A Plan to Kill

A Plan to Kill

Jack W. Boone

Copyright 2010 Jack W. Boone

Smashwords Edition

A PLAN TO KILL

CHAPTER ONE

It was a cold February morning when Detective Sergeant Toby Malzoni reluctantly crawled out of his warm bed to go to work. Ellen hardly moved. He had gone through this same ritual every workday for the past twenty-four years. The routine was set. He dressed between sipping a cup of fresh brewed coffee and eating a breakfast roll. Just before leaving the house, unlocked the special cabinet in the kitchen and took out his .45 caliber semiautomatic With the heel of his hand, he bumped in a seven„round clip of hollow-point bullets. Jerked the slide back and let it go forward, ramming a round into the chamber, leaving the weapon cocked. After clicking on the safety, he slipped his right overcoat pocket instead of the shoulder holster. He checked the left pocket to make sure his shield wallet was there. After slipping the set of cuffs over his belt at the small of his back, he had all of the tools of his trade in place and he was ready to go to work. He stepped outside and gently closed the front door, trying the lock to be sure it was secure.

A blast of cold air hit him in the face. It felt crisp and sharp, making the hair in his nose stiffen as he carefully made his way down the ice covered steps to the sidewalk. It was a block and a half walk to the subway. He watched for ice spots on the way and deftly walked around them. and fall with a loaded

weapon in his pocket could be very dangerous. While walking along the deserted street, his thoughts turned to his office and a desk piled high with homicide cases waiting for attention. There was at least six months that stack. A touchy one was the case of the grandson of a ward boss, killed in a drug shootout. He knew it would have to be checked carefully because it had political implications. It would get special treatment. Gang slaughter would only get a few minutes, just long enough to type up a closing report saying that the guy was a bad egg and the shooter did the city a favor. Of course, it wouldn't be in those words, but the meaning was there anyway. He was glad that he didn't have to go to the funeral and watch a struggling preacher try to find something good to say about a spent loser who had turned into human garbage.

Grimacing as he walked a little faster in the cold air, he occupied time by developing his own eulogy about the recently departed named in most of the files. He would say that the world was better off because this piece of trash would never sell another child a brick of crack cocaine or other narcotics. He wouldn't hijack another car or shoot another innocent victim in a robbery. He wouldn't loot stores at the drop of a hat or rape a woman who wouldn’t report it out of fear for her life.

Walking steadily, he shoved the overcoat closer to his ears with his shoulders as he reached the entrance to the subway tunnel. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the grip of his weapon. As he made

his way down the icy stairs, he looked around carefully. There were and corners in a subway station where a mugger could hide. He knew that he could fire the weapon instantly through the pocket of the coat if necessary. Besides, he felt secure to have it in his hand. He was walking away from the bottom of the stairs, along the corridor to the platform tunnel, when he heard a noise and saw movement ahead in the dim light of the platform. He stopped instantly. A big, rough-looking guy stepped out of the shadows and staggered toward him. Toby tried to make eye contact to get a reading on the guy, but couldn’t. The guys eyes seemed to be looking but not seeing. He had something in his right hand. In a second, Toby recognized it as a switchblade knife, open and ready for use. The guy was mumbling that today was the day when he was going to cut the head off a mullifuckin' honky.

Toby recognized the symptoms of a drug high immediately and he was not about to play social worker. The guy was coming at him with but one thing on his drug„crazed mind. He was going to Toby quickly raised his weapon to eye level, simultaneously clicking off the safety. In his other hand he showed his shield to the guy. He yelled, Hold it right there, bastard, or you're dead meat. He made his demand as calmly as he could under the circumstances. His adrenaline was pumping hard and he was struggling to control himself. about to die. end of his life was only seconds away if this mugger was allowed to continue.

The big man paused momentarily at the sight of the badge, then muttered something unintelligible and

continued his charge. Toby let him take two more steps before he fired. The sound in the tile corridor reverberated the noise, making it sound like a cannon. A surprised look appeared on the face of the big man as his next step came to a in midair. The hollow-point had done its job. The mugger seemed

to pause for a moment before his knees buckled the switchblade dropped to the floor, sliding toward Toby. The guy flopped on his side then rolled over on his back and didn't move. A chill raced up Toby s spine as he looked at the body sprawled on the floor.

