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Journal of Chief Irons

By: kingquib



JULY 15, 89:  What a fine and glorious day! A slight breeze carries a comfortable temperature all through the city. The sun is bright and chipper, but there's more to my happiness than weather! In addition to our blessed nature, I continue receiving amicable visitors. I don't have a moment's peace for people keep stopping by, saying hi, congratulations, so on and so forth. I might as well leave the door to my office ajar; it doesn't stay shut for long! No matter, today my schedule is free, and I welcome all who come to show their support. As for tomorrow, my new career, as Chief of police will begin! 

I've finally reached my goals...there's a knock...

Mark Haneely, senior officer, been after this position since I was a kid, and I know inside it kills him to come in here and see my name written in big letters on the plaque atop my desk. All the while he's shaking my hand with that pudgy fist of his. Truly, I'm baffled at how I managed not to laugh in his face. Right into that disgusting fat face with its extra wobbling chin. It looks as if his head was smashed into a wall and didn't quite heal! I might have to tell him to get into shape if he wants to stay on the force. Not that I have to or need to bother him about his weight. But more because I want to, and I can. Sure, all in all, he's a good officer; I'm not in disagreement over his moral character, but Hanley is nowhere near the caliber deserving the lofty position of Chief like he thinks he deserves! The very idea, Ha! Neither does he hold a high enough facility for competency. At most Haneely should be given a deputies' position, at most! But he won't even make it that far because I would never dream of promoting that lout. Really, he belongs on the street, passing out tickets, and breaking up bar fights. He's no politician, and that's what this job's all about. Working with the community and city officials for the benefit of the department. A good heart could only accomplish so much. What's needed is vision! 

HA! Yet another visitor. Hopefully someone I'll look forward to seeing...

In fact, it was someone I had looked forward to seeing, but I did not expect her to drop by so early, but I am much pleased. Stacy, my new secretary! I dare not pinch myself lest I wake. On second thought, I think I should rather give Stacy a little finger-nibbling. That skirt she was wearing was worthy of being drooled over. I think I'll have a hard time standing around her for long periods of time. Look at me! Thinking like a hard-up youngster of sixteen! Still the thoughts, the ridiculous thoughts that now soar through my mind. Oh, the murder! He-he, I delight. 

Yet, everything hasn't always been fun and games. I had to work like a dog before receiving this position. To think I mustered the strength! I don't know how I did it. And it angers me that my time was wasted keeping my ideas and dreams bottled in the dark for so long before finally awakening the genie of my passion. Especially with my prestigious learning at Occidental and USC, but never mind, I won't bring myself down with frustrated ideas about the past. I'm here! I'm finally here, and nothing can take me down from this cloud. Nothing would dare. I think instead of darkening my perspective, I'll make a round of the station, let everyone know what type of Chief they'll be getting. I tolerate little foolishness if any at all...

Bunch of lollygaggers! Just because this is my first day doesn't mean I'll tolerate Tomfoolery! I'm assured that I will change the attitudes of everyone or kill them trying! 

When lieutenant, I let all sorts of mischief go without so much as a dull glance. I'd see a loafer, and I'd say, "Hi," slap'em on the back or if it was a girl than pat'em on the shoulder. You do that,  everyone will love you. I've even covered certain officer's assess for gross negligence. Playing the game. That's all it's about, saying the right thing at the right time. 

I can still remember some of their faces when I made my round earlier. Leaving the office, I had to walk down the hall leading to my secretary's desk. 

"Hello again," I had said as I waived. My eyebrow was at a noticeable slant. I'm a fit man; I can still attract the ladies. She'd said hello back with a sensuous smile curling on her lips, what a luscious face. God I'd wished that desk wasn't blocking her legs! Maybe later, I thought, I'd have her come into my office and take a memo. I had left the small secretaries' room and moved out onto the overhead walkway of the second floor. 

Beneath me, as I walked the upside down "U" shaped overhang, I looked at the employee's below. There was a female officer sitting at one of the computers among the fine wooden lobby desk talking to someone. 

Only the finest materials in my station! My rules will be simple. If you have a metal desk, it's because I don't like you. Oh! The joy of being in charge, Ha, Ha! Also on the first floor below stands a large and magnificent statue of an angel with her wings spread wide in the act of covering her nakedness. Delightful! Not only do I love to look at this monument of art, but also I love to smell the aroma of heavy lacquered wood emanating from fine furniture. And the magnificent noises! 

The loud clops of my shoes as I walked briskly over the impressive marbled floor. A wonder I go home at all! But there are places where I'd like to put rugs. Much of the rooms are already carpeted, mostly in a deep red with gold trim, edged with the smallest of tassels only a connoisseur, like myself, of fine decoration could appreciate and notice. Very soon though, I'll make all the changes I think fit.

Passing the middle of the upside down "U" overhang comes the emergency ladder. I absolutely dread the idea that there should ever be a fire here. I would die trying to stop it! Thank God for the sprinkler system. 

One problem with it though, they are the exact polaroid of the effect of this whole station. Beautifully stained wood drilled and plugged with a tacky sprinkler head but a necessity nonetheless. Drats, the necessities of life! I try not to let it get me down. Maybe I could change the heads to another type of metal. Perhaps to a bright gold or silver, yes! It would cost a fortune, I know but nothing is impossible. Not without ingenuity. An attribute I was heavily possessed with since childhood. Even with the hideous sprinklers, the wondrous nature of this place is still not dampened much. I can continue to enjoy sliding my hand across the mahogany rails as I walk. 

Wait, I digress. Back to explaining my rounds. Reaching the masterfully carved double door entrance to the Library, I opened wide one of the doors and stepped in. To my total shock and disgust, I had found three officers talking, talking in the Library of all things! The library is to enrich life, not to find camaraderie and pummel some scholarly like individual with disturbing crude laughter! I told them to talk elsewhere. They looked at me strangely, but I said nothing more. At last I was alone.  

Often times, I like to go there to think and especially read. This Library carries much more than manuals on how to handle weapons or talk down a potential suicide victim. If you like Dante, it's there. If you like, Homer, Shakespeare, they're there as well. Do you read Anne Rice or Stephen King? History, theology, geography, I dare you not to find them. They're waiting patiently for a lover to come along and snatch them up for a week or two. Every time I walk in that room, I take a deep intake of breath. My nose is filled with the mixed scent of new and old paper and glued binding. I even take delight in the musty smell of dust collecting on the very tops of the shelves and in between volumes of Britannica and Funk and Wagnall. I take a secret pleasure in removing one of my favorite books off one of the shelves, sneaking up the stairs, opening the third floor door that leads out to the inside balcony, and sitting down on the marble floor to read in peace. The added pleasure to my solitude comes from hearing people below me move about with their droll lives while I furtively read my beloved book. 

Strange, one might think, but I care not! I like what I like, and I like to read in peace, undisturbed totally. Just as alluring is the thought of being someplace where most people do not visit or even better don't know exists! 

I've been thinking about renting an apartment someplace, a place where there's no phone and I don't receive any mail. Nobody will know when I'm there. With my new high income that fantasy will probably very soon become a reality. 

Back to my story, regretfully, I'd left the Library and moved onto the adjoining police's lounge, but more so than not, the S.T.A.R.S. (Special Tactics And Rescue Squad) use that space. None of them were in there then, surprised me. They don't have enough work to keep them busy! I think I'll eliminate their little group. Perhaps I can make recommendations to some acquaintances over at the next city, get those supposed "special" officers out of my hair. That would be nice. Besides, I think they're a nosy bunch. Always walking around the station as if they owned the building. One time even out onto the third floor balcony while I was reading in peace. What a little embarrassing time for that officer and I. Hiding my anger well, I said hi and then left. Muttering under my breath the whole time about how I wished I could fire them. Now I remember! It was that idiot Meloy. Overgrown ape that one. 

He-he, I have my opportunity now. Composure. I must approach such a task with discretion and under the guise of well-off intentions. But not now, today is a day to enjoy myself. I have time to deal with those fools later. 

I left the S.T.A.R.S.' lounge... wait! My lounge! I left my lounge with the illuminated soda dispenser shining the Coca-Cola logo and walked into the hallway. This section is on the opposite wing from my chambers, aren't I glad to be further away from the nosy S.T.A.R.S. What a drabby hall, and nothing more than a bench and wastebasket next to the door I entered. I turned right at the corner, looked out the window at my left to look at the tall trees outside. A lovely shade of dark green I thought. The nicest thing about this hall were the large windows. I was about to pass the S.T.A.R.S.' room, as I was in the habit, when I remembered who I was. I'm the Chief! No longer do I have to hide my true emotions. Who do I have to answer to? Nobody, that's who! I twisted the knob and poked my head in. 

"Hello?" I said with probably a stupid grin on my face. 

Two large officers, Barry and Meloy, were sitting at their desks in front of their computers. 

"Hard at work?" I let my sarcasm show but not too much. 

Barry said something stupid that I can't quite remember, something like, "Yeah boss, this computer Black Jack is difficult to beat." 

His ignorant comrade, Meloy, laughed at this with his usual gruff voice. 

I faked an obviously forced laugh and closed the door. "I've really got to get rid of them!" I grunted to myself in the hall. I had all the time in the world to deal with the S.T.A.R.S. For now, I'd continue my little visit throughout the station. 

Entering into the next hallway, I passed the statue bust of Mercury and walked down the carpeted stairs. A quick left and I had found myself in the crime lab. Metal chairs and desks, I automatically didn't like the room. Though it does carry a nice claustrophobic feel to it. I've always liked small nooks. Nobody knows of their existence. Fascinating! But the furniture is bland and it steals the vibe of the closed in phobia. Too bad. I had entered the room, not saying anything. I could here someone moving in the small darkroom adjacent. 

A young man appeared. "Hi Mr. Irons!" the clean cut twenty something or other said. The young man waved at me after he had pushed the heavy dark curtains to one side. "I was just about to start on some crime-scene photos," he offered his hand. 

I looked at it for a moment, relishing my new authority. I didn't have to shake this man's hand if I didn't want to. But the idea of having so much power put me in such a ripe mood, I took his hand and pumped it for what it was worth. 

