On The Beat (Goosey Larsen Book 3) (4 page)

Mr. Regan nodded. He looked like he was about to add something else, but was cut off by a high-pitched electronic melody. It was some kind of classical music, I think, maybe Beethoven or Bach or some other German guy. Regan blushed as he reached inside his blazer and pulled out a Blackberry, looking completely surprised to see his device. “Well what do you know?” he said, directing the question at no one in particular. “I guess my phone must have been there in my pocket the entire time!” He looked down at the number flashing on the display screen. “I’m very sorry, gentlemen, but I simply must take this call from my associate. Thank you so much for your time.”

Regan turned and walked back towards the rear of the store without even bothering to wait for a response. To my credit, I managed to bite my tongue and keep the cursing in check, at least until he’d stepped out of earshot. I mean really, how inconsiderate can a person be? If that jerk had only been able to keep track of his phone, he might not have discovered the burglary until the following morning and then the whole mess would have been some day shift officer’s problem. I swear, some of these rich people just seem to have absolutely no consideration for others.

But as luck would have it, his case was officially my problem, at least for the time being. That meant that sometime over the course of the evening I’d have to buckle down, put pen to paper and spin off at least half a page of writing in order to document this heinous crime. Even though I was fully confident in my own brevity, the thought of having to exert such an effort sucked most of the wind from my sails. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Squealer ducking down to inspect the glass cabinets for fingerprints. He was distracted, and I seized the opportunity to slip out of the store unnoticed. To be fair, I had no real beef with the guy anymore. Ever since we’d worked together a couple times, I’d learned the dude could be an all right guy when he really wanted to be. Yet and still, I did my best to avoid being around him any more than was truly necessary. We actually got along better when we didn’t see too much of each other, kind of like any other successful long-distance relationship.

Once outside, I took a glance at my watch and realized it was nearly nine o’clock already. I slapped my forehead in disgust and aimed an angry kick at a stray cat who’d been sniffing around one of the nearby garbage bins. The cat darted out of the line of fire and my unshined boot hit the can square, crumpling in the green plastic and sending a stream of loose trash skidding across the sidewalk. My stomach roared in protest as my mood turned mean, since finding an open kitchen down in the Market was sure to be an impossible task at that late hour. Even though there was no possible way Mr. Regan would be able to see me from inside his store, I still shot him the middle finger for good measure. It looked like I’d be stuck hitting the all-night drive-thru window at Hardee’s once again, seeing as how it was already too late for my usual strategy of loitering behind the local restaurants. Intercepting the nightly leftovers before they hit the garbage dumpsters was usually a solid dinner option, but after all that effort I’d already expended on policework I just didn’t feel up to rubbing shoulders with all the homeless bums for a few scraps. There simply wasn’t enough strength left in my body for me to elbow my way up to the front of the bread line.

With a sigh, I resigned myself to a slow death from starvation as I trudged along the length of South Market Street. I made a beeline for the historic Customs House building, where the Team Seven officers kept a small office tucked away in the basement. Our hideaway actually made for a pleasant little place to duck out of sight, while still being only steps away from the bustling crowds on East Bay Street. There was a particular type of dead silence down there among the steam pipes, and I loved that lingering smell of damp mold which seemed to permeate all the carpets. On those rainy winter nights our office was an absolutely perfect place to sneak away for a long nap. You could hide away in there for hours without having to worry about anyone walking up on you.

In fact, the only drawback to my fortress of solitude was the overly steep set of concrete stairs out in front of the building. There were a solid dozen steps in all, and they made every visit seem as if I was navigating some kind of giant obstacle course. I managed to wheeze my way up them in a single bound this time, stopping only long enough to catch my breath at the halfway point while I glared at a pack of skater kids. The little punks had been grinding on the railings in clear violation of the city’s prohibition against skateboarding, but at least they’d had the politeness to tuck their boards behind their backs as I approached. As I waddled past them, I returned the courtesy by not trying to remember where I’d left my ticket book.

Once inside the office, I snatched up a blank report form and flopped down behind our one shared desk. The writing surface was covered with a filthy pile of gears and sprockets, which meant that one of our bicycle patrol cops must have ended his shift right in the middle of a complicated repair job. Gingerly, so as not to get any grease or oil on my pristine hands, I opened one of the desk drawers and swept the loose parts inside. With a clean slate before me my mind could finally focus, and it only took me a few minutes to jot down the high points of Mr. Regan’s complaint. Leaning back in my chair, I happened to glance towards my mailbox and see that it was stuffed with wanted fliers and court summonses. It would have taken me at least an hour to sort through them all, so I made a quick judgment call to save that work for a rainy day. Standing up, I shoved my report beneath Lt. Shivers’ locked office door and got the hell out of there before I could be tempted to do anything else productive. By my way of thinking, I’d already done my duty for the month by responding to a radio call.