Toby kicked the switchblade up against the body and walked over, looking at the spreading blood stain on the guy's shirt. There was no question that the mugger was dead. The shot had hit him dead center in the chest and a hollow-point tears a massive hole. Nothing was moving. He quickly looked around for witnesses. There were none. He clicked the safety on and put the weapon back in his pocket.

He saw the ejected shell casing on the floor laying a few feet away and picked it up, dropping it in another pocket. With no witnesses, he decided it was best to leave it as a street killing, so he walked swiftly toward the entrance to the platform. He was well aware that by doing so it could be classified as murder, or at least manslaughter. He also knew that in time he would probably be cleared with a justifiable homicide verdict, but the paperwork would go on for months, possibly years. There would be lawsuits by relatives who didn't give a damn about this poor slob until he became a potential source of money, then he would suddenly become a beloved family man whom they missed terribly.

The entire incident lasted less than one minute. Just before entering the tunnel, he glanced around again to check the scene. His heart leaped for a moment when he spotted an elderly gentleman, holding what appeared to be a dog leash, standing at street level looking down at the tunnel entrance. He had obviously seen a part of the drama below, probably heard the shot and got there as Toby was walking away. Toby cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, Mugger. The old man made a circle with his thumb and forefinger as he waved to Toby and turned away. It was a sign of approval.

Toby was sure that the old man couldn’t identify him from that distance and, in fact, the odds were good that he wouldn't report it. That was the typical big city attitude this day and time, not to get involved.

Minutes later, he caught the express downtown. Usually there were very few people in the car this early. This morning, there was only one older couple with matched luggage sitting in the far end of the car. Judging by the luggage, they were going on a trip. They ignored him and seemed to be arguing with each other over airline tickets. s hands were shaking and he felt sweaty. He reminded himself that he had just taken a human life and this was not an unusual reaction. He tried to think of something else for the rest of the trip, but the look on the big guy s face wouldn't go away. His heart had slowed to nearly normal by the time he reached the station, twenty minutes later.

For the next two days, Toby and his partner routinely worked their homicide cases, but the incident of Monday still popped into his mind frequently. He tried to suppress it, but knew he was suffering the post JJ syndrome. The term JJ was confidential jargon between him and his partner. It meant that he had acted as judge and jury and disposed of a criminal without going through the judicial process. s case, he justified his action by assuring himself that he had saved someone's life that day from a crazed and deadly criminal. As for his own life, he sure as hell wasn't about to become another homicide statistic when he had the firepower to prevent it. He looked at the pile of case files on his desk thinking that, had the doper gotten to him with that switchblade, his file would look exactly like one of these, only it would be on some other desk. He shuddered as the thought of Ellen and their twin daughters flashed into his mind.

Today Toby quickly dismissed the thought and went to the next file in his stack. He knew what treatment the doper file would get downtown. He had seen many such street killing files come into the homicide section only to be stamped closed within an hour and filed away forever. He would personally see that his JJ was no exception. Now it was time to wait until it arrived in the case file. He checked the incoming files every day patiently waiting and watching . Enough time had elapsed for the file to show up at the assignment desk. He decided to get his partner, Jeff Clayton, to sign it out. Toby and Jeff worked their cases with routine precision from years of experience and filed the necessary reports to close them. Once the investigation was finished, the file was sent to the District Attorney's office where it was checked and forwarded to records for final disposition. The name on the file became a number, and the human cargo between the covers ceased to exist. Three years later, if there was no legal action pending, the file would join thousands of others in the dead archives.

It was Friday morning when Toby walked over to the assignment desk. His adrenaline gave him a jolt momentarily. The JJ file was there. The address of the crime scene was on the case jacket. He took it out with the two following files, complaining to the assignment clerk that these may be some of his witnesses, and he wanted to check them out before they were assigned. The procedure was a common practice with homicide detectives.

He took the three files to his desk, placed the two decoy files to one side, and read the descriptive information written by the investigating officer on his JJ. He couldn’t resist looking at the name. It was Winston Bell. His rap sheet was nearly two feet long. Toby glanced at it to confirm that Bell was an addict. The first thirty or so listings were narcotics related. The others were robbery, mugging, buying and selling drugs and assault with a deadly weapon, plus many others. Even with all of those charges over a period of twenty years, Bell had served less than two years in prison.

The investigating officer did a good job of explaining his theory that it was a drug deal gone sour, just as Toby had suspected he would.