"Nice to see that you'll be running the show from now on. I hope to work alongside you for a long time to come." The young man was obviously happy with my show of mistaken affection. The whole time I despised him.

"Good job," I think I said. "Keep up the good work," I left then. 

Walking back out to the first floor hallway, I passed the door that would lead me to the brief room, and continued on to the next-door down, the ammunitions room. And then I walked toward the next-door, no more than ten feet away; I absorbed the exciting ambience seeping from the weapons. I was embraced by dead silence, compounded with the knowledge that hi-tech guns and ammunitions were patiently waiting inside nearby lockers. The master key to those lockers was safely tucked into my breast pocket. Again, the knock of my feet against the cement floor clamored in my head like a favorite tune. I looked up at the dim fluorescent lights not two feet above my head. Their soft buzz played along with the clatter of my shoes. I touched the brass knob to the door and felt sorry that I had to leave. I even made a pout with my face, though I quickly changed my countenance before entering the next room. 

Barely having walked into the office, I was greeted with numerous congratulations and claps on the back, a silly bunch of show. I care not for glory of people so beneath me! What satisfaction could I derive by their worthless cheers? The greatest goals in their lives have probably already been met. Goals like getting married or halfway paying their pathetic mortgage payments! What a distressing sight, these bunch of men. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Wesker in his separate room. I could see between the partially opened blinds he was working on something with great interest. Bless that individual! He was made of the same thread as I. He knew better than to come out here and congratulate me with false praise. He was envious; I knew that, and so did he. I like things in the open and that's Wesker for you, an outspoken man. I do trust in him. 

After accepting so many handshakes and applauds, I walked into his office and closed the door and began to laugh. 

"Don't you feel odd wearing those darks shades all the time?" I said. 

He didn't immediately look at me, as if molested by my very presence! I liked him even more for his rude behavior.

"These office lights are too bright." He continued writing. 

"What are you jotting there?" I leaned just a bit, having not taken a seat. I still couldn't spot anything; mostly I wanted to show my curiosity.

Slightly angered, Wesker made to cover his papers. "A private correspondence of mine." He now looked up at me. 

"Everything running well, with the office I mean? " I asked. He still covered his papers protectively. 

"Of course, always have," he answered. 

I shook my head and then looked towards the papers again. I could see a letterhead. Either this was Wesker's usual form of writing or he was corresponding with someone of importance. "I'll take my leave since you seemed so occupied." I hoped he would disagree and at least give me a clue to what he was up to. 

Instead, he bid me good day and returned to his work. 

I left, not responding to the latter calls from the sheriffs and captains. They might have taken offence; I really didn't care. I was puzzled by Wesker's secrecy. 

No matter, I eventually climbed out of the small rut, forgetting the whole affair and continuing on past the main lobby of the station. But first, I said hello to the secretary at the desk, the female whom I had overlooked from the second floor balcony. I exchanged a few optimistic words with her and walked back into the east wing where upstairs, not to far, waited my new chief's office.

Opening the dark stained door, I walked past the pay phones we have the holding prisoners use. Immediately I passed the double blue doors leading to the detective's main quarters. Continuing to walk, I passed a couch and vending machine at the corner of the room. There was an officer I didn't recognize sitting at an admittance window. I didn't say hello. Further down the hall to a narrower door than usual for the station, I turned the knob and walked through. I was yet in another hall, though this one was cramped. The floorboards moaned under my heavy stature, the lights terrifically dim there. The numerous potted plants in the corners looked like large tarantulas waiting for an unsuspecting victim to walk a little too closely. I turned at the corner so that I was facing the metal plated door to the small interrogation room. Inside, mounted into the wall was a two-way mirror. I love those things. Looking in on people who don't know that you're there. 

Rounding to the next hall to my left, I was faced with a dead end and two doors on opposite sides. To my right the small room we use to listen in on confessions. There're headphones and a radio hooked up to the interrogation room. The phonics makes listening easy. 

I've really got a good station. I believe it's the best in the world. I'm grateful the chief before me was as crooked as he was or this place might still consist of one floor! To imagine such a thing! 

I didn't bother with the listening room. There wasn't anyone there. The red light on the wall was off which meant nothing serious was happening. Instead, I went through the other door to the left. It was blue, heavily grooved, and pleasing to the eye. Inside, the room was empty, quiet, eerily dead. I loved it immediately. Red was gone. Who knows where? 

I called him Red; his close acquaintances called him that for the hair on his head is like bright fire. His real name is Carl Sharp but only the lackeys call him Sergeant Sharp. 

Red is one mean son of a bitch. I've watched him in the confession room. I've seen him illegally bring people in and beat admissions out of them. Sometimes, I'd watch, and I would think about how priests used to torture women into saying they were witches when they really weren't. Red would do the same. Except his victims admitted to be criminals instead of magic practicers. I wouldn't cross him unless I had too. Some of the things and people that go through this station have almost as much character as the building. But the building is my favorite. Even over Wesker and Red combined. 

I left the room and its massive desk, my favorite thing in there. It was probably around three hundred pounds. Stained until it reached an almost pitch black. I could look at that desk and almost slather. Every edge and corner was engraved and the feet were carved into paws of some unknown creature. A wonder Wesker didn't take this office. He outranked Red, and I heavily doubt that Wesker feared Red even the slightest. I might ask Wesker about that someday. Personally, I'd like to have this desk, but I think Red would try to kill me. No joke intended. Well, I don't know. I'm happy with my own. 

Sadly I left. I couldn't stay in this empty room and stare at the desk all day. I was beginning to feel bored with my stroll so I made for my own chambers. I walked back all the way to the payphones and through the double blue doors. Again I was greeted and shouted after. I only attempted to look happy, but I was no longer in the mood. I quickly waved and walked out into the short hall at the end. For a moment I wanted to walk left to the end of the hall and go downstairs to look over B1, but again the feeling of weariness passed through me, and I opened the back door to the station. I stood on the cement stoop surrounded with a chain link fence topped with a merry coil of razor wire. 


Journal of Chief Irons



I sucked in a great amount of air and held it while staring at the tall trees that covered everything beyond twenty feet. The last light of day was rapidly fading and I was glad to see it go. Nothing would please me more than to have a cigar as I looked upon the city's lights while listening to a peaceful sonnet from Mozart. Lazily walking up the outside stairwell, I happened on the small but strange plants growing under the steps, almost like mushrooms except the smallest of blossoms grew from the main stem. I couldn't decide whether they were a nuisance or a beautification of a strange sort so I left them alone. Before handling the knob, I turned and looked out over the trees to the city. The light was almost completely gone, and I watched the purple and violet clouds inch their way across the great expanse of the dark blue almost completely black firmament. 

I closed the door behind me, looked right toward the zigzagging hall that led out to the heliport. Too weary now with future responsibilities, I walked forward through the next short hall with the chipped blue paint and white edgings and opened the door. I was in the hall that led to the next hall that brought me to my door. 

I was still gracious the building was under my authority, but I felt a little flustered with the idea that most of the workers here didn't even notice the beauty. Hardly ever did I hear a rewarding comment from the crew. Most times if I'd hear something about the grand nature of the station it would come from Red or Wesker. More so Red, but Wesker was not without his appreciation. Everyone knew I was fascinated with the masterful architecture. I didn't hide my love for this grand place. 

What bothered me, though, was the thought of those fools in the Library. Talking about worthless sports or how they'd just laid some slut at a bar they frequent. Totally obtuse to their surroundings or the knowledge of subjects grand. Outright, ignorant, worthless, impassionate fools!

I had to write these things. Someday I should hope someone reads them. I would like to live on past my death in that way. Perhaps that person will wonder about me, think about how I was different. I don't know. I'm so dreary now. I need a glass of Remey to calm my nerves.

SEPTEMBER 7, 89:  Things surely have been busy, mostly trivialities with paperwork. I think I might shift some of this work over to my secretary. I hope she's smart enough. I've taken such a liking to this place that I hung the building plans in a frame on my wall behind my desk. Sometimes when I'm bore down with work, I take a moment to swivel my chair around and look at the plans with all its square chalked-lined rooms and measures. Inside my mind I convert the geometrical shapes into the quarters of reality. 

Time to make my rounds. Surprise people, fire someone maybe. I especially enjoy that. On second thought.

"Sandy?" I love this two-way contraption. 

"Mr. Irons?" in her voice I could hear a giggle. 

I so do like to make the girls giggle like that. 

"Why don't you come into my office?"

"Should I take a pad?"

I would have liked to tell her to bring kneepads, but of course I didn't.

"No. Just your beautiful self." 

A real giggle this time. 

I waited for only a moment. Some seconds later she appeared in the room, her tight skirt ridding hi on her thighs. She sat on the elegant couch across the room which I had recently purchased. Her legs were somewhat apart, and as I talked, I'd glance between those silken thighs. 

October 1, 89:  I've hardly had the time to keep up with this infernal but precious journal. Whenever I look at it, I'm reminded about my failure to keep a constant recording of my doings. Sometimes I'm on the fringe of remembering some small unrelenting idea or event, and I think if only I had written it down, I'd remember the forgotten point.

As of late, the mayor has been calling me, trying to get some important papers regarding my improper purchases. I can't let him see them or it'll mean my job! I thought if I took succession that the mayor would pay me the same type of honors he did with that of the former chief, but I was wrong. I don't know, but I need to find out what the last chief had on the mayor if I want to keep things rolling smoothly. The problem is finding out this information of course. I might have to talk to Red and Wesker since they were closer to the chief than I was. Hopefully they know something. I wonder though, if they did know the last chief's secret about the mayor why haven't they told me already. I thought we were all close. I don't know, but I have to find everything out fast.

October 12, 89:  I hadn't found anything out by small conversation from the two so I invited Wesker to dinner tonight. I converted the storage room into my own personal dinning area. The floor remains bare, stain-glossed wood. The walls needed a new coat of paint, a gloomy yellowish sort of color, yet in the morning the skylight allows enough illumination to almost make the color look chipper. I prefer the gloomy effect. I also placed an oval shaped rug in the middle of the room where I put the elongated table, enough for ten people to sit. In the corners of the rooms, I had a contractor build Grecian pillars. They climb to the very top of the ceiling, delightful things to marvel at. Also along the walls I placed candelabras. By the time Wesker arrived, they were all lit. The room looked bleak to my satisfaction. I used crystal dishes from my house because I was scared to add anymore to this year's budget. 

