The FBI
It was around 14:00. Thomas was sitting amongst dozens of files spread out and piled up. He opened his pack of cigarettes finding only one left. In the ashtray, it was full of half-smoked ones. Thomas groaned, took out the last, then crumbled the empty pack; throwing it in the trash bin under his desk.
He took a long drag, leaning back in the old chair that was hurting his back while looking at the broken fan in the ceiling. Agent Miller held his cigarette for so long that he almost forgot he had lit it. One last drag and he put it out. A file on the Giuliani Family was in front of him and it was smaller than the bills in his wallet. Thomas stroked his ears, ready to give all of his attention when the phone rang.
"What?"
"Sir, it's Garcia."
"I know. What is it?”
"A letter arrived for you. I think you want to see it."
"Just bring it in here for Christ’s sake."
"I just didn't want—”
Thomas hung up, looking back at the Giuliani file. Garcia rushed in seconds later, putting the letter on Thomas' desk.
"What is this?"
"A letter, sir."
"I know it's a damn letter, Garcia. When did it arrive?”
"A few minutes ago, sir. It's from Officer Terry Wood."
Thomas stared at Garcia, his jawbones dropped. He then tore the envelope open as his rough hands were trembling. Then after rubbing his eyes, Agent Miller began reading. Garcia stared at her boss, holding her breath.
After finishing the letter, Thomas dropped it on the desk and ran towards the coat rack, grabbing his trench coat. Garcia did not move, unsure what her boss was up to. Meanwhile, Agent Thomas Miller was smiling.
"Sir, what is it?"
"Terry Wood wants to confess, Garcia. He wants to fucking confess.”
"Really?"
Thomas had on his coat and paused like a hammer had just hit him in the head. That short smile of his evaporated.
"Who brought the letter, Garcia?"
“I—I don't know,” Agent Garcia stuttered
“My God! Who brought it in?"
“It was brought to me by someone in the precinct."
“My God! They're going to kill him. They know."
"Who?”
"If we know, they knew first, Garcia."
"Who?"
"The people who pay Terry."
”What do we do?"
"We don't have time. Put Jonathan in a holding alone and meet me outside."
"In a cell? I thought we had nothing on him."
"I'll explain on the way, Garcia. Just do what I ask for Christ’s sake. Just once."
Agent Miller ran through the precinct, pushing some officers out of his way. His only hope was getting to Terry before he got whacked. There was a homeless man being dragged in by officers struggling to get him inside holding. The precinct’s captain watched from the top of the staircase. Everything heard by Thomas was a mere buzz. The photos of Terry's file flashed in Thomas' subconscious as he hurried to his black service car in the front parking lot. He waited for Garcia as she was lagging behind carrying a pack of files, almost dropping them. She got in, tidied up her hair while sorting them on her lap.
The black service car shrieked as it pulled out, ignoring every passing vehicle with the police siren on. Thomas' hands were clutching the wheel, his mind wasn't on the road but on his case which was so close to being solved. Meanwhile, Garcia's words were like sounds coming from the ocean.
"Sir… sir…Sir!" Garcia shouted as Thomas barely avoided hitting a little girl crossing the road going to school.
"Please, slow down for God's sake," she said tightening her grip on the files on her lap.
Thomas looked at her and tried maintaining the speed, but was still ignoring the traffic lights.
"Sir, why did we put Jonathan in holding?"
"To keep him safe.”
"Safe from what?"
“Those damn mobsters, Garcia."
For the next twenty minutes, Garcia daydreamed about how she and Agent Miller were close to bringing down New York's most notorious crime families, once and for all. Meanwhile, Agent Miller could only think about the likelihood of Terry's end. If it did, Miller couldn't trust the NYPD anymore; that
meant the entire precinct.
Thomas pulled up to Terry's building, lowering the window seeing three police cars there already with flashing lights. "Garcia, park the car." Thomas got out and headed towards the crowd gathered in front of the building.
The scene resembled a boxing ring. Reporters and cameramen were trying to get the best view of the crime scene while others were shouting. A distant scream of agony periodically made everyone stop momentarily and then the crowd’s normality returned. The officers on scene prevented anyone from entering, warning the crowd.
Thomas pushed his way through towards the front line of the police officers. Cameras turned towards him while overlapping voices of reporters tried getting a statement but Agent Miller couldn’t hear them. His eyes were locked in and his breathing was difficult. The drama of Terry's letter to his apparent execution simple added to Agent Miller's disappointment.
The officers on the scene had just finished up surrounding the apartment building with police tape.
"Thomas Miller, FBI,” Thomas said taking out his badge.
"Third Floor, Apartment C13," the officer on scene said, tying up the last strand of tape at the nearest street lamp.
Thomas crouched and passed through. He sped up like his life depended on the outcome on the building’s third floor. Its tenants were evacuated and they were now mere spectators.
Agent Miller reached Apartment C13, seeing the busted-down door. The forensics team was already inside and evidence was being cataloged. The detectives and officers on the scene were talking but their voices were suppressed over by the sounds of the cameras' flickering.
Thomas entered. Officer Terry was on the couch with a bullet through his temple, like Davide Baldinotti.
"Sir?"
"Agent Miller, you mean," Thomas stuttered still holding his badge as if he was trying to crush it to pieces.
"Are you the lead agent on the case?"
"I am now."
"Officer Terry Wood was found about an hour ago."
Thomas pressed into his eyes, holding them shut as he exhaled.
"Any witnesses?"
"Only an old lady next door who heard the gunshots. She said she saw nothing."
"Any others?”
"No, sir."
