The Prophecy

39

The meathead’s name was Vinnie Agostino. He was a local boy, having grown up in South Philadelphia, a section of the city rooted in Italian-American culture. Like many people from his part of town, he was fiercely proud of his heritage. Vinnie and his cousins worshipped Rocky Balboa, the Italian Stallion. Ironically, his first job was stocking produce at the Italian Market, a place made famous by the Rocky films.

In recent years, a population shift had occurred in South Philly, one that had been the source of racial tension among some of the locals. A few of the smaller sections — most notably Grays Ferry, Point Breeze, and the areas closest to Center City — were no longer white neighbourhoods. For most people, racial diversity isn’t a problem, but it didn’t sit well with Vinnie and his racist friends. Ultimately, that was one of the main reasons Vinnie had become a cop after a two-year stint in the Marines. In his mind, it was an opportunity to clean up the city he loved.

Vinnie’s partner was Italian as well, but Paul Giada was nothing like the meathead he had been stuck with for the past three months. Paul was a book smart divorced father of two, who mostly kept to himself while Vinnie shot off his mouth and acted tough. Paul was unremarkable in many ways — medium build, average looks, and a bland personality — but he was a good cop with a good heart. Unfortunately, he was something of a pushover, especially when it came to Vinnie, who was the alpha male in their partnership.

Wherever Vinnie went, Paul followed — whether he liked it or not.

Because of Payne’s warning, Jones knew the cops were taking the stairs to the basement. Grabbing Megan’s arm, they hustled to the opposite end of the corridor, hoping the elevator would arrive before the cops did. But it wasn’t to be. Vinnie threw the door open with a bang and marched down the corridor like he owned the building. The Keymaster, the elderly complex manager, was directly behind him trying to keep pace, and further back was Paul.

‘Stay calm,’ Jones whispered as he studied the trio out of the corner of his eye. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just waiting for the elevator.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she assured him. ‘I’m fine.’

Vinnie saw the two of them whispering in the distance and was sickened by the sight. A gorgeous woman like her had no business being with a guy like him. In Vinnie’s mind, it went against the laws of nature. In his old neighbourhood, their coupling would’ve resulted in a brutal beat-down that would’ve left blood on the street — something he and his friends had done many times before. It was their way of keeping the mulignans off their turf.

‘Where’s the closet?’ Vinnie demanded.

The Keymaster pointed ahead. ‘Up there, on the left.’

‘Open the door. I’ll be there in a minute. I need to check on somethin’.’

‘Where are you going?’ Paul wondered.

‘Don’t worry ’bout it,’ Vinnie growled. ‘Go with him.’

Paul nodded and followed the Keymaster towards the storage unit. Meanwhile, Vinnie marched towards the elevators.

‘Hey,’ he called from a distance, ‘what are you ladies doin’ down here?’

‘Stay calm,’ Jones warned her. ‘Let me handle this.’

‘Okay,’ she whispered.

The closer Vinnie got, the more he looked like a bull. He was six feet tall and made of thick muscles. Like many ex-Marines, his hair was shaved tight on the sides, and his gaze was piercing. ‘Hey! I asked you a fuckin’ question. Do you ladies belong down here?’

Jones responded. ‘Megan lives here. She was giving me the tour.’

‘Of the basement? Why show him the basement?’

‘I’ve got a lot of stuff. I need somewhere to put it.’

Vinnie stared at Jones. ‘Was I talkin’ to you? No, I was talkin’ to her.’

‘Sorry,’ Jones apologized, hoping the elevator would hurry.

‘So?’ Vinnie growled as focused on Megan. ‘Why are you down here?’

‘I’m just giving him the tour. He might move here.’

‘Great, that’s all we need. Let me see your ID.’

‘Why?’ she squeaked. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘That’s for me to decide. Let me see your ID.’ He glared at Jones. ‘Yours, too.’

Both of them fished their IDs out of their pockets and handed them to the cop. He barely glanced at Megan’s — he simply made sure she lived in the building like Jones had claimed — before he returned it. Jones, however, was not nearly as fortunate. The only identification he had was his investigator’s licence, which he kept in a small leather case next to his permit to carry a concealed firearm in Pennsylvania. As soon as Vinnie spotted that, he knew he had the right to check Jones for weapons.

‘Against the wall and spread ’em,’ he told Jones. Then he looked at Megan and said, ‘Stand over there, Jungle Fever, and don’t move.’

Jones rolled his eyes and turned away from the elevator as its doors opened with a clang. Unfortunately, cops had pestered him a few times over the years, so he was familiar with the procedure. Hands on the wall, legs wide apart, no back talk of any kind. If he played by the rules and stayed cool, the meathead would probably let him go. If Jones fought back or did anything stupid, the cop would have him in cuffs before the elevator doors closed.

Jones was determined not to let that happen.

‘Where’s your gun?’ Vinnie demanded.

‘Right coat pocket,’ he answered calmly.

Vinnie reached in and grabbed it. He took a moment to inspect the Sig Sauer P228 before he tucked it into his belt. ‘Any other weapons?’

‘No, sir.’

‘We’ll see about that.’

Vinnie started his search high, patting down Jones’s shoulders and sleeves before he moved to the rest of his jacket. First he reached into Jones’s right pocket, making sure it was completely empty, then he did the same thing on the left. A moment after his hand went in, a huge smile surfaced on Vinnie’s face. ‘My, oh, my. What do we have here?’

Jones closed his eyes and cursed under his breath.

The cop had found his lock picks. In the state of Pennsylvania, the only citizens who were legally allowed to carry picks were certified locksmiths, which Jones was not. Therefore, the meathead could charge him with possession of an instrument of crime, a first-degree misdemeanour.

Grinning widely, Vinnie snatched the handcuffs from his service belt and pulled Jones’s right arm behind his back. ‘For a licensed detective, you sure are stupid.’ He leaned closer and whispered into Jones’s ear. ‘Then again, you are a fuckin’ mooley, so what’d I expect?’

Jones sneered but remained silent. This wasn’t the time to lose his cool.

‘What are you doing?’ Megan screeched, stunned this was happening.

Vinnie yanked Jones’s left arm back and slapped on the cuffs. ‘What’s it look like I’m doin’? I’m arrestin’ your boyfriend.’

‘But he didn’t do anything!’

‘Hey, Paulie,’ Vinnie shouted as he finished searching Jones.

A few seconds later, his partner ducked his head around the corner. ‘Yeah?’

‘Get your ass over here. This eggplant was carryin’.’

‘Drugs?’ Paul asked as he hustled forward.

‘Nah, he had a Sig and a set of picks.’

‘I’m licensed for the gun,’ Jones clarified. He wanted to make sure the other cop was aware, just in case his permit vanished before booking. ‘You saw my licence. It’s valid.’

Vinnie laughed. ‘It won’t be for long, asshole. Not after I file my report.’

Paul stopped next to Megan. ‘What about the closet?’

‘Fuck the closet,’ Vinnie said as he pushed Jones towards the elevator. ‘I’m takin’ this monkey to the zoo.’