The Blue Wall

A novel by D.B. Powers

1
PROLOGUE

Danny Sullivan rocked his chair on two legs, its back making clicking

noises as it tapped against the walls of the roll call room. It had been three

months since ‘the incident’ and this was his first day back since the

embarrassing and bloody conclusion to it all.

He wondered how the other cops would react to him; after all it was his partner

who would be raising his right hand and swearing to tell the truth…a truth that was

sure to see fellow officers lose their badges, their pensions, their careers and in

some cases their freedom.

But in this job, what dirtied your partner also rubbed off on you...filth by

association.

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 Danny had been on the streets nineteen years, he learned about the blue wall

in his first month. The point had been driven home a thousand times since. If

you were a cop, everybody hated you. You were the one that broke up their

marriage, arrested their loved ones, ruined their lives by making them drive

drunk. Nobody gave a shit about you or watched your back…except for

other cops.

How many times had he looked away as some crack dealing puke got the

snot kicked out of him? How many times had he sat in the cab of the paddy

wagon as it rocked side to side from a well-deserved beating taking place in

the back, the dome light having been snuffed?

How many officers had looked the other way for him?

Mister and Missus John Q. sat in their comfy middle class living rooms

and watched the Rodney King video until their eyes bled and called them

‘jackbooted thugs’. What the fuck did they know! The Police may be the

Devil incarnate but God help them if they take more than five minutes to

respond to someone’s piddly-ass dilemma.

He was sick of it all. Watching the crooks and gang bangers rule with

impunity while City Hall slashed the budget, refused to hire more officers or

buy decent equipment. Shit, Danny would have been happy to patrol in a

paddy wagon that had less than a hundred forty thousand miles on it.

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 From where Officer Sullivan sat, the world was spinning down the toilet

and the only thing to do was hold on tight and try to enjoy the ride. The

Devil had won...step on up and claim your prize.

Still, Danny couldn’t blame his partner for what he was about to do.

Under normal circumstances Chad would have never breached the trust. But

unreasonable pressures in an unholy situation didn’t wear Chad down so

much as crush him. The elements that lead to this whole mess had never

existed before and God willing, would never exist again.

Another thing they had working in their favor was the fact that the officers

Chad would be ratting out were officers that everyone knew the department

would be better off without…the rotten apples that were tainting the whole

barrel.

In the end though, Danny knew that when the shit finally hit the fan it

would divide their department for years. The best they could hope for was

that the larger percentage of officers would back their position. The rest

would fall in line over time. They just had to hold on tight and weather the

storm.

How long would it be, he wondered, before the press got hold of this

latest mess and burned it into the public’s brains? He'd seen his own name in

print far too many times and now he was about to see it again.

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 "Officer Chad Tilden's partner was called upon to testify...." "Officer

Daniel Sullivan, partner of the departmental whistle-blower..."

"Officer Sullivan stuck between a rock and a very fucking hard place

indeed."

5
Chapter 1

just another tour

It was an ungodly hot May 25th and the air smelled like garbage in the

central city. An inversion layer held the smog tight to the streets like a dirty

blanket. Officer Danny Sullivan and his partner Chad Tilden pulled into the

packed parking lot of the Stop-n-Brew to get their life sustaining caffeine

fix.

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 The door of the paddy wagon made a shrieking sound as Danny exited the

passenger side, metal on metal, a souvenir of his dead-on aim as they passed a

fleeing car thief in the middle of the street. That door never would be the

same...neither would the thief.

It took everything out of him just to climb from the wagon. The sixty

extra pounds of flab he carried, along with the thirty pounds of equipment and

ballistic vest had to be straining his heart to the danger point. He could

already feel the sweat soaking the pits of his uniform and an open window

proved a poor substitute for the malfunctioning air conditioner on their

vehicle.

As they entered the store, they passed three African American youths on

their way out.

"You Officers have a good night arresting the black man." one of them

sneered.

Danny bit his tongue "Maybe your number is up tonight dickhead." he

thought, making a mental note of what the loudmouth was wearing...

paybacks were a bitch.