"Now, that's just great." Thomas walked closer to Terry's body and crouched, taking mental snapshots of the crime scene. Agent Miller didn't need the forensics team because he already knew what happened here. Terry was another dead end. There was probably money stashed somewhere in the apartment; likely from the crime family payoffs, but nothing big.
"Catalog everything and bring the report to the 5th Precinct when you’re finished up here,” he yelled walking outside the entrance where he saw Garcia finally coming off the elevator.
"Sir?"
"Not now, Garcia."
"What happened?"
"Nothing?"
Garcia looked over Miller’s shoulder.
"We must interrogate Jonathan now.”
"Will he confess?"
"After what happened today, does he have a fucking choice?”
“No, sir.”
Agent Miller got back on the elevator. His eyes were glued to its tiles, unable to lift his head. Agent Garcia followed pressing the ground level button. The mood was dark and cold inside, only the feeling of defeat loomed over the two agents. Thomas' hand was hurting from clenching his badge so long that it left a red mark. He realized it so he put the badge in his coat pocket.
Thomas took out his pack of cigarettes but it was empty.
"Garcia, do you smoke?"
"No, sir."
Thomas groaned getting inside the passenger side as he told Garcia to drive. His hands were trembling and there was nothing he could do to calm himself. After the thirty-minute drive back to the precinct, Garcia parked outside and Thomas quickly got out. "Prepare Jonathan for interrogation, Garcia," Thomas said running towards the newsstand, to get a pack of smokes.
He got a pack along with a bottle of whiskey on sale at the liquor store right next to the newsstand.
As Agent Miller ascended the front stairs of the police precinct, he felt something was not right. No one was outside like when he first arrived from Quantico. Not a single officer. He opened the doors, freeing a stream of yells and screams. He handed Garcia his bottle and told her to take it to his office. Inside, he saw the station’s officers running back and forth, its secretaries weren’t at their stations and the police captain was surrounded by a crowd of uniformed and plain
clothes officers as he shouted orders. No one appeared to be listening.
Thomas stood in the middle of the chaotic scene trying to process what happened. He looked around, trying to sense anything. Garcia came back moments later.
"S…sir?" she slurred.
"What the hell happened here, Garcia?"
"Mmm…"
“Spit it out, Garcia!"
"J-Jonathan is dead, sir…" Garcia lowered her gaze, unable to look at Thomas.
Thomas Miller rushed towards the holding cells, pushing officers out his way. His eyes was on the Captain's as he passed by. An expression of disgust as the Captain was looking for help, completely unable to contain the situation. Thomas pushed an officer out of the way, reaching the cell door where Jonathan was kept, finding a wave of blood flowing under his feet.
Agent Miller stepped inside; feeling nauseous. Despite all the years on the job, this was something he never had to experience. The fresh smell of hot blood made his eyes water. Officer Jonathan was on the bench, his throat gashed. On the floor, in the cell’s middle, was the homeless man Miller saw from earlier, holding a shiv covered in blood. His stomach was cut open, revealing his entrails. The scene resembled a horror movie. Thomas covered his nose and stepped back. He turned around finding Garcia.
"What the hell happened here?"
"The homeless man, sir. It appears he killed Jonathan?"
"They brought him in for shoplifting this morning."
"Didn't they search him?"
"They did sir but—
"But what?!" Thomas screamed.
Every officer stopped what they were doing and turned
towards Agent Miller. Silence overtook the scene as if the Jonathan's funeral had already begun. Thomas looked around and everyone including the Captain was waiting for him to speak.
"Listen here! I've seen plenty of scumbags in my life, but you are the fucking worst,” Thomas eyes were red like pools of fire. "You're the most worthless and incompetent bastards I've ever seen working on the beat since the invention of Hollywood." Thomas' voice echoed where it could be heard outside of the precinct.
"Two of your fellow officers are dead. Murdered! Murdered by you sons of bitches!” Agent Miller said staring at the Captain. "Some of you are being paid off by the mob. You killed two men, ready to confess their guilt. Those two men took an oath to protect this city like some with dignity and you ended up killing two men who were willing to sacrifice their evil deeds for good." Thomas' hands now were trembling as his breathing accelerated.
"And you, Dear Captain, is the worst piece of shit I have ever seen in charge of anything!"
The Captain stared at the ground; his shoulders were bulked over.
"A whole precinct bought off by the fucking mob and you pretend to fucking care! I hope you all rot in hell." Thomas took a cigarette out from his pack and lit it up
"From now on, all of you are off my case. Every last one of you, fuckers. I'll bring my own men to deal with your city's incompetence. Anyone holding even a single piece of file will be considered an accomplice." Agent Miller left and headed to his makeshift office, slamming the door behind.
Everyone remained still including Garcia who was staring at
Thomas' door with her mouth open. The agent's words left a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth. No one wanted to move but their silence was broken by the Captain, who stormed away first.
Meanwhile, Thomas Miller sat, dumping his cigarette on the pile of others in the ashtray and then lit another. He took out his bottle of whiskey and poured himself a glass.
Another fucking dead end.
Miller’s dominoes were not falling where he intended. Another dead end,
thanks to his fellow policemen. Is this the system he is serving? The system he swore to protect?
In office opposite of Agent Miller’s, sat the Captain of the 7th Precinct holding a black telephone to his ears. He was tired of Thomas’s shit and wanted him out of his precinct immediately.
"Lieutenant, we have a problem; Thomas Miller. He's forcing my hand. This cocksucker thinks he's running things up here, making accusations on my officers that are baseless."
"Don't worry, Captain. I'll take care of it."
