Tag: NYC Midnight 2020

The Whistleblower

The Whistleblower

by S. M. ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Frozen air pulled each breath from his lungs with a painful rasp. The canopy above blocked the moonlight, blinding him as he ran. If he could just reach the road, he might find help.

The sounds of pursuit grew louder and panic clouded his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. His toe caught a fallen branch and he faltered, his hand scraping earth as he fought to keep his footing. Adrenaline propelled him onward, but the stumble cost him precious seconds. Death nipped hungrily at his heels.

He needed to reach the road.

Pain tore suddenly through his thigh and he crashed to the ground, his mouth filling with dirt and leaves. He lashed out, kicking into the darkness, trying to drag himself away. More pain bit into his shoulder, pinning him down and ripping a scream from his throat. Hot breath licked his neck, before Death’s jaws closed around him.

Leonard Wallace was a good man. Patient and fair, his dedication to public service made him a trusted representative. He was what a politician should be, which was, perhaps, why he never ran for office. Instead, he served as Bloomfield’s Borough Manager, inspiring positive change within months of his appointment.

Now, police swarmed the Mayor’s Office, speaking to staff in hushed tones, collecting statements.

Jacqueline watched from her desk, wrought with anxiety. Leighla had called early Saturday morning, sounding frantic; Leo had never come home from work. Forty-eight hours later, Jacqueline and Leighla were at the police station, filing a missing person’s report.

Her mind hadn’t stopped racing since, searching for some forgotten detail that might prove helpful.

Recently, Leo had seemed…stressed. He and Leighla were deep into their wedding plans, his mother’s cancer had relapsed, and he had been speaking more and more openly about his dissatisfaction with Bloomfield’s leadership. At least, he was speaking more openly about it with Jacqueline.

Leo was becoming disillusioned with the local government, tired of hitting so many unnecessary obstacles. In his most frustrated moments, he admitted that maybe, he just wasn’t cut out for Borough Manager.

Jacqueline thought back to those conversations, to the exhausted look on Leo’s face. The job was overwhelming him, but he wouldn’t just run off…

A pair of voices echoing up the marble staircase announced Mayor Cross’ arrival. He entered the office wearing a perfectly tailored suit, his silver hair combed neatly to the side, and a somber expression that turned down his mouth and pinched his brows. He was speaking with a detective Jacqueline recognized from her time at the station. The men passed her desk without even a glance, walking directly to Cross’ private office and closing the door behind them.

Jacqueline’s eyes lingered on the closed door. Leo was missing. Her thoughts were on him and his safety, and she imagined Mayor Cross’ were as well. But she also knew the world of politics; Cross would want to keep this quiet if he could. A missing public official would be quite the scandal.

Desperate for a distraction, Jacqueline turned to her computer. She needed to keep her mind busy, otherwise she was susceptible to falling into a dazed fit of anxiety. She opened her email and relief washed over her as she read Leo’s name at the top of her inbox. He had contacted her – he was safe! She was ready to burst into Cross’ office, to call for the detective, when she noticed the timestamp.

Friday, 5:38 p.m. Minutes before Leighla last heard from him. Dread settled in again as she opened the email.

Subject: Just in case

Jackie,

I’ve left you something important. Please understand.

Always,

Lenny

No one called him Lenny, not even Jacqueline. It was a teasing reference to when she was too young to pronounce Leonard. They only ever used it when poking fun at each other, and certainly never used it in the office, where they attempted to keep their family history private and avoid accusations of nepotism. To read the endearment now, frightened her. It felt somehow like a goodbye.

She wrenched open her desk drawer, the dread she felt now making her nauseous.

Leo occasionally left “gifts” in her desk – birthday presents, a save-the-date – today there was an envelope. It was heavy and as she unfolded its contents, a gold whistle with a blue ribbon attached fell to her desk.

Jacqueline recognized the dog whistle. It was a trophy from some hunting dog competition and usually sat on Cross’ bookshelf. The page she unfolded was a transcript of Cross’ interview regarding a series of rallies protesting a new shopping center where the community center currently stood.

A quote was highlighted.

“They see this as an encroachment of government, but it is an opportunity to bring jobs and commerce to the inner districts, to lower crime rates. [The counter-protesters] recognize this, they want what will improve their community…”

Leo’s scratchy handwriting filled the margin.

