Burning Blue: Chapter One

Dear Readers,
I've convinced myself to release the first chapter of the my second novel, "Burning Blue" here on Mr. Grudge. Based on reader responses (if any) I'll post more chapters in the near future. Please click this link to review the copyright details of this manuscript with the U.S. Copyright Office. I hope you all enjoy this work, as it has been rejected hundreds of times by agents and publishers alike, perhaps with good reason. Thanks for stopping by. -Mike.



Burning Blue
A Novel By
Michael J. Kannengieser

Occasionally, blotches of sodium-yellow from the streetlights bled into the panorama and ruined the illusion for him. He wanted to escape into a fantasy world, he thought. An alternative universe would have been preferable, considering the situation he found himself in. Since his father passed away Chief Clark was ready to pounce on him; and, he had only a few friends left. Still, now matter how hard he tried, or how much he wished, he was trapped working in the slums, in a dilapidated patrol car that had no heat, and his feet stuck to the floorboards due to generations of coffee spills.

“Hey Jack, do you believe in ghosts?” Dan took one hand off the steering wheel and looked over at him. Jack shook his head and straightened up like a kid caught napping in class.

“What?

“Ghosts.” said Dan. “I saw this documentary on T.V. the other night. It was pretty spooky stuff. This one guy had pictures of dead Confederate soldiers floating around some southern plantation. I got the creeps.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to “Winter Wonderland” on the radio. Jack rolled his eyes, groaned, and then pointed ahead with his finger.

“Hey, drop me off at that corner, will you?” said Jack.
Danny glanced at him and shook his head. “What’s the matter with you? It’s the Christmas season. You’re supposed to be happy.”

Jack stretched the corner of his mouth and sucked his teeth. “Happy? What do I have to be happy about?” He asked, with his hands raised.
“Sorry. I forgot about your dad. I didn’t think…” said Dan, as he pulled beside side the curb and stopped the car. The snowplows made it difficult to get close to the sidewalk, as they pushed aside steep hills of compacted snow along the avenue. He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then blew out a long wisp of smoke.

“Forget it. That’s not what’s bothering me anyway.”

“Well, what is it, then?” Danny asked, as he flicked his ashes on the floor. Jack slouched and played with his hat.

“Nah, forget it, really. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Jack.” The big man adjusted his hefty frame, his belly up against the steering wheel, huffing as he moved. When he settled down, he began to tap his fingers again, letting the cigarette dangle from his mouth. “Listen, stay warm, okay? Do you have a place to coop?”

Jack chuckled and wagged his finger at him. “A good cop doesn’t get cold, wet, or hungry.”

“Or horny…” added Danny. He laughed at his own joke, slapped the steering wheel, and then coughed. When he stopped choking, he turned his attention back to Jack, who already put on his winter hat and gripped the door handle to get out. He opened the door a crack, the shut it again. Then he faced Danny again.

“Hey, do you think I could ride with you, you know, for the tour?” He raised his eyebrows hopefully, and cocked his head a bit. Danny released a long sigh while shaking his head.

“Aw man, Jack, you know I would if I could; but I can’t. You know that.” He said, as he picked up his hands, afterward he let them drop on the steering wheel with a thud. Jack could see his belly jiggling beneath his duty jacket. If Danny’s hair turned completely gray, instead of just at the temples, and he grew a full beard, he could pass for ‘Old Saint Nick himself. In fact, there were plenty of smart-ass cops in the precinct that dragged up that comparison every year. Yet, he always shrugged them off. He held no illusions about himself; and, he was painfully aware that he was burned out and couldn’t afford to retire.

“Come on Dan. I must be the only foot post out here in the whole city. There’s a cold weather emergency on for Christ’s sake. Hell, even the squeegee guys went home.” He said as he waved his hand at the blizzard outside. In a huff, he hit the door with his forearm, without the dramatic effect he was hoping for. His heavy jacket softened the blow.

“I could actually freeze to death out there.”

“Well, that’s apparently what Captain Roy is hoping for.” said Dan, referring to their precinct commander.

“What a pal, man. Thanks for being there for me.”

“What? I am there for you. I am the only one there for you on this entire job.” He raised his voice, not so much in anger, but like a dad reminding a son who pays the bills.

“By the way…” Dan continued. “You were supposed to walk to your post. Thank you very much.”

With his teeth clenched tight, Jack worked his jaw muscles in frustration. His eyes fired imaginary lasers through the windshield, evaporating mountains of snow and blowing up cars. After seething a moment, he pushed the door to get out, paused, and then turned around again.

