An Unsolved Case

      – Hello, Newendyke. May I come in?       – Yes. Hi. — Freddy turned his head listlessly towards the door: he had a little double vision, and the faint hiss of oxygen muffled Holdaway’s words. But Freddy was glad to see at least one familiar face in the three days that he was conscious.       – How are you, boy? — Jim pulls a chair up to the bed.       – The head is slow to think, there are some horse doses of drugs here. I want to sleep all the time. — Freddy put a smile on his pale face. — But on the whole it’s fine.       – I’m glad you’re feeling better. — Jim smiles warmly, in a friendly way. — You look not bad.       Freddy imagined what he must look like now, and laughed hoarsely, however, immediately coughing and bending over from the pain in his shot guts.       – Fuck you, — the guy swore, still smiling weakly and holding his stitched belly with his hand. — Not bad, tell me more.       Holdaway laughs in response:       – The bruises around your eyes are such that you look like a raccoon. But everything is really good, believe me. This is the life, not your stupid movies or comics: gunshot, the consequences could have been much worse.       – The surgeon removed eight inches of my small intestine and a piece from the top of my right lung — how much worse? I hope I can get back to work.       – You won’t get away from work, don’t even hope! — Jim smiles again, but suddenly becomes serious. — We found you barely alive and thought you were going to die in an ambulance. But you’re a tough guy. To catch a bullet and still hold on to the last — not everyone will be able to. And… forgive me. I didn’t know. The surveillance team reported that you and Dimick were in the warehouse, but they didn’t say that you were injured. We would have come out of the ambush.       “Shove your apologies up your ass, asshole, I almost fucking died there!” — Mentally Freddy understood that being angry at Holdaway was, in general, stupid. He knew what he was doing, and no one lied to him about the risks. But remembering how he lay on the floor, whimpering and writhing in pain, bleeding, scared to the point of shaking his hamstrings, Freddy felt ridiculously offended. So much so that he wanted to spit at Jim for apologizing — Newendyke was simply unable to get up and punch him in the face.       The guy moved his jaw, sighed noisily. But he pulled himself together, and the prepared speech remained in his head.       – It’s okay, Jim, — he whispered back. — It’s not your fault.       – Tell that to Nash’s family, Freddy. — However, Holdaway realizes the scale of the disaster himself. — If I had spat on the operation, Marvin would have remained alive.       The two policemen just talk for a while. About everything that has happened in recent days. Freddy clarifies some points that he didn’t have time to report. Jim talks about what happened after the shooting at the warehouse, when Freddy was handed over to the paramedics in a semi-conscious state.       – What happened to Larry? — Newendyke asked.       – To Dimick? — Jim was even surprised by the question. — In intensive care. Our guys fired a couple of bullets to save you.       To save. A gun to the teeth. Freddy felt something inside him shrink into an unpleasant lump.       – Will he survive?       – Doctors' forecasts are cautious, but optimistic. But in any case, Dimick will not be released soon — ten years for armed robbery are provided for him. So, and Mr. Pink escaped. — Jim continues. — Along with the diamonds. We have searched the city, blocked the exits, but so far without results. The public is going crazy, journalists are everywhere, relatives of the victims are demanding compensation, insurance companies are twisting our balls, and every cop now has a dildo in his ass! I swear to God, Long Beach Mike is over!       – Do right by him, Jim. — Freddy croaks weakly. — Leave him alone, he has nothing to do with it.       – What did I tell you? Get that lowlife scumbag out of mind. I’ll arrest him, he deserves it.       – Then arrest me too.       And Freddy, barely restraining his emotions, tells about how he shot a woman in an alley. Jim is shocked — he was sure that this corpse was on one of the bandits.       – I can’t assign this murder to Dimick… — Jim says slowly. — He won’t admit it anyway. Ballistics will check. And the bullet from your gun…       – Holdaway, did you even understand what I just told you? — Freddy screams. — I killed a woman, shot an innocent woman!       – Easy, easy, calm down. Kid, listen to me, you have to listen to me. The situation is fucking difficult, but I understand why it happened. This woman almost killed you, shot you in the belly. You didn’t expect it, defended yourself and fired a bullet on reflex.       Newendyke laughs strangled:       – On reflex?! Jim, can you hear yourself? She had a baby, I saw a child safety seat. I killed someone’s mother!       – You’re a good cop, and a good cop shoots automatically. What happened was an accident. It’s fucking creepy, but still an accident. Don’t blame yourself for this, try not to blame yourself. And I’ll see how I can help you, what I can do. Agreed? Freddy? Hey, Newendyke, don’t be silent.       – Agreed, — Freddy forces out the words. — But you’ll leave Mike alone.       – You again! — Holdaway was angry. — It’s one thing for a bullet fired by inertia, and quite another for a fucking snitch who led you to the scaffold and didn’t say a word about anyone from the gang!       – Jim, we had a deal. — Freddy looks into Holdaway’s eyes, which makes him uncomfortable. — He’s helping us and he’s free. Who will cooperate with us if we start breaking promises? He fulfilled his part of the deal, and I got into the gang. Everything that happened after that has nothing to do with Mike.       Jim was silent for a long time before he answered:       – It broke you, buddy, you used to calmly use bandits for your own purposes. So I don’t like the way you’re thinking! But you’re right. A deal is a deal. Mike is a thief and a huckster, a snitch, but he can still be useful. Have it your way. I’ll let him go. But I’ll keep an eye on him. And if he just twitches to the side, I’ll put him in jail.       – That’s what I’m talking about, Jim, that’s what I’m talking about.

