Opening Day

“And here’s your partner,” Sheriff Zach Bombay said, while pointing.

Newly hired 24-year-old Anthony Russo looked ahead as he followed Bombay through the Pinellas County Sheriff’s Office. Cubical after cubical were filled with other sheriffs either on the phone or typing furiously, accessing databases. Russo soon saw his new partner; an older man named Gary Maverick. A ‘grizzled vet’ as many called him, Maverick had been on the force for over 20 years. His new role was to partner with new hires to show them the ropes of the job, before letting them loose to be on their own.

“Gary, this is Anthony Russo. He’s your new partner,” Bombay said mildly, but with a stern undertone.

Maverick looked up from his notepad and held out his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you son,” he said with a grin.

“Same here sir,” Russo replied, returning the handshake.

Soon the greenhorn sheriff was sitting beside Maverick and listening intently. It was a little past midnight and the graveyard shift was something new for Russo. Any previous job he held; he’d always prefer to show up early. In preparation, he stayed up late for 2 weeks prior to his first day. Being fatigued wasn’t an option in his mind. Like any cop, however, he would follow the cliché and sip on a cup of coffee or two. It never let him down before.

            “Here is how you access your report logs,” Maverick stated, hovering the curser over the folder icon on the desktop.

            The two were interrupted by Sheriff Bombay.

            “Got something for you two,” Bombay began. “Black sedan found in a parking lot next to the Gulfport Casino. Blood on passenger side dash and door handle according to the report. Here’s the rest of the info.”

            He handed the piece of paper over to Maverick and soon he and Russo were headed to their SUV. Exiting the building, the warm, muggy Florida air smacked them in the face.

            “Thank Christ for AC,” Russo said aloud.

                                                                        _________

            The parking lot was empty minus the dark sedan and the man who initially called 911. Maverick pulled up in front of the sedan and parked, turning his red and blue lights on as he stepped out. Russo climbed out the passenger side and calmly as he could walked to the witness. The waves from the inter coastal waterway crashed onto the public beach. Russo stopped and listened; taking deep breaths. This was his first call out. “Can’t screw it up,” he thought.

            “I’m going to take a look around the car. Think you can handle taking the statement?” Maverick soon said.

            “Yea,” Tony coughed. “Sorry, yes sir I can handle it.”

            Maverick put on a pair of rubber gloves and began examining the vehicle. Russo pulled out his notepad from his breast pocket as he approached the tall, skinny man.

            “How’s it going sir?” Russo began, clicking his pen. “What’s your name?”

            “Louis Mecca,” the man responded.

            “How old are you?”

            “Twenty-seven”

            “And you’re the one who found the vehicle?”

            Louis nodded.

            “Tell me what you saw,” Anthony said.

            “Well, I was walking to my truck after my shift over at the Mexican joint when I saw the sedan. Both front doors were open, which I thought was odd. I decided to walk over and see what was up.”

            Mecca shifted his weight and continued. Russo looked up and saw his new partner examining the passenger side door. By this time CSU units had appeared, standard procedure anytime blood was involved.

            “As I got closer, I could see the keys still in the ignition and then I saw the blood. I got scared and swiftly walked back to my truck and called you guys. I almost drove off, but decided it would have looked worse for me.”

            “I appreciate you staying,” Russo said, as he finished writing down Louis Mecca’s statement.

            Sweat slowly dripped from his armpits and began pooling on his undershirt. Russo didn’t know if it was the humidity or his nerves. Either way, in his mind he thought he was doing a good job.

            “Hold tight a second and let me go speak with my partner,” Russo said, then began walking toward the sedan.

            Maverick had moved to the rear of the vehicle, jotting down the license plate.

            “Just finished up takin the guy’s statement. You want to talk to him?” Russo asked, as he stood to the side of Maverick.

            “What he say?” Gary Maverick responded, looking up from his own notepad.

            “He was walking to his truck over there, coming off his shift, when he saw this sedan with the front doors wide open. He walked over and saw the keys in the ignition still then saw the blood. Got spooked and darted back to his truck to call us.”

            Maverick nodded and told Russo that he could let him go.

            Russo headed back to Mecca and released him. Anthony watched the witness drive away. He couldn’t help but think there was something off about the guy. The feeling coming from his gut. Shaking himself back into reality, Russo walked back to the crime scene.

            “Gary, what did you find?” he asked.

            “We got drugs and drug paraphernalia. Looks like weed and cocaine. I just called in the license plate and the sedan was registered to a Mackenzie Weaver, now deceased. It was passed down to the granddaughter Willow Weaver,” Maverick responded, looking at his own notes.

