REVENGE-First Chapter

            Alexandra Snow climbed the twenty-two steps to the entrance into City Hall at a run. No way would she arrive late for her first briefing. Her nerves tingled remembering yesterday’s formal ceremony. She had envisioned the moment for over two years and when the time finally came, kept pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

            By the time, Captain Ralph Mann pinned the silver police badge to her uniform, she thought she’d faint. By some miracle, she managed a smart salute and walked off the stage to join her fellow classmates.

            Now she pushed the door opened and strode briskly to the rear of the building to the door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. That meant her.

            God, I’m acting like a teenager on my first date. She wiped her sweaty palms down the sides of her crisp new uniform. She wondered if she had time to make a quick detour to the Ladies room, then chastised herself for wanting to fix the unfixable. After all, she had chosen not to cover the fine-line-scar that ran from her right temple to the corner of her mouth. The scars that really mattered, she kept well hidden.

            They were the reason she was here. Not for revenge, she told herself—justice—is what she really wanted. The only way she could assure that happening was to meter it out herself. And that’s exactly what she planned to do.

            She pushed open the door and walked beyond the booking desk to the elevator.

            “Hey, Snow,” Desk Sergeant Hennessy called after her. “You’d better hustle, Commander Greene went up already.”

            “Thanks.” She waved; spinning away from the slow moving elevator to sprint up the two flights of stairs, entering the command room as Commander, Lieutenant Bill Greene stepped to the podium.

            She grabbed a seat in the back and settled down to listen.

            “First, I want to congratulate all the new rookies.” Lt. Greene looked over the sea of faces, his gaze seeming to pause at each new one. When his eyes found Alex they hardened before passing on.

            It was no secret that he didn’t like her. When she’d applied for the academy, he’d done everything in his power to keep her out. By some miracle, over his protests, the academy had accepted her, and she’d set about proving her ability by jumping every hurdle and pulling the highest scores on all the exams.

            “Snow, you’re with Devlin,” Green said, a sly smile on his lips.

            The bastard, she thought, looking toward Patrol Officer Devlin slouched in a chair against the wall. He made no sign he’d heard his name spoken in relationship to hers, and with his eyes hidden defiantly behind silver reflective glasses, she had no idea if he looked her way or not. That didn’t stop her from scrutinizing him.

            From the way he sat she couldn’t tell much about his features except for his dimpled cheeks and bulbous red nose, she feared wasn’t caused by the air conditioned room any more than the mirrored glasses were worn to protect his eyes from the sun. Alex placed him well past 50.

            When she put his age and his position on the force together she came up with—Loser. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he had the reputation of being a loose cannon, a womanizer, and a thorn in Administration’s side. The word was that Devlin covered his own ass, chewed rookies up and spit them out. Out—off the force. According to the profile she ran in her head, Officer Devlin fit better on the opposite side of the law.

            Alex wanted to protest her assignment, but knew it would do no good. Instead, she pasted on her best smile.

            “Yes, sir,” she responded, knowing Greene had assigned her to the bottom of the barrel for his own devious reasons. Reasons, she had yet to understand.

            Greene continued with the assignments. “Okay, now that that is finished, let’s get down to business. We had three more stop and rob hold-ups last night, folks. Same MO. Guy comes in, picks up a few items, takes them to the counter, lets the clerk ring them up, and then draws his gun, takes off with the cash and anything else he can stuff in his pockets. His behavior is escalating. Last night he hit a young clerk when she tried to close the cash drawer on his hand. You all know what his next step will be. We need to get him before that happens.” He clicked the remote control he held in his hand.

            “This is the surveillance tape from his last robbery. It’s a little clearer than the others.” A laser beam hit the screen at the front of the room.

            “As you can see: white male, late teens, early twenties. About 5′ 10 to 6′ tops. His features aren’t too clear but his hair is dark. Keep an eye out. Remember he’s armed and dangerous.” He shuffled some papers and picked one from the pile.