Chpt 30A Redevelopment Authority §30A-5

Ordinance 6-2020. Find it.

Jacqueline stared at the note, confused.

“There is no Ordinance 6-2020,” she mumbled, turning her attention back to the dog whistle.

Suddenly, Jacqueline remembered a late-night conversation from months earlier. Leo was heated. He had met with the council to discuss a petition to renovate the community center now targeted for demolition.

“Their anti-immigrant sentiment is becoming outright obnoxious” he told her, sitting on Jacqueline’s couch with his third beer. “They don’t even bother hiding it in the council meetings anymore and yet they step out into the public for their photo-ops and suddenly they’re the ‘voice of the people.’ They just don’t let on that they only care about the voice of a select few people.”

He threw his head back, draining half the bottle in a couple of gulps.

“I can’t stand dog-whistle politics,” he growled. “Even if you’re able to decode their true intentions, it’s almost impossible to incriminate them!”

Jacqueline’s eyes moved back to the page and reread Cross’ words, the whistle heavy in her hand.

Laughter erupted from Cross’ office, the sound so jarring and misplaced, it made Jacqueline jump.

“—best bitch I’ve ever run!” Cross was chuckling as he opened his office door, his somber expression long forgotten. Jacqueline slipped the dog whistle onto her lap, out-of-sight.

“I never took you for a hunting man,” the detective said, smiling broadly. “What do your dogs hunt?”

“Coons, mostly. Mind you, my Plott Hounds can take large game down at the call of a whistle.”

“You’ll have to come out with me and the boys, once the season starts.”

“I look forward to the invitation!” Cross held out his hand and the detective shook it.

The detective smiled at Jacqueline as he approached her desk.

“Ms. Palmer,” he said, nodding. “Thank you again for your cooperation yesterday.”

Jacqueline nodded silently in return. She watched as he left the office, his footsteps echoing quietly in the stairwell, but she could feel Mayor Cross’ eyes on her. Swallowing the dread that still churned her stomach, Jacqueline turned to meet his gaze.

Cross was still standing in the doorway to his private office, his hands buried deep in his pockets. For a moment, he just stared at her, an inquisitive look in his eyes. Finally, he turned slightly away from her.

“Ms. Palmer,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Contact my three o’clock and see if he’s willing to meet before lunch. I’ll be leaving early today.”

“Yes, sir,” Jacqueline said, but Mayor Cross had stepped back into his office, closing the door behind him without waiting to hear her response.

Two days passed, and Leo was still missing. People were beginning to suspect the worst; Jacqueline was trying to accept it.

She needed to know why.

Chapter 30A Redevelopment Authority was easy to find. It outlined an initiative to improve Bloomfield’s underdeveloped areas. Ordinance 6-2020 still alluded her.

She had exhausted her search at work and still had no answers. That’s why she found herself standing in the darkness of Mayor Cross’ home office.

Jacqueline knew he had a late dinner scheduled, giving her plenty of time to search, but she hardly needed it. The ordinance was in the top drawer, among dozens of proposals from retail and luxury housing developers. Jacqueline scanned the pages in the light of the desk lamp, then she found the blueprints.

“I never expected Wallace to share his suspicions. Let alone with my secretary.” The voice cut through the dark silence of the office, tearing Jacqueline’s eyes from the paper. “Granted, I didn’t know the two of you had history.”

Cross stepped from the shadows, the dim light accentuating his look of disdain. What was he doing here?

“Your crackhead mother was charged with child negligence when you were barely three; you spent a year in the system, moving from home to home until Wallace’s parents took you in. They were your last foster family before your grandparents obtained custody. Did I get that all right?” He took a few steps closer. “I imagine Lenny was a perfect big brother. How nice of the family to maintain a relationship with you all these years.”

Jacqueline’s mouth was dry, her heart racing almost painfully. She hardly cared if Cross knew her past now. She clutched the plans to her chest.

“You’re going to demolish one of the highest immigrant-populated districts in the borough.”

His hands slid deep into his pockets. “I’m pointing Bloomfield toward a more prosperous future.”

“Thousands of families will be forced from their homes—”

“Most of them aren’t here legally,” Cross said with a shrug, “are the homes truly theirs?”

His words hit her like a physical blow.

