NationStates Jolt Archive

It's a gloomy day today. I look up and see nothing but a gray blanket, covering the whole of the sky. It rained earlier today just when I was leaving Rockaway. There was an accident on the Belt Parkway. Through the window wipers I saw emergency vehicles present which gave me some peace of mind. It didn't seem that bad but the delay proved irritating. On the ride to Cedarhurst, Claire sat quietly in the passenger seat, neither of us talked much on the way up there. She looks beautiful as always, even in a plain black dress. I was in my dress uniform, the dark blue dress uniform of the NYPD. I never enjoyed wearing it. They were worn for two things: Award Ceremonies and Funerals. We attended the latter, much to my dismay.

"Charlie, how do you think Linda's doing?" Claire asks, breaking the silence with a sledgehammer.

I gaze over then snap my attention back to the road, making Exit 5 which was a straight shot to cedarhurst. "I don't know. Tommy says she's holding up as best as anyone could expect." I reply.

In the back of my mind I admit to the fact that Linda should be doing fine. All our wives know the risk, the dangers involved with their husband's line of work. I can;t begin to count the number of gray hairs Claire recieved from my line of duty, especially six years ago when I was hit by a suspect in an El Camino when he fled the scene. It broke my leg and cracked two ribs, I managed to pull through fine enough. Claire seemed hurt more than I. I recieved a commendation, medical leave with full pay. Then, I returned to work and sat a desk for a few months then back on the streets. I found it best not to voice my opinion on the matter to Claire who knew Linda far better than I ever did. All our wives hanged out together, while the men drank, played cards, and watched football. While our ever resiliant wives steeled through together.

The Funeral was everything you'd expect from a Police Department. Dozens of officers in their dress uniforms, a line of police cars, mostly CRown Vics escorting the funeral car up the long drive of the cemetary. Linda wanted her husband to be burried in their home area. Reese always loved Cedarhurst. Born and raised there. While the rest of us grew up in Rockaway, he grew up in a place which might as well be a world away. Rockaway was a prominent Irish residence. Always hase been and always will be.

The long line of oak trees dotted each side of the cemetary drive, the procession moved slowly up it to the designated claim of Earth that Linda selected for her husband. The priest, those designated for the gun salute, and numerous other officals were already tere, not to mention friends of the family. Claire was with the other wives while we lined the funeral car and rolled out the heavy casket, drapped in the American flag. There's six of us carrying Reese. All of us close friends. It's damn heavy and my arm aches from carrying it. There is a drum roll and the bagpipes begin to play a solice song, echoing through the cemetary as we walk and stop, pausing, then walking again. I feel strangely numb to the whole feeling. We approach the grave and the rest of the people.

As we move forward I see all the other people. A quiet resolve in some, a somber atmosphere coupled with several sobbing wrecks, mainly Linda. Her mother-in-law craddles her as she gasps and cries, desperate to push the pain out of her body. I can't help but feel torn by seeing her. She was always so cheery and smiling, a bright star in Reese's world. Amoung the crowd I see Chief Jazjck, my supervisor as well as the big dog, Commissioner Vargas of the NYPD, as well as several politicians and other important people whom I recognize their faces but can;t bring the names to bear.

After carrying the casket we stand at attention, lifting the flag from the casket as the priest mutters off prayers, the kind I've heard countless times, too many times. We fold the flag carefully and with care. My white gloves clamp down on the flag as Bruce Sullivan, another good friend folds the flag into neat corners. Upon completion, he marches over the Linda, who is in shambles but manages to steel herself as Bruce bends down, whispering words of wisom and encouragement to her, handing the flag over.

The Funeral ceremony continues with the gun salute, several speeches and then it is all said and done with. Dozens of flowers sit along the rim of the hole, with a large picture of Reese's face, smiling in uniform. He was a good guy, a bit rough around the edges, but hell, who wasn't? We all come by and give our condolences to Linda and Reese's parents who are devastated. I pass by and whisper a generic apology which she still takes well and I pass on. I'm tired, and emotionally unstable at this point. Over the course of years and years I learned to hide and and push down my anger, fear, and sorrow. It gets to a point where I don't know where it goes anymore. Things happen and the feeling just disappears. I'm disappointed inmyself for feeling such. We were close friends and here I am not even shedding a tear. We all live our lives and work knowing that this thing could happen to anyone of us. I live one day at a time, grateful to survive to go home to my family. Claire is off talking with Linda. I go and hide behind a mausoleum, an old gray box with an iron gate. The date on it is nearly worn off.