            “Next, a woman complained that a man accosted her in the park, tried to drag her into the wooded area behind the gazebo. This happened early evening, around six, not quite dark. She got away when a group of joggers saw what was happening and scared the perp off.

            “She was able to give us a good description—which we’re running through the system. So far no hits. The artist’s rendering is on your desk. Take a good look.”

            Alex glanced at the rendering. The man appeared to be in his fifties, with brown hair and graying sideburns. The shading around the nose made it appear asymmetrical to the rest of his face. He wore a beard that fully covered his chin and part of his cheeks. His eyes seemed lifeless.

            After giving everybody a chance to scrutinize the sketch, Greene continued, “This means we have a new boy out there to worry about and from his bold action last night, I’d say this guy has been around for awhile.

            “That’s about it. All of you, who have court dates or unfinished business from yesterday, get to it. The rest of you hit the streets.” He gathered his papers and left through the back door.

            Alex made her way over to Devlin. He pushed the reflectors down on his nose and looked at her over their top with a cynical eye.

            “Patrol Officer Alex Snow,” she said, offering her hand, which he ignored as he got to his feet.

            His six-foot frame towered over her paltry five-foot-six inches, forcing her to look up at him. He’s trying to intimidate me, she thought. The eyes, peering at her over the shades were dark and piercing. Up close, she could see that at one time he had suffered a broken nose which somehow added to his dour expression, which his dimpled cheeks could not offset. Heavy etched lines on each side of his thin lips attested that he preferred to frown rather than smile. God, give me strength, she prayed.

            “A broad,” he grumbled removing the glasses. “So you’re the designated failure from this year’s crop.”

            Taken aback Alex didn’t know how to respond, instinct told her she couldn’t let Officer Devlin get the upper hand, not this early in the game.

            “No, sir,” she replied sweetly putting on her own dark glasses. “I’m your chance for success, sir.”

            He tilted his head. No sparks lit his eyes. No smile creased his lips. “What’s our esteemed command got against you, girlie?”

            “Patrol Officer Snow, sir,” she repeated.”

            “Whatever. I don’t want you bringing me any problems, Patrol Officer Snow,” he mimicked. “You ride with me, you take my orders understand, girlie?”

            Alex had had enough. If this was Greene’s way of getting rid of her, so be it.

            “As long as we keep our relationship professional, boy, I don’t see any problem.” Not waiting for a response, she turned and followed the rest of the officers to the elevator.

            “You better mind your mouth when speaking to the guy who’s in charge of making or breaking you,” Devlin hissed, catching up with her.

            “I thought that was the watch commander’s department.” She didn’t break her stride, or turn to look at him.

            “There you go with the mouth again,” he growled, pushing ahead of her onto the elevator.

            They made the trip down to the garage in silence. Alex wondered if the other rookies felt as scared as she did. Then she nixed the idea. None of them had drawn Devlin. They had backup they could count on.

            “You drive.” Devlin threw a set of keys in her direction as they stepped into the garage.

            She caught the keys mid-air.

            Devlin headed for the patrol car parked closest to the exit. All the other officers took off in the opposite direction. They clustered around a pegboard filled with keys and an attached sign-out sheet. She overheard one of the senior officers explaining that each key had numbers that matched the numbers on the roof of the corresponding patrol vehicle.

            Alex glanced down at the key in her hand. There was no number. “How do I sign the car out?”

            “Did I tell you to sign it out?”

            “No, but…”

            “Then get your ass behind the wheel. I need some coffee.” Devlin got in on the passenger’s side and slammed the door.

            Alex hesitated for only a moment. If Devlin and Green wanted to get rid of her, they would have to come up with something a lot better than harassment, sexual or otherwise. She’d worked too long and too hard to get here. No egotistical commander or broken-down cop was going to spoil her dream. She would become a detective in spite of them.

            “Yes, sir,” she said, sliding behind the wheel. “Where to?”

            “Sammy’s over on 2nd Avenue. You know the place?”

            “The deli?”

            “Yeah, that’s the place. They make the best donuts and coffee in town.” He settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get there.” The words were barely out of his mouth when he started to snore.

