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If you aren’t in over your head,
how do you know how tall you are?
T. S. Eliot
As usual, Em parked a couple blocks away. If you’re not around during the alternate side of the street parking melee early in the morning, you take whichever spots you can find. Sweeping her hair back, she locked the vehicle and power-walked home to burn off the day’s stresses. She preferred the longer walk from downtown—a several mile hike—but after driving around the city the past couple days, it wasn’t an option.
She waved and nodded to her neighbors as she approached the familiar brick apartment building. Em appreciated the anticipation of spending time with her niece once aga—
“Auntie Em!”
She turned and saw Becky, the person she was thinking of, rushing towards her. Em smiled, throwing her arms open in a welcoming gesture. As Becky enveloped her, Em bent over, kissing her head, when a distinct pop sounded nearby.
She’d heard the sound often enough to recognize it. Something whizzed by her head, ruffling her hair. Realizing she’d only escaped death by the slimmest of margins, she shoved Becky backwards. Becky yelped as she fell, sprawling on the ground. Em dropped and rolled clear to the side. By drawing the gunman’s fire, she hoped to spare her niece while presenting the smallest possible target. Around her, the entire block’s activity came to an abrupt halt.
While most didn’t recognize gunfire as quickly, they froze at the unexpected noise. When they saw her respond, they made the connection.
“GUN!”
Pandemonium erupted. People ducked for cover or ran, and bodies were moving in different directions. While it seemed chaotic, the block emptied in moments and the movements of so many distracted the gunman.
As the street cleared, Em tried to determine where the gunshot originated. She observed a figure in dark clothing standing by her building, obscured by the scurrying crowd. Seeing her opportunity, Em rolled over, extracting her Glock 19 from its shoulder holster, before rolling back to her previous position. Another shot rang out and another projectile ripped through the air above her head. But now, she had a clear view of her attacker.
A small man wearing torn, ragged, dirty clothing and hidden by a hoodie, stood with a two-handed grip. Another flash erupted from his gun, followed by another bang—sounding louder and more distinct despite the distance remaining the same.
Rather than rush, Em took the time to take careful aim. “Drop the gun or I’ll drop you! You’re under arrest.”
The man shifted his pistol slightly, trying to hit the diminished target. Em couldn’t afford to waste time with useless warnings. A second’s delay might endanger civilians—like her niece. However, as her finger shifted to the trigger she considered how important the lone assailant was.
The interrogation of Mathews went nowhere. The man knew enough to keep his mouth shut and insist on his lawyer, who miraculously appeared soon after—as if waiting in the wings. They insisted, speaking in tandem, that he wouldn’t say anything regardless of any deals or penalties. Which meant this single crazed killer might be essential to any future investigation. All their previous leads shriveled on the vine.
“Frig!” Shifting her Glock, Em squeezed the trigger just as the shooter was preparing to fire. Her single shot caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around just as he fired. The movement caused his shot to go wild. Em hoped everyone kept their heads down and weren’t viewing the action from their apartment windows—a frequent New York hobby.
Considering her niece, Em glanced in Becky’s direction. She lay where she’d been pushed, face down with her arms over her head, watching her aunt with wide eyes.
“Are you OK?”
“Ye... yeah.”
“Then get the hell out of here. Run for it, but don’t enter the building. Circle the block.” Without waiting to see what she did, Em launched herself to her feet and raced for the assailant.
The man, lying flat on his back cradling his shoulder, attempted to sit up and raise his gun with his left hand. Rushing forward, Em kicked it from his grasp, sending it skittering across the sidewalk to clank against the brick wall. She shoved the man back down with her foot and stepped on his chest with her boot, aiming her pistol at his face.
His eyes darted. He had the appearance of someone not entirely right in the head, but Em was convinced this wasn’t a random shooting. The timing was too perfect. This was clearly an assassination attempt and she needed to determine who orchestrated it.
“Move and your brains will color the kid’s chalk drawings for weeks,” she warned. That seemed to reach the rational part of his mind, and he stopped resisting, glaring up at her. His eyes continued to flicker, jumping from one object to the next.
Taking her eyes off the suspect, she glanced over her shoulder. “Was anyone hit?”
There was no immediate response, though she heard the sound of running feet. A voice rang out from a short distance. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Could you check for me, and someone call the damn police!”
The man under her foot shifted, drawing her attention. Taking her foot off his chest, she stomped down hard on his damaged shoulder. He howled, clutching at her boot, but she didn’t move.
“Try that again and the super will spend hours scooping your blood out of the crevices!”
Again, the man took her at her word, nodding quickly. Even so, his eyes bore the same skittish appearance of the mentally deranged.
Keeping her pistol trained on the expanse of his forehead, she fished in her jacket pocket for her plastic restraints. She carried them for emergencies, never knowing when she’d be called out on a case.