“Well, could I at least ride with you a few hours and then I'll find a coop?”
Danny hung his head, staring at his gut. When he looked up again, he smacked his lips.

“Well, what if Parker sees you in the car with me?”

“Parker? Who the hell is he? He’s a sergeant just like you; a junior sergeant too. Tell him to go screw himself.” Jack wrinkled his face like he smelled something rotten.

“Yeah right; I do that and Parker runs to Roy and rats me out and I’ll be transferred to the property clerk’s office tomorrow. No thanks.” said Dan.

“Come on, help me out here buddy.” Jack nudged Dan’s arm with his elbow and smiled.

“Damn it Jack. Don’t pressure me. You know you’re on your own.” He waved his cigarette in the air while ranting. The glowing, red-orange ember at the tip left a dancing streak in the air inside the dark interior of the cruiser. Danny’s beefy arm rubbed against his side and the nylon fabric of his coat swished with his movements. The wavy locks of curly hair on his head bounced as his head jerked and his face reddened like he was starved for oxygen.

“Look at me Jack.” He pointed at his chest with his thumb. “I’m the senior sergeant in this precinct and I have rookie sergeants telling me what to do. Hell, I’m the only one in the whole goddamn city who has to drive all the way across the borough in a blizzard to pick up a driver for the tour.”

Jack turned his head and stared out the window as Danny unleashed his tirade. The two rarely spoke of Jack’s predicament, and Danny would just as soon forget about it, except that the pressure was beginning to mount. Jack braced himself until Danny eventually cooled down. Also, he had the common sense to keep his mouth shut.

“Listen, I’m sorry for yelling at you.” Dan said, as he reached over and touched his sleeve, then pulled his hand away.

“But, it’s getting kind of hard to be your friend lately. Your old man isn’t even cold in his grave and Chief Clark is after you.” Danny gazed out the windshield, and then he lowered the volume on the radio.

“I can’t help you, buddy. I almost lost this job once due to my own stupidity. And, thanks to your dad I still have it. But I can’t risk losing it again. This is all I have.” He waved his hand at the dashboard of the patrol car and all of its switches for the lights and the small computer screen. “Believe it or not…” Danny continued. “This job, this crappy job is what I’ve come to depend on. It’s what I’ve become.” He rolled down his window a crack and flicked his cigarette into the wind.

Jack watched as his friend picked up his Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate and swallowed the last drops. He was right, Jack thought. And, he would be wrong to try and take advantage of him. As he watched him fish around his pocket for his lighter with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, he imagined that every day when Danny arrived at work that was when his life began.

At his home, he was merely in storage until he could go back to the station house the next day where people would take notice of him. He had no family and he got married. All of his other “pals” stopped hanging around with him when he stopped drinking over twenty years earlier. If he never went to Jack’s father for help with his drinking, the two of them would never have become close.

“You’re right. I am using you. I’m sorry.” said Jack. He slouched against the door panel and rested his elbow on the armrest. “This whole thing is my fault and I have to bail myself out of it.”

“No, don’t be sorry. You’re the one who’s right. I haven’t really been looking out for you and I should have been.” Said Dan as he lit the cigarette and took a few quick puffs on it to get it started.

“Aw come on Dan. You’ve been there for me. I’m a jerk. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I know you’re a jerk. But, I still could have done more to…I don’t know…look after you, or something.” Danny twisted the knob on the radio so he could hear the carols.

“Forget the whole thing.” said Jack. “Just bring me a cup of coffee or a wood burning stove and a cord of wood later on, okay?” He picked up his baton and readied himself to jump out in the heavy snowfall. Danny pressed his lips together and tried to suppress a giggle.

“What?” Jack asked him.

“Nothing…nothing.” said Danny as he dismissed Jack’s query with a back handed wave.
“Come on; tell me what’s so funny.” Jack smiled as Danny gave up and laughed aloud.

“You’re not going to think this is funny, but it caught me just right.” said Danny, as he held his stomach. He had a silent, breathy, “hee-hee-hee” giggle that amused Jack more than any jokes Danny told.

“Just say it. I want to hear it.” Jack said, and he smacked him on the arm.

“I just thought about that comedian, that guy who does the routine where he shouts ‘Merry Christmas you bunch of losers’ with a bullhorn.” said Dan. “That’s us, a couple of losers.”