Yesterday morning I had received a call from the mayor again, asking for bills and contracts. "Where's all this money going to?" he had asked.

What a mess I had placed myself in. I made a desperate attempt and hinted that I knew about whatever the chief had known. I don't know if he believed me, but he told me to keep an eye on my spending habits. I bought myself some time probably but not much. 

Wesker came to dinner and for a while we talked, but he didn't divulge anything even with my flagrant curious questioning. 

The whole thing turned out to be a failure. 

I'll have to invite Red to dinner. I hope he knows something. 

October 15, 89:  I just had dinner with that son of a bitch but still nothing! I don't know what to do next! I received yet another call from the mayor, but I told Sandy to take a message. I didn't even look at the paper she handed me, just threw it in the wastebasket. I've been sitting here for two hours trying to devise a worthy plan but I haven't come up with anything useful. 

Time is of the essence. I can't get this thought out of my mind. My brain feels like it's having some type of attack! The pounding can only be dulled by a heavy drink. But with a drink, I cannot think straight. I am at a halt. 

I'll have my drink and something to keep my mind busy. I pushed the button on my desk, "Sandy!"

A few seconds then, "Mr. Irons?"

"Get that sweet little ass of yours in here pronto." I might not win the war tonight, but I sure as hell will win the battle. Sandy was about to get a raise.

October 19, 89:  I'm at my wits end! The strange thing about all this is that I've pretty much bought everything that I need. There's only a small amount of things I would like to get for the station and myself. I don't even have to find out about whatever the last chief knows about the mayor. The most frustrating aspect to all of this is loss! I hate to have someone over me. Dammit, as a child I hated my own father telling me how to run my life. Now how should I respond to the Mayor, I ask you? I always have to win in the end. If ever I have to step down from something, it's only because I'm looking at a bigger picture like when I kissed so much ass to become chief. Stepping down to me is only a means to an end. If I'm to step down to the mayor, it would be for good, and I couldn't tolerate that. I'd rather be fired! Though, if I were smart, it wouldn't come to that...

October 30, 89:  Eureka! I've found something! I was looking over the files of some of the hi-rankers, specifically Red and Wesker. I found something which is peculiar indeed. Wesker is getting paid three times the amount he should! I must approach him about this. I think I should invite him to another dinner.

This time I won't allow him to leave so easily!

November 2, 89:  I just had dinner with that sick fuck! Absolutely nothing! 

Our meal started promptly at six o' clock in the evening.

"Hello," Wesker had said in a sort of nonchalant tone of voice.

I both esteemed and despised him then. As usual he was wearing his black shades and uniform. He looked better fitted for a savage small army in the jungles of the Congo than in this elegant station, but that didn't bother me much. In fact, it was quaint to have around such a person as Wesker. 

Though, I did ask him to take off his shades. "For God's sake take those horrid things off." I moved out of his way and he walked into the dinning room, sighed and took off his shades. 

"You almost look human now," I laughed good-humouredly. 

"Another private dinner? I must be special."

"Yes, of course but first let's eat a little before we talk." I wanted Wesker in a prime mood before I started poking questions. "Take a seat wherever you like."

Wesker chose the right hand to the hosts' seat. Odd but at least I wouldn't have to shout over the table for him to hear me.

"I hope you like your meat rare." I lifted the silver covering off his plate; the aroma instantly sent my stomach reeling. "Leave room for the chocolate moose!" I added with another smile. 

Wesker actually looked pleased, better for me of course. 

"As they say, dig in!" I gladly said. 

The food was fine and so was the wine we drank. I was almost lost in the savory meal for a moment, lost to my primary purpose but only for a moment.  

I took smaller bits while Wesker gobbled his meal rather rapidly. Crude but a good sign he was in a jovial mood. If a thing could ever be said of Wesker I don't really know. 

So far everything had gone as planned. 

Wesker leaned back and patted his face with a napkin while I barely started on my desert! Pig! Hearty eater; I won't hold it against him. He is more of an outdoorsman I guess. To each his own. 

"Wesker," I put my spoon down. He removed his shades from his pocket where he had stored them and once again slipped them on. I didn't say anything about this. I didn't want to start treating him like a child. If he liked wearing the damn things that much, he should get them permanently attached to his fucking face! "I hope you enjoyed your meal. Of course it was paid by the department."

He smirked. "Well this is somewhat of a work related meeting isn't it? That's the impression I got."

"Why yes of course but even if it wasn't it wouldn't matter all that much. This meal didn't cost a whole lot."

He laughed facetiously. "Chief, that's unethical," He smiled, patted his stomach. 

I also laughed in order to continue the warm mood. "Ha, don't tell me you don't put expenses on the department as well? For God's sake, the last chief here built this whole place on unethical spending!" 

"Where did you hear that?" Wesker was being more than facetious now. He was starting to get me angry. 

"Look Wesker," I laughed, but didn't know why. "I don't hold it against him, and I wouldn't hold it against you." I was shaking my head to show such a thing would be just fine with me. Hoping he would respond positively and perhaps let me in on how to get the mayor off my back.

"Well that's just dandy. Is that why you invited me up here? To tell me I can spend the department's money?" 

"No!" I shouted. I had had enough of his games. He was probably the only one able to tell me what the mayor was up to, and I needed to know! "I want to know the dirt on the mayor! What is it?" I purposely wore a desperately sinister expression on my face. I think I was sweating, but I had no control over it. 

I'd bet any amount of money that Wesker was enjoying himself immensely over my dramatic pleas. He didn't answer right away, just kept patting his mouth with the table napkin as if there was still a smudge to wipe. 

Finally he said, "What do you want me to tell you? That we covered a murder for the mayor? That he deals? Do you want me to tell you he runs a prostitution ring? Why would I do that?"

My teeth were grinding, and I made no effort to conceal my anger. "Because I'll fire you if you don't!" I yelled. I knew instantly that I was in over my head. If anything, Wesker could get me fired! I don't think I could handle that, especially since I'd only been working for just under a year. 

Wesker didn't say anything at first. He just looked at me with a little surprise and wonder. "You can't threaten me, and if you value your job, you'll do as I say." He slid his shades down to show me his dark pupils. "Stay out of my face. Don't contact me concerning any of this shit. And if you're smart, you'll stop spending money that isn't yours." He stood up from the table, bowed to me, and then left the room. 

I didn't have a clue what to say or do. For an hour straight, after Wesker left, I sat still, not drinking or eating, just sitting. The station was mostly empty. Undoubtedly there was a small group of cops, nightshift, a secretary or two but not much more. I felt terribly lonely and afraid for my future which left me feeling distraught. 

I began to regret my actions. Possibly, I might have been fine had I not threatened Wesker. Now I'd probably made myself too conspicuous and bothersome to be left alone. For that terrible hour, I thought about what my next move would need to be.

I eventually came here to my office to jot this down in case it might help me later, though I doubt it. My chocolate moose is getting cold, but I'm not hungry. I have bigger things to worry over...

November 25, 89:  They're after me! They're trying to get me fired! Any little thing I do can be used as an excuse. The joke's on them! Ha! I don't give up so easily. If it's the last thing I do, I'll find out what the mayor's been hiding.  

He gave me another little call today, told me he didn't want to hear that I'm trying to find anything on him. Damn Wesker, that bastard! He'll regret crossing me! He reminded me to spend my own money and not the departments. I could tell in his searing attitude he'd like nothing more than my head on a stake, and I have no doubt I'm on my way out if I don't find the mayor's secret! 

I've already got Wesker's phone tapped as well as Red's. I just pray they're confident enough to use the station's phone to make a slip of some kind. Anything would suffice for now. All that's left is a tap on the mayor's phone. 

For the last week, I've been trying to find someone crazy enough to do the job but no luck yet. I'll just have to use a larger bribe. I have some money in the bank but not enough for an operation like this. God, what to do? 

November 27, 89:  I knew it! I knew they were after my position! Last night I received a fax from the next city over for a position as lieutenant, and this morning I got a call from the mayor's office saying some auditors wanted to stop by and check how funds are being spent! No! This can't happen, my dreams, my aspirations! They can't treat me like this, not so soon. How could they? I won't go down without a hell of a fight; I assure you! But how...dammit how?

November 30, 89:  More bad news but some good. The auditors had made an appointment to meet with me next week, but I stalled and canceled the appointment. Time is of the essence now. If I have to plant something on the mayor, I will! Hopefully though, it won't come to that. Not if my suspicions are true. 

At the latest, I could keep the auditors at bay until the end of December but not any longer than that. Which means I have less than a month to finalize this growing problem. 

That's why I stole a pound of coke from the evidence room. I actually traded it for a pound of sugar, but the fire that we throw it into won't know the difference, he-he. 

I'll use the coke to pay off the guy that's going to tap the mayor's office.

Perhaps then everything will fall into place.

My fingers are crossed. 

December 5, 89:  Still nothing serious on the mayor besides adultery and other small bullshit. Nothing as important as what he's really hiding. 

On a lesser note, the last few days, I've been digging through Wesker's garbage, but I haven't found anything of interest. 

I'm running out of time. 

December 7, 89:  I received two important calls today. One from the auditors, and the other from my informant. Possibly good news. He told me he'd bring something that he recorded that I'd find very interesting. I asked him to explain, but he told me I should hear it for myself.

I told him to bring it right away.

Four hours later, the son of bitch walks into my office.

"Where the hell have you been?" I asked coldly.

"Never mind," he says. He sat down on one of the brown leather couches and placed a small tape player on the coffee table. "You'll forget about that when you hear this." 

In expectation, the saliva dissipated in my mouth. 

Just then, that slut of a secretary walked in, she wasn't wearing a braw under her thin blouse, very nice. Though I wasn't in the mood. 

"Sir, would your guest like some coffee?" 

My whore looked at my informant with interest. He doggedly accepted and eyed her the time I allowed her to stay. 

"Sweetie," I said. "Business." She knew what I meant and left graciously enough. She looked at my informant again and then at me, smiled, then left.

"No wonder you want to stay at this place. Fine furniture not to mention a fine secretary."

