The Blue Executions (11 page)

Galvin sat alone on the couch waiting for Laurie’s return. 

“That’s weird.”

“Is everything okay Laurie?”

She walked out of the kitchen with her cell phone in hand.  She looked at the phone as she began to explain.  “
Yeah. It was the District Attorney. I didn’t think he knew who I was, let alone to call my cell phone.”

Galvin set down
his glass of wine on the coffee table.

“
Well, what did he say?”

“He just said to give him a call as soon as I got in.
He left his home number and said it was important.”

“So, what are you waiting for?’

“…What if it’s bad news?”

“It won’t be,” he assured her.
“Now, give him a call.”

Laurie nervously paced the kitchen floor as she
carefully punched in the number that she’d copied down from the message. Galvin stood in the doorway which separating the kitchen and dining area.  He was curious, and listened intently to the half of the conversation that he was able to hear.

“Sir…this is Laurie Bando.
You said it was important and that I should give you a call back tonight as soon as I got the message?”  She licked her lips trying to remoisturize them.

“…No, sir, you’re not bothering me.”  She stopped pacing and instead leaned against the counter, staring at the ground.

“…Y
es, I’d heard that he was trying to start his own practice, but I had no idea that he was going to resign so soon.”  She looked at Galvin; her eyes widened.

“
…I’ve never discussed the case with him, no…but I know some of the details…he was shaking down drug dealers in the Rockaways, and pretending to have search warrants to conduct illegal searches of drug safe houses. He then stole the drugs and sold them to other drug dealers.”

She placed a hand over her mouth
; her jaw dropping.   She was slowly shaking her head at Galvin from side to side in disbelief.  “What? Me? I mean…of course I would!!

Yes, sir…I know it won’t be easy, but I give you my word…I’ll put my heart into it one-hundred percent!

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll get right on it tomorrow!! Thank you!”

She hung up the telephone and gave an elated smile. “
Oh my God!  Oh my God!  You’re not going to believe this.”

“Try me
,” Galvin was curious.

“Okay.
It seems that Mr. Hall, the Bureau Chief of the Integrity Bureau, resigned tonight.  He was personally handling the Groff case, and the DA wants
me
to take it over—he even said that he’ll reassign all of my other cases until this case is over. Then—this is the most interesting part…are you ready for this?”  Before waiting for Galvin to respond she continued, “he said that he wanted to remind me that there is an opening for bureau chief, as Mr. Hall resigned—and he said if I do a good job, he’d consider me for the position.  He said he would possibly skip over the Assistant Bureau chief and make me the new Chief!”  She gave him a playful slap on the shoulder in her excitement.  “Can you believe that?!”

Galvin was elated for her—though the feeling was a bit mixed, as she would be prosecuting a cop.
However, if he were as dirty as all of the papers made him out to me, he deserved whatever he got—after all, nobody hated a dirty cop more than an honest cop.

“That’s fantastic
!  Wait right here.  Don’t move.” 

Galvin
quickly walked into the living room and retrieved the wine glasses.  He handed Laurie her glass.  Now for a
real
toast; here’s to you.”

She accepted the glass but before taking a sip she corrected him,
“here’s to
us
,”

They each took a swallow of the wine and he pulled her close.
He set his hands on her hips; she on his shoulders.  Their lips locked in a long embrace as he allowed his hands to explore her body. She turned her back on him and tilted her head back as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse. He nibbled on her ear as he first removed her blouse and then her brassiere. Cupping her breasts in his hands, he gently squeezed them. They were firm with hardened nipples. He spun her back toward him and they began to kiss passionately; their tongues exploring each other’s mouth. Laurie took him by the hand, leading him to the bedroom.  They undressed with a sense of urgency.  The black negligee tossed aside.

After making love for nearly a half-hour, the couple lay together, totally uninhibited.
She ran her fingers through the hairs on his chest. Although neither of them had spoken, they both felt that tonight had been a perfect night, and nothing could change that.

*

“Keep your fucking hands on the wall! You understand me?!”

The man did as he was told
; keeping his hands firmly against the steel gate of the corner bodega.  “Yes, officer, mon, yes.”

Chr
istopher Tatum couldn’t understand the lack of respect that the police get. He walked his steady foot post every day that he came to work on Linden Boulevard in the vicinity of Utica Avenue. Yet, some of the guys out on the corners would simply disrespect him by drinking an open beer or smoking a joint right in front of him, just as the Rastafarian he was searching had done.

Tatum pulled a brown folding knife from the
Rastafarian’s pocket and placed it into his own back pocket.  He carefully checked the man’s waistband and swept his hands across the man’s legs, from his waist to his ankles.  He ran a hand across the man’s back and then grabbed the red, yellow and green knit cap from the man’s head and tossed it to the ground.  The man’s three foot long dread locks which had been contained within the hat sprang free. 
Nasty
, thought Tatum.

After completing his search and knowing
that the man didn’t have anything on him that could be harmful, Tatum asked the man for his identification. The man handed him his New York State benefit card, Tatum then ordered the man to sit on the curb. 
A welfare card; what a shock.  He probably bought his weed with it.

Tatum stood under the awning of the bodega, turning his body in such a way that the reflection of the street lamp off of the yellow and red awning provided enough light for Tatum to examine the man’s identification.  Tatum took his cell phone from his pocket and called the precinct
SP9 operator
to run the man for warrants.  Once the computer check was complete, Tatum began to write the man a summons, noting the time—it was already eleven-thirty.