“You can’t do that…”

“Yes,” Cross looked to the window as if recalling something. “That’s what your ‘brother’ said. Threatened to go public and reveal my evil scheme. He wasn’t pleased to learn that the council already approved the plans.”

Cross turned back to look at Jacqueline. He removed a small object from his pocket, sighing. “Such a shame he dragged you into this.”

Fear almost choked her, and she felt sick. “What did you do to Leo?”

“Nothing that wasn’t in my right,” he said with a smile. “Mr. Wallace was trespassing when he came to confront me.”

The object glinted as he touched it to his lips. “Much like you are, Ms. Palmer.”

Mayor Cross lowered the dog whistle. There was a pulse of silence before Jacqueline heard several sets of paws scraping against tile and hardwood. Somewhere a hound bayed, then another. Then, Jacqueline ran.

The frozen air stole a gasp from her lungs as she burst into the night, sprinting toward her car. Two more dogs forced her to change course and she ran for the trees, panic clawing her throat as the panting hounds gained on her. Cross’ estate was massive, but if she could just reach the road, she might find help. She urged her feet to move faster.

She needed to reach the road.

Wet Below Deck

Wet Below Deck

by S. M. ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

I should have known how this afternoon would unfold as soon as I arrived at Barry Harbor. Any sea-faring vessel called Titanic is most likely doomed just on principal; the Universe doesn’t care if someone’s painted the word Tiny in front of it.

“That’s a big boat,” I mumbled to myself, taking it in. Tiny Titanic looked nothing like its namesake, mainly because it was a 21st-century yacht and not a passenger ship from 1914. Global warming had largely taken care of any threat of icebergs, but I was still uneasy. I’m not a fan of sailing; nowhere to escape when you’re completely surrounded by water. Which is probably why Samantha planned it this way…

For whatever reason, my sister-in-law, Samantha, had made it her life’s purpose to get me hitched.

“Doug Daly, you do women an injustice by staying single,” she told me. “Go forth, and share your sexiness with the world!”

Those may not have been her exact words, but she did tell me I was ‘Daddy material,’ so I think you get the gist. Despite repeatedly insisting that I am neither ready to be a father nor a ‘Daddy,’ Samantha followed her own agenda and set me up on a blind date. So, here I was, standing at Barry Harbor, because my sister-in-law is relentless and I am a pushover.

A beautiful blond woman waved excitedly from the deck, calling my name. I assumed correctly that it was Bethany, Samantha’s latest candidate. She looked like a Marilyn Monroe impersonator, bleached curls, a slim waist and huge…lips. I waved back with a forced smile.

“Yer treading dangerous waters, boarding that girl,” a gruff voice said from behind me. I spun around to see an old sailor. Gray scruff covered his tanned face and he wore a sun-bleached skipper’s cap.

“O-oh, I’m not planning on boarding any girls, sir,” I replied, panicked. “I’ll be on my best behavior.” I raised two fingers to my head in salute.

“The capt’n brought her in from the bay, plans on headin’ up river,” he continued, ignoring me as he stared up at Tiny Titanic. “Tried tellin’ ‘im the bed’s too shallow; keel’s gonna drag.” He turned to face me. “If yer capt’n don’t mind the river, yeh might end up takin’ a dip.”

With a toothy grin, he headed back toward his small fishing boat.

I turned back to the yacht, looking it over. A mysterious seaman just warned me not to board a boat named after the Titanic – was it too late to cancel the date? I reached into my pocket and pulled out a large gold coin.

“Heads I bail…” I said, flipping it in the air. I caught the coin and slapped it on the back of my hand. “Dammit…”

I had a sinking feeling about this.

The date was going about as well as I expected, so not great. Bethany was…friendly. Her Marylin impersonation made a hard stop at her drawn-on mole and I honestly couldn’t tell you if that was a relief or a disappointment.

She laughed at all of my jokes, which is always nice, but even I could tell she was laying it on a bit thick. She was very vocally impressed with my physique. Apparently, she had expected a “Dad Bod”. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I was beginning to question whether I was being complimented or falling victim to some twisted Electra Complex.

Her hands seemed capable of only holding her champagne glass and sliding up my thigh. We were halfway through the all-inclusive-charter charcuterie when she explicitly told me how much she loved “big meat”; which was, you know, not at all subtle.