“Oh boy…” said Jack. “No more late night T.V. for you.” He rolled his eyes and opened the door. The wind forced it shut, and he looked back at Dan in disbelief. Danny regained his composure and set his cigarette down in the ashtray.

“Listen…” He said. “Stay out of sight for a while. I’ll swing back in about an hour and pick you up. If Parker or anyone else runs to Captain Roy, I’ll deal with them.”

“Hey, thanks. I mean it. But I think I’ll hide in one of the buildings. Maybe one of the tenants will take pity on me and invite me in for coffee for a while, or something.”

“No. I don’t want you to, damn it. It’s too dangerous. You could probably even file a grievance with the union about this. Roy will be end of tour in about an hour. At that time, I’ll come back and get you. Maybe I’ll get you re-assigned to the stationhouse.” Danny took one last drag on his cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray.

“Okay. Just raise me on direct and I’ll meet you at that corner. What’s that, five eight street and Stewart?” said Jack as he strained to see the nearby street sign.

“Yeah, five eight street and Stewart Avenue, just keep an ear on your radio. And, if you get any jobs, don’t go until you get some backup. Understand?” Danny tilted his head forward and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, got it. See you in a bit.” said Jack as he shuffled over to exit the car.
“Hey…” Danny stopped him, and Jack looked back with his mouth open.

“I probably shouldn’t talk about this. Not here, anyway. But, that allegation that mutt Munoz made about you? I think you should talk to a lawyer. And, not one of those union clowns either. I mean a real attorney.” Danny leveled his gaze at him and Jack took a gulp of air.

“Everything you’ve done before like showing up late for roll call, getting caught off post, and fighting with the other bosses is all small stuff.
But this? This could land you in jail…prison.” Internal affairs even take drug dealers seriously these days; especially when it comes to money.”
They sat silent for a moment. Danny reached over and turned off the music. The only sounds came from the car engine, the chatter on their police radios, and the dull, moaning wind.

“Are you alright?” Dan asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Jack said as he adjusted his hat.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I was alright and I’m alright. Now, let me get going.” he said as he pushed his weight once more to leave the car. And, once again, he turned around and spoke.

“Oh…by the way, the answer is no.” said Jack.
Danny squinted at him and tilted his head. “No? No what?”

“No, I don’t.” Jack smiled as he teased him.

“You don’t what? You don’t want to work? We know that already. Now, what the hell are you talking about?” Danny said, with his mouth left gaping.

“No, I don’t believe in ghosts. Remember?” Jack chuckled. He liked to amuse himself by tormenting Danny because he was fairly gullible for a crusty, old police sergeant.

“Ah, laugh if you must. But, they had pictures of the real thing.” said Dan, as he jabbed his forefinger in the air to emphasize his point.

“Oh, figure it out. Those pictures are phony. These guys use computers and all kinds of programs to make it look real. I saw a guy on T.V. once who made a little movie of a U.F.O. being shot down by some Afghan guerrilla with a Stinger missile.” said Jack, wearing a wide, toothy grin.

“Okay, forget the pictures.” said Dan. “Just tell me that it isn’t at least possible for someone who died in some sort of crisis, or had unfinished business, or even a grudge against somebody, you’re telling me that they couldn’t come back to settle the score?”

“They don’t.” Jack crossed his arms and tried to keep a straight face.

“They don’t? Is that all you have to say for your argument, counselor?” Danny let out an “hmmph”, and rolled his eyes, as if he couldn’t stand someone so ignorant.
Using his thumb, Jack pointed to the buildings they sat next to.

“You see those developments out there?” He asked.

“Yeah, so what?” said Danny. He checked them out himself, lowering his head to see through the passenger window.

“There were three homicides here last year. There were maybe five last year and who’s counting how many in the past ten years.”

“So, what’s your point?” Danny asked with a shrug.

“My point? Well, don’t you think that any of the dearly departed I’m
referring to had any unfinished business, unrealized dreams, or maybe just a tad of hostility toward their killer? If that were the case, we’d be tripping over ghosts around here. Get the hint? Once you’re dead, you’re gone, and there ain’t no coming back.”
Danny raised his arms in mock surrender, and then allowed them to drop at his sides. “Okay, okay…you win. Now, get going before I change my mind.” he said as he extended his arm and pretended to shove him outside.