He handed Bell's file to his partner, Jeff Clayton. Go sign this one out, will ya?

Jeff shrugged, To me or you?

Jeff looked puzzled for a brief moment then his face relaxed into a wide smile. He took it to the assignment clerk and signed it out to himself. The assignment clerk could care less. He had five other street killings today plus a couple of hookers had been found murdered in midtown. He knew he would get cussed at by every detective in the section as he delivered the new cases to their desks. He was happy to see one go.

After signing out the file, Jeff walked to Toby s desk and sat down. He looked around the room to be sure that he couldn't be overheard. This a JJ, he mouthed quietly.

Toby nodded, Charged me with a blade coming to work Monday. I had no choice.

They never divulged details of a JJ to the other in case they were put under oath for some reason. They only mentioned it after they had control of the case and could dispose of it their own way.

Jeff laughed and took the file to his desk. I'll get the DA's office to sign it off then bury his dead ass in records, he said quietly.

Toby grinned at his partner. Get Jerry to do it. He won't ask questions.

Jeff smiled and twisted an investigative report form into his old typewriter. He laboriously began typing a creative story saying that he had worked the case, and it was a dead-end investigation. That no witnesses or known relatives could be found. With nothing to go on, the case was closed. He ripped the form out of the typewriter, looked at it briefly before signing it and stuck it in the file. He turned toward the elevator, saying as he walked by Toby Back in five minutes.

Toby nodded okay. He took the two decoy files back to the assignment desk, claiming they were not relevant to his investigation. As he walked back, he reflected on the value of a good partner. They did things for each other. He went to get his coffee.

Jeff Clayton, Toby's partner for five years, had been on the force nineteen years, five years less than Toby. He was the first black detective in the division. The other detectives liked him because of his good disposition and friendly attitude. He was a street-wise cop and would get very emotional when the crime victim was a child. A suspect who killed or maimed a child was an excellent JJ prospect for Jeff, if the opportunity presented itself. He was particularly compassionate toward the children of the ghettoes. Being the son of a doctor, Jeff had a good childhood and was well educated. He kept his hair cut to military length since getting out of the service, and was always well-groomed except for one minor detail. His shirttail had a way of slipping out as he moved around the office. He wore a shoulder holster with a

357 mm custom semiautomatic in it. He was a joker, not a practical joker, but he loved to insert comical remarks in an otherwise serious conversation. He was admired for his strength of character as well as his sharp mind.

Jeff returned from taking care of the JJ file and got himself a cup of coffee. He flashed the okay sign to Toby as he returned to his desk. He leaned back sipping his coffee, watching the slightly older Toby sort through the cases to be worked today. Toby's weapon was heavy and a little larger than most, so he generally laid it on the desk as he worked on files. Toby stood up and slid his weapon expertly into his shoulder holster and snapped the strap.

That was the sign that he was getting ready to go out. Anything pushing in the jungle? Jeff asked routinely.

Yep, cold as hell out there. We could work inside today. Let these younger guys go outside.

What do you say? Jeff shrugged and grinned, Suits me.

Jeff asked at a near whisper, You take care of your piece yet?

Toby frowned and shook his head no. I'll do it now.

Toby went to the locker room and disassembled his weapon. He removed the recoil spring and reassembled it. He left the spring in his locker and, sticking the unloaded weapon back in his shoulder holster, walked down the hall to the evidence property room.

Chuck we got any Army style .45's in the rack?

Yeah, we still get one off the street occasionally. What' cha need?

I broke the recoil spring cleaning mine this morning. These are going to be melted anyway, right?

Chuck nodded yes.

How about I get a spring from one? Save me having to order one. You can't buy parts for these army types in gun stores.

Sure, come on back, Sergeant. Lift the board when I buzz.

Toby waited for the release buzzer, then followed Chuck to the storage room. All of the weapons were displayed by hanging on a peg board.

Chuck pointed to the board, Take one that has a white tag. The red tags have to be used in court so we can't touch them.

Toby placed his ailing weapon on the table and looked over the board holding the white-tag weapons. He selected one exactly like his. He sat at the table and disassembled both. Even with Chuck standing near by, he switched barrels when he put the spring in place. He reassembled them and hung the evidence room gun back on the board. He popped the slide back on his own weapon, and let it go forward to show that it was working. Now, if ballistics ever found one of his slugs in a victim, it wouldn't computer match the one from Bell. He didn't have to worry about the firing pin because he had flushed the shell casing down the toilet the morning of the JJ. He smiled as he thought to himself, now the case is really closed.