I reach into my pocket for a half empty pack of cigarettes and find a lucky one. I've tried to quit over the years but can't find the will power to spare. Claire wants me to quit but soesn;t pressure me overtly. I find better things to use my will power on. Such as being able to tell a wife that her husband it dead. Arriving on a scene and opening up a coroner's bag to see a deceased young woman, life cut short. I'll let smoking slide this time. I light it and puffs of smoke mingle into the air.

"Charlie?" I hear someone inquir, it's Bruce.

"I'm back here" I reply quietly and watch him come around the left side. He takes off his hat and we shake hands. There's an awkward silence that ensues, each of us unsure of what to say. I can;t think of anything to say nor desire to say anything.

"How are you doing?" Bruce asks, leaning up against the stone wall. He crooks his head back and taps it against it.

"Fine, I guess" Is all that comes out of my mouth, "You?" I take another drag.

"Trying to take it one minute at a time. I-I still can't believe that Reese is gone." Bruce begins to falter.

"He always seemed like a survivor" I manage.

"Can I have a smoke?" Bruce aks, he never smokes. Of course,t here's a first time for everything. I hand him the pack and light it with my zippo. We stand there and smoke in silence.

I finish my cigarette and cast it to the ground, watching it tumble through the wet grass. I bring my shoe to bear and tramp down on it slightly, extinguishing what little life was left in the cigarette. Bruce stares of into the distance, I look but don't see what he sees. Only he sees whatever it is. IS he looking to the past? To the future? Is he reliving memories, good or bad? None of it matters at this point.

"Remember that time at the Palace?" Bruce batters the silence. I dwell deep into my memory.

"The Palace Hotel with that councilman and the whore?" I ask, trying to recall the memory. "When was that? '95?" I try to remember.

"Yeah, when we were all still green beat cops" Bruce chuckles, I don't. We were green officers in blue uniforms.

I recall us rushing up the stairs due to a loud noise complaint in one of the rooms. The Palace Hotel was a nice little place up in Queens. Not too fancy but not some bum sleazy motel. Reese was the first person up the stairwell, Bruce, myeslf, and Tommy follwing close behind. We grew up together, went to school together, went to the academy together as well. Reese knocked on the door, exclaiming "Police! Open the door!" in his thick Irish accent. There was a scramble behind the door, I found myself lifting my pistol from the holster and holdig it at the ready. We were two on each side of the door, staying out of its' frame, the fatal funnel as our instructors called it. Reese called again and again no answer. He turned and kicked the door open, it exploded inward into the abyss. I turned on my flashlight to see Councilman Wilkes throwing some two bit hooker off f him as she crashed to the floor. We rushed in, seeing a crack pipe on the dresser. We couldn't help but laugh at the irony, even while he sat on the bed, naked and frantic that his career was crashing down around him. He was a staunch advocate for fighting drugs and here he is, falling pray to the very vices he promised to fight. Reese brought the councilman out, handcuffed and still naked to the lobby where cameras were already rolling. He got in trouble for it but not too much. Reese didn't care about reprocussions.

"Well Charlie, I have to go find Alice and get the Hell outta here." Bruce says.

"Alright, I'll give you a call later" I reply and watch as Bruce walks up the drive and around the corner, disappearing behind a rising stone wall that lined the road. I stand alone and cough up a storm, feeling a bit sick I suppose.

After a few minutes I decide best that I leave as well. I don't want to get trapped in a sea of people who offer their condolences for losing a good friend. I don't even want to go to his grave, not now anyways. I take the white gloves from my pocket and put them back on and adjust my police cap. Claire always commented on how good I look in my uniform, I agree.

"Charlie!" A voice cries out in a hurried voice. I turn around to see an all too familiar face, a face I haven't seen in four years I suppose but still remember. It was the face of Danny Wallace, another old friend from Rockaway.

"Danny?" I ask, still shocked. "What've you been up to you damn mick?" I joke.

