A New Oath

Ten minutes had passed since Pete dropped off his uncle and T.J., he entered his place without turning on the light, on autopilot he tossed his keys in the ashtray, and poured two fingers of Bowmore, neat.  He peeled off flashlight, hand-held, and side-arm, then folded into his slick, shiny red checkered kitchen chair. Stiffly he sat with palms on the table. A small stream of light from the street illuminated the amber liquid, he stared into its shimmer without seeing. Only tonight’s events looped in his mind. 

Silence engulfed the room, creating a steady hum that filled his senses. Pete sat there void of emotions and num. His handheld beeped breaking the silence as Corporal O’Keefe went 10-97 at his parents’ home up on the hill, "and so it begins," the weighted words hung in the air till he downed his Scotch.

 

 

 Pete fixated on the radio conversation, wondering what his next move should be. He refilled the glass, lit a Chesterfield, and just waited.

 

Best case scenario would be his name not come up. Seeing how everyone thought he was on a call he might have a chance. Maybe no one will find out he entered the police academy using his mother’s maiden name. ‘Man, that’s a lot of maybes,’ Pete thought. Well at least he would not be the first person considered, and that will buy a little time. 

 

He reached in the brown paper sack that leaned against his flashlight and removed the brownie. His first bite was a generous portion. "Man, that's good," his second bite finished it off. Then like a kid he ate the crumbs that remained in the wrapper, saving the pecan for last washing it down with his drink.

 

Central keyed up the radio, “sorry, Corporal, the park checked clear, no signs of trouble,” Central advised.

 

 “No signs of trouble,” Pete muttered, as dispatch unkeyed the mic. Pete gestured with his glass toward the radio then drained it. Remorse blurred his vision, and burned in his belly. His lifelong dream of being a good cop just shattered. He stood and faced the mirror. The image of his badge pricked his heart. The numb feeling fell away, he decided to take a stand, and protect the girl. He would reason with Ed or else. Tony’s memory waited on Pete in the reflection, and he hurled the tumbler at the mirror.

 

 

What a disaster his little crush had become. The lively artist that lived by the park. It was on a Tuesday that he saw her for the first time. A black satin ponytail swayed as she walked. She had crossed the street a dream in motion; candy-apple-red turtleneck blended seamlessly over pink cropped pants. Her slender frame sported those cuffed pedal pushers. Even her slippers were adorable. A real-life doll that stepped straight from the cover of Vogue and landed on the cobbled street in front of him, his squad car provided a front row seat.

 

Her little apartment stood across the street from the school. It nestled over Mr. Jenkin’s barbershop. From that minute forward come 9PM he was on that corner for his evening fix. 

 

Pete bumped into her on Thursday as she exited art class. A nervous smile fanned his face. All he could muster was an “excuse me miss.”

 

Her voice cooed, "that's alright. It was my fault anyway. I wasn't looking," then sashayed across the road. She filled every waking thought, and once asleep she filled each dream. Friday he would wait for her, this time he would ask her out to dinner. Pete had felt like a schoolboy as he admired his secret crush, with that cute little crooked smile. His squad car rested on the dark side of the street while he dreamed.

 

'Hello again,' had played in his thoughts. What would he say? As he practiced his opening line, his left hand began tracing her. He too was a bit of an artist. That’s how he came to be there. Once a week he took a day class. He had hoped to be a sketch artist for the department. His rough outline of Fern and her lumbering pup gazing up at her. This little obsession gave him a front-row seat. The girl, his uncle and the sideshow. A show that turned deadly. The oath of honor played in his mind, to protect and serve waned, as blood ties forged a new alliance, and his little crush became forever smashed.  

 

Pete watched them chase after the girl. His girl. He raced over to investigate the scene closer. “Tony!” but Tony’s empty eyes drove his next move. He reached down to remove the evidence, aka Tony Salazar. 

 

He slung Tony over his shoulder to a firemen’s carry. A deep huff escaped him as he gained his footing, then trotted to the squad car. The dead man flopped into the front seat banging his head on the dash. He fussed over him trying to get him situated just right. A flash of motion caught his eye, and Pete straightened.

 

 

“Too much hooch?” Blurted a voice from the shadows of the barbershop doorway. “Some guys just can’t hold their liquor.” The voice stepped clear of the shadows his laughed quickly turned into a dry cough. His face cloaked behind a beard, strong fingers clasped a plain wrapped brown bag. Clearly this man hadn't always been a bum. There he stood wearing a breezy jacket with sergeant stripes, that once stood for pride and courage.

 

“No, Benny the man’s just sick.” Quick thinking, Pete thought. Drunks ride in the back. “You better get to the church, there’s a storm headed this way, and it’s too late for the shelter.” Is what he said while internally he cursed up a hell-storm wondering where Benny had been huddled for this large cluster, and more importantly how much did he see. 

 

Pete had almost chunked the body in the trunk. Logic told him anyone being stuffed in a trunk screams foul-play. While a policeman helping a sick man just looks routine. He drove to the pet crematorium with Tony riding shotgun.

