Superbia 3 (14 page)

"Sorry, I'll be on vacation," Frank said. 

"Who approved that?" Chief Tovarich said.

"I did, as a matter of fact.  Since you aren't in charge until tomorrow, I just approved myself to use all my vacation time, holiday, and comp time for the entire year.  See you in six months."

Frank slammed the meeting room door shut and jogged toward his car, worried that if he stopped he was going to turn around and choke the living shit out of that insipid bastard and the sludge standing at his side.  His hands were shaking as he tried to get his car keys out of his pocket.  "Hey!  Frank!  Wait!"

He turned around to see Reynaldo racing across the parking lot toward him, "What?"

"You okay?" Reynaldo said.

"Hell no, I'm not okay.  I'm sick of these fucking assholes playing games with our livelihoods like this.  I'm sick of the whole fucking job."

"Were you serious about taking leave?"

"Dead serious.  You think I'm going to stick around for this bullshit?"

"What happens when you come back?"

"I'm not coming back."

Reynaldo looked at him, "What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm not coming back.  Period.  I'm going to get a CDL or my Act 235 or something.  Fuck it, I'll work construction, but I am not coming back."

"Okay," Reynaldo said
gently.  "Sounds good.  Listen, go home, chill out, try to relax.  Things will settle down around here."

Frank opened his car door and said, "
Goodbye forever, Reynaldo.  I'm not coming back."

"I know," Reynaldo said.  He raised his hand to wave at Frank as he pulled out of his parking spot.  "Talk to you soon."

"No you won't because I'm never coming back," Frank called out through his window.

"Okie dokie. 
Adios.  Bye bye."

Special Agent Dez Dolos leaned forward to get real close to the suspect's sweaty, bewildered face.  "I'm going to ask you one more time, Miguel.  Where is the gun your brother gave you after he shot that store clerk?"

"I told you, I don't know no guns," Miguel whimpered.  "He never give me nothing!"

Dez shook his head sadly and looked up at the other men
surrounding them, all staring eagerly at the small Latino man sitting duct taped to the folding chair in the middle of the warehouse.  "I tried, right?" Dez said to them.

Skip Fitzpatrick, a tall
, Irish narcotics officer from the Philadelphia District Attorney's Office nodded and said, "Yeah, you did."

Ondrey Williams ran a hand over the top of his smooth, shining brown head and said, "Some motherfuckers need proof of action to understand what they up against."  It was
Ondrey's case, brought over from the twenty-ninth district where he worked plainclothes. 

Dez hitched up his slacks by his thin leather belt and said, "All right, let him in."

Miguel's head shot up as the rusted metal door banged open from across the room and an enormous man in a rabbit costume stepped out of the shadows,  his fur a bright shade of pink with hearts printed all over it.  "Not
el conejo verdad
.  Please, I don' know anything!  I have no guns!"

"That's not just any old verdad conejo, Miguel," Dez said.  "This here is the Psycho Rabbit.  He's what you might call
troubled.
" 

Psycho
Rabbit twirled a bright orange nightstick in its hand, slapping it into its padded palm eagerly as it stalked Miguel.  The stick's hickory length was dented and scarred by decades of use, passed down from generation to generation, the only alteration being the occasional new layer of orange paint.  They hadn't painted it in a while and the stick was turning dark orange from dried blood.  "Last chance," Dez said.  "Where's the gun?"

Miguel's hands flexed and twitched under the tight strands of tape binding his wrists to the sides of the chair, and the
lap of his tan khakis turned dark brown and wet, but all he could do was cry out, "No, no, no, no!"

There was a flash of dayglow orange as the nightstick whirled through the air in an arc, followed by a sharp crack of hickory against Miguel's kneecap.  Miguel threw back his head and howled in pain, screaming for mercy.  "Tell me where the fucking gun is!" Dez hollered. 

The rabbit gripped the stick with both hands and reared back to thrust the front end into the side of Miguel's jaw like a battering ram.  The impact drove him sideways enough to topple the chair over and leave his jaw hanging like an unhinged drawer.  He opened his mouth to moan and chunks of his broken teeth scattered onto the cement floor like dice. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dez cried out. 

Ondrey Williams ran up behind the rabbit and smacked him in the back of his fluffy head and yanked the nightstick out of his paws.  "Asshole!  What the hell are you doing?"

"Pick him up," Dez groaned, sending Fitzpatrick to Miguel's aid.  He grabbed the rabbit by the arm and pulled him away from the others.  "Dude, you aren't supposed to permanently injure them.  That's not what this is about."

"You told me to play this up, remember?  The old Truth Rabbit gimmick wasn't working like before.  That was what you said, Dez."

"Well he's not much good to us if he can't talk, now is he?" Dez
hissed.

The rabbit lowered his empty black eyes to the ground and said,
"I missed because he moved.  It's his fault."

Dez looked over his shoulder, "How's
Miguel?"

Miguel's face was slumped forward and blood was leaking onto the front of his shirt.  "He's fucked up," Fitzpatrick said. 

"He's faking it," the rabbit said, moving around Dez, "You thought that was bad?  I'm going to shove this up your ass until it comes out of your mouth you little faggot!"

Dez
grabbed a handful of the rabbit's zippered-up collar and said, "That's enough!"  He pushed Psycho Rabbit back and assessed the situation.  "How fucking hard is it to get a good rabbit these days, anyway?  All right, untie one of Miguel's hands and put him in the closet.  Give him a cup of water or something.  We'll see if he's ready to talk in an hour or so when those busted stumps in his gums start to swell up."