“Don’t be too long. I’m freezing already.” Jack said as he stepped outside and sank into the high snow bank. He slammed the door, and the wind almost toppled him over. Immediately, he became miserable. Danny was all the way up the street and he watched the red tail lights fade away behind sheets of falling snow. He was tempted to chase him down the road and beg to be let back in the car, but it was too late. Instead, he plodded over to the nearest building wondering if anyone at the station house would rush him out a pair of snowshoes if he called them and asked very, very nicely.

When he reached the entrance to the lobby, the wind helped him yank open the heavy, steel and glass door, and almost took his arm out of his socket. He stepped cautiously inside, first checking the rear stairs for vagrants, and then inspecting the elevators for anyone else who didn’t belong there. Once he felt safe, he found a spot by the front window and leaned against its hip-high ledge. This made a handy table for him to spread out all of the junk food he smuggled in his pockets. The snacks satisfied the “number three” rule of a good cop not getting hungry, he thought to himself. With any luck, he could try to obey rule number four. He grinned at the idea, but would never cheat on his girlfriend Terry. He met and talked to a lot of girls as a cop. If he wanted to, he could have dated some of them. However, he and Terry were serious, and the way his life was going, having recently lost his dad, and with the job giving him a hassle, he didn’t want to blow the one good thing happening in his life.

After setting up his little smorgasbord of chips and candy bars, he dug a bottle of water out of one of his pockets and cracked the cap open. If he really did walk to his post as he was ordered to, the water probably would have frozen before he got there. He took his time enjoying his snack, and then lit a cigarette. A quick check of the time revealed that a mere seventeen minutes had passed since Danny abandoned him there. Using his arm, he swept away his discarded wrappers and sat on the ledge.

Seated sideways, he watched the wind whip the trees back and forth out front. A woman fought her way up the sidewalk, stepping carefully as she struggled in the deep drifts. She lugged two plastic shopping bags laden with groceries and was getting close. Jack jumped up and held the door open for her and she stepped inside and stomped her feet to shake the snow from her boots.

“Thank you officer, thank you.” she said as she plopped her bags down on the same ledge where Jack laid out his junk food. Jack closed the door and watched the lady as she fumbled through here pocket book and Jack searched the lobby for a convenient spot to loaf again.

“What are you doing out in all of this snow, Officer?” She asked as she removed her scarf and gloves.

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.” Jack as he slouched against the wall by the elevator across from her. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips and he allowed his unzipped duty jacket to hang open.

“If I don’t shop, I don’t eat.” she said. “I live alone.” Then, she rolled up her hat and gloves, stuffed them in her rather large pocket book and peeked at him from the corner of her eye. She was a young woman, maybe in her late thirties, somewhat plump in her midsection, yet it was hard for Jack to tell for sure as she wore a puffy, down filled overcoat. She gave the litter on the windowsill a disapproving look, and Jack assumed she associated the mess with him. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Jack went to her and reached out his hand.

“Here, let me help you with those.” he said as he took one of the bags from her.

“Oh, what a gentleman; you don’t find many of them anymore.”
He followed her to the elevator and pressed the button. Since it was already at the lobby level, the door opened right away. Jack leaned inside and checked the corners for anyone who may be stalking. He did this more for show, as he was confident that nobody had gotten on or off the elevator for the entire time he was there.

She smiled and took her groceries from his hands, but made a point to bend forward and read his name tag. The moment was awkward for him, and he simply smiled as she took her time examining it.

“Chase? Your last name is Chase?” she asked as she pulled away and looked at him through squinty eyes.

“Indeed it is, ma’Am.” he said, in his official, “cop” tone.” Usually, when a civilian takes the time to read an officer’s nametag or shield number, it’s most likely for the purposes of making a civilian complaint. Jack wondered whether she was actually going to make a phone call to some one about the trash he left in the lobby. The police department would have no difficulty believing a well-mannered woman such as her. The way his career was going, he’d get transferred upstate to guard the city’s water reservoirs.

“Are you Chief Chase’s son?”

“Chief Chase?” Jack furrowed his brow in confusion. Certainly, the woman had to be confused.

“Yes, yes, Chief chase. Your father was a chief, wasn’t he?” She fumbled with her plastic grocery bags, transferring them both to one hand. The elevator door began to shut and she quickly used her hand to keep it open.

“My dad was a minister.” he said, feeling a bit more at ease. He relaxed and put his hands in his pockets. Rocking on his heels, he waited for her response as she stared past him into space for a split second.

“I met your father before, though.” She continued. “He always wore a uniform. It made him look like an army general. You know, big shoulders, chest pushed out.” She set her packages down and held her hands in front of her to demonstrate the Reverend Chase’s size. Then she picked them up again.