He runs a hand through his hair, stopping infront of me and doesn't offer his hand, insetad he shoves them in his suit jacket pocket. It's a cheap black suit. I can;t expect him to dres any better. He didn;t shave or anything.

"Just doin' my thing, Charlie" he replies nonchalantly, acting cool.

"I didn't see you at the funeral, everyone was there" I comment, feeling a tingling sensation of anger that Danny wasn't there. In the back of my mind, I can't blame him. He looked uncomfortable just standing around me in my uniform. While the rest of us went off to the academy all those years ago, Danny Wallace walked a different path. He always got in trouble in school, came from a bad family, suspended I don't even know how many times. The police weren't someone he was eager to see in his rearview mirror or at his door.

"I just-I just didn;t find it right for me to show up with all you blue's around" Danny replies, shifting his eyes around. Danny had a file, an extensive file, not to mention the sealed juvenile record in the court house. We got him out of another share of offenses. When something happened, he'd call one of us, mainly me and we swept it under the rug.

"Fair, I suppose." I lie, "I'm sure Linda would've liked to see you."

"I'll see her another time, I think she's still angry at me" Danny says, coughing.

I could tell something was on Danny's mind but he couldn;t bring himself to tell me. We were always able to talk, but I guess people change, I know I did. Danny looked unhealthy, he was thinner, eyes sinking back even though he was only in his early thirties. I suppose the life he lived didn't help either. I know my job didn't.

"Is there any word? You guys are looking into it, right?" Danny asks.

"Yes, but I'm not handling the case." I reply.

"Why? Why aren't you doin' it? Wouldn't they let you?"

"No, they said that they didn;t want it to get personal. Besides, Reese was part of Internal Affairs." I reply, searching for a better reason. It was complex and Danny wasn't that smart.

"I hope they find the bastard. Reese was a real good guy, he deserved better than this." Danny says, lowering his head. I stand tall still. After seeing him I put a hand on his back and pat it twice. Reese was like a brother or something to him.

"Yeah" I strain out, looking away back up the drive.

"You seen Bruce?" he asks me from nowhere. The question seemed odd but I don;t think much about it.

"He was here about five minutes ago, went up the way you came from" I say.

"I didn't see him, you sure?" Danny asks, looking uo the drive.

"Sure as shit" I retort. Danny looks confused and decided that it is best he departed.

"Well, I'll see you around Charlie. You got your phone on you?" he asks.

"No, sorry" I say. My phone was back home. I usually carry it but decided not to today. "You need me to call you?"

"Nevermind, it's nothing important" he looks me over "Good seeing you, Charlie" and Danny leaves before I can say anything. He moves up the drive, leaving me alone.

OOC: If anyone's wondering what the hell is going on then here's a brief overview: The story revolves around a group of longtime friends who join the NYPD, all of them starting out as beat cops then going their seperate ways through the ranks. One of them is killed under suspicious circumstances and his death brings them back together and they must question their own lives and what led to this point. Desperate to find the truth they begin an investigation on their own, following a trail of clues which lead to a shocking conclusion. That he may have been killed by a cop and that their deceased friend was in way over his head with certain people. Post comments if you like.

Chief Jazjck gave some of us a few days off whilst we recover from this tremendous loss. Reese, as far as we knew, was a good cop. His record was spotless, he advanced quickly through the ranks and made it to Internal Affairs Division. Many people called him a traitor. No one liked an IA snooping around. They investigated policemen, their activities, and who we knew. I always felt nervous when an IA came around the office. I worked homicide as a detective. They came around when their were suspicions of police brutality, corruption, or when an officer fired his weapon.

I fired my weapon once, two years ago when I was hit by that car. It was a crisp and miserabley cold night. We waited for hours for a court order to search the redidence of one Sergei Ulanski, a known drug dealer and muscleman for Ivan "The Terrible" Cozchenko, a Russian mobster. Ole Ulanksi beat up and killed a bar girl at Sal's up on Third Street after a night of heavy drinking and no luck with the ladies. He took her out back and tried to make a move, she apparantley snickered at his less than adequate "package" and Ulanksi went ape shit and cracked her skull in. We sat in an unmarked unit all night, watching him to make sure he didn't try to skip town. Asst. Attorney Alexis Copeland rushed down to the judges office in the dead of night, waking the elderly judge and practically forcing him to sign it as they stood on his front porch in the freezing wind. We got the call from her,

"Take the sonofabitch!" Alexis bellowed joyfully into the phone.

