Codicil for Deputy Cohen
Bennett, 1970
Bean, 1999
Bobby, (State Narcotics Officer), 2007
Brewer (high school student) , 1972
Brown, 2005
Freddy, (childhood friend, 2008)
Guilderstern, 2008
Hilary, 2007
Michelle and
Mitchell, 2006
Nuygen, 2007
Sister Catherine (working with the dispossessed in New Orleans)
Jim Webb (Pulitzer Prize winner, journalist with the
Jan Mosher, 2003 (daughter, wife mother, and foster care advocate)
Christoff slammed out of the booth he sat in.
"You're not going to get officious on us, are you?" Cartwright asked.
"Monkey," Christoff muttered.
Christoff left the room, stood before Reinhold, and turned toward Rambler.
"Detective, I am authorizing you to place this man, Wagner Reinhold, under arrest,? According to the Patriot Act.'
Christoff turned to the seated figure. You are familiar with the Patriot Act?"
"If you mean, if I have heard of it, the answer is yes."
Christoff turned back to Rambler, handing him a manila envelope.
"You'll find the relevant sections in this envelope, along with the charges, and your instructions. Any questions you may have I will address.
Rambler sat down with the envelope, took out his keys, to which was attached a pen knife, and slipped the blade of the knife beneath the flap, in a straight and clean line. He reached inside, and pulled out three sheets of paper; laying them upon the table, he began to read.
Title III--INTERNATIONAL MONEY LAUNDERING, SEC. 302, all;
Sec. 315, Inclusion of Foreign Corruption Offenses as Money Laundering Crimes, all;
Section 1956(c)(7) of title 18, amended
He read through the entire set twice, took his pen from his shirt pocket, and then
initialed each page, and signed, dated the bottom of the last page. He handed his pen to Christoff who completed the same procedure.
"Well, then, that's done," Christoff said, placing the set back in the envelope. "A simple phone call, and we can proceed to the next and final step as far as we are concerned." Christoff turned to Reinhold, "You are mow in the custody of the
"The charges will be read to you by Detective Rambler." Christoff turned to leave.
Rambler began to read the names, and Christoff returned to the small knot if men.
"We are through here. We can move on to the final act.” Christoff led the way out of the office, down the hall, and out into the street.
They stood, again, in a knot.
“Cartwright, you, Ramses and Tyrell, get Charles.”
Epilogue—Roll Call, The Last Hurrah
And he’s oh so fine,
And he’s oh so good,
And he’s oh so healthy
In his body and his mind.
He’s the well-respected man
About town, does the best things
So conservatively.
--The Kinks
Wagner Reinhard found himself, sitting in the interview room. At h is finer tips was the contract he and Ramses agreed to, concerning the demolition of the
Across from Wagner Reinhard sat Rambler. Rambler was in no mood for the machinations and brinkmanship that Wagner Reinhard wanted to engage in, so he decided to himself, “cut the tangent.” He turned on the tape recorder, identified himself and his suspect, gave the case number, and began.
“This is your address, correct?”
“Yes, it is.” Reinhard spoke clearly and without hesitation.
Rambler sat back in chair, and studied Wagner Reinhard.
“Too easy,” he said to himself.
“Your name is Wagner Reinhard?”
“But, you know that, Detective.”
“I know that’s not the name on your birth certificate.”
Wagner blanched, but only slightly, and then recovered his color.
“I haven’t seen my birth certificate in years.”
“No,
Wagner showed no sign of comprehension.
“When you converted to evangelical Christianity, you changed you name?”
“Yes. I was beginning a new life.”
“Be that as it may, and save the proselytizing for someone who cares, you started this new life in the church, and then fell away?”
“Yes.”
“Christianity didn’t jive with your business practices? Fat man, rich man, and a needle?”
“It would be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.”
“Yeah.”
Rambler did not like the self-confidence of Reinhard, and wanted to shake him up.
“With you in here, and reelections, coming up, the city council will find it hard to come up with the funds to launch their campaigns.
Wagner Reinhard looked hard at Rambler.
“Where’s my attorney?”
“I asked you about that, but you stated, and I have it signed, and I’ll let you see it again.” Rambler took the sheet of paper that showed that Reinhard had agreed to this interview without the presence of his attorney.