“Yeah, my dad was certainly a big man.” Jack smiled as he remembered him. “I’m the runt in the Chase family.” said Jack, the elevator door closed again and the she allowed it to close.

“By the way…” Jack continued. “That uniform was something they gave him to wear at various functions. He was a department chaplain.” He smiled with pride while looking down at his wet boots. He rubbed his muddy sole on the tiled floor and checked his watch.

“You must be proud.” The woman tilted her head, and leaned forward as though she were peering over a pair of bi-focals.

“Yes…yes I was.” he said, while he fumbled with his watchband, making it tighter.
“Say, where has your daddy been? he used to come to the tenant association meetings once a month and lead us in prayer.”

“He did?” Jack opened his eyes and examined her as if she had just landed in front of him.
“Oh yes honey. We meet on the first Wednesday of every month. You didn’t know he came here?”

“Dad was a busy man. He visited a lot of places once a month. I just never heard him talk about any tenant association meetings. That’s all.” Jack cleared his throat.

“Oh, he must have. Why, just this past July he came to our big, Sunday breakfast at the community center. He was our special guest.” she said, while she gripped the handles on her grocery bags with both hands.

“Are you sure that was my father?”

“Yes, yes, of course; Reverend Chase. You even look like him. Though not as tall…” She stopped in mid sentence and smiled. “What’s the matter? Is your father too busy to come visit us anymore?”

“My father is dead.” Jack said with a sigh. “It’s been more than three months now.” He clenched his fist and choked back tears. It galled him when people he met, strangers, spoke glowingly about his father and all the wonderful things he did for them or their organization, and they become shocked to learn that he died.

“Oh my word, I am so sorry. I had no idea.” She covered her mouth with her hand.

“Apparently no one else in the tenant association did either.” said Jack.
The woman pressed the elevator button and the door opened, she got on and stood in the center, facing him. “Again, I am so sorry. I had no idea. No one let us know. I’m going to call Chief Clark tomorrow and find out what happened.”

“Why don’t you simply ask me? I was his son.” He said; but she wasn’t listening. She pressed the button on the panel for her floor and Jack could see that she couldn’t wait for the door to finally close.

“I’ll pray for you, officer. I’ll say a prayer for you and your family.” The woman nodded and smiled as the door glided closed.

“No need to. I don’t have a family. Mom died when I was six….” Jack said as he followed her eyes between the gap which was narrowing between them. The elevator took her away, and he went back to his perch with a small amount of satisfaction for having made her uncomfortable.

Many times since he buried his father he would hear from people who told tales about how his dad saved them from drugs, alcohol, or assorted sins. Yet, none of them were at his funeral. They used him, he thought, for their own good, and ignored him at his own time of need.
Night after night, in the hospital, He would sit alone, nursing his dad, helping him write sermons he would never get to preach at Sunday service, and they would be alone. The only others that came were his girlfriend, Terry, and Danny. They were the people he had left in the world.

He walked away and took up his position next to the window ledge again. With another cigarette in his lips, he puffed on it as though it were the last, legal one. It angered him to hear people talk about what a wonderful guy his father was, and then see how shocked they are when they learn of his untimely death. He thought that if his dad was such a pal to everybody, then, where were they when he was sick? Often, he wondered where were all of those drunken, suicidal cops he counseled when he needed his prescriptions filled? Or, where was Chief Clark who used his good name to lend credibility to his corrupt department when his father almost lost his house due to enormous medical bills? And finally, where were all of those frumpy old ladies from the various committees and community groups when he simply needed company? In the end, there was nobody.

The department had an elaborate ceremony for the funeral. It was their “show,” Jack believed. The beloved Reverend Chase, the department’s police chaplain was laid to rest with style. Next, they threw their very own “company man” into the position the very next day. At least, that’s how Jack saw his father’s replacement.

“J.C…you on the air?” He snatched his radio from his belt and raised the volume. “J.C…you on the air?” It was Danny. The tension that had built up within his chest began to ease because when he asked “Where were you when my father was sick?” he knew Danny was there from the beginning to the end.

“On the air.” said Jack.

“What’s your location?”

“Two twenty, seven-four street.”

“I’ll meet you on the corner of...I’m ten minutes out.”

“That’s a four.” Jack replied as he gathered his things and shoved his cigarettes into this pocket.

