Vice Cop Ch. 12

Katrina came back with a photo album and some records. She sat on her chair, picked up her porcelain cup of tea and took a sip. She kept her eyes on her daughter steadily as she opened up the photo album, inviting her to look.

"This here's an album of pictures your father took over the years. There's some that go back to his early days as a cop and even our own honeymoon. We went to California for our honeymoon. We were in San Francisco and it was very lovely."

"How can any of this help?"

"Your father knew some people who were hardened criminals. He not only brought many murderers and Mafiosi to jail, he also caught escaped convicts from Sing-Sing. He was quite the hero back then. Of course he was also hated by the Underworld that wanted to see him die or suffer. He arrested the capo of a large Mafia organization. A capo di tutti capo he called him, the leader. I believe his name was Don Luigi Dino. His men are still around and haven't been brought to justice. They use various discreet tactics to elude authorities I suppose."

"Mamma, you think the Mafia is killing cops?"

"Why who else child? It's no secret that the Mafia hates cops. They bring down their world, their business, they arrest their families and give them hell. It's got to be a Mafioso and -"

"No. All the signs point to a very brilliant cop who knows how to cover his tracks. He knew too much about the inner NYPD structure."

"Then perhaps it's a cop after all. Here are records your father kept of many officers and even the newer ones. I think some of these are profiles of cops who were making it big in the 1970's. At that time, your father's career was in its final stage and he was not doing as many big busts or stings as he had formerly done in the 60's when he was after all the Dino dynasty."

Lexa looked at the photos. Some were in color, some were grainy and tinted in sepia and others were in color. There were photos of her father Emeric proudly accepting medals of honor which he attached to the breast of his uniform, photos of Emeric on horseback, photos of New York City's boroughs where he worked and people he worked with.

Lexa recognized a younger looking Captain Barry Hiller. My God, he was a lot thinner too! In another photo she identified one black man as Lieutenant Isaiah Dante, who also looked a lot younger though his physique looked exactly the same. There again was that same mysterious silence and distance he kept.

"Do you know that man, child?" Katrina said as she observed Lexa's fixed stare at the photo.

"He's our precinct lieutenant, Isaiah Dante. He's always striked me as being suspicious."

"But surely it must please you to see a black brother in the NYPD."

"Not this one. He's always looked as if he's had something to hide."

"Dante," her mother said, repeating the name trying to remember something, "Dante. I think he's been on the force as long as Captain Barry Hiller who heads your precinct. Your father might have known him. I think there's a profile here."

Katrina handed Lexa some papers in a folder. Lexa noticed Dante's full name and a few words about him. The page included a small photo of him. He was born in Oxford, Mississippi, and by pure coincidence, that was where Katrina had also been born. The surrounding little towns were picturesque and situated by the Tallahatchie River and the area was full of bridges and the Central Railroad.

Dante's records also showed that he had lived for some time in Oakland and San Francisco, California, where he had always said he had received his college education. But as Lexa continued to read, she noted that ante had once been a member of the radical party the Black Panthers from 1968 to 1972. The Panthers were militant and they used violence to make their points. In those times, it was not uncommon to hear of the deaths of white officers or the attacks on precincts by the Panthers, who hated the white establishment of cops whom they accused of brutality against blacks.

Lexa felt her heart beating faster. A feeling of dread overcame her. Was it possible that Dante, even as a respectable and seemingly innocuous Lieutenant still had ties to the Black Panthers? As far as she knew, the Panthers had long been a dead party, without any active members. It seemed to belong to the radical groups that had developed from the late 1960's, as much a part of another time as the hippies and crazy communes and cults. But she wondered if Dante still was a Panther at heart. And if that were so, then he could very well be responsible for the death of white officers. It was a way to laugh at the NYPD and to fulfill his old desires. Perhaps the Panthers were using him as an instrument in a war against the NYPD!

"Mamma, I hate to do this but I really must get back to Manhattan," Lexa said, "I'm going to have to talk to Mason and the Chief. It's important that I -"

"Go right ahead, child. You've already done so much for me by making time to see me heal. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have recovered."

"I love you, mamma."

