02nd of December, 1964
Police Department, 715 S Broad Street, New Orleans.

“Dandeline, come here.” Chief Davis’s husky voice reached my ears as I tidied up my new office - a dusty piece of furniture in a corner with the bare necessities for my predecessor’s reports and paperwork. It was a mess that could drive even the timidest man mad.

I got up, feeling everyone scratching me with their gaze from head to toe. I was the new guy, some sort of invader in their not-so-perfect paradise. They had their own way of working things; they had their very own code, in a sense, and they felt threatened by my presence. I could understand that feeling. I wasn’t some kid who got out of the academy and just began my first steps in this world. I knew things and I had many years of experience. They couldn’t possibly treat me like an amateur, but I wasn’t expecting them to see me as an equal either. I did the best in my willpower to ignore their antics and obediently walk to the chief’s office.

“How do you like it here?” His laid-back manner gave me the impression that he just wanted to start a meaningless conversation before jumping to the true issue of interest.

“It depends,” I replied nonchalantly. “If you’re referring to the police station, my bedsit is neater than this shed. If you’re talking about the city, it does give off a different vibe. A fresh air, of a sort.” I sat on the chair and looked at him carefully.

“You won’t find a city nearly as intoxicating as this one, detective. Some say that it is enchanted by the pure magic of jazz and the ol’ voodoo spells. I say that the ladies here are far more interesting than anywhere else. Nothing can beat a good female company, Dandeline, and certainly not one with raven hair and chocolate skin. I’m telling you; these thoughts keep me moving despite the ugly pictures our job force us with.”

That man in his fifties with thin, grey hair, pale blue eyes and a half-burnt cigarette on his thin lips was definitely someone who would make my stay here a living hell if I wasn’t careful enough.

“Chicago has its own charm as well.” Rubbish.

“But it wasn’t enough to keep you forever. You came a long way and far from home, son. Was it the paycheck? It’s no different here if that is what you are after. I might as well warn you that it’s a few bucks down the ladder.”

“One of the reasons, sir.” 

Charles offered me one of his cigarettes, which I accepted with a smile. I pulled out my own zippo, a remnant of a forgotten meeting in a crowded bar with jazz tunes in the background and a scent of almonds. Her name got tangled in my tongue, a playful yet harsh game. I swallowed hard and along with the thick smoke, she disappeared within me.

“Christopher told me a lot about you. If I didn’t trust his word, you wouldn’t be here. You owe the old man a lot.”

“As he owes me. He didn’t go through all this trouble because I simply asked him to. If it was entirely up to him, I’d never step away from under his wing, let alone leave the city and the department.” I explained with my eyes steadily studying his movements.

By the looks of it, Charles knew what I was talking about. Hell, he had my file in front of him and I bet Christopher had told him everything about who I was and how much I valued my job, so everything was just a matter of whether he’d go through the trouble of reading it or have me confess. Both alternatives were freaking me out.

“Of course, the Shallow Grove case.” He nodded, the flame of his lighter trembling as he lit up yet again his snout.

  “I spent seventeen months in the darkest pits of the South Side Mafia,” my gaze was fixed on the cigarette and the flame that was slowly eating it away. For a moment there I lost myself into those unpleasant memories of darkness, dishonesty, and constant fear. It was a kind of melancholic hell, that somehow I was still yearning. “I learned to be wary of my own shadow,” I continued, dusting off the tip on the ashtray, “even of my own colleagues.”

Charles stood up and walked over to the table as I took another, deeper sip of my smoke. I heard him pouring some drink in two glasses and when he returned, he slid one of them to me.

“I’ve read the reports. You lost eleven officers that night, one of whom had been your partner for years.”

“Richard.” His name felt like a pill forgotten on my mouth’s palette slowly spreading its bitterness. We were partners from day one; a bond that can’t be easily broken, but under the right circumstances… “God rest his soul. He was a good man and a very promising investigator.”

