It was after midnight when I got home. Thanks to the GI Bill we had a nice little Colonial in a quiet neighborhood in midtown. Still, there were plenty of locks on the door and I made sure to do them all up. As I walked down the hall, I checked the kids’ rooms. Fast asleep. My wife, Betty, was in bed already sawing logs. I undressed in the dark. Try as I might, the bed creaked when I got in.
“Sam?” Betty’s voice was hoarse with sleep.
“Hey, babe. Sorry I woke you.”
“It’s ok.” She propped herself up on an elbow. “How was work?”
“Rough.” I blew out a breath. “Had a stiff this morning. Just a kid, really. Told his folks he’d been murdered. Found the trigger man and had to pop him but not before he greased our informant. Now we’ve got the lab boys working on some kinda raygun used in the murder.”
“Jesus, honey, that’s horrible. You should ask Lieutenant Stevens for a transfer to something less violent than Homicide.”
“Everything is violent. If I was on Missing Persons I’d be finding little girls chopped to pieces in the park. If it was Vice I’d end up tracking down pimps who beat their chippies. This whole city is just slidin into the shitter. At least in Homicide we have a chance to catch the crooks and put em in the cooler.”
My wife put her head on my shoulder and draped her arm across my chest. “I guess you’re right.” She lay silent for a moment. Then she lifted her head and said, “What did you say about a raygun?”
“It’s the damndest thing. Glows like a neon sign and blasts out bolts of green lightning that destroys whatever gets in the way. The kid this morning took three to the chest with it. You wanna talk horrible, now that was horrible.” I shook my head. “I dunno. Maybe I should get outta Homicide.”
“Are you still having the nightmares?”
I had been having nightmares periodically since my first night on the force. My first call ever as a beat cop was somebody complaining about a weird odor next door. Turns out the smell was several stiffs rotting under the neighbor’s floor boards. I said hello again to my breakfast all over the bushes and had an awful dream that night.
It didn’t get any better after I got drafted in ’40. I was in the Navy when the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. They shipped us out to the Pacific Front and my boat saw plenty of action. By the time we got torpedoed and I took a chunk of steel to the leg, I was having nightmares every time I went to sleep. After I got back stateside and patched up I asked the Department to put me on investigative detail because I just couldn’t stand hoofin it anymore, my knee and my head wouldn’t let me. Eventually, I was promoted to Detective.
Joining homicide probably wasn’t the greatest idea I’d ever had, but it beat pounding pavement and catching killers actually made me feel good. The nightmares only came once in a while now.
“Not for a couple of weeks. But after today, I dunno.”
Betty snuggled closer and kissed my cheek. “Get some sleep, dear.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” I drifted off into dreamland.
Except dreamland had been replaced with a hellish wasteland of walking stiffs who didn’t realize they should be pushing up daisies. Fish creatures that had bird beaks and walked upright used their blasters to plug anybody that wasn’t already dead. A noise like nails on a chalkboard drowned out the wails of the dead and dying. I realized it was the aliens screeching as they walked toward me on their suction cup-tipped feet. They pointed their rayguns at me, I saw a blinding flash of green, and everything went dark.
“Sam! Honey!”
My throat felt raw like I’d been yellin at Etten for dropping an easy fly ball. I sat bolt upright in bed, my chest heaving and tried to catch my breath. Betty was at my side, her eyes wide and worried.
“Thank God! Are you ok? It was the nightmares again wasn’t it?”
All I could do was shake my head. It was several more moments before I found my voice. “Not the usual. This was worse.”
“You were screaming bloody murder. I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up.” She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. I patted her arm and kissed her head.
“It’s ok, Boop. Can’t get rid of me that easy.” A thin finger of sunlight was starting to creep under the shade. It was way too early to be up but I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting back to sleep now. Not that I wanted to anyway. I kissed Betty again and rolled out of bed.
* * *
Since the rooster hadn’t even crowed yet I stopped by the River Ave. bakery and picked up a baker’s dozen. I got extra chocolate. Then I rang information. They had one listing in the Bronx for Robert O’Neil at 57351 Canal St. After checking in with the Lieut I took a load off and waited for my partner. He rolled in at a quarter to 8.
