Chapter 56: End of a Career

I stared at Jerry for a second, and then ran over and knelt next to him. His upper right arm was mangled and bloody, and his face was covered in blood. “Oh, Jesus, Jerry!” I wailed, and then I grabbed the mike on my shoulder. ‘OFFICER DOWN! OFFICER DOWN! OH JESUS! OFFICER DOWN AT MATUCKET AND ELM! ONE-SIX-THREE TO DISPATCH! I NEED BACKUP AND AN AMBULANCE ... ROLL EVERYTHING! OFFICER DOWN!”

Dispatch was saying something, but I didn’t pay any attention. “Oh, shit, Jerry, don’t you die on me!” I fumbled my gun back into my holster. Then I pulled a handkerchief out and slapped it on his arm, but I figured he was probably already dead.

As soon as I touched him, Jerry stirred. “Christ that hurts!” he said, his eyes opening.

“Jesus! You’re alive?”

“Grim, what happened?” Jerry was trying to sit up, but when he moved his right arm, he screamed and lay back down.

“Don’t move! Don’t move! I called in for an ambulance,” I told him.

“What happened? What’s the blood from?” He swiped his left hand over his face, groaning as he moved. “Oh, Christ, that hurts!”

“Where’d you get hit?” I asked. Thank God, but I could hear the wail of sirens approaching, and there was more than one.

“I don’t know, but...” He held his left hand up and looked at it, then turned to me. “This isn’t just blood! What happened?”

I looked at my partner closely, and he was right. He hadn’t been hit in the face or neck, not at all, and the blood on him also had bits of bone and something grayish mixed in. I glanced back at the Chrysler, and saw the rear passenger slumped over, the side and top of his head blown off. I turned back to Jerry and said, “Uh, that’s brain!”

Jerry stared at me a second, and then rolled to the left and retched up lunch. Then he turned back and demanded I clean it off him. I just shook my head. “No way, man. You’re going to the hospital!” If the blood on his face wasn’t his, the blood on his arm certainly was. “Where are you hit?”

“Christ, I don’t know! My chest is killing me!”

I ripped open Jerry’s torn-up shirt and saw three bullets pancaked on the surface of his vest. I just shook my head. “Jerry, you have to be the luckiest man alive,” I told him. I sank down next to him, exhausted, as the adrenaline wore off.

Within the next thirty seconds, the circus came to town, or at least half the Matucket police department did. Two cruisers showed up, followed by an ambulance fifteen seconds after that. One of the officers, Tony Franco, yelled, “Reaper! Did you check the trunk?”

My eyes popped open at that! Theoretically, another person or persons could be hiding in the trunk. I shook my head and said, “Shit! No!”

He reached inside the gore-splattered car and pulled the keys out of the ignition, and then positioned himself to one side. The other officer, Leon Warren, took up a position opposite him and pulled his pistol. Tony flicked open his baton, and then hit the key fob to pop the trunk. When the latch clicked open, he pried it up with his baton. Nobody jumped out and started shooting, but both Tony and Leon stared in disbelief. “Holy fucking Christ!” muttered Leon.

“No shit, man!”

“What is it?” I called out. I didn’t want to leave Jerry, but the EMTs arrived and kicked me out of the way. I crawled upright and went to look in the trunk with the other two. “Holy shit!” I exclaimed. Inside the trunk were several large cardboard cartons packed with kilo-size bricks of something, probably heroin or cocaine, two cases of what looked like machine pistols of some sort, and several cartons of ammunition.

“What the hell did you two walk into?” said Tony quietly.

I looked back over at Jerry, now being fitted with a neck brace and with an IV already rigged, and then turned back. “It was just a routine stop! It was a speeding ticket for Christ’s sake!”

A few seconds later, we had a sergeant show up, and he put Tony and Leon to work shutting down and diverting traffic and moving spectators back. I went back to Jerry as he was loaded on a stretcher, and I followed him to the ambulance. Jerry looked white but flashed me a thumbs-up. I moved to climb in with him but was stopped. “Sorry, officer, not with us,” said one of the EMTs.

“I’ll follow in the cruiser, Jerry!”

“No, you won’t, Patrolman,” said Sergeant Castle, who had just shown up. “You are needed for the investigation.”

“Sergeant!”

“You can see him later. You can’t do anything there anyway. Come on, let them get to work.”

