Saying a silent and
righteous prayer, he brought the pipe to bear once again.
***
STEMMY let Anthony drive. It was one
of the reasons they were a good fit as partners. Anthony liked to
drive and Stemmy didn't. Anthony would sit in the driver's seat,
the window open in the most frigid weather, a lit cigarette in his
left hand. He always used the driving time to smoke. He didn't like
to smoke in front of the perps and he didn't like to smoke in front
of the victims. But he always smoked in the car.
It wasn't just the driving. As detectives,
each of the two of them possessed different skills. Stemmy was
extremely intelligent with tremendous powers of observation. He'd
notice if a button had come undone or a speck of dust had landed on
your tie. Anthony was the charming one. He was tall and handsome
with a shaved head and a meticulously groomed goatee. He somehow
never smelled of cigarette smoke despite constant abuse of the
habit. Stemmy was shorter, fatter, and dumpier. He was good in a
fight. Despite the fact that his body type precluded any sort of
muscular definition, his arms were solid as rocks and if those
fists flew someone was getting hurt.
Stemmy was getting on in years. He was forty
nine and had been a policeman for twenty seven years. He'd joined
the force after graduating college with a degree in psychology that
he felt was pretty useless at the time. Sure he could have become a
therapist, helped people face down their problems, but that sounded
pretty boring. The last thing he wanted to do was sit hour after
hour and listen to someone bitch and moan. God had punished him for
that attitude. In His mystical wisdom he had seen fit to grant
Stemmy and his wife four daughters. Now it wasn't that Stemmy
didn't love his daughters. Each one of them was a priceless pearl.
And his wife was a gem, a tireless policeman's wife who always
greeted him with a smile and waited until he had shrugged off the
rigors of the day before presenting to him the problems of the
household. But living with five women would make any man crazy.
After all, not a one of them made a bit of sense.
Stemmy's given name was Johan. His mother had
been from the Dominican Republic, a strong Spanish woman with
fierce values. She had raised him with two hands, one firm and one
tender. His father, Arthur Stemmy, was from somewhere in Europe. He
had an accent that even Stemmy himself couldn't identify. When his
mother had passed, poor old Arthur had lost a true step. He was a
shadow of himself these days.
Anthony took one last long drag on the
cigarette and flicked the butt out the window. That meant that they
were almost there. He coughed once betraying the inner turmoil in
his gut. He'd been to the doctor, Stemmy knew, but wouldn't say any
more about it. A smoker like that just screams cancer, though. It
had Stemmy worried. The last thing he wanted was for Anthony to
have to go through that misery.
They pulled up next to a curb littered with
garbage. Four patrol cars and a forensics van were already on the
scene. He took in the scene as quickly as he could. The place was
cordoned off with police tape. Both automobile and foot traffic
were being diverted away from the area. With two black body bags
laying on the sidewalk amidst a variety of stains, they didn't need
spectators. The suspect sat in the back of one of the patrol
cars. His hands were cuffed to the bar but he didn't struggle with
them. He just leaned back, relaxing as if everything was proper. He
was just a kid.
"Detectives!" one of the officers shouted as
she ran over. Stemmy didn't know her and he didn't think Anthony
did either. But a lack of familiarity couldn't stop Anthony from
putting on the charm. He went and spoke to her quickly, as if they
were equals, as if they were best friends. When he was done, he
came back over to where Stemmy was standing, observing the
scene.
There were statements from four eye
witnesses. One of the victims was male and
righteous prayer, he brought the pipe to bear once again.
***
STEMMY let Anthony drive. It was one
of the reasons they were a good fit as partners. Anthony liked to
drive and Stemmy didn't. Anthony would sit in the driver's seat,
the window open in the most frigid weather, a lit cigarette in his
left hand. He always used the driving time to smoke. He didn't like
to smoke in front of the perps and he didn't like to smoke in front
of the victims. But he always smoked in the car.
It wasn't just the driving. As detectives,
each of the two of them possessed different skills. Stemmy was
extremely intelligent with tremendous powers of observation. He'd
notice if a button had come undone or a speck of dust had landed on
your tie. Anthony was the charming one. He was tall and handsome
with a shaved head and a meticulously groomed goatee. He somehow
never smelled of cigarette smoke despite constant abuse of the
habit. Stemmy was shorter, fatter, and dumpier. He was good in a
fight. Despite the fact that his body type precluded any sort of
muscular definition, his arms were solid as rocks and if those
fists flew someone was getting hurt.
Stemmy was getting on in years. He was forty
nine and had been a policeman for twenty seven years. He'd joined
the force after graduating college with a degree in psychology that
he felt was pretty useless at the time. Sure he could have become a
therapist, helped people face down their problems, but that sounded
pretty boring. The last thing he wanted to do was sit hour after
hour and listen to someone bitch and moan. God had punished him for
that attitude. In His mystical wisdom he had seen fit to grant
Stemmy and his wife four daughters. Now it wasn't that Stemmy
didn't love his daughters. Each one of them was a priceless pearl.
And his wife was a gem, a tireless policeman's wife who always
greeted him with a smile and waited until he had shrugged off the
rigors of the day before presenting to him the problems of the
household. But living with five women would make any man crazy.
After all, not a one of them made a bit of sense.
Stemmy's given name was Johan. His mother had
been from the Dominican Republic, a strong Spanish woman with
fierce values. She had raised him with two hands, one firm and one
tender. His father, Arthur Stemmy, was from somewhere in Europe. He
had an accent that even Stemmy himself couldn't identify. When his
mother had passed, poor old Arthur had lost a true step. He was a
shadow of himself these days.
Anthony took one last long drag on the
cigarette and flicked the butt out the window. That meant that they
were almost there. He coughed once betraying the inner turmoil in
his gut. He'd been to the doctor, Stemmy knew, but wouldn't say any
more about it. A smoker like that just screams cancer, though. It
had Stemmy worried. The last thing he wanted was for Anthony to
have to go through that misery.
They pulled up next to a curb littered with
garbage. Four patrol cars and a forensics van were already on the
scene. He took in the scene as quickly as he could. The place was
cordoned off with police tape. Both automobile and foot traffic
were being diverted away from the area. With two black body bags
laying on the sidewalk amidst a variety of stains, they didn't need
spectators. The suspect sat in the back of one of the patrol
cars. His hands were cuffed to the bar but he didn't struggle with
them. He just leaned back, relaxing as if everything was proper. He
was just a kid.
"Detectives!" one of the officers shouted as
she ran over. Stemmy didn't know her and he didn't think Anthony
did either. But a lack of familiarity couldn't stop Anthony from
putting on the charm. He went and spoke to her quickly, as if they
were equals, as if they were best friends. When he was done, he
came back over to where Stemmy was standing, observing the
scene.
There were statements from four eye
witnesses. One of the victims was male and
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