As he was about to clean up the wrappers from his little junk food party, but he stopped and just left then there. With his winter hat and his fur-lined gloves on, he opened the door and scurried down the walk with his head down. The snow stopped falling and there
was a break in the clouds where the light of the full moon made visible the splendor of a sparkling blanket of snow.

A maintenance man was clearing the sidewalk using an ancient, battered snow blower. It’s motor coughed and whined as he shoved it into the deep banks making less progress than if he used a shovel. Others up an down the block were out with their blowers also and Jack could just imagine all of the noise complaints being phoned into the station house from angry residents concerned only about their peace and quiet.

He sidled past the man making it onto the cleared walkway. With a forced smile, he nodded hello, but the man didn’t respond. Probably, he has his own evil thoughts about the world whirring through his head. Maybe his boss was the one who summoned him out of the coziness of his apartment to do a job that could wait until morning. He thought it best to say nothing and move along as the disgruntled worker continued his gargantuan task.

After rounding the corner where he was to meet Danny, the wind bore down on him as if he were in a tunnel. The streets were well lit and people were out and about either digging out their cars or wending their way around tall white hills along the avenue.

He looked around for a pay phone so he could call Terry while waiting for Dan to arrive when something caught his eye. About a half a block up there was a late model Mercedes Benz idling in the middle of the street. Its cherry red brake lights offered a stark contrast to the white washed world it occupied. There was a skinny guy in his early twenties, clad in green camouflage clothing, leaning in the driver’s window. They were in front of an abandoned warehouse that was a known drug location. He began to walk towards them along the buried cars at the side of the boulevard. In a semi-crouched position, he continued to near them with his hand on the butt of his nine-millimeter service pistol. He was unable to make out the driver’s face because the skinny kid had the side view mirror blocked. But, he was sure he saw the car before somewhere. Still, he closed in on them and lowered the volume knob on his radio so as not to startle them and cause them to take flight.

When he was twenty feet or so away from them, it occurred to him that he should have contacted Danny on the radio first and have him cut them off from the other street. It was too late, though. He watched the skinny kid take a package from the driver and place it in his coat pocket. The kid looked up for a moment and checked around but didn’t see Jack crouched behind the car.

After the kid chatted with the driver for another minute or so, the car drove away. From his location, he was unable to make out the license plate, but he was able to keep his eye on the young man and make a mental note of what street he was on and what the nearest cross road was.

The camouflage kid stood in the road and watched the Mercedes turn the corner the by the abandoned warehouse. He turned around and walked over to the sidewalk with his hand under his coat as if he were holding a heavy object in there. From experience, Jack knew he most likely had a gun. Drawing his own pistol, he stood up and pointed it at the kid as he has high-stepping his way through the curbside snowdrift.

“Police…don’t move.” He shouted, his voice dissipating in the brisk, chilling wind. The kid kept walking with his head down clutching the seemingly heavy thing under his coat.

“Don’t move.” he said again. This time, the kid reached the sidewalk and broke into a trot. Jack ran behind him about fifteen feet behind him clomping along in his heavy boots.

“Post four-oh…I’m in pursuit.” he yelled into his radio. Then he holstered his gun so it wouldn’t go off accidentally if he tripped.

“Post four-oh, your location?” The central dispatcher sounded as though she was awakened from a nap.

“Seven four and Austin Boulevard. I’m headed towards…” He gasped as he checked the street sign he was approaching, and then held the radio to his mouth again. “Headed towards seven three street.”

“Do you have a description, four-oh?” The dispatcher’s voice was calm, almost distracted while Jack sounded as if he was running the last leg of a marathon, wheezing and gasping.

“Male white…wearing all green camouflage...running towards an abandoned warehouse on the corner of seven three and Austin…”

The kid was way ahead of Jack, and fast too. Not that Jack was much older or out of shape, but criminals always seemed to out run the police. Suddenly, the kid made a sharp left and ran into the warehouse. Sliding to a top on one foot like a cartoon character, Jack kept his balance and took cover in front of the building next to the steps where the young man entered. He un-holstered his gun and hung his radio back on his belt even though central was screaming for an update from him.

After listening for any sounds of him for a moment, he took his radio from his belt to let central know where he was and to inquire about back up units.

“Post four-oh, Central. The perp’s inside the building. He’s got a gun.” He was still panting and the surge of adrenaline in his system made his fingers tremble. Not that he was afraid, he wasn’t. It was just that his hands always shook in tense situations and he hated that.

“Post four-oh, wait for back up. Remain outside.”