_____

      Jody met him at the entrance on the day of discharge.       – Hey, eyes in the back of your head? — The girl signaled a couple of times when Freddy did not notice her and almost walked past. — Welcome out, Newendyke!       – Thanks. — Freddy smiles crookedly, but warmly. — I didn’t expect to see you.       – And who did you expect? The governor of the state and the orchestra? — Jody laughs cheerfully and carefree, her pretty mouth methodically chews gum, bright earrings in her ears — McCluskey is too beautiful for a cop, but also just as smart. Although she commands a colleague who is sluggish after discharge rather brazenly: — Get in the car. Holdaway gave me an assignment to drop you off at home.       – It’s better to get to a rented apartment, I need to pack my things, and my car is parked there. — Freddy gives the address where he lived for the last four months before the robbery.       – So, it’s even more convenient for me, I won’t have to stand in traffic jams. By the way, Jim asked you to stop by the department as soon as you recover.       – It’s not far from here. — Freddy ignores the seat belt, but under Jody’s watchful gaze, he buckles in anyway. — Can we go there now?       – Hey, Freddy, I’m not your taxi driver! Take your car and go wherever you want! — The girl pretends to be indignant, but her eyes look with a twinkle. — Although okay, so be it. You’re so pale, it would torture my conscience if I left you halfway. Let’s go!       As soon as Freddy entered, the department exploded with boos and applause. People came up, clapped him on the shoulder and smiled sincerely, or were interested in his well–being — “How are you, buddie? Are you with us again? You’re a cool guy!”       A cool guy — Freddy was taken aback by such an abundance of attention and warmth. But it was nice, honestly.       – Okay, okay, y’all strangle him! Let’s get to work! — Jim came out of his office, a wide smile shining like a white spot on his dark skin. — Goddamn you, who do I see! — Holdaway turned to the guy. — Our daredevil! Welcome back!       – Thanks. — Freddy shook the outstretched hand. — Jody said you wanted to talk to me about something.       – Yes. Face to face, let’s go to the office.       The door closed, leaving behind the glass the noise of the department, bustling policemen and incessant phone calls.       – Have a seat. — Jim sank into an armchair. — How are you doing?       Newendyke smiled only with his lips — the three weeks he spent in the hospital, the guy was tormented by nightmares, and the panic attack that happened on the first night was repeated more than once. It was possible to sleep more or less peacefully only after sedative injections, but in the afternoon, when the drugs were released, anxiety and gnawing guilt returned a hundredfold. Of course, Jim shouldn’t have known about this.       – I’m fine, — Freddy lied. He sat down on an armchair and moved closer. — My gut still hurts, but it’s nothing. Although, I will have to prove to the commission that I am in normal. Okay, enough about me. Tell me what’s going on with the investigation.       – Jefferson has resigned.       – Really? Why?       – How do you think? He started an undercover operation, and it turned out to be a blood bath on his hands. He’s got dead cops, dead civilians, dead robbers, stolen diamonds. Shit, we almost losted you up. It’s all for Cabots, but there are no more Cabots, and fuck knows what to do with all this now.       – How are you?       Jim is a lieutenant, he curating Newendyke, but he was not responsible for the operation itself, only led the capture team. Although something told Freddy that Holdaway got his ass kicked.       – I’ve saved my place, as you can see. — Jim shrugs.       – But not everything is as good as you say.       – Not everything, yes. But it could have been worse, kid. I can’t complain. Now, about Lucy Darling. The women are in the car. — Jim explains, and Freddy’s gut tightens.       Lucy Darling. A random victim who might not have been there if Freddy had approached from the other side of the car. However, it’s naive to think that Larry would have let her live.       – This Mr. Brown is a real scumbag. — Jim stares into Freddy’s eyes. — We’ve got something on him. Kevin Spike, specializes in car theft, but also worked on robberies and drug distribution. In the personal file, there are childhood psychotrauma, domestic violence, bullying at school. Only such a type can kill an innocent person. Dimick confirmed it.       – K…Kill? Dimick? — Freddy’s gut tightens again, and his heart starts pounding in his temples. Is Dimick cooperating? Had he forgiven him? That’s bullshit. — I didn’t understand the last two sentences.       – It’s an agreement, Freddy. You taught me something in the hospital: you can even negotiate with scoundrels. Look.       – What is it? — Freddy is inattentively flipping through the papers that Jim has thrown on the table in front of him.       – The testimony recorded by me at the hospital from your words.       – What?       – Fuck, your testimony, Freddy. Everything that happened during the robbery, the way you saw it and remember it. I’m sorry, I allowed myself to lie a little in some places and keep silent about something — give you free rein, you’ll talk yourself into two life sentences. So listen to me very attentively, my brother: Mr. Brown shot two cops and hooked you. Then he stopped the car and shot at Lucy Darling, but she managed to shoot him back, in the head. Dimick left the corpses on the road, pushed you into the back seat and drove away. — And for the next thirty minutes, Jim lays out the situation in the alley in the smallest detail. — Memorise this story, Newendyke, all the details. You gotta remember that this story is about you, and how you perceived the events that went down. The only way to do that — keep saying it and saying it and saying it and saying it. Learn it.       – Why did he agree? — Freddy is still perplexed. — Dimick, why is he covering me up? What’s the use to this?       – Ten years for robbery or the capital punishment for double murder, — Holdaway explains. — What would you choose? I had to negotiate with him, and he had to agree with me. I don’t fucking like it, but that’s the price for your freedom.       – Jim, I don’t even know… Listen, I… Thanks, I guess.       – You made a mistake, and a woman died. Conscience is your punishment. But not suspension, and certainly not prison. So take the papers and memorize your legend. When you memorize it, destroy the records, no one should find out.       Freddy nodded — understood, he was not a fool.       – One more thing. — Jim’s voice is quieter. — The information is not for everyone, I was told in confidence, but I think you should know: the lawyer plans to stress a serious injury and the fact that Dimick actually beheaded a criminal corporation when he shot Joe and Nice Guy. He wants to negotiate with the prosecutor and shorten the term to five. I plan to prevent this.       – But he really helped. He covered for me, twice, — Freddy replies as indifferently as possible. — Why bother?       – Because I don’t like Dimick, that’s why. He’s a cold-blooded, calculating bastard. And you’ve opened up, my friend. I understand that in that state it was possible to sell your own mother, but the fact is that now Dimick knows that you are a cop. That you’ve been a rat all this time. You made Dimick trust you, he killed Cabot, saving your life, and then realized that he was wrong. Dimick doesn’t know anything about you, but my soul is out of place when I imagine that in five years he might come out and start looking for you. Let him sit in jail and be glad that he didn’t suffocate in the gas chamber.       Freddy nods and, to his shame, even agrees mentally. Will Larry look for him if he gets out? Yes, the chance is great. But the longer the sentence, the more likely it is that Dimick will not leave the prison walls at all. Damn it, Newendyke, how cowardly! Sick of youself!       – Dave Malkovich wants to take a statement from you. Banality for the report. You are still on sick leave, but he already knows that you have been discharged and will call you daily. Will you be able to repeat your legend in the near future?       – No problem, — Freddy replied. — Even now.       – Now? — Jim leaned back in his armchair. — Come on. I’m listening attentively.       Freddy tells the story without hesitation and so sincerely that Holdaway feels goosebumps run down his spine.       – Okay, Marlon, I believe you. Go home, practice for three or four days, I’ll cover you. Just don’t forget to come in so that Dave can finally fuck off. Hey, Freddy! — Holdaway called out to the guy already at the door. — Get some rest, just. Don’t get too drunk. It won’t help.       – You’ve been a long time! — Jody grumbled as Newendyke landed on the sun-warmed seat of the Ford. — I went for coffee twice.       – Sorry, I had to sort out some paperwork. — Freddy replied, buckling his seat belt. — Next time I’ll treat you.       – Next time, call yourself a taxi!       – And if it’s with donuts?       – Bastard, you bought me with donuts! — A girl laughs and starts off briskly. — So, are you moving?       – Tired of the old sofa. I want to go home.       – Can I help you? With things. — McCluskey explains, when Freddy, distracted by something, stupidly asked again. — I don’t know, you’re all sewn up, and you need also carry boxes and get behind the wheel.       – Oh, thanks for the concern. — The guy smiled sincerely. — But it’s not worth it. I’ve only been there four months, not that many things.       Meanwhile, it flashes through Freddy’s head that, actually, he bringed real many things into the apartment, like a hamster. He made a mess, didn’t make the bed, and even forgot to take out the trash. God, how fucked up it is now! He’ll be ashamed in front of Jody.

