The armored warrior makes a series of hand gestures. The helicopter touches down in the middle of the boardwalk. Four SWAT team members hop out to make room for Ceepak, the EMTs, and all that first-aid gear.
The chopper lifts off.
I know Ceepak will be at Mainland Medical in less than five minutes.
That’s how long it took for the whirlybird to make the trip with Katie Landry after she was shot.
“I’m taking Mrs. Ceepak to Mainland,” Christine hollers as she leads Ceepak’s mom out of the pizza place. She makes sure to steer her in a direction away from the StratosFEAR control booth where her dead ex-husband, slumped against the blood-streaked back wall, looks like a floppy scarecrow sleeping off a really bad three-day drunk.
“I’ll meet you there,” I shout back as they leave.
Then Mayor Sinclair gets in my grill.
“What the hell did you do, Detective Boyle?”
Chief Rossi leads a squad of uniforms over to the control booth to deal with Joe Ceepak’s body. They need to remove his corpse to make room for Shaun McKinnon. Hopefully, the operator can work the knobs, feather the air brakes, and safely lower David Rosen down to the ground.
“What the hell did you do?” The mayor won’t let up. He props his hands on his hips and glares at me.
“My job, sir.”
“Your job? Killing that mentally deranged man on my brand new ride? Chief Rossi told you not to fire. I heard him. I told you not to fire. You disobeyed a direct command from your superior officer. From me!”
“If I hadn’t done what …”
Mayor Sinclair gives me the palm of his hand.
“Save it. You’re done, Boyle. Done!”
I hang around outside the pizza place for thirty minutes.
Nobody says a word to me.
The uniform cops act like I’m not even there.
Finally, after Shaun McKinnon works the controls for fifteen minutes and lowers David Rosen to within five feet of the StratosFEAR’s loading dock, Chief Rossi comes over to have a word.
“Detective Boyle?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I need to notify the county prosecutor about what just happened here. It’s mandatory whenever the discharge of a police officer’s firearm results in a death.”
Trust me: when the police chief starts reciting the Internal Affairs handbook at you, you know you’re in trouble.
“Sir,” I say, trying to say what Ceepak might, “I believe it was a lawful and appropriate use of deadly force.”
“You killed a man, Boyle. After I issued an order not to fire.”
“But he was going to …”
Now Chief Rossi gives me the palm of his hand.
“There will be an investigation. At that time, you will be given a chance to present your side of the story. You might want to hire yourself an attorney. I need your weapon.”
I give him my Glock. It still smells like an exploded firecracker.
“You’re going on administrative leave, Officer Boyle.”
I just nod. I wonder if administrative leave means I get to leave early every day. Hey, I started this job as a beach bum. Guess I can end it that way, too.
I hear a commotion. David Rosen’s feet have finally touched something besides empty air.
“Dude!” shouts McKinnon, relieved, maybe even surprised, to have the stranded rider safely back on the boardwalk. “Whoo-hoo!”
David Rosen is in no mood to celebrate.
His legs are so wobbly, two cops have to hold him up and walk him off the ride’s loading dock.
“An ambulance is on the way, sir,” says the chief.
“None of what I said can be used in a court of law,” Rosen stammers. His whole body is quaking. Someone drapes a blanket over his shoulders. “I don’t care if you people recorded it. You didn’t have my permission. It was a coerced confession.”
“Any of you would’ve said whatever David said in a similar situation!”
I turn around.
Judith Rosen, escorted by Sal Santucci, has arrived. They didn’t bring Little Arnie with them. Good.
Judith runs over to her man. Hugs and kisses him.
“Are you okay, David?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. But you people?” He wags a finger at all the cops who just helped save his life. “I’m going to sue you! All of you! And we’ve got money to hire a good lawyer!”
I remember that thing Christine said about mean people. How they shouldn’t get away with the horrible stuff they do.
But you know what?
Sometimes they just do.
Epilogue
I find out that administrative leave actually means I have to go to the police station five days a week and sit behind a desk shuffling papers.
I also replace toner cartridges and answer a ton of questions from Internal Affairs investigators about what happened in those split seconds when, going against Chief Roy Rossi’s direct order, I took personal initiative and discharged two deadly rounds.
I know I did the right thing.
Ceepak agrees.
Yeah, that’s the good news.
He’s going to be fine. He just added another ugly scar to the collection he picked up over in Iraq. In fact, he and Bill Botzong are right now piecing together enough forensic evidence on the cyanide purchase to put David Rosen away, even without the coerced confession. They might even get his wife, Judith, as a coconspirator. Good thing Little Arnie has all that money. He’s going to need it to pay his shrink bills.
But there’s more good news, too. Thankfully, Mrs. Ceepak is still in my corner. In fact, she’s paying for my lawyer. That’s right. Harvey Nussbaum, the Sea Haven pit bull, will be defending me at a hearing in front of the county prosecutor. According to Nussbaum, there’s no question I did what “any cop with half a brain would do.”
I don’t know if he meant that as an insult; that I’m a cop with half a brain. Frankly, I don’t care. I just want to be another one of those Wrongs that Harvey turns into a Right.
Christine Lemonopolous?
After accompanying Mrs. Ceepak to Mainland Medical and seeing her trauma team friends save Ceepak’s life, she felt ready to go back to her old job. She also found a pretty cute new apartment and had her new boyfriend come over to help her paint the place.
Yep. She and I are dating. Because I have decided to officially adopt Ceepak’s honor code as
If a girl won’t lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do, then she’s all right by me. Christine was telling the truth when she swore she didn’t do any of the horrible stuff other people kept saying she’d done.
Now I know exactly how she felt.
But just like Christine, I won’t let them tell me who I am or what I did. I won’t let them drag me down to their level.