We exploded out of the car and rushed down the sidewalk. There were four of us. One of them a rep from Organized Crime Unit, Marco Santini, to tag along. It was his case which crossed over to us. I unholstered my weapon and felt the sweat itch underneath my wool cap, my leather jacket nearly fell off as we rushed forward. We took positions and knocked on the door, no answer and we forced our way in, clearing each room, requesting back up to search the area.

"Dammit!" Santini barked as he ran a hand through his hair, it was dark in the apartment and we gathered around. "That sneaky Russian bastard got away!"

"The garage!" One of us yell and we rush down the stairs. The house was situated on a hill with a garage cut out of the bottom. An engie roard and we stepped outside. I was on the sidewalk approaching along a wall, above was the house. Suddenly, Ulanski in a blue lincoln roared out of the garage and turned towards me. I froze, which Is wore I'd never do but my reflexes kicked in and I popped off three rounds before jumping out of the way, only to be caught by his right front light which spun me over the car and crashing down to the cold, snow covered cement. The car's tires squeeled and more shots were fired and then a crash. I passed out from the pain. Later, they told me that the others lit the car up and Ulanksi crashed into a tree and suffered two gunshot wounds. One to the shoulder, the other in the neck. He died in the hospital a week later. Ironically, we were in the same hospital. Of course, not in the same room. I would've limped over and smothered him with a pillow if I had the chance.

Investigator Marcus Greene handled the incident from Internal Affairs Division. He was an older black man with a beard and graying hair. He was a funny guy with a smile on his face. He hardly looked like the type that'd go after cops, but he did it just the same. Reese ensured that Greene went easy on me and I was easily cleared. My life was in danger and I opened fire, fearing for my safety and the safety of my fellow officers. When the report came in, I was embarrassed yet grateful that none of my bullets hit him. I don't think I could take another's life but if it came down to it, I'm sure anyone is capable of murder, even a police officer.

Your writing is, as always, excellent. Once my schedule clears up, we should put something together.

OOC: Thank you very much. I'd like to put together an rp with you as well.

The day after the funeral I find myself in my private "Fortress of Solitude" as I call it adjacent the living room. It's small, but packs all the manliness one could fit into a room. It's my own private place, where my family dare not tred. Their's a recliner, an old beige reclinr belonging to my dad, a throwback of the swinging 70's. The springs are broke but I'm used to it and find it the most comfortable recliner in the world. Claire threatens to throw it away almost daily or whenever she sees me in it on her occasional roll-bys.

"That damn chair is ugly, Charlie" she'd whine on occasion. "why don't you sell it and get a better one?"

"Dammit woman, can't a guy just sit in peace?!" I'd exclaim in a joking anger. I'm usually in my boxers and a t-shirt so she just rolls her eyes and moves on.

There's a desk with my work from the station. A closet with other personal affects. Several movie poster. The Big Lebowski is my favorite movie. I want to be like him. Lounge around all day in a robe, life would be grand. A New York Giants poster donns the wall above the tv where the boys and I would watch the games. My brother; who lives in Pittsburgh, would come over with his family whenever the Steelers played here and we'd travel to the Steel City when the Giants played there. Usually, the Giants would lose and money exchanged hands. Most of the time out of mine. He'd smile like a jackass and walk off, a few dollars richer.

Claire is off at Rockaway High School working. She's an English teacher and constantly corrects my English and that of my children. My kids, Laura and Nathaniel are at school right now. So, that leaves me and our dog, "That damn dog". That's not actually her name but that's what I call her most of the time. She's an australian/border colley mix named Queenie (I didn't name her). She trots in, tounge sticking out and begins to nudge my leg

"Get outta here you damn dog!" I exclaim and she complys less she feel the full fury of the Sports Section of the paper. I instantly regret sending the dog off because now I am alone, just me and a collection of memories around me. Perhaps I'll go for a walk, clear my mind or something.

