Rollins Hates Cops

I carried the paper to my desk, where the light was better. The note read, "Pat, meet me at Billy's tonight. It is important. Jen." I looked at the note several times before I replaced it inside the book's spine. I added the book to my small bookcase. I did it to hide the book. I know that sounds paranoid, but then like I said, I write a lot of mystery stories.

While all this was going on, my TV dinner was burning. It never caught fire, I doubt anything in it would have burned. It just got hard as a shoe sole. That was just the mashed potatoes, you can imagine what the hamburger was like. I threw it out. I gave it a lot of thought before going out to dinner. Like I said, I'm a little paranoid so I expected the worst when I returned. That being the case, I wasn't at all surprised to find the uniformed cop standing outside my broken door.

"So you live here?" he asked as I headed to the door.

"Yes, I do officer. What happened?"

"Your neighbor heard the door being kicked in. She called the emergency number."

"Did you get him?" I asked.

"Afraid not."

"Can I go in? I have a computer in there. I want to see if they took it."

"He didn't have time to do more than rifle the place for cash. You got good neighbors. I wish I had them. My place has been broken into twice." the cop said.

I checked the computer first thing. It seemed to be the same as when I left it. The short story had even finished printing. Next I looked at my sealed boxes. Each was still sealed. I knew what the burglar had been looking for. He wouldn't have bothered with the cartons or the computer. Not, if time were short. He would have rifled my desk drawers. That is, if my desk had any drawers. Instead he dumped everything from the two open boxes I used as file cabinets. He had also pulled every book from the bookcase. They lay in a heap on the floor.

Hidden among them was the book Jennifer had left with me. I wanted to check the spine but I decided to wait till the cop left. "It looks like everything is here."

"What do you think he was after?" the cop asked.

"Probably the computer. That and a couple of cameras are about all I have of value. At least in the apartment."

"Did you check the cameras?" he asked.

"Actually I didn't. Wait here just a minute. I went into the dressing room to open a drawer in the wall filled with drawers. I didn't think the burglar had gotten that far. I thought that, since none of the drawers appeared to have been opened. As I expected, I found my cameras right where I left them. Unlike the cop, I knew what he was looking for. "Everything is fine here," I said returning to the living/bedroom area.

The cop walked to the door. "You are going to need a whole new door. Is there anywhere else you can stay?" he asked. He saw my blank look. "You know just in case he comes back."

"Do you really think that is likely?"

"You never know about a burglar." he replied.

"Do me a favor, will you?"

"If I can." he replied.

"A young woman lives a couple of doors down. I haven't seen her today. Would you go knock on her door?"

"Sure, just point it out." he said.

A close look at Jennifer's door showed that it too had been pried open. The cop told me to stand back, while he entered the room. Inside we found that it had been searched a lot more closely than mine. Evidently Jennifer didn't have neighbors as good as mine.

"Do you know where the woman who lives here is at the moment?" the cop asked.

"I have no idea. I just haven't seen her around since early afternoon. She is a bit of a busybody, if you know what I mean. I would have expected her to be standing outside my door. I was a bit concerned, you know with the break-in and all." I explained lamely.

"Well her TV and Stereo are still here. My guess is that nothing of any great value is missing. Unless she kept a lot of cash around?" He obviously thought I knew whether she did or not.

"I have no idea. This is the first time I have ever been inside her apartment." I answered truthfully.

"I think, I ought to get the crime scene boys out here. There is something more to this than I am seeing."

I nodded my head in agreement. I didn't know what else to do. I stayed in the hall for two more hours. First, while we waited for the middle aged fat man to spread finger print dust everywhere. Then while we waited for a detective unit to arrive.

"Rollins is that you?" I heard the voice from my rear.

I turned to face detective Marsha Thomlinson. "Marsha when did you become a detective?" I asked.

"A couple of years ago. That would have been a year after you left the department. You still writing for those trashy magazines?"

"Every chance I get."

"So what happened?" she asked of me. The cop seemed a little disappointed that she didn't ask him.

"Got me, I was having dinner at the time. The officer over there is the one to ask." I said. I wanted him on my side.

"Somebody broke into the apartment down the hall first, then into Mr. Rollins' apartment." he said.