"Just play the tape," I barked. 

He pushed the button. "This was copied at around eleven thirty at night yesterday."

At first, I only heard the soft scratches of blank tape but then all was dead silence and then a voice. 

"Hello?" the mayor's voice.

No response. Again the mayor said hello but yet again no response. 

Some silence and then a peculiar change in the mayor's tone, "Hell... Oh..." And then he uttered the most peculiar line of words, "Here I opened wide the door..."

There was a short pause which was soon erupted but not by the mayor. The voice was sadistic and mean, "Darkness there and nothing more." I sat there, struck at the sinister sound. Obviously said in conjunction with some type of voice disguising machine. 

"You've been trying to contact us." The demonic voice announced. 

"Yes, I'm sorry to do so," the mayor was tripping over his words. Stammering and stuttering like a nervous child. "But I needed to, you see."

"Go on." It commanded.

"Well, as you well know, there is a new chief."

"We are well aware of that." It scolded.

What in heaven's name? I was flabbergasted at such a thought. I didn't want to be recognized by anyone with that horrible voice whether it was simulated or not! 

"It's not only that. He's been spending...unnecessarily you see, and...well, when I called him about it, he seemed to hint that he was aware of my relations to you. So you see why I've called you." I'd never heard the mayor sound so upset. In fact, I've only heard his angry voice. That is until then. 

"I see." The voice didn't sound so upset anymore, but I was starting to feel a little scared.

This whole situation made me think that maybe I was getting in over my head. I might be better off taking that lieutenant's position! Then I thought I'd probably get a metal desk...NO! The tackiness of it all. It's unbearable. And then to have to serve another chief! I pushed the notion out of my head and destroyed it. 

"Is he involved with us?" the mayor squeaked. 




Journal of Chief Irons



"No, not yet, though we've kept an eye on him even before his new position. Don't be concerned, but there is one thing we want from you. Call the auditors off. We may have use for him."

For a second the mayor stayed quiet. Most likely he had thought they would give him the order to fire me or they would on the off chance tell him I was a part of their clan as it were, but I'm positive that he wasn't expecting the voice to tell him to relinquish his attack. "Are you sure, this one?"

"We are always sure," the voice yelled and then hung up. 

A shiver ran through my spine, and I could tell my informant was also spooked over the recording.

I was silently reflective. My companion sipped his coffee, occasionally stirring in cream or sugar.

"Your suspicions were right on the money." Finally he had said. He put his cup down, and the heated vapor rose into the air. The brew's scent hung in the room, but was of no interest to me at this time.

My mind was turning the problem of secrecy over and over until I realized that for the time being everything would be all right. Had it not been for this mysterious person, persons? Had the voice said, "We are always sure."? Yes, I was almost positive. Later, I told myself, I would listen to the tape again. 

In fact I did, just a while ago, and more than once. I put the volume as hi as it would go and heard nothing in the background of either the mayor or the mysterious voice. Of course, hearing anything that would give me any clue to something important would be highly unlikely. Still, I think I'll send the tape to a specialist to see if he could find anything notable. 

Already tonight my brain has been frying; I am passed my limit for coherent deduction, and so I shall retire. Perhaps tomorrow something will pop into mind. I must find out this whole mystery because this situation is quickly becoming impertinent to my future.

December 20, 89:  I received the specialist response concerning the tape. There was nothing recorded to give even the slightest clue about where this call was made and so forth. 

The man who tapped the mayor's phone has told me there have been no more strange calls since the last. Right now he's in the process of trying to track the call, but he said it would be near impossible for him, and if he were to get it, it wouldn't be for maybe two to three months. 

On a light note, Wesker has been treating me more kindly. I wonder if he is also involved in this somehow. The harshest thing to undergo is the excruciating torture of not knowing what is what anymore. Before I got this job, I saw the world in a certain way. Now I don't know what to make of anything anymore. I don't know whom to trust anymore. 

December 27, 89:  Not much time. Night shift about to come in. Going to go check Wesker's desk, also Red's.

Nothing...

January 12, 90:  Finding myself in a position where I have to wait to find out the truth. Patience is one of my weakest qualities. I have no choice but to wait. Sometimes I think of questioning Wesker or even better Red. Red is the weaker of the two, but still not so much as to spill anything, even if under threat which I would be wary to do if Red is also involved. Though, if he is, he isn't getting paid much. Not like Wesker, his checks are getting larger and larger every time.

I wonder what would happen if I were to make another purchase on the department's behalf?

January 17, 90:  Without the worry of the mayor, things feel a bit more normal these days; though I'm always thinking every odd thing done or said is a piece of this mystery. For the most part, this has turned out to be no more than paranoia. I do admit there is a sense of adventure in all this, but sometimes I would trade it all for peace of mind. No matter my personal thoughts, I must go on. I really have no choice. 

Today I took a stroll down to B1. I hadn't been down there for quite a time. During the day, it can sometimes be busy at moments but around lunchtime the place is stripped of life. That is the time I chose to go down today.

Passing Sandy's office (I gave her a wink and told her to hold my calls), I walked the hall to the door leading me out the back entrance. I passed an employee, a pilot, on my way out. He said hi, and since I was in a jovial mood, I said hi as well. When I stepped out onto the second floor platform, I took a moment to take a breath of fresh air. Most people don't take time to do such things, to appreciate nature. 

There was plenty of nature out on the edges of Raccoon city but people want to be closer to their jobs, not have to commute to work everyday. I on the other hand hold nature to be truly gratifying. I live almost an hour away from the station, but I would never move into this heathen section of the city. When most people gather at the mall for a material graze like the stupid cattle they are, I prefer to take a scenic walk in the woods. I bring a rifle and hunting knife. A rifle for hunting, and a knife for carving into a hunk of wood. I've never actually made anything; I just like to do something with my hands while I walk. Usually when I'm left with splinters of wood from my carving, I'll head back home and finish up on the latest book I'm reading. All the while people are at the shops, growing stupider by the minute with their talk of movies, boys, girls, sex, and drugs. All that mess that make jobs like the one I have. Just like I prefer to spend time walking around this place instead of socializing, I also prefer to spend time roving around in the woods rather than frequenting the public domain.

I took another breath. The sun was high above, practically directly perpendicular to where I was standing. Any pocket of woods or lonely place shun upon by this light would most definitely loose all its fearing power. A miracle of God! I had to admit, and yes, I do believe in God and all his power. It is evident in everything material and emotional. 

Though in the deep crevices of my heart, I abhor all that is good even my own being, at moments. Sometimes, mostly when I'm under a great deal of stress for whatever reason, I find myself delighting in the most sinister thoughts imaginable. At other times, you may find me instructing an officer (on any matter considering police work) with the most care possible without looking dramatic. I thought of this while I walked down the stairs. I noticed but without much care, the mushroom like vegetation still growing along the bottom steps. If I see them getting out of hand, I'll tell the caretaker to remove them. Still they seem pleasant to look at! I'll uproot a bunch and grow them in my office, for fun and study. 

I left the happy little plants behind and walked through the first floor back entrance. Immediately I picked up on the noises, shuffling coming from the next room, stomping feet on the stairwell, someone was coming up from B1.

I passed the doorway going down, the officer coming the opposite way politely nodded and moved on. I didn't receive handshakes politely like I used too and everyone started learning how I liked things. I was never the type to outspokenly let my emotions be known, but by the squint of my eyes or the twist of my mouth one would know whether I'm displeased with something. The other fool (chief) always shook your hand, patted your back or some other show of emotion. A lot of people missed him. There was a giant farewell party for him; I didn't attend. I've always felt that only the closest of acquaintances should receive a handshake and that all others should receive at most a polite greeting or nod of the head. 

Another young officer came up the stairs. This one offered his hand. I only nodded my head and said hello. The echo of his feet slowed as we passed; he was probably looking back at me, hurt or offended. REDICULOUS! People can be such pests. I walked down the rest of the many stairs to B1. Moving down the cement-arched hall which crossed into the next corridor. I quickly made a short left, pushed the lightweight double doors open, and stepped inside. Empty. The soft light from the hall beamed through the circular but small windows of the door. I searched for the switch on the tiled wall but to no avail. My hand came across a puffy cold body. I was in the autopsy room. My hand continued to stroll down the body's length, the chin, throat. I went as far as the genitalia, man. I removed my hand and wiped it on the cloth next to the body and resumed my search for the switch. I stumbled to the wall opposite where I had molested the body and found the switch eventually. The humming of the fluorescent slowly revived and I was now visiting each body and reading the cause of death. A woman had been strangled, probably rapped and then robbed. Two people had been shot, both men, obviously. Men are more violent than women, and I do say this with pride, Ha-ha! 

Before I left, I walked back to the body I had touched over by the corner of the room. I bent my face over the cold piece of meat. I imagined the corpse opening its eyes and biting my nose off. In the background, I could hear water running through the floor drain. I drew closer to the body, our noses were touching. Some people couldn't do this if you'd pay them. You'd call them necrophobics. I've never had even the slightest fear of such things. I raised myself, punched the head, for fun, and walked out. 

I just now remembered! I left the light on! I wonder what the coroner probably thinks? Somebody playing with the dead bodies maybe? Maybe somebody in the department is a necrophillac! Ho-ho! Not me old chum! 

When I left the autopsy room, I made a quick left, passed the special teams' weapons room, and walked over by the jail cells. Brett Hascomb, the jail officer, was sitting at a desk looking at a magazine. I guessed it was either a girly magazine or sports. I was doubly correct. He was reading Maxim; it covers both subjects. 

This is one officer that I'd like to befriend. It's not enough to be chief. I must have cohorts to wield power. What strength is there in one man? No matter how smart a person may be, there is power only in numbers.   

"Is that Brett Hascomb?"

The officer looked at me with fake surprise. "Chief Irons, hello." The officer stood. "What brings you here?" He offered his hand to me, and I accepted. 

"You know me," I chuckled. "I love this station so I must walk through it once in a while." 

He shook his head in agreement. "Yes, she's a beaut!" 

Up until now, I'd never thought of the station as a gender, and once I did, I didn't like the idea at all. But I kept my happy face on. "Oh, so you've noticed. Most people don't. Most people take this place for granted." I spoke passively, almost to myself it seemed. But he positively responded. 