            At first, Alex couldn’t believe the man had actually fallen asleep. That was until she caught a whiff of the stale alcohol coming from his open mouth. Damn. Her first day on the job and her superior officer—her mentor—was sleeping off a hangover.

            Was this some kind of a test? Was she supposed to report Devlin? Or was this part where the Code of Silence, she’d heard so much about, came into play? Her hands started to sweat. She didn’t know what to do. The rulebook stated, report improper conduct to your superior officer. Great, the lieutenant would love to hear her tattle on her mentor like some school kid trying to win Brownie points. She sighed. Maybe when Devlin got a cup of coffee she could kind of mention his breath. After all, he hadn’t gotten drunk on duty.

            Ten minutes later, Alex pulled to the curb in front of Sammy’s Deli.

            “We’re here,” she said, scanning the quiet street.

            Devlin sprang from of the car, making her question again if he had actually been asleep.

            “Come on, girlie. You’ve got to get to know your public.” He sprinted ahead to open the deli door for her.

            She hesitated, wondering if he planned to trip her as she walked past.

            “How long you want me to stand here like a jackass, girlie?”

            She gritted her teeth. Keep your head up. Don’t let him get to you, she admonished as she stepped past him into the deli.

            At first, she didn’t recognize the sound that came at her from all directions, hurting her ears and sending a stinging sensation coursing from between her eyes to the back of her head. She raised her hands to block her ears, not understanding why her legs suddenly felt as if they were no longer part of her body, or why she seemed to melt into the floor. Like the wicked witch in the Wizard of Oz, she thought, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

            The next volley surrounding her, she recognized as the repeating rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire. She attempted to rise. Flashing bright lights fused her eyes shut. Pain pierced her skull. Freezing cold seeped into her bones. She could not move.

            “Snow,” Devlin screamed. “Don’t you freaking die on me, girlie.”

            Die?

            “Talk to me, girlie.” She felt his hands shaking her.

            “Officer Alexandra Snow,” she whispered, as the colors swirled brighter and brighter, carrying her beyond his voice.

***

            Officer Devlin sat alone in the hospital room. The doctors and nurses had long since given up telling him to go home.

            Home, what a laugh, was a two room apartment above the not doing so great, automotive repair garage his cousin Benny owned and operated. The fact that Benny ran the place told anyone who knew him why the garage wasn’t doing so good—money wise. Problem was Benny was too darn good at what he did, and too particular about whose car he worked on. If Benny didn’t know you, or if sometime in the past he’d felt the least slighted by you, then your car never got into his shop. Then there was the second problem, once he fixed a car, it stayed fixed. Good for the customer, bad for the finances.

            Same had been true for Devlin at one time. He’d been a darn good detective. One of the best. As his old man had often said, “You got the nose for it, son.” It was true. Solving crimes had come easy. Too easy. That was until he’d come across a case the brass didn’t want solved—and his nose refused to stop sniffing around until he’d found out why. From there it was a quick slide from top dog to mangy cur.

            No sense his crying over flat beer. What’s done is done, he thought. He groaned, shifting his butt in the chair. How long had he been sitting here this time? Hours—days? He glanced down at his watch forgetting that it had stopped weeks ago. “Needs a new battery,” he said, to break up the monotonous whoosh-whomp of the ventilator, and the beeping of the heart monitor. The EEG machine measuring Snow’s brain waves worked in silence.

            It didn’t much matter. According to the neurosurgeon, the bullet that had gone straight through Storm’s head had caused extreme swelling of the brain tissue. Surgery had relieved the pressure, but only time would tell what real damage had been done. The doctor didn’t believe in handing out false hope. He’d cautioned Devlin that the girl might never wake up, and if she did—he’d left Devlin to draw his own conclusions. Devlin wasn’t ready for that.

            “Okay, girlie, you’ve slept long enough. Time to get with the program. You hear me?” He leaned over her, watching for the tiniest flicker of an eye.