“Sammy! Tell me you didn’t sleep here.”
“Of course I didn’t you sap. I just wanted to make sure I got plenty of donuts.”
“Careful. You’re gonna put that weight right back on,” he smirked.
“Hey, I got my exercise yesterday. This here is my reward.” I took a bite and savored it. “The Lieutenant says there’s nothing new today. The lab boys are gonna be working on that raygun. I got a hit from information on Bobby O’Neil.” I handed him the slip of paper I’d written the supplier’s address on. “You up to checking it out?”
“Absolutely, Sammy.” Danny walked over and grabbed a jelly. “You can drive this time.”
We made our way out to the motor pool and then hit the road. My lead foot got us to the industrial district in good time. Canal St ran perpendicular to the Harlem River rail line. I pulled up to number 57351.
The warehouse was decently sized and fit in with the other buildings on the block. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it just housed linens or cereal or something square like that. Instead, there were probably crates and crates of those neon blasters inside and ready to be sold to creeps like John. Not on my watch. The main door was closed and locked. There was a buzzer for small deliveries so I rang it and waited. After a few moments there was a click-clack of locks being undone and the door opened.
The man at the door was average height and build with a shock of orange hair. He had hadn’t shaved for at least a couple of days and his muddy brown eyes flitted back and forth between Danny and I. “Yes?”
“I’m Detective Samuel Richards; this is my partner Daniel MacCarthy. We’re looking for Robert O’Neil.”
The man’s left eyelid twitched. “What do you want with Bobby?”
“We just have a few questions for him. Is he here?”
“Bobby is here. What questions do you have for Bobby?”
My eyes narrowed and I shot a look at Danny. My partner shrugged. “Are you Bobby?”
“Bobby is here. What questions can Bobby answer for Richards and MacCarthy?” Bobby continued looking at us in turn as a broad smile crept across his face.
That’s my luck. The guy sellin rayguns was a loon. This day just kept getting better.
“Your name was mentioned in an ongoing investigation. Mind if we come in and take a look around?”
Bobby knitted his brow. “Bobby is under investigation?”
“No, we’re just trying to tie up a loose end. If you could let us in?”
“Bobby has nothing to hide from Richards and MacCarthy.” He stepped aside. The room beyond was small; a reception area with nothing but a desk and log book. There was a door to the left that presumably led to the warehouse. I gestured to the log.
“Can my partner check your books?”
“Of course.”
Danny walked over to the desk, pulled out his notebook, and started flipping through the logs.
“What kind of merchandise do you house here?”
“Weapons.” Bobby was still smiling his face off.
“Is that right? What kind of weapons?”
“All kinds: handguns, scatterguns, rifles. Bobby also has some special stock.”
“Special stock, you say?”
“Bobby will show you. Please follow Bobby.” The screwball opened the door to our left and stepped through. I looked over at Danny and cocked my head. He shrugged again and put his notebook away. We followed Bobby through the door and into the warehouse.
It looked bigger on the inside. Or maybe that’s just because it was mostly empty. There were a handful of crates stacked near the back wall by the freight doors. Bobby took a prybar from a hook on the wall and wedged it under the lid of a small crate on the right side of the stack. With a loud squeak, the nails holding the top on tore free and Bobby levered the crate open. I peered inside and saw six of the cheap looking blasters John had been trying to sell glowing with steady, bright, neon green light. It looked like there were several more layers below.
“How many blasters in this box?”
“Thirty.” He grinned so wide I could see his molars.
“Any more crates like this?”
Bobby shook his head.
“Do you have a license for these?”
His smile vanished. “Bobby is the only one who can sell the blasters. They said so.”
My eyes narrowed. “Who said so?”
“The Erelim.” Bobby looked back and forth between Danny and I as if we should have known this already.
“The Erelim?”