Ondrey Williams turned Miguel over in his chair so that the headrest was against the cement floor and he grabbed the front legs and lifted it, dragging Miguel across the
concrete like he was dragging a wheelbarrow.  A sudden knock on the building's front door made everyone stop.  "Who the fuck is that?" Fitzpatrick said to Dez.  "If it's your crazy bitch Aprille again, I'm gonna slap her across the face with my dick.  She was told to stay away."

Dez dug in his front pocket for his phone and opened the screen that connected him to the small surveillance camera sitting above the door.  He waited for the feed to load into his phone and said, "Your tiny little Irish potato wouldn't reach past your zipper, Skip."

"It might not be long but it's as fat as a cheesewheel," Fitzpatrick said with a grin.

The screen loaded the image of two men in suits standing by the front door, the right hips of each jacket bulging with barely-hidden firearms.  Dez didn't recognize them and held up the phone, "Anybody know these two?"

Fitzpatrick looked down and said, "Nope.  They're not from the DA's office." 

Ondrey Williams snapped his fingers at the rabbit and said, "Take him into the closet wit chu and shut the door.  Keep him quiet."  As Psycho Rabbit pulled Miguel's helpless form into the darkness of the room behind him, Ondrey said, "And do not touch him while you're in there, or I will personally fuck you up."

"If they had a search warrant, there'd be more of them," Fitzpatrick said.  "I say we ignore them and they'll go away."

The door banged again and Dez said, "Fuck that.  I want to know what they want."  He tucked his shirt into his pants and nodded his head at the blood drops sprinkled across the floor that led to the closet.  "Get the mop.  And pick up those teeth."  Dez
watched Ondrey scowl as he plucked up Miguel's loose teeth from the ground and carry them over to the back door before he buttoned up his suit coat and headed out to greet the newcomers.  "Hang on," he called out. 

He pulled the two heavy bolts that kept the door locked and pushed it open, squinting in the harsh glare of daylight.  "Can I help you?"

"Special Agent Desmond Dolos?" the first man said.  When Dez nodded, he held up a small silver badge and said, "I'm Sergeant Phillips and this is Sergeant Rand.  We're with Internal Affairs." 

Dez smiled blandly, "
That's interesting that you know my name and how to find me.  I guess we're not running as undercover an operation as I thought.  What can I do for you boys?"

"We get that a lot," Sgt. Phillips said. "We're looking for
Officer Ondrey Williams.  Is he here?"

Dez looked past the IAD men and saw Williams' car sitting on the street a block down from the building.  He was sure the men standing in front of him had seen it too.  "Sure," Dez nodded.  "But we're kind of in the middle of something.  Can I ask how you boys knew to look for him here?"

"We'll need to speak with him right away," Sgt. Rand said.  They shouldered their way past Dez and called out, "Officer Williams?"

"Back here," Williams said.  "What's up?"

The IAD sergeants moved in unison toward Williams and flanked him either side, "You're being asked to come with us in accordance with an internal investigation.  Will you do so voluntarily, or do you refuse?"

Williams held up his hands and said, "What's this all about?"

"We'll explain more once we get back."  Sgt. Phillips reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a small green card to read, "You are being asked to provide information as part of an internal investigation. This is a voluntary interview and you do not have to answer questions if your answers would tend to implicate you in a crime. No disciplinary action will be taken against you solely for refusing to answer questions. However, the evidentiary value of your silence may be considered in administrative proceedings as part of the facts surrounding your case. Any statement you do choose to provide may be used as evidence in criminal and/or administrative proceedings."  Sgt. Phillips tucked the card back in his shirt and said, "Do you choose to comply with this investigation?"

Ondrey's eyes flicked from Dez to Fitzpatrick nervously, but neither of them moved or spoke.  "Sure, sure," Ondrey said.  "Did you really need to come down here and do all this?  You could have called and I would have came in."

"Let's go," Sgt. Rand said.  "We'll talk more in the car."

Dez watched the two IAD sergeants lead Ondrey through the building and out the front door.  He followed behind them to watch them place the officer in the back
seat of their black, unmarked vehicle and then pull onto the street.  "What the fuck just happened," he said. 

"Goddamn rat squad," Fitzpatrick muttered.

"Have you heard anything?  Anything at all?" Dez said. 

"Nah.  It's probably something to do with the twenty-ninth district.  That place is a
den of thieves and thugs.  Don't sweat it."

"Then how the fuck did they know to come here, Skip?"  Dez grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him forward, slamming the tip of his index finger into the side of Fitzpatrick's head, "Don't fucking stand there and act like it's nothing.  Think about it!  Have you heard anything?"

"No, Dez.  I haven't heard shit.  I'll ask around the DA's office tomorrow and see who knows what."  

"God damn it!" Dez shouted, kicking a plastic trashcan across the room.

The closet door slowly opened and Psycho Rabbit's pink fluffy ears peeked out as he said, "Is it safe to come out yet?  This guy stinks like piss."

Dez covered his face with his hand and said, "Get that
Mexican piece of garbage out of this fucking building.  Both of you."

"What do you want us to do with him?"

"Drop him off in Chester City, throw him in the fucking Delaware, I don't give a shit!" Dez shouted.  "Just get him the fuck out of here and do not come back until I contact you.  Either one of you, understand?"

Skip Fitzpatrick
nodded, but the rabbit said, "Do you want us to try talking to him a little more before we let him go?"