We stood there, in the cold draft of the cement hall, not saying much. 

The officer started to look confused. "Is there anything you wanted to talk to me about, sir?" He raised his brows in concern.

"No," I spoke in a tone like if I were beating around the bush which was exactly what I was doing. I went on, "Hascomb? What do you want out of this job?" I leered at him now. 

There was an uncomfortable expression hanging on his face, but he managed to answer. "I suppose to get ahead sir. I think I would like to one day maybe make it to captain or sergeant. But of course I'm talking in the much further future." The man blushed; perhaps he thought he was overrating himself.

Under different circumstances, I would say he was, but I needed his help. On second thought, for what I had in mind, I didn't really need but wanted his help. 

"No, not so far if you put your mind to it." My opportunity was well unveiled. "Do me a favor and open the prisoner's pen." 

There was some confusion obviously, but he eventually opened the gate to the holding cells. I stepped across the small rail and abruptly turned around. "I have something important I want to correspond with one of the prisoners. 

There was an expected hesitation as this was against policy. 

"How much do you get paid?" I asked with a flicker of a smile on my face? He told me and I acted in shock. "Really?" I added. "That's not enough!" I assured him. "I'm positive you should be getting more." I reached for the keys on his belt. Funny enough, he protected his crotch as if I were going to squeeze him there. "This is what I wanted," as I grabbed the keys. His mouth was half open but unresisting. I closed the grated gate. "Thank you." 

He sat after a second. I turned my attention to the convicts and opened one of the cells. 

"What are you in for?" I asked the grungy man lying on the bed, sitting up then. 

"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was full of perplexed curiosity.

"I'm the chief. In here, I can make you or break you."

The stinking bum got off the cot. Remains of his filthy clothes stuck to the blankets. The front of his rubber sole was flapping loosely as he walked over to me. "All I did was ask for change uptown!" 

I punched him hard, dead in the stomach. The action was richly rewarded with the squeal of his pain and the fear in his eyes. I almost started to drool, but this wasn't my purpose. 

Hascomb opened the gate, "Are you..."

I stepped out. "Everything's fine. Slipped." I pointed to the cell; he couldn't see from his point of view. I closed the gate shut, glanced at the bum, and offered a ferocious grin. "Hascomb! I don't think you get paid enough." From the expression on his face, I could tell his wheels were turning, deciding which path to take. For a moment's time, I almost thought he would be trouble. But he wised up. 

"You really think I deserve a raise?" He asked rather coyly.

"My boy, as long as you work right." I left him there, smiling. 

Just a while ago, I mentioned to Sandy about Hascomb's raise. "Three dollars more, do you think?" 

"Eh," was all she said. 

Good enough. 

With some more talks, experience, and money, I'd have Hascomb in my pocket for years to come. 

Leaving the holding cell along with Hascomb and his probably fantasies on what to do with the extra cash, I moved onto the garage. 

Slimy, greasy, musty, gloomy, I loved this place! This room was also illuminated with fluorescents. For some reason, they were much louder here. Most likely because the room is filled with them, though about half are burned out. Bless those incompetent janitors! Unknowingly they have produced an eerie environment. 

Already I can hear the dogs next door, barking. At what, I have no idea, probably bored. I hate for animals to be cooped up. I also heard a spark someplace, but I didn't know from where. 

Upon further inspection of the garage, I found something truly horrific! To my total surprise, I found battery cables swinging off the hood of a battered patrol car. One end was fastened to the battery, and the other end was swinging a few feet above the ground, negative and positive swinging, crashing into each other. My eye caught a spark fly near the shallowest of puddles, oil! I ran over and ripped the cables from the battery and threw them on the floor after almost slipping on a grease spot! The pace of my heart slowed considerably and then doubled! My eyes were pounding, seemingly out of my sockets. I didn't have to see a mirror to know I was completely red from the rage I was feeling. Minutes later I was still cussing, and looking for more fire hazards to be found in the garage. Hopefully the idiots who'd left the cables connected would return soon so that I could fire them personally while I was still enraged.

I actually waited forty-five minutes before a van pulled in. A tall man was behind the wheel. He was driving one of the special team's vans! There was also someone sitting in the passenger seat. I could tell by their jump suits that they were mechanics. I could also see heads bobbing up and down in the back. I had a full load of retards on my hands!

Right away, I could tell the passenger was scared, but the tall guy driving just seemed upset that I had caught them. I impatiently waved for the tall one to hurry and park. "Hurry up, you!" I shouted above the van engine.

The van came screeching to a halt. The driver got out, but the others stayed inside, still bobbing their heads, taking peaks at me yell at the big man.

I could see the tag on his shirt; it read: "Ted." 

"Come here, you!" I started walking. His footsteps came after me. He was asking me something, but I didn't pay attention. "I yanked the cables into the air and shook them with my clenched fist. "Do you see these you buffoon?"

"What about them?" he sorrowfully asked. His face had the expression of hurt, but this only made me angrier! 

"Fool." I threw the cables onto the floor. "They were wired to that car battery, shooting sparks like the fourth of July!" My finger was shakily waving at the relic of a patrol car in the background. 

His face was full of fake surprise. 

"Idiot, you're fired!" I walked a step or two towards the van and screamed, "All of you idiots are fired!" My anger was fueled, but I could not express the bloody emotion so I stomped off, back to my office. 

My secretary would have to cool me down. Even the thought made me feel better. 

So here I am. Alone in my office, enjoying a cigar. Sandy has gone home. Good ridden. After she performs, I tire of her very quickly. She is how you say, wretchedly boring. 

I have nothing to say except, I fear to put this pen down. Something awry has been let loose upon my life. It goes on unsatisfied. 

I have attained the highest position I could have ever hoped for. Still, I want something more...

December 21, 90:  I went down to B1 again today, to see how the new mechanics were working. Hascomb wasn't on shift, and by the look of the early morning officer, I moved right ahead to the garage. 

"Hello," I announced as I walked in. Immediately I made a full inspection of their working environment and habits. Cans of grease and oil were safely put away, unused tools were in their tool boxes, oil spots were covered with saw dust and sand. So far so good. 

"If there is anything we can do for you, please ask" the head mechanic told me. 

What a polite gentleman, I thought to myself. "How good of you to offer, but I'm simply making rounds. Keep your team on the up and up, and you'll be rewarded." I walked off, made my way to the kennel. I so do love to feed the dogs treats.

The room is tiny; I always feel sorry for the animals. But they are always happy to see me, especially Sheppard. He responds most kindly to me out of the four. I've been known to take him out for walks on occasion. 

Since the early morning, I knew this day would be bright and pleasing. A day I would like to take Sheppard for a walk. Unlatching the door, I let the dog out. I got one of the leashes from a peg on the wall and attached it to Sheppard's collar. 

"Come on boy." I whispered to the animal. His tail wagged up and down in rapid movements. The dog started to whimper then; I thought he was excited to leave, but then he started sniffing at the manhole cover over by the corner of the room. "What's wrong, Sheppard?" I asked, still petting the dog on the head. I let the leash go, and Sheppard ran to the sewer cover, sniffing at it as if on the other side many mangy cats hissed at him. "What do you hear, boy? Rats?" I walked over to the cover to try and understand what was getting him so excited. "Quiet!" I said sharply. I listened with all keenness. At first I couldn't hear anything, but then I could make out a swift current of water running below. Nothing big, I figured. 

"Let's go." I grabbed the leash and made for the door, but he continued to sniff and scratch the cover. My thoughts about a nice walk around the station were growing dimmer with impatience, but I continued to pull on the leash. "Stop that!" I finally yelled. 




Journal of Chief Irons



Sheppard relented; we left the station by the front entrance. The walk was more invigorating then ever I could have imagined. I ran into a group of officers going on their morning jog and waved hello. All but one waved back. I remember things like that. At the time I felt very angry, but the times we are now living allow for such insubordinations. I will remedy my force of such a foolish attitude one day. 

When I returned, I was walking through the garage to the kennel when the door swings open and Wesker of all people walks out. 

"Love those dogs," he says before I can even get a word in edgewise. 

Even though his attitude has been almost jovial with me since the phone incident, Wesker has seemed rather evasive. Whenever I appear, he's on his way out or so I'm told. 

On a different note, I thought Wesker took a disliking to animals? This is truly strange I though so I made a vigorous search of the kennel. Fifteen minutes later, I gave up the hunt. The room is very small and there aren't a lot of places to look for something that I don't even know anything about.

Peculiar... 

December 29, 90:  Another call! My associate called my office by direct line.

"You'll be happy to know that Wesker received a call. But there's something there that puts me on edge, but you have to hear it!" 

"To hell with that!" I yelled in the phone. "Out with it, man!" 

The idiot hung up the phone. I didn't know if he intended to see me now or later, and this angered me greatly. I would have to play yet another round of the waiting game to my disgust. I was growing very tired of all this. 

I stormed out of my office. "Hold my calls, Sandy!" I went through the back door. I crossed the station in a hurry towards Wesker's office. When I got there, I shut the door and sat myself in a chair close to his desk. I simply stood quiet and looked at him square in the face or the part that wasn't hiding behind sunglasses.

"Sir?" He put down a folder he had been looking through. There was a look of uneasiness on his face which was unfamiliar. 

"I know." I didn't add anymore to this. 

"What is that that you know?" 

"Don't play stupid with me." I growled. "I know about the mayor, the mysterious voice, and your involvement in all this. I know about your little secret in the kennel!"

He looked sharply at me then, stood and then said, "I know you do." He sat back down after gaining some composure. "I should say we know you do."

"Who's we?" I placed my hands on his desk; I sat on the edge of my seat. 

"A group with an agenda, but I can't tell you anymore for it would mean my expulsion." Wesker sighed then sat back into his seat. 

I too sat back, running this newfound information, checking for any implied meanings. 

"Sir, I don't know what to tell you except you should be careful." 

I narrowed my eyes at Wesker. "Take off those fucking glasses," I screamed! I was pointing my index finger at him. Whether the men next door heard me or not was not of concern to me at that particular moment. 

