Once Were Cops Read Free Page A

“Then get in the fucking car, get us
    out of here.”
    Kebar looked at his sheet, the assignments they’d
    pulled, and said,
    “Head for Brooklyn, can you find that?”
    Shea was going to tell him he now lived there but
    buttoned it, just nodded, thinking,
    “Holy fook, I get a psycho on me first day.”
    They were passing an area of deserted lots, mud on
    the ground, no signs of habitation, and Kebar said,
    “Pull up here.” Shea, nervous, before he could stop
    himself, went, “Here?” “Deaf as well?” He pulled
    over. Kebar got out, said, “You hear of backup, get
    out of the fucking car.” Shea got tangled in his
    safety belt and harness, all the frigging equipment
    and it weighed a ton, plus, the uniform, Christ, how
    hot was it? And it itched. Kebar said, “Before the
    weekend, maybe?” Shea, finally out, waited and
    Kebar said, “Go, I’m behind you.”
    And for a wild moment, Shea wondered if the mad
    bastard was going to shoot him. The other cops had
    already told him of how Kebar’s partners never
    lasted.
    Before he could think beyond this, he got an
    almighty push in the back, sent him sprawling in
    the mud, covering his brand-new blues in crap and
    dirt.
    He rolled round, tempted to go for his piece,
    Kebar was slugging from a flask, said,
    “Now that’s more like it, you don’t look like such
    a freaking virgin. We go into the hood, they see that
    shiny new blue, we’re meat.”
    And then he turned back to the car.
    Shea watched his retreating bulk and hated him
    with a ferocity of pure intent.
    As they drove off, Kebar was chuckling and Shea
    asked, “You going to share the joke?” Kebar
    looked at him, said, “First day on the job, you’re
    already a dirty cop.”
    They did a full day, settling domestics, leaning on
    dope dealers, cop stuff, some of it wildly
    exhilarating and most boring as hell.
    And Shea, he never attempted to change his
    uniform or even brush the mud off it.
    Kebar was impressed, he didn’t let on but thought,
    “Kid has cojones.”
    Even better, he didn’t whine or complain,
    whatever nasty task Kebar set him, and he sure had
    some beauts, the kid just went at them, head down,
    his mouth set in a grim smile. End of the shift,
    Kebar was tempted to say, “You done good.” Went
    with: “Early start tomorrow, don’t be late.” The
    kid looked down at his feet, asked, “You want to
    grab a cold one?”
    And for a moment, Kebar nearly said yes, then
    reined it in, said,
    “I don’t drink with the help.” EVERYONE HAS
    THEIR ACHILLES’ HEEL, THE ONE AREA that
    makes them vulnerable. From Bush to Bono, there
    is something they don’t want known.
    Be it pretzels or lack of height.
    Kebar’s was his sister, Lucia.
    She had a serious mental handicap and now, in her
    thirties, she still had the face and mind of a five-
    year-old.
    Their parents had been horrified and regarded her
    as a curse.
    They had tried to beat it out of her, literally.
    Now, she was in a very expensive home, where
    they treated her well, and she seemed, if not happy,
    at least less terrorized. Out on Long Island, it cost
    a bundle to keep her there. Kebar poured every
    nickel into her upkeep. He was losing the battle.
    The thought of her being put into one of the state
    institutions filled him with dread.
    She’d been there already, courtesy of her parents,
    and suffered serious setbacks on every level.
    Soon as Kebar could, he got her out of there, and
    into the new home.
    The freight was killing him, he didn’t go to ball
    games, or buy new clothes, every damn dime went
    to her. It wasn’t enough.
    Enter the wiseguys.
    A particular slice of sleaze named Morronni,
    feeling Kebar out and finally putting it to him:
    “You need some serious wedge and we can give it
    to you.”
    How the fucks knew about Lucia, he didn’t even
    ask, that was their gig, secrets.
    He wanted to get his K-bar, ram it down the
    cocksucker’s throat, but it was a week when he
    couldn’t make the payments