“Why are you gunning for me?”
“I had to,” he argued, spitting the words out through a grimace as he continued clutching at her unwavering boot.
“You scuff the leather, you’ll be sorrier than if I’d killed you,” she warned. “Why? Do you even know who I am? You’re not from around here. I’ve never seen you before.”
“I ... I’m from Sixty-seventh Street. Someone ... paid me, five thousand upfront. They promised me ten if I wounded you, thirty if you died. For someone ... living day to day, that’s a life-changing amount.”
“You a vet?”
He shook his head, muttering under his breath.
“Didn’t think so. If you were, I’d be dead now. But someone showed you how to hold and aim a pistol. Who hired you?”
“Don’t know. He paid cash. Never seen him before. Drove up in a fancy car. Been watchin’ me. Said he could help me, iff’n I ‘elped him.”
“You realize he left you high and dry? You’ll never see him again.”
He shrugged as best he could. “What choice I ‘ave? If I don’t, I die on the street. If you shoot me, it ends sooner. Yet with money, I can escape this filthy city.”
Em shifted her Glock, holding it in one hand as the sounds of movement came from around her. Lifting her foot, she leaned down, grabbed him by his shirt and jerked him into a sitting position. He reached for his shoulder, but before he could recover, she spun him around, throwing him face down and yanked his arms behind him. He yowled again as she pulled his wrists to clip them together before rolling him back over.
“They say they’ll be here soon,” a female voice advised her.
“In a New York minute,” Em muttered under her breath. “Is everyone OK?” she called out in a louder voice.
“Yeah, shaken up, but we’re all fine.”
“Has anyone seen this loser before?” she enquired of the few people on the street. There was a general murmuring negation, so Em assumed he’d spoken the truth.
“He was standing there for several hours,” the woman who’d phoned the cops said.
“I’ll need a statement.” Em motioned her forward as she retrieved his weapon.
“You police?”
“Detective, first class,” she said, turning to regard her as she yanked the man to his feet. “If you could, call them back and advise them there’s been an officer involved shooting. Give them my name, Emma Rules, and ask for an ambulance for the perp.”
The witness, a Jewish woman in her sixties, nodded as she dug her phone back out and dialed 911. “My name’s Mattie Boils, I’ll be right here.” Turning back, Em continued quizzing her attacker.
“Can you give us a description of the man who paid you?” He mumbled yes, still favoring his shoulder as blood ran in rivulets down his arm. “How about his vehicle?”
“Expensive. Fancy model. I memorize license, but ... can’t remember shit.”
“We’ll help you to figure it out.” Em examined his injury for the first time. It was a clean shot, piercing the muscle, but his skin and clothing were filthy. The wound needed to be cleaned before it became infected. Holstering her weapon, she tore his sleeve apart with her hands, pulling it down so it impeded his movement. Satisfied the gunshot wasn’t any worse than she thought, she marched him backwards until he collided with the brick wall behind them. He gasped, followed by a moan as his legs wavered.
“We’re not done,” Em cautioned, forcing him to focus on her. “White?” It took him a moment to remember what she was referring to. He nodded. “How old? White hair? Wrinkles?”
“‘Bout fifty.”
“Well dressed?”
“Dress suit, polished shoes. ‘Spensive.”
Em smiled. “Delightful meeting a man who appreciates his footwear. The way you were grabbing mine, I was afraid I’d have to kick your teeth in.”
Despite his discomfort, the man grinned, revealing bad and missing teeth. “Had a good job once, ‘fore my mind went.”
“You hear voices?” He nodded. “You taking medication?”
“When I kin afford it, but I was, before the man paid me?”
“Huh?”
“He asked for my pills before he’d give me the money. Told me I could take all I wanted later, but he needed me ‘clear-headed’.”
Em shrugged. “He wanted to assure you couldn’t tell reality from fantasy. That way, we couldn’t tell whether he was real or not. So why are you talking in complete sentences now?”
The man flashed an evil grin. “I no dummy. I give him my spares, keep my main supply. I wanted to shoot the right person, not take out the neighborhood.”
“How ... responsible of you. You taking a full dosage?”
He shook his head. “Not enough pills. Even on my worst days, I can only afford a few at a time.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get you plenty. We need you as rational as possible. Think you can give us a description for a sketch?”
He nodded. “I memorized his face and kept repeating it to myself to burn it into my memory. Wanted to remember. Figured I’d need it if I ... screwed up.”
“Luckily for us both, you did.”
“I took the last of my pills, double dose. Their effect lasts for weeks.”
“You’re smarter than you appear.” Em glanced over her shoulder before turning back. “Criminal record?”
“Vagrancy, public urination. Nothing violent.”
