Town & County Confidential

This story is part of an ongoing series. The chronological order of my stories is listed in WifeWatchman’s biography.

Feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated, and I encourage feedback for ideas.

This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racism, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.

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This story is written for the ‘Hammered – an Ode to Mickey Spillane’ challenge. It is based upon the characters in my ‘Iron Crowbar’ Detective series. Please read ‘Film Noir’ for more on Russ Ferrament.

Part 1 – Prologue – Russ Ferrament

The morning light filtered through the slats of the blinds over the window of my office on Riverside Drive as I walked into it. I didn’t choose this life, it chose me. And all I have to compensate for it is my flask of bourbon, a powerful handgun, and a red crowbar. Yes, that’s me, Russ Ferrament. I’m a local cop on the beat.

6:00am, Wednesday, October 7th. I came into Police Headquarters, having gotten up an hour earlier and worked out at home before cleaning up and driving in. It was a busy time in my Town & County. The Elections were coming up in November. College football season had started, and we had a major University right here next to Town. And criminals were not taking the season off, unfortunately.

I checked in with the Duty Desk. The 3rd Shift Officers gave me the rundown: there had been an armed robbery at the ‘Mercado Rápido’, the Quick Market, which was south of Town and near ‘Hotel Row’ on the highway going south out of the County, a predominately Hispanic area. No one was injured, I was told.

As I headed down the hallway toward my office, I saw Lieutenant Jerome Davis, head of the Major Crimes Division (MCD) in the MCD room with Senior Detective Joanne Warner. Joanne saw me and called out “Commander Troy? Can we talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.” I said, diverting into the large MCD room. “You’re here early this morning.”

“Yes sir, we are.” said Jerome Davis, who was a fairly light-skinned black man of medium height and build, but good with the martial arts. He was young for a Lieutenant but had been doing well in the leadership role.

Joanne Warner was also young, and she was white, blonde, and very beautiful. She was also a Military Reservist and an FBI Consultant. She had decent leadership potential, and much more potential to be a brilliant Detective, but her interviewing skills sucked.

“So, whassup?” I asked as I availed myself of the coffee Jerome had made. His father had retired from the Navy, and Jerome knew how to make real Navy coffee, which was popular with the Detectives.

“I came in to try to get a grasp on these convenience store robberies, sir.” said Jerome. “Then Joanne came in and pointed something out to me: there are no closable doors on the entrances to Vice and MCD from the hallway, and there’s no place we can put whiteboards that won’t be in the way of the desks or not visible from both exit doors. Anyone can walk by and see them, as well as what’s on the wall monitors.”

Joanne added: “I was thinking about that with regard to the leaks to the Press we’ve been having. It’s not a big thing, but it definitely is a security issue.”

I nodded, then said: “Good observation. And it might not be the worst idea to have secure doors that have to be opened with a punch code or card reader, like the Intel Branch room has. I’ll get with Deputy Chief Ross and see what Physical Properties wants to do about it.”

A sudden awkward silence ensued. Then Joanne said “Er, sir, can I ask if it’s true that Commander Ross is retiring in lieu of being fired?”

Commander Cindy Ross, the Deputy Chief, was third in line after Police Chief Sean Moynahan and myself, Police Commander Donald Troy. She had ‘erred’ a few days before, on our last big case, and had been disciplined by Sheriff Antonio Griswold. In our Town & County, the Sheriff was over the Police Department.

Rumors abounded over what that discipline was. As a Medal of Valor recipient, Cindy Ross had the right to retire at any time and with a pension, no matter what her standing was. And therefore, that was an option for her to avoid humiliating punishment.

“You may ask.” I replied. “Seriously, she was never going to be fired. And I’ll wait until the Sheriff makes the formal announcement to say anything more. But keep this under your hats… we’ll need a new Deputy Chief on January 1st. Okay, you said ‘robberies’, plural? What’s going on with those?…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I went to my desk in my office and put my red crowbar on its hooks under the desk. Yes, the red crowbar, where my nickname came from.

I am the Iron Crowbar. And I am a damn good Detective, if I do say so myself. Yes, ‘Russ’ is ‘red’, and ‘Ferrament’ is ‘iron implement’. And that’s the real me.

As an old French proverb says: “Sometimes, a man’s reputation precedes him; sometimes, it follows him.” Over the years, that name, the crowbar, and the man carrying it had developed a reputation. Fearsome to some, heroic to others. The Lone Ranger said his mask stood for the law. Similarly, my crowbar stands for Justice… and sometimes against dirty Agents of the Law.

But those that hated me for being good and doing well used that fearsome reputation against me. The Media, which I despise above all other things, relentlessly attacked me as well as the Police, making it as hard as possible for us to do our jobs.

As Police Commander, I was in operational control of the entire Town & County Police Force. We’d just solved the ‘Babymaker’ murders, and put a Corporate Elitist behind bars. Now we had a series of convenience store robberies to look into. The party never stops in my Town & County…

Part 2 – Press Perfidy

If I were on Easy Street, I’d be relaxing with slugs of bourbon instead of risking slugs fired at me by thugs with powerful handguns. Instead, I’ve got a string of nasty relationships with dirty cops and the Press, and at times it’s hard to tell who’s the most dishonest.

Have I mentioned that I utterly despise the Press?

“This is Bettina Wurtzburg, KXTC Channel Two News!’ shouted the redheaded MILF reporterette at 7:00am, Wednesday, October 7th, from the anchor desk in the KXTC studios. “Judge Rodney K. Watts seals the ‘Babymaker’ case records!”

After the ‘hard charging’ music intro, Bettina began: “Superior Court Judge Rodney K. Watts sealed the records of the Carl Ryder/David Rose murder cases and issued a gag order forbidding the Press from revealing the names of the so called ‘Babymaker Club’, young men who inseminated and impregnated married women in exchange for money! Let’s go to Amber Harris for more on this incredible judicial order. Amber!”

“That’s right, Bettina!” said the athletic blonde, reporting from the roof of the building at Riverside Drive and College Street, with the Courthouse in the distant background. “Superior Court Judge Rodney K. Watts sealed the evidence and Police records of the two murder cases, citing the privacy of many individuals who had committed no crimes. Despite being black, Judge Watts has often sided with hardline Conservatives and the Police in his often-wrong rulings, and this ruling appears to be no exception.”

Amber: “Additionally, Channel Two News has learned that the Office of University President Sidney P. Wellman filed a ‘Friend of the Court’ brief asking Judge Watts to issue the gag order against revealing the names of the men of the Babymaker Ring and the women who hired them, denying you the information you have a right to know!”

Amber: “The University President’s Office cited an ongoing ethics complaint against Dr. Laura Fredricson, wife of Police Commander Donald Troy and the mother of two of his six known children, as the reason for requesting the gag order. That ethics complaint by Dr. Lionel Carmela, as well as a criminal complain to the State Medical Board asking that Dr. Fredricson’s medical license be revoked and that she be removed from the University Hospital Staff, is still ongoing. Dr. Fredricson’s slander lawsuit against Dr. Carmela is also ongoing. The gag order will remain in effect at least until all of that is resolved. Back to you, Bettina!”

Back to Bettina live: “Thank you for that important and insightful update, Amber! And now let’s go to reporter Pat Stellum with a breaking story. Pat!”

“That’s right, Bettina!” said the chubby-cheeked Al-Capone-lookalike Pat Stellum as he appeared on the screen, with a convenience store behind him in the growing morning light. “Last night, the ‘Mercado Rápido’, a well-known quick market near the Coltrane County Highway, was robbed at gunpoint. The night before last, the Qwik Stop on Riverside Drive, owned by Pablo Gomez, was robbed at gunpoint. The criminals began shooting when someone came in the door and surprised the perps, but fortunately no one was killed nor injured.”

Stellum: “Last night’s convenience store robbery at gunpoint was the fifth in the last four days, and leaders of the Black Community are becoming increasingly angry at the lack of Police response. Roll tape.”

Tape rolled, showing Eldrick X. Weaver, who was black and the Democrat candidate for Mayor, saying “Black and brown people are being held up at gunpoint, and Daniel Allgood is doing nothing about it!” Daniel Allgood was white and the current Mayor, and the attempts to steal the election from him and for Weaver two years before were stopped by Your Iron Crowbar and a judicial order. The rancor that resulted continued unabated.

Bruce Finneran, who was white and a card-carrying member of NAMbLA, and Democrat candidate for County Inspector General, was shown saying “It’s inexplicable that Horace Wellman has not demanded the Police do something about these robberies! When I am Inspector General, I will hold the Police accountable for their inaction on crimes against black and brown people!”

Back to Stellum live: “The Police have not responded to repeated requests by KXTC for comment on their failure to stop these robberies. It might take someone being killed to get Commander Donald Troy off his butt to do something about them…”

Part 3 – Film Study

The door to my office opened, and in walked trouble. Dirty blonde, as usual. A lot of people warned me that this dame was bad news, that she was a mean bitch with a bad attitude. But to me, she’s an Angel.