I stand up from the recliner and contemplate mixing a drink. I suffered from a bought of alcoholism about seven years ago which I thought would be the end of me. Alcohol, in a way, allowed me another outlet to surge my anger, fears, and frustration with the job. Sure, I had football, fishing, and my family. But I needed something else. I guess it allowed me to wallow in self pity alone, away from judging eyes and concerned hearts. It put a strain on my wife and the kids, but never got serious. I saw counciling, Claire hid the liquor, and the kids begged me, at their young age, not to "Take anything from Mr.Daniels" as they put it (a reference to Jack Daniels). Hearing my own children tell me this was a watershed moment and I quit that very day.

Since then, I drink from time to time. At functions, during football and New's Year. Or some wine on special occasions with Claire. Today, I just want a damn drink because I feel like one. I walk over to the cupboard and removed a fifth of Jack and get a coke from the minifridge in the room and make myself a simple yet always satisfying Jack and Coke. I down it in two gulps, put my shoes and coat on and walk out the door, leaving my badge and concealed revolver in the safe in the closet.

I sit inside my car in the driveway for a moment. Heh, here I am driving with alcohol in my system and I just said I'd take a walk. Well, I guess plans change. Where to go? I ponder to myself. What place offers me whatever it is I need. Solice? Advice? I can;t tell which. Seeing how I didn;t go to Reese's grave yesterday, having avoided it like a giant glowing chunk of uranium. It was disrespectful and I decide to drive up to Cedarhurst and have a heart to ehart with my old pal. Maybe he has some piece of advice or just an ear to listen to. I put the car in reverse, whip out of the driveway and begin my drive.

There's not alot of traffic out today and the sky is clear, this I am grateful for.I change lanes, stop at lights, let an elderly woman cross a street and make my way up Cedarhurst, taking Exit 5 again and finally arrive at the entrance to the cemetary. The car sits in park but my hands grip the steering wheel as if I was going 160mphs. After a moment I step out and head up towards the cemetary. There's something about these places that just set me away. I never liked going to them, who does, right? My mother would visit my father from time to time, but always encouraging me to go. I tell her that I want to remember dad as a strong, live man rather than a body in the dirt.

I walk up the drive, my attention drifting from side to side at the gravestones. Some are old and worn from years of existance. Others are newer. Some fancy with elequaint engravings while others are plain stone. The dates vary as well as the names. The names of people I never knew and never cared to know. It's depressing to be here but I have a purpose, a question I want to ask Reese.

Finally, I round the corner and come upon his grave. There are still numerous arrangements of flowers around it. I looke at the marker REESE FEATHERSTONE on it. I pause and look at it then approach and put my hand atop it, perhaps looking for a connection to my friend. I don't feel anything. There's an oak tree right next to it so I lean against the aging tree and light a cigarette.

"What are we doing here, Reese?" I ask aloud, to no one really. I know Reese won;t answer but I will ask. There's the sounds of birds and the wind picks up a little. Perhaps this is his answer. I shake my head and look up at the smoke.

"What were you doing there?" I ask directly to the grave. I never knew much about what he did, except he investigated dirty cops or just suspicious ones. he never talked about his work, alot of it was sensitive. He was shot and killed last week up in a park in Rockaway, a park the rest of us played in when we were younger. They said it was a meeting with a source gone wrong. I believed them, it seemed logical enough. There was just something about it that set me off a little.


After a long pause I reach for my cellphone which says I missed a call, it was a number I didn;t recognize and the reception here was nonexistant. So, I stand around for a few more minutes, finishing my cigarette and trying to figure out my next move or my next words to Reese.

A few moments pass by like a leaf floating lazily atop a steady stream. Now that I think about it, it's a remarkable day out. At first, it appeared to be a normal, sunny day in fall. I look up again to see the white tufts of clouds stand still, frozen in the sky. Autumn is my favorite season of the year. It's still warm at the beginning but cool. The leaves turn tp a plethera of bright colors, and I always enjoy Halloween and Thanksgiving, lots of food and football.

His grave still sits there, a testimony almost. Reese from what I saw and always knew, was a straight laced guy, doing the right thing but still knew how to have fun. Laid back but could flip a switch in a heartbeat if the moment demanded such action. At the academy he always excelled and tried to lift those up who would fall without a guiding hand.