As Tatum asked the man questions
which he needed to fill out the universal summons, the Rastafarian informed Tatum that he was six feet tall and weighed a hundred and ninety pounds.  Tatum looked the man up and down agreeing with the man’s depiction as Tatum was the exact same height and weight.  Only Tatum felt that he was in much better shape and that his hair was certainly much better groomed.  Tatum tore out the pink copy of the summons and handed it to the man, explaining that he had to appear in court next month to answer to the charge or a warrant would be issued for his arrest.

“Next time, be a little smarter. If you see me coming, get rid of the joint.”
  Tatum continued to lecture the male.  “Respect is a two way street out here.”

“Yes,
mon, I’m sorry, officer,” the man said as he began to walk away.  Then he stopped in his tracks turning back to Officer Tatum. “Officer mon, can I have my knife back?”

Tatum withdrew the knife from his back pocket and threw it at the man’s feet.
Traffic was pretty light this time of night; even for a busy intersection like Linden and Utica.  There were a decent amount of people and vehicles at the fast food chicken restaurant and some intermittent pedestrian traffic going into the all night bodega on the opposite corner but other than that, there were not a lot of people around.  Most of the stores were closed.

Tatum started to walk away when he noticed what looked like a dark blue unmarked department auto
parked in front of an apartment building on Linden Boulevard about fifty feet from Utica Avenue. He knew it wasn’t the Precinct’s Anti-Crime team; they didn’t have any dark blue unmarked cars.  He strained to see who was in it.  There seemed to be only one man inside; a white man.  Since this area was less than one percent white, he decided that it may be Internal Affairs.  Tatum would make sure that he didn’t leave his post early tonight.
It’s a beautiful night anyway.  I don’t mind being out here
.

In truth, he didn’t mind being on a
foot post—and he knew that Linden Boulevard was his.  He also knew that he had to be careful because he wasn’t liked by the local drug dealers—he must have arrested close to a hundred dealers and users in the last couple of years once he was returned to full duty after his acquittal. Being alone made things a bit more dangerous but Tatum knew how to handle himself and was always sure to call for back up before taking any action if he sensed something amiss.  He watched the car make a right hand turn off of Linden Boulevard.

“Disorderly in the division,”
Tatum said into his portable radio—announcing in code to everyone on this radio frequency that Internal Affairs appeared to be present. Linden Boulevard had very few people walking the streets at this hour, but Tatum decided to stand out where he could be seen in case Internal Affairs was checking to see if he was on post. No sense in giving them an easy
rip
.  If he was going to get written up for an infraction by Internal Affairs, it would be for something good, not for being off post or failing to make memo book entries.  Tatum withdrew his leather binder containing his memo book from his back pocket, and as required, made entries regarding the Criminal Court summons he had just written.

He leaned back against the steel grating of a storefront
under a street lamp where he was clearly visible.  He was sure he’d be seeing that unmarked again; sometime within the next hour or so.  His mind began to wander to the game of pool that he had been playing with the rookie, Schneider, when he came in for meal and the kid was on a break from t/s duty. The kid was pretty good, he was willing to concede.
I still can’t believe he beat me at nine ball.

*

Tatum spotted the dark blue vehicle creeping up Linden Boulevard from the distance.
He’s
d
efinitely looking for me
.  Tatum saw it slow down as it approached. He was now able to get a better look at the sole occupant—it was a well-dressed white male in his early thirties, Tatum guessed; undoubtedly Internal Affairs. He watched as the car pulled to the curb.  Tatum decided to give the guy a hard time. The man leaned towards the passenger side of the vehicle as he lowered the window. Tatum watched from his position in front of the store; not flinching.

“Officer, can I speak with you for a minute?”

Tatum held his position for a couple of seconds just to irritate the man. “Are you lost, sir?” he replied as he slowly walked to the car.

“No,” said the man as he gazed at Tatum’s nameplate
just to be sure. “No, Officer Tatum, I’m not lost. I’m Sergeant Boyle from the Internal Affairs Bureau.”

There was something that struck Tatum as odd about the man, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Okay, Sergeant Boyle.
What can I do for you tonight?” 
His eyes.
  Tatum looked passed the man’s glasses, into his eyes
.
They just seemed a bit off.

The man seemed taken aback by Tatum’s sarcasm, but he wasn’t at a loss for words.

“Officer, may I see your memo book?

Tatum wondered what the rat had on him
. 
I made memo book entries.  I’ve been on post all night.

Then it hit him. 
The knife…the friggin knife.  He saw me give it back to the Rasta.  Shit, I should have just vouchered it. 
Tatum grew angry with himself.  Procedurally, he should have confiscated the knife and issued the man another summons, or even arrested him for the possession of the weapon.  It would have been a weak collar and drew the wrath of the midnight desk officer.  The late tour Lieutenant was notorious for giving cops a hard time if they brought in trivial collars, but now because he didn’t, he was sure he’d be getting a
rip
.

He once again took the leather binder from his back pocket and opened it up to today’s date.  His last entry was regarding the summons he issued for Unlawful Possession of Marijuana.  Tatum’s head was buried in the book; trying to figure out if there was any way to make a quick entry regarding the knife—maybe saying it wasn’t a real knife and therefore he returned to the man.  Realizing he didn’t have time to
make this entry, he decided that this would be his defense when he fought the
Command Discipline
that he was surely about to be given.  It wouldn’t be the first time he was
put on paper
and probably not the last, he figured.