Lieutenant Commander Teresa Croyle came into my office just before 8:00am. She was married to my sister’s son, but more importantly she was my Commander of Operations, having control over the Uniformed Officers of both Precincts and at Headquarters. She was technically in charge of the Detectives Division as well, mostly to facilitate coordinated operations.

Teresa Croyle had in the past been called ‘Teresa Cunt’ behind her back, as she had been one of the meanest bitches you’d ever not want to meet. Her career had nearly ended when she beat up a State Senator’s son who had driven drunk and killed a mother and her children, but that led me to finding Teresa’s secret that her own sister had been killed by a drunk driver, and other family issues. And so I was able to save her. Smartest thing I ever did.

Now, Teresa was indispensable to me, not only as an Officer, but as a loyal friend. Truth be told, she was the only person in the world I truly completely trusted, even more than I trusted my own wife.

“I’ve been briefed by the Precinct Captains on these robberies in the Hispanic areas.” Teresa said. “The newscast didn’t mention that there was also a robbery in the small Latino cluster northwest of Town. Can’t have the wealthy folks in their gated communities up north being frightened by crime in their neighborhoods, dontcha know?”

Cynical, the ‘Iron Wolf’ was. Justifiably so, I thought agreeably.

“Yeah,” I said. “And we were distracted with the Babymaker cases, though that’s no excuse. Still, the rabidly hostile Press is taking cheap shots at us for not miraculously solving the cases in one day——”

*Whirrrrrrrrrrr*

That noise was Captain of Operations Tanya Perlman Muscone driving her wheelchair into my office and parking on a dime… literally, as I’d taped a dime to the floor in front of my desk and she always unerringly stopped right on it. She had been shot in her spine as she’d saved her baby son’s life, and had lost the use of her legs.

She had a mane of tawny blonde hair that would put Farrah Fawcett to shame, twinkling eyes, and a wicked grin when she brought her sense of humor to the fore. Her nickname was ‘Lady Ironside’, and she was still one of the sharpest Detectives on the Town & County Police Force. And she was one of my three ‘Crowbar’s Angels’, along with Teresa and Cindy Ross.

After watching the Fox Eight News coverage at 8:00am, which told me nothing new of any particular value, I started the ‘Angels Meeting’. “Okay, these holdups in the convenience stores. The Press is already all over them, which rouses my suspicions, but we do need to do something about them…the holdups, that is. I already know what I’d like to do to the Press.”

Tanya said “My Vice Lieutenant, Rudistan, had been keeping me informed of these robberies, sir, and I apologize for not giving them more emphasis in my reports to you.”

Rudistan was best known for being a white kid that grew up in the Projects with mostly black kids, always being jovial and a practical joker at times, and for being an outstanding Police Officer that had worked his way up to Lieutenant and leadership of the Vice Squad. One of my best attributes is seeing the potential of people like Rudistan, and putting them in their best and most effective places. It had taken some effort and ‘persuasion’ to get Rudistan to take the job, but once he did he warmed up to it, and the Vice Squad to him.

“That’s okay.” I said. “I saw the duty logs. It wasn’t a pattern of serial robberies until just now. So what do we know about them?”

Tanya said “We think, but are not solidly sure, that a black gang is committing the robberies. They may be a splinter group of Jacquez Wilson’s old gang, the ‘Blockhouse Boyz’, but seeing as most of those perps were arrested or blown up with Wilson when the Block House blew up, these guys may be independent.” (Author’s note: ‘Consequences’, Ch. 04-05.)

Tanya; “We’ve gotten some footage from the stores that were robbed, as well as spotty street camera footage. Intel Branch is analyzing that data now and will be bringing you a full report. I’ve asked them to analyze any patterns, so that we can possibly predict where they may strike next, and we can set up some stakeouts and watch out for them.”

“Sounds good.” I said. “Anything from Confidential Informants?”

“Not yet, sir.” said Tanya. “Our guys had been talking to many of them regarding the Babymaker cases, and they did give us info on the hired killers that led to the Roseblatt bust. Now we’re touching base with C.I.s in the Hispanic Community as well as the Black Community, but we’ll need time to hear back from them.”

“Okay.” I said. “Stay on top of that, and tell Rudistan to be ready to lead some stakeout operations. Teresa, coordinate with him and the Precincts to provide help and manpower for that, if needed.”

“Yes sir.” said Teresa.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I thought back to my days as an Army Paratrooper. People told me I was crazy for jumping out of perfectly good aircraft while in flight. They may call me crazy, but they never call me a coward.

And that goes double for the Airborne Ranger. I was good, but I never was a Ranger, and my respect for them is unbounded. “Rangers lead the way” is not just a motto, it’s their way of life. And that comes with consequences.

There was a knock on my door, and Lieutenant Mary Milton of Intel Branch came in, followed by Auxiliary Officer Terry Halston. Mary was a ‘Goth Girl’, and today her hair was bright purple. She was so damn good at data gathering and analysis that the Chief and I just kept silent about her hair color choices.

Terry Halston had been an Army Ranger in Afghanistan, and was brought to my attention by his cousin, one of my daughter’s classmates at school. Halston could not serve on our SWAT Team with other former Rangers, as he’d been diagnosed with PTSD and so far could not carry a service weapon. We were working on that, but in the meantime, Halston’s skills with data analysis and driving our drones around were invaluable.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Milton, Ranger Halston.” I said, giving her the respect of her title, and him the respect of that Ranger Tab he’d earned. “Whassup?”

“Sir,” said Mary Milton, “Halston has developed a C.I., but he needs your approval to complete the paperwork signing the guy up.” She handed me some paperwork across the desk.

“Have a seat, guys.” I said, and they sat down in the ‘hot chairs’ in front of my desk. They were comfortable, they rotated, and they had armrests. But every Officer on the Force knew that they were called ‘hot’ chairs for a reason; only well-prepared Officers dared to sit in them.

“Tell me about this guy, Halston.” I said.

“Sir,” said Terry Halston, “he was a Ranger in Afghanistan, like me and Kalsu and Patrick were, but he wasn’t in our unit. He developed relationships with people over there that were growing and shipping out opium for heroin production. When they caught him, he told his superiors he was with the CIA, who neither confirmed or denied it.”

Halston: “He and his unit were shipped out of Afghanistan, and we always thought it was because the whole unit was compromised, or else they were all involved in the drug pipeline. He had a Bar to Re-enlistment, so he was processed out. He’d been in Southport for a couple of years, then moved up here six months ago… and sure enough, he started working for T-Mac, running drugs.”

“He still has connections to the warlords in Afghanistan?” I asked.

“Yes sir.” Terry said. “But he came to me a week ago. He said he wanted to get out, go legit, but that they’d hunt him down and kill him if he did… he knows too much.”

“Just what is trying to get out of? The drug racket, or the CIA?” I asked.

“Yes.” said Lt. Milton, meaning both. I chuckled.

“Sounds like the Company is telling him he knows too much, and that they might arrange his terminal dismissal.” I said. “And I’m married to a former Deputy Director of the CIA, so I hear things like that from time to time.” I did not mention how they’d tried to send my wife on a ‘terminal’ mission, but I intervened to make sure Laura came home alive. (Author’s note: ‘Her Last Bow’.)

Halston said “I suggested he stay in and become my C.I., and he liked the idea. He also likes it that he could get 10% of any busts we make based on his information.”

“And he’s aware of the dangers?” I asked. “If he’s found out, he could easily come over all dead.”

Halston said “He’s a Ranger, sir. He’s never lacked for courage.”

“I’ll buy that for a dollar.” I said. “So why do I have to personally approve this?”

“He’s been flagged for a PTSD diagnosis.” said Mary Milton. “And he was involved in a shootout in Southport. Charges were reduced, as they couldn’t prove he actually fired shots at anyone, but it makes him high-risk.”

“Okay.” I said, as I perused the file. “Goes by the name ‘Caleb’. Grew up in the Southport Projects. Tough place. His Army record is a see-saw: Bronze Star with ‘V’ Device for bravery, two Purple Hearts… and several busts, with two full Courts-Martial: one for attacking a Second Lieutenant, for which he was acquitted when it was shown the white Lieutenant shoved Caleb’s head in a toilet because he was black; and drug distribution, which was dropped without explanation, and he was shipped out with his unit. Sounds like an ideal C.I., so why is there an issue?”

“With respect, sir,” said Mary Milton, “it’s his involvement with the CIA, if that is true.”

“Let me make a phone call.” I said, taking a cellphone out of my drawer. I dialed a number and said “Hi honey, is this line secure?”

“Yes.” said my wife, Dr. Laura Fredricson. This phone and her phone that I’d called had some serious, no-shit security on it. I was told that even the NSA couldn’t crack the encryption, and I believed that as much as I believe the NSA doesn’t spy on U.S. Citizens. But I digress.

“I need you to check in your special way if someone has any connection to any Federal agencies.” I said, then gave her ‘Caleb’s real name.

