Case of the Black Badge Ch. 01

"But perhaps something else that you haven't told me yet." I said, then straightened up and said formally: "Chief, I would suspect that Carroll became involved in this 'Superior Bloodlines' white supremacy group Agent Muscone has been investigating. Someone was investigating and came across the connection, then tipped off Agent Muscone, who is hoping to surprise me with this information." I then peered knowingly at Muscone. "Am I right, Jack?"

Muscone and the Chief just looked at each other with looks that said "Can't get anything by this man." Then the Chief started laughing. "That's going to be one mighty tasty beer you buy me, Muscone." he said, his mustaches quivering with merriment.

"Ha!" I said, grinning. "Chief, do you mean to tell me that Jack Muscone actually bet against me?"

"Damn," said Jack Muscone, pretending to look at his cellphone, "I don't know what the delay is in the FBI filling my requisition for a stake to burn you at. Here, I have some notes, emails and other information for you to read." Jack passed his notebook computer over to me.

"If memory serves me correctly," I said as I began to peruse the material, "Carroll was working with Patrolman Delmar. What about him?"

The Chief replied "He found a job with a Sheriff's Department in northern California. Napa Valley area, I think."


"That's correct." Muscone said. "Our agents out there went to see him. He said he'd had no contact with Carroll since leaving here, and he's had no contact with anyone here. He was eager to put the past behind him and continue his law enforcement career out there."

"I'm not surprised to hear that. So Carroll disappeared." I said. "Hmmm, some very strange things here, especially about this Colorado situation. So Jack, how did the Superior Bloodlines connection come up?"

"There are some groups in the border States that are militia types. They watch for illegal aliens crossing the border and report the crossings to the Border Patrol. Years ago, the Border Patrol would go out there and interdict the illegals, but in the last few years the Federal Government has made a studious point to ignore these groups and their information.

"To make a long story short, one of the groups is believed to be secretly funded by Superior Bloodlines through intermediary groups, and Carroll was seen having breakfast with a couple of their people. So when my team got the tip about that, we started looking into it."

"I guess I should be careful about which FBI agents I eat breakfast with." I said, needling Jack. "So do you think Carroll came to harm?"

"We don't know." said Muscone. "The DEA has had no reports of kidnappings or ransoms demanded, and no dead bodies found recently that matched Carroll in any way. He's pretty distinctive with that stocky body and dark red hair of his."

"Not to mention his butt-ugly face." I said. "So, you think maybe he's doing something for Superior Bloodlines? Or..." I suddenly went into a reverie, my eyes staring upwards.

"No..." I said, coming out of it. "He's in trouble, big trouble. Like you said, Jack, the way he left the Colorado job... that doesn't appear to be normal. He makes drug contacts and then POOF!, he just gets fired and practically shipped down to Arizona. And then he comes up with this supremacy group, then POOF!, he vanishes..."

"What are you thinking, Crowbar?" the Chief asked, his eyes peering and inquisitive.

"I could be wrong..." I said, still introspective, "but it strikes me that maybe Carroll wasn't just fired. Maybe they caught him in Colorado and offered him a deal... to go undercover and penetrate this Superior Bloodlines group... or... oh yeah... yeah... maybe he's already in the group, and the FBI turned him into a double agent, sent him down to Arizona..." I was rambling, my eyes still looking at the ceiling as thoughts flashed through my mind.

Then I came to. "Well, it's nearly 7:00am." I said. "Chief, mind if we go watch Bettina? Care to join us?"

"You go ahead." the Chief said. "Bless that young lady, but I get ulcers every time I hear her on the news. By the way, Jack... I think that's two beers you owe me." Jack just grimaced, though good-naturedly, of course.

--

"This is Bettina Wurtzburg, KXTC Channel Two News!" said the lovely redhead reporterette. "With only one week left in February, there has still not been any formal announcements in the election for Sheriff; however, Channel Two News has learned that this could change shortly, as the staff at County Democrat Headquarters has suddenly spiked in activity. Sources tell Channel Two News that the spike in activity may be related to an upcoming announcement for the Sheriff position. There has not been a Sheriff in the County in over three years. Let's now go to Chuck Pringle at the Sports desk. Chuck!"

