Free The Squad Room by John Cutter Page B

picking up Ernest in Baltimore, I heard they beat the shit out of him at every rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike.”
    “They put him away for a good while?”
    “He got twenty-five to life under the state RICO statute. All his buddies got the same.”
    “That’s good.”
    “Yeah, small victories. The fat guy from Scarsdale was the guy I really wanted. He was the most disgusting animal, this motherfucker. Sweaty, fat, big rolls, real small dick. God, did I hate him—he was a rich fuck, and just, I don’t know. He paid for me. I learned a lot about humanity and inhumanity that night, not that I really needed that type of lesson.”
    “So did they get him?”
    “Oh, yeah. That was more vindicating than any of the rest of it.Sergeant Devallo took good care of that one too—when he was putting him in the wagon for arraignment, he made sure to tell everyone else in the back that hey, this guy raped a young black kid. Now that’s the way to get someone paid back.”
    Morrison laughed through a grimace. “It sure is. And Sergeant Veda—I’m assuming you heard what happened to him, right?”
    “I heard he hung himself. I was sorry for his family, but it was hard to feel sorry for him.”
    “Why would you want to?”
    “Well, you know…it was a lot easier to be mad at him when he didn’t show any moral compass, but suicide? I couldn’t believe he felt that bad about what happened to me.”
    “Wait, stop right there,” Morrison said, holding up his hand. “What do you mean, felt that bad?”
    “About screwing up with me. I assume he killed himself behind what happened to me.”
    Morrison laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no—no no, Tina, don’t even think about it like that. He really did do the wrong thing by you, and his suicide had nothing to do with it. Didn’t anybody brief you on what happened to him?”
    “No,” Tina said, her eyes wide. “I just heard his family found him hanging in his bedroom after he killed himself. Was there more to the story?”
    “Oh, yes,” Morrison said. “Even though it was a suicide, they investigated it as an untimely death, and they turned up a lot.”
    “Well then! Do cut me in on it, Cap.”
    “It is my turn, I guess! And then we can get down to business.”
    “Deal,” she smiled.
    “Okay.” He took a swallow of whiskey. “After your incident he got suspended with pay, you know, out on administrative leave—tie goes to the runner, innocent until proven guilty, and all that. So one day he’s out at Kennedy Airport, waiting for an Aeroflot arrival; he’d apparently paid for one of those Russian mail-order brides online.”
    “You’re shitting me. And him already married?”
    “Yep. He’d told the Russians he was going to leave his wife for her. But the girl never shows up. Instead, two guys meet him at their prearranged spot in Long Term Parking, and explain to him that they need fifteen thousand dollars up front, so their company doesn’t lose out. He explains that he already has an apartment set up for the girl in Bayside, but the guys don’t bite; they tell him they have to protect her. In the end, he pays the fifteen grand and they tell him they’ll meet him the next day in Bayside.
    “So the next day they meet up, and tell him they’ll let him know when she’s in the country, and to just sit tight until then. He goes home, the jerkoff, and finds an email waiting for him, where they tell him they need proof that he’s going to marry her, because he’s already married and they don’t believe that he really loves this girl they’re supposed to bring him. For proof, they demand that he take some pictures of himself with—let’s just say, without any clothes on. So what does the genius do? He sends them some real explicit photos of himself, with his goddamn face in the picture.”
    “What a fucking idiot,” Tina laughed in disbelief.
    “Oh, big time,” agreed Morrison. “And these guys are good—they make him send more photos, with