No one was ever safe. Good or bad; it never mattered. Death comes to all. I believe that the silence that followed was a mutual understanding of these thoughts. Charles had his own grim stories to tell, and for me, Richard’s death was one of the worst.

“Christopher also mentioned something that I couldn’t find in your file, and perhaps for a good reason.”
At the sound of those words, I instantly froze. I set the glass down and inhaled the last sip of my cigar. The smoke entered my lungs and burnt them pleasantly. There were many actions of the past, as well as events, that I regretted; ill decisions, wrong turns, losing control. All of them were a result of my human nature and a reminder of it.

“Two decades ago, I lost a good ol’ pal of mine. They shot him right in between his eyes” he pointed to the spot. “It happened in front of me. Some gangs were fighting in the middle of the city, they were provoking each other for days but a new member somehow managed to kill one of them. It was broad daylight. We were called to break them off. It wasn’t a rare occurrence; I knew that already. The bullet hit him before I even said anything to them. It was more like a warning for us. They saw us, they felt threatened and took measures. Everything happened so fast it took me a good few minutes to realise that it was his blood splattered around me.” Charles emptied his glass in one sip and continued. “The most tragic victim was his wife. Nancy fainted three times at the funeral, and she barely talked to us. I wanted to console her, to say something; to let her know that his death was not in vain, but I couldn’t find the right words. Much later, I learned that she moved back with her mother. Apparently, it was a desperate measure so the girl wouldn’t fall off some bridge in an attempt to end her life and be reunited with her loved one.” He sighed and his gaze was fixed on the empty glass, “As for myself, I drowned my pain and grief in alcohol. They even gave me two weeks leave, but I rarely stepped foot in my house. I wanted to get away from anything familiar and just grieve on my own terms.”

I avoided eye contact. 

When Richard was killed, I also attended his funeral to comfort his parents and fiancée. I had met them several times and yet they seemed like total strangers to me. His wife was silently standing next to his mother and father, wearing a black dress and veil. She didn’t break down, nor did she cry. I watched the wife of a police officer, accepting this cruel fate with pride and no one dared to question her pain. I didn’t cry for Richard. On the contrary, the next day I was back on duty as if nothing had ever happened. Christopher was worried I was losing my mind or that I was going to lose it by piling up myself with work. So, he asked once and twice if I was absolutely certain of my choices. The third time I stopped answering and eventually he stopped asking. Everyone lost someone during the operation. I lost my best friend. But I didn’t cry. I knew by heart that if I ruined my career because of his loss, the bastard would haunt me for the rest of my life.

I felt the atmosphere within the room thickening.

“Everyone chooses how to grieve their dead ones.” I finally replied and picked up the glass of amber liquid, taking two long sips.

“I can’t argue with that.” Charles sat back in his leather chair and cupped his chin with his fingers. “He didn’t even cry for his own mother, Charles. Those were Christopher’s exact words, and I can’t help but wonder if he was just exaggerating so you could get transferred or not.”

“Christopher is not a liar.” I took the heavy insult personally.

I stood up, ready to storm off and end this ridiculous discussion, when I noticed Charles’ intense gaze following my every move. “It’s my own business what I do when I am off duty and how I handle my personal affairs.” I was getting impatient, angry. If the air in that office was unbearable before, now I could say that breathing was too damn difficult. I felt flames gathering up my chest, forcing me to open my mouth and start a pointless argument. Snooping around won’t give you answers, and it certainly won’t force me into explaining myself, was all I wanted to spit in his face. I knew better than that, though.

“Now, now,” he motioned his hand up and down as he stretched his body in an attempt to stop me from leaving.

 “No reason to get defensive. I only want to make sure you really are a tough nut, William.”

I watched him sitting back, more relaxed than a few seconds ago, yet he uncovered his troubled side. Then, the sound of knocking caught us both by surprise.

“Come in!” he replied while I returned back to my seat.

