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Around Goes What?

Bernard Otto

    Detective Charlie Barwicki took pride in being disciplined and his survival depended on it being a cop. He had it in his finances, his marriage and his emotions. But, he broke an unwritten rule.
    Don’t sleep or fall in love with your partner!
    Sheila Gomez made detective first and his promotion wasn’t far behind. When they first met they felt the magnetism. But, his discipline kicked in when they became partners. Sheila wasn’t a beauty queen, but she had personality and a flawless tan complexion accented with premature grey streaks blended in a short hair style. Her smooth sexy voice was perfect for radio not police work, but it went from soothing to menacing in a micro second. When the coroner pulled back the covers and revealed her shattered remains Barwicki covered his mouth, but puke still shot between his fingers. One of the staff handed the disciplined detective a towel. He apologized while he wiped his mouth. He flopped in the nearest chair and struggled to hold back the tears.
    Jesus! What hit her, a semi?
    The neighborhood vermin had run through her pockets while she lay in the gutter. They took her gun and shield. He knew those jungle bunnies saw something. The EMTs scraped her off the street like a dog. They didn’t know she was a cop until the guard at the morgue recognized her. How he did that with her skull crushed was anybody’s guess. God help whoever did this! He took a calming deep breath and his heart rate slowed. The blue light cameras in that district had a history of malfunctioning, a well kept secret. Not that it mattered, they ignored them anyway. The department spokesperson would contact her family in Wyoming. He’d met her parents once who retired from the Air Force and they were only Latinos who stayed in the area.
    What to do about this...what to do?
    He sprung out the chair and walked over to a sink and splashed water on his face. He needed a shave and the bags under his eyes made him look forty-five instead of thirty-five. His thin moustache begged to be trimmed and his green eyes were blood shot. He massaged the stubbles on his shaved head. You look terrible, Charlie.
    His second year on the force he lost a partner, but he wasn’t screwin’ her. He could kick himself for breaking the rule drinking that goddamn gin. “Gin make you sin.” They said. No shit. When they kissed they paused and stared into each other’s eyes. “We shouldn’t do this.” While they peeled their clothes off. They became addicted to each other. But, they maintained discipline once a week, only.
    It worked, now this.
    Re-check Sheila’s clothing they bagged them somewhere. The stench of death seeped through the tissue he’d stuffed in his nostrils. He beckoned for the tall lanky assistant Medical Examiner working on another cadaver. He came in the room and retracted the plastic shield that covered his face. “What do you need, Detective Barwicki?” Barwicki remembered this sneaky guy. He heard he reported them to IAB for alleged leaning on the old guy for a favorable finding for the department.
    “I need Det. Gomez’s belongings.” The doctor gave him a dirty look and he followed him to a locker in the refrigerator section.
    “Here we go.”
    “Thanks, doctor.” He suppressed the urge to grab him for tossing the bag on the table. He slipped on his gloves, opened the bag and dumped the contents on a body length silver metal table. Her clothing had been sliced off in sections and ripped in others. He started with her favorite leather jacket, nothing in her pockets, but he felt something hard under the lapels. He flipped it. What was that?
    A bug...a goddamn bug!
    His thoughts swirled. Did she know she was wired? He franticly inspected every piece of clothing inside and out, shoes too. If there was anything on her body would the doctor have said so? Other cops didn’t show up until later and he didn’t see IAB yet. Who else would be looking for the bug? Leave it or what? His thoughts swirled.
    Sit and relax a second.
    When did she start wearing it? Before they became lovers or after when they pulled the stash house heist? Was she IAB? IAB tries everybody, was it his turn? Did he pass or fail? Was it their money and not a couple of corrupt cops? If she was they would have popped him by now. Or, if she was, she didn’t pass up an opportunity to line her pockets outside an investigation.
    He had stumbled on Harrison and Lomax’s plan by accident. It turned out to be so simple it had to be a setup. Those two idiots hated him since the academy. Barwicki called them “The little salt and pepper shakers,” always starting trouble. And, ten years later the wannabe interracial comedy team was inseparable; bald and skinny they looked like meth heads, but vice loved their arrest record. He overheard them in the locker room mention a place they’d staked out. He thought nothing of it and went and showered, but a few days later he and Sheila were searching for a suspect and saw them leave a vacant building. Curiosity got the best of him. They waited a while and went inside. They were careful not to disturb anything during their search. Bingo!
    Behind a hall under a few floor boards a hundred grand in cash and a kilo of coke. That was too easy. Sheila argued the simple solution was usually the right one. Maybe. That was six months ago. Those knuckleheads never suspected them, but he remembered a couple of hypes got shot a few days later. Poor things. Well they added that windfall to their retirement packages.
    Barwicki’s discipline kicked in. He made his way through the crowd of horrified cops who expressed their condolences. He controlled his teary eyes and left the morgue and headed for Sheila’s favorite watering hole.