            CSU team members continued collecting evidence, taking pictures, and sketching outlines of the scene. Thunder rumbled from the water. A tow truck pulled into the parking lot; the driver awaiting instructions. The plan was to tow the vehicle back to the impound lot. Russo and Maverick were going to go over it again, making sure no one missed anything.

            It was shortly passed two in the morning, when the two saddled up and headed back to the station. Each further discussing the previous events and possible theories.

            “You think that blood is from the owner of the car?” Russo asked. In his mind there was no way it couldn’t be. He just hoped she wasn’t seriously injured. Or worse.

            “Most likely,” Maverick replied.

            There was a moment of silence.

            “In all my years in the field, the most logical answer is nine times out of ten the right one.”

            There was no expression on Maverick’s face, but the tone said it all. He was there to guide these young Sheriffs, not beat around the bush. This is what made him a great cop.

            “8126 Maverick come in,” a voice echoed through the police sedan’s radio.

            “Go ahead,” Maverick replied into the receiver.

            “Blood came back positive match to Willow Weaver.”           

“Copy,” Maverick said and hung the receiver back up on its holder.

            Russo’s face showed slight concern. He knew he’d face stuff like this, but still didn’t know how to react. Maverick could sense it.

            “Now that is her blood, but doesn’t mean she’s seriously injured or dead. That was hardly enough to produce much of anything a band-aid couldn’t cover. Another part of this job, especially in times like this, you also have to have a positive mindset. Now don’t let that cloud your judgment, but given the facts at hand and the amount of blood, its very possible she had a nose bleed.”

            Russo nodded and perked up. He remembered that as an officer of the law, he was going to see things that weren’t all sunshine and rainbows. That’s what he learned at the academy. It was also a part of life.

                                                                 ______

Back the station, Russo and Maverick sat at Maverick’s desk and began going over notes. They had looked over the sedan again at the impound lot for a good hour, but didn’t find anything more. In that time, they learned that Willow Weaver was in the system for petty theft as a 17-year-old. The two learned she got caught trying to steal jewelry out of a mall boutique. The owner had the then teen arrested, but charges were dropped for community service. Russo held the file in his hand and studied it more.

            “Given the date of birth, she would be 24 now,” Russo said.

            Maverick nodded.

            “This file doesn’t say much. Weaver hasn’t been picked up since and there is no drug affiliation.”

            Maverick nodded again. This time sipping on a cup of coffee.

            Tony Russo flipped to the next page of the report and his eyes lit up.

            “Hold on Mav, this might be something.”

            “Don’t call me that,” Gary Maverick finally said.

            Ignoring him, Tony continued.

            “Someone else got picked up for that same theft. Says here a Jeffery Adel also got caught stealing from that same boutique. Says that they were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

            Gary looked up and soon was on his computer.

            “What was the name again rookie?” he asked.

            “Jeffery Adel,” Russo replied.

            Maverick typed the name into the database and soon has Jeffery on his monitor.

            “Now we are going somewhere,” he said.

            The electronic file of Jeffery Adel was enlarged on the computer screen and Maverick began rattling off the information.

            “Jeffery Adel, 17 at the time, tried stealing a belt and some tops from the same boutique as Willow Weaver. Charges were eventually dropped and community service served. That was his first stint with the law.”

            Russo listened intently, now sipping from his own coffee cup.

            “At 20, he got caught with weed in his car during a routine traffic stop. Said it wasn’t his. That he was holding on to it for a friend.”

            “How many times have you heard that line?” Russo said, laughing into his cup.

            “I would have been able to retire by now, if that answers your question,” Maverick said, with a grin.

            “Since they are boyfriend and girlfriend, maybe Weaver got into drugs like Adel did.”

            “It’s possible, but there’s no evidence of that. Or the fact that Adel is a dealer. Hell, the drugs in the sedan could have been a friends’.”

            They both sat silent a minute, pondering over the evidence and how it all relates to the abandoned vehicle.

            “Alright, I’m going to hit the latrine. Look up the last knowns for the two and we will go from there,” Maverick explained.

            “You got it Mav,” Russo replied.

                                                                        __________

            The following evening, Maverick and Russo set out to the residence of Willow Weaver. They learned that she resided off of 62nd Avenue in a two-family house, living in the upstairs section. Maverick pulled up in front of the house and parked the sedan. It was a little after 6:30 in the evening. The July sun beamed through the windshield and for a brief moment, all you could hear was the air conditioner producing cold air as fast as it could.

            “What are the odds she’s actually home?” Russo said.

            “It’s possible. When I called all the local hospitals and learned no one fitting Weaver’s description was admitted, she could be shacked up here resting,” Maverick said.