Lexa gave her mother a big hug.

NINE

When Lexa returned to her precinct in Manhattan, she received the most shocking news of her entire life. Mason Holmes and Chief Barry Hiller had been kidnapped. There was no way of knowing who did this but everyone felt absolutely sure it was the same cop killer or mysterious force that was attacking cops of the NYPD. Lexa was certain this "force" was none other than the Black Panthers coming back to attack cops, trying to establish themselves as a party again at full force.

She explained this to the cops and detectives as well as FBI that hung out at the Manhattan precinct, but no one took her seriously which angered Lexa. She was in headquarters, surrounded by many top men of the NYPD and FBIwho had gathered for an emergency meeting. It wasn't every day that a Chief of Police in Manhattan was kidnapped along with a top homicide detective.

"Gentlemen, the fact remains that my partner and a fellow officer are still missing," Lexa said, " for prisoners or victims, even two days is a long time. We can't wait another day. It's time we take action before another cop turns up dead or missing. We can't just sit here doing absolutely nothing. And these go-nowhere investigations just go around in aimless circles."

"Miss O'Neil, we know how personal this is for you," said one of the FBI men, "Mr. Mason Anthony Holmes is not only your partner but your significant other. I'm told you two live in an apartment in Manhattan."

"His disappearance along with Captain Barry Hiller and Officer Hudson Banach are connected. I'm telling you, the Black Panthers -"

"You can't be sure of that. There is no visible proof. You are just making assumptions."

"They are conclusions I've come to based on what my heart tells me."

"Miss O'Neil, you're letting your emotions get the better of you. We cannot not see this in one angle. Perhaps Mr. Banach has caused some offense -"

"Never. Not Hudson. I've known him to be a good man, despite his flaws and the bravado that gets him into trouble. He would never do something that could cause someone to do this to him. And what about our own Chief? He has never done anything wrong and Mason is a role model. This is the act of men who hate white cops."

She walked about nervously. No one said anything.

"Does it not strike any of you men odd that our Lieutenant Dante is also nowhere to be found? He's always here and now -"

Vince McClintock, who had been listening by the doorway, entered and everyone took notice.

"I agree with Miss O'Neil," said Vince, "these disappearance is the work of some radical cop-hating person, like the Black Panthers who did this sort of thing in the 60's. Hudson suspected Dante right away."

"Until you can find proof, there is no validity to your assumptions."

Vince suddenly remembered something.

"I'll give you your proof," he said............

* * * *

Vince had found cassette tapes left to him by Hudson. It was Hudson's intentions to hand them to the NYPD for evidence against Isaiah Dante, linking him to the murders of the officers. The cassettes were scratchy and not always very audible but Lexa took them to F.B.I.headquarters, knowing they had the technology to "clean" the sound quality and to turn up the volume so that everything in the tapes could be heard with utmost clarity.

The tapes were recorded phone conversations between Dante and a prisoner of Alcatraz just off San Francisco, California. He was an African-American man in his sixties. He had once been the head of a Black Panthers chapter in California, of which Dante had belonged to in his youth, at the time he had come to study at the University of Berkeley.

He had dropped out and joined the Panthers, becoming the most loyal supporter of the group. The phone conversations revealed a strong bond between them and whenever Dante would speak, his voice was choked with emotion. His life had been saved by this man and he saw in him the father he had lost in a lynching in Mississippi.

This man, this leader, had been imprisoned after he had assassinated the Chief of Police of San Francisco. This was old news and some people had already forgotten this incident and the Black Panthers' involvement. His full name was Samuel Manasseh but in prison he had proclaimed himself King Samadi of New Africa.

He had become Muslim and claimed that God, whom he was certain was a black man, had granted him the authority to lead men into forming a separate government where only African-Americans would dwell and not suffer injustices at the hands of whites. Unfortunately, it was of the John Brown type of justice. Angry and zealous, Samadi's words over the phone were smeared with venom, invective and religious phrasing that mentioned fire, blood, war and violence.

"And against cops no less," said Lexa, "and that might just be a start. He might go after even bigger establishments."