"I'm not threatening you!" Wesker sounded apologetic. "I'm trying to tell you this group will not allow for meddlers! They're the ones responsible for saving your job. Right now the Mayor would like nothing more than for you to be working at the next city over, but you were spared. You were protected." Wesker smiled, a rare oddity. 

"But why? That's what I need to know. You know, Wesker, that of all people I'm the most curious type. I cannot let something go that I have fixed my mind upon. It's not possible. You need to introduce me to these people of yours. Surely I can serve some purpose to their cause!" My voice was almost pleading; right away I comported myself, ashamed at the tone of my voice. 

"The best advice for you to hear is this, let them come to you." 

Let them come to me? That's the opposite of what I wanted! "I can't wait! You must tell me! If you don't, you'll regret it." I smiled like the devil then. Either way I didn't evoke a response. Wesker was never colder than then. "Oh, I see. You want to play hardball! I stood and leaned way over Wesker's desk. I placed a finger into Wesker's chest and pushed. "You don't want that!" I briskly turned and walked to the door. Before I left, I let the door crash into the file cabinets. 

Who does Wesker think he is? Does he think he can cross me? Does anyone? I've been playing nicely. I'll use my reasoning to get what I want. I want to learn more about this organization! And what's more is that I'll find all I need and more!

Three hours have now passed, and I have not heard a single solitary word from my incompetent associate! The blasted fool was taking his sweet time, and it was driving me insane. Possibly his new found information would be the key I've been waiting for, but there's no sense in speculating. I'll have to continue waiting, my weakest of attributes. I must suspend my expectations with a walk and smoke. But first. 

"Sandy!" I blurted into the com. 

"Yes sir?" she blurted back.

"Come give me a blowjob."

"Yes sir?" with vigor.

Good girl that Sandy, always willing and able. As long as I stay here, I'm a God. Ha! And I will find a way. I'm too close not to! 

I made the festivities quick. Then I was off to the kennel to pick up Shepard. An acid cigar was packed into my kerchief pocket next to my gold monogram inscribed lighter.

An hour later I was back from my walk, and feeling much better at the same time. I hung up Shepard's leash, took a look at the manhole cover, and then it occurred to me that a manhole cover in this place was indeed odd and truly I've never known a place of business to have such a thing in their lower basements. Though this was an old building and all, but the idea continued on with me. And then I recalled the expression of Wesker's face when I told him I knew about his secret in the kennel! Eureka! 

I scrambled over the cover trying to pull the heavy metal plate with my bare fingers but to no avail. I laughed out loud in sheer delight. This mere metal of a setback stood in the way of my life's goals. HA! "It is to laugh," I screamed by the tops of my lungs. Tears of joy ran down my cheeks. I stayed there and shuddered momentarily while my mind wondered over the glorious things I might find down there. Gold, buried treasure? I dared not wonder any further for fear I would go mad, truly wholly mad! I staggered to my feet, my legs wobbling as if they were soggy kindling. The delight of the whole matter sent me into a drunken stupor. With a tremendous force of will I gathered my thoughts by the reign. The shakes gradually stopped. I dared a peep at the cover. There was a hole as they all have were the lifting lever is placed. A smile appeared on my saliva soaked lips. All I needed was that simple little lever and my dreams would then come alive into reality. The glee I felt then was overwhelming. When I walked out of the kennel, I did so while brushing my pants. They were filthy from scrounging on the floor trying to get the cover to open. 

My next order of business would be trying to find a lever at this time of night. My power would accomplish this priority for me. "He-he" I couldn't help laugh. I was moving up the stairs to the ground floor. The knocks of my footsteps against the cement were blocked by the racing thoughts of my fancies. Buried treasure I said to myself. They are hiding treasure from me. For what other reason would there exist the need to keep such a grand secret. I was missing out on all the fun. 

"But never the mind; I will make my way to the labyrinth!" I cried with laughter and sour tears rolled into my moth. I was barreling over with laughter when a blunderer came into view at the top of the stairs. 

"Everything...o..k?" A young gawked faced rookie asked me. He looked suspiciously. 

I couldn't help but sneer at this youthful example of disrespect in the raw! "Don't I look just fine?" He attempted to answer, but then I continued to ask, "Do you not hear me laugh?" He was choking over a sentence he knew not. "Aren't these tears of laughter?" My horrible smile stretched from ear to ear. I'd managed another two steps toward the now cowering youth. 

And then I awoke. I realized the strangeness of my behavior. I comported myself satisfactorily. "Young man," I said. "What is your name?"

"Benjamin." The confusion in his voice was only the slightest off from the confusion of his expression. 

"Young Benjamin, I thank you for checking on me, but I am fine as you can plainly see. I was reminiscing on an old friend and funny experience we had as children. So you see."

"Ah! Ha-ha." A wind of relief blew through his countenance, and I departed from him.    

I was walking on the 2nd floor lobby stairs, thinking were I could secure the lever when I thought up the simple solution. I opened the door to Sandy's office. 

"Sandy," I said. "Get one of my officers to do a job." Her attention was focused on my orders. She was good at behaving herself at the right time. Sandy was perfect. "I want a manhole lever." 

Her hand stopped moving on the little pad she liked to carry everywhere with her. "A manhole lever?" 

"Yes, Sandy, a manhole lever." I looked at her lips then, and a sudden lust came over me, but I was too drawn in by my previous excitement, and I didn't want to cheapen it with a physical interruption. 

Her countenance stood perplexed so I added, "Whichever of my officers you use, tell him to find a road that is under construction and to get it from one of the workers there." I turned to her with all of my attention. "A.S.A.P."

She nodded and used the radio to call one of my special officers to do the job. I was just about to leave when she announced, "You have a guest. The same man you had business with some time ago. 

I almost jumped for glee but not before leaving the office and heading for mine. 

My footsteps were loud even on the thick carpet. I clawed at the doorknob and pried my way in. Like a fool I almost stumbled onto the floor but my hand was still on the knob, and I saved myself the embarrassment.

"What took you so fucking long?" were the first words out of my mouth. My clothes were disheveled, my tie crooked, and my pants had some remains of dirt. 

My associate sat calmly with a delicate china teacup in his lap. The contents were practically finished. He looked neither excited nor regretful about his tardiness. 

"Well, are you going to sit like a moron the whole night or what?" My arms were raised above my head in a hopeless expression. 

In a crass tone, he said, "The recorder is on your desk. Feel free to listen to it." 

I shook my head at him and ran over to the desk. "Keep your voice down God damn it!" As if he were speaking at all, but I just wanted to yell at the bastard. 

Like the tape before, I heard the cries and chirps of the blank tape and then Wesker's voice.

"Hello?" He said. His voice sounded suspicious. 

Nothing but a dead silence, then, "Here I opened wide the door." 

A moment passed then, "Darkness there and nothing more." That same horrible mechanical voice! Since the first time I heard the sound, I've had nightmares.

"Mr. Wesker. You have good news for us don't you?"

"As always." Wesker didn't report any fear - not like the mayor.

"You've retrieved the documents?"

"I took them down last night. They're waiting in the appropriate place." 

"The number?"

"006" 

I would have died to know what they were talking about. Hopefully, I thought, they would give some clue further in their conversation.

"Were there casualties?"

"A guard, and I wounded a technician," Wesker tried to make this sound unimportant. 

"Wounded?" The voice repeated.

"Yes..." Did I detect a waver in Wesker's voice? The idea was too great to be true. "He tried to stop me. It was only a flesh wound."

There was a total silence and then a bang of noise! "DO YOU KNOW WHO WE'RE DEALING WITH? DO YOU KNOW THEY WILL PROBABLY TRY TO EXECUTE TEN OF OURS FOR YOUR ACTIONS! 

Before then, I had had my head down to the recorder, but jumped back in a fearful reaction. Surely this person wanted to kill Wesker, and surely this person would want to cut off any loose ends. I tried hard not to think of myself as a loose end.

"The man tried to stop me, and an alarm had been tripped! I had to be out..." Wesker pleaded with some confidence. 

"YES, BUT WE WARNED YOU, DIDN'T WE?" it yelled. There was silence for a long time. 

Wesker was quiet. 

Then all of a sudden that horrible voice spoke again, "You must learn if you want to continue working for us." 

Us! Again the plural pronoun. Definitely this person was some type of spokesman for some deviant group. 

"There must be consequences for your actions." The horrendous voice actually laughed. "You will be head of our next clean up."

"But please." Wesker said. "Is it even safe?" 

The voice let out another belt of laughter. "Only if we want it to be." The line was cut.

I was both pleased and disappointed by what I heard. Now there was so much more to think and plot over, but still I did not discover the whole of things, which is really what I wanted. 

I was quiet for a long time until I asked, "Do you have any thoughts on this? Speaking off-handedly. 

My associate shook his head. "If you want my advice, you'll back off from this." By the look on his face, he waited for the repercussion of his statement. 

My eyes squinted, "Are you mad?" Deep down inside I believed he was. How could he come so far and not wonder what all this was about?

"Of course not. It's just that...these people sound, dangerous," he finally revealed. 

Staring as if taking measure of his worth, I asked, "Are you a coward?" I really wanted to know. 

"I'm not a coward." He placed his teacup on the fine china plate and then placed both items on the table. The dishes rattled; he was obviously hurt. 

"If you're at all fearful of going on then take your money and leave. I'll be the one to uncover this mystery with someone else's help." My face felt hot and puffy. I only hoped that's how it appeared at the time. Either way, he seemed to relent. Besides, I was paying him much more than he was worth. 

Truthfully, I didn't want him to leave. Finding someone with his skill and his level of corruption would prove somewhat difficult. On top of that, it seemed I had greater concerns to worry over than finding myself another lackey. 

"Don't get me wrong," he said. "I don't want out if you don't want out. I was just trying to advise you." As reassurance, he smiled. 

"Just keep in mind why I'm paying you. I'm paying you to find this whole thing out. I need closure on this! I slammed my hand on the table, and the sparks of pain shot up my wrist, but I took complete pleasure in the sensation. I waved for him to leave, and he did, unhappily so.

After my associate left, I rocked myself in my chair. Back and forth I bounced, waiting for my secretary to call and tell me she had the manhole lever. During my half-baked speculations, I replayed the recorder over and over again until the voice didn't seem so disturbing. I kept listening to the two voices repeat the same things and found nothing hidden in the background or in the words they used. A small sense of failure crept in me, but I tried to remind myself that I was getting closer all the time. For this, I should look as an accomplishment. But no. My father never raised me to find victory in defeat. 

