Boulevard Badge and Cigars

1

May 21 23:05

Six-Three Precinct

The mood after the watch was dim. Shadow Posse, suspecting that Little Jefe was at his girlfriend's apartment, firebombed it. They sent six burn bottles through the windows of the first-floor apartments.

It was catastrophic. The blaze killed four people, including the mother of a little boy whom Kelly risked his life to save. A Shadow Posse hitman died from multiple gunshot wounds. Word on the street said 4-stroke, and Gremlin caught Shadow Posse fleeing and gunned him down. He fell from the fleeing vehicle, and then they shot him up at point-blank range. And now, they were on a mission to find the other five.

And, of course, Shadow Posse missed their target. Little Jefe wasn't there. He's been off the grid.

Gangs and Major Case are preparing for a disastrous reprisal that could send this town into massive bloodshed.

Maxine was waiting outside of the bullpen as Keegs walked over. His face was long, and his eyes drooped. He sighed and shook his head.

"Where are you guys going tonight?" he asked. He looked back over his shoulder and tapped his leg with his finger.

"I don't know, but Kelly didn't say a word after the fire," said Maxine.

With everything else going on, this was beyond overwhelming. She hadn't yet processed what had happened, and the weight of this memory would linger in her mind for years to come. She felt the adrenaline and the anxiety for only a few minutes before something inside of her reacted. It was a numbing feeling that somehow removed the emotions of the call. And she was worried that she was burning out.

"I've never seen him like this," she said. "I thought everything rolled off his back like nothing ever happened. But this, how can it?"

Keegs sucked on his teeth, looked to the ceiling, and squinted. He sniffled and then tapped his leg faster.

"Listen, Max," he said and bowed his head. He put his hand on her shoulder as he gathered his words. "Kelly's had a lot of traumas in his life. Shit happened to him in Afghanistan with a girl being stoned, a court-martial, and fighting the Taliban. It left a mark on him. He has his moments; when you see it, you'll need to decide whether he's worth loving." Keegs' voice was rough and angry.

Max slapped his hand away. Her eyes lit up with fire, and she felt the adrenaline rush down her spine and stomach.

"Why would you say something like—"

"Because Max. He's the best friend I've ever had in my life. He's my brother, my family. Kelly's all I have, and I won't let his heart get trampled on because of puppy love."

"Well, I don't give it away easy, Keegan. I love him. So don't stand here and lecture me about—"

Keegs stepped back, his eyes drawn and cheeks red. He licked the outside of his lips and then gritted his teeth. He raised his palms to shoulder level and pulled them back toward his chest.

"Listen, sweetheart," he snapped. "First of all, you're overreacting because of what just happened. And second, sometimes I think you're just a baby in disguise. You need to grow up and realize what this job is and what it does to people. And the quicker you figure that out, the better help you'll be to Kelly."

He jammed his fists in his pocket and glared at Maxine. Keegs, like everyone, were on edge.

Things spiraled out of control, and they seemed helpless to stop it.

In her heart, she knew this was from where Keegs had said what he had done. But at that moment, her attitude toward him changed. She didn't like him.

"Is everything okay here, princess?" said Martinez. Max didn't see her walk from behind Keegs, her glare fixed on him.

"Oh, cut the shit, Celia," he snapped. His body tightened, and his eyes widened. "Can we just go? Please?"

Martinez stared at him for a second before brushing by him in haste. He gave Maxine one last look before he walked by her. Keegs wasn't in a rush to catch Celia. He couldn't care less. This was the Keegan she'd heard about—the hot locker room freak. And now Maxine knew why. His soul was lost amid pain and heartache.

"In case you're interested," said Keegs. "On nights like this, we go to Boulevard Badge and Cigars. Get him drunk, put Johnny Mathis on the Jukebox, let him sing to you, and he'll be fine—at least for now."

2

23:30 Hours

Max leaned on Kelly's shoulder as he drove to the Six-hundred Block of the Boulevard, heading for his favorite cigar lounge. She debated her next question, worrying about his well-being and how he felt about the fire.

"So, about today. Are you okay?" A warm smile spreads across his face, and he fidgets in his seat. His eyes twinkled, not just from the whiskey Kevin gave him. She sees tenderness, but it's accompanied by pain.

"Is that why you came out tonight? Are you concerned about me?"

"Okay, I'll tell you the truth," she said. Her voice wavered with uncertainty. "Yes, and yes. But there's more to it than just two yeses."

"Kelly," she whispered. "What you did today for that little boy was the most heroic thing I've ever been a part of. I was terrified and exhilarated at the same time. Then thrilled when you saved him—"

"We saved that boy."

"No, sweetie, you saved that boy. And then the devastation at the realization that his mother had died."

Kelly remained stoic, showing no reaction to the situation or the fact that they were alone. With a click, he released the seat belt and folded his leg beneath his thigh.

