Chapter 1
“She’s my cherry pie…...!” screamed from Augustus Caesar Deecee’s (AC for short) CD alarm clock at 6am Monday morning. It was the same way he woke up every morning. That song, by Warrant, just seemed to get his juices flowing. The screaming voices, the screaming guitars and the way the vibrations from the enhanced bass setting he had his turner set to, started his heart pounding just as fast as any five-minute workout ever could. It was a good thing his wife, Paula, worked 3rd shift at UPS, because she would never allow such a racket.
He purposely placed the alarm clock across the bedroom on dresser to force himself to get out of bed to hit the snooze button, if he had that inclination. And although most mornings he had that desire, by the time he’d put the effort into getting up and making it to the alarm, he figured he was just that much closer to the coffee pot and that all important first shot of caffeine. His thought process was quite logical. He wished he could just be happy enough with life to just want to get up and enjoy the day. But that was almost never the case. And today that difficulty was increased by a factor of ten because they had just returned from a two-week vacation in Florida just ten hours earlier. A day dealing with dead bodies, grieving families and hard core criminals was a far cry from warm sunny beaches and the perfectly groomed fairways they had just experienced. Getting back into the horror of his daily life was not a welcome thought. Being a homicide detective had not been AC’s dream job growing up. Movie star or pro baseball player would have been his first choices; having the looks and the throwing arm for either.
“What was this day going to be like,” he thought. Louisville, Kentucky was not a big city like New York, Chicago or Miami, but it was big enough. Seventy-two murders last year kept the department busy. Most of the 72 murders were either drug deals gone bad, or gang related hits. It was hard for AC to have any sympathy for either the killers or the victims in those cases. They were just bad guys doing bad things to each other. So why care? “Don’t take this business personally,” Captain Gold (Goldie) always told him. “You’re just here to do a job, not pass judgment.” And he guessed Goldie was right.
“What would the day have in store for him,” he wondered. Being away for two weeks would surly put him well behind. At 72 murders a year, that’s 1.38 murders a week. That meant that 2.76 people had been murdered since he’d last stepped out of his office. Surly he would be assigned one of them. With the state of the economy and the shortfalls in the Metro Louisville budget, the entire LMPD was left shorthanded. Maybe he’d get all 2.76 cases. The more he thought about it, the more that first cup of caffeine messed with his nerves. “Just let the day go smoothly,” he thought. “Give me at least one day to get back into the swing of things.” There’s one sure thing about vacations, they are never long enough.
“Seven thirty! Already!” AC shouted aloud, looking at the clock. He’s spent the last hour and a half thinking about all the problems he might have today, and he hadn’t even had any yet. That was a problem. Time to get the hell out of the house and on the expressway. A trip downtown would surly take a least twenty minutes from his house, with the traffic (it’s 20 minutes from anywhere, to anywhere in Louisville). Although the traffic jams in Louisville were not as bad as the traffic jams in New York, Chicago or Miami, they were plenty bad enough for AC.
AC worried a lot. Mostly about things that hadn’t happened yet. He spent a good portion of his day playing out scenarios and situations in his head that could, might or should happen that day. That takes some brain power for sure. Maybe that’s what made him such a good detective. He had to practice the same kind of mind exercises in his job. The difference being he enjoyed trying to figure out the “Who done it’s” and the “How it was done” mind games the LMPD provided. His own personal problems were a different story. Almost all of those thoughts were on the negative side. “What could he do differently in his marriage? Were gas prices going to go through the roof this week? Is there going to be a long line at Wendy’s at lunch time? I really hate parking in that damn parking garage downtown.” These thoughts flooded through AC’s mind all day long. He needed the distractions of murder to keep his mind trivial stuff that was giving him an ulcer.
As worried and conflicted AC seemed to be in his own head, he never showed it to others. Never talked about it, never thought to get therapy because of it. He just lived that way. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, AC was a great guy. Intelligent, friendly, humorous, and persistent in his job. If you needed help, AC was the guy. If you needed a friend, AC Deecee would listen to you. If you needed a shoulder to cry on, his were certainly big enough to handle any amount of liquid you could pour on them. If he could only be as inwardly calm and cool as he appeared outwardly, life would be a breeze for him. But that wasn’t the case today. He knew nothing was going to go right today. How could it? Things had just built up over the past two weeks. One thing stacked on top of the other, and he was going to have to be the one to un-stack them. He just knew that was going to be the case.