*

    “Dr. Brimley, the cops have a rush they want checked out.” My newest assistant, Paula, a young overweight woman with a cheerful demeanor said. I released the coroner’s microphone, wiped my hands and examined the request form. I glanced at the illegible signature.
    “OK, whatever they want, they get, right? Screw everybody else.” Paula chuckled. It appeared the female victim’s leg protruded upward like she’d been stuffed in the bag. I ripped it open. Whatever hit her ran over her mid torso. Rigor set in quick; I pushed her legs down and snapped them back in place. Whoever the detective was she had good muscle tone. I started to draw the curtain since the crowd in the observation room didn’t need to see. They expressed their disapproval.
    Like I care, the first cut and half of them will faint. It won’t take long, blunt force trauma to everywhere. I sat at the computer than it hit me. I’d forgotten my little scheme to stir up trouble among a few cops. I hated they intimidated my boss and mentor to falsify reports and results to cover up their brutality and abuse and murder. It hurt to see, especially Black and Latino people view the bodies of their loved ones after being murdered by the police. Many shot in the back or point blank in the head. Dr. Saperstein, the chief Medical Examiner, was old and forgetful, but I wasn’t. I had to be careful rocking the police boat; it could be costly if not fatal. One of the first cops I saw after they brought her in, Barwicki, a real asshole. He allegedly shot a teen in the back. The cops and the DA spun it. It was an accident and the story faded away. I remember when the EMTs wheeled him in it didn’t appear they worked on him at the ER. They brought him straight to the morgue.
    Is this a blessing or what?
    I thought of several scenarios on causing confusion amongst the common cop or detective. Mistrust, confusion and paranoia were best. If you want to upset cops make them think there’s an Internal Affairs rat in their midst. Several months ago I paid a former bed buddy, who after studying pre-med through college couldn’t cut her first year of medical school, but she was a genius in other respects. She ended up in the electronics division of the department. I told her I wanted to play a gag on my former wife. I wanted to bug her apartment; not for real, but make her think it. Helen laughed, “If you’d married me you wouldn’t have those problems. Shame on you, but Ok.” She handed me two small devices that weren’t inventoried. “These are outdated and don’t work, but wear gloves these things pickup prints easily.” She emphasized. That favor cost me two nights at the Hilton on the lake front. I loved every minute and it reminded me why I was scared of her. Helen was a tall big woman, not fat, but big with perfect skin and a pliable body that bent like a pretzel. That encounter was a year ago, I kept my distance for fear of another heart break and she knew it. I decided not to use them; my ex would’ve figured I did it. But, I finally got over her and moved on.
    I thought about Helen when I attached the electronic device under the lapel of the cop’s jacket. Would that asshole find it? He’s not a good detective if he doesn’t.
     I’d love to take his picture when he sees it. I instructed Paula to close up a Jane Doe, my shift ended. I ratchet down my anger and finally I packed my box of personal belongings after a six month wait for the boss to approve my request for a yearlong leave of absence. Now, for a well deserved rest from the dead and time to pursue my passion; cooking.
    After hours being around dead people I made it my business to return home to an aromatic environment via the crock pot. Growing up I watched my grandparents cook for the church. It rubbed off and trial and error gave birth to my famous, among friends and family, chili and pot roast. I was destined for culinary fame, but ended up in medical school, first. I didn’t acknowledge my Medical Examiner status; MD is fine for my culinary piers. The ones with morbid imaginations could create a ton of BS. Why be a chef and ME? No...I’m not a cannibalistic serial killer like in the movies. The one time I shared my culinary expertise with my morgue co-workers they teased me to death. The jokes were stomach turning.
    People have tried to duplicate my recipes with no success. My secret, keep it simple. My ex-wife tried after we met at a church cookout and failed. After we divorced I maintained a professional relationship with them. I’m not a true believer of religion, but I’m tolerant of any organization that improves the community.
    The church was the largest on the Southside and held various events by organizations from all over the county. It has a huge dining room with a state of the art kitchen. Several months ago the head chef offered me a full time position. Now that I’m available we got down to business. My pot roast would be offered with all dinner packages and the chili on smaller menus. Flattery got them everything. I brought out the big guns; with chicken recipes that increased business by twenty percent.
    The stench and misery associated with the ME’s office wore off in several weeks. I felt good.

