be in his eighties."

It was then Harper threw the folder towards me. It was the Police folder on Keane. The photo-fit fell out. I picked it up. He does looked like Paul Hardy.

Damned! The Paul Hardy was somehow related to Daniel Keane. It was then the SWAT burst in with the US Marshalls at the rear. They took Harper to the Precinct while I went back to checked on Di Angelo. Dan had left but Frank was still there.

"They took him out of the respirator but kept him in ICU for the night." Frank looked at me. "First thing he asked was his coffee. His own darned coffee."

We both laughed. Then I told Frank of Harper.

"Damned! We are getting old for this." Frank moaned it out. "We can't out run the criminals, we are out gunned in most fights. And now you tell me we can't make out the older to the younger ones. I need to get a new set of spectacles."

"Frank, when I go. Promise me you won't do an autopsy." I requested of Frank.

"Sure, but if you keeled over like Frank I would serve you the scones that Dan brought. I am sure it was the one thing that would work his heart up."

Di Angelo recovered and started serving coffee the next week. He just won't stay down. He was adamant on serving his coffee. He once told me; "You can retired from the Precinct but they won't retire from my coffee. Not till I die first."

Harper died that week from a cardiac arrest. He was laid to rest next to his wife. His stone read as 'He rest here with his wife. His memories of the service rest with us at the Precinct.'