            “I suppose, like every other woman I know, you’re not going to talk to me until you hear me apologize? Well, that ain’t gonna happen, and I’ll tell you why. Okay?” He settled back in the chair trying for comfort, getting a pain across the small of his back instead. Who in hell made these friggin chairs anyway? He stood and walked to the foot of the bed where he could keep an eye on her while he talked.

            “You remember us going to Sammy’s for coffee, right?”

            He gave her time to respond, when she didn’t, he continued.

            “Well I never should have opened that door for you.” He paused. “Come on, girlie, what happened to that big mouth of yours? You must have some smart-ass remark?”

            She made no response.

            “Okay, if that’s the way you’re going to play, I admit it. The creep shot you instead of me because I was a gentleman. How do you like that? It’s my fault. Now what are you going to do?” He waited. The ventilator whooshed and the heart monitor beeped, graphic paper spewed across the EEG machine.

            Officer Alexandra Snow did nothing.

            Who in hell did he think he was kidding? She wasn’t waking up. Why should he give a rat’s ass if she did or not? Hell, he didn’t even know her. Cops were shot in the line of duty all the time. Christ, he needed a drink.

            He gave her one last glance. Darn, why did she have to look so tiny, so helpless?

            “Oh, no, girlie, you’re not going to sucker me in. I’m leaving.” He turned from her and walked out the door.

            “Officer Devlin,” the tall, good-looking, nurse coming toward him said. “I’m glad I caught you.”

            “What’s up?” he asked.

            “We’re moving her to a different part of the hospital tomorrow.”

            “Does that mean she’s getting better?”

            “No. Not really.”

            “Then what?”

            “Officer Snow has been in the Unit for a week and is more or less stable.” She gave him what he perceived as a sorrowful look. “The doctor is weaning her off the ventilator. If she tolerates that, we can’t justify keeping her in Intensive Care.”

            “Where is she going?” He couldn’t keep the agitation he felt from his voice. Anyone could look at the kid and know she needed all the help she could get.

            “We’re transferring her to Long Term.”

            “Long Term?” he questioned, as if he didn’t know the meaning of the words.

            “Don’t worry. Officer Snow will be well cared for. I didn’t want you to come in tomorrow and find her gone.”

            Gone? No denying the double meaning. Gone to another room. Gone as in forever. What did he care? He wasn’t coming back tomorrow or any other day. Patrol Officer Alexandra Snow was on her own.

            “Yeah, thanks.” He walked to the bank of elevators, entered the fist door that opened and punched down. Suddenly he wheeled and made it out before the doors closed. He went back to her room.

            “Look, girlie, I’m sorry but I can’t do this anymore.” he whispered. “You’re not my responsibility. Where in hell is your family? Why aren’t they here?” He glanced around the sterile room. There were no signs of anyone, except for him having been there. That wasn’t his problem. She didn’t know if he was here anyway.

            “See I’m not good at this. I don’t belong here. Besides, I’m going back to work. Internal Affairs took their own sweet time, but after a friggin week they finally decide my shot was good. You understand what I’m saying, girlie? I’m not coming back.” This time, not bothering to wait for a response, he left the hospital.

            He needed a drink.

***

            Gallagher’s Bar and Grill sat on the corner of Main and Third, a block from Sammy’s Deli. Sean O’Shay ran the cop bar like it was his own. Truth be known, old man Gallagher, hitting ninety, with no kin, planned to leave the bar to Sean when he, Gallagher passed on to his reward. Everyone in town knew that as fact. Sean didn’t believe it. He stewed from day to day about what was going to happen to him. Most folks thought that with all the worrying Sean did, Gallagher might out-live him. Sean hit seventy his last birthday so the possibility was there.

            Cops liked the bar because Sean, enmeshed in his own problems, paid little attention to their talk. Besides, he made the best corn beef sandwich this side of Ireland, and never served an ounce of booze beyond what he deemed a guy’s limit. No one left Gallagher’s drunk. At least not as far as Sean was concerned.