Once outside, I saw that the activity level in my beat had positively spiked. Thursday night is the unofficial start of the weekend in Charleston, and the bar crowds were looking thick when I made my final stroll back down Market Street. It was after ten o’clock by that point, the hour when all the nightlife really gets started in earnest. Now normally, I try not to patrol very hard after about the halfway point in my shift. After all, covering more ground just increases the likelihood that I might spot a crime in progress. I’ve found that I’m much more effective at deterring crime when I linger in one place, like a vigilant sentry manning a fixed post. Usually that place is directly in front of the Wild Wings bar and grill where my presence helps discourage any potential underage drinking, and it sure doesn’t hurt one bit that the perch also provides me with the best view of all the drunken college girls gliding past.

That night, though, I felt a certain force of gravity pulling me back towards my home base at the parking garage. I was almost certain that Lieutenant Shivers owed me a couple hours of time off for some reason or other, although the specific circumstances escaped me. And even though I technically should have gotten express permission to take the comp time that I’d almost certainly earned, it would have been more than a little inconsiderate to call the boss over such a trivial matter so late at night. With that in mind, I made a command decision to act as my own supervisor and pull myself out of service. It didn’t hurt one bit that going home early would also keep me from having to arrest any drunks once all the bars kicked their customers out on the street at closing time. Yeah, the way I saw it, leaving work early was just my way of helping keep America’s youth from blemishing their bright futures with misdemeanor DUI charges.

My car surprised me by starting on the first try, so I sat there for a moment as the engine warmed up. I fished around and found my wallet, which felt surprisingly thin in my hand, but my stomach sank even further once I opened it and saw just a single picture of George Washington staring back at me with a stern green glare printed across his pasty white face. The strong facial expression had probably been designed to remind people of the value of a dollar, but that night it only served as one more notice that it’d be another whole week until the father of our country would have company. I slammed the steering wheel in frustration while my stomach rumbled with its own form of rage. I could feel my body growing weaker by the second, and I caught myself fantasizing about the box of stale Ritz crackers tucked away in my kitchen cabinet.

My cell phone rang at that very moment, and I jumped so far out of my seat that my head smacked into the sagging ceiling with a sudden burst of reality. I had to hold my breath and count to five in order to keep from screaming in pain, although I exhaled with relief after spotting the caller ID. It wasn’t anyone trying to catch me sneaking out of work early, just Katie Maslow from the coroner’s office. To be perfectly honest, though, a call from her was only slightly better than one from my boss. In the interest of full disclosure, Katie and I had been seeing each other exclusively for the past few months, and things had actually turned pretty serious. The woman had nearly elevated herself to full girlfriend status by that point, but in all honesty that was mostly because the both of us worked some pretty odd hours. In my opinion, the secret to a successful relationship is to simply avoid seeing the person you’re dating. Around CPD, at least shift work has saved many more loveless relationships than marriage counseling ever could.

Still, a call from Katie was a good reminder for me to get on the move before anyone in my chain of command could spot me. With the phone squeezed tightly between my shoulder and my ear, I popped the car into gear and backed out of my spot. “Hey babe” I chirped, doing my damndest to sound as if I was happy to hear from her. “Working late?”

She laughed. It came out sounding more like a throaty growl, though, almost as if some mama bear had just spotted a stranger messing with her cubs. “Working hard, Mike. Just trying to keep up with you.”

My mind was filled with a widescreen image of Katie’s round face, and as always my attention was captured by the huge roll of flab hanging down from her double chin. That one loose slice of flesh had this peculiar way of wiggling from side to side whenever she smiled. I shuddered involuntarily, either from the disgusting mental picture or because my blood sugar levels were still plummeting, but seeing as how the conversation was helping keep my mind off imminent death from starvation, I did my best to play along. “Yeah right, Katie! You know better than that, hon.” The Toyota’s suspension creaked in protest as I steered my little car down the maze of exit ramps and out towards the street. “But what’s up?”

“Well…” she said, trying her best to sound as if she hadn’t rehearsed her lines at least a dozen times before dialing my number, “I’m just finishing up with a late autopsy here…”

I just had to butt in. “Anything good? Gunshot victim, suicide jumper maybe?”

She laughed again. “No such luck, just an elderly guy whose time had come. Natural causes, nothing exciting.”

