Chapter 15

frickin’ freud

A cold breeze blew from the air conditioning duct over his head and

directly down the neck of Officer Sullivan. He tried to sit comfortably in the

ass numbing chairs in the counselor’s waiting room as he thumbed through a

dog-eared copy of Reader’s Digest.

Danny had never been to a shrink before and he had no clue as to what

awaited him. He also didn’t know what the counselor had to offer him in the

way of making his nightmares cease. It wasn’t like having issues with your
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parents (your Dad beat you, your Mom molested you). There weren’t going

to be any tearful breakthroughs or discoveries of memories long repressed.

Danny knew what his problem was, it was right there on the surface. He’d

seen his partner splatter another cop’s brains with a shotgun. He didn’t need

Freud to make that go away…just a bottle of Nyquil.

"Fuck this!" Danny thought, tossing the magazine on the table.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the receptionist’s window slid open.

"Mister Sullivan the counselor will see you now…Mister Sullivan?"

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Chapter 16

back from the dead

The room had gone dark. The glow of the full moon filtered between the

blinds providing just enough light to make out shapes. Danny struggled to

see while at the same time taking care not to trip over the pieces of shattered

furniture strewn across the floor.

He reached for his flashlight, deciding to trade the element of surprise for

the assurance that he wouldn’t trip and break his neck.

A shuffling of feet in close proximity made Danny rush to click on his

light. Instead of thumbing the switch, his fingers fumbled around the handle
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of the flashlight causing him to lose his grip, sending it crashing to the floor.

The shuffling grew closer and Danny searched the floor frantically with his

outstretched arms, finally regaining possession of his light.

He jumped to his feet and clicked on the flashlight to see Willie standing

before him. The skin on his face hung in tatters exposing skull fragments

here and there. His eye swung like a pendulum against his cheek.

"Holy fucking Christ!" Danny screamed as he jumped back against the

wall.

"Why Danny? Why did you let this happen? He was your partner…you

should’ve stopped him!"

As he spoke, Willie lurched forward like a Zombie in a cheap B movie.

He reached out, grabbing Danny by the throat with a vise-like grip and

started to squeeze.

"NO!" Danny screamed as he shot straight up in his bed. He was

breathing a mile a minute and his forehead dripped with sweat. He reached

under the covers and checked to make sure he hadn’t pissed himself.

"Fuck me." He said, punching his pillow.

This was the same dream he always had. It started to visit him about two

days after Willie’s death and he usually had it three or four times a week.

Danny blinked his eyes hard, fighting to focus on the clock…four-thirty.

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At least the Nyquil had knocked him out for this long. Sooner or later he was

going to have to see his doctor to get a scrip for sleeping pills. Knocking

back cough syrup several times a night felt like it was starting to eat a hole

in his stomach.

Peeling the sheets from his sweat soaked body, Danny stumbled to the

kitchen. Maybe a glass of milk would douse the fire in his gut.

The light from the refrigerator seemed as bright as the midday sun. He

squinted and took inventory of the fridge’s contents, giving his eyes a

chance to adjust. Danny reached in and pulled out an empty milk jug and

absent-mindedly shook it, as if there was something inside to hear slosh

around.

"Shit!"

His mom had always jumped down his throat whenever he or his brothers

put an empty container back in the refrigerator, now he knew why.

He knew his chances of getting back to sleep were slim at best but they

were non-existent if he didn’t calm the burning in his belly. Danny slipped

into his sweat pants and an old tee-shirt, put his gun in his jacket pocket

along with his wallet and set out to walk to the corner party store.

Danny looked forward to the day his car would be replaced. His insurance

company had finally gotten off their asses and cut him a check. All that

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remained was for him to find another ’57 Chevy Bel Aire that met with his

approval. He had spotted a serious contender in a local trading post catalog

and had set up an appointment to take a look at it. It sounded like a dream

come true. It was the same body style and paint scheme as his old baby. The

owner said that he’d restored it himself to showroom condition, all stock

parts.

Until he decided to purchase though, he was stuck with taking the shoe

leather express.

When he approached the front doors of the market, a familiar smiling face

greeted him. Not too long after the Stop and Brew burned to the ground, his

old buddy Kenny had taken a job at Danny’s favorite neighborhood store.

"Kenny, you old hood rat, how the hell are you?"

