C11 Chapter Eleven

The bar was a dive joint named Maxine’s. It stood on the corner of Sunset and Main, not too far from Mattapan Square. It wasn’t one of Burke’s usual hangouts; in fact, he rarely came to Mattapan, which was precisely why he chose the place. The chances anyone would recognize him were slim to none and he could get his business done and get out before anyone was the wiser.

He could only find a parking spot a few blocks away, which ticked him off but what was he going to do? It wasn’t like he could park out front with his police placard on the dash. His car wouldn’t last ten minutes in this neighborhood. Grabbing his handheld off the seat beside him, he turned up his collar, walked up the street, and entered the bar.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he could see that his business partner was waiting for him in the last booth. He made his way through the crowd but rather than slide into the booth across from the other man, where he’d have his back to the door, he pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat in the aisle at the head of the table.

The man he’d come to see grinned slyly as Burke settled down and the detective knew the set-up had been intentional. Probably trying to piss me off, put me off my game. He gave the other man his best Fuck You smile in return, just to show he wouldn’t be so easily rattled.

He signaled the waitress for a beer, waited until she brought it, and then spent another minute watching her ass as she walked away. When he felt he’d made his point, he turned back to the other man and said, “It’s done. He took the bait.”

A smile spread across the face of the man opposite and that simple gesture accomplished what the gamesmanship before could not; Burke suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable. The urge to get the hell out of there was practically overwhelming and he went so far as to slide his chair back slightly before his rational mind regained control. Chill out, stupid, he thought. You ain't got what you came here for yet.

“And the patrol car?”

Burke grunted. “I’ll make the call as soon as I’m out of here.”

The blond haired man shook his head. “Make it now, please.”

It was far more an order than a request, but in that moment he decided to just do what needed to be done, get his money, and then get the hell out, before things got out of hand.

The detective removed a handheld radio from his pocket, checked the frequency and then pushed the talk button.

“Grearson? This is Burke.”

He waited a moment and then repeated the call.

Burke was about to do it a third time when the radio crackled and the other man’s voice came back through it. “Grearson here, Detective. Sorry about that; had to take a piss.”

Burke bit his tongue, forcing back the caustic comment that sprang to mind. Just get it done, he thought. Get it done and wash your hands of all of this.

“We’ve got the eyes set up in the building across the street, so you can return to regular patrol. Thanks for your help.”

“Ten four, Detective. Thanks for the overtime.”

“Roger that, Grearson. Burke out.”

The detective turned the radio off and returned it to the pocket of his coat. Returning his attention to the other man, he said, “I’ve pulled the black and white off the site. They shouldn’t have any trouble getting inside the church now.”

“Very good. I believe that completes our arrangement then.”

Burke sneered. “Not quite. There’s still the matter of my pay.”

Blondie chuckled. “Ah, yes, your thirty pieces of silver.” He took a small gym bag off the seat next to him and shoved it across the table at Burke.

The bag was unzipped so the detective pulled the flaps open and peered inside. The bag was full of bundles of cash, 100s wrapped in red rubber bands as if fresh from the mint. Burke reached inside, picked a random bundle from deeper in the bag and, without lifting it above the confines of the bag itself, flipped through it, making certain that they were all bills and not stacks of paper wrapped in loose cash.

Satisfied with what he saw, he stood, zipped the bag, and addressed his companion.

“Looks like our business is done. If I see you in my district again, I’ll arrest you on sight, understand?”

Blondie didn’t say anything, just grinned that unsettling smile, and Burke decided it was time to leave. He grabbed the bag, made his way back through the crowd and headed down the street toward his car.

He was almost there when the voice came out of the darkness.

“Whooo-wee! Lookey what we got here, boys. What you doing in this neighborhood after dark whitey?”

Several dark forms stepped out of the alley in front of him, blocking his way.

Burke stared disdainfully at the youths. There were five of them, maybe six, not a one older than their late teens. All of them were black, which explained the racial comment.

Damned punks.

Aloud, he said, “I’m a cop and unless all of you want to spend the night in lockup being somebody’s bubba, I suggest you get the fuck out of my way.”

No one moved.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Burke said and drew his firearm, pointing it at the group’s leader. Now he was pissed. First that idiot in the bar and now these punks? Doesn’t anybody remember how to show their betters the respect they deserve? He’d had enough. “Back off or I’ll blow your stupid heads off!” he said.

The only answer was the sharp sound of the slides on several handguns being jacked back.

Oh shit! Burke had time to think, and then everything went to hell.

The detective managed to get off the first few shots. He wasn’t all that bad with a firearm, putting the leader down with a double tap to the head before the other man could even squeeze the trigger.

But it was five to one and the street punks knew what it was that Burke was carrying in that leather bag he held in his left hand and wanted it, wanted it all. If some of their number got hurt in the bargain, well then, they’d just have to live with that. More dough for the survivors. With that kind of dough they could set themselves up for a long time to come…

The end was never in doubt, though Burke did manage to take three of them with him before he succumbed to his wounds and collapsed on the street. He’d been hit, eight, maybe ten times, and he knew he had only seconds to live. Already his arms and legs were going numb, his vision starting to grey out around the edges.

The survivors hauled the bag out of his grasp and he dimly heard the slap of their sneakers against the pavement as they raced away into the darkness, leaving him lying there alone, bleeding out.

Not alone, he thought, as someone stepped out of the dark mouth of the alley to his left.

Help, he tried to say, but all that came out was a thin gurgle and a mouthful of fresh blood. He turned his head, letting the blood dribble out onto the street beneath him, and when he turned it back again he found Blondie standing over him.

“Don’t you read your Bible, Burke? Judas doesn’t escape his fate.”

There was that smile again and then the blond man dropped to the pavement atop him and Burke knew no more.