            Devlin slid onto a stool in the corner at the end of the bar, back to the wall, facing the door. Several off duty cops, gathered around the pool table, nodded their greeting when he entered, then went back to their game. He ordered an Irish whiskey, straight up. “Make it a double, Sean.”

            Sean put a large shot glass on the bar in front of him, grabbed a bottle of Bushmills from the back bar and poured the drink.

            Devlin watched the amber liquid flow from the silver spigot topping the bottle, into the glass. His hand trembled. His mouth watered in anticipation. As soon as Sean turned away, Devlin grabbed the glass and brought it to his lips, threw back his head and tossed the double shot down in one gulp. He’d really needed that.

            “You want a sandwich?” Sean asked. “I’m about ready to shut down the grill, but if you want, I’ll make you one.”

            “Yeah, sure, and another one of these before you go.” Devlin handed him his empty shot glass.

            Brian Banks, five-eight, dark unruly hair that gave him a boyish look at forty-five, and his one time partner, clasped him by the shoulder.

            “Hey man, I hear IA cleared you.” Banks put a squeeze on the shoulder.

            Devlin shrugged his hand away and took a sip of the whisky. No sense letting Brian see how much he wanted to down the whisky as he had the first. “Internal Affairs had nothing to clear. My shoot was good.”

            “I always said you were one lucky s.o.b.”

            “You think?” Devlin replied, rubbing his fingers around the rim of the shot glass.

            “Don’t let it get you down, man.” Banks slid onto the stool next to him. “Shooting when you did, no doubt saved your life. It’s not your fault you got your shot off too late to do much for the rookie.”

            Devlin wanted to smash the whisky glass in Detective Brian Banks’ face, but it would be a waste of good liquor.

            There was one like Brian in every precinct—the know-it-all, cocky, s.o.b. who wasn’t above turning on his partner, or dropping a bloody glove if his case warranted it. The man was an ass when they rode together, and from what he’d heard, hadn’t changed much since.

            “Too bad about the rookie though,” Banks persisted, not willing to let his remark go unnoticed. “Thing like that can mess up your life more than it is already.”

            “So much for good luck.” Devlin raised his glass in salute, and was rewarded with a little heat gracing Brian’s face.

            The detective stared at him, waiting.

            It was easy to see that his ex-partner expected more of a response from him. In the old days, Devlin would have obliged. Brian would have been on the floor by now looking up at the ceiling. That was then. Now was now, and Devlin didn’t feel like wasting his energy on Brian Banks. He sipped at the Bushmills instead.

            Sean put a corn beef sandwich down in front of him. “Anything else?” he asked, looking from him to Brian.

            Banks shook his head.

            “I’m fine,” Devlin said. “Want half?” he asked sliding the plate toward his former partner.

            You’d think he’d offered the man a plate full of poison by the speed his old friend Brian slipped off the stool. Razzing an old partner in front of his fellow officers might be acceptable in the eyes of their colleagues, but sharing a meal with the station dog could be a disaster for a smart, middle-aged dick like Banks who had his eye on the political trail.

            “Ah, I got a bet riding on Gonzales,” he hedged.

            Devlin glanced over at the players clustered around the pool table. Gonzales never missed a shot. He smiled. “Still going for the sure thing, huh?”

            Brian’s eyes narrowed. He clenched his fist, but made no move to act.

            Guess he didn’t have the energy for a fight either.

            “See you around, Mark.” He sauntered away.

            Around the station, everyone went by last names. Devlin saw this as more than a means of sorting out the Bill, John and Mary’s, but as a means of respect. It had been that way with him and Brian Banks, at first. Now he only addressed Banks as Brian. Outsiders would see his form of address as his being friendly with his partner. He and every other cop on the force knew the true meaning: Devlin didn’t like or trust Detective Brian Banks.

            Devlin bit into his sandwich. If things had gone differently back when, he wouldn’t be sitting alone at the bar munching on corn beef—nursing a shot. But like his old man had so often said—he’d never learn to keep his nose out of other peoples business.