“Let me check.” Laura said, and I knew she’d be bringing it up on her ultra-secure laptop she used for classified CIA things. As she typed, she asked “So what do you want for your birthday?” My birthday was October 26th, and Laura’s was November 1st.

“I’d tell you,” I replied, “but this line might not be secure enough. And I have rowdy Police Officers here that might overhear me.”

Laura laughed, then said “No, according this this, he was in the Army, but was not part of the CIA… they considered him to be too unstable, and weren’t sure of his loyalties. And there’s no connection to the DEA nor any other Federal Agency. And… he’s not on the ‘Disavowed’ list, either.”

After saying our goodbyes and ‘I love you’s, I disconnected the call. “He’s not CIA, never was, never ‘disavowed’. So yes, ‘Caleb’ would be an ideal C.I. Congratulations, Halston, on a great find.” I signed the approval document.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Exactly what are we looking for?” asked Detective Sergeant Julia Rodriguez as she sat at her desk in MCD, looking at her monitor.

Captain Muscone had sent all of the MCD, Vice, and Intel Detectives the links to the videos of the convenience store robberies, and instructed them to view the videos for clues prior to a meeting later that morning.

“Anything that sticks out.” said Senior Detective Teddy Parker, Julia’s Police partner. “Anything Commander Troy would call a ‘strangeness’.” Parker was white, with brown hair, medium build and fit. He often wore a trenchcoat, like I did, and that made him look like the quintessential plainclothes Police Officer or Private Eye.

“I’m looking at the pattern of the robberies.” said George Newman, who was black and looked like a heavier-set Billy Dee Williams (who played ‘Lando Calrissian’ in the Star Wars trilogy). “Five robberies. Four on the Southside: two near Hotel Row to the south, two on the southwest side, on or near Riverside Drive. The fifth was just northwest of Town, and was on the same night as the one furthest south. The two on Riverside were the only ones where we got street camera footage, and one of those locations is the only one with any shooting incidents.”

“What time were the robberies?” asked Newman’s partner, Roark Coleman, who was white and at times showed brilliant observational insight but also a strange understanding, or lack of it, of human nature.

“Oh, this is interesting.” said Julia Rodriguez. “They’re all between 11:00pm and 11:30… more specifically, between 11:10pm and 11:25pm. That narrow a timeframe for all five can’t be a coincidence.”

“You’re right.” said Lieutenant Jerome Davis, who was sitting at one of the desks instead of in his office, so that he could discuss the cases with his Detectives.

“The robberies themselves look pretty typical.” said Detective Theo Washington. He was tall, black, slender, and ‘movie star handsome’. He did not make the brilliant observations, but could plod through a lot of muck to get to the correct conclusion and successful arrests. He was Joanne Warner’s Police partner, and their contrasts made them a good team.

“Two perps in every case.” Theo said. “One hits the cash register, holding the clerk at gunpoint. The second guy is watching the door and any other people in the place. I see him yelling at someone to stay down in one of the videos.”

After a pause, Teddy Parker said: “It looks like at least four different people, based on height, weight, and outerwear attire. Criminals in gangs tend to wear something standard, such as a bandana or trademark shades, and both good people and bad people tend to wear the same jackets. I’m seeing the same guy, tall, well-built, holding up the cashiers with the gun in his hand during the Riverside robberies, but his partner in crime is different on the two occasions.”

Parker: “On the Southside robberies, another taller, well-built man, but wearing a different jacket, different hat and goggles to cover his eyes, is holding up the cashier, and the second man… or maybe even a heavy-set woman?… is guarding the door. And the robbery on the Northside is two more slender dudes.. young, maybe teenagers?”

“I’ll buy that for a dollar.” said Senior Detective Joanne Warner.

Just then, Vice Detective Joan Laurer came into MCD. She was tall, statuesque, with her black hair tied behind her head in a ponytail. She was not only attractive, she was very physically fit, though not to the ‘competition’ standards that Deputy Chief Cindy Ross had once been. Laurer was also the first TCPD Officer in eleven years not named ‘Troy’, ‘Ross’, or ‘Croyle’ to win the Police Boxing Matches (Freestyle Division), a tremendous accomplishment.

“Guys,” said Laurer, “confirm this for me. At the two convenience stores on Riverside and the two stores on the Southside, it looks like the perps took the bigger bills but left the one, fives, and tens… and they also took a big manila envelope out of the bottom of the register drawers.”

Everyone looked. “You’re right, Joan.” said Julia. “Is it common practice to keep money in envelopes under the removable cash drawer like that?”

“It’s more often a leather bank bag in a drawer, usually kept in a back office..” said Teddy Parker.

“The one on the north side had…” said Joanne Warner as she looked intently at her monitor, “Darn. Nothing. The robbers didn’t even take the change rack out of the register; they just took the bills. But one of the robbers is out of the camera range for several seconds. Maybe he took something from a drawer?”

“Could be.” said Jerome. “Maybe some visits and interviews will tell us more. And I see what the implication of that is, Joan. It may be the crack observation of the case…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meetings. Whoever invented ‘meetings’ has a special place in Hell reserved for them. And I’m sure Hell itself is just a place of never ending meetings. But sometimes they’re the only way I can get a case, so I load my flask and my gun, and not necessarily in that order.

11:00am, Wednesday, October 7th. I came into Classroom ‘E’, which was not really meant to hold meetings of this size. All of the Detectives of MCD and Vice were there, as well as Captain Muscone and Lt. Commander Croyle, and of course Lieutenant Mary Mahoney Milton of the Intel Branch.

Captain Tanya Muscone started us off as I sat down in my seat at the center of the long table, facing the 5×4 array of monitors on the wall. She said: “Okay, this room has been swept for bugs, and none of you should have cellphones nor Police radios in here. Are we good on that?” Everyone nodded, including me.

“Good.” said Tanya. “Okay, the reason for this meeting is to discuss the series of convenience store robberies in several parts of Town but mostly in the southern and southwestern Hispanic areas. I sent all of you the video footage we’ve obtained, and asked you to look at it to see if you spotted any anomalies. So, what did you find?”

The Detectives went through the similarities of the times, and also the way the money had been taken, which was reviewed on the tapes. “That’s a good observation.” I said.

“That’s our Police Boxing Matches Champion making that observation, sir.” said Lt. Rudistan with great joviality, and showing great leadership in complimenting his Detective in front of the Police Commander.

“So you’re telling me she can observe things as well as she fights, eh?” I replied with a grin. “Seriously, that’s good work, Joan. And the narrow timeframe is also a good observation. That’s very interesting. Criminals usually don’t keep railroad timetables.”

“Neither does Amtrak, sir.” said Teddy Parker. We all laughed at that.

“Okay, okay. Touché.” I said. “So if we catch these guys, maybe the Judge will sentence them to run Amtrak for us. Now let me ask this: tell me about the other people in the store in the minutes before the criminals robbed it.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“Uh,” said Tanya Perlman, trying hard to save her Detectives, “let’s go back and review the extended footage now.”

It was a poor effort, and I let her know it: “And I have to have my time wasted, and sit here reviewing what I’ve already looked at, but apparently no one else has?” I said witheringly.

I got up to go. “Tell you what, Captain.” I said. “You review it with them, and get your Detectives up to speed on this, as well as proper video review.” As I opened the door to leave, I turned back and said “My disappointment in all of your performances cannot be overstated.” With that, I turned and left.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It amazes me at times, that people can’t see what’s going on around them. From their surroundings to the American Mainstream Media lying to them, they just can’t seem to see the forest for the trees. Makes me want to take a few more slugs… from the bourbon flask.

At 1:00pm, Captain Muscone drove into my office. “Sir,” she said, “I have some new information for you. First, I didn’t get a chance to tell you in our earlier meeting that Christopher Purvis did a workup of the finances of the stores that were robbed.”

Detective Christopher Purvis was white, medium height and slender build, and his perfectly-styled hair was so black that other Detectives said behind his back that he used shoe polish on both ends of him. They also called him ‘Chris Pervert’ behind his back, though he had no perversions of which I was aware.

He had worked his way up from the Uniformed ranks to become a Vice Detective. In recent years, he’d been tasked with being the financial ‘guru’ of the unit, a job he did relatively well, and was now part of Intel Branch.

“Good.” I said. “What did he find?”

Tanya said: “All the stores are doing a relatively normal business, and Chris found no large sums of money in or out, so he doesn’t think any of them are being used for money laundering. What he did find was that the owners of these establishments, including Pablo Gomez of the most recent robbery, have good sums of money in their bank accounts, often from deposits of around $5000-$7500, and separate from their pay to themselves from their businesses.”

“Keeping it under the ten grand that would trigger reports to the U.S. Government.” I said as I perused the file Tanya had handed me. “And no real explanations of the money?”

“Chris hasn’t found anything yet.” said Tanya. “We can get warrants and interview the various bank people to see if the deposits were in cash.”

“For that matter,” I said, “we can also get warrants to just pick them up and ask them what that money is about. But they’ll probably clam up, ask for lawyers and all that.” Then I said “Okay, now tell me what your Detectives saw, once I pointed them in the right direction.”