"This is Chuck Pringle, KXTC Channel Two Sports." said the sportscaster, his full head of hair becoming slightly more gray by the month, if I am any observer of people (and I am). This was clearly a taped commentary, I realized as I listened: "Channel Two Sports has learned that the investigation into the University over PED use by the NCAA is over, and their report is expected within days. Sources tell Channel Two Sports that there may have been individual students using performance-enhancing drugs, but they've found nothing to suggest widespread issues at the institutional level, and that a one-year probation and reduction of two scholarships is likely all the University will receive as punishment. Sources also tell Channel Two Sports that the NCAA will be particularly harsh in their report regarding the total lack of cooperation by the Town & County Police in getting to the truth of this health and safety problem."

"And that's an understatement." I said, to no one in particular. In fact, I'd been particularly confrontational with the jerks the NCAA sent to interview me, especially when they 'demanded' that I cooperate and threatened legal action against me if I didn't. I need not tell what my reply might have been, as it may have involved a blue-colored object.

After that, a Court Order forbade the NCAA from speaking to the Town & County Police again, upon the grounds the NCAA was interfering with murder investigations, particularly murders committed by my rogue nephew Ned. The NCAA was extremely upset that the Wheels of Justice superseded their arrogant sense of self-importance.

"Thank you for that report, Chuck." Bettina said on the television, as if she were talking to Chuck live. "In a related story, on tonight's six o'clock broadcast we'll have Coach Brian Harlan's comments on the Board of Inquiry report that cleared police officers of any wrongdoing in the shooting death of his cousin, Police Detective Angela Harlan. While recent DNA evidence from St. Louis has confirmed that Detective Harlan was the serial killer known to local police and the FBI as the 'Black Widow', Coach Harlan still is calling for the SBI to investigate Town & County Police procedures as they were executed in the raid that killed his cousin. Now let's go to Priya Ajmani at the National Desk. Priya?"

"Thank you Bettina!" said the lovely Indian reporterette. I noticed Cindy begin to pay serious attention to the television screen as Priya continued: "Channel Two News has learned that there are no new leads in the assassination of a high-ranking employee of the U.S. Mint in Denver, Colorado. The employee was an accountant for the Federal Reserve, and traveled frequently between Denver and New York, where the New York Federal Reserve Bank is located.

"As you know, Bettina, the United States stores its gold in three places: the New York Federal Reserve Bank; Ft. Knox, Kentucky; and the Denver Mint; therefore, this crime is of particular interest to the Federal Government. The FBI says they have no leads, and are still trying to understand how the assassin was able to kill the Federal Reserve employee with one shot to the head, which occurred in front of over one hundred witnesses during a FED seminar in a secure hotel banquet room."

"Geez, Jack," I said, "how did you pull off that shot?" I was needling him, as he'd been in Denver at the time. He smiled, but then got serious.

"I'd like to know myself." Muscone said. "That's why I was there: I was investigating the shooting. No shot heard, no noise, guy just drops dead and then was found to have a .22LR slug in his head."

--

"What the heck is going on?" I asked as I walked around to the back patio of the 'Mountain Nest' after coming home from work. I heard the sound of a miter saw and observed workmen bringing plywood into the basement game room from outside. Laura and my mother were watching the construction. Laura looked exceptionally hot in her dress under her coat, and I especially enjoyed seeing her wearing her black boots with block heels. The soft leather of the boots molded to her shapely calves.

"Don, don't you remember our discussing having to move back in here when the baby comes?" asked Laura. I had forgotten about those conversations, and they'd been rather vague. "We're converting the basement to a mother-in-law apartment, literally, for your mom Phyllis. She'll have the privacy of the downstairs while the rest of us will live upstairs."

"I really don't need the full house space." my mother said. "The basement will be perfect for me. And I won't have to travel too far to see my grandchildren, but I'll have some private space I can retreat to when I need to."

"We really need to do this, Don." Laura said, seeing the expression on my face. "You've admitted The Cabin is too small to raise two children, and I need the space here to entertain as part of my duties with the University."

"I understand, and I don't disagree." I said. "But what about The Cabin?"

"You can still do work out of there, and I'm sure we'll be sneaking up there for some 'alone time'." Laura said. "And besides, as the children get older, you and I will need to go there if we're going to participate in the hot swinging activities that we've discussed."

