North Bergen Police Chief Harley Dove scanned the photos arrayed across his desk. The blurry images were of a hulking, bent over character with sinister eyebrows and a red skullcap who slithered and skulked in and out of the Toyworld Store at the Bergen Country Faire Mall.
"Chief, we’ve seen this individual hanging around for a couple of days. He seems to slip in and out and it’s almost as if he’s casing the place, but we can’t seem to get a handle on where he comes from or goes to." Detective Ted Krumpnik was alarmed. That hard knock to your gut kind of alarm. He’d seen this clown somewhere before, he just wasn’t sure where. Or when.
"Ted, the holiday shoppers are out in full force, and we want to be on top of this. That means no weird vagrants hangin’ at the mall, no exceptions. I want you on this guy’s ass, and if he runs, book ‘im."
Any kind of incident was Chief Dove’s worst nightmare right now. He and the Department were already in hot water with the Feds and the voters over his handling of the shmutz epidemic that was spiraling out of control, and North Bergen was the epicenter of this madness.
"Ted, you know the Department has been receiving on-line threats, and I’ve got a couple of hot leads for you to check out."
Detective Krumpnik was surprised. This was the first he had heard of any threats. "What threat, Chief?"
Chief Dove handed Krumpnik a copy of an e-mail dated November 28. The message screamed its vile words at him in bold caps.
"May Allah Curse Your Mustache!"
Krumpnik was stunned. Terrorists, here in North Bergen! Dammit, this was not acceptable, not at all.
"Chief, can you put someone else on the Teen Robbery case? I’m getting on this right away."
"Sure, Ted. I’ll put Will Bardspeare on it. This will be the kid’s first case. Oh, and I’m sending Agent E with you."
"Agent E?" The detective couldn’t believe his ears. "The Agent E?"
"Yes, but he’ll be undercover. He’ll be disguised, you won’t even recognize him. He’ll be somewhere near at all times, your backup in case things get dicey. Got it?"
"I’m there, Chief."
Theo Thistle, known elsewhere as The Grinch, sat in the dark at the kitchen table, open bottle and shot glass in constant motion, watching with jaundiced eye the action on the street below. This second floor shack of an apartment hung over the corner of 21st Street and Northerington Boulevard, where Gypsytown ended and Hell began. Shmutz whores walked up and down the two blocks between 19th and 22nd, their impossibly thin bodies backlit by liquor store neon. Screams from the Bumblebee Lounge spilled out into the street, two hard faced men in yellow suits ran out the front door, then split up, running in different directions. The faint sound of sirens enlarged, came closer.
Theo emptied the bottle into his glass, downed the amber liquid without satisfaction, and threw the bottle across the room, smashing it into a million pieces on the wall.
I’m sick of this shit. They think I just faded away. Boy, are they all gonna be surprised.
That little stunt in Whoville was nothing. Hell, he ripped off a whole town’s Christmas. All he had to do was say, "I’m so sorry," and those ignorant yokels forgave him. Hell, he kept half the stuff he ripped off, sold it on EBay. He even had that stupid mutt put to sleep. He didn’t need him anyway, stupid......mutt.
Theo had designs on North Bergen. He’d spent countless hours casing the shopping districts, banks, and the long Who’s Who in North Bergen list. He was pretty sure about who was dealing, who wasn’t, who was on the take, who could be bought. And who should be shot outright.
In particular, he was watching the Outland Institute. Some very interesting goings on there. Those chimps were so cute!
This place is happenin’. Priceless. Money and shmutz everywhere. It’ll be so damn easy. His eyes smiled pure malevolence, single brow pasted on his forehead.
He pulled a cellphone from his filthy jacket pocket, snapped it open with gnarled fingers and dialed a familiar number.
"Hello, you’ve reached the corporate offices of Larry Leviticus, how may I help You?"
"Lemme talk to Larry."
"I’m sorry sir, but may I ask who is calling?"
"Just tell him it’s Theo, and hurry the hell up."
The receptionist said nothing. She slammed him onto hold and with extreme reluctance walked down the hall to the steel door that closed off Larry Leviticus’ office. "...that ..asshole..., she mumbled under her breath.
She pushed the button on the intercom. Several seconds passed, she pushed it again.
"What!" Mr. Leviticus was clearly annoyed.
"Mr. Leviticus, it’s Claretta."
His growling voice crackled from the dusty speaker. "Didn’t I just tell you not to bother me?"
"Yes, sir, but..." She felt sick, nauseated.
"But what?" He cut her off.
"Theo..." It was all she could manage to stammer.
The speaker squawked again, muffled this time
"Sorry, baby, I’ve gotta take this, be right back." Then, "Alright, Miss Barnside, I’ve got it! Go on back up front."
Relieved, Claretta retreated to her desk and turned up the radio. Shirley Bassey was singing the theme to Goldfinger. Claretta sang along.
"Gold..Fin-ger, he’s a man, a man with a gol-den touch.."
"Theo, my old friend." Larry’s tone was effusive, ingratiating, and completely phony.
Theo hated this guy, but... "Larry, I wanna talk business."
"Damn, boy, we haven’t even seen each other for months, and you appear out of the blue and ask me to talk business?"
"Listen, I like this place. I’m planning on staying."
"Oh, really...and what are you going to do here?"
"Make money, what else?"
"You know that I own this town, don’t you?"
"Yeah...and I haven’t forgotten that I owned Whoville, too, and I split fifty-fifty for your help on that one. It’s time for a new deal here."
"Sorry, no deal."
"You owe me, Larry!" Theo puffed out his chest and clenched his teeth.
"Get the hell out of my city, loser."
Theo swallowed hard, held back his anger, turned and left the building, not looking back.
All right, if that’s the way you want it, it’s war. You had your chance, now I’m gonna take it all away.
Lesmerelda was lying on the sofa, feet propped up, sipping a Juicy Juice and watching Oprah while El Pinche puttered about the kitchen, washing dishes and humming to himself when the red eye on his special yellow phone blinked and the alarm warbled. El Pinche jumped, Lesmerelda hurried from the sofa to his side.
"Hello Mr. Mayor."
"Agent E, we have a new problem."
"Si, Mr. Mayor, and what problem is that?"
"We have a kidnapping and hostage situation. I need you down here now, ready to move."
"El Pinche is on his way."
"Sweetheart, do you have to?" Lesmerelda’s eyes pleaded, worry lines furrowed her forehead.
"Yes, my sweet, don’t worry, I’ll be back very, very, soon."
He needed this, things had been too quiet lately, and the man-around-the-house was not the ideal situation for a world champion alternative martial arts champ.
El Pinche dressed quickly and with purpose. His spandex and black leather jumpsuit was custom fitted for close combat. He needed to be able to move fast and keep his whip arm free. He strapped on his utility belt, then selected his new combat whip, the Revenger Ace. It was twenty inches longer than the standard competition whip, and featured a latex grip, fitted to only his hand. He adjusted his tiny sombrero over the black skullcap, hooked up his hands-free comm system, kissed Lesmerelda, and headed out the door.
The titanium silver SUV, windows tinted purple, glided through quiet city streets. The underground entrance to City Hall opened in a brick wall behind the Seven Eleven as his car approached, then closed behind him.
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