            After watching the house for a few more minutes, they hopped out. As the doors of the cop car shut, the downstairs apartment door opened. A frail, older woman wearing capris and a light-colored blouse stepped out and onto the top step.

            “Can I help you gentlemen?” she said.

            ‘Yes ma’am. My name is Gary Maverick and this is my partner, Anthony Russo. We are here to speak with Willow Weaver. Have you seen her this evening?” Maverick said.

            Russo knew that he wasn’t going to have his skills tested just yet. It was time to let Maverick use his experience. Anthony stood next to his partner and listened intently, comparing his own interview with this one; taking mental notes.

            “Oh, that poor girl? No, I haven’t seen her since the day before last.”

            “What can you tell me about her?” Maverick pulled out his notepad and clicked his pen.

            “Well, I know she doesn’t have a job, but doesn’t seem to care too much about it. Her grandma died last year and left her a small fortune along with her black sedan. I feel sorry for her in a way. I don’t think she really knows how to do much. Her grandmother raised her from the age of 2 from what I understand.”            Maverick jotted down notes, while Russo studied the outside of the house a little bit more.

            “She definitely hangs around with the wrong crowd. There is this one fellow who comes by often and takes her places. He gives me heebe jeebies,” the old lady said, scratching her forearm and shaking her head.

            “Why do you say that? I’m sorry I never caught you name,” Maverick said, smiling slightly.

            “Joanne Smith,” Joanne replied. “And just the way he looks and his demeaner. Seems all too high and mighty for society. I don’t think he really works either. Just delivers food to people from what I could hear.”  

            She leaned in closer and began to whisper.

            “Not that I eavesdrop, but sometimes when I am in my tv room and have it muted during those gosh damn commercials, I can hear them yelling about money and how he’s the only one working.”

            Joanne leaned back and started talking normally again.

            “The only other person that comes around is this tall boy, like your partner here. About the same height, but skinnier and less muscular.”

            Russo smiled and nodded, taking the “complement” at face value.

            “He has blonde hair and drives a white truck. I never got his name though.”

            “Does this first guy look something like this?” Maverick pulled out his smartphone and pulled up a picture of Adel.

            After a brief moment, Joanne nodded.

            “Yep, that’s him.”

            Maverick put his phone away.

            “Anything else you can think of?” Russo broke the silence.

            “Not at the moment. I hope Willow is okay, I do really feel bad for her. I hope she has done nothing wrong.”

            “If you see Willow or her boyfriend or even other information you think is important, please don’t hesitate to call these numbers.” Maverick handed her a business card and said their goodbyes.

            It was now 7:05 and the two sat in the police vehicle with the air blowing on them yet again.

            “Adel address next?” Russo said, wiping his face with a towel.

            “Yep,” Maverick said, dabbing his eyebrows with his own towel.

            Maverick put the cop car in drive and headed west before turning left onto 49h Street North. As they continued to drive, Russo replayed Joanne Smith’s description of the ‘tall, skinny guy with blondish hair.’ He began mumbling those words under his breath over and over.

            “You alright over there?” Maverick broke the silence.

            “Yeah, it’s just the description of the Weaver friend. I want to say it was the witness I interviewed last night,” Tony replied.

            “What makes you so sure?”            “Mecca was his name and he has the same characteristics and was driving a white truck.”            “So what are you saying?”

            “I can’t put my finger on it, but he just seemed off to me. What time was it when we got to the scene last night?”

            “Around 01:15,” Maverick said, taking the second exit off the traffic circle, staying on 49th Street.

            “When was the call made about the sedan?’            “00:45.”

            Tony didn’t answer, and began typing furiously on his phone.

            “What is it?” Maverick asked.

            “The Mexican restaurant Louis told me he was coming from closes at 12.”

            Maverick stayed silent.

            “Let’s say he had to help clean up before leaving. That’s what maybe 20 minutes at most? 25 if you have your lingering drunk tourists.”

            Maverick began slowing down and put his directional light on; getting ready to turn right on 28th Ave S.

            “What the hell was he doing from 0:25 to 0:45? It doesn’t….” Tony’s thought was interrupted by the radio.

            “Car 820, car 820. Report of deranged man yelling and waving a knife at 2839 Clinton St South. You still in the area?”

            The two cops look at each other, before Tony picked up the receiver.

            “We are 3 minutes out. Over.”

            “Copy will send back up to that location. Use caution.”

            Maverick hit the flashing lights and sirens and began racing down 28th Ave S. Soon, he turned left down Clinton St S. and they could see the commotion ahead.