"Reese, why did you go?" I ask. It turns out that he didn;t tell anyone he was meeting with this secret contact, not even his partner, Marcus Greene who was left adrift in a sea of darkness. The gravestone offers no explination or reason. I shrug my shoulders and suddenly there is a vibration in my coat pocket, the phone.

"Hello?" I ask dully into the phone. The other end is static, bad reception.

"Charlie?...It's Danny..." I faintly hear Danny's voice.

"Danny, I can hardly hear you, where are you?" I ask louder.

"I-I need to talk, it's..." He's cut off.

I become frustrated upon seeing the call has ended and decide to cut my visit to Reese short and call Danny back. The reception in the cemetary isn;t bad, he must be somewhere bad, like a tunnel or someplace. I begin to walk away and turn back to Reese "C'ya later" I say and continue walking.

There's no more smokes in my pack and I cast it away into the bouls of a random trashcan on the way back to the car. I sit inside the car, sit and wait for a few moments. What am I going to do? Should I try and call him back? Or, should I just go back home and fix another Jack and Coke? I wish I was still and alcoholic. The phone begins to ring and after the fourth one, he finally picks up.

"Charlie, I'm sorry about earlier" he says over the phone.

For some reason I look over my shoulder, as if I wasn't emant to be holding this conversation with him. "What did you need?"

"I want to meet with you and talk. I-I can't go too into it over the phone. You remember the diner on Feltson Avenue?" Danny asks.

"Of course, what time?"

"As soon as you get there" the line dies and I'm left holding a phone connecting to no one. I grumble to myself and start the car and begin a drive off to Feltson Avenue and the out of the way diner.

After a fifteen minute drive I turn onto Feltson Avenue, a secluded street, once fully populated and economically strong, is now beginning to wear down. The diner is a small cramped place in between an insurance salesman office and a closed down brick building with boards on the windows and spary paint along the bottom wall. I remember the diner from the past years, pretty good food. I used to stop there when I was a uniform cop on breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I enter and see three people along the bar and a few sporatic bodies in the booths. On the end booth I see Danny's head pop out and motion for me to come closer. I walk down to the end of the diner and slide into the booth, my knee throbs a little but I ignore it. He's shifting in his seat, raising his head above my sight of view to look back behind me then out the window.

"What's wrong, Danny?" I ask. He stops searching for the invisible watchers and turns his attention back to me.

"Want something, honey?" a young, attractive waitress with her hair pulled into a blonde bun asks, interrupting our conversation.

"Just coffee" I reply and give her the feeling that she should leave, which she does dutifully.

"I need to talk to you about Reese" Danny says, "Is there anything going on with the investigation or something?" he asks, elbows on the table.

"I told you before, Danny. I'm not involved with the investigation, it's being handled by Homicide. I'm with Narcotics still." I tell him "I used to be in Homicide, still have some connections, I guess"

"Has he ever mentioned investigation of some sort?"

I'm getting tired

"Get to the point, please" I beg him. I lean forward as he does, here comes the big secret.

"I know who he was meeting with, or was supposed to meet with" Danny whispers.

My heart stops...

"What?!" I choke out, my heart nearly coming up my throat. What is he talking about? This is unbelieveable!

"I don't know if the guy actually met with him or not, you see" Danny whispers again.

"Are you-" I struggle with the right words and point my finger at him, a torrent of emotions swirling in a vortex of confusion. "Were you involved?!" I demand.

"No, no" Danny pleads, raising his hands in a I give up manner. My mind begins to kick back into gear. I study his expression, a sorrowful admission of some secret guilt that he will not relinquish to me. "You see, I've dealt with this guy before...business wise."

"What business are you into" I ask directly. I always knew Danny was into some less than admirable avenues of living, but I never asked him about it until now, even though I already knew a general idea. He squirms in his seat, looking uncomfortabe. Like he's SUperman and I just crammed a hunk of kryptonite down his throat.

"Moving stuff here and there for people. Small stuff, runs mainly." he says in a nonchalant way as if he just finished doing someones taxes.

"And this guy?..." I lead on down a dark path of truth, hoping he follows.

"He's into some heavier stuff, from what I take. Drugs, things like that. You know, heavy stuff. I'm light stuff." Danny says.

"A name?"