But first he had to get to work. Down that damned crowded expressway. There was probably going to be a wreck at Newberg Rd. and the Watterson Expressway that morning. That was a daily expectation. You would think that the city could do something about that exit ramp. But nothing is ever done. There’s always a wreck. “Or maybe it’s the fact that no one else in the city of Louisville can drive except for me,” AC thought. “It’s certainly not as bad as New York, Chicago or Miami, but it’s bad enough!”
He knew he didn’t have time to stop at the Circle K for a cup of fresh Columbian Dark Roast coffee; a usual stop for him. He only needed two more punches on his coffee card to get a free one, too. So, he would just have to skip today, and he cruised on by the station.
Somehow, he thought things would look different on the drive to work. That somehow the landscape must had changed in his absence. Maybe he was only gone for two weeks, but as he made the trek towards downtown, it seemed as if he’d been away for years. Things were in the same place, they hadn’t moved or been torn down, but they looked different to him.
As he got on the expressway, the Kaden Tower looked stranger than it unusually did, even though it was strange looking anyway. There seemed to be more traffic on the road than two weeks ago. And people were driving faster than they should be. Didn’t they realize that they were approaching the hazardous and potentially deadly Newberg road exit? “Slow the hell down,” he shouted. Of course, with his window rolled up, no one heard nor did they comply with his command. But it made him feel a sense of civic duty to warn them of the impending danger.
All traffic slowed as they approached the dreaded Newberg road exit. From 55 down to 45, to 35, to 20 mph. A smile slowly came to AC’s face as he knew what the slow down would prove. Much to his delight, there it was. Four cars sitting in the emergency lane. All with dents and dings. Eight people standing in a circle pointing fingers at each other as if to say, “It’s your fault, asshole!”
AC couldn’t help but notice that all three lanes were clear, yet 20 mph was the best everyone could do. He hated the rubberneckers. “Just drive your frickin car,” he shouted to the red Ford Focus, just in front of him. That release of frustration was just enough for AC. He was suddenly home again. Everything looked and sounded familiar. He looked to his left to see the KFC headquarters and Colonel Sanders smiling back at him. Just over the next hill he would be able to see downtown Louisville.
The Kentucky Fair and Exposition Center along with Papa John’s Cardinal stadium came into view. He was almost to at his office. His mind again started play out the possible scenarios that would happen when he got here. His partner, Carlos, would jump on him first thing. Wanting to go over the four or five cases that had working already along with the 2.76 new cased they’d have to tackle. Would anyone have gotten into his desk and gone through his shit? AC hated that. If they needed something, get it somewhere else. “Leave my shit alone,” he thought. He knew the damn parking garage would be full. He would have to park on the roof and for sure it would rain that afternoon.
AC continued his “glass half empty” way of thinking as he left the expressway and hit the downtown streets. Imagining everything bad that was going to happen to him that day. So many people were looking to him to keep the safe. So many families needing the closer that finding a killer brings. And all that responsibility was on his shoulders. Everyone looking to him for answers.
AC knew, as he pulled into the 6th Street parking garage, that he was never going to find a spot near the first floor. It was going to be level nine for him that morning. He was a cop; no, he was a detective. Surly he deserved a spot on the first level, he thought. He was a dedicated servant of the people. “This is bullshit,” he thought to himself as he passed level 3. Round and round, up and up he went. All the way past level nine on his way to the roof. Was this just bad luck or was he being punished for something? What had he done so wrong when he was a kid to deserve a roof top parking spot? If this is just the start of the day, what in the world would be next? He took comfort in the fact that it wasn’t raining…. yet. But it was still a crappy way to start a work week after a vacation.
As he stood at the elevator door awaiting his transportation to street level “where he should have been able to park anyway, damn it,” he couldn’t help but use his brilliant powers of deduction to determine that it was hot. Damn Hot! He could feel the splashes that pounded against the inside of his shirt as the sweat dripped off the fine hairs of his arm pits; disproving the promise of “all day protection from perspiration”, the deodorant package so proudly displayed. “Extra dry, my ass,” he thought. He just knew what awaited him inside the box he was about to step in to. More like a steam bath than an elevator.