"I see." I said. I knew this day had been coming. I loved The Cabin, and loved the view from up there, but I knew Laura had always loved living here in the Mountain Nest and wanted to return. Oh well... marriages are compromises, I realized...

I was given a quick tour of the basement, trying to stay out of the workmen's way. The big game room would be Mom's living room. The unfinished area, which had been a large closet of sorts, was being converted to a small kitchen. The unfinished room to the side, which had been used as a workshop and hobby room, was being converted into a bedroom. The potty happened to be in just the right place that the other wall was opened up and a sink and shower could be installed. It was going to be nice.

"They'll be done within a month." Laura said. "They said two weeks, but I'm not foolish enough to believe they're going to be working every minute of every day. Let's go upstairs for a moment."

We went up the outside steps to the kitchen, which would be the only way to the patio from the main house. Laura explained that the door to the indoor stairs to the basement would have deadbolts on both sides, mostly to keep the children from invading their grandmother's personal space as the kids got older. Laura took me upstairs to the master bedroom.

"Well, welcome back home." I said. "I know you've always loved this bedroom."

My wife went and closed the door to the bedroom, then came up to me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me... deeply.

"Yes, and I want you to promise me something." she said. "I want this to be our marital room and our marital bed, and let's promise each other to never bring any other people in here for sex. We can swing at The Cabin or in any of the other rooms here, but let this room be just for us."

"Sure thing." I said, "And let's break it in right now." I eased Laura back to the king-sized bed, which had been hers for years. I tackled her onto the bed and mounted her, opening my pants as she hitched the skirt of her dress up. No foreplay was needed; we were aroused and hot for each other.

Seconds later we groaned together as she guided my throbbing cock into her sopping wet slit, and I began fucking her with hard, steady thrusts. I felt the block heels of her boots pressing against the back of my thighs and my ass as Laura wrapped her luscious legs around me, keeping me trapped inside her as we rutted lustily on our exclusively marital bed.

We shared deep, passionate kisses as we hotly mated with a hard, driving rhythm, the only other sounds being our gasps of "I love you!" between kisses. I felt my nut rising powerfully, ready and eager to shoot my hot load deep into my wife's burning twat...

Part 4 - Along Racial Lines

"We the Jury find the defendant... Not Guilty." the forewoman said to the Court, reading from the script. It was February 22d.

Assistant District Attorney Sanders and his young assistant prosecutor grimaced in anger, their heads bowed as the verdict was read. The nineteen-year-old black man who had just been acquitted of drug possession and distribution charges was hugging his lawyers and his mother as the judge, who looked as peeved and unhappy as the ADA, went through the rituals with the jury in the process of concluding this tribunal of Justice.

As he collected his belongings, ADA Sanders looked back over the crowd. Then his eyes locked with mine. I'd been sitting in the back of the Court, watching the proceedings, knowing that the correct verdict had been reached. This young man had been innocent, and while I did not (yet) throw police officers under the bus for possibly planting evidence against the kid, I had helped the defense lawyers with information that helped to acquit the defendant.

ADA Sanders glared at me, his face growing redder and more furious with anger with each passing second. Then he grabbed his stuff and rushed out the side door of the Court used by prosecutors.

--

"Crowbar, be sure to wear a 'duty dress' uniform today." my cellphone growled at me at 5:00am the next morning. The voice was actually Chief Griswold's. "We're going to be going to D.A. Krasney's office at 8:00am, and we're going to look sharp as hell when we do."

A 'duty dress' uniform was just short of a formal dress uniform. 'Duty dress' consisted of a white shirt and black necktie, a dark blue Police jacket with my badge over the left pocket and the metal-framed red and purple squares denoting the Medal of Valor and Purple Order over my right pocket and nametag. The silver bars of a Lieutenant adorned the epaulets of the jacket near the shoulders. Light blue piping circled the sleeves a couple of inches above the wrist. The pants were the same dark blue with light blue piping along the side. The Chief wanted me to look sharp, and I could guess the reason.

--

"So Lieutenant, is it true that you helped the defense counsel with this case?" asked District Attorney Gil Krasney, trying hard to make the glare in his eyes meaningful. I was having none of it.