Thanks, Chuck. Now you can melt it.

Seems a shame to melt some of those older pieces, but I have to account for each one by serial number, otherwise I'd give it to you.

I appreciate the thought, Chuck, but these things seldom need repair. We do more damage cleaning them than we do using 'em. I appreciate it, Buddy. Call me if you need a favor. He threw Chuck a mock salute and headed back to his desk.

Chuck went back to his romance paperback and the incident was history.

Toby and Jeff worked at their desks all morning, making calls and filing reports. Jeff remarked as he straightened up his stack, You know, I've been thinking about a way to speed up our drug murder cases. I think I'll fill out a standard case form and have it duplicated fifty times. We can solve fifty cases in a half-hour by just signing them and dropping them in the file, closing them at the same time. All of these dope cases are the same, a body is found on the street shot full of holes or cut to pieces. No witnesses, no motive, and no one gives a damn except the coke„head's mama. I feel sorry for the mothers, but they shielded them by not turning them in. So there you go. Toby knew it was time to listen, so he flashed his most indulgent smile at his partner.

Jeff paused a moment as if planning what to say next before continuing, We could sign old man Muldoon's name to most. Hell, they'll never put it together upstairs that he's been dead over a year.

Toby grinned, Goddamn, you're sharp today. Did Myrtle give you a little last night to make you this hyper?

Jeff didn't look up. Screw you, he said laughing sarcastically and throwing Toby a bird with his middle finger.

Toby asked jokingly, What did you do on your day off besides knocking off a little poontang with Myrtle?

Jeff ignored the remark and said, Worked on my new acquisition. Myrtle is mad as hell because I bought it without asking her. She should know by now why I didn't ask, she would have said no way, man.

Toby paused, What new acquisition?

That hot car I bought at the police auction last week.

Toby registered surprise, I didn't know you bought a car. What kind?

Jeff came over to Toby's desk, whirled a straight chair around, and sat on it backwards with his arms folded on the back. Enthusiasm was shining in his face. He was ready to tell his story.

Buddy, I got the buy of a lifetime. It's a '54 modified stock with a 454 super mill. This guy had just put all chrome heads and pipes on it before he caught a slug in a drug buy on the south side. He laughed, This baby is as hot as a firecracker. I'm gonna do some modified stock drags with it this summer.

What are you gonna call this one?

I named it The Blue Dart. That seemed like a good track name that would catch a little excitement. He reared back and hooked his thumbs in his suspenders, Bucko, this sucker will fly. I'm going to paint the body royal blue and have fire-red flames painted on the cowling. I'll have the name Blue Dart painted on the door in gold script right above my name.

Toby laughed. You'll probably wreck this one like you did the last two.

Hell no. This one is too good. I'll bet that pusher put ten grand of his best drug money in the drive train alone. You won't believe it, but I paid fifteen hundred bucks for it.

Toby got up and Jeff followed. Toby said, We better get some work done so you can get a raise to support your new baby. Let's go to lunch.

Toby started walking toward the toilet while Jeff was going for his coat.

The Desk Sergeant yelled, Toby…Jeff, the old man wants you in his office right away.

Jeff did an exaggerated military left turn in mid„stride, throwing his leg high, and started toward the front office. Toby turned back to his desk and picked up his coffee mug, then followed Jeff. He caught up when they were about ten feet from Captain Murphy's door.

Jeff tapped on the door. A loud voice with an Irish brogue shouted, Come in, I sent fer ya, didn't I? You don't have to ask permission. Shut the damn door and sit down.

He turned away from the two detectives and yelled in a voice that could have been heard a quarter-mile away…Kelly.

The Desk Sergeant yelled back, Yes sir,

Tell one of them recruits to bring me a cup'a coffee and tell him to put one of them false sugars in it.

Yes sir, Cap’n, right away.

The Captain was nearing retirement. He was a vain man who touched up his white hair to a golden brown. His uniform fit as if he was poured into it and his citations were worn with pride. He was a big man, two hundred pounds at least, and walked and talked with authority. From a long line of Irish-American policemen, he was proud of it and said so at every opportunity. He ran a tight precinct.