“Our saviors!” Bobby raised his arms over his head and looked up at the ceiling. “They bring peace and prosperity to Earth! Bobby is but their humble servant; their prophet; their faithful apostle; their diligent pupil.” He brought his hands together in front of him and bowed his head and dropped to his knees. “Bobby does as the Erelim bid him.”
As I listened to the fruitcake I noticed my yap was hanging open. It flapped up and down a couple of times before I said, “And they have you sell these weapons? How is that peaceful?”
Bobby’s eyes lit up like a kid’s on Christmas and he scrambled to his feet. “Ah! Richards is interested in the word! Allow Bobby to explain: these blasters are extremely powerful!” He plucked one from the crate and started to wave it around.
Danny burst forward, grabbed Bobby’s wrist and twisted it around until the blaster was pointed away from us. He wrenched the gun out of his hand and tossed it back into the crate. Bobby stood stock still, his eyes popping out and his mouth open in surprise.
“Are you trying to get plugged? You never point a weapon at a police officer!”
Bobby bit his lip and blinked. Then he put his hands together and bowed again. “Apologies, MacCarthy. Bobby was excited and forgot himself. As Bobby was saying, the blasters are extremely powerful and as you know, the powerful rule. The Disciples of Arel believe that if all are powerful then none are powerful and all may rule in peace.”
I almost laughed in his face. Danny wasn’t as polite. “Are you kiddin me? If everyone had one of these things there’d be another world war and nothing would be left standing. Shit, Truman just dropped two atomic bombs on the Japs. If they had the bomb it would have been the other way around, probably worse. Giving everyone these things would be like giving little kids sticks of dynamite.”
“Once humanity is enlightened as the Erelim are there will be no more war, no more violence, only peace.”
“How can these Erelim claim to be so peaceful? They have deadly blasters. Are they Swiss or somethin?”
“The Erelim are mankind’s salvation! They come from beyond the stars to save humanity from itself. They have not had one world war, let alone two, even with everyone having deadly blasters.” He put emphasis on the last two words and finished with a self-righteous smirk.
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “Oh brother. Space men? What kinda crazy are you hopped up on, Bobby?”
“Bobby is only hopped up on love.”
“Sure you are. You’re under arrest for possession of unlicensed firearms with intent to sell. You can sit in the can for a while until you come down and have somethin useful to tell us.”
I packed Bobby in the backseat while Danny called in the weapons. The log books showed that two crates of the green lightning blasters had been delivered. Minus the piece we’d gotten back from John that meant there were twenty nine other rayguns in the wind. We weren’t getting anywhere with Bobby the dope fiend until whatever he was on passed through his system, so now it was a waiting game. Waiting for the lab boys to bring something back. Waiting for Bobby to get his head out of the clouds or space or wherever it was. Waiting for another stiff that had been burned and blasted clean through to show up.
I told Danny to call me at home if there was a break. It was after noon by the time I opened my front door. Betty was at the kitchen table with the kids. My son, Benjamin, was sitting in his high chair, his chubby face covered with pureed peaches. He squealed when he saw me and clapped his tiny hands together.
“Daddy!” Sarah, our oldest, clambered out of her chair and gave me a hug around the legs.
“Hi, sweetie. What are you up to today?”
“Coloring!” Her blue eyes sparkled up at me. I smoothed down her long blond hair and patted her on the shoulder.
“Sounds like fun. Hey, honey.” Betty gave me a kiss and a hug. “What’s for lunch?”
“Meatball heros.” She smiled.
“My favorite! You shouldn’t have, dear.” I ruffled Benjamin’s short hair and took a seat. I had just gotten my lips around the hero when the phone rang. Betty answered it.
“Richards’ household.” The sandwich was filled with moist meatballs and had just the right amount of spice in the sauce. It was delicious, which meant the phone would be for me. “Yes, he’s right here.”
Dammit.
She handed me the phone while I chewed. “Sam here,” I said around a piece of meatball.
“Sammy! Get the food outta your mouth and get down to the station. We got info back from the lab on the raygun. Get this: it’s made out of material that technically doesn’t exist and it’s powered by the world’s smallest nuclear reactor.”
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