*

    For three weeks Detective Barwicki buried himself in paperwork. The big boys didn’t have enough faith in him to be affective on the street; post traumatic lose of a partner. Who the fuck do they think they are? On the bright side that gave him the opportunity to get in every bodies business. His main objective, why was Sheila wearing a bug? His strategy, for a week or so sit at his desk and sulk like a heart broken teen and gradually start to open up after his colleagues console him. It started to work, but heavy drinking after work left him with a daily handover. His suspicions forced him to drink with people he couldn’t stand. Detective Bob Smith was a health nut who thought he was God’s gift to the department and everybody in it. He hadn’t solved a case on his own in years. He slapped everybody on the back and laughed excessively. His partner, Lindsey Martin was a tall horny zipper watcher with man sized hands and feet. Det. Ross had a peanut shaped head; he reeked of cologne that didn’t cover that alcohol sweat. Barwicki stared at the reflections of Detectives Harrison and Lomax in the mirror lined wall who he’d ruled out for such a devious move on Sheila. He sipped his beer and swirled his shot glass of scotch. Elaine cracked a fresh bottle, but it was still bar whisky. Damn shame a cop practiced such deception. “Elaine, hit the breaker for that damn jukebox, rap music in a cop bar. You’ll lose your license.” She flipped him the bird and continued filling a glass. “I love you too.”
    “You should, you ain’t paid your tab in a month.”
    “Touché.” He and everybody else wanted to screw Elaine. Her sassy attitude and porno body gave a guy a hard-on. He pushed his glass toward her. “When you get a chance.” She nodded. All the whiskey in the world couldn’t ease his mind. This shit was eating a hole in his gut. His wife said his discipline persona had faded. Elaine leaned over showing her cleavage and filled his glass, “Slow down honey, they’ll catch who hit Sheila.” God bless Elaine she didn’t have to worry about his BS. Did he have to worry? Sheila might have been the target not him, she might be involved in other shit. He’d lifted a partial off the bug and either he misplaced it or lost it. He barely got time with people scurrying around. Get bold and ask Internal Affairs was she under investigation.
    Those assholes would love that!
    He scratched that thought and finished his boilermaker.
    After he followed several co-workers on occasions and checking their financials, no red flags, not even for Harrison and Lomax.
    Elaine removed his empty glasses. “You look like shit, Barwicki. Go talk to the shrink, you’ll feel better.”
    “It shows that bad?”
    “Yeah, that bad.”
    “Were you in love with her? And, if you weren’t you better stop looking like it, your wife will notice if she hasn’t already.”
    He shrugged. “Got it, thanks. Another shot and I’m done.” He peeled off two fifties. “That should cover the tab.”
    She held them up to the light. “Good” and poured his last drink. Self imposed stress would kill him if he kept worrying. He’d take one last look for the partial print. If he found it good, if not, fuck it. Elaine had a point, get it together.

*

    The phone rang and announced Pastor Amos. “Hello...good morning, Pastor Amos, what can I do you for this early?” I put emphasis on early.
    “Sorry to wake you, Dr. Brimley or should I say Chef Brimley, but something important has come up.” Pastor Amos said, in a joyful voice that replaced his usual authoritative tone. Whatever the reason dollars were attached.
    I didn’t want to be bothered. “That’s OK; I’m an early riser on occasion.”
    “I talked to Maurice and I need to see the kitchen staff an hour early in my office at 10:00am.
    “OK, I’ll be there, Pastor.”
    Pastor Amos’ office reflected the success of the largest church on the south side. He stood at the typical mile long boardroom type table dressed in casual jeans and a T-shirt. I could smell the new leather chairs. His ego was displayed along the wood paneled walls with plaques, certificates and photos with various VIP’s and local politicians.
    “Ladies and gentlemen.” A broad smile covered his round face. “I have good news.” He opened a folder and held up a piece of paper. “I got this fax requesting us to host a dinner for the Police Department’s Annual Lieutenants Association.” He waited for a response. We clapped a light, so what, clap. “Well, this is good for the church and the community. And, even though we don’t serve alcohol they still want to have their event here. And, they want to have the pot roast and chili worked into the menu.” The pastor smiled. “Somebody told them about your food, Doctor, I mean, Chef Brimley. They clapped and I was embarrassed, but flattered. “We have a week people, God bless you.”