Finally, the doors opened and AC stepped in. Just as they started to close, he heard a shout. “Hold that door!” AC stuck out his sweat soaked arm just in time to stop the two sides of the door from fully closing. “Oh, this was a mistake,” he thought. The doors slowly opened back up and AC got a look at his riding partner. A bearded, three hundred and fifty pounder, wearing a suit and tie, carrying a worn out brief case. “Lawyer,” AC said to himself.
“Thanks a lot,” the man said, smiling as he stepped into the elevator. “Kinda hot to be standing out there waiting for the ride to come back up.”
“I hear ya,” AC said, having no interest in what the man had to say. Probably some ambulance chasing piece of shit, AC thought.
“You a lawyer?” the man asked.
“No. Homicide detective,” AC answered.
“Really,” the man said excited. Working anything interesting?”
“I’m just getting back from vacation,” AC said as he took a small step back. The stench from the man’s breath was enough to cause physical pain in AC’s nose.
“Vacations are never long enough, are they?” said the man.
Rolling his eyes, AC thought, “Why don’t you just shut the fuck up and go get some mouth wash your fat piece of shit!” But instead, AC politely uttered, “No, they’re never long enough,” and he took another half step back.
Finally, the elevator arrived at the street level and AC said as he bolted out the door, “Have a nice day.” AC knew there was no way this guy could keep up with him. So, he held his right arm aloft as if to tell the man thanks, and he quickly headed to the stations doors. Thank god it was only a block away.
The blast of cool air that sharply slapped AC in the face as he walked through the front doors of the LMPD headquarters was like a gift from the proverbial Derby City gods. He immediately felt the pores on his body snap shut, holding in the heat releasing sweat that had been so freely flowing just seconds before. In Louisville, it’s not so much the heat, but it’s the humidity that will get you.
As he proceeded through the lobby, he heard “Welcome back detective Deecee,” repeatedly. A polite wave was all AC offered in return as he quick stepped it towards his office. If he stopped to talk or acknowledge anyone, for sure they were going to ask, “How was your vacation?” to which his response would be, “Fine,” followed by the “Never long enough, is it?”, to which he would be forced to utter, “No, never long enough,” and on and on and on. No time for that now. He had to get to the office so he could be bombarded with his new 2.76 cases.
As he walked through his office doors, AC felt a wave of relief wash over him. A huge sigh of relief, thundered out through his pursed lips, knowing he was safe at last. At least for the moment. As he scanned the room he couldn’t help but notice that nothing had changed; everything was the same; just the way he left it. The University of Kentucky poster that he so proudly displayed behind his desk was still there. The framed newspaper articles of the cases he’d solved, still adorned most the wall space. His desk, still neat and orderly, everything in its place, took center stage with the high-backed brown leather chair set slightly askew at the back. Everything looked the same. But the room still seem foreign to him. Like he had seen it all before, but never in person. Maybe he’d watched this scene in a movie before. It just didn’t seem real. As he slowly moved towards the desk and around its corner, he saw the double picture frame that sat at the left side. Even the pictures of he and his wife didn’t seem real. The wedding photo and the one of the two of them near the ocean at Myrtle Beach were somehow vague. But he’d only been gone for two weeks. Why was all of this so strange to him? This is the place that he comes to almost every day. He spent more time here than any other place in the world. Why so different this time? Why so unusual?
As he sat in his chair, he noticed the slow rush of air escaping the soft leather cushion as it gently conformed to his body. He felt a relaxing sensation as the comfort of his chair restored some peace to his somewhat confused mind. Things started to take shape now. The familiarity returned to him. The escape that he so dearly needed while on vacation was now being replaced by the reality of where he was. He was back in his office. Back at work. Just like an escaped convict, he’d been recaptured. He was no longer free. He was at the mercy of his captors and he knew it was a long sentence. The new cases he was about to get would keep his mind “locked up” like a prisoner doing a twenty year stretch for second degree manslaughter. No more time for the beach or golf. He was returning to a world of pain and despair. A world of lies, mistrust and evil. He would be sentenced to this world for at least another fifty weeks, until he would finally make parole and go on another two-week vacation. That is, if he could stay alive for another fifty weeks. Even though this job played out like a game, it was a game played seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, and most of the players had guns.
As he looked around the office now, it was all real again. Back to the game, back to catching killers. But what part of the game was he coming in to? It wouldn’t take long for him to find that answer.
AC’s office door flew open and in strolled his partner, Carlos Purvis, who proceeded to walk up and plop down in the chair just in front of AC’s desk.