"Rollins, you ever get used to being called Mister," Tomlinson asked.

"Don't have to. He is the first one who ever called me that." I said it with a broad smile.

"Kid, you are looking at a bona fide hero. Rollins here was decorated, what Rollins twice?"

"Come on Marsha give me a break. You know you are going to tell him the rest of it, so let's just skip it all."

"No way, the kid should know. After all, how often does he get to meet a legend. Kid, he was decorated once during the black panther stand off, and once for pulling another cop out of the open during a shoot out with a nut case." she said aimlessly.

"Really, you used to be a cop?" the kid asked. He couldn't believe it. Hell, I couldn't either. I was long past those days.

"Yeah, just don't believe all that cap., she is dishing out. In those days they gave you medals instead of raises." I said it trying to play it all down.

"Then kid, he gets fired. You know what for?" she asked. The kid of course shook his head. "Excessive force, Rollins pushed a suspect down two flights of stairs. Actually it wouldn't have been so bad, but the kid stopped after the first flight. Rollins kicked his ass down the second one. If we hadn't had a review board at the time, he wouldn't even have had to explain."

"Okay detective, you have rehashed the whole sorry mess for the kid. He has now been warned that medals for valor mean nothing, when it comes to race relations. How about giving it a rest."

"Okay hero, you got any idea who trashed your place?" she asked sarcastically.

"Not unless you did. Give me a break Marsha, that was all a long time ago. Let's move past it." I said it hoping she would ease up a bit.

"You got a coffee pot in there?" she asked.

"Sure come on in. We can all have a cup, while we try to sort this out." I suggested.

"Kid you stay and chaperone," Marsha ordered.

"I was about to suggest that myself. God knows, I don't trust you worth a damn." I said it just as sarcastically as she had.

Once inside my apartment, I began the long process of making coffee. I poured boiling water into a funnel filled with coffee grounds.

"Why don't you come into the twentieth century Rollins. They have machines to do that now," Marsha suggested.

"I guess I am old fashioned," I answered. I didn't reply as I wished I could have.

"Okay, so who is the broad down the hall?" she asked. I knew I was in trouble. The patrol officer had heard me imply that we were friends.

"I don't really know her. You know how it is living in an apartment. I spoke to her a couple of times." I didn't say that it had been exactly two times.

"How long has she been living here?" Marsha asked.

"I can't say. Like I said she was just here one day. Come on Marsha, you know how it is in apartments."

"Try this one then. What is the connection between you two?"

"None that I know of. She just lives down the hall."

"Do you happen to know where she is?" Marsha kept it up.

I poured us each a cup of the finished coffee. I think she has family in town but I don't know their names. She might be with them. Hell, she might be staying with a boyfriend. Some people are lucky that way."

"Speaking of that way, how is that wife of yours?" Marsha threw it in innocently enough.

"Divorced," I replied.

"Really, she finally wised up?"

"Got a better offer, I expect." I said that with as much malice as I could manage.

"I figure someone was looking for something. What do you think."

"I expect Maggie found what she was looking for." I said it, knowing full well she had switched subjects again.

"I mean the burglar. I think he was looking for something in your friend's apartment. When he didn't find it there, he came looking here. What do you think?"

"Seems logical," there was no sense denying it. "Though I have no idea what it might have been, or why he thought I had it."

"Were you sleeping with her Rollins?" Marsha asked.

"That a cop question, or a personal one?" I had about reached the end of my cooperation.

"You know damned well it isn't personal," Marsha snapped.

"I told you, I only spoke to her a couple of times."

"That isn't really an answer. It has been my experience that men don't talk a lot." She said it with the hint of a smile.

"No, I wasn't sleeping with her. I have no idea where she is, or why anyone would rifle her apartment. That should just about cover it."

"Well, if you see her before me, tell her I need to talk to her." Marsha said that as she stood to leave.

"I'll do that," I promised. as I walked to the door with the two cops.

"You going to be all right Mr. Rollins? I mean with the broken door and all?" the young cop asked.

"Don't worry about Rollins, worry about the burglar, if he is stupid enough to come back." Marsha said it without a hint of a smile.

