Enormous, powerful machines from any surrounding agency fortunate enough to have one. They swoop in low above the crowd of mourners, reminding everyone of the power and force of a unified Blue. One officer falls, but the line does not falter. The line is still held.
And what a crowd it is.
Law Enforcement from all over show up in their Class A uniforms. High collars and spit-polished leather, looking for the attendant with the cardboard box of clean white gloves.
New Jersey State Police always march in unison from the parking lot to the church in perfect formation. Other, smaller departments see them do it and try to copy it like children chasing after a parade float. There’s a kind of “me too” aspect to the entire proceeding. Frank felt sick.
Danni Ajax sat in the front row of the church dressed in black gown and long, elbow-length gloves. Every bit of her, the grieving widow she became the instant they knocked on her front door to tell her Vic was dead. Vic the bastard. Vic the no-good estranged husband forking over half his salary every week, only to be screamed at that it was not enough. Every basket of fruit and bouquet of flowers and monetary donation to her children refined her appearance of grief. She’s getting good at it, Frank thought. But then, this is the big show. Pretty soon she’ll be in the full throes of hysteria.
Beside her, the enormous figure of newly-minted Chief Claude Erinnyes. Sergeants, Lieutenants, Commissioners, Mayors, all filed toward him and said the same thing: “How you holding up, Chief? Everyone in our department is so sorry for your loss.”
Erinnyes would nod and sigh thoughtfully and nod and sigh thoughtfully again, sucking in their good wishes and attention like an engorged tick.
All the high-ranking officials and honored guests flanked Chief Erinnyes and Danni and Jason and beautiful little Penelope Ajax. They filled up the rows closest to the casket with their brightly polished badges and eagle emblems and gold-trimmed sleeves. They were gracious in their allowance of letting all the mourners in attendance draw strength from them, just by being in the midst of such supreme police command presence.
The crowd parted along the right hand side of the church and Frank saw Dez Dolos leading a tall, grey-haired figure through the horde. “That’s the FBI Director,” someone whispered. “Holy shit.”
Dez made a gracious gesture toward Chief Erinnyes, who stood up and clasped hands with the Director, both of them smiling pleasantly. The Director continued down the line, shaking hands with each person. “I’m sorry for your loss, I’m sorry for your loss, I’m sorry for your loss,” repeated to each person he passed, including Vic’s children, his wife, and then the next seven people in the pew beside them. The Director reached the end of the line and Dez quickly escorted him back through the church, taking him down the front steps and into a limousine waiting outside.
“You absolute mother fucker.”
Frank sat six rows back. To his right, he saw the only other person from his PD who arrived early enough to sit up front behind the roped-off RESERVED seats. Jim Iolaus was wearing his brand-new Class A uniform, bought for him by the Chief just for this occasion.
An hour earlier, Frank watched Iolaus and Chief Erinnyes pose for pictures on the church’s front steps. Quite a momentous occasion, Frank thought. Why wouldn’t you want a framed photograph of how you looked at someone’s funeral?
“You son of a bitch.”
Frank ignored the words of the man sitting next to him. Ignored the smell of gunpowder. Ignored the blood smeared across the front of his shirt.
“I’m talking to you, mother fucker. You stole my death!”
“No I didn’t,” Frank whispered. “Go away.”
“Yes you did! I shot myself to make a point and you stole that from me. You think I wanted all this? You think I wanted to give Fat Fuck the chance to sit there and play the benevolent leader? You betrayed me, Frank.”
“Fuck you, Vic. Leave me alone.”
“Real, real nice,” Vic said. “On the day of my funeral it’s, ‘Fuck you?’ In a church?”
“You just called me an absolute mother fucker! Look, knock it off. I’m trying to pay attention, okay?
Vic grimaced at the sight of Danni. “Look at her carrying on. What did she say when you gave her the letter?”
Frank shifted in his seat and stared straight forward without speaking.
Vic slammed the wooden pew in front of him with his hand, “Jesus Hirschfield Christ, Frank! What the hell were you thinking? I asked you to do one fucking thing, and you couldn’t even do that for me?” Vic spun on him, glaring into his face, showing him where the worms had eaten through his cheeks and bored holes in his eyeballs. Bugs tumbled out of his hair and fell on the floor, fell on Frank’s lap while he sat there motionless. “I’m not done with you, rookie. Not by a long shot.”
Frank O’Ryan bolted upright in his police car, slamming his knees into the radio console.
The early morning sun was fierce, reflecting off every car surrounding his vehicle in the bank parking lot. The lot had been empty when he pulled into it at three o’clock in the morning. Frank watched a mother holding her little girl’s hand come out of the bank and head for their car. Both of them were looking at him.
“Mommy, was that policeman sleeping?”
The mother instantly shushed her daughter and yanked her away. Frank put his head down and drove out of the parking lot, stomping on the gas as soon as he was on the street.
About the Author
Bernard Schaffer is the father of two children. Born and raised in the Philadelphia area, his work has ranges from best-selling gritty police procedurals to fantasy westerns.
A real life police officer, in 2012 he released a series of books titled SUPERBIA about a dysfunctional police department that reached the Kindle Top 100. As a result, he was stripped of his detective rank.
Schaffer is the founder of the Kindle All-Stars. All profits from their collections are donated to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.
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The Guns of Seneca 6 Series
Get Your Guns Ready to travel to Bernard Schaffer’s dusty world of the Old West set on a distant planet. Outlaws, gunslingers, native tribes, the occasional spaceship crash landing, and men willing to risk it all. A perfect combination of science fiction and westerns.