“I do apologize for them not being more prepared, sir.” said Tanya. “Unfortunately, most of the camera footage we have is of the cash register counters and the front door. Only one of the locations, the northwest store, had footage along the aisles. And to be candid, sir, either we’re just missing what you’re seeing, or there’s nothing to see.”

Tanya then said “And to that point, sir, you really ripped my Detectives a new one, and they’re not sure why. What can I tell them about that?”

I said “Besides what I said when I left the room, that I’m disappointed in their performance? Yes, it was harsh, but we have really got to get them to a higher standard, and very quickly. And I think you know why.” Tanya nodded.

I went on: “As to what the ‘teachable moment’ is… okay, I perceive you’re wearing your wristwatch on your left wrist. Don’t look at it, just cover it with your right hand.” I put my own right hand on my left wrist as an example. Tanya followed it, covering her wristwatch.

“Okay,” I said, “this is something the late Zig Ziglar, the motivational speaker, taught. Now… tell me what the numerals on your wristwatch are. Roman numerals, regular numerics, none at all?”

“Uh,” Tanya said, “I think they’re normal numbers. The calendar date is where the ‘3’ would be.”

“Good.” I said. “Okay, when I say go, I will count down three seconds and you look at your watch. Ready? Go… 3… 2… 1… stop.”

Tanya had looked at her watch then covered it with her other hand again. “I was right, normal numbers.”

“Good.” I said. “What time is it?”

Tanya’s eyes rolled for a second, then she grinned and laughed. “Point taken, sir.”

I said “Yes, people see what they focus on, and don’t see what they don’t focus on. In fairness, peripheral vision is usually blurry, but the point is that the Detectives were looking for certain things in the footage, and didn’t see——”

*BUZZ!* *BUZZ!* *BUZZ!*

It was my assistant Helena buzzing me on the landline. “Sir,” she said “Federal Agents Muscone and Stevens are here to see you.”

“Have them go to the Main Conference Room.” I said. “We’ll join them there.”

Part 4 – Federal Foibles

I trust Federal Agents about as far as I can throw them. Which ain’t far, since a lot of them are overweight and out of shape. And the rest of ’em are underweight between the ears.

Dame Agatha Christie once said that one could always have one coincidence, but could never have two. That Agatha Christie was a smart Dame…

FBI Special Agent in Charge Jack Muscone was like Rudistan… he was barrel-chested and appeared to be getting overweight, but was deceptively in shape and fit. He had black hair and the beadiest of beady black eyes. He’d also won my Angel Tanya’s hand in marriage, so I was not surprised to see his eyes light up at seeing Tanya, and her eyes twinkling at seeing him.

With him was DEA Supervisory Special Agent Dwight Stevens. He had a bit of a ‘Paul Newman’ look, except his hair was chestnut brown. He was medium height, slender, and fit. He was a good Federal Agent, but he had one problem: he did not trust me, despite my repeated examples over time that he should.

I had Lt. Commander Croyle come in and join us for the meeting. After everyone got coffee, which Helena had scarfed from MCD, we sat down. At that moment, Police Chief Sean Moynahan joined us and took his seat at the near (to the door) end of the table.

Chief Moynahan had been a Police Officer in the Midtown Police Department. Midtown was the State Capitol, and the political corruption there had been rampant. Teresa Croyle could attest; she’d been with their Internal Affairs for six months. Moynahan had been a Captain there, with a group of honest Detectives that included Cindy Ross’s sister Molly Evans. He’d been run out of Midtown by corrupt Police, narrowly avoiding being murdered, and we were fortunate to have had a vacancy in our Police Chief’s chair for him to fill.

He also talked with a Southern drawl: “Good morning, every-wunnnnn.” he said as he sat down. “To what do we owe the plezzzurrrre of a visit from our Federal friennnnnds?”

“Thank you for having us, Chief.” said Jack Muscone. “We heard on the news about this series of convenience store robberies, and Dwight wants to discuss them.”

“We-elll, don’t keep us in suspense.” drawled the Chief, stealing my line.

“First of all,” said Dwight Stevens, “I want to congratulate you on successfully solving those Babymaker murders. Another stunning success by the Iron Crowbar.”

“Team effort.” I said. “Really, it was these ladies and all our Team that solved that.” Teresa and Tanya shook their heads vigorously in disagreement, and pointed at me to say that it was my doing.

“If our Sheriff were herrrrre,” drawled the Chief, “he’d say something about modesty being a human trait, and he would excuse Mr. Crowbarrr’s attempt at it. But go ahead, Agent Stevens, with your cassssse.”

Dwight Stevens began: “We’ve been monitoring the tri-County area, your County, Coltrane County, and Nextdoor County, for any signs of major drug trafficking organizations trying to come in after the Jacquez Wilson gang was blown up, literally. And we’ve gotten a few leads that The Eighth Street Latinos have been trying to organize a pipeline into the County. As you know, the rapper T-Square’s lieutenant T-Mac has been supplying the southside clubs, and they control that with an iron fist; they have run Latino gangs clean out of Town, sometime with violence.”

Stevens: “When we heard about this series of robberies of the convenience stores, we realized that the names of the stores, and/or their owners, were the same names we’d been hearing in connection with the Eighth Street Latinos drug pipeline. And we know what you and Agatha Christie think about coincidences like that.”

“That is indeed interesting.” I said. “I’m glad you told us, as we’re just starting to gear up on these robberies. Captain Muscone, why don’t you tell them what we have on these robberies so far.” Tanya gave the report she’d given earlier in the Angels Meeting.

Dwight Stevens asked “So you think these are black gang members committing the robberies? Not Hispanics?”

Tanya plugged her iPad into the hookup on the table and showed them the videos, then said: “We are developing intel about them, and think some of them were associated with the late Jacquez Wilson. Wilson hated Hispanics as much as he hated whites and Police blue, and he did not have Hispanics in his gang.”

Jack Muscone said “Dwight, this may confirm what we were speculating, that the convenience stores are where the ‘middleman’ drug transactions were taking place. Maybe the black gang found out about the drugs, then hit the stores when they had the cash on hand.”

Stevens nodded. “Nice haul for them.”

“What do you Angels think?” I asked my Angels.

“I have a problem with it.” said Teresa Croyle, who had once been the Vice Squad’s Lieutenant, and was well-versed in criminal drug operations. “We’ve had, what, five robberies? The drug runners are going to hear about this and realize the robbers know about their operations, and will then stop doing their deals this way. If they don’t, then it’s the old adage ‘Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.‘.”

“That’s true.” said Tanya.

“So maybe something else is going on, here.” I said. “This might sound far-fetched, but what if the robberies are the drug transactions?”

“I’d say you’ve never let ‘far-fetched’ get in the way of your thinking.” said Jack Muscone, needling me. “What’s your idea again?”

“That the robberies are actually cover for the drug transactions.” I replied. “Our review of the tapes showed packages being taken out of the cash register. Those packages could be the money or the drugs. I’m still looking for how the drugs are delivered, though.”

“But why?” Dwight Stevens asked. “Why go through all that? And one robbery had shooting involved. These could go sideways in any number of ways, not the least being the Police showing up and taking down the perps.”

“I have no idea why, nor any data to theorize upon.” I said. “One solution, of course, is that it’s not drug related at all, that these are just robberies and really are coincidental to these drug issues. But I think we have enough to push harder on investigating these crimes as possibly connected, and possibly more than just robberies.”

Chief Moynahan asked: “So what do you want to dooooo, Mr. Crowbarrrr?”

I replied: “I’m waiting for my Operations Commander and Captain of Detectives to tell me, Chief. Suggestions, ladies?”

“The Detectives will be doing follow-up interviews with the store people that were robbed and also the owners.” said Tanya Muscone. “We’re also touching base with our C.I.s.”

“What about where the next holdup or holdups might be?” asked Dwight Stevens. “Any analysis of that?”

“Not yet.” Teresa said. “That’s where C.I.s come in, and that takes a bit of time.”

Stevens said: “The reason I’m asking is because we’d like to set up some stakeouts and catch at least a couple of these guys, then start working our way up to the higher-ups.”

A pall of utter silence met him. Jack Muscone tried to rescue the situation by saying “We’re hoping this will be a joint operation between the TCPD and the DEA, working together to clean up the mess at the local level, and also get a bead on larger operations in the State and this region of the country.”

“I get that, Jack.” said Teresa Croyle. “But we’re just not at that stage yet. I’m still not convinced this is a drug operation at all.”

“What do you think, Don?” Tanya asked.

I looked at Jack Muscone and said “I think I’m being treated like a mushroom. Kept in the dark and fed a lot of shit.” I then turned to Dwight Stevens and said “Agent Stevens, I’ve given you demonstration after demonstration that I know what the fuck I’m doing. Yet you continue to treat me as if I am an Agency of the Weak-Minded… again, and again, and again, and again.” I was pounding my fist on the table as I said those ‘again’s.

“What the hell?” Stevens asked, making his voice sound confused.