He turned back to the two detectives, now slumped down in chairs in front of the desk. Well, you guys don't look like you're full o piss and vinegar this cold morning. Gettin' tired of investigatin’ our junkies killin’ each other, are ye? He shook his head in disbelief, I understand we had another batch this morning. Brings the total to date to twenty-four and the year is less than two months old. Looks like we're in for a bumper crop of drug stiffs this year. Somebody better start enlarging the county cemetery.

Toby managed a smile at the captain during the harangue. He answered, it’s not the best duty in the world. Hell, I remember when we didn't have twenty-four killings a year.

Murphy pursed his lips and nodded his head in agreement. I remember that time also, but that was the good old days, before the drug nuts and gangs arrived.

A young uniformed cop entered and handed a cup of coffee to the Captain. Murphy ignored him except to tell him to close the door as he left.

The Captain sipped on his coffee. Toby followed suit and made a face. His was getting cold. He knew the Captain had something important on his mind. He wasn't the type to waste time. A long conversation with him usually lasted fifteen seconds. They sat impassively knowing that he was trying to sort out his problem. Finally he looked up and glared at the two detectives.

I got a special job for you guys, he said slowly.

The detectives didn't say a word. They knew Murphy would tell them in his own way. To intercede was to ask for a blast of trouble.

I got a call from the Deputy Chief's office yesterday for me to be downtown at five o'clock sharp. That always means trouble. When I got there, I never saw so damn much brass in my life. If the Mayor had been there, the whole damn city administration would have been represented. He paused and took another sip of his coffee before continuing. They seemed confused about something. Everybody was talking in circles and not using names. I knew something was bad wrong, but I didn't have any idea it was as bad as it turned out to be.

He paused and again glared at the detectives. They sat perfectly still.

The Captain seemed uneasy as he continued, Like I said, we got a big problem brewing and nobody in the damn department seems to know how to handle it.

He stopped again as if to contemplate what he had just said. Toby and Jeff continued to sit expressionless except to follow him with their eyes.

They got word downtown that someone has decided to build bomb cars for a living and sell them to these radical groups. The radicals can then use them to blow up buildings or just stop in traffic, set a timer and walk away. The car would blow up killing everybody within a hundred yards, you know, sort of like they do in the Middle East. You've read where these terrorist groups say they have a message for us Americans. Well, this makes it easy for them to deliver on their threat. Something stupid happens in the Far East and a bunch of innocent Americans pays the price. Get the picture?

Toby shrugged and asked, Why don't the radicals just make their own bomb cars?

They can get them off of any used car lot. Murphy shook his head no, Wouldn’t carry enough explosives to do much damage unless it was modified. Besides, the FBI is watching every foreigner in the country and if they try it, the bureau will pull the plug. Intelligence says that these new people are U.S. citizens, probably the cream of the underworld crop. They said they’re in it strictly for the money and don't give a damn who buys their product or what they do with it after they get it. They can buy the material as a legitimate body shop and nobody will ever know the difference. I expect they would buy their cars from junk yards or direct from people advertising in the newspaper. Intelligence also got word from the street that these people have already made a couple and sold them. The problem is, they don't have any idea who bought them.

Jeff pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders as he said, We haven't got any connections in that field.

Murphy looked at him over the top of his glasses and didn't respond.

Toby looked puzzled and Jeff continued, Anyway, how does that affect us? Hell, we're just a couple of homicide dick’s, or do they just want some smart ideas?

This time Murphy glared at him, In the first place, you guys wouldn't have no smart ideas about something like this. In the second place, you're a pretty fair pair of investigators. In the third place, I'm supposed to put you on temporary duty to a special task force, but you ain't goin to show up there in person. They figure that this outfit may have some inside connections because intelligence picked up some dirty information inside the department. The head knocker for this operation is a senior intelligence officer. He told me that he doesn't want any of the hotshots uptown working on this. They like television cameras too much to suit him. He wants a couple of unknowns from the bottom of the pile. He flashed an exaggerated grin at the two detectives. So, you guys immediately came to mind.

Murphy paused as if he didn’t want to divulge the rest, No, I have to tell you the truth. After Deputy Chief Wilborn was officially assigned the project and the meeting broke up, he asked me to wait. I was instructed to sound out you fellows to see if you would be interested in joining this operation. He called you by name. He wouldn’t tell me how he knew you and asked me not to tell you that he wanted you personally. But I thought you ought to know, so keep quiet about that part, okay?

Toby and Jeff looked at each