Once they had gone, I set about fixing the door as best I could. Which turned out to be a chair propped against the knob to secure the bottom. I used the deadbolt to secure the top. I was tempted to sit thinking about the incident, but I needed to start on a piece I was writing for the American Artist Magazine. I wrote for them under an assumed name. It was standard practice. As a matter of fact I used several pen names. It would never do for the public to learn how few writers actually filled their magazines with trash.

I finished the first draft of the piece, before I heard the knock on my door. Before I answered, I picked up my Colt. The little five shot snub nose was accurate only about twenty feet. I planned to be a damned sight closer than that, if I used it. I looked out the spy hole to see Detective Thomlinson standing in the hall. I slowly removed the chair then threw the bolt.

"What can I do for you detective?" I asked.

"You could invite me in for more coffee. You still make the best damned coffee in the state." she said it as she strode past me.

I followed her into the kitchen, where she planted her ass on a chair. I poured her the several hours old coffee. She might have expected me to speak, but I wasn't about to say a word.

"You were expecting me weren't you?" she asked.

"Let's say, I'm not all that surprised. Then again, nothing much surprises me anymore."

"So how long you and Maggie, the bitch been divorced?" she asked.

"Most all day today," I replied.

"No seriously?" she asked.

"Tomorrow at ten it will be one day. I signed the papers this morning."

"You really have had a full day, Haven't you?" she remarked.

"Yeah well, some days are better than others." I said it with a smile.

"You never change Rollins. Would you have called me? I mean, now that you are divorced."

"Marsha, that part of my life is over. I'm not a cop and I don't spend time with cops."

"You know, I have always cared about you." She said it looking down into her coffee cup.

"I care about you, Marsha. That's why I don't want to start anything with you. It would be for the wrong reasons."

"You said that before, but you never explained. I want you to explain it now," she demanded.

"No you don't," I answered.

"If you don't explain it to me right now, so help me God, I am going to pull my gun and shoot your sorry ass." She was almost in tears.

"Okay, if you want me to explain it that badly, I will. Look, what you felt for me was gratitude. What I felt for you was friendship. That isn't much to build a relationship on. It wouldn't have lasted a week."

"Gratitude, why you insufferable prick. Just because you dragged my ass out of the line of fire. Hell, it wasn't that big a deal." she said it with a smile. "Besides, I know you were just doing it to get a feel."

"Exactly, and that's what it would be again."

"So what's wrong with that. I am way over twenty one." she said.

"Come on Marsha, you wouldn't be satisfied with that. You deserve better and you know it." I said it hoping to finish the conversation on a high note.

"Rollins, how long has it been since you and Maggie did the dirty deed?"

"A couple of months, what has that got to do with anything?"

"Because old buddy, if you didn't care for me, you would be jumping me this very moment. The only reason you don't, is that you are scared I will get too close to you." She said it with a knowing smile.

"No Marsha, the reason I don't, is because I don't screw people, who can really screw me." I said that with a genuine smile.

"I am going to give you a chance to change your mind, but only fifty of them." she said with a small laugh.

"I know I'm stupid, but I won't change my mind."

"Sure you will, how many women do you know who look like me, and can whip your ass at damned near everything?" She knew there was no answer coming.

"Why in the hell would you want a washed up old man like me anyway?" I asked.

"You aren't old, but you are washed up. Tell me the truth, are you making any money with this writing cap.?"

"So far, it has paid the bills," I said.

She made a big show of looking around. "Yeah, I can see how well you are doing. Why don't you come back to my place. At least you can sleep in a real bed, in an apartment with a lock on the door."

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I will stay here."

"You are about to do something really stupid, I can tell."

"Probably, but at least you won't get hurt." I replied.

"Meaning, I would if you came to my place. Rollins let me tell you something. All you men think you are big enough to hurt a woman, but none of you are, especially not you. Remember, I have seen you without your clothes."

"Now that was dirty pool." I said.

"The truth is really what hurts isn't it," she said it with her first hearty laugh.

"Look, it's getting late. I think you should be running along."

"Don't do this Ron. What ever your little friend is into, it ain't worth your getting jammed up over."