There used to be a time when a smart mouthed nigger would have got his

blood boiling. He learned to shrug it off now. Somewhere down the line

someone would pay, in a dark alley, away from prying eyes and camcorders...

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it all evened out.

He felt the cool rush of refrigerated air wash over him as he entered the

store. At least the air conditioner worked in here.

"Is the coffee fresh Mae?" Danny asked the aging woman behind the

counter.

"Are you kidding? I even washed the pot!" she snorted as she wiped the

soft drink counter down with the same rag she’d just used to clean behind

the toilet.

The coffee filled the large Styrofoam cup as the sweet fragrance filled his

nostrils. Just the smell started to clear the cobwebs. The true test of the

beanjuice came when he added the creamer. If it only took one to lighten the

brew then he was a happy man. If it took two or three, then he knew he'd

have to double up on the sugar just to kill the burnt taste. What the hell, a

gourmet he wasn't!

As he added his tenth pack of sugar, Danny turned his attention to the kid

who stocked the shelves.

"What's the word on the street Kenny? You keepin' your nose clean?"

"You know me Sully, if I'm not here, I'm at choir practice." Kenny

beamed a toothy grin.

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 "Take it easy man...and remember, if I catch you coming out of that after hours

joint on Junction again you’ll be singing Castrata!" Danny said patting him on the

shoulder.

“Castrata? What dat mean?”

Danny laughed and shook his head. Sometimes he forgot his audience.

“Just stay away from that shit hole. It’s nothing but trouble...capice?”

“Yeah I got you...I’m a ghost.” he said, replenishing the supply of condoms.

Danny had always liked Kenny. At one point in time he talked him into signing

up for the civil service exam. But on the day of the test Kenny slept in. His

excuse was that he'd never pass the physical testing part of the application.

Maybe he was right. Kenny was strong as an ox but he probably couldn't run

worth a damn.

He was a fountain of information though. Anything and everything that

took place in the central city seemed to channel through the Stop-n-Brew.

Being one of the few convenience stores in the area still open 24/7, this is

where all the gangsters came to wet their crack dried whistles and get their

nachos to kill the munchies, and gangsters had loud mouths.

Kenny had given Danny and Chad the heads up on many a skirmish

between the crips and the bloods and his information was always good as

gold. The gangsters would be ass deep in red and blue lights before they

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could throw their first shot...they wouldn't know what hit 'em.

But that was in the past, when they had the manpower on the street to

mount a decent offensive. Nowadays you just watched the gang fights

through the windshield of your car, like they were a drive-in movie, and

hoped you had some back up in case the bullets started flying your way.

Danny and Chad topped off their cups of coffee and returned to their

wagon to sign on with the dispatcher. It was a hot night, especially for this

early in the year, and they knew that if they hadn't gotten their beverages

beforehand they wouldn't get a chance to get them later. Once they tested

their radios they would be running call to call until it was time to go home.

Sure as shit, no sooner had they hit on and the radio spat out their unit

number.

"Three-Sixty you’re all I’ve got. Take a code three weapons call in the

parking lot of the Acey-Ducey Club. Anonymous complainant states that a

large fight is taking place outside the bar and several males have guns and

clubs."

"Three-Sixty is okay on that from Front and Oswald."

Chad replaced the microphone in the bracket and flipped on the lights and

siren. The wheels squealed on the hot pavement as the wagon rounded the

corners, feeling as if it were on the verge of flipping over. Another broadcast

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began...

"Three-Sixty, we're getting reports now of shots fired and several people

down. Do I have a unit that can pull away from their call and assist three-

sixty?"

"Unit three-forty, we’re done with this report. You can show us enroute to

the Acey-Ducey." the radio crackled.

As was always the case in a hot situation, other crews left their calls and

started heading for the eye of the hurricane, hoping to see some blood and

action. Danny and Chad were the first on scene and the fight was on hot and

heavy.

Around the outskirts people were scattering like roaches exposed to the

light, getting in their cars and getting the hell out before they were the next

ones lying bleeding on the asphalt.