Rambler put the sheet of paper back in the file.
“So, how much did these elections cost?”
”Several thousand dollars?”
“As in?”
“$3,000, give or take.”
“And, you engaged the services of CHAOS to prevent anyone else, running for those seats?”
Wagner Reinhard nodded.
“Speak for the recorder, please, Reinhard.”
“Yes,” he said.
Rambler cocked his head to his left side, and gazed at Reinhard.
“It is no accident that this one cent sales tax, gang tax, and I’ve got to tell you Reinhard that when I first heard about it I thought the city council was going to start, taxing the gangs, but, now I see that city council’s going to start, taxing the taxpayer to cover the costs of what?”
“I’m not sure I follow your line?”
“Line? I’m not feeding you a line. My train of thought suggests that you were covering the costs of these city council elections, and I want to know if you paid for all of them?”
Reinhard shook his head.
“Speak up.”
“No.”
“Whose didn’t you pay for?”
“There were only two.”
Rambler reached into his file and pulled out a sheet, containing the names of all the members of the city council. He handed the sheet and a pen he pulled from his pocket, and handed it to Reinhard.
“Underline the two names.”
Reinhard did as he was told.
“Now, asterisk the ones you did finance.”
This small task took a few seconds longer, but they were all asterisked save for two.
Rambler glanced at the paper, and put it back in his file.
“This gang tax is to finance what else?”
“In case I was no longer available for financial assistance, the gang tax was to pay for the administrative costs of CHAOS. As you know, it is CHAOS which handles the gang activity in this city, and it’s also responsible for—“
“The cop killings.”
“Yes.”
“Did you order those killings?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Which ones?”
“All of them.”
“All of them on this list?” Rambler pulled out another sheet of paper with the list of names of everyone who had died suspiciously in the city, and had made an enemy of Reinhard.
“Yes. Everyone on this list.”
Rambler was not satisfied, but he said nothing, and got up from his seat, and went out through the door, leaving the file on the table. In a room, attached to the interview room, sat Cartwright, Emperor Brutus, Tyrell and Ramses.
“He’s a right bugger, then, Rambler,” Cartwright said. “Stick it to him.”
“On whose authority?”
“Mine,” a voice said over the intercom. I’ll be out in a minute. Cartwright, what did you do with my keys?”
“I have them.”
Epilogue—Roll Call, The Last Hurrah
Bennett, 1970
Bean, 1999
Bobby, (State Narcotics Officer), 2007
Brewer (high school student) , 1972
Brown, 2005
Freddy, (childhood friend, 2008)
Guilderstern, 2008
Hilary, 2007
Michelle and
Mitchell, 2006
Nuygen, 2007
Sister Catherine (working with the dispossessed in New Orleans)
Jim Webb (Pulitzer Prize winner, journalist with the
Detective Charles was cruising for a bruiser of a fall. He sold, in a haste promoted by his arrogance, eight ounces of crack to two police informers who left the hotel and were promptly arrested by the police. The two informers were allowed to see the base of operations in the disused office of the former owner, Mustapha, and also allowed to see the bags of crack cocaine, shrouded in large, plastic bags. Based on this evidence, and, before the lunch break, Charles was unceremoniously detained by the police. The news filtered back to the hotel, and this turn was, in the fortunes of the residents, greeted with dismay and with panic. On top of a murder. from last week, now in the hands of Fred Chung’s staff, and without the protection of Charles, the sense of dread and the riot of fear became palpable.
Ramses pulled his car into the parking lot of the medical center, stepped out, removed his suit jacket from its hanger, and slipped it on, reached inside for his
“You moonlighting as a lobbyist, Ramses?” Tyrell asked.
“Who’s your tailor, Ramses?” Sigismund asked.
”How much did that suit set you back?” asked Emperor Brutus.
“Thank you, gentlemen, one and all. I must say that the suit gave just the right touch to this morning's adventure.”
“Speaking of which, I need to put you guys in the picture. Charles was picked up this morning for, selling crack to two police informers. The next thing I have to tell you is that we have to correct our assessment of CHAOS. It's the city of
“So, what are we going to do about the
'the order's to raze it.”