“You are already planning stakeouts, with or without us… you just all but said so.” I said angrily. I turned to Jack Muscone again and said “So Jack, what does Agent Stevens know that he is keeping from me and the TCPD?”

Muscone did not try to win the ‘blink’ contest with me. He turned to Stevens and said “It’s only fair to tell them what we know if we’re going to be operating on the Iron Crowbar’s turf.”

“First of all, Commander Troy” Stevens said icily and formally, “I am not deliberately trying to hide anything from the TCPD. We develop intel information that we don’t share with anyone, just as you do. I said earlier that some of the names in these holdups coincide with names on our watch lists, but I don’t intend to share how we got that information… especially with KXTC blabbing everything they’re getting from leaks in your Police Force.”

“That’s a cheap shot.” Teresa said flatly. The Iron Wolf was giving Stevens her full-bore ‘Teresa Cunt’ look, which did not bode well for Agent Stevens’s health and safety.

“It’s not meant to be, but it’s true.” said Stevens, his voice now sounding rattled. “And I know you’ve been working on plugging the leaks. But the bottom line is that we’re connecting these holdups to drug operations we’ve been working on for a while now.”

“And Don,” Jack Muscone said, trying to play peacemaker, “take my word for this, or don’t, but we really do want to include you and the TCPD in this, and in good faith. The DEA could have come in here under your noses, but we have too much respect for you to do that.”

That did not go over well with me, but for Tanya’s sake I did not say out loud the reply that first came to my mind. Instead, I said “Well, Commander Croyle is correct. We’re nowhere near the point of putting our Officers at risk on dangerous stakeout missions, based on what we have so far.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Chief Moynahan said “O-kayyyy, why don’t we all get back to work. Jack, call me if you get any new information, and I’ll do the sammmme if we get something. Agent Stevens, I do suggest that you not conduct any Federal oper-ay-shunnns in our County without letting us knowwwww.” With that, he stood up, prompting all of us to stand up, and the meeting was ‘ovah’…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Sheriff looked like a kindly old man, and with his big handlebar mustaches he looks like everyone’s granddad. But I wasn’t fooled; he was sharp as a tack. He knew every powerful handgun that slugs were fired out of, and he could identify any slug of bourbon I put in my flask.

County Sheriff Antonio Griswold, the People’s Choice by an historic margin at the ballot box, had been the Town & County Police Chief when I joined the Force, and had risen through the ranks of the Town Police Force before the Town and County merged their governments.

His Detective skills at crime scenes were unparalleled; even I learned from him. He had also been awarded the Medal of Valor for heroism, and was one of the very few persons on the planet that I truly looked up to. His hobbies were fishing and tasting bourbon whiskeys. He could identify any bourbon by nose and taste, or at least the distillery where it was made.

At 2:00pm, Wednesday, October 7th, he had joined the Chief, me, and Teresa Croyle in the Chief’s Conference Room. I swept the room for bugs and found none.

“Okayyyy, Mister Crowbarrrr,” said the Chief as we started the meeting, “you did not invite Captain Muscone to join us?”

“No, Chief.” I said. “She’s monitoring our Detectives as they interview the shop owners or managers that were robbed. And I’m sorry to say that with her being married to Jack Muscone, we need to have this meeting and plan our actions without her.”

“That will be rectified soon.” growled Sheriff Griswold. “Right now, we need to decide if we’re going to work with the Feds on this, or not.”

“And if we’re going to look the other wayyyy when the Feds come in with their own oper-ay-shunnns.” drawled Chief Moynahan.

“I’d say ‘no’, sir.” said Teresa when I looked over at her. “Not to be cynical or anything, but something fishy was going on with Dwight Stevens, and Don was right when he called him out on it.”

I replied with a grin: “You, cynical? Why, perish the very thought!” The Chief chuckled, and the Sheriff’s big handlebar mustaches twitched merrily. Teresa gave me as much of a grin as we were going to get out of her.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, “and you were right that any stakeouts could potentially be dangerous, and the Feds just add more layers of uncertainty to it all.”

“True. Well said.” I replied. “And Chief, Sheriff, there’s more to it than that. Intel had been developing information that The Eighth Street Latinos are starting to bring prostitution into the County. The low-grade, streetwalker-level prostitution where the girls are low-class, hooked on drugs, and have venereal diseases at more than twice the rates of the University students that are hooking their way through school.”

I continued: “I was hoping to really crack down on that facet of the gang’s activities and drive the prostitution clean out of our County, but the Feds sticking their noses into our business is going to put the gang on high alert, and the perps might spot and interfere with our operations before we have a chance to implement them.”

“Wouldn’t shutting down the gang’s drug operations help take care of that?” asked the Chief.

“No sir.” said Teresa. “If we don’t go in, arrest the girls and their pimps, and either put them in prison or deport them, since most of them are Illegal Persons in the first place, they won’t care and they won’t stop running the prostitution rings.”

I said “That’s right. But let me circle back to this business with the Feds, and should we trust them, much less do their grunt work for them with stakeouts. Dwight Stevens knows something that we don’t know, and he wouldn’t share it even when I called him out on it, and even after we showed them our videos of the robberies. He’s not meeting us halfway, and that makes the stakeouts even more dangerous for us. No way I’m allowing Commander Croyle to put our Officers in harm’s way under those conditions.” Teresa nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Har.” barked Sheriff Griswold. “You’re right, Crowbar. That’s what Stevens was doing. He wanted you to commit the TCPD to do the stakeouts, which are hard, dangerous, and Law Enforcement Officers at every level from local to Federal have always hated doing them. And then his Feds would come in and take the glory of the busts after we did the work.”

“You still think he’s one of the good guys, Don?” Teresa asked. I knew what she meant We’d dealt with dirty Federal Agents in the past, and sometimes it was hard to tell who was good and who was bad.

“Yes, I do think he’s honest.” I replied. “But I also think he’s stubborn. He just won’t listen to good advice because I’m the one giving it, and he can be manipulated too easily. For example, I don’t think it was just his idea to try to get the TCPD to do the DEA’s grunt work for them. That sounds like something someone higher up thought of, and suggested that Stevens try it.”

“And this is why we can’t have Tanya in here, Chief.” Teresa said. “The next logical question is if her husband Jack Muscone is the one disrespecting the TCPD by wanting us to do the Feds’s grunt work.”

I shook my head in disagreement. “No, Jack Muscone may genuinely want to keep the TCPD in the loop and work with us rather than counter to us. But again, let’s circle back to the real issue here: the DEA knows something about this gang and this possible drug operation, and they’re not telling us what they know. And for that reason alone, I think we should not cooperate with them…”

Part 5 – A Day in Police Life

Meanwhile…

2:00pm, Wednesday, October 7th. Captain Tanya Muscone, Lieutenant Jerome Davis, and Lieutenant Micah Rudistan were in Classroom ‘E’. The array of monitors were showing various hidden Officer-cams on the persons of the Detectives interviewing various shopkeepers. They also had microphones that could speak into the hidden earbuds the Detectives were wearing.

Detectives Julia Rodriguez and Teddy Parker walked into the Qwik Stop on Riverside Drive, not far from The Old Mill, which was 2nd Precinct Headquarters and to the south of Police Headquarters. “Pablo Gomez?” Julia asked the cashier.

“Si.” said Pablo, followed by a spate of Spanish.

“You speak English?” asked Teddy Parker.

“No hablo Inglés.” said Gomez. (I don’t speak English.)

“Estás mintiendo. Y nosotros somos la Policía.” Julia said, exhibiting her badge. (You’re lying. And we’re the Police.)

“What do you want?” Pablo said, his voice unfriendly.

Teddy Parker said “We’re following up on the robbery here the other night, and we have some additional questions.”

Pablo said “I told the Policia that night everything that I know.”

Julia asked sharply: “Is there a problem in us asking for your cooperation in our investigation? Or do we need to take you to the Police Station right now?”

“What is it about?” Pablo asked.

Teddy Parker asked “Did you see anyone in the days before the robbery just hanging around? Maybe casing the joint to see when the best time to rob you was?”

“No, nothing like that.” said Pablo, sounding a bit more relieved.

Parker: “Did you see anyone in the same clothing the robbers wore? The same jackets, same jeans, same or similar shirts?”

“No.” said Pablo, with no elaboration.

Julia had been looking at the store cameras, then around the store: down the aisles, behind the counter, through the door to the employees area in back. She came to the counter and said “Mr. Gomez, do you remember who else was in the store when the robbers came in? Other employees, other customers?”

“No.” said Gomez, with no elaboration. His voice had grown tense again.

Julia: “Do you have a safe in back where you keep money?”

“No.” said Gomez, with no elaboration.

“What do you do?” asked Parker. “Take your cash home every night?”

“I put it in the back of a drawer in my desk in my office.” said Pablo. “It is hidden well, so even if someone broke in, they would not see it.”

Julia said “We know that the robbers took a large envelope from under the cash drawer in the register. Is that where you kept your extra cash?”

“Yes.” said Pablo after a moment’s hesitation.