There are plenty of reasons why I’ve taken a prolonged break from dating; the fact that women like Bethany terrify me, is just one of them. Eventually, I excused myself to go hide shamelessly in the cabin. It was smooth sailing from there; until Bethany started getting friendly with Captain Richards.

The cabin was nice and lightly furnished, so it didn’t take long to snoop around. I gave the bed a wide birth, just in case Bethany found me and got the wrong idea, then settled in an armchair near a porthole. I fished my gold coin out of my pocket and lifted it to eye-level.

“You know,” I said to the eagle printed on the coin, “you don’t give the best advice. I’m starting to doubt whether you’re even lucky…”

Then the yacht jolted violently, throwing me and my unlucky coin to the cabin floor. An ear-splitting screech echoed through the room before Tiny Titanic let out a satisfied groan and settled into the riverbed.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows and that damned eagle stared back at me. Fairly confident that my earlier statement had just been validated, but more terrified that the Powers-That-Be were trying to prove some sort of point, I pocketed the coin once more. Then, lifting myself from where I fell, I lunged for the doorway, staggering against the steep pitch of the yacht as I sprinted toward the stairs. When my foot sloshed against wet carpet, I stopped. At the end of the hall, I could see water seeping from a gash in the wall. That couldn’t be good.

I took the stairs two at a time and found Bethany and Captain Richards looking disheveled and interrupted.

“What was that! A tiny iceberg?”

“No need to panic,” Richards said, tucking his shirt into unbuttoned pants. “It seems we’ve run aground. We’ll just need a tow. I’ve already radioed an SOS.”

Sirens were sounding everywhere.

“The carpet’s soaked below deck,” I told him.

“Mmm, I know,” Bethany bit her lip, cozying up to Captain Richards.

The captain blanched. “There’s water?”

Before I could respond, the bosun came running. “Damage to the hull! We’re taking on water in the bilge!”

Adrenalin hits everyone differently. Captain Richards jumped into action, doing his job instead of my date; Bethany’s blood seemed to rush somewhere other than her brain; and I entered full flight-mode.

While the crew tried to reach the tender boat, I searched for the shore. How long until help arrived? Tiny Titanic was sinking and I wasn’t a strong swimmer; I’d never make it out of the water alive!

“I have bad news,” Captain Richards said, when he returned. “The tender was damaged in the snag. We’ll have to wait for help.”

Bethany gripped my arm with something not resembling fear. “Oh, Doug, isn’t there something you can do!” She pressed her hips against mine.

I gasped, and pushed away from her, but it wasn’t because of her untimely attempt at seduction. I had noticed something just over her shoulder. “There’s another boat!”

Maybe it was the fear of dying with Bethany and Richards in a weird threesome, but whatever the cause, hysteria hit me hard.

As soon as I saw the small rowboat in the distance, slowly paddling its way toward us, I ran to the rail like a madman and, without a second thought, threw myself into the water.

I swam as best I could until I reached the rowboat. The old sailor smiled down at me.

“I warned yeh’d be treading dangerous waters!”

“I don’t wanna be treading any water!” I sputtered, splashing.

The sailor laughed as he gripped my shirt and hauled me into the boat. He changed course, heading toward the old fishing boat in the distance as I settled on the bench. I doubled over, resting my elbows on my knees as I tried to catch my breath.

You know that saying, out of the frying pan, into the fire?

I watched the water pool around my feet.

“Now, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure the water’s supposed to be on the outside of the boat.”

The sailor’s smile brimmed with ill-placed humor. “Yeh learnt that from experience, skipper?” he asked, his body rocking with each pull of the oars.

The water was seeping into my shoes, not that it mattered; I was already soaked from my impromptu swim. I pulled my shoes off, then yanked at my socks, letting them fall to the bottom boards with a splash. The old sailor laughed.

A small bucket bobbed up to me, bumping against my foot in the flooded boat’s bottom.

I reached back into my pocket and pulled out the gold coin. “Heads I bail…” I said, flipping the coin. With a sigh, I reached down for the bucket and began emptying the water from the boat’s hull, as the old sailor leisurely whistled a shanty.

Many lessons had been learned. One, don’t put too much faith in a lucky coin. Two, never let your sister-in-law set you up on a blind date. The old sailor’s shanty turned into something resembling “My Heart Will Go On.” And three, never board a boat named after the Titanic when looking for love.