Kenny grabbed his hand with his beefy mitt and shook it as if he was

trying to separate Danny’s arm from his shoulder.

"Sully! Man I thought I’d never see you again. What are you doing in this

neighborhood?"

"Some son of a bitch broke into my apartment and drank all my milk, so

here I am! Besides I just live two blocks away."

Kenny scratched his head in confusion.

"What happened to your old apartment?"

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 "The same thing that happened to your old place of employment…it was

torched."

"Man, that sucks! Anyway, I’m glad as hell to see you ‘cause I’ve got

some news I’ve been sitting on. C’mon, walk with me, talk with me."

Danny grabbed a soda from the icebox near the check out as they headed

for the door. He and Kenny stood out in front of the Dairy Stop enjoying

what was left of the summer air and began to talk.

"So what’s the scoop?" Danny asked, taking a deep swallow of soda.

"Remember when I told you ‘bout Doobie Flowers going off the hook

when he went away to college?"

"Yeah, I remember" he replied, half-talking and half-belching.

"Guess who his roommate was at the dorms."

Danny just shrugged his shoulders.

"Terrence O’Neil!"

"You mean the Deputy Chief’s son, Terrence O’Neil?"

Kenny nodded his head, grabbed Danny’s soda from him and took a swig.

"Hey, don’t backwash in that shithead!" he said, bumping Kenny with his

elbow.

"What? It’s not like your paying for it." He said bumping back.

"So is there something more to go with that or is that your whole news

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flash?"

"No, dig this. All that shit that Doobie got into…well he wasn’t flying

solo. Terrence was right there with him. Only thing was, Terrence’s daddy

got him out from under while Reverend Flowers let Doobie crash and burn."

"That stands to reason. Our golden boy Terrence couldn’t follow in his

daddy’s footsteps with a felony rap sheet hanging over his head."

Kenny scanned the parking lot and took a step closer to Danny, lowering

his voice as he continued.

"Only thing is, see, a leopard can’t change his spots."

"What do you mean?" he asked, lowering his voice to match Kenny’s

"Terrence is still into all the same shit. Now he just hides behind a badge.

Word is he and Doobie were in some shit when the whole Acey-Ducey thing

went down."

If Danny were sitting he would have been on the edge of his seat.

"What kind of shit?"

Kenny scanned the parking lot again and shifted back and forth on his feet

as if the pavement had suddenly become red hot.

"Can I hit that soda again?"

"You can kill it off." Danny said, not believing that Kenny was making

him wait before dropping the bomb.

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 "Word is that Terrence and Doobie had got their hands on some cash and

bought a whole shitload of product. They was breaking it down and getting

ready to move it when Doobie went ape-shit and started capping mother-

fuckers at the club."

"What kind of product are we talking about?"

"Coke, man. They cooked half of it down into rock and was keeping half

in powder to move at the clubs along the strip."

"Well I’ll be dipped in shit!" Danny said under his breath.

Now all the little bits of info he had been storing over the past weeks

seemed to have a thin thread connecting them. Terrence roughing up Dickie

fit in…he sure as shit had a lot to keep quiet. The Deputy Chief watching

Doobie stroke out without lifting a finger to help him…another loose end

tied up.

The wheels in Danny’s head were spinning like a top. Ideas and theories

crashed into each other sending pieces flying off to form more ideas…more

theories. He was getting to the point of mental overload when Kenny

rescued him.

"Sully, you in there?" he asked, waving his hand in front of Danny’s eyes.

"Yeah, I’m here. It’s just a lot to process all at once."

"Then this really ought to fuck you up." Kenny said, moving even closer.

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"The shit that sent Doobie on his killing spree…Terrence was the one that

gave it to him. And it wasn’t no regular shit neither. Terrence cut something

else into the mix. A little going away present."

BOOM! Danny’s head exploded. Now it made sense. Terrence wanted the

whole nine yards so he decided to cut his partner out…ALL the way out!

But how much knowledge did the DC have of what his son was into?

He started to feel sick to his stomach. The fact that he was up to his

sphincter in some sort of fucked up conspiracy, mixed with the fact that

instead of drinking milk…he’d drank a nice carbonated soda, was making

his stomach do flip flops.

"Hey, Kenny do you sell Pepto-Bismol here?"

"Aisle three."

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