“Good,” Sigismund muttered.
“However, that leaves us with a problem,” Ramses continued. “I took it in my mind to frame Charles for this exercise. If he's in the pokey, that won't be possible.”
“Not true, Ramses,” Emperor said, “We can go ahead with our plan we just spring Charles. a mere formality.”
“Do you have an idea?” Sigismund asked.
“I will go his bail,” Emperor said. “Charle's not going anywhere. He'll make his way to the
“Easy enough,” Sigismund said. “Do we have a method?”
“We do, indeed,” Ramses said. “I have worked out a way that involves, setting up a an electrical fire in one of the vacant rooms. This will be child's play.”
“I can't say I'll be sorry to see that place burned to the ground. It ticks me off that this city's Housing Authority's in the business of, racketeering and murdering kids and cops. I mean they're using federal funds to run a safe-house for cop killers.” Sigismund said.
Tyrell nodded his head. “They've had a long run, going back to Bennett, and it's past time that CHAOS came to its inglorious end. It's a federal crime what they're doing, and what they've done.”
“What I can't understand is why they lasted so long, and why the feds have not stepped in,” Ramses said.
“I'm afraid, gentlemen,” Emperor Brutus said, “That would be my department. It was agreed that they should be allowed to continue on in their chosen path until we got our fly paper, but she proved to be more than anyone imagined. Now, she's lying upstairs, languishing between life and death, and that is, as Dr. Brutus will attest, my fault, and no one else.”
True to Emperor Brutus’s pronouncement, Charles made his way to the
“Cuff him,” Sigismund said, and, without protest from Charles, the two uniform officers cuffed Charles.
“Let’s take him up,” Sigismund said, and they walked off the floor, taking the back stairs.
When they reached the fourth floor, they entered the floor and walked to the vacant room, 420. Sigismund unlocked the door, and they entered the room.
The two officers, escorting Charles, threw him into a white, plastic chair. Sigismund motioned to two, and they removed the cuffs, and each man, placed the, restraining hand on either shoulder.
Sigismund, who had, up to this point, been looking out of the window, approached Charles.
“Open wide, baby boy, Daddy’s got a big surprise.” Sigismund pulled out a small .22 caliber Beretta. “I said open, asshole.” Charles did as instructed, and Sigismund inserted the barrel of the gun in his mouth.
“Now, listen to me, Charles. You will exactly as you are told. Any deviation from instructions, and you will play with me and my little friend here. Understand?”
Charles nodded.
“If you think you can challenge me or my instructions, then I will see your badge, your gun, against my badge and my gun. You think you’re man enough?”
Charles shook his head.
Sigismund pushed the barrel back as far into Charles’s mouth as it would go to make him gag. Sigismund did not remove the gun’s barrel, allowing the distress to continue for several more seconds. When Charles seemed to be to the point of, vomiting, he released the barrel’s pressure.
“You are standing in a dark alley with your back to the wall.” Sigismund nodded, and the two men, leaned the chair back, and Sigismund took the safety off, and pulled the trigger. A wail went up out of the man who, only just at this moment, realized that there was no way out for him.
“I’m not warning you. I’m promising you, and I don’t make a promise I won’t keep.”
The two uniforms let the chair fall forward, and then they yanked Charles up.
“Get the hell out of here. I’ll see you later, Charles. Gentlemen,” Sigismund said, “Until we meet again.”
The three men exited the room, but Charles was not to be seen. The two uniforms went down the hall to the front stairs, and Sigismund took the back stairs all the way down, triggering the alarm, and out the back door. He did not stop moving until he was back at the hospital, and, at his place, by the bedside where Lee Guilderstern slept. Sigismund had made up his mind.
Bennett, 1970 Bean, 1999 Bobby, (State Narcotics Officer), 2007 Brewer (high school student) , 1972 Brown, 2005 Freddy, (childhood friend, 2008) Guilderstern, 2008 Hilary, 2007 Michelle and Mitchell, 2006 Nuygen, 2007 Sister Catherine (working with the dispossessed in New Orleans) Jim Webb (Pulitzer Prize winner, journalist with the
Epilogue—Roll Call, The Last Hurrah
Ramses sat in the office of Wagner Reinhard. He owned the building in which his suite of offices were located. Ramses sat attired in a tailor-made, English-cut suit, and he entered the office, standing before the secretary, who, at first, eyed him with disdain, but then decided that this man smelled of money. Ramses removed his
“The clothes make the man,” Ramses said, trying to suppress a grin.