"I don't know his name" Danny disappoints. The waitress stops by and sets down a mug and pours a cup's worth of steamy hot coffee, winks, and leaves, sensing the gravity of our conversation.

"Do you know the specifics of why Reese was supposed to meet with this mystery man?" I feel myself trapped.

"Heavy business" Danny replies in a simple fashion.

I can't believe what I jusy heard.

In an instant Danny begins to slide out of the booth. My hand grapples his, holding firm. He shoots me the look of a trapped and wounded animal. I decide to let go.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"None of your business!" He exclaims and begins to trot down the diner. I throw some loose dollars on the table and nearly sprint into pursuit.

"It is my business now" I say as we step outside the diner and onto the street. He shoves his hands in his pockets and begins to look for the mysterious watcher again. Perhaps there really is someone out there.

"Not here, Charlie. I shouldn;t have said anything" He doesn't look back and I follow. We cross the street, all the while I beg him to give me more information.

"Tell me what you know and I'll get in touch with my connections and feed this information into the pipeline."

"No"

"It will help us catch Reese's killer. You know more than you're telling me" I say as he finally stops and turns to face me. The words hang in the air. Reese's killer. Those two words force me to stop and think.

"Charlie, this is big. Pretty fuckin' big. Let's talk at my place." He says, then looks embarrassed "You have a car?"

It's a descent drive to the outskirts of Queens. He sits silently in the passenger's seat, almost curled into a ball. He's lived a hard life as long as I can remember. Despite his downfalls, Danny's tough and loyal to his friends. Mainly us because we helped him so much in the past, getting out of trouble and in school dealing with bullies. As I make an exit and pass several cars I just happen to look up to the rear view mirror and notice a silver impala that I recall seeing several blocks ago. I shrug it off but not completely.

He gives me directions finally, must be a hard place to spot. Finally, he nearly grabs my arm and tells me to pull off onto a gravel parking lot which is part of a used car lot, guessing it doesn't see much business.

"The apartment's down the street there" Danny says, pointing. I follow his finger to see a red brick apartment with black iron fire escapes and laundary hanging from several windows. As I watch, the silver impala cruises past us, the hairs on the back of my neck tingle and my gut instinct gears up. We step out of the car and now I begin to look over my shoulder. I reach for my cigarettes but remember I'm out, dammit. Danny moves faster than I do as usual, my knee begins to hurt again. I wonder what's going through his mind. Clouds begin to form above, dark ones. This sin;t a good sign.

As we move up the hazardous stairwell I look down below as we round flight after flight then finally jutt off onto the corridor. The lights are dim and several smells of cooking rise into the air, someone is screaming, I ignore it. A baby cries in one room, a tv's too loud in another. It's obviously a low-income apartment with low-income residents, and a low budget for maintenance. He opens the door which leads to a dark casm. A light flickers on to reveal an apartment which is sparcely used and furnished equally. Danny takes off his coat and hangs it on a hanger and closes the door, double locking it, peeking through the peep hole. Upon satisfaction that it was safe, he moves past me and into the living room and sits on an old couch. I follow suit and occupy a recliner opposite him, not exactly my beige recliner.

"A name, Danny" I ask.

"Henry Sykes. He's a contact man, go between of sorts." Danny replies, then coughs.

"Name sounds familiar, you work with him before?"

"Three weeks ago. A Russian by the name of Ivan Cozchenko wanted some merchandise moved." Danny't tone is serious.

Ivan the Terrible. One of the premier celebrities in narcotics division. My skin crawls just thinking about that heartless, cold bastard. He's ruthless anddeadly.

"Where does Reese come into this?" I ask, hooked now.

"Henry wants protection. He knows alot of names, alot of numbers. Those numbers lead to alot more people, important people." Danny says.

"Where's Henry?" I ask, feeling the itch for a cigarette.

"I don't know, man. He called two days after Reese was, you know" Danny says, feeling uncomfortable talking about Reese in such a manner. "He said the meeting went south before he got there, a bad sight."

"Will he call again?" I lean forward in the recliner, nearly falling over the edge.

"I'm not sure, I can call him" Danny pulls out his cell phone. I stand up while he dials and move to the window where the blinds are pulled down. I part several of them to survey the street. The impala is across the street, occupied and running. My heart races...