"Well, we have all the proof we need," said FBI, "but there is still the problem of locating this Black Panthers group. They might be hiding themselves in California. It's going to be very difficult finding these people. It also takes a lot of money to build what seems to be a separate government. They must be taking up illegal arms somehow."

Lexa remembered the photo album and the records her mother had shown her at her home in Long Island. She also recalled that Dante had been born in Mississippi. Her mind began to wander. It was also in Mississippi where in 1955, a young black named Emmett Till was brutally killed by whites after a white woman accused him of whistling at her, something so trivial. The incident was a major cause of the Civil Rights Movement which sought to end the violence against blacks in the Southern States.

Lexa's gut was telling her that if anything, the Panthers might be hiding in Mississippi, perhaps even in the same area where this incident had happened. This was where her mother had once called home, the Tallahatchie River and the Yazoo river, quite towns and bridges by the Central Railroad and serene country roads. She hated to think that her mother's birth place could once again be the cradle of violence, hated to see those little roads and woods full of blood and corpses.

TEN

It was all over the news. It made headlines. The Black Panthers secretly plotting to take revenge against America and to wreak havoc once more. There was immediate action by police across the States. But for Lexa O'Neil, the matter was very personal. Not only was this about blacks but also it involved her loved ones, Mason, Hudson and even her Chief Barry. She would not rest until she knew they were safe. Already many FBI agents and police, including S.W.A.T. officers were sent to California, namely San Francisco and Oakland to search for the Black Panthers that had taken Chief Barry Hiller, Detective Mason Holmes and Hudson Banach as prisoners.

Lexa was at the precinct with Vince, walking about nervously in the office she shared with Mason at Homicide. Vince was nervous too. Hudson had become his best friend and moreover his only true friend.

"Vince, let me take a look at those tapes again," Lexa said, "I want to hear if we might have missed something."

"Why? I thought we got everything we needed to know about what was said in these tapes," Vince said.

"I have the strangest feeling that the Panthers wouldn't be stupid enough to return to California to pick up where they left off during the 60's."

"Oh, and where would they do their thing then?"

"Some place with far more meaning to their cause. Some place where the events that lead to the Civil Rights movement and subsequent groups like the Panthers to even exist in the first place."

"You mean like the South?"

"That's exactly the place I'm referring to. I'm going to guess Mississippi. A lot of horrors happened there, a lot of violent acts against blacks were committed."

"If you feel so strongly about this, you need to talk to FBI to send guys out there."

Lexa had put on the cassette tapes again. She hated listening to Dante and Samadi. It was haunting, frightening, their voices talking about murders and dropping names and mentioning how they would kill in cold blood as if it was something natural and perfectly fine thing to do. But she was sure they might have mentioned the location of their secret base.

"Remember Mississippi, Dante," Samadi said in the tape.

"Yes," Dante said, wistfully.

"Remember the lynching of your father. Remember how unjust and how cruel it was then. We can now have vengeance against all who wronged you and men like the ones who killed your father. A racist is born every day, Dante, and we can ensure that they won't even speak against us anymore."

Samadi's voice seemed distant and proud, almost godly. It was very unsettling for Lexa. Perhaps it was the audio tape that gave him that affect. Dante on the other hand, sounded very sad but determined for justice. He said more on the tape then she had heard him say in all his time as a Lieutenant with the NYPD. If anything, the cassette tape showed Dante as he really was.

"I'm sure they're hiding in Mississippi," said Lexa, "Vince, I'm going to go there."

"What? Oh no, Lexie. You can't do that. Suppose they really are hiding there. They would be expecting police and F.B.I. to show up."

"No. They are laughing at us for seeking them in California. I'm going to go to north Mississippi. That's where my mother was born and where Dante was born. I dug up info on him. I'm going to go to the Tallahatchie River area. That's where Emmett Till was killed. It was what started everything maybe."

"You'll need back-up. I'll go with you."

"No. You're not experienced enough for this sort of thing, Vince."

Vince made a face.

"That's what everyone tells me. Hudson has told me the same thing. I have missed out on lots of missions and stings because he thinks that they are too dangerous for me. But I think I proved myself when I was in Chinatown and when I searched for the Golden Empire Mafia's underground lair in the sewers. I fought against lots of those guys and I turned out alright."