I knew better than to admit to anything. "I don't know what you are talking about. I have a bunch of dog show people to interview tomorrow. I just need my sleep."

"Have it your way. I am going home, but I expect to be hearing from you, or at least about you tomorrow." she said.

"Fair enough," I answered.

After Marsha had gone, I sat at my keyboard a few more minutes then gave up. The rewrite on the art show would have to wait another day, at least. I opened the sofa then turned out the lights. In the dark I stuffed my heavy coats and pillows under the sheets. I sat on the floor, by the door waiting to see who would visit me next. That scrap of paper was pretty important to someone. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew someone wanted it bad. Bad enough to break into two different apartments looking for it. I should have given it to the police at the first opportunity. I hadn't, maybe to protect Jennifer, but more likely because I hated cops. I didn't trust them to do the right thing, not the legal thing, the right thing.

I had drifted into a light sleep when he came. It was hard for him to open, even the unbolted door, without a sound. The wood creaked where he had broken it. I gripped the colt even tighter as I saw his shadow pass me. He moved to the bed, then leaned over it to poke me with the barrel of his pistol.

"I wouldn't bother. I am over here. I also have a rather nasty pistol pointed at your sorry ass. If you want to live till the sun comes up, drop the gun, otherwise pray." I waited.

I was low enough so that if he turned to fire, he would most likely shoot over my head. I wouldn't make that mistake. He took a few seconds to think about it, then dropped the pistol on the bed. He was back lighted by the downtown, as the street lights glowed through the tall windows behind him.

"I don't much care for the cops, so if you tell me what the hell is going on, you can walk. Otherwise I call the police."

"How do I know, you won't call them anyway?" asked the gravely voice.

"You are going to have to trust me on this one. Come on man make up your mind."

"Can I at least sit down?" he asked.

"Sure, if you want to find yourself in hell when you get up." I answered. "Come on friend spill it quick."

"I am looking for Jennifer," he said.

"That much, even I could figure out. Why are you looking for Jennifer?" I asked.

"She has something of mine."

"I am getting tired of this cat and mouse shit. Either tell it to me, or to the cops. I am going to make that call in about five seconds."

"Jennifer has some pictures of us. Some pictures I would rather no one else sees."

"Blackmail, that isn't much of a reason to come looking for her. That is, unless you intend to use that nasty little pistol you brought in with you?"

"I don't want to hurt anyone, I just want the pictures." He was almost whining. The only problem was that, none of it made much sense. I finally figured out why it didn't make sense.

"What did you do with Pat?" I asked. It seemed I had asked the question that drove him over the edge. He lunged for his pistol on the bed.

I didn't even have a chance to think about it, let alone talk him out of it. I shot him twice. Unfortunately, he also got off a shot. His went high and wild as I had expected it to. My first shot didn't even do enough damage to prevent it. My second one ended any thought he had of shooting again. Maybe in the movies, you go take the gun away from a downed shooter, but not in my house. I held the pistol on him, while I pushed myself up the wall to the light switch. When I had the overhead light on, I kept his unconscious body in my sights, while I called the police emergency number.

I waited five minutes for the cop. The one who arrived that time, stood in the hall till I came outside with my hands up. He is the one who went inside to check the man bleeding into my bed. The ambulance arrived shortly after. Not that it would do him any good.

I spent the night in police interrogation, while he spent it in the morgue. I explained about the book and about the break-in. I didn't explain about the note in the spine or my conversation with the dead man. When asked, why I hadn't told the original detective about the book, I explained that it had slipped my mind. It was a lousy lie. It was also the best I could think of at the time. My version held together only because there was no other.

The cops pieced it together the next day. Jennifer worked at a topless bar. She was a hostess. It made sense, nobody would pay to see her skinny ass topless. The man, I had killed, was the owner of the club. He was after pictures all right, but not of him screwing Jennifer. They were of him taking delivery of a suitcase full of drugs.

Jennifer hadn't wanted to talk, not until the cops showed her pictures of her friend Pat. Pat had been the contact between Jennifer and Herb the dead man. Pat was very dead. The photographs didn't do her death much justice. She had suffered badly. My guess was the South American gentleman in the picture had arranged that little piece of work.