*

    An award winning chandelier covered twenty percent of the vaulted ceiling of the church dining room. It required hand assembly and when lit a certain way displayed alternating light patterns on the guest. We substituted chili for the soup as part of the appetizer. They loved it. I did my job well and the boss decided to leave early. The thing about Chef Maurice he epitomized average; average height, average weight, average build and complexion. You’d miss him if you weren’t careful. I watched him move along the wall and mingle with the crowd and then he disappeared before I could ask a question about schedule. I stepped out the kitchen door to see if he’d left the building. I forgot I had my hat on and the present speaker complimented the cooks for an excellent meal. I broke out in a sweat and waved to the crowd. I hate crowds.
    I finished taking a leak and splashed water on my face when the bathroom door shot open. It hit the stop with a loud thud. Barwicki stumbled over the threshold cover. Where in the hell did he come from? I thought and hoped I’d never see that asshole again. This was one helluva coincidence. I never thought that classless SOB would attend anything but a KKK meeting or a drunken brawl. He turned and stared down at it and then me. He appeared to be drunk. “What’s up, Doc?” He had that sickening expression on his face. “The bathroom in this place is spotless, sign of a clean restaurant.”
    I ignored the compliment. “What’s up, Doc? Really, Detective.” I washed my hands and rotated them under the dryer. “This is a little classy for you, Barwicki, a lieutenant’s dinner...right?”
    “I never thought I’d see an M.E. being a chef or whatever at a church. Jesus, that’s fucked up, right?”
    “Why? You think because we split open dead cops we don’t like food, Detective?” That wiped that shit eating grin off his pitted face. “Get a warrant and see if you find human remains in the chili.” He jerked and cursed. He almost zipped the wrong thing. “Be careful, don’t hurt yourself.”
    “Fuck you.” He grabbed my arm and blocked the exit. “By the way who inventories a person’s clothing when they bring them into the morgue?”
    He needed mouth wash. “It all depends everybody has done it.” I stared at the sleeve of his cheap suit. “Do you mind, Detective.” I hurried back to the kitchen. That asshole suspected me. I must’ve touched something, I don’t remember touching the bug. There was no video in the room. Did he sweat Helen into saying something? But, that would be career suicide. No, that wasn’t it, she was smarted then that. I shook the negative thoughts and got back to work.
    The banquet ended with all parties happy. “They’ll be back,” Pastor Amos said. He credited the pot roast. I didn’t eat any; I stopped at McDonald’s on the way home.
    I stared at the ceiling fan rotate. What ideas would stir in my head about that damn cop? Something happened to him. He’d lost weight, bags under his eyes and jaundice skin and eyes. Hepatitis or alcohol or stress; stress and alcohol was my diagnosis. Did my plan work? That dirty look said it did. He deserved it; worry yourself to death you dirty SOB. I hated the way those gangsters with badges intimidated my mentor. Dr. Saperstein suffered from early dementia and they took advantage to cover their friends tracked with that blue wall of silence. Rumors circulated that the number of cops on psyche meds increased ten percent last year. Good, but bad for the masses that deserve and pay for their protection. I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