 

 

“Tony you never could stay out of trouble. You poor SOB. I guess you know my father will be devastated when I show up with you in-tow,” but the dead man offered no comfort. 

 

 

Pete made a sharp right, forcing the corpse to lean hard against the passenger door. 

Periodically his head would bump against the window. A loud thud forced Pete to look. Tony had a most unnatural color, with eyes wide and a protruding tongue. What a horrible sight. 

 

 

“What else could I do?” He asked the dead man that he played t-ball with a lifetime ago.

 

 

The whole ordeal had him jumping around, digging a deeper hole for himself with each passing minute. He had barely pulled out from his dad’s business when he heard the call go over the radio for a car at the O’Keefe’s. He was confident that meant his uncle was in more trouble. Instinct had him silently start that way. 

 

 

Luck allowed him to be the first on scene, and not good luck either. The murder, the chase, dumping the body and now two in-custody at the house on the hill. What a night. Pete thought remembering dispatches remark, ‘yeah, no sign of trouble indeed.’

Author's Note

Still have a wrinkle or two.

Reviews

[Shep]

not bad for a first draft. I was little lost at first but I caught on rather quickly what was going on. what confused me was the transitions at the last part of the page where you broke it up. was it meant to be two different stories or one story if so make it a little more clear? other than that it was great to read and I loved it.

[Cherrie]

I wanted to blend the ending events from the last chapter and move the story forward. I thought about separating the actions and my still do that.

[Jolan H]

Yeah one things I noticed is you are afraid to really sell the big moments. The moment when he realizes his dream of being a good cop is over needs to shine like nobodies business, because it will inform the character for the rest of the story. He needs to wrestle more with what he is doing. Not only is he letting go of a dream but he is compromising his morals and the oath he took, his reputation this has to be felt, especially if he's played a clean game during his career.

[Cherrie]

Thank you Jolan, for giving me a review on this chapter. Honestly, I
never thought of my writing as timid. I come from a law enforcement background. I graduated the Tulsa police academy in 89 and my husband worked 22 years as a deputy. Really my most most of my family is made up of military and or law enforcement and I try to create entertaining fiction based on elements of truth. I hope if you read any thing else it is not disappointing.

[Jolan H]

I wasn't disappointed. You held back in that moment and it showed. In your other work it's balls to the wall. You rip along and take chances consequences be damned. Here because of your history with the subject and how dear it is to you, your a little more subdued. I have a friend on another site who was in the Navy. When writes about ships it's all technical and procedure. It kills his work on the emotional side. I was only saying this is a fall from grace,.How much did that badge mean to you? Or to anyone in your family? If that were you in the scene would really have had that reaction? Or would the tiny chisels of guilt slowly chip away at your sanity?

[Jolan H]

Bear in mind I love to make characters emotional.

[Jolan H]

I meant no insult. I have a series of strange rules when I write. I have hang ups about defining moments. I also have a penchant for smashing actions figures together on the page. You can tell when I couldn't wait to make them cool laser noises because the writing looks rushed and the fight is the only thing that shines.

[Cherrie]

There is a element of truth in your easement. What I try to do is not write about anything I'm not willing to air out. But I can fall in techno mood.

[Cherrie]

I enjoyed receiving your review.

[Einstein Noodle]

pretty smooth in my opinion ... the plot thickens .. in comes Pete the once good now gone bad in an instant ... but honestly .. i didn't like him anyway .. as his "attentions" to the girl of his dreams seems to cross that line and is stalking .. not admiration ;) .... so now we have Pete .. wrestling with his conscience ... must find out if he repents of stays in a dive :) ... nice one .. solid chapter says i!
E.

[Cherrie]

I wanted everything in the story to I wanted everything in the story to overlap in the timeline but not feel awkward, as each chater opens. I am glad you liked this chapter and it felt impactful.

[Robert Trakofler]

who is TJ that bit confused me? the first three paragraphs really grabbed me liked the self dialogue the part where he throws his glass kinda shook me for a second cause i was still envisioning him sitting at the table the stood up part didn't register in the dialogue this of course may in fact be a bunnyism tho. Great feel to this start

[Cherrie]

T J. Is Ed's partner in crime, "as it goes," and I may need to smooth out the transition where he stands up.

[barleygirl]

This is one of my favorite chapters of this piece, so far. I love how this is a great balance between the brusque cop mystique persona & yet this character profile is fully peppered with your effusive creative funny entertaining embellishments. The best of both worlds, in other words. I find the jockeying of a dead man to be hilarious. I love the line about stuffing a body into a trunk can only mean bad blood . . . your wry delivery here is a gas! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Cherrie]

I glad you liked that part I liked the whole idea of it, but wasn't sure if it was distracting.

[Shep]

Ok re-read it the second time and wasn't as lost but the transition still didn't make much sense as separate part of the storyline. but you nice break at the end which made sense to break that part up. it was the top part that needed some help.i would suggest taking that top one out and smoothing that one out and leaving the bottom the way it is other than that it was a great read. Of course, that's my opinion. I also love the openness of the paragraphs on this chapter and no green font.