As he was about to affirm the message on the radio, something made him peek around the corner before doing so. The building had a small alcove in the front and three small steps that led up to a set of metal and glass doors. They had long been since smashed and torn off their hinges by the local derelicts and crack heads looking for shelter.

He was able to see past the twisted and drooping doors and down a long, darkened hallway. The spaces between them were big enough to squeeze through and it was not mystery how the young gunman got in there. While Jack stared into the abyss, a bright, orange flash lit up the hallway and he heard a muffled bang. The bullet whizzed past his head and he recoiled behind the wall for cover.

“Shots fired, shots fired…” he yelled into the radio. Without thinking, he once again holstered his radio and grasped his pistol with both hands. He took a deep breath, and then he jumped out from behind his cover and punched his gun out in front of him. The shadow of the gunman disappeared from view and he could hear the kid’s footsteps trailing off in the distance. After he scrambled up the icy front steps, he made it to the front door and squeezed his way in through its narrow space. Everything in his training and every page in his mental, common sense notebook told him he was making a dangerous mistake. But, no one had ever taken a shot at him before and he was taking it personally.

He peeked down the long, shadowy hallway. He was able to see small heaps of debris strewn about and the silhouette of a set of double doors at the end of the corridor. There was ample light seeping in from the outside streetlights and the rising moon breaking through the clearing sky.

One of the double doors was swinging and he knew that was the one the kid ran through. He didn’t use his flashlight. The beam would make him a target and he could see well enough without it. Instead, he wended his way around empty boxes and sections of fallen ceiling tiles while keeping his eyes on the doors ahead.

When he reached them, he took squinted through one of the greasy windowpanes on the doors. They led into a vast, open space that was piled high with stacks of old, wooden pallets and giant crates. The place was an immense maze and he recognized the dangers immediately. His adrenaline was still pumping strong and he had to take a moment to stop panting so he could speak into his radio.

“Post four-oh, Central.”

“Post four-oh, what is your location?” The dispatcher responded with an urgent tone, tinged with relief, like a mother who recovered her child her wandered away in a department store.
For several minutes he was out of communication everyone thought the worst had happened to him.

“I’m inside, Central. I’m in some sort of hallway. The perp’s in the warehouse.”

“Post four-oh, standby at that location. Wait for backup. Post four oh, reply?”

“Four-oh, ten-four.” He said, in compliance with the dispatcher’s command.

“Sergeant one, central. Have that unit exit the building immediately on my authority.” It was Danny. Knowing him he was fuming and Jack couldn’t blame him because running into the warehouse was pretty dumb.

“Post four-oh, read direct, Sergeant one. I’m exiting now.”

“Sergeant one, central. What’s the status on emergency services?”

Danny continued to shout orders at the dispatcher as Jack hung his radio back on his belt. The snow was slowing everybody up; otherwise one of the other units in his precinct would have showed up by then. He only wished that none of them crashed or got killed rushing to come to his aid. There was no way he could live with himself if he got another cop killed.

With his gun still in his hand, he turned towards the doors unsure how to safely withdraw down the corridor. First, he needed to look through the windows again to see of the kid was sneaking up behind him. Before he had a chance to glimpse through the glass, it exploded. Small, jagged pebbles of glass pelted against the side of his head.

The gunman let loose a salvo of rounds at him. Jack crouched down low with his arms over his head. When the shooting ceased, he jumped up and plunged his weapon through the hole where the window used to be. He let about five rounds go into the darkness. Then, he kicked the door open and ran into the stockroom. A nearby heap of old, wooded skids offered cover and he knelt down behind the waist high stack.

Another fusillade of bullets chewed away at his defensive barricade, spitting the slats and beams as Jack flattened himself on the cold, cement floor. He aimed his pistol at the brilliant, orange and yellow flashes, and then he fired back at him with controlled shots. In spite of the relative brightness of the moonlight flooding in from the gaping hole in the collapsed roof, he still couldn’t see well enough to get a good sight picture. The young gunman had ceased shooting and Jack listened for footsteps with his gun still poised in front of him. He rested his arms on a corner of one of the pallets, and felt his heart thumping so hard and fast he thought the kid could also hear it out there in the storage area. For many moments he heard nothing until finally, sirens blared in the distance. He let out a deep breath; and he wiped his forehead with one hand. The approaching police cars made superb music for his ears.