The sharp pop of gunfire could still be heard...four, five, six shots rang out

and more bodies fell. A loud crack scared the shit out of Danny and Chad as

the driver side window of their wagon shattered, showering them with sharp

glass diamonds.

As the partners hit the floor, Danny screamed.

"Chad, are you hit?"

"I think so...damn!"

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 Chad could taste blood and saw it running in front of his eyes and onto the

floor. He couldn't risk reaching for the microphone hanging from the wagon

ceiling so he hit the emergency button on his portable radio and shouted into

his lapel mike.

"Three-Sixty, we're taking fire, I’ve been hit! Send fire this way. We also

have several down in the parking lot. We need backup now!"

The freeways were awash with a stream of flashing lights, like ants on a

trail to sugar. They came from other districts and from the smaller outlying

municipalities. The Sheriffs Department, the University Police, Waterville,

Washington Township, they all came.

Danny and Chad were still huddled on the floor of the paddy wagon. The

shots still rang out. Danny reached up to the dashboard and pushed the

button for the shotgun release. Pulling the weapon from its mount he held it

close to him like a long lost love. After chambering a round he lay there and

listened to his heartbeat... it sounded louder to him than the gunfire.

Time had ground to a halt. Danny worked up the courage to leave the

safety of their sheet metal cocoon then it faded away. Maybe this was the

safest place to be, or maybe someone was creeping up to finish them off, it

was hard to tell from the floor. How bad was his partner wounded? How

many people were still fighting in the parking lot? Where the hell was their

12
back up?

Finally the sweet serenade of sirens broke the din but the gunfire went on,

a sharp counterpoint to the chorus of screams coming from the dying and

wounded. Danny's courage worked up again.

"Chad, I'm going to see what's going on...lay low here."

"Fuck that! I'm not going to leave you with your ass waving in the wind!"

"Look faggot, you’re hit, we don't know how bad. If you try to leave this

wagon I swear to fuckin' God I'll shoot you myself!"

"Okay, go!"

The argument won, Danny pulled the door latch with his toe and kicked

the door open. He looked through the opening and saw a rush of cars,

Acuras, Mustangs with gold rims, rusted hoopties all driving like madmen in

a rush to vacate before the cops occupied. If he didn't get shot, he'd probably

get run over.

Officer Sullivan slithered from the floorboards and found himself

crouching beside the wagon. The gunshots had stopped, either due to lack of

ammo or live bodies to shoot. A quick peek over the open door revealed four

or five prone lumps on the ground and one person on two feet. The one still

standing was a large black man, his body soaked with sweat, muscles

rippling under prison tattoos. In each hand he held an automatic pistol,

13
smoke curling up from the barrels. His eyes were wild, almost bulging from

their sockets...he started to cackle...then to scream.

"Drop the guns!" Danny heard himself yell as he clicked off the safety

lever of the shotgun.

The iron man remained motionless.

"I said drop the fuckin' guns or I'll waste your sorry ass!"

The muscles in the iron man's forearms tensed, Danny's trigger finger

twitched.

Just as he thought the thunder was going to come down, the iron man

dropped both of his guns and started to sob. Danny raised the sights of his

weapon and a swarm of officers set upon the beast. The guns were kicked

from his reach and the iron man was cuffed and stuffed.

"Okay Chad, he’s in custody."

Chad rose up slowly from the wagon floor, taking stock of himself. Blood

covered his shirt and hung congealed in his hair. Small fragments of glass

stuck to the side of his face. The only pain he felt was a dull pounding in his

head. Before Danny could get to his partner, he was surrounded by

paramedics and whisked away.

He stood there for a minute as if in shell shock. The smell of gunpowder

and exhaust made him choke. Firemen and cops walked around the prone

14
lumps. Yellow crime scene tape was already being stretched between

handicapped parking signs.

Now it was Danny's turn to be tended to. He was startled when a hand

touched his shoulder, snapping him from his post-traumatic daze. He turned

to see Captain Murphy and a paramedic.

"Come on Danny, we need to get you to the hospital"

"What're you talking about Murph?"

Danny looked down to see that he too was soaked in blood. The world

began to reel.

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