"I don't want you to go, Vince," she said, "this is not something you can handle. You were lucky that first time in Chinatown. But this is very dangerous."

Vince sighed in resignation.

ELEVEN

Hudson was in a dark room. It was dawn and the darkness did not last for much longer when the rays of the morning sun streamed through a window that seemed too high for his reach. At any rate the window was nothing but a square glass that could only be broken to escape out of. It was no use for him to even try to escape. He had been drugged so heavily that he felt very weak and helpless.

The effect of the sedative had worn off but he was weak from hunger. He was caught from the leg by a ball-and-chain and he was able to move only slightly here and there. He had no idea where he was. Outside only the natural sounds of birds singings and calling to one another as they flew in the air could be heard. From afar, Hudson thought he heard the sound of a distant train.

Was it possible he was still in California? Who were these men who had beaten him and drugged him and now made him a prisoner in who knows what God forsaken place. The room was large and had no furnishings. It was made entirely of wood and not only that, old wood and it was as if a fire could destroy it swiftly and easily. Some dry feces were on the floor and he had no idea whether it was human or animal droppings. There was room enough for more prisoners but this was no authentic prison cell. Two more ball-and-chains and several ropes and wall-chains were surrounding him.

Hudson hated that it had come to this. He had never in all his time as a cop imagined that his fate could be so calamitous. Sure, he had always had the feeling, in the back of his mind, that he could die while in the line of duty but this thought every single cop was known to have.

But this, this, to be imprisoned by strangers, was never something that had crossed his mind, not even in his darkest fears. And he had done this while doing something he was not supposed to do. It was not exactly the work of a cop but more the act of a suspicious cop investigating another cop. He had behaved more like a detective. What had he been thinking??

Just then, the two main doors opened suddenly, as if a powerful wind had blown them open. Hudson turned his gaze to the entrance. Outside a road and woods were visible. Beyond that was a railroad and a bridge which crossed a river. The black men who had kidnapped him were bringing new prisoners. To Hudson's total shock it was Chief Barry Hiller and Detective Mason Holmes.

"Oh my God," Hudson cried out.

"Shut up, cop," one of the black men said to him, "keep your mouth shut. I suppose you know these two?"

The Chief and Mason looked like they had not been beaten but they were clearly sedated by the same drug they had given Hudson. They had very tired eyes, as if they had taken a long journey. How did these two manage to kidnap the Chief of Police from Manhattan and Detective Mason Holmes? Husdon could hardly believe it.

The men chained them by the leg to the wall next to Hudson. Mason looked at Hudson. For the first time in his life, Hudson was seeing Mason with very different eyes. The poor thing. And to think that he had once disliked him for being a detective and for having Lexa as his girlfriend. Now, he was a fellow cop in as much danger as he was.

"Chief, who are these guys?" Hudson said.

The Chief had fallen to the wooden boards of the floor and was unconscious.

"O my God, is he -"

"No, he's only exhausted," said Mason, "he'll be ok. He was just sedated."

"So who are these people?"

"Black Panthers. Lieutenant Isaiah Dante was their tool. He was responsible for killing the officers in the NYPD, along with some other Panthers who had sneaked into New York City."

"Dante," Hudson repeated, "I knew he had something terrible he was covering up but this, this is inhuman. Why is he doing this?"

"He's a Panther. He's never been a real police lieutenant. He's been plotting this for years. He has been in touch with their leader who's been jailed in Alcatraz since the 60's. Somehow, he's also been in charge of shipping illegal weapons and firewarms to the Panthers via the train that goes through Mississippi, the Central Railroad."

"My God. But how are we going to get out of this? Do they want to kill us?"

"I have no idea what these devils want to do. I didn't understand them. They were ranting about freedom and revolution and all that Black Panther crap, something about a New Africa and a King Samadi who leads them even from behind the bars of a prison."

"The tapes," Hudson suddenly recalled, "did anyone in the NYPD get the cassette tapes I confiscated from Dante."