Dennis J. McGowan's TOUR OF DUTY for February 2004 begins with a special segment. Excerpts from my novel, False Stature, are the body of this month's column. The challenge my fellow writers and readers is to answer the questions below and tell why?
Mackery held his breath for the moment. The stench took him back. This place was a dive. He sat on the edge of the couch. "Ready to admit Reardon flaked me now that you're drunk?"
"Ah-h… not that drunk." McEff slid forward in the chair. "Reardon was gonna get my wife's lawyer off my back and keep me on the job if I went along, but all he did was laugh at me." He rubbed his head with the flat of his palm. "I can't do this anymore." McEff tossed another empty can at a brown bag near the chair and kicked it. His movements were erratic. He ripped a new can from a half-empty six pack under the table. "Damp in here, you know?" He fixed the old navy coat over his bare knees.
Mackery was sure he'd seen the outline of a gun in McEff's pocket.
"Ever see Reardon with Cotto?"
"Cotto was into the wise guys - - Caprerra's crew, for fifty grand. Reardon and Caprerra are friends since their kids. They grew up together. He hated Cotto and stayed away from him. Ah, Reardon stayed away from all of us. In the office for ten minutes, then Reardon's gone. He has broads all over the city. He'd drop me off at a bar in The Bronx and head for a broad or to hang out with Caprerra in Brooklyn."
"You doing coke now?" Mackery shook his head as McEff swigged from the can.
"Don't preach. You think I want to go through this?" His speech was more rapid. "'Take some time off,' your high and mighty Captain Doyle tells me. I know he's gonna fire me." McEff wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I went on a five day binge and ended here." McEff glanced around the room and across the table. "What a dump. Ah, what's the difference?"
"Let me help you." He had to divert him. "You want help, don't you?"
McEff 's whole body shook as he glared at Mackery. He bent over and gripped the neck of a vodka bottle. "I saw Reardon shoot Cotto and did nothing. Reardon is no good, but I'm worse. I was with Reardon the night he killed Cotto." McEff's right hand moved to his pocket. "I'm a fucking coward who's sick of being scared." One swift snap and McEff had a .38 in his mouth.
"NO!" Mackery charged for the gun, but his eyes saw the scene as slow motion.
McEff's head jerked back, its contents exploding across the room. His arm flew from his mouth and the gun crashed onto the table and bounced to the floor. The ashtray flew up - - beer cans, the glass bottle smashed on the table as all fell with him as his eyes floated up inside their sockets.
Slow motion turned to real time as odors returned to Mackery's nose and silence to his ears. "No! Dammit!" Mackery's grip was too late as he knelt at McEff's side. ''Why?'' He clenched McEff's coat lapels in his grip, half-holding, half-shaking him. "What'd you do? You didn't have to do this."
The door flew open. "Jim, stop." Cooney and Hanson took Mackery by the shoulders. "Let him go. The whole back of his head is gone. He's dead."
A younger uniform cop looked back and forth from Mackery seated back on the old couch to McEff's lifeless body sprawled on the floor by the toppled chair. "I guess he was a good friend, Detective?"
"Not a friend," Mackery looked up at his open face. "But he was a cop." He turned away and his eyes grew misty. "A cop who needed help."
Mackery started his car and shut off the offending radio ash he felt the heat of the tears behind his eyes. Thoughts of his first police funeral.
Twelve uniformed cops carried the two flag-draped coffins; one behind the other as they marched passed him to the drone of the Emerald Society's Pipe Band. Tears were running down his cheeks when the Inspector tapped his arm. "Sad scene, kid? "
"Yes, Inspector.''
"You know why you're crying, kid? You're crying because it's you in one of those caskets and your wife and kids walking behind those coffins. The row after row of guys who salute these men are the guys you work with, the guys you owe your life." His tears stopped. He understood the, as he understood now.
Mackery reached into his shirt pocket and shut off the tape recorder. He had his proof for Doyle now. McEff had given him a dying man's confession.
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Mackery was looking for something to incriminate Reardon. Would you have gone to McEff's alone? If not, what would you have done? Send your responses to the ReadersRoom2@aol.com now.
TRUE BLUE: Police Stories by Those Who Have Lived Them published by St. Martins Press has arrived on bookshelves across the country! My gratis contribution, Not In My House ~ An Officer's Lament has made the final cut (#22 of fifty-three) of the over 400 submissions. This anthology by my brother and sister officers is a tribute to the fallen law enforcement victims of the September 11th 2001 tragedy. PROCEEDS FROM SALES CONTRIBUTED TO THE NEW YORK POLICE & FIRE WIDOWS AND CHILDRENS FUND
Play it safe!
Dennis J. McGowan
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