“Was anyone in the back room during the robbery?” Teddy asked. “Or in the storage room?”

“No.” said Pablo.

“Thank you for your time.” said Julia Rodriguez. To Teddy she very quietly said “Let’s go.”

Once they got outside, Julia looked around again. “Nobody’s watching the place now, in broad daylight in the middle of the afternoon.” She and Teddy walked to her car and got in.

“Anything?” they heard through their earbuds. It was Captain Muscone speaking.

“No ma’am.” said Julia. “And I didn’t see where any customers could be that could’ve been out of camera range, nor how anyone could be around the cashier area without being on a camera.”

“Ma’am,” said Teddy, “Pablo was suspicious. Tried to say he didn’t know English until Julia broke him down. Answered our questions as shortly as he could, no elaboration, and he seemed nervous a couple of times when we asked certain questions.”

“Yes,” said Tanya, “we saw that on your hidden Officer-cam. Do you think it’s a good location for a possible stakeout?…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

4:15pm, Wednesday, October 7th. Detectives J.J. Perry and Joan Laurer entered the convenience store on the northwest side of Town, just north of where the Bypass joined the road west that led to the State Line ten miles away. This section of Town on the west side of the River was relatively new, and many had been surprised how quickly it had been taken over by the Hispanic community that worked in the farm fields owned by the giant BigAgraFoods Corporation to the west of Town and the River.

J.J. Perry had the nickname ‘Ice Cube’ because he was cool as ice under dangerous circumstances. For years he had been undercover, so deep undercover that he was not permitted to attend Police functions nor wear his Police uniform. His information had led to the busts of many dangerous criminals, including drug distributors. But the reporters of KXTC learned of him and made sure to expose him to the world, greatly endangering his life.

I brought him in from the cold, and now he was doing regular Police work in the wealthier northern areas of the Town and County, places he did not often visit while undercover in the more dangerous Southside.

“Were you the one here when the store was robbed the other night?” Perry asked the man behind the counter, who was very young, white, and looked as dumb as a box of rocks.

“No, that was Rafael.” said the man. “He’s in back.”

After an awkward moment where he did not move, Joan Laurer, who was tall, statuesque, very fit, and the current Police Boxing Matches Champion, finally said “Would you call him up here so we can talk to him?” She exhibited her TCPD badge.

“What’s it about?” the young man asked.

“You’re not very smart, are you?” J.J. Perry said. “I just asked if you were the one that was here during the robbery. So guess what we want to talk to Rafael about?”

“You don’t have to be snotty assholes about it.” the kid whined. His hand moved to his pants pocket.

“STOP!” Joan Laurer yelled as with lightning speed she drew her service weapon and aimed it at the kid’s head. “Get your hands up… GET ‘EM UP!” she yelled. The kid looked shocked, but finally raised his hands.

“What the fuck is your problem, Pig?” the kid asked. “I’m getting my phone to call Rafael.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” Laurer said. She went behind the counter, told the kid to put his hands on the counter, then frisked him, finding no weapons. She cuffed his hands behind his back after putting his cellphone on the counter.

“This is Police brutality.” said the snotty kid.

Joan replied: “You called us ‘snotty assholes’ and ‘Pigs’, and then reached for your pants pockets as if going for a weapon. People have been shot by the Police for less.”

Meanwhile, J.J. Perry had gone into the back room. Seconds later he was back, directing a college-age Hispanic man towards the counter.

“Are you Rafael?” Joan asked.

“No hablo Inglés.” said Rafael. (I don’t speak English.)

“Estás mintiendo. Y nosotros somos la Policía.” J.J. Perry said, exhibiting his badge. (You’re lying. And we’re the Police.)

“¿Qué quieres?” Rafael asked as he was forced to put his hands on the counter and was swiftly frisked. The conversation continued in a mixture of English and Spanish, which I present in all English here:

“You were here during the robbery the other night?” Joan asked.

“Yes.” said Rafael.

“Did you recognize the clothing, the jacket or caps, of the robbers?” asked Perry. “Did you ever see them in here before that night?”

“Not that I remember.” said Rafael.

“Any related gang colors?” asked J.J. Perry as Joan Laurer brought her handcuffed box of rocks in front of the counter. “Anyone casing this place in the days ahead of the crime?”

“Not that I saw.” said Rafael. “We usually don’t have any trouble like that. Those guys stay on the Southside.”

“Is there a safe in the back office?” J.J. asked as Joan began looking around the store, particularly at where the cameras could and couldn’t see. Yeah, I know, that covers everywhere. But some people are as dumb as boxes of rocks, and need to be told that.

“No.” said Rafael. “We have a lockbox for extra cash that’s put in a locked drawer in the desk. The owner gets the extra money out every morning and takes it to the bank.”

“We know the robbers took what was in the cash register.” said Perry. “Was there any other money they took? From the back, or in one of these counter drawers?”

“No, there was none to take up here, except what’s in the register.” said Rafael. “And they didn’t go in the back.”

“Do you remember what customers were here at the time of the robbery?”

“There were a few people in here.” said Rafael. “They were buying snacks, or over at the beer cooler. The robbers made them lie down on the floor.”

“They didn’t take any beer, or any munchies?” Joan Laurer asked as she came back up to them.

“No, just the cash in the register.” said Rafael.

“Did they look like they were high? On drugs?” Joan asked.

“They were really agitated.” said Rafael. “I wouldn’t know if they were on drugs or not.”

“All right.” said Perry. He nodded to Joan, who took off the dumb kid’s handcuffs.

“I suggest you pay the Police more respect.” said Joan to the dumb kid. “The gangbangers at Jacksonville State Prison would just love to pop your cherry ass.”

With that, she and Perry exited the store. They looked around the parking lot and the surrounding area as they went to their vehicle.

“Anything?” they heard Tanya Muscone say into their earbuds as they got in the car.

“No ma’am.” said Laurer. “And other people should’ve been in in sight of the camera. There could have been people in the back room, also, no matter what Rafael said.”

“Is this a good candidate for a stakeout?” Tanya asked.

“There’s a mirror behind the counter, which is likely a one-way glass.” said Joan. “But to be honest, ma’am, this robbery was not like the others. Much less cash obtained, no packets that we could see on camera, anything like that. It looks like it was a quick-hit robbery by two strung-up thieves that needed some drug money.”

“Roger.” said Tanya. “Come on back to Headquarters.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

5:00pm, Wednesday, October 7th. All the MCD, Vice, and Intel Detectives and their leadership were meeting with me, Commander Croyle, the Sheriff, and the Police Chief in Classroom ‘E’.

“All the interviews seem remarkably similar.” said Captain Tanya Perlman after we watched the Officer-cam videos. “A little bit too similar. They all try to claim they didn’t speak English, then their answers were all the same. Nobody noticed anything, no one noticed if they were being cased beforehand.”

“As if they were coached?” asked Chief Moynahan.

“Possibly, sir.” said Tanya.

“Anyone notice anything I’d consider to be a ‘strangeness’?” I asked. It had become the stuff of legend that if I called something a ‘strangeness’, then it was something to be paid attention to.

“I don’t know if this qualifies to that level, sir,” said Julia Rodriguez, “but I’m noticing that all of the places on the Southside were very limited in their camera coverage. We’re getting what happens at the counter, but not in the rest of the store. So if there’s something else going on, we would not have seen it. By way of contrast, the northside store had better coverage and a one-way mirror, and less money was taken. The employees were college-age kids, as opposed to shop owners with skin in the game.”

“I agree.” I said. “My daughter has a book with puzzles that says ‘one of these things is not like the others’. Which one of these robberies is not like the others?”

“We should ask your daughter, sir!” Lieutenant Rudistan said most jovially. Indeed, my seven-year-old daughter Carole already had a badge, as an Honorary Auxiliary Detective. She had already been credited with observations that led to a $400 million drug bust (Author’s note: ‘Schoolhouse Rock’.), and had declared that her goal and destiny was to be the next Iron Crowbar.

“We don’t need howitzer cannon brainpower for this one, Mr. Rudistan.” I replied with a grin.

“The point, I was going to make, “said Julia, not happy that the conversation was being taken from her, “is that we’re going to need eyeballs or better video coverage to see anything else. We’ll need, stakeouts, sir.”

“I agree.” I said. “Lieutenant Mary Milton, has Intel come up with anything regarding potential future robberies?”

“Maybe, sir.” said Mary Milton. Her husband Myron Milton was the I.T. Lieutenant; hence, my use of her first name. “Our C.I.s have nothing, so far, but they’re going to ask around and see what they get. In the meantime, Intel Branch came up with this.”

Having plugged her computer into the dock on the table, Mary brought up a map of the Town & County on the matrix of monitors on the wall. There were green and blue dots all over it.

She said “Just about every street corner in the Town & County has a convenience store on it. There are 74 such stores in the County. We’ve narrowed down possible future targets to these 14 stores represented by green dots. They’re mostly in the Hispanic areas, and they are the most similar to the four Southside stores that have been hit so far.”

