Dark City Blue: A Tom Bishop Rampage Read Free Page A

down.’
    ‘What shit?’ Ellison said. ‘Some fairytale about a network of bent cops? Some bullshit about a robbery tomorrow morning? You don’t know who they are, what they’re robbing. You don’t know shit.’
    ‘Beanzie will tell you; go ask him. He hangs out on Brunswick Street.’
    ‘Is Beanzie his real name?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What is?’
    Roach couldn’t remember. ‘Fuck.’
    Ellison left the room.
    ‘Hey,’ Roach’s cracked voice yelled. ‘Six AM. It’s meant to happen at 6 AM. Fucking 6 AM, 6-fucking-AM. Tomorrow at 6 AM.’ And the more he said it, the more insane he grew at the sound of his own voice.
    Wilson flicked the switch and muted the interview room audio.
    ‘Do you believe him?’ Bishop asked.
    ‘The commissioner believes it and I believe what she tells me to believe so we’re looking into it.’ Wilson cocked his head and smiled. ‘What do you say? Do you want in?’
    ‘Every second crim whips out that story when they’re busted. Justice is nothing but a dead end.’
    ‘It’s not the first time you’ve chased a dead end that led somewhere.’
    Bishop dry-rubbed his face. He was tired and Roach had given him a headache. ‘Put Ethical Standards on; Jim Patterson would chew this up.’
    ‘Jim Patterson is only looking to get his head on the telly. He’s still trying to save the career he had before his leg was blown off. The commissioner wants this taken care of quietly. If it gets out that a group of officers pulled a robbery and we knew about it, it’ll fuck us up for years. There will be budget cuts across the board. Then we’ve got low-paid officers, then we’ve got corrupt officers. We need to find Justice and stop whatever is happening tomorrow at 6 AM.’
    ‘I’m not in any shape for this.’
    ‘If this thing goes down, a lot of people are going to get hurt.’ Wilson put a fatherly hand on Bishop’s shoulder. ‘I don’t have anyone else I can trust.’
    Bishop gave a weak nod. ‘Alright, I’ll look into it.’
    ‘Good,’ he said, slapping Bishop’s shoulder. ‘Give me updates. Any lead, no matter how insignificant, forward it on.’
    Wilson headed to his office and Bishop waited until the locker room was empty before taking a shower. His forty-year-old body was an embarrassment, covered with the history of his life in a mess of tattoos, scars and gunshot wounds. Even after a shower he could still smell the gunpowder on his hands and hear the ringing in his ears from the mess at the green stucco house.
    Bishop rode the elevator to the lobby. It was brown and empty and he was half way across it when the Desk Constable called him over.
    ‘The hospital sent this over,’ he said and handed Bishop a clear bag.
    He could see the contents through the plastic. The possessions of a young girl: purse, keys, bracelet. All of them smeared in blood.
    *
    Bishop parked a block from his apartment. Down the street, a kid, fifteen years old, pants low, hat high, was struggling to jemmy a car window. Rubbish piled around the wheels; the vehicle hadn’t moved in months.
    Bishop called out: ‘Hey.’
    The kid turned, took one look, thought Bishop was nothing to worry about and went back to work on getting arrested.
    Bishop unclipped his badge and held it out for him to see. ‘Hey, dickhead.’
    The kid took off as fast as his oversized pants would allow him. A moment later, he was gone.
    Bishop’s apartment: three rooms, a balcony, no view and hints of her every place he looked. Shoes left where they had been kicked off. A coat on the back of a chair. A coffee cup with lipstick traces.
    Her memory, everywhere. It suffocated him.

Chapter Three

Ten months ago
    Tom Bishop heard the screams from down the hall. He heard them from the lobby. He even heard them from the car park. The call that pulled him out of bed came thirty minutes ago, and at first he thought it was just a couple of guys pulling a bullshit joke. But even the best bullshit has a hint of truth in it.
    There were