“Yet you tried to assassinate a New York police officer? Did you really think you’d get away?”
He shrugged. “Would have, if you hadn’t moved. But what choice I got? I freeze on a park bench or get a decent meal in jail.”
“You get me a reasonable description and you’ll do better than that. But you’ll never go free again.” Em noted an approaching siren in the distance. “Instead, I’ll arrange to have you held in protective custody, away from the general population and have you assigned a lawyer until we can ensure you understand your rights.”
“Can’t afford no lawyer, so whoever you give me is better than none.”
“The courts may not agree, which is why we’ll ask the court to assign you one.” She hesitated. “Do you hear voices now? Beside mine I mean?” The man nodded.
“What’s your name?”
“Benjamin. Benjamin Carter.”
“Well, Ben, what are the other voices saying?”
“What they usually do, ‘Kill them all’. I ignore them. That was the first question the man asked.”
Em frowned, seeing her case shrivel up and drift away. “Was this man real, or imaginary?”
Benjamin shook his head. “He real. His money authentic enough to spend.”
“You got any left?” Em asked, her voice rising with excitement.
Ben cocked his head. “Do I look stupid to you?”
She sighed. “Unfortunately, you don’t.” She stopped and thought a second. “You said Seventy-eighth?”
“Seventy-seven.”
“Good, if we get a sketch we can ask around, check the local video sources. It’s not a direct confirmation, but it’s a start.”
Benjamin laughed with a toothy guffaw. “You no find him. He from money. He protected, no record,” he assured her. “Only poor crap like me get stomped into ground.”
“Yeah, well, keep making sense and I can guarantee you the decent drugs continue for the next few months. Anything you can give us will help.”
Benjamin shook his head, frowning. “No one listen to crazy ol’ coot. Is why he chose me. Soon you bore o’ me and I git lost in system.”
She frowned too, realizing he was more aware than it appeared.
Em spread her hands, leaning against the metal surface. “Does this mean I’m stuck behind a desk? If so, what happens to my case?”
The investigating officer taking her report for the past few hours stared at her. “Are you nuts?” He opened his drawer and pulled out a new service pistol. He placed it in front of her. It was the same make and model as Em’s Glock. “The commish sent word you’re not to be sidelined. Internal Affairs raised a fuss about fairness. They argued it sends the wrong message when everyone else has to sit behind a desk. However, the commissioner wasn’t convinced. We still need to run tests on your piece, but feel free to use this one in the interim. Sign for the piece here.”
Em glanced at it a moment before the gears kicked in. She picked the piece up, examining it. “Yeah, if someone is gunning for me, I’d rather have my gun with me, even when walking to the local Bodega. These guys know where I live!”
“That was the commissioner’s point. He asked if they’d prefer assigning you a back-up detail, composed of people who can keep secrets. After they considered the cost they backed down. I’d advise you to keep it holstered. Better yet, let your partner shoot it out while you polish your nails. Still, we’re both aware most cops on administrative duty carry private backups. There’s no sense leaving yourself defenseless.”
Em grinned, leaning back and crossing her legs. With the interview completed, she felt free to hang out with the investigator like one of the guys. “Man, I gotta say, it makes a difference having the commissioner backing you up.”
The other officer, Vic Lamone, sat back as well. “You’re not kidding. I’ve never seen him, heck, any commissioner, give anyone this kind of latitude, including their old partners. I don’t know what you’ve got on him, but if you can smear a little my way, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sorry, for some unknown reason, the guy trusts me. What’s more, it’s not based on personality or experience. He only read my records and personal reports. He decided he trusted me before meeting me.”
“As I said, you’re sitting in crème at the moment, but be careful. If the Commish gets in trouble, or falls out of favor, your ass will be grass as everyone rushes to steal your spot. It’s wonderful while it lasts, but it’s temporary. Then you’re just another cop against an angry, uncaring city.”
Em stood, shaking Vic’s hand. “You’re preaching to the choir. I didn’t want this assignment. When he said it would help my career potential, I told him I wasn’t interested in a management position. However he sold it to me in a way I couldn’t say no.” She grinned as she donned her jacket, walking from the room. “I’ll tell you what, if they hand me a managerial slot, I’ll let you have it while I remain a detective.”
He laughed. “You wish. Every administrator I know relishes the days they worked the streets. A detective’s shield is a golden ticket, as you’ve got the flexibility to do things your own way. Yet every ticket gets stamped, and the Peter Principle means you’re promoted until you’re as incompetent as the rest. Enjoy it while you can. Just don’t grumble when it all comes crashing down around your shoulders.”
Em turned, waving from the entrance. “I won’t. I can see the end looming ever closer. I just hope I can walk away when the magic carpet ride ends.”