            “Jesus Christ,” Tony said. “Is that Adel?”

            “Looks like it,” Maverick said, remembering the picture he had on his phone.

            Jeffery Adel was running in and out of the door way, yelling something that was drowned out from the wailing sirens. In his right hand, he held a kitchen knife and the blade looked about 5 inches long. He only wore khaki pants and matching-colored loafers.

            Maverick screeched to a halt and swiftly hopped out of the sedan. Tony took a minute but then both officers had their guns drawn standing in the street. There was no time to waste. Adel began walking toward them and Willow Weaver emerged into the doorway.

            “Jeffery Adel, this is the police. I need you to put the knife down,” Maverick ordered.

            “He’s on something, look at his face,” Tony said, as the two took steps closer to him.

            “Jeffery, put the knife down now,” Maverick repeated.

            Adel begins swinging the knife again and headed back toward Willow.

            “Jeff. Baby. Listen to what he says. Put the knife down,” Willow yelled, tears running down her face.

            Tony could see a cut about her right eye. The source of the blood he thought.

            “She made me. She made me,” Adel yelled. He stopped and faced Maverick and Russo.

            They stood at the end of the walkway leading to the one-story brick house.

            “Let’s talk about it okay, but I need you to put the knife down,” Maverick said sternly.

            “Come on Jeffery, listen to him. We want to help you,” Tony said, mostly on impulse.

            “She made me. She made me.”

            Those were the final words of Jeffery Adel. He turned around and sprinted toward Willow.

            “Jesus Jeffery no,” Tony yelled.

            Two shots rang out and Willow screamed. Adel fell first to his knees then onto the concrete. Two bullets entered his back. The knife flew from his grasp and into the yard.

            “Fuck me,” Maverick said.

            Sirens echoed through the neighborhood and neighbors stepped out to see the commotion.

                                                            _______

            “So, he would give you money in exchange to use the sedan?” Maverick asked, jotting down notes.

            Willow sat across from him. They were in Interrogation Room One. It was a little past 21 hundred hours. Russo watched with Bombay from the one-way window. Tony listened intently, taking mental notes. After clearing the body, Maverick, Russo, and a few other officers investigated the house. It was full of drugs, money, and low-grade weapons.

            “Yes,” she finally said, whipping away a tear. “We would deliver drugs to clients who couldn’t get to the house.”

            “Why not his car?”

            “He delivered groceries and food from restaurants, so he was afraid someone would make the car on one of our runs.”

            “Some hell of a drug front you guys had.”

            “I felt like I didn’t have a choice. I was running out of Nanna’s money and couldn’t find work.”

            She pulled her legs to her chest on the chair and wrapped her arms around them.

            “She definitely doesn’t look like the drug fronting type,” Tony said from the viewers room.

            Bombay shrugged.

            “Tell me about last night,” Maverick said softly.

            “We had gone to a client off 58th street to drop off his weekly stash of weed and meth. I always stayed in the car, Jeffery said I’d get in the way.”

            Maverick nodded.

            “Jeffery handed the guy his goods and asked for the money. The guy claimed he was getting gipped and wanted a refund,” Willow paused and took a deep breath. More tears filled her eyes. “He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Jeffey’s head.”

            Maverick wrote more.

            “Jeffey then hit the gun away from the guy and ran back to the car. We sped away and decided to ditch it at the beach lot. He hit the brakes so hard when he parked, I jutted forward and hit my head on the dash.”

            “That answers that,” Tony said to no one.

            “I knew we’d get caught eventually because of the license plate. That’s what we were arguing about when you guys showed up. I said we should turn ourselves in. Jeff was having a bad day and took an extra dose of meth. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

            Willow began crying into her lap, while Maverick stood up from the chair.

            “I’ll be right back with some water,” he said.

                                                            _________

            “Hell of a first case you got yourself into rookie,” Maverick said.

            It was the next night. He and Tony were doing their required patrol down by the beaches.

            “I still feel like we are missing something,” Tony replied, sipping out of his travel mug.

            “Still caught up on Louis Mecca, eh?”            “Yeah, but we have no proof. There are thousands of people who fit that description, even more with a white truck.”

            “When I mentioned the name to Willow, she claimed she didn’t know him, only heard the name from when she was in high school.”

            “I know. Hope that Willow girl only gets community service. Seemed like she was stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

            “I think the judge will be lenient on this one,” Maverick said, before turning onto Gulf Blvd, past one of the several 7/11 gas stations.

            “You’re probably right Mav,” Tony said.

            However, Tony couldn’t stop thinking about Louis Mecca and if he had missed a vital piece in what seemed to be an open and shut case.