I let out a loud groan as my attention shifted back to driving my finicky car. Dodging all the potholes on Cumberland Street without stalling out was a little like playing a real-life game of pinball.

The girl didn’t seem to catch my lack of enthusiasm, and just kept right on yammering. “Disappointing, I know. But as I was saying, things were so crazy around here tonight that I had to work straight through dinner.”

The very mention of food set my stomach to complaining loudly. Even though my own miseries normally took rightful precedence over anyone else’s, I had to wince out of sympathy. Katie was a full-figured gal and for her, skipping a meal was a genuine hardship. “I feel your pain. If it’s any consolation, it’s been no picnic downtown either. Practically non-stop action all night long.” A matching pair of intoxicated frat boys in pastel-colored golf shirts stumbled into the road ahead of me, and I had to ease up off the gas in order to let them pass safely. I swear, all those underage drunk kids were really becoming a public safety concern.

I could almost picture Katie’s wide smile as she worked up her nerves on the other end of the line. “So, uh…if you haven’t had the chance to eat yet either, why don’t I pick up some takeout and swing by your place? There’s that Chinese buffet you love, The Great Wall? I think they should still be open, right?”

I tried to think of a reason to blow her off, but it was no use. Shortly after we’d started dating, Katie had discovered that Chinese buffets were my one true weakness. Ever since then, that girl never missed an opportunity to weaken my defenses with that delicious, MSG-flavored kryptonite. But as much as I hated the thought of seeing my steady girl twice in the same week, I was pretty far down the road to starvation and my will to survive won out over common sense. With a single strong gulp, I swallowed my pride and managed to keep it down. “Sounds good, babe” I said. “I’ll meet you there in about ten minutes.”

FRIDAY

The sun was rising slowly over the Battery, its
warm rays reflecting down the length of East Bay Street
. The narrow, scenic road ran a straight northerly route from
the multi-million dollar mansions along the Ashley River up
into the neglected housing projects of the East Side. The
bright sunlight cast dark, bumpy shadows down into the refined
sidewalks of intersecting Broad Street, where the cobblestoned walkways were
still slick with dew. In the quiet hours of the
morning, the loudest sound came from the soft echoes of
Duke Regan’s well-polished shoes as they tapped along
the sidewalk. His fitted brown lace-ups slid nimbly across
the uneven surface, neatly avoiding the narrow cracks which had
claimed a number of high-heeled shoes the night before
. It was a walk that Duke had made many times
, and today he moved with a purpose.

A soft electronic
chime announced his entry through the front door of the
National Bank of South Carolina. It was just now eight
-thirty and as usual, he was the first customer inside
. Before he could take more than five steps into the
lobby, a bank manager hustled out from a side office
to intercept him. “Duke!” he called out, reaching for his
friend’s hand as he flashed an inviting smile. “Good
to see you again, old boy!”

Regan returned the smile
as he grabbed the man’s hand and gave it
a hearty double pump. “Brooks, you son of a gun
. How’ve you been?”

Still smiling, the manager drew a
handkerchief from his shirt pocket and pressed it gently against
his forehead. The man wore his bulging waistline proudly as
an outward indication of his professional success, so the short
jog across the lobby was all it took for him
to become winded. “I can’t complain, but sometimes I
still do! Oh, but speaking of complaints, I was just
reading about your store in the News and Courier. I
’m so sorry! My office?”

Duke nodded at the invitation
and followed behind his friend, pausing only to shut the
office door behind them. He chose a seat in front
of the desk without waiting for it to be offered
, then drew a thick manila envelope from inside his navy
blue blazer. “Thanks for the discretion, Brooks” he said, setting
the envelope down on the desk. “These cash deposits can
create such a spectacle, but I’m afraid the alternative
would be to use your night drop box. With all
the amount of crime on the streets these days, I
’m afraid that’s just not an option.”

Brooks let
the envelope sit between them on the desktop as he
leaned back in his upholstered leather chair and clucked his
tongue. “You mean to tell me that your insurance agent
will pay out a settlement in under twenty-four hours
? And in cash, no less? Remind me to get his
number from you! When my BMW was sideswiped on King
Street last year, it took nearly a month for those
tightwads at Nationwide to cut me a check.”

