“Taylor Ham and Cheese on Rye and a Coffee, Please….”
The Green Brook Diner on US Route 22 in Green Brook, New Jersey made the best breakfast food. Their coffee wasn’t bad, either. Of course, if you’re a cop, every meal is breakfast food. The weird hours you keep forces your body into sleep patterns that shave years off your life.
Heinlein paid his tab, grabbed the paper bag – already soaking through with grease – and jumped into his ride. He’d forgotten how spartan cop vehicles were. The Ford Explorer was fitted out with enough electronics and screens to choke a Klingon Battle Cruiser, but the controls were still mostly analog. Dials, switches. Whoop-whoop siren. Light bar up top. It had been three weeks since he’d flown out of Stockholm and was unceremoniously dumped off at Atlantic City Airport. He caught an Uber back to his old house on Vosseller Avenue in Martinsville – and slept for about three days straight in his old bed.
He walked down his long, crushed-stone driveway to his mailbox when his neighbor, Walt Risoldi, saw him and offered him a ride in his lifted, good-ole-boy Ford F150 pickup.
“I don’t see a vehicle at your house – you need a ride somewhere? By the way, Warren Cop cars have been snoopin’ round’ your house for weeks, brotha’….what gives?” Walt said.
“Yeah – I’ll take a ride to Warren PD if you can run me over….I’ve been out West for a while. Las Vegas.” Heinlein was as vague with details as he could be. But – just like any Jersey guy – once Walt heard his neighbor was partying in Sin City, everything was cool. To Jersey males Vegas meant hookers, booze and gambling. What real men did. Hard-dick stuff.
Heinlein caught a ride with his neighbor to Warren Police Department HQ and spent the next few hours signing paperwork to get his old job back. He’d only been out of Warren PD for about six weeks – tapping his banked-up vacation and discretionary time until his “quit” date was to “lock-in” on the calendar. Heinlein never was one to take days off or use vacation time – so he had a ton of spare time coming to him. Months in fact. Most jobs were done when you quit them – but not cops. They had a Union Contract and built-in Civil Service protections. In fact, Heinlein’s Policeman’s Benevolent Association’s Union Rep handled his whole reinstatement. All Heinlein had to do was sign some forms. Under his Police Union contract, his “resignation” wasn’t binding until he’d exhausted all his vacation and union-guaranteed days off. Heinlein hadn’t “burned his bridges”. Turns out even his old Chief, Gus Trevor, was begrudgingly happy to get him back on board. And he had to admit – getting his badge and gun back felt good.
He was tight-lipped about where he’d been lately. Between the nights he’d been spending in Lambertville and his brief jaunt to Sweden, he could see how Walt was wondering what was up. His house on Vosseller Ave. wasn’t exactly a beehive of activity – although Heinlein was glad his landscaper had been cutting the lawn and shrubs on schedule. Everything at least looked as neat as a pin. That fracas in his living room involving the Yakwahe-bait Mossad agent had been cleaned up professionally – even his bullet-holed bow window glass had been replaced. Ilse’s crew had thought of everything.
Walt Risoldi was a fellow cop – an ex-Corrections Officer – a who kept an eye on Heinlein’s property next-door. Like cops say – a “Brother from Another Mother”. Many a Summer’s Day Heinlein and Walt drank themselves shitfaced at Walt’s backyard pool – and Heinlein stumbled back across his property line. They were that close. Walt and his wife, Mary, were good people – and even better neighbors.
He’d gotten a new phone – but kept his old number. Heinlein had smashed his old Samsung against the runway tarmac in Stockholm when he saw Ilse’s last text to him:
“I got two suggestions for you: 1) Get your old job back so you can carry a gun. 2) Forget everything you ever saw or heard while in my company – especially anything that I said. Develop severe amnesia. And lose my number.”
That’s all there was. From Wedding Day – to See Ya’ Round – in warp speed. Psycho bullshit.
The most galling thing about his relationship with her was enjoying the sex and abundance of comforts and goodies that was her life. Heinlein didn’t come from money – and this was the closest he’d ever gotten to it. It was intoxicating – and now it was gone.
True to form – she was all business. And that was how she ended it. It was always “her way or the highway”. Although his heart was bruised, he had to admit that it felt good to get off the Crazy Train that was Ilse. It was good to be back in Jersey again among regular people speaking a familiar language. Living normal lives. Heinlein was real pissed-off about everything – but he had to admit, he had dodged a bullet. The girl wasn’t wrapped too tight. Thank you, Lord.