“Chief, he is waiting outside to see you.” The low voice that reached my ears belonged to Charles’s secretary, Miss Halley, a young woman who had found herself ‘trapped’ in a den of lions.

I didn’t pay attention to the brief conversation they held. Apparently, someone who wanted to meet the Chief had come, yet Charles was in no mood and had his hands full with me. Not a minute after, the girl closed the door, forcing us to return to that awkward and stiff silence.

“Things have gone downhill. We have more disturbances than a decade ago. You’d think that the people crave peace, but my experience all these years has proven the exact opposite. Otherwise, why all this fuss?” 

I had my own share of answers; poverty, governments that worked only for their personal gain, war wounds that were still open and bleeding, gushing out worse demons than Pandora’s box.

I let him continue.

“And I am not talking about those gangs or the poor kids that run around pickpocketing and stealing. Every city and every damn place has their own rascals. It’s how this shitty world works after all.”

  Chicago had its own share of troubles, it was no secret, and perhaps the worst of the state. Drug dealers had filled up the city, the mafia was thriving, murderers were popping up out of nowhere almost every year. The criminal rates had gone off charts and it was a worldwide occurrence. I couldn’t argue with him.

“I’m talking about killings and lots of them too. Just this year, the spring floods washed up twelve bodies, all junkies with needle holes in every vein you could imagine. But twelve of them, and they seemed to have been dead for months.”

“Probably the waters must have fastened the decay of the flesh-”

“Making it impossible to determine their exact time of death, yes.” He shook his head, sighing deeply. “Junkies drop dead every day; I don’t care about those scums. They chose this life and they meet the consequences sooner or later, but I can’t turn a blind eye when that many corpses show up.”

“I’ve seen addicts dying in corners or at the steps of the church. Some even die in pairs, either overdosing or dying by malnourishment. That many of them, though…" It was a true headache. “Are you sure that they weren’t connected? Perhaps a mass suicide?”

“We searched the entire town. Trust me, boy, I know almost everyone; from the god-sent pastor to the worst and most seclusive parties. There are a few cults here and there; none too dangerous and we also keep them under tight surveillance for the sake of peace in the community. If one of them had taken such extreme measures we would have known.”

“What about the missing reports?”

“Are you implying how to do my job, son?”

I couldn’t fully understand whether he was playing with or he was dead serious and I had just made the grave mistake of insulting him. However, it was clear to Charles that the case he was talking about had intrigued me.

“I am only trying to connect the dots.”

“No reports. As I said, junkies. Runaways and forgotten from their families. Who would even look for them? It’s no use, William, to even try and think. Once the storms passed and the weather got warmer, we found a destroyed cabin only a mile away from where the bodies had washed up. Apparently, the flood ruined their little shelter and they had no chance of escaping.” Charles licked his lower lip, swallowing some words he wanted to add, but I said them for him.

“You didn’t buy that.”

“It was a well-constructed lie, directed to the Press, so they would stop pestering us. I had locals coming at the station and mumbling about curses, death angels and demons! They were terrorising the rest of the civilians and my men as well.” It was a fired-up attempt to convince me, but also himself that his actions were righteous. “As I previously mentioned,” he toned it down, “no one cares about drug addicts. A week later or two, it became old news and we moved on.”

“What else could have been done, right?” I questioned, morally torn.

Charles could have dug deeper and found the true culprit, because that number of corpses was suspiciously high. Then again natural disasters were deadly for the minorities most of the time, so it was a plausible scenario.

“I didn’t grow up here. In fact, I moved in when I was around your age, give or take. But these are my people, my town, and I want to protect them in the best way I can. So, I am asking you, son, are you the tough bastard that Christopher told me about or are you just full of shit?” 

“Death never stopped me from doing my job, and it never will if that’s what you need to hear.”

“Very well,” he rose, leaned towards me, and extended his hand like the true devil he was. “Welcome to New Orleans.”