“No way to narrow them down further?” asked Captain Muscone, her voice accusing. She and Lieutenant Mary Milton had issues: Tanya was married to a Federal Agent, and expected Mary to work to help the Feds as well as the TCPD. But Mary hated Federal Agents after they beat up and nearly murdered her father-in-law, Myron’s father (Author’s note: ‘Falsely Accused’, Ch. 02-03.), and Mary refused to help the Feds in any way. I worked hard to keep their simmering feud from exploding.

“This is what the algorithms came up with.” said Mary, not saying ‘ma’am’ like she should have. “Hispanic ownership or in Hispanic areas. Proximity to the locations already robbed. Videocamera coverage or lack of it. My Intel people worked hard on this, and narrowing this list down to 14 is pretty good.”

“Send this, and the analysis behind it, to me.” Tanya said, as an order. Mary’s eyes flickered over to me.

“Send it to me.” I said. “I’ll determine who to disseminate it to. We’ll discuss it later, Captain. And yes, Lt. Milton, tell Intel they have done good work on this, and that I appreciate it. Okay, moving on——-”

“Sir, I have some more.” said Mary Milton. I nodded to her, and she said “Intel has been using the Kaleidoscope program to review footage of street cameras in the areas of the stores that were robbed, as well as the 14 convenience stores we’ve targeted as possible future targets, to see if we can detect any cars that might have been casing all the stores. So far, only one vehicle has been identified as showing up multiple times in the areas of all five previous robberies. It was pretty easy to spot.”

She showed several photographs on the monitor. “No wonder it’s easy to spot. ” said Teresa Croyle. “It’s s Town & County Police cruiser.”

“Any idea who is assigned that Police cruiser?” asked Chief Moynahan.

“Yes sir.” Mary said. “But I thought we’d give the Iron Crowbar the shot at the title.”

“And that one’s easier than beating all of you in the Police Boxing Matches.” I said, starting some ‘trouble’ with that remark. Then I continued: “It’s the vehicle assigned to the dirtiest and slipperiest Officer on the Police Force: Justin Hendricks.”

Justin Hendricks was tall, with sparse black hair on his head, almost like the top of an unpeeled onion. His corpulent body was a pear shape, and he barely passed the Police physicals. His name constantly came up in association with other Officers that were shown to be dirty, but we never could pin him down with enough proof to fire him. And the Police Union protected him and fought for him as if their very lives were at stake… and who knows, I thought to myself, maybe their lives really were at stake.

“Yes sir.” said Mary Milton. “And Hendricks every parked at one of the places and went in, and bought snacks. And by the way, sir, I agree with you about the Police Boxing Matches.”

“Good asskissing skills.” said the Sheriff, his mustaches quivering with merriment.

“But not very smart to say that in my presence.” growled two-time Police Boxing Matches Champion Teresa Croyle.

“Nor mine.” said the current Police Boxing Matches Champion, Joan Laurer. It was always ‘awn’ where the Police Boxing Matches were concerned.

“You still can’t beat me in the wheelchair races, Commander.” said Captain Tanya Muscone with a wicked grin. “Anyway, with all this information, I think we have enough to pick some places for stakeouts, working with the Feds on their drug surveillance operations.”

“No.” said Lt. Commander Teresa Croyle with surprising vehemence in her voice. “We are not doing any stakeouts tonight, either with the Feds or without them.”

“Why not?” asked Tanya, shocked at Teresa’s vehemence.

“Because I said so.” Teresa replied with alacrity.

In the awkward silence of the room, Teresa continued: “We are nowhere near ready to begin operations like that, and I will not commit TCPD Officers to stakeouts at this point.”

“Not even to help the DEA?” Tanya said. “They’re ready to go.”

“Especially not to help the DEA.” Teresa said strongly. “Let me be clear, Captain. Forget the Police Boxing Matches. I have been awarded six… six!… Purple Orders for being wounded in the line of duty, and the first four of those came from participating in drug raids and interdictions where piss-poor planning, lack of information, and failed leadership led to unnecessary risk. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to have my Police Officers being wounded or worse, or even exposed to danger based upon our lack of knowledge and the DEA’s desire to put citations on their walls.”

“And that will be the final word on the subject.” I said quickly. “We’ll continue to develop information tonight and through tomorrow. In the meantime, we have other things going on for tonight. Rudistan, you will be talking with Commander Croyle to get your people’s assignments. The rest of you get back to work. Mary, send me that analysis…”

Part 6 – Surveillance and Raids

5:45pm, Wednesday, October 7th. Mary Milton sent me an email with the analysis, which I immediately forwarded to Tanya Muscone. Some moments later, I heard that unmistakable sound:

*Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrr*

It was followed by Captain Muscone driving into my office and parking on the dime. “Sir,” she said, holding up her badge, “can we speak freely?”

“Always.” I said, taking my badge off and putting on the desk, as did she. “Whassup?”

“I know why you had Milton send that data to you. Because she wouldn’t have sent it to me.” Tanya said. “But what is Commander Croyle’s problem with us working with the DEA?”

“She told you.” I said simply. “Six Purple Orders. No one is more aware of the risks of these type operations. Teresa is limitlessly brave, and she knows that we walk into danger all the time. But she’s not going to go into a dangerous situation where she sees problems like the situation we have now.”

“And this is where I need to speak freely.” Tanya said. “It sounded like she did not want to work with the DEA, that they were the problem. Is that the case?”

“No, she really wants more data on exactly what we’re supposed to be staking out.” I replied. “And Tanya, it’s ME that has the problem with working with the Feds on this.”

“Why?” Tanya asked. “you don’t trust Jack?”

“I trust Jack, but he’s not the DEA.” I said. “Who I no longer trust is Dwight Stevens. And since we’re speaking off the record here, I’m just going to tell you that he has exhausted my immense storage of patience with him. There is no reason for him to not be telling me, or at least the Chief and Sheriff, why they want to do these stakeouts, and have us doing them, and rush into it pell-mell like they’re trying to do. Teresa’s right on this. And Stevens has to come correct with me… or he’s not getting my help.”

“So if he comes correct with you and gives you more data, you’ll work with him and the DEA?” she asked.

“Maybe.” I said. “But not tonight…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It’s a tough world we’re living in. And Russ Ferrament knows that the only way to survive is to be the toughest. I have to let the criminals and the Press know that I’m the alpha-dog, and if that means whipping some asses, then that’s what I have to do.

9:30pm, Wednesday, October 7th. Maritza lay on the bed underneath the sweating, naked fat man as he pumped his three inch cock in and out of her. She looked up to see his droopy brown mustache and full head of reddish-brown hair, and his closed eyes between them as he fucked her, trying desperately to get his nut.

“Move your ass, Puta!” he grunted. “What the fuck am I paying you for?” Maritza groaned and moved her hips a little bit, but the man was still not happy.

“What the fuck, bitch?” he said angrily. “You’re getting the best cock in the County! All the other girls ask for Barney by name, and they love getting my turkeyneck!”i

“Vete a la mierda con uno de ellos, entonces.” Maritza spat in Spanish. (Go fuck one of them, then.) She moved her hips, causing Barney’s three inch stub to fall out of her loose pussy.

“Shit!” Barney grunted. He reached down to grab his cock, and the condom slipped off; it was too big for his small size. He began trying to re-insert it into Maritza.

“¡Parar! ¡Vuelve a ponerte el condón!” Maritza said, moving her hips to prevent the fat white man from penetrating her again.

“You goddamned whore!” Barney yelled. He raised his hand to slap her.

*WHAM!*

“POLICE!”

The door had flown open after being rammed, and two Police Officers in heavy armor came into the room, pointing M-4s at them. Both Barney and Maritza were handcuffed, their arms behind their backs. Barney’s wallet was confiscated from his pants, which were then put on him. Maritza was clothed in what amounted to a hospital gown.

They were marched down the hallway and down the stairs and out the back door into the parking lot. Barney was put in one Town & County Police paddywagon with other johns and the men that had been running the whorehouse. Maritza was put in the other paddywagon with the other prostitutes that had been arrested.

The place was the same strip joint where Carlos Madura and his criminal cohort had been arrested for murder. (Author’s note: ‘The Babymaker’, Ch. 05.) The Police raid had been fast, and it had been devastating to those in the bar. Everyone there was arrested; we’d sort out the trash at County Jail…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The women were taken to The Old Mill, which was 2nd Precinct Headquarters. They were placed in a large cell together, and given orange t-shirts and gym shorts, and flip-flops if they didn’t have shoes. After being run through booking, fingerprinted, retinal scans taken, and cheek swabs for DNA after being ‘persuaded’ to consent, they were interviewed one by one by Spanish-speaking Officers.

Commander Cindy Ross was a platinum blonde with ice-blue eyes, a natural-born American that was raised in Canada and had dual citizenship… and she could speak Spanish very well. She was interviewing Maritza, which will be presented in English here:

“My brother and I crossed the border in Arizona.” Maritza said. “We had hoped to reach the farms in California and find work, no matter how hard or menial. And all was well, at first, except that the Coyotes that brought us across raped me and the other women in the group. Several men, several times over three days.”