“Well, if, indeed, they do you are proof-positive,” his wife said, kissing him on his cheek.
“Mr. Reinhard will see you, now,” came the crisp professional voice. Ramses rose, and the woman led him into the office of Reinhard.
“Mr. Ramses, Mr. Reinhard,” and she closed the door behind her.
Reinhard arose, walking around his desk to shake hands with Ramses. Ramses noticed the man’s hands were soft and fleshy, the handshake, noncommittal. Reinhard motioned to Ramses to take a seat, not in front of the desk, but on the couch. There stood a coffee table with a tray and refreshments.
“Tea?”
“Of course, and thank you.”
“Sugar?”
“And lemon, if you would.”
“Two sugars?”
“Four.”
Reinhard looked up at Ramses, adding the extra cubes. He handed the cup to Ramses.
“You come very highly recommended by Mr. Charles. I have his every confidence in his judgment.”
Ramses took a sip of his tea, and balanced it on his knee as a plate of biscuits were handed him.
“Sometimes,” Reinhard began, “the old ways are best. What I need is the complete demolition of the hotel. I need not tell you which one, but I need it razed—completely. Do I make myself understood?”
“Instinctively, Mr. Reinhard. Do you have a preference as to method?”
“Lay waste to it, Mr. Ramses. I am sure I can trust you to raze it with a minimum of fuss.”
Ramses looked at Reinhard.
“A demolition would, such as you require, mean an accident. I take it you would prefer it that way?”
“We are perfectly understood, sir. Do you require anything to complete this demolition?”
“Anything I would require can be provided by the hotel. I mean an accident would have to look like it, and you know how sloppy the management of the hotel can become, such a turnover of staff.”
“Indeed, Mr. Ramses, indeed.” Reinhard smiled over his cup.
Bennett, 1970
Epilogue—Roll Call, The Last Hurrah
Bean, 1999
Bobby, (State Narcotics Officer), 2007
Brewer (high school student) , 1972
Brown, 2005
Freddy, (childhood friend, 2008)
Guilderstern, 2008
Hilary, 2007
Michelle and
Mitchell, 2006
Nuygen, 2007
Sister Catherine (working with the dispossessed in New Orleans)
Jim Webb (Pulitzer Prize winner, journalist with the
Lee Guilderstern lie in a hospital bed in the intensive care unit of the UCD medical center. Rennie Dillard shot her three times, and surgery to pull the bullets, two from her lung, and one out of her shoulder, had been long and steep since knew one knew the amount of poison she had ingested; no one knew her allergies; no one knew her asthma; no one knew any thing about her, except that she amassed the kinds of enemies that made this kind of brutality possible. Now, she breathed with assistance of a machine, and she was connected to bags to remove fluids, to replace fluids, to monitor her heart, her pulse, her pain.
Sigismund sat next to her, watching her between bouts of, holding his head, in his hands. Sigismund shadowed Lee, that Sunday afternoon, and he watched Lee as she watched the birds, going through their ritual, teaching the fledged young to eat. The father, teaching this lesson, seemed to have a real recalcitrant offspring, and there was a firm insistence, on the part of the parent, to teach this young one to fend for itself. Then, Lee turned and continued down the mall toward
“I made a mistake,” Lee whispered to the cop.
“Don’t speak, now, Lee. We’re going to get you safe and well, just hush for now, okay?” Sirens came from every direction, and the noise cut into Lee’s head, adding to the pain she felt.
“Baldor Shah was the red herring. It was Wagner Reinhard who has that building on the corner of Capitol and 8th. He runs that huge management and real estate conglomerate, specializing in all kinds of racketeering. You name it he does it: gambling, murder, attempted kidnapping, bribery, extortion, pornography, dealing in controlled substances, graft, bribery,
theft, embezzlement, fraud, especially voter fraud, obstruction of justice, slavery, racketeering, money laundering, commission of murder-for-hire, drug trafficking, acts of terrorism. Do you think they'll ever get to the truth about those water meters?” Lee’s eyes closed and her mouth shut.