*

    Barwicki took advantage of the unseasonably warm spring temperature to clean his deck. While scraped wood splinters several steaks grilled. The neighbors placed an order he didn’t mind filling. He sipped a scotch on the rocks with a beer chaser as he waved the leaf blower back and forth. This season he didn’t have any equipment tune-up. Now, time to eat and drink, more. Milo Smith, his favorite three hundred pound neighbor, held out his platter and gazed at the two medium well porterhouses. “Well, Milo, don’t eat them both save Shirley one, I’d hate to have to arrest her for murder.” They laughed and he placed foil over the meal.
    “You’re right about that. You sure you don’t want to join us?”
    “Yeah, thanks, but I got a lot of shit on my mind. Enjoy.” His neighbor waddled down the stairs and went inside. “Honey, the food’s ready.”
    “OK, be right there.”
    He flopped in his recliner and hit the remote. He’d seen everything from the DVR and the basketball game didn’t interest him. Two weeks of “Fuck the world” leave lead to nothing but boredom. Boredom meant nothing, he told himself often in his career. He’d hit a brick wall. The partial prints he lifted belonged to that tall lanky Dr. Brimley and Helen, the newest intern, said the rest was smudged. More than likely they undressed Sheila. He downed another scotch. Whoever bugged his partner wanted her.
    Fuck it, Charlie if they wanted you you’d know it by now. He’d been racking his mind for shit that didn’t exist. The disciplined Detective Charles Barwicki had taken a back seat to a lush life full of doubt and paranoia.
    Mary mentioned his heartache.
    He denied it. The barmaid said that would happen. Time to snap out of it.
    Mary Barwicki fell in love with the church the association chose for the dinner. “It’s diversity should be an example for all, especially now with all the problems of the department,” she said. She told her friends and they decided to attend the services one Sunday. Barwicki would be there too...his being distant ends now.

*

    Every Sunday for the past month Detective Barwicki made it his business to stick his head I n the dining and he made sure I saw him. He’d smile and wave, “What’s on the menu,” he’d ask. The staff would reply in a nice manner, but I ignored him. I didn’t trust the smiling asshole. But, he did look better...sober with healthy color. Bully for him.
    A couple of my co workers invited me to Friday night prayer. I accepted because an attractive evangelist led the group in prayer and bible study. We’d made positive eye contact on occasions and now it was time to make my move. Seated in the first row from the pulpit, Barwicki. I hoped he didn’t see me, but he did. “How are you, doc or should I say chef?”
    “Chef is fine.”
    “I know you don’t like cops...”
    “Who does? I don’t like you, Barwicki.” I interrupted and smiled inward at the frown on his face.
    “I’m trying to be nice here, help me out.”
    Those dead eyes of his spoke the truth. “Um...OK, I’ll start. What do you want?” The people in front shifted in their seats and adjusted my tone to a whisper. “Sorry.”
    “Since both of us deal with the public at the extreme levels.” Barwicki said.
    “English please. What are extreme levels?”
    I couldn’t help but grin at his frustration. “You deal with death, or you did, I deal with the living.”
    “Get to the point,” I snapped.
    “You want to join the Brotherhood in prayer in room 300?”
    Jesus! What’s wrong with him? Is it a miracle or what? A beer-bellied skinhead detective praying? I could see him now. God, please kill all those niggers and spicks. I had to see that. “OK, let’s go, but first you hate niggers—“
    “No, I don’t!” Barwicki snapped and turned red when people turned around.
    “Yeah, you do, I got to see this.” I chuckled while we walked to the elevator.

*

    I attended several weeks of prayer with the brotherhood. It was enlightening and informative. It could rival any AA type gathering. Unfortunately, the female I desired revealed she continued to struggle with her past and it do more harm if we started a relationship. I agreed. Drugs and the street life ended up on the cadaver table. Barwicki of all people poured his heart out about his feelings for his late partner that crossed a line. But, he was hurt when she didn’t confide in him about an investigation.
    Bam! Maybe, my plan worked. It scared the crap out of him.
    But, every meeting he’s there with that smug, I know what you did, grin on his face. When he talked to the others he’d look my way. What was he saying about me? Did they listen to him? Why listen to that guy, he’d only been at the church a few months? Church people...I didn’t get it. After all this time if he knows or thinks he knows, so what. The best way to deal with Barwicki, kill him before he gets you. You’d never be a suspect. Wait! That’s crazy, they’re killers not you.
    But, the more I thought about it, it worked against me. I worried many a night. The dirty tricks stuff wasn’t for me. Exposure to the brotherhood softened my heart in other matters, but I still had a hard time being around Barwicki. Dr. Saperstein’s condition worsened and that lead to his resignation and after that he gave up the fight. All the prayer in the world didn’t change the fact I hated Barwicki and his kind.
    The solution to that problem, I left the church and found a job in an upscale restaurant. They say time is a healer. If and when I receive the gift of faith I’ll return.

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