Since my childhood, I was pessimistic and cynical by nature and then later by choice. I watched for people's flaws, staying quiet so that I could study them better. I can remember how people complemented my parents on my behavior. But I knew the truth; I could see the disquiet on their faces and hear the abnormality in their voices as they spoke about me. What they meant to say was that I was too quiet. 

I hate sitting still because I do prattle. That's all right; I certainly have the time for it. Waiting like a buffoon for this damned tool!

I recall the instances I'd spent as a young lad with my dear old grandfather. I partly feared him the times we were together. His emaciated features were most of the problem, but his unsound mind scared me further. When I think of those times I'd spent with him, I remember why he seemed fascinating. 

He appeared to be a marvel of science with his dejected blank stare and hunched posture. I thought of him as a walking corpse. His eyes were covered in cataracts, and his cheeks sunken in like holes in the ground. The skin on his face was yellow with rot, and his nails were crusted and cracked. When he talked, he did so with great difficulty to the point his words were lost in coughing intelligible babble. 

At that age of seven or eight, my mind recollects not, I'd bring my grandfather his pipe and tobacco five or six times a day to watch him smoke. Even at that age, I knew tobacco was poison. I was trying to kill the old thing! Every time I watched him take a puff, I'd wait for him to die, but he didn't. Not until my later years when I was nearing a teenager and didn't care to watch the old coot kick the bucket. What a young pistol I was. All around the world there were children playing with their toys or watching their favorite shows on television. Some were on the streets playing hopscotch or tag, but not me. I was waiting for my grandfather to die. 

Oh well, I suppose I wasn't that horrible. I didn't kill him myself! 

The idea of seeing myself as a failure for not killing my grandfather brought the old fathom of anger about. My finger pressed against the intercom button. 

"Sandy!" 

Time barely elapsed before she responded, "Officer Patterson is bringing the lever as we speak." 

I smiled. "You're precious." 

"I know this." 

"My dear, why don't you take the rest of the night off?" I felt terribly happy about the lever. I wanted to play music and dance like a drunken fool.

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes, Sandy. Take the rest of the night off. I'm going to leave soon as well."

"If you're sure." 

"I'm sure. Good night," I said before releasing the button. 

I bathed in the room's silence, slowly swiveling my chair until I faced the blueprints on the wall. I searched for the kennel. When I found it, I looked for the sewer, but there was no sign of it. This alone didn't bother me since the prints were void of any plumbing at all. 

"Sir." Sandy's golden voice called out of the intercom. 

"Sandy," I laughed. "Don't you have a home?" 

There was a reply of soft laughter then, "There's a message for you. The lever is waiting with the receptionist." 

"Hmm, that sounds fine." I stroked my chin and smiled. 

"Ok then, I'm off."

"Sleep well." 

Silence. 

Walking to the door, I undid my tie, throwing it on one of the couches. When I reached Sandy's office, she was already gone. 

I walked the lengthy distance without disturbance. I've been eliminating many positions and night hours so that I could have the building less occupied at night. During the day, I don't care that much because I'm mostly in my office, but I must have the night to collect my thoughts and act freely. I didn't run across anyone until I reached the lobby. A secretary handed me the lever. I waved and walked to the basement, probably looking very anxious as I went along, but I couldn't help it, I tell you.  

Down in the basement, I had just enough patience to realize the dampened lighting. I've finally gotten the janitor to dim them to my satisfaction. I told him we were using up too much electricity. I don't know if he believed or agreed with me, but what could he say? No? He's the janitor! 

When I reached the bottom, I could see that the coroner was performing his duties in the autopsy room. Walking past the little window, I couldn't help but take a small peep. 




Journal of Chief Irons



Inside was the most gruesome thing I think I will ever see in my life. The coroner was having sex with one of the bodies! My hand shot up to my mouth to stifle myself from getting sick. Inside, I could see the doctor gyrating over the body of a woman without a head! Good God, I thought. 

But then my fancies calmed, and I could see the doctor was only carrying out his usual duties of weighing body parts and running blood samples and drug tests.

I walked off laughing about the whole thought of Simon the coroner having sex with a cadaver. Sometimes my mind plays cruel jokes, but always, I laugh. 

I actually laughed aloud. Simon must have heard because when I left the hallway into the underground parking lot, I heard the autopsy door swing open. Hopefully the man wouldn't wander around looking for the source of laughter. If he found me snooping around the sewers, he could ruin all my plans. 

But I'd kill him before it would get to that. Just then, the thought of murder so invigorated my soul that I unknowingly began to swing the lever up and down like a hammer, imagining that I was bashing Simeon's scull. I then imagined Simon weighing his own organs in one of his measuring trays. Ha! The things I fancy!

I stopped swinging the lever in killer fashion and opened the door; the dogs began to bark, but I settled them down as best I could with some of the treats lying about. The box was old, half a year old according to the date. Judging by the way they ate, I don't think they could tell the difference. 

With the mongrels finally quiet; I placed the lever in the correct opening and pushed with all my weight. To my great dissatisfaction the cover neither budged nor made the smallest of noises! 

"Damn this infernal contraption! Why won't you move?" I screamed to the immovable metal object. 

Perhaps the dogs thought I was angry at them because they replied to my outburst with much barking. 

"Shut up!" I think is what I screamed at the top of my lungs. 

But still the animals persisted. Again, I tried to lift the cover, placing my entire weight on the lever until finally there was some change! I heard a squeak from the cover giving way. With a sweaty grin, I looked to see the lever bending! 

I dropped to my knees and almost wept. To have come so far and then stopped by this damned manhole cover! In my enraged state, I laughed, almost silently as my mind danced over my ridiculous predicament. In the background, I could hear one of the dogs barking continuously and increasingly louder. 

"I SAID SHUT UP!" The constant yelping was driving me crazy. The sound clamored between the walls until my head felt as if it would split. I was up from the floor with the lever in my hand. It felt as light as a feather in my grip. The dog, Baxter, was jumping against the bars of the kennel, snapping towards me. What a traitorous vermin. 

How many times have a taken this stupid creature on walks, and how many times have I stopped by a plump bush so that this mongrel could lift his hind to urinate? Countless - countless times and this is how the insolent beast treats me? 

I kicked the bars. Baxter tried to snap at my shoe. 

There was no doubt in my mind, if let out, Baxter would attack me with extreme ferociousness.

With my teeth bare like an enemy dog, I lifted the lever and swung as best I could through the kennel bars and hit Baxter between the eyes! Immediately, I was rewarded with the howl of pain, but still the animal continued to bark and make noise until it filled me with rage. 

"I've had enough of you, Baxter." 

The animal growled warily. 

I believed Baxter understood what I was really saying and what I meant to do to him. Without concern, I unlatched the kennel door and let it swing open on its rusty hinges. The dog saw its opportunity to jump out and tear me to shreds, but it seemed hesitant. Then it moved fast like I couldn't believe. It shot out and up almost before I could mentally register what was taking place. 

But I was ready, and my body took over. Indeed there was no time for rational thought. How could there be? I was in the act of killing a police dog! My body however protected itself. My arms holding the lever shot downward, and the weight smashed over the animal's face making a crunch sound I would hate to forget anytime soon. 

The body fell limp in front of me. 

For good measure, I struck again and again until I began to sweat profusely in my heavy linen suit. That didn't matter. I got lost in the bloody work. My clothes were spotted in different shades of red. I had to be careful of any witnesses until I could change. 

Blood ran along the beveled floor into a circular grate adjacent to the manhole cover, which reminded me about my purpose for even being there in the first place.    

First things first, I thought. Returning to the garage, I found a large tarp to wrap the body. Then I found some twine to tie the tarp together, nice and neat. A million ideas and sensations whirled past me in a bloodthirsty tempest of emotions.  

After half an hour, Baxter was properly packaged within the tarp, lying near the kennel door. Next, I cleaned the cell and room floor with a strong smelling detergent from the garage. I also found a scrub brush with hard bristles to remove the tougher stains. Not more than twenty minutes passed in silent concentration, scrubbing, reminiscing, and worrying, before I was satisfied there was no blood left. 

I put the remaining twine, brush and degreaser back into place where I found them, though, the scrub brush was stained with a light hue of red. Nobody would put the pieces together I was sure. I took a look around to see if anything was left. Back in the kennel, I checked everything quickly. Good job, I thought. But I had let my temper fly out of control. This isn't good, I brooded. 

By now, I was tired; I looked forward to sleep. The thought of a soft pillow induced a strong earnest for a long night's rest, and I rocked in the air for just a bit before snapping out of my peaceful trance. 

I remembered the lever. It was resting against the wall, still covered in blood at the end. I didn't bother cleaning it since I would leave it in my office and nobody is allowed inside. 

Since I was tired and since I couldn't get the cover to lift, I was about to be on my way. But before I did, I took another look at the cover to see if it had any bolts or anything that would impede its removal. I searched the odd looking lid with a picture of an umbrella in the middle. The handle made a loop at the bottom. And within that loop was a lock. I was surprised to find this oddity, and then again, I wasn't surprised at all. If fact, I became all the more intrigued with the matter. 

I smiled wily then said to the stale air, "Move out of my way, little lock. Because you can't stop me." I laughed in the mostly empty basement kennel. "NOTHING CAN STOP ME!" And I laughed as I rarely do. Hard and with total joy! 

December: 30, 90:  Today is my day off, but I couldn't stay away. Not after last night. 

There are more people working today than usual. I moved everyone's schedule so that officers work when I don't. Think of the complaints I've received!

No matter, get with the program or find another place of work. That's what the new chief says.

Practically everyone, except the kiss assess, half-scowl my way. Numerous complaints have arisen about family get-togethers and doctor's appointments that were broken because of my sudden changes. I like to read these at my desk where I can enjoy them with a small glass of brandy. Once, I almost spewed my drink when reading someone's threat to cut out my "cowardly gizzard", of all things if you can believe. 