Then, he heard footsteps. From behind his cover, he lifted his head and saw the silhouette of the young man standing in a narrow space between several, towering heaps of wooden crates. The kid stood about a mere twenty feet or so away from him and was trying to clear a jam in his pistol by racking the slide back and forth. Jack scrambled to his feet, stood up behind the pallets and set his sights on him.

“Drop it…drop it now.” He yelled.
At first, the kid didn’t move. Then, he threw the weapon on the floor and kept his hands at his sides.

“Put your hands on your head…” Jack yelled his commands at him. The surge of adrenaline he had earlier was waning and he felt his reflexes coming back under control. From outside, the sirens sounded as though they were right out front and he took a deep, cleansing breath to ease his tension. He stepped out from behind his cover, and took cautious steps towards his would be prisoner.

“Get on your knees…” he told him. With his firearm aimed at his torso, Jack closed in on him.

“I can’t officer. I’ve got bad knees.” The kid said pointing at his legs with one hand.

“What? Get on your knees goddamn it. And, keep your hands on your head.” said Jack, waving his gun to direct him.

“Officer, I’ll do what you want. But, I can’t get on my knees. They’re real bad; see?” The young gunman bent over a tugged his pants leg.

“Put your hands up. Put them up now.” Jack roared at him. There was a short distance between them and Jack concentrated on the sound of the sirens and the crackling radio. He removed one hand from his gun, and raised the volume on his portable. The dispatcher was sounded frantic for an update on his condition and location. It was at that point when he realized what a potentially fatal situation he got himself into. Caught out in the open, in the dark field of debris, while opposing a guy with a gun without waiting for backup, he felt lucky not getting his brains blown out. He envisioned this scenario would become a “What Not to Do” lesson at the academy. Moreover, he knew he deserved the criticism. With his free hand, he took his radio off his belt and held it to his mouth.

“Hey Officer, can I put my hands down now?” said the perp.

“What are you, nuts?” Said Jack, pulling the radio away from his mouth. Then, there was a noise over to his left. It sounded like a box falling, or something moving, he thought. Jack hoped it was either a rat or the wind. His body swung around in the direction of the noise and he pointed his gun in the area where he believed it emanated from. That’s when the gunman made his move. In one, quick motion, he took his hands off his head and reached around his back and pulled a gun from his waist band.

“Hey, don’t move…” was all Jack could say as he spun back around and covered him. He dropped his radio on the concrete ground.

The gunman produced a small, black revolver and zeroed in on him. The muzzle flash from Jack’s handgun obliterated the image of the young man before him like the popping bulb on an old camera. The gunman's shape became an orange smear along a blue and black canvass. Then, he reappeared as a crumpled form kneeling before him. Jack’s hand remained still as he kept his weapon trained on the young man. The kid groaned and fell forward. His revolver slipped from his fingers and hit the cement floor with a metallic clunk.

Using little, half skips, Jack neared him. With his pistol still held outward in both hands, he finally stood over the young man’s body and stared at him unsure of what to do next. Although the kid must have been six feet tall, he appeared to be so tiny; almost like a child. Using the toe of his boot, Jack kicked the revolver away from the body and reached down with one had to take his pulse.

Then, there was another noise to his left. This time it was nearer to him. It was the sound of heavy boots. The gunshot sounded like a cap pistol.

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain tore through his body from his left side and consumed him.
The sting felt like saw blade that cut him in half from the inside out like a mixed up and backwards supernatural deception. His head jerked up towards the huge hole in the ceiling and he twisted and collapsed onto his back. The entire time, his eyes never lost sight of the cold, yellow moonlight. The light then became brighter as he reached for it. Or, he thought it did. Having no breath within him, and, no with more pain, he saw himself from above. As he lay next to his slain victim, he watched as his body and the young man’s began to sway and dance in the air while their limbs remained motionless.

Gradually, he rose from the battleground. He went higher and higher until he saw his corpse no more. As he edged along the passionless light, he yearned for it and he didn’t know why. Soon, everything was awash in the glow; though it emitted no warmth. And, when he finally came to believe that he was nowhere near where he had left, he ached to go home. The light became focused and globular. The rims were a bloodless brown. It faded out into the boundless horizon becoming shades of purple and an unholy blackness that the most melancholy artist would be frightened to brush with. And then, he felt as though he was suffocating, sweating, alight with a punishing blaze from within. Panic surged through his arteries to his core and he shuddered, arms and legs flailing wildly, his eyes rolling into the back of his skull, as he soared at toward this nauseating luminous cloud, and then down, down, downward he fell.


End of Chapter One