"Freaking Shadow Posse, boy. Retaliate, retaliate, retaliate." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Let's torch the rooms where Little Jefe's supposed to be, baby mommas' number one, two, and three."

His voice faltered, and Maxine's heart shattered. Her arms ached to embrace him, offering solace as he cried. But she knows she can't, at least not yet.

"Kelly, the building was teetering on the edge of being devoured by fire when we got there. That you could make it to them was a miracle."

She knows he's right and mourns with him, but not like him. She heard him pleading with the mother to leave the room and climb onto the drainpipe. He gave her his word, assuring her she'd be safe. And if she listened and just followed him, she'd be alive, and her child would still have a mother.

"And this kid, I don't know. He's an illegal migrant, so God knows where he'll end up—"

"Max. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

He'd bury the pain and sorrow like he'd always done and move on.

3

Maxine had only heard about this place. It was a small building off the northern part of the Boulevard. They had the best cigars in five counties and became a hangout for retired cops.

When they walked through the door, they welcomed Kelly with shouts and pats on the back.

"This place is full of Heights guys, Troopers, and the Sheriff's department," he said. "It's BYOB, but not really. They've got a great stock of whiskey and bourbon under the bar.

They sat at the granite countertop, which extended almost twenty feet. Three black vintage wire cage wall sconces sat left, right, and dead center. They reflected off a faux copper ceiling with three ceiling fans spread throughout the room.

The humidor's façade was brick, with two six-foot windows raised two feet above the tiled floor. Its clear door had a black frame and a satin nickel lever.

Alexa played songs from the sixties and seventies—perfect for this crowd. In the corner, an intense domino match was happening. Four players sat at the table, each with an ashtray, and cussed, swore, drank, and smoked.

Maxine put her forearms on the bar as Kelly dropped onto the stool. His elbows went right to the bar top as he lowered his head into his hands. She nudged him with her shoulder and got his attention. Her smile disarmed him.

"Kelly, my man," said the barkeeper.

"Maxine, this is Kevin. He's retired from Newark PD. He's good people."

Kevin picked up a cup from beneath the bar, lifted it to his lips, and spat.

"Jesus," said Max, smiling. "Do all of you guys chew tobacco?" Kevin shook his head when Maxine noticed the lump on the side of his cheek.

He turned and walked to the steaming espresso machine. He added Kahlua and vodka to five martini glasses and scattered them with coffee beans.

"See, told you," said Kelly as he kissed her. "BYOB."

As he exhaled, he put his palms on the bar and drummed his fingers. One patron held a shot glass up, toasting Kelly.

"Salud, my friend," he said. "Kevin, get him some Jack from my stock. He deserves it." The patron took the cigar from the massive glass ashtray and started toward them.

"That's Frank," whispered Kelly. "He's one of the owners. Won the place in a poker game, believe it or not. Guy's a freaking genius."

Frank made his way through the crowd with his cigar and martini. Introducing himself, he embraced Maxine with a hug. He smiled at them, knowing they were together.

He brushed by Kelly and sat on his other side. After taking a long puff from his cigar, he sought an ashtray.

"Screw it," he said. "Clean it up later." He sipped from his martini and cleared his throat.

"You at the fire tonight?" he asked.

"Yep. We both were," said Kelly.

Frank waved his fingers at Kevin, who walked over and bent beneath the bar. When he stood up, he put a shot glass in front of the three of them and filled them with whiskey.

They clinked glasses and drank them. Kelly and Frank put theirs back on the bar, and Kevin filled them.

"You guys close to getting this X-4, son of a bitch?" asked Kevin. He moved the ashtray in front of them. "This is the guy that makes being a cop suck. People come in here all day long. Police should do your job, do your job, right? Huh, we would asshole if you'd stop being a tool bag." Kelly slapped the bar and laughed out loud as Kevin continued his vent.

"We've got patrons coming in, asking questions," he said. "They run their mouths about catching this guy non-stop. Believe that? Like we're still on the job? Freaking ridiculous."

As Kevin poured Kelly another shot, and Kelly sucked it down, Frank leaned over the bar to speak to Kevin.

"Who's that guy in here two, three days ago? He was ah—shit."

"The priest. Yeah," said Kevin. "Kelly, you'd love this guy. I had never seen him before. In late November, he began coming here. He buys Arturo Fuente number fifty, has an espresso, and leaves."

"Doesn't he smoke them?" asked Maxine. She smiled.

"No. And lately, he's been asking a lot of questions, you know. Procedural bull shit. Especially with this asshole running around killing these girls."

Kelly's face soured. He put the shot glass on the bar and pursed his lips. He looked to the right and then drummed his fingers on the bar.

"This guy's name Father Moritz? Kind of a jacked old man. Thinning gray hair, a weathered face. French accent?"