I should like to make a special study of all my workers to see who is on my side and who is not. Then I could slowly turn the traitors lives into a living hell. But I mustn't think such things now. As I am apt to get too excited and forget what's important. Often times, I get trapped in my own ideas. 

This morning, though, I don't have that fear for my associate is going to handle the lock in the basement. On top of that, I have to file Baxter's disappearance. It must have happened when I took the beloved wretch of a dog on a happy stroll last night. If only that cat hadn't appeared, Baxter wouldn't have shot out of my grip and gone running around the corner – never to be found. So sad, everyone will say. And I will agree. 

Truth be told. I'm paying too much of the department's money on a taxidermist. Baxter is having his skull reconstructed. 

I told the man not to bother. I would find another dog's head to help piece Baxter's together. The likable chap didn't seem bothered by my suggestion. I wonder if in the past he has used his prowess for any...unethical purposes? God knows I would. But, you know what they say. It's never too late...

January: 3, 91:  Here we go. I have the key. 

January: 4, 91:  I was most delighted to hear Sandy announce through the intercom that my associate was waiting at the reception desk in the main lobby. "Alright." I said, flinging out of my chair and twirling to get my jacket. I had the buttons to my coat crisscrossed, and was still fixing everything when I got to the lobby. "How are you?" I asked, but I was looking for the key. "Let's take a walk," I said before he could answer, urging him along. 

Out of the desk clerk's earshot, I asked, "Where is it?" My voice stringy with impatience. 

"You realize I'm not a locksmith?" he said. 

Excuses? I thought. "As long as I'm paying you what I'm paying you, you'll be a hot little lolita! Understand?" I half choked over my words when I saw the receptionist staring at me oddly. I don't think she could hear me, but she must have wondered what I was getting so excited about. "Let's go," I said taking him by the bicep rather firmly. 

"Relax. Hey!" he tried to resist. 

But my anger was already top notch. "I would have been happier if you came back with a stick of dynamite. Anything but excuses! Excuses!" We entered through a sky blue door and past the double doors into the workstation. 

Inside, a number of young men went about typing reports, tapping keys on the computer, and taking calls. A lot of the officers looked stressed. How could they not be? So many reports go into a dusty file in the lower rooms, never to be taken care of. Their work is of a fruitless nature. 

Rushing out of the workstation, my acquaintance said, "Look, there's no point in taking me down there. I don't..." 

"Shut up." I said. "Look at the lock one more time because I want it open by tomorrow morning. 

"How?" 

I opened the door to B1 and allowed my acquaintance to descend first. Hesitantly, he went. 

"That's your problem, isn't it?" 

"But..." 

"But you're running out of time so you can stop with your excuses. I'm assured in your competence to remove a single lid of metal away from a slab of cement. Only that I ask that you move quickly for my patience is running on fumes. Do you understand?" I smiled to show there were no hard feelings. But my smile also showed that I was angry, and that I meant business. "I think our mystery is waiting under the floor of the dog kennel." 

My acquaintance shrunk away to his own thoughts with his forehead wrinkled and his eyes focused on his shoes until we got to the bottom of the stairs. "I don't want to have anymore part in this." 

I don't remember what I said, but I was mumbling something cruel. What was I dealing with? A child? Obviously. "With or without you, I'm going to find this damn special secret. After the door is open, you may leave and return to your exciting life." My acquaintance began to argue, but I pretended not to hear him and he stayed quiet. We passed the officer on duty down there, "Hascomb!" I waved. He waved back, smiled. I opened the next-door leading into the garage, "Go ahead." 

My associate made one more attempt at discharging the duty I was fixing upon him, "Like I said, I'm not a locksmith. I have never seen a lock like that. The only way I can think of getting in there is with a demolition hammer." 

"That's easier than a stick of dynamite." I smiled. 

"You're...you're crazy," his voice barely carried over the banging sounds of the garage workers repair work. 

I'd never seen his face so full of concern. "Look." I took him by the arm again. He pulled out, and I took his bicep in my tight grip like an angered father with a rebellious son. "You know too much...do you realize that?" 

A worker stopped what he was doing hunched over the open front hood of a S.W.A.T. van. 

Releasing my hold, I recuperated by patting his back. "Come this way," I said oh so quietly. 

"I don't know if I should." The dunce looked truly afraid as if I would take off my face like a mask and reveal something grotesque. 

"Stop that blubbering. Everything is going to be ok. Just open that lid, alright?" My voice was absent of any ill intent. With a few more kind words, I coxed the man into the kennel. The workers tried not to stare, I noticed. 

With the door shut, I said, "I'm going to have to lock this door. But you know what that means." I was speaking to myself while my associate was looking at the cramped space of the room as if he didn't know how he got there. 

"It means that this room is going to be under suspicion. There might even be a break in. I would bet good money that most if not all of these cops have ability for lock picking. Do you know that? Thanks..." I wanted to say "thanks to you" but my associate was in such a frail mind that I was afraid to break him. So instead I said, "Here. Let's take a look, see what we come up with." He followed without the need of my hand fixed around his arm while we both studied the lock. "Doesn't look impossible, now does it?" I asked, staring. 

He didn't move or say anything. Just looked at the lock, probably wishing I had never asked him to take the job of adding taps and picking locks. 

Suddenly, I asked, "Have you been taking the coke? I thought you were going to sell it, but you're using it, aren't you?" 

He looked at me, stunned. His eyes suddenly filled with lively angst, and he said no. 

The air turned stale with our mixed frustration, but then I spotted some flakes of blood on the grate next to the manhole cover, and that made me feel better. "Not that it's my business, mind you. I smoked Opium for a week in China while on vacation." I said, standing back to admire the memory of lying flat on a comfortable mat with small yellow men taking my money from a roll in my coat pocket and repacking my pipe. "Yes, I sometimes wish that I could go back, but it would be a waste of time." I turned to my associate. He was looking at me as if I had lost my mind, but I talked as if I didn't notice. "Yes, days feel like a few hours, and then before you know it, a week has passed. When you come to, you feel as if you have just stepped out of a time machine." I laughed while my confused associate puzzled over my inappropriate timing. "I'm sorry. I'm jabbering aren't I?" Focusing on the lock again, I pondered for a moment and then said, "What if we strip it? Drill a hole or use a hammer, something like that?" 

"I don't know. That wouldn't work on a normal lock. Depending on the type of lock, you have to drill in a specified area then jimmy a pin, but everything has to be done in a certain place, and I don't know anything about this kind of lock. I can end up making it harder to open. You should get a locksmith." 

"Do you know anybody?" 

"No." 

"Then why would I?" 

"Isn't there somebody in the department that could...I don't know." 

Bending closer to the lid, I got to my knees and touched the cold dark metal, taking notice of the umbrella and the lock situated within the loop of the handle. "No. I don't trust anybody else with this." Then I changed my gaze to face him; he was still standing. "I don't want to add anybody on this." 

"Don't worry. I'll be leaving too." 

"After the door." I sighed, turning back to the lid. There was still the audible sound of water running. "What if...what if we can use an acid." I looked at my associate who seemed surprised. 

As if he was making an important decision he then responded, "Yeah. Actually, yeah." My associate appeared to lighten up. "I'll get you some, but you'll have to let me out. I don't want to know what's at the bottom." 

"Not so hasty." I said. "I still want you making taps." 

"No, you don't understand," he said breathing hard, "You'll never understand until they catch you." 

I laughed. "If they wanted me, there's no doubt they would have taken care of me – whatever that would entail. But it seems that they like me." I giggled.

My associate didn't hide his disgust in my liking of the very hidden group that might one day be responsible for my death. "Like you? The only thing these people like is control and God knows what else." 

"Be calm. You sound like a scared fool." 

"I don't think so. I'm not being the fool here. You're the one trying to make friends with psychos!" 

"Psychos?" I said, trying to hear the word out loud. "Ah." I shrugged. "So when will you have that acid?" 

"I don't know. I have to make a call." 

"Call me back tonight then." I said while standing. 

He thought briefly then relented, "Ok." 

"Good." I sighed in relief. "Then everything is fine. 

He hesitated, then said, "I want out, Mr. Irons." 

"You should rest. Our futures look bright." I said then offered a warm smile. 

My associate's face turned sorrowful then clenched of any emotion. "You're not going to let me out, are you?" 

"Of course not." 

That was earlier today. Now I am waiting for that call, and if my associate doesn't contact me soon, then he's going to fall into a bit of trouble with some of my special police officers. 

I became bored waiting as I always do. A book on Colonial History sat on my desk, but I couldn't concentrate. I've always used playing cards as bookmarkers because I can never hold onto them for long. It is as if there is a gremlin who follows me everywhere waiting for the right moment to pluck my marker and use it for some grand purpose, ha! 

Currently, I'm using the joker. He is a fool peddling away on his unicycle while juggling liquor bottles. I can hear his bells tingling as he knocks his head from side to side by the chant of their monotonous clang. "Fool," is written on the brim of his tri directional hat. From whatever position I look down from, the fool is laughing at me, and I become angered. 

I crumble the card in my fist and feed it to the shredder I hide underneath my desk. I cannot tolerate the look of this modern convenience among the fineries of this early nineteenth century styled office. 

When I stand to pace my room, I feel much heavier, and my senses are numb. I look back to check the bottle of Vodka I've been drinking and see that I've come quite a long way. "Whoopee!" I say. Holding out my hands and twirling, enjoying the dizzy sensation afterward. 

Suddenly, I stop spinning. "Those no good bastards." I said. I'm speaking about the S.T.A.R.S. team. "They think they're so precious, don't they?"

In my drunken stupor, I amble out of the office on unsteady legs, occasionally using the wall so that I do not fall down. Sandy has been gone for a long time. 

How I wished that my lovely Sandy were there to please me. Murder! I would do devilish things with that woman's body so that she would leave my office on shakier legs than mine. Ha-ha! But she is not there so my mind turns to those horrible S.T.A.R.S. Which for some reason, my mind turned all of its aggression upon. 

I use the U-overhang because, though I'm drunk, I'm not stupid. If an officer sees me this way, I can loose my position. That is why I must find the secret to this mystery. For if I know, then I can do as I please. I will not have to fear my inferiors. Blast! I've been born in the wrong century. For if I had been born in England in the fifteenth century, I could have been unstoppable even while being corrupt.