Sigismund looked up to see Emperor Brutus, looking in through the window. His daughter stood next to him. He turned to her.
“Don’t let her die.”
“You know, Dad, you try to get them killed, and I try to save them. We’re quite a pair,” and she turned on her heel, and entered Lee’s room.
Bennett, 1970 Bean, 1999 Bobby, (State Narcotics Officer), 2007 Brewer (high school student) , 1972 Brown, 2005 Freddy, (childhood friend, 2008) Guilderstern, 2008 Hilary, 2007 Michelle and Mitchell, 2006 Nuygen, 2007 Sister Catherine (working with the dispossessed in New Orleans) Jim Webb (Pulitzer Prize winner, journalist with the
Epilogue—Roll Call, The Last Hurrah
The phone was picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Who’s this?” Connie Singleton asked, trying not ton noticeably slur her speech.
“A friend. Do you want to speak with Rennie?”
“Yes, put her on.”
Rambler handed the phone to Rennie, but he held onto it, nodding to another officer, who picked up the extension, and set the recorder to record.
“Hello?”
“Who was that?”
“A friend, like he said. Look, I can’t talk. I have to get ready to report in.”
Rambler looked at the other nine officers in the room, and they all smirked.
“I need to ask you if you did what I asked.”
The officer on the extension, nodded.
“Yeah, I shot, Lee. I can’t go into the details over the phone.”
“When can we meet so we can talk about them?”
“I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of overtime.”
“Well, did you kill her?”
“I don’t know.” At that Rambler took the phone and hung it back on its cradle.
“You don’t know? Lee’s shot, and you don’t know if you killed her.”
Before she could respond, Rambler back-handed her, across her face, then turned his hand, and brought it back across. He yanked her out of the chair, in which she sat, by the collar of her shirt, and threw her into the wall. Rennie’s eyes glazed over, and she sank to the floor, in a sitting position.
“Rambler?” A woman officer started.
Rambler stopped, stepped back and looked at the others.
“She’s bent. She’s dirty. Any objections?”
“So, long as it provokes the truth.”
“it’ll provoke a lot more than that,” Rambler replied, and he reached for Rennie’s arm, pulling her across the floor, throwing her back into her chair.
“Talk, Whore of Babylon. Talk or I’ll knock it out of you.”
Codicil for Deputy CohenEpilogue—Roll Call, The Last Hurrah
Bennett, 1970
Bean, 1999
Bobby, (State Narcotics Officer), 2007
Brewer (high school student) , 1972
Brown, 2005
Freddy, (childhood friend, 2008)
Guilderstern, 2008
Hilary, 2007
Michelle and
Mitchell, 2006
Nuygen, 2007
Sister Catherine (working with the dispossessed in New Orleans)
Jim Webb (Pulitzer Prize winner, journalist with the
Connie Singleton sat in the living room of her Pocket home, sipping a cold brew, and chasing it with shots of Remy Martin. She tried to suppress the panic, idly, threatening to engulf her. She managed, though, to only make herself miserably drunk, and, still, she knocked back the shot, and chased it with the beer, taking stock of the station with which she found herself. Primarily, she took stock of the deaths which occurred in the last year-and-two-months, beginning with the arrangement of her half-sister's murder. Though it was Kathie, who pulled the trigger, and the, “short, fat, little man,” who silenced her. Megan and Jethro met their ends with the help of CHAOS. They hired the, “short, fat, little man,” and he executed the murder of Jethro, inside the county jail, and Megan, when she left jail.