I backed away, all the while telling Jerry I’d see him at the hospital. Instead, Castle led me over to Leon’s cruiser and sat me down on the back seat, looking out. I watched silently as Jerry was loaded into the ambulance and driven away. Off to the side, beyond where the crime scene tape was strung, Channel Nine had a camera going. Meanwhile a few officers came up to me and slapped me on the back and told me I had done a good job. The only one I really thought about was Sergeant Hank Jenkins, the head of the TRT. “Reaper, before you make your statement, ask for a lawyer.”

I looked at him and said, “What do I need a lawyer for? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Just do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut until the PBA lawyer shows up.” Then he was off doing something else. The drugs and the guns in the trunk, for instance, would be taken back to the evidence vault at the station in the back of the Cougar.

It wasn’t just the sergeants who showed up. A call of ‘Officer down!’ was guaranteed to get all the brass out. Both patrol lieutenants were there, followed by Captain Crowley and Chief Jefferson. Everybody asked if I was all right, but that was it. After a bit, a couple of detectives showed up. They were led over to the cruiser by Captain Crowley, who said, “Grim, this is Detective Barker and Detective Smith. They’ll be running the investigation.”

“The investigation?” I asked.

Smith was medium-sized, white, about five-eleven and about two hundred pounds, and in his late thirties. Barker was smaller, a few years younger, and African-American. Smith replied, “This is really routine, but we need to run an investigation on all shootings. It won’t be long.”

“Oh.”

Detective Barker said, “You need to come with us. We’ll take you down to the station. Somebody else will take your cruiser back.”

“Go with them Patrolman,” ordered Crowley.

“Yes, sir.” I got out of the back seat and began following them.

When we got to their car, an unmarked Crown Vic, Barker stopped and pulled out a large evidence bag. “How about putting your service weapon in here for me. Like I said, this is just routine. When we’re done, you’ll get it back.”

“Uh, okay.” I pulled my pistol and placed it in the bag, which Barker closed and placed in his trunk.

“Now, when we get back to the station, you’ll need to make a statement,” said Smith.

“Uh, okay, but I think I should wait for a lawyer to do that,” I answered.

Barker was smooth. “No, that’s not necessary. We just want to talk. You don’t need a lawyer.”

Suddenly I remembered something my Uncle Dave had said over at the feed mill. ‘If you ever hear somebody tell you that you don’t need a lawyer, that’s a sure sign that you do need a lawyer!’ “No, I think I want a lawyer.”

They kept calmly telling me how the process was just routine, all the way over to the station. Once we got there, I was led inside, and they took me towards one of the interrogation rooms. I stopped before entering. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“You can do that in a bit. Let’s sit first,” said Smith, pushing open the door.

I was really getting a bad feeling about this. “No, I think I want to use the bathroom first.”

“I’m sorry, but we really need to get this started.”

I just stopped and put a hand on the doorframe. “Am I under arrest?”

“No, of course not,” replied Barker.

“Then I am going to the bathroom.” I pushed back and turned towards the hallway.

“Patrolman, get your ass in here right now! You will give us an immediate statement and knock your shit off!”

“Arrest me and read me my rights or let me go to the bathroom. If I have to, I will pee my pants and sit in it before I make a statement! Either way, I am not saying word-fucking-one until I see a lawyer!” I answered hotly.

“Failure to provide a statement is grounds for immediate dismissal and will result in charges against you!” said Smith.

“Lawyer!” I said.

Barker took my arm and dragged me down the hall. “Fine! I hope you enjoyed being a cop because that is over!” We stopped at the bathroom, but he didn’t let me in. “Last chance.”

“Lawyer!”

Smith left for a minute and returned with a specimen cup with a lid. “Fine. You piss in this first, and we’ll watch. After that you can piss your life away.”

Any pretense at this being just routine had disappeared by now. I took the specimen cup and went over to the first urinal. I set it on the porcelain, and unzipped, and then peed into the cup while they watched my dick. When it was filled, I handed it to back to Smith. To Barker I said, “You can either share with him or get your own cup.”

“Screw you, Reaper.”

I went back to pissing, and then zipped up. I made sure I washed my hands. I had Jerry’s blood on them still, and my uniform was probably ruined, assuming I was still a cop when this was all over. Smith capped the specimen cup and wrote something on the label. Then I was taken back to the interrogation room and pushed inside. As the door closed, I heard the lock click. I might not have been charged and arrested, but that was the real effect of all this.

It was three hours before the door opened again, and somebody I had never met before came in. “Officer Reaper?”