Friday, April 9, 2010

Chapter 33 The Dreamers

Chapter 33

Sergeant Jenkins and Ben arrived at the Administration building parking lot about the same time. Ben remained sitting behind the steering wheel of his car. Jenkins came over and opened his door.

"Come on, Ben," said Jenkins. "I know this is hard, but we have to get this over with. Besides, I've got an all nighter ahead of me. The press is going to be all over us on this one."

Ben got out of the car and the two may their way silently up the stairs and entered Father Spencer's office. Father was listening to his radio. A new bulletin was describing the sketchy details of the Beaupre Massacre as it was now being called. Fr. Spencer motioned for them to sit in the two chairs in front of his desk. He turned off the radio as he turned to them.

"Where is Bob," He asked? "I hope he is all right?"

"That's why we're here," began Sergeant Jenkins. "This is very hard for us," he continued. "Bob is dead, Father. He couldn't get across the court to safety. He had no time like any of the victims. The shooting happened so fast. Looks like were are going to have over twenty-five casualties. Many of the others will arrive at the hospital in critical condition. The final count may be more."

Father Spencer sat in his chair in disbelief while Jenkins rambled on. Father heard only half of what he was saying. His greatest fear had come true. Only Bob was more than just hurt. He was gone. Why, he thought to himself? What good could possibly think could come out of taking such an innocent, young life? His many decades of spiritual training and growth still didn't make this any easier to understand or accept.

"I hope he didn't suffer," stated Father. "He deserved better than that."

"Couldn't have been very long, Uncle," said Ben. "It was over in less than a minute. I barely got out of my car when the murders were speeding off. I was kind of half dozing and listening to the White Sox game when the first shots rang out. It happened so fast even if the police had been there I don't think they could have saved anyone. they might have shot a couple of the assailants, maybe. These thugs had automatic weapons. They knew what they wanted to do."

"Father, do you have the number for Bob's family," asked Jenkins. "Would you like for me to call them?"

"No, I'll take care of it," said Father. "I'm the one who got Bob involved in the first place. It is my fault."

"Father, Let me say this to you right now," stated Jenkins in a firm tone of voice. "This is no one's fault but Motown Matthews. This is not your fault, my fault, or Ben's fault. You need to understand that and accept it right now. If God couldn't stop it how do you think we can? We at Metro try, every day, to stop it. It seems like all we end up doing is cleaning up the wreckage. We don't seem to be able to make even a dent in all the dysfunction this society can create. I am not a very religious man, Father, but it may just take the Second Coming to fix this. It's just too bad Bob had to be another casualty of this stupid war."

"I know, Sergeant," said Father Spencer. "It is just so difficult when all the good we try to do is repaid with evil. This is all so senseless."

"Father, until we get Judges to put all the Motown Mathews away for ever it will never end," added Jenkins. "He never should have been on the street now. I will personally take care of him this time myself. He is not going to get away with this, I can assure you."

Father reached into his middle desk drawer and pulled out an address book and began leafing through the pages. He stopped at the L's and kept his finger on the Bob Lollar's home number in Connecticut.

Father, unless you need me for anything else I need to get down to the station," said Jenkins as he rose from his chair. Ben didn't move.

"No, go ahead," said Father. "I would like to come down to the station tomorrow. Can you help me make arrangements for the body? I would think that the family will want the body back in Connecticut for burial."

"No problem," said Jenkins. "I'll be there for at least the next twenty-four hours. I'll get you through the red tape."

Jenkins left and went down to the station. He went through the booking area where he saw six black men going through the process. He called to the Desk Sergeant.

"Riccio, fill me in," stated Jenkins. "These guys part of the Beaupre shooting?"

"Ya, Sarge, they are," said Riccio. "Officers cornered them down by the docks at Lexington. Two others are being chased in the vacant warehouses right now. May take some time, but our swat team is on the way. Should have them out, one way or another, by midnight."

"Put out an APB on Motown Matthews," said Jenkins sternly, anger filling his face and voice. "I want him in this office by day break. I want every available Officer on this now!"

"You got it," answered Riccio as he broke out of the office. He knew a priority when he heard one. Captain Moss entered the office.

"What a mess, Jenkins," stated Moss. "Fill me in."

Jenkins could have cared less about what Captain Moss thought. He knew all he was worried about was his precious career and how this could hurt any chances he might have to become Commissioner if it wasn't solved in a hurry. Moss was never the type to dirty his hands with the nasty side of police work, but he was always around for the photo-opportunities. They had both come through the Academy together. Moss just knew which rear-ends to kiss up to along the way. That was not Jenkins style.

He filled his superior officer in, anyhow. This was not the time to be picking a fight or being sarcastic. Jenkins had much bigger fish to fry. What a night this was going to be.

Jenkins found out which interrogation rooms the alleged perpetrators were in. He entered room 2A and went to the back of the room and leaned up against the wall with his arms folded against his chest. A Public Defender was already seated at the table next to one of the shooters. A tooth pick was hanging out of his mouth.

"Excuse me," said Jenkins. "I hate to interrupt. Mr. Robinson is it," as Jenkins looked at the top of the file? Take the tooth pick out of your mouth while you're in this building."

"Don't be rousting my client," said the attorney. "He may decide not to cooperate."

"That would be most unfortunate for him, wouldn't it," announced Jenkins, moving up and leaning on the table with both hands in the attorney's face. "He can remove it now and be most cooperative, or he can have it surgically removed after he has been in lock-up for while. I don't care which it is. I've got over twenty-five people dead as the result of your client here. I would advise you not to make me one ounce madder than I am at this point. I am not interested in any of your legal garbage, either."

Robinson sized up the situation rather quickly and put the tooth pick in his pocket and sat up in his chair.

"No problem, Sarge," said Robinson. "It's cool."

Jenkins moved back off the table and leaned up against the wall again. Officer Miller resumed his questioning again. There would be no more interruptions.

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