Noise Complaint

1

Friday, May. 27 15:47 Hours

Memorial Day weekend had crept up, and we were ready to go to war.

I left my house forty minutes early because the bumper-to-bumper traffic crowded the bridge, extending to the mainland.

The familiar Benny license plates (a tourist who visits the Jersey shore from Bayonne, Elizabeth, Newark, or New York) dominated the line of cars. Their windows rolled down as music blared and voices screamed about the chaos they would create this weekend.

Class II officers, fifteen mounted patrols, and this year, quite to our surprise, twelve bicycle units dressed in spandex shorts, shirts, and Adidas sneakers jammed the Bullpen.

Despite being packed to capacity, the regulars stubbornly held onto their seats, leaving everyone else to crowd against the side and back walls.

Maxine opened her clip box, the sound of her lipstick and eyeshadow rattling against each other as she rummaged for her gum. With a gentle touch, she passed me one piece and let her hand rest on my thigh. The gentle scratch she gave me on my knee elicited a smile and a rush of excitement.

Keegs had taken a personal day. It had been a year since Giorgia Bongiovanni's abortion, and the pain of their heartbreaking split still lingered. He was content to spend the day at Cohan's, drink himself into oblivion, and stumble to the precinct to sleep it off.

My phone kept buzzing as I swiped it open to nude pictures and provocative poses of cos-play female Viking warriors with texts that appeared to be of Keegan's drunken ancient English dialect.

"Nonsensical Gibberish," I said. "And nudes from medieval times expose."

Max took the phone, looked at the pictures, and smiled. "Later tonight, if you're good."

I grinned and put my hand on her leg when she leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"Now delete those," she said, "and tell him no more pictures. I'm the only body you are allowed to see nude ever again."

Lieutenant Chaney got everyone's attention by identifying himself and telling everyone to "shut up."

His yearly speech on these Fridays was the wake-up call for those new to the summer in the Heights.

"Okay, preschooler IIs," he snapped. "Forget everything you learned in the academy. This is the real street. You're going to get assaulted, hit with bottles, spit at, and called all types of vile names," he said. "And the best part? Nobody gives a shit! So please don't write it up as an indictable offense. Sign the commitment and ship them to county booking. It will only get remanded to municipal court as a disorderly, so don't waste your time."

For the next three minutes, he struggled with the names of several of the Class II preschoolers in pairing them as walking patrols along the boardwalk and Ocean Avenue.

"Central to available unit for a noise complaint."

"If she says Fifth Avenue," I said to Max. "I'm going to lose my shit, and good."

"Unknown caller reporting unknown noises coming from Two-Zero-Six, Fifth Avenue."

I slammed my fist on the table, nodded to Max, and pushed my chair back.

"We got it, Lieu," I snapped. "I'm going to need two backup units."

Marcello, his stand-in partner, and Martinez and Hwang stood and volunteered.

I pressed the PTT button on my collar mic and responded.

"Show Six-Three David handling. Six-Three Charlie and Bravo are at the back."

The six of us quick-stepped from the room, through and down the sallyport, and to our RMPs.

"No vehicle check," I said to Max. "Let's get oscar, mike."

I turned on the car, put it in reverse, and left the driver's side door open. I jammed the column shift into drive, and the door slammed shut.

I performed a reckless turn onto Wall Road and put on the overheads with sirens.

"I'm going to end this once and for all."

Maxine smiled and shook her head as she held onto the door handle.

"Central," I said. "We're responding code two."

No sooner had I finished the broadcast than my cell phone rang. I ignored it. Maxine, however, picked it up and swiped the screen.

"It's Watch Command. They probably want to know why you're tying up three RMPs on a noise complaint you've upgraded to code two."

"Ghost them," I said.

2

We pulled up at the address and went straight into the driveway. I jumped out of the car, waited for Max, and approached the house.

Two gray, broken wooden steps led to a tiny porch with a cedar shake overhang. With one foot on each step, I knocked ten times with my fist before stepping off. I waited and listened for thirty seconds, but nobody answered.

"You want to try the backyard?" said Max.

I nodded as she took the lead across the dead crabgrass and dirt lawn past the corner of the house.

We cleared our turn and moved toward the wooden fence overgrown with two-foot weeds, crust fungi, and white rot.

"Oh my God," said Max, covering her mouth with her forearm. "What the hell is that?"

The scent was overpowering, a noxious blend of decaying plants, pungent urine, foul feces, and the unmistakable stench of decomposing creatures.

"Something's not right here. Hold on a second."

I took my leather gloves from my flashlight pocket, put them on, and motioned for Max to do the same.

I held my breath, pulled on one of the rotted slats that crumbled in my hand and looked into the backyard.

Five massive rose bushes, though dead, were but two feet from the gate. They stretched the whole fence length and close to four feet in width. Their thorns were visible and laced with empty beer and soda cans, bottles, and one-gallon plastic containers.

"Huh. A poor man's alarm?" I whispered. "We need to get past this gate."

I grabbed another slab, which turned to dust in my palm and pushed through to make a hole a foot high and wide. Peering into the yard, my eyes captured a vivid tableau.

"Shit. There's a deer carcass."

Its insides were hollowed out as it lay in a grotesque display.

"Are those pigs?" asked Max, who covered her mouth and nose as before.

Two belly pigs lay nearby, their intestines splayed across the ground like macabre ribbons. While the entire scene seemed chaotic to most, it was methodically laid out and left me with a profound sense of unease.

Maxine and I took the gate by its broken side slats and yanked.

Only one hinge, though rusted, still held fast to a half-termite-ridden 4x4 post wobbling in the ground. I kicked and pulled, watching the lock and rusted screws fighting me.

I smashed down on the lock, finally breaking its hold on the post and disappearing into the foot-high green and brown weeds and crabgrass.

Maxine tried to walk by, but I stopped her with an outstretched arm.

"This is going to get ugly," I whispered.