Duke smiled
. “I wish it was that simple. Those ‘thieves’ made off
with nearly all of my new merchandise… at least that
’s what the invoices say. It’s hard to steal
items that were never actually delivered but I swear, that
’s what happened!” He shook his head, enjoying the satisfaction
of yet another successful business transaction. “I tell you, I
should’ve started cooking the books like this years ago
. Can you believe that back when I took over that
dump of a store on a tax lien, it was
actually turning a profit? But anyway, it only took my
partner and his team about fifteen minutes to force their
way in and stage the crime scene, and now it
’ll take most of the weekend for a legitimate crew
to clean it all up again! On the bright side
, though, at least the store manager will finally be able
to use some of those vacation days he’s always
whining about.”

Brooks howled with laughter. He rocked back and
forth in his leather chair, clutching his sides as fresh
buds of perspiration appeared on his pasty forehead.

“I’ll
probably have to swing back in here next week to
process the actual insurance settlement” Duke continued, tapping the envelope
. “This is just from the past week’s sales receipts
.” He shot the banker a knowing look.

Brooks picked up
the envelope and eased it open, giving the thick stack
of hundred-dollar bills inside a quick riffle with his
thumb. He raised a single, questioning eyebrow. “Business must be
good.”

Duke smiled. “Booming. Tourist season is upon us, you
know.” His chin nodded ever so slightly. “There’s fifty
thousand in all, which includes your usual fee.”

Brooks gave
a curt nod as he tucked the envelope closed. He
opened a desk drawer, withdrew a single deposit slip and
produced a ballpoint pen to fill in the blanks. His
fingers moved swiftly across each space, Brooks’ hands betraying the
fact that he’d filled out this same standardized form
hundreds, if not thousands of times in his career. “Forty
thousand it is, and it’ll be going to the
Bermuda account this week. The wire transfer will take effect
at nine o’clock.” He slid the deposit slip across
the wide desktop. “Sign here, old friend.”

Duke ignored the
offered pen, choosing instead to reach into his jacket and
draw his own Mont Blanc. Regan’s signature devolved into
a hurried scrawl after the first few letters, his way
of showing the world exactly how valuable his time was
. “Thanks, old man.” Tucking his pen safely away, he rose
from his chair.

Brooks arched his eyebrows again. “Off so
soon? You mean to tell me you’re so rushed
that you don’t even have time for a Bloody
Mary at Poogan’s?”

Duke smiled. “Business waits for no
one, my friend. But I’m sure I’ll see
you before long.”

The banker returned the smile but remained
seated, apparently having decided that it would require too much
energy to raise his body up out of his seat
. “Not if I see you first.”

Outside, the warm air
was already turning humid despite the early hour. Spring started
quickly in Charleston, and the misty sea breeze carried with
it a stickiness which made the month of March feel
like an early introduction to summer. Duke allowed his manicured
hands to loosen his silk bow tie, but staunchly refused
to remove his navy blue blazer. Instead, he pressed a
linen handkerchief against his brow as he reached for his
Blackberry. He had forbidden himself to program the contact into
his phone, but his fingers pressed each digit automatically. With
the phone pressed firmly against his ear, Duke counted seven
rings.

“McCready’s, this is Antoine. How may I help
you today?”

Duke smiled at the professional manner that his
partner used to answer the phone. Even when working such
a menial restaurant job, the young man clearly knew how
to conduct himself. “Yes, I’m calling to confirm a
reservation. The last name is Snow.”

There was no response
from the other end of the line, but the sound
of shuffling feet was a clue that Antoine must be
carrying the cordless phone to a more private location.
Smart boy
, he thought.

“Yes, sir. How can I help you
?”

“Hello, sir. I’m calling because I had a sudden
social obligation come up this evening. Is there any possible
way that you can accommodate my party of three for
tonight?”

Another pause. “Just a moment, sir. I’ll check
our guest list.”

Duke smiled again. This Antoine was definitely
a smart boy, unlike some of the street thugs he
’d been forced to work with in the past. He
hadn’t made the cardinal mistake of using Duke’s
real name over the open telephone line, and he was
even doing a passable job of making a large drug
deal sound like an innocent dinner reservation.

“Yes sir, I
believe we can accommodate that. Would nine o’clock be
acceptable?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Certainly. We
look forward to seeing you.”

Duke let out a sigh
of contentment as he slipped the Blackberry back into his
pocket and jaywalked across Broad Street to his office. He
stopped on the sidewalk for another long moment, pausing to
admire the hand-painted wood sign with the gold-leaf
letters that read “Duke Regan and Associates, Realtors.” As he
unlocked the door to begin yet another productive work day
, Duke made a mental note to speak with Antoine about
formalizing their arrangement through an internship program. The young man
obviously had a bright future on the horizon, and given
the right guidance he could easily become a force to
be reckoned with.