“He’s back,” Carlos exclaimed, as he crossed his legs and clasped both hands behind his head.
“What’s up, Los?” came AC’s somewhat subdued answer.
Carlos Purvis had been AC’s partner for nearly four years now. Although Carlos was twenty years older than AC, AC was still his senior in the department. But it didn’t matter at all to Carlos. He loved life and he loved who he was. His biological father was from Tijuana, Mexico. An illegal alien who was deported over forty years ago and he never knew him. He was raised by his mother, a farm girl from Eminence, Kentucky.
Carlos looked the part, but spoke no Spanish at all. But he did speak fluent “down home, back woods, cook me some road kill,” country. Folks often said that he looked just like Cheech Marin but would swear he was one of Jed Clampets boys as you listen to him speak. And AC got a kick out of Carlos. He was a ray of sunshine in the stormy, dark world of death and pain they lived in. AC knew that even though Carlos sounded like a county bumpkin, his mind was sharp and his attention to detail was astonishing. He was a very good partner.
“So, how was your vacation?” Carlos asked.
“You know,” AC replied. “It was good to get away.”
Carlos smiled and said, “Ain’t never long enough, is it?”
AC rolled his eyes, closed his lids and leaned his head fairly far back as he listed to the words come out of Carlos’s mouth.
“I knowed you do that,” Carlos laughed. “I knowed you ain’t ready for what we got to do now that you you’re back, neither.”
AC thought to himself, “Here it comes. He comes the 2.76 murder cased I’ve missed while on vacation.”
“Go ahead, Los,” AC said. “What’s up?”
Carlos laughed as he spoke. “Not a god damn thing,”
AC looked at Carlos puzzled for a few seconds. “No murders at all,” said AC. “Or no murders we’re assigned to?”
“Both,” said Carlos. It’s been quieter than a dead church mouse ‘round here. Hell, even Goldie ain’t said nothin’”
Goldie, Police chief George Gold, assigned the cases to the detectives of the LMPD. Both AC and Carlos reported directly to him. If Goldie’s been quiet, that’s a good thing, AC thought. Maybe there would be some time to relax. It was when Goldie was not quiet that the stress level increased and work as usual took over.
“Anything else happen in the past two weeks?” asked AC.
“You mean killings’?” replied Carlos.
“Yeah, killings,” said AC.
“Just one,” said Carlos. “Some lady over in Middletown got stabbed by her husband. Then the son of a bitch went and hanged himself.”
“No shit,” AC said, as if this sort of thing happens all the time. “Any reason why?”
“Well, it’s somethin’ like he went out and fucked some whore, and she found out, then she went out and picked up some guy at Porter’s Good Time Emporium, and fucked him,” said Carlos. “Then he finds out about it, cuts her up and then hangs himself. Goldie gave it to Jones, but it was pretty simple.”
“They have any kids?” asked AC.
“Yeah, two,” said Carlos. “And both was home. Can you beat that shit?”
“Young kids?” said AC.
“I think one was like ten and the other were a little younger,” said Carlos. “I think their granny got them now. You have to ask Jones for sure.”
“That’s the kind of case I needed to get back into the swing of things,” said AC. “Something slow and easy to warm up to. Of course, the kid’s thing sucks. But it beats banging on doors talking to the type of scum we’re used to talking to.”
“I don’t mind that,” said Carlos. “It beats the hell out of sitting in here all day. I got have me some air. Being closed up all day ain’t no way to spend a day.”
AC shook his head, and as he did, pushed out a short breath through his nose (as kind of a voiceless laugh) and smiled. He’d missed his friend Carlos. Many things bothered AC, but never Carlos. He could count on him for a smile and a sense of what was good and positive about life. He was a much-needed source of light in the dark world they lived in.
“So, what did ya do down there in Florida?” asked Carlos.
“I played golf,” said AC. “Paula wasn’t so happy about it, but I needed it.”
“What else?” asked Carlos.
“Not a whole lot,” said AC. “Mostly just sat around the pool or went down to the beach. I guess we went out to a couple of clubs.”
“Don’t sound like much of a vacation to me,” said Carlos. “You could have done that stuff here. Well, except the beach part.”
“Really, we just wanted to get away,” said AC. “Just get out of town and be in some new surroundings. Paula was just as burnt out on work as I was.”