***

      Freddy’s peripheral vision caught a human silhouette to the side as he entering the apartment. Recoiling in fright, the guy stretched out hand to hip, belatedly remembering that he did not have a holster with a gun with him now.       – Fuck! — Freddy swore, coming face to face with just his pale reflection in the mirror.       Sickly appearance, shiny eyes — not so long ago, looking into those eyes, Newendyke convinced himself that nothing would happen to him, that he was a super cool Detective. Now he wanted to say only one thing: “A rat.”       He shook his head sharply, dismissing these thoughts.       – Pull yourself together, you’re a cop! — The guy muttered softly, staring at the other side of the glass. — He was kind right up until he found out you were a fake, and then he put a gun to your teeth. You did everything right. He’s a criminal. You don’t owe him anything.       Turning away, Freddy walked over to the table and threw the apartment keys on it. He opened the window to ventilate and expel the midges and turned on the radio so that he wouldn’t get bored.       ”…written by Gerry Rafferty and Joe Egan in 1973, and became an international hit, reaching No. 6 in the US Billboard Hot 100…”       Newendyke froze when K-Billy finished the announcement, and a melody appeared. Something familiar, on the verge of recognition…

Well, I don’t know why I came here tonight,

I got the feeling that something ain’t right.

I’m so scared in case I’ll fall off my chair,

And I’m wondering how I’ll get down the stairs.

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right,

Here I am, stuck in the middle…

      Freddy’s heart is pounding in his temples, and he abruptly turns off the music.       The smell of gasoline tickles the sense of smell and irritates like ammonia, bringing him to his senses. Marvin Nash screams, begging Mr. Blond not to burn him alive, but he continues to pour the contents of the canister on the cop. The scar on Freddy’s belly aching reminding him of the wound.       Yes, that’s the song. She was playing on the radio.       When Freddy picks up a pack of cigarettes from the shelf and strikes a lighter, he almost expects the air in the room to ignite, and is surprised when it does not. He took a deep drag, even coughed after a long break, but his head brightened; the smell of gasoline from his subconscious was replaced by tobacco, which made him feel a little calmer.       “You have PTSD, buddy. We’ll have to do something about it”.       Freddy smiled mirthlessly at his own thoughts. He took the prescribed pills out of his pocket and stared at the antidepressants for a long time, wondering if it was worth throwing in now or better to wait until the evening. He took a drag on his cigarette and blew a smoke ring into the air. Until the evening. And now, it this moment, Freddy began to pack his things, hoping that today he would have time to leave for his home, and he would no longer have to spend the night in this hellhole.