Kevin and Frank looked at each other, and both nodded. Frank took a long puff from his cigar as Kevin spat into his cup. Kelly, on his fourth shot, wiped his mouth.

"I know this guy," he slurred. "Met him outside of 7-11 Max's first day as my boot. He said she and I are destined to be together, believe it or not."

"Ah, you never told me that," she said. "Wait, Moritz? Wasn't he the priest who came to see me in the hospital?"

"Wait yourself," said Frank. "You were in the hospital? What happened?"

"Kelly, man," said Kevin. He smiled and teased. "You're supposed to take care of your boot. Jesus, brother."

Kelly drifted off as the three continued in conversation. He thought about their first meeting and how Kelly felt about him trying to be dominant. Then again, at the hospital, the way he glared at him. Both encounters ended with Kelly's shadow sense feeling something dark.

So lost in thought, he didn't notice Kevin go to the Humidor with a customer. Frank had gone over to the domino table, and Maxine was texting.

Juan, a retired Sergeant First Class from the State Police, broke his trance by putting his hulking hands on Kelly's shoulder. He was six-foot-two, and though in his late sixties, you could tell that he was a steamroller back in the day.

Juan introduced himself to Maxine and started in on the humor that could make anyone laugh—at least any cop.

"Let me ask you a question, Maxine," he said. "Why do the bangers shoot sideways?"

Kelly shook his head, already grinning from hearing this joke several times.

Maxine smiled as she thought for a moment before conceding.

"Because," he said. "That's how it comes out of the box." Juan put his cigar between his front teeth, smiling. "You like that? Here's another one."

Juan took the cigar from his mouth and put it in the massive ashtray on the bar. "What do the LREC and a cue ball have in common?"

"I have no idea," she said, waiting for his answer.

"The harder you hit them, the more English you get out of them."

Kelly laughed out loud as Maxine rolled her eyes. She found him endearing and saw how tight the 'thin blue line' was. She wasn't used to experiencing this kind of camaraderie. Her father didn't like being around other cops. But Maxine loved it.

"Here, Kelly," she said. "Drink mine, and Kevin poured you another one. I'm going to the jukebox."

Kelly's thoughts returned to X-4 and Father Moritz.

There's no way that old man could kill those girls. The guy who got Max is of a different build and way too strong. And the guy writing these letters to Maxine seems like a piggyback on X-4's kills—just looking for attention.

"I don't like that priest," said Juan as he sat on Maxine's empty stool. He leaned his elbows on the bar while getting closer to Kelly, locking in on his stare. "He's too freaking nosy, and I don't like the way he pretends to be the good priest."

Juan put his cigar between his teeth and puffed. He brushed the ash from his faded gray sweat jacket, taking the cigar between his fingers. "As soon as these killings started, he came in more frequently. You need to watch this guy."

Kelly peered into Juan's glazed eyes, their vacant stare, a wave of anxiety washing over him. At that moment, their space filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint sound of their breathing. Kelly strained his ears, trying to discern any hint of fear or impending danger in Juan's voice. He knew Juan was not the type to overreact, so whatever he was about to say held grave importance.

"I followed him one day after he bought a thirty-dollar cigar," said Juan. "He threw it away in the parking lot garbage and headed to the Ocean Avenue Street End. Instead of going to the beach, he opted to stand on the boards and fix his gaze on a specific spot. He's—"

Before Juan could finish, he was called over to the domino table.

"Stay frosty, kid. And take care of Maxine," he said. "She's a keeper."

After their third beckoning, he yelled at the domino players and left Kelly alone at the bar.

Kelly rubbed his temples after drinking the shots from Kevin and Maxine. Exhaustion prevented him from entertaining any more thoughts about the murders. He just wanted to unsee the bodies pulled from the fire, especially the mom he couldn't rescue.

He was about to go to the humidor when Maxine returned with a smile. Her head tilted, she bit the corner of her lip and looked at him with her sultry brown eyes.

"So a little birdie told me you can sing," she said. She was playful in her body sway. "And when you're drunk enough, you love singing Johnny Mathis."

"Freaking Keegs, man," he said. "He still owes me tobacco."

"Well, it's on next," she said.

Maxine leaned and kissed his lips, then turned, putting her back against his chest. Keegs told her the exact songs that Kelly loved to sing. So, in preparation, Maxine punched in the numbers of Rome's 'Trouble Maker' and then 'Chances Are' by Johnny Mathis. "You are going to sing to me, right?"

Then he heard the guitar strum the G chord, leading to the piano keys moving slowly with low energy but so pristine. The chords switched from G to Em to Am7. After the ninth change, Kelly took Maxine's shoulders and turned her to face him. He took her hands, took a deep breath, and sang. And she fell more in love with him.