Then, there was Connie Singletom's stymied election bib. A run-off with the current mayor was scheduled for November, but she felt the momentum no longer with her. The Sacramento Athletic Club and CHAOS parted company, and, with this termination, Singleton and her associates lost their ability to launder money and to run their high-class call girl operation, their momentum. The
Connie eased herself up out of her chair, walking to the refrigerator to get more beer. She opened the door, reached in and pulled the beer out of the refrigerator, and promptly dropped it. she watched it roll across the floor, lodging itself beneath the cabinets, on the opposite side of the kitchen. She opened the door, again, and pulled out a second and a third, taking stock of the beers inside the box where the Beer was housed. Connie closed the door, nestling the ice-cold cans to herself as she made her way back to the living room and her chair. She sat down, popped the tab on one of the cans, took a long pull of the liquid. She poured herself another shot. She knocked that back and chased it with more beer. Checking the time on her watch, it read two o'clock, in the afternoon. She returned to the debits in her accounts. In the past weekend, three bent police officers, and a staff sergeant arrested. These came as severe setbacks because they were the ones who were running interference. Now, it was more than possible that all the parties were looking at, though they did not see it, and so did not believe it, a swift and brutal retribution.
Singleton shuddered, and reached for her cell phone. She punched in the number of police officer Rennie Dillard/
Epilogue—Roll Call, The Last Hurrah
Bennett, 1970
Bean, 1999
Bobby, (State Narcotics Officer), 2007
Brewer (high school student) , 1972
Brown, 2005
Freddy, (childhood friend, 2008)
Guilderstern, 2008
Hilary, 2007
Michelle and
Mitchell, 2006
Nuygen, 2007
Sister Catherine (working with the dispossessed in New Orleans)
Jim Webb (Pulitzer Prize winner, journalist with the
Lee Guilderstern opened the door, and confronted a man, poised to knock on her door.
“May I help you?” Lee said, sizing the man up, knowing exactly what he was.
“Can I come in and talk to you?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
“No, I don’t. I just want to talk.”
“About what, do you wish to speak?”
“About you and this room. We want you to leave.” The man stepped back. Though Lee was a full head shorter than he, he sensed that the she was more than able to defend herself against him.
Lee smiled. “You’ve always wanted me out of this room. So, let me, if I might, hip you to some things.” Before the man could say one thing, she began.
“First,” she said, ticking the items off on her fingers. “You are in deep with the County Housing Authority of Sacramento, known as CHAOS, and it is. Second, You are, and when I say you, I mean you, singly, and, you, particularly, running the
“You finished?” He asked.
“Yeah, just about. The next time you show up here, at my door, you will need a warrant, do you understand?”
The cop said nothing, but stared. “You’re pretty hard, aren’t you?”
“That’s your fault. You tried to kill me. For all I know, you’re still trying. Why should I worry?” Lee closed the door to, and the moved back away, yet again, and Lee started down the hall. When she was about turn the corner, she stopped and turned around. The man stayed where he was, watching her.
“I know that cops are in charge of prostitution, but I was wondering if you ever tried that trash you brought in here? They don’t seem to have any talent?” Lee turned the corner.
Epilogue—Roll Call, The Last Hurrah
Bennett, 1970
Bean, 1999
Bobby, (State Narcotics Officer), 2007
Brewer (high school student) , 1972
Brown, 2005
Freddy, (childhood friend, 2008)
Guilderstern, 2008
Hilary, 2007
Michelle and
Mitchell, 2006
Nuygen, 2007
Sister Catherine (working with the dispossessed in New Orleans)
Jim Webb (Pulitzer Prize winner, journalist with the
Oscar found Lee on the floor of her room, a cockroach scurried across her prone body. He looked over to her computer table, surveying the rice cooker, and its plug, dangling down the side of the table. Oscar looked down at his shoes, making doubly sure they were rubber soled and bent over, crushing the cockroach with his foot.
“Lee?” Oscar asked. “Can you hear me?”
Lee groaned, and rolled over to sit up, but she sank down.
“I believe that someone thought I needed electroshock therapy,” she said.
Oscar helped her up, and he guided her to the chair because she insisted that she wanted to sit up, not lie down.
“You know I got involved this because I believed in a man, and he returned my trust. But, that man is dead, and there isn’t anyone else to take his place.”
Oscar nodded. “You’ve been dragged through hell and back-and-forth, and you’ve gone alone the whole time since Dean died, anyway. You’re right. There’s no one you can trust because Dean was a prince among men, and they only happen one in a generation, and he was ours, and he’s gone.”
“My late husband was the prince among men for our generation,” she said. “They make habit of, killing princes, don’t they?”