Maritza: “Then something happened. Another group of men held up our Coyotes, at gunpoint. They used the plastic ties to secure our hands. My brother and many of the others were put in a big semi truck and driven away. I have not seen him again.”

Maritza: “Me and a few of the women were put in a van. The windows were covered so we could not see out. We were driven a long way. When we stopped, we were at a house, in the garage. We were taken into the house, and used for sex all that night.”

Maritza: “The next day, we were told that we would be able to make money, as whores for the Cartel that had kidnapped us. They told us we could buy our freedom after a year working for them. Of course I was horrified, but we had no choice.”

Maritza: “We were put in another van, and they did not cover the windows. I could see that we were in Oklahoma. We stopped for gas, and one of the girls tried to run. They caught her quickly, and beat her. Some time later we stopped at a deserted place. They took the girl that ran a ways off the road, and one of them put a gun to the back of her head and shot her, as if she were a dog.” Maritza became emotional for a moment.

After she recovered, she said: “The rest of us were brought here, to this Town. We were told that if we ever tried to escape, we would be shot like that other girl was. We were in a building with no windows, but not the one you raided tonight. And then we were prostituted out for fifty dollars a trick.”

Maritza: “Many of the men that… hired me were students at the University. One or two came by regularly, so I tried to talk to them and asked them to help me get away. It was not long after I began trying to escape that the Cartel’s men came in. They beat me very badly, then took me to the building where you found me tonight. I have no idea how much time had passed, but I had not left that room from the day I was brought to it.”

Cindy said “That’s awful, but we can help you now. Ask for political asylum, and we can hold you until the Immigration Service takes you in. Did they force you to take drugs?”

“Yes.” said Maritza. “They kept me hooked. If I did not perform well for them, they’d deny me my daily fix. It was really bad. Yes, I want asylum, please…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

County Jail, 11:30pm, Wednesday, October 7th. DEA Supervisory Special Agent Dwight Stevens and DEA Special Agent Kevin Pitts came into the facility with FBI Special Agent in Charge Jack Muscone. They were brought into the Conference Room, where I was sitting with Lt. Commander Teresa Croyle and Precinct Captain Hugh Hewitt.

“What the fuck.” Stevens said, more as a statement than a question. “You knew we had The Eighth Street Latinos under surveillance, and you raided them anyway.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” I replied. “All you told us was that some of the convenience store robbery names matched names in your drug intel. You didn’t tell us anyone was under surveillance. And besides, you’re looking into the drugs. We busted their operation of kidnapping women and forcing them into prostitution.”

“Whaa?” gasped Kevin Pits. “I never heard about that aspect of the gang.” I realized from the tone of his voice that he’d not been told everything, either.

Jack Muscone said “The FBI was aware of it, but we didn’t know enough to interdict it. And I didn’t want to step on your drug operations. And Commander Troy is right, Dwight. We weren’t forthcoming with him, even after he called you out earlier.”

“So you raided them, just to make a point, huh?” Stevens said to me, his voice ugly. “And now they’ll lay low at best, and move their whole operation out of this County at worst.

“Like I’ve got fucking time to intentionally screw up your operations.” I replied witheringly. “And if The Eighth Street Latinos did pack up and leave my County, I won’t call that a bad thing.”

“So why did you call us to come down here?” Jack Muscone asked.

“We’ve arrested a good number of gang members.” I said. “If you guys want to take any of them off our hands, now’s your chance.”

“But we don’t have enough to take any of them to Court!” Dwight Stevens exclaimed. “You jumped the gun too fast!”

“We can still take them into custody and question them.” said Muscone. “And then turn them over to ICE… unless you want to prosecute them, Don.”

I shrugged. “A lot of them are going to be let go, unless you claim them.” I said. “They were in the bars, and only a few of them were running the prostitution rooms. We’re having the women identify their pimps out of lineups on pieces of paper, but the rest of them will likely be let go… and they will indeed be made to realize that it would be good to never be seen in my County again…”

Part 7 – Good Cops and Bad Judges

4:30am, Thursday, October 8th. I received a call from Deputy Chief Cindy Ross. “Don,” she said, “Judge Harry Nance is bringing the mobile Court to the Old Mill, and is going to give all the women we’ve arrested their hearings immediately.”

The mobile Court was just that: a box truck that contained a judge’s bench and desks behind it, where a judge could hold Court at any site. It had been used by Superior Court Judge Rodney K. Watts to process arrested perps after riots the previous summer. It was also being used to process people arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct at football games, mostly fans of the visiting teams.

Superior Court Judge Harry R. Nance was not only one of the most activist judges in the State, he very often colluded with the Press, corrupt lawyers, and the criminals against the Police. He was instrumental in exposing undercover Police Officers like J.J. Perry, putting them in danger of losing their lives. He often released criminals and dropped charges on a whim and on sham accusations of Police misconduct. He had been referred to the State Legislature for Impeachment, but activist Democrats had blocked the right thing from being done.

I drove down to The Old Mill. Sr. Patrolman Johnson, the Officer at the gate said “Sir, just to let you know: Judge Nance just arrived and said that no one was allowed in, especially you. But he doesn’t have a crowbar, sir. Just please forget my name if he asks, sir.”

I chuckled, then said: “Yeah, I’ve never met you before, young Rookie. Thanks for the warning.” I drove on inside.

When I went into the Precinct Headquarters, some idiot called the Police Force to attention. “Carry on!” I said as they came to attention.

As Cindy Ross approached, I said, “Who did that, calling the Force to attention?”

“You get one guess, Don, and it should be ‘Hendricks’.” Cindy said.

“Fuck.” I said “He did it to alert Nance that I’m here. Where is that dirty judge, anyway?”

“In the mobile Court truck.” said Cindy. “It’s parked behind the building.” Then she said “Sir, I have a bad feeling about what’s going on. May I offer a suggestion…”

The women were brought before the mobile Bench. They were not offered legal representation. Maritza was one of the group. Deputy Chief Cindy Ross came up with them.

Judge Harry Nance was white, short, slender, and he had gray hair and a prominent beak nose upon which were perched spectacles. His voice, even when raised, was barely above a whisper. He exuded a sense not of judicial fairness nor restraint, but malice with an agenda behind it.

“How do you plead?” Nance said.

“Your Honor,” said Cindy, “these women have asked for political asylum. Their lives are in danger.”

“I didn’t ask you anything!” yelled Nance. “One more word out of you, and I’ll have you put in jail for Contempt of Court!”

“My jail?” Cindy barked derisively.

“I am a Judge, and you are a piece of dyke shit.” Nance growled. “Officer Hendricks, if this dyke says one more word, shoot her.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Officer Hendricks said, knowing that if he tried, he’d die in a hail of Police gunfire. But he’d still try to do it.

Judge Nance said “Okay, I won’t accept pleas now. I am remanding you ladies into the custody of your sponsors here until your hearing next month.” He indicated four Hispanic men in suits and ties, whose faces also bore appearances of malevolence.

“NO!” yelled Maritza, followed by the other women. “They will kill us! Please! Help us!” Maritza turned to Cindy, her eyes pleading. “Save us!” she begged.

“I’ll do what I can.” Cindy said.

Judge Nance’s face assumed a malicious smile. “Your lives are not in danger.” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “These men will keep you safe. You are in their custody now.” He banged his gavel. “Next!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As the women tried to run, they were captured by Sheriff Deputies, their arms zip-tied behind their backs, and forced into the ubiquitous white van. Two men were up front, driving and riding shotgun. The other two men were in the back with the crying women.

As the van pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, one of them men pulled out a powerful handgun. “Ustedes, putas, eran muy estúpidas. Ahora pagarás el precio.” he said. (You whores were very stupid. You will now pay the price.)

“Why are you going south?” the shotgun seat man asked the driver. “You should drive north, then west to the State Line.” His name was Andreas Puerto, and he was one of the leaders of The Eighth Street Latinos.

“The cops are following us.” said the driver, who was Barney, the white man that had been arrested while fucking Maritza. “They’ll stop us if we try to cross the State Line with these whores. I’m taking everyone to the ‘Fucking Field’ in Nextdoor County, right past AGC Trucking, where I work. It’ll be months before they’re found.”

“Good thinking.” Puerto said.

Barney drove down Riverside Drive then east on MLK Jr. Drive, then east on the highway towards Nextdoor County, to the east. As they crossed the border, the TCPD vehicles peeled off and turned back for home.

Barney passed the entrance to the huge AGC Trucking property. He turned right onto a small gravel road, driving between the high grass on either side until they reached a clearing.

The first threads of dawn were casting the eastern horizon in a red glow as the van stopped. In the growing light, the women were forced out of the van and onto their knees.

“Yes, this is a good place.” said Puerto. “Diaz, finish these traitorous, useless whores.”

“Say your prayers to the Holy Mother.” said the man with the gun. “You will be seeing Her in just a moment.” He pointed his gun at the back of the first woman’s head…

To be continued.