“You do any of that romantic kinda stuff?” asked Carlos.
AC had to think for a second. Had they done anything out of the ordinary that could have been conceived as being romantic? They made love…. did that count? They do that regularly anyway. He never got her flowers or took her on a carriage ride, admiring the beauty and splendor of the evening sunset. No quiet, candle lit dinner for two. No long drives along the beach. No rose pestles scattered over the bed, with a bottle of champagne frosting over in a glimmering silver bucket. He’d only thought of those things now. Why not when they would have been appreciated by his wife? “Yeah, we had quite of few of those moments,” AC lied.
“Like what?” asked Carlos.
“That’s just going to stay between me and Paula,” said AC.
“Come on, Doc,” said Carlos. “You can tell me.” Carlos called AC “Doc” from time to time because he was known as the Dr. of Detectives at the LMPD. However, AC never liked the handle, knowing that if repeated often enough, it might stick.
“Some things you just aren’t going to know,” said AC. “And I told you not to call me that.”
“I’m a detective, Doc,” said Carlos. “Don’t tell me I ain’t gonna know someting. That just makes me wanna know more.”
“Just let it go,” said AC. I’m not talking.”
“Maybe I’ll just go to Paula,” said Carlos. “She ain’t gonna lie to me.”
“Drop it!” AC said sternly.
“Alright,” said Carlos, throwing his hands up in the air as if to surrender to AC’s wishes. “I’ll leave it be.” Carlos bowed his head and rubbed his hands together, not really wanting to drop the subject so easily. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
AC shook his head and rolled his eyes at Carlos, knowing that this conversation was bound to raise its head at some point soon. But that’s what made Carlos a good detective. He never gave up once he had his mind set on something. That’s what made the two of them a good team. AC’s attention to detail and Carlos’ persistence made them a formidable duo when it came to solving murders in the Derby city.
“So, it doesn’t sound like I missed too much while I was gone,” said AC.
“Nope,” said Carlos. “Guess that means we’re looking at a back wash a stuff coming in. The good Lord’s a gonna open the sky’s and a let a shit storm come a crashing down on us.”
“I’m not sure things are going to get that apocalyptic, Los,” said AC. “I’d settle for a simple hit and run out in the suburbs somewhere.”
“Goldie ain’t never gonna give us one of them,” said Carlos, “and you know it. Not unless we were in big trouble or something.”
“Who knows,” said AC. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and no one will get killed today.”
“Wishful thinking, Doc,” said Carlos. “I bet we get one before an hour is up.”
As quickly as those words came out of Carlos’ mouth, the phone rang. AC, who had been leaning back in his chair, was startled and rapidly sat up, reaching for the phone. Carlos smiled, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. He nodded at AC as if to say, “Told ya.”
AC picked up the phone with his right hand, his left scratching the short whiskers growing from the goatee on his chin. “Hello, Detective Deecee speaking,” said AC, looking at Carlos in awe of his uncanny ability to guess at the future and his surprising percentage of being accurate.
“Hey, Goldie,” said AC. “What’s up?”
Carlos could not hear what the two men were talking about. As AC was not doing much talking, Carlos knew that Chief Gold was dishing out their next assignment. Just by the way AC only spoke using small, short answers like, “OK” and Uh-uh”, Carols knew that this was a job. Hopefully a good one.
Carlos watched as AC looked at him and shook his head in disgust. “Yeah, Goldie, they’re never long enough,” said AC. “We’ll get on it now.” AC hung up the phone and slowly returned to his relaxed posture in the chair.
“Shit storm, right?” Carlos said excitedly.
AC smiled and folded his arms across his chest. “No,” said AC. “No shit storm. Goldie wants us to go down to the Greyhound bus station and talk to some guy named Spalding. This guy called in and said he heard two black guys talking about some job they did on a dealer. He wants us to check it out.”
Carlos, ready just to get out of the building, jumped up and began to tuck in the slightly wrinkled blue shirt her was wearing. “Hell yeah,’ Carlos said excitedly. “At least it’s something. Let’s go, Doc.”
“I can’t see how you can get so excited about something like this,” said AC. “When we get there, you do all the talking. I’ll just listen.”
“I can talk,” said Carlos. “I can surly do that. Come on.”
AC got up out of his chair and came around his desk as he joined Carlos walking out of his office door. “You can surely do that,” said AC. “And stop calling me Doc.”
