JAKE MILLER

It was 2:30, Tuesday afternoon, When Sonny, and his new partner, left Tuckahoe, and turned onto the Garden State Parkway, heading south, after their 3rd dead end, since leaving the squad room. The first stop they made turned up a bad address. Rather than take the time to try and track the suspect down, it was decided that suspects that couldn’t be located would be called in to Jake, and he could make himself useful, and see if there was a backup residence. Suspect #2 was Tommy Hoch. They found him at his job, in an auto repair shop on Rte. 47. He claimed to be working all day, on the 11th, and his boss verified that. This last stop was a quick one. They knocked on the door of Anthony Mason’s residence, and Mr. Mason’s care giver led them to his bedroom, where they found him in a hospital bed, hooked up to a bunch of monitors. Ms. Hemphill explained that two days after being paroled, Anthony was hit by a bread truck, and is now a paraplegic. As they merged into traffic, Sonny spoke up. “So, Lieutenant Kaufman, have you heard from your kids recently?” “First of all, Detective, you should have been able to detect in the two years you’ve worked here, that the other detectives all call me ‘Lou’. I encourage that. It’s kind of my nickname. Secondly, Detective, I just spoke with my son Dave, this past Sunday. I’m headed up to see him and my grandkids in a couple of weeks, over the 4th of July weekend.” “That’s great…Lou. Oh, and you can call me Sonny.” “You told me that you didn’t like having a nickname, Detective.” “Well, it’s kind of grown on me, sir. My wife kind of likes it.” “Sonny it is, then. Let me ask you something. Do you have a problem riding with me?” “No, sir! Of course not!” “Well, Sonny, it’s just that you seem troubled by something.” “Well, sir, it’s this case. Something doesn’t add up, but I can’t figure out just what it is.” “Ok, Sonny, maybe if you talk it out, it’ll come to you. Is it something with the evidence? Or maybe the canvass of the neighbors? Our working theory?” “I just don’t know, Lou. It’s all of that stuff…and none of it. I’m just confused.” “Well, Sonny, I’ve always found that if I just forget about a problem, most times the solution will pop into my head. It’s almost 3:00, let’s head in for the day. Maybe the other teams had better luck than us.” Wilt and Fatso had somewhat better luck, if only for the fact that they were able to contact, and clear 8 suspects. They had gone back to the station house, and were sitting in the car, and trying to ‘plan out’ the next day’s visits, when Sonny and Lou parked next to them. All four entered the building together, as Fatso wondered aloud how Kari, and Chuck made out. At just that moment, Kari and Chuck had pulled up outside the clubhouse for the Cobras motorcycle gang, looking for Tony Gordon. He wasn’t at his job, and Chuck suggested they try the clubhouse. Clubhouse was being a bit generous. It was an abandoned gas station on New Jersey Ave, right near the Wildwood/North Wildwood border. They built a half-assed bar, put in a pool table, and a juke box. The Cobras were a renegade motorcycle club, who were known for their ruthless violence. They took over the drug business in Wildwood. The process took a little under six months and was marked by four homicides over that six-month period; the last one involving Tony Gordon, who blew up two of the leaders of the rival Kings gang, as they started a car, to head for a meeting with the Cobras. Jake and his old partner had been the ones to arrest Gordon for the crime. They had 5 lbs. of C-4, that matched what was used in the car, that they found while searching Gordon’s basement apartment, in Rio Grande. There was one problem. The clerk that typed the search warrant up for Gordon’s apartment, typed the address as 119 Rio Grande Ave. The building Gordon lived in was a two-story apartment house, with a basement. Gordon’s lawyer was able to successfully argue that the warrant was vague, in that it didn’t specify which apartment the police were permitted to search. The DA had a witness who saw someone that looked a lot like the 6’3” Gordon doing something to the car, but couldn’t positively identify him, so they plead him out to Manslaughter, 2nd degree, and Tony Gordon, or Ka-Boom, as he was known to his fellow bikers, went away for 5-15 years. That was seven years ago, and he was out on parole. Chuck had a feeling about this guy, that’s why he wanted to go find him, rather than wait until tomorrow. According to the report, when Jake arrested this lowlife, he resisted, with a pool cue, and Jake gave him a pretty good beating. Chuck figured that besides probably being pissed at getting smacked around, this guy was trained by the US Army, in the use of explosives. As they pulled off the street, Kari suggested they wait until tomorrow, and maybe bring Fatso, and Wilt with them. “Don’t worry, K! Look, there’s only three bikes outside. I can handle three bikers. Besides, since there are only three bikes here, there’s a good chance this mutt isn’t even here. Let’s go.” When they entered, Kari quickly assessed the situation. There were actually four bikers in the place, and one biker chick. About twenty feet directly across from the door they came in was the bar, with one guy behind the bar, and one sitting at the bar. Midway between the door and bar, was a pool table, with the other two guys playing, and the girl just flitting around the room. About ten seconds later, a voice at the bar said to no one in particular, “Is somebody cooking bacon? I smell pig!” With that everything in the ex-gas station came to a stop. The pork product expert at the bar turned around, to reveal a shirtless chest beneath his vest. And right there, tattooed across that chest was one hyphenated word: KA-BOOM. Kari immediately wished she had insisted on coming back tomorrow. Chuck seemed unfazed. He headed straight for the mass of human flesh that was, obviously, Tony Gordon, and as he approached the pool table, said, “Tony Gordon. My name is Detective Alvarez, and this is Detective Weaver. We’re investigating an explosion. Where were you on Thursday, May 11th, between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m.?” “I don’t know, pig. Oh, wait. I remember. With your mother!” This infuriated Chuck, who quickened his pace. Kari thought, ‘What’s he doing? He doesn’t even have his weapon out. He’s walking past those slugs, putting himself in a bad spot.’ These thoughts all went through her head, in a nano-second. As he reached the pool players, she yelled, “Chuck! Stop! You’re giving up our advantage!” As she said this, she reached for her weapon. What happened next, seemed, to Detective Regina ‘Kari’ Weaver, to happen in super slow motion. The guy that Chuck had just walked past hit him in the back of the head with the pool stick. This sent Chuck sprawling towards the bar, where he was hit with a beer mug, so viciously, that Kari literally saw Chucks teeth hit the floor, seconds before Chuck did. While this was happening, Kari raised her Glock to protect her partner, only to realize, too late, that the biker chick had ‘flitted’ up next to her, and slashed her forearm, elbow to wrist, with a straight razor. Her weapon went flying into the corner, and she vaguely remembered seeing a beer bottle coming towards her, right before she lost consciousness.