"You better believe it, Mr. Krasney." I replied, looking the D.A. square in the eyes. I was standing in front of his desk, the Chief next to me. We had not been invited to sit down, and Krasney was acting pissed at us. So I stood up straight and let my eyes bore into his. "The man was innocent."

"Like hell, he was!" shouted Assistant District Attorney Sanders, who was to my left and Krasney's right. He was red-faced with anger over the verdict, and I suspected he'd stayed angry all through the previous night.

"Sanders!" Krasney barked, as if to a misbehaving dog. "Lighten up. I'll handle this." He exhaled, then realized Sanders had screwed up the semblance of a dressing-down, so he said "Sit down, all of you, please." We did so.

"Okay Don, here's the problem..." said Krasney, which irritated me. Krasney was not my superior, as the D.A.'s office held no real power over the police department, and he was also not my friend; ergo, his use of my first name was inappropriate. If Krasney noted my irritation, he did not show it. "The Police are supposed to help the prosecutors, not the defense lawyers. If you had a problem with the case, you should've brought it to the attention of ADA Sanders, and not gone around his back to help the defense."

"I did contact ADA Sanders, Mr. Krasney." I said. "Twice. He ignored me both times, leaving me no choice but to give the Defense some pointers on the blatant inconsistencies of Brody and Gunn's work, not to mention Sanders' own botched up persecution- er, prosecution of a completely innocent man.

"Furthermore, Mr. Krasney, I do not agree with you at all that I'm obligated to help the Prosecution only. If a man is innocent and I can prove it, I will do so. I am on the side of Justice, Mr. Krasney, not just the side of the Prosecution."

Not only had I helped the defense, I'd practically engineered it. Nathaniel Jones's case had been assigned to Dexter Epstein, the least experienced and least competent public defender in the County legal system. I had talked to Jeanine Olivet Burke, Esq., who took over the case for Jones pro bono after hearing just a few words out of my mouth about the case.

Jeanine had proceeded to rip Sanders to shreds, legally that is, including forcing him to reveal information that had been hidden during discovery, and she lodged one ethics complaint against him for that. Then she'd ripped the two officers that made the bust and testified against Jones: Sergeant Brody and Patrolman Tommy Gunn... the same Tommy Gunn who kept showing up on my radar. By the time Jeanine was done, the jury was ready to acquit -AND- recommended an investigation of the Police Department for the shoddy policework exhibited by Brody and Gunn. Internal Affairs had been contacted.

"You idiot, I ignored you because we had a good case against Jones!" Sanders shouted, at the edge of losing restraint. "I know a hell of a lot more about prosecuting crimes than you do, asshole-." He rose out of his chair and stepped towards me, as if he were going to physically assault me. Of course I rose up to meet the threat.

"Sanders! Sit the fuck down! Now!" Krasney barked again, half-rising from his own chair behind his desk. "Lieutenant, please... have a seat. Come on now, gentlemen, this is ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous, Mr. Krasney, is this so-called police officer helping the other side." hissed Sanders. "Jones? He's a low-life from the Streets. Crime is in his blood. If he didn't go to jail for this crime, he will for the next one! What was the point of fucking up my prosecution now?"

"Are you out of your tree?" I said, stunned at what I'd just heard from a Town & County Assistant District Attorney. "This kid has never been arrested before, much less had priors. He's worked his ass off just to take care of his mother and sister, and go to Community College. He's a good kid in every way. How can you even sit there and say he's a bad kid?" Sanders lost control.

"Because he's just a god-damn, two-bit nigger!! There's not one god-damn bit of good in him at all!" Sanders yelled at me.

I did stand up at that, staring at Sanders in total shock, and also righteous anger. Sanders' face bore an ugly countenance, full of furious hatred. Krasney was gaping in utter shock, while the Chief was watching me to make sure I didn't do anything he would regret later.

"Well..." I said in a quiet voice, breaking the tension-filled silence, "I guess we now know the real reason you tried to frame that kid."

"Now hold on, Lieutenant!" Krasney said. "My ADA didn't try to frame anyone. It may have been a bad case, but it's not a dirty one. Sanders's remarks are inappropriate, but-"

The Chief stood up, stopping me from saying- or doing- anything else. "Don, don't let me get to the door before you. Let's go." To the D.A., he said "Gil, this meeting is over. I'd suggest you have an extremely thorough conversation with your employee here."