Heinlein was exhausted. He felt like Alice, who’d fallen through the Looking Glass.
But he also felt naked. He was on his own.
Jeffrey Kreizer, International Correspondent, Reporting for CNN:
“Russian Space Agency authorities today announced that one of their Yakhov7 Series Atomic Satellites lost altitude in Earth’s Orbit after colliding with unidentified space debris, causing it to careen back to Earth and crash in an Eastern region of Zaire in Africa, now known as the Democratic Republic of Congo.
President Moray Shigeko said that he’d already spoken to the Russian President who expressed his sincere apologies for the unfortunate event. The crash has resulted in a large impact crater at the site of a decommissioned facility under lease by the Government of Germany called OTRAG which was until recently used for scientific research and medical experimentation. Whether there were any casualties at the impact site is unknown at this time due to the remoteness of its location. A United Nations Response Team will investigate the site due to the Atomic power reactor used in the Yakhov7 Series Satellite and the strong possibility that radiation will be measurable in the area.
NASA Satellites have already confirmed that the entire OTRAG Facility has been destroyed. This news comes on the heels of last week’s death in a car accident of Doctor August Beirling, Executive Director and Special Advisor to OTRAG. Dr. Beirling and his assistant, Dr. Georg Anstadt, were killed in Sao Paolo, Brazil when the car in which they were passengers collided with a truck on a mountain road…..Brazilian Police Authorities are investigating the accident.”
Heinlein watched the CNN Report on the overhead flatscreen at Warren PD while he was eating his Taylor Ham sandwich. He literally stopped chewing and spit out a mouthful of his breakfast onto his desk blotter –
“Holy Shit…talk about payback….”
This was clearly done in response to the assassination of Dr. Anders Sonnerlund of NordPharma. The BratvaRus was making a point. They were coming after those responsible for his death – and they had Russia behind them. Ilse got her confession from the shooter – or what was left of him. And it must’ve been the Aryans in South America….the Nazi Bruderschaft or Brotherhood. This was a decapitation attack and a demonstrative one: Don’t screw with the Bratva. Don’t screw with Ilse.
Heinlein’s desk intercom line beeped. It was Gina at the front desk.
“Detective…somebody’s here to see you. Says she’s from the New Jersey State Police Barracks in Bordentown. A Detective Sargeant – her name is Nancy Leeds. Can I buzz her in?”
Heinlein wiped the last of his Taylor Ham sandwich from his mouth and hit the button that buzzed his guest through the security door. The cameras were broke – so he waited for her to make her way inside the “bullpen” of cop desks that was Warren PD’s nerve center to get a look at her.
Nancy Leeds wasn’t in uniform. She wore jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. Her seriously weathered leather jacket had an undeniable Biker vibe to it. This lady knew how to shift a Harley up to cruisin’ speeds. Her face was surprisingly feminine – but a bit drawn and rough. Her eyes were bright – but tired. She looked like she’d been involved in her fair share of scrapes with bad hombres – and carried herself like she’d had some martial arts training. Unless Heinlein was completely off his mark, Sargeant Leeds was a South Jersey Piney – right out of the Pine Barrens. She had an Appalachian look about her. A Hatfields and McCoys kinda’ thing. Not a demographic you wanted to take liberties with.
Heinlein approached her and extended his hand.
“Sargeant – good to see you. How may I be of assistance?”
She smiled a world-wise grin and shook his hand. Her grip confirmed Heinlein’s suspicion that she was no stranger to her local fight-club.
“I’m Sargeant Nancy Leeds of the New Jersey State Police. Sorry to sandbag you like this – but I was told you were the guy I was supposed to see”.
“Oh really?” Heinlein was intrigued. “Who told you to see me – and what’s the topic?”
“Some Spook at the US National Security Agency named Jack Tenerife..…he says you had hands-on experience with some local underground infestation that may be responsible for the breakout of Turbo-Necrotizing-Faciitis at Morristown Memorial Hospital. NJ State Police is investigating if there’s a Terrorism component to this breakout. I’m lead investigator on extended assignment with special clearances, reporting directly to the New Jersey Attorney General.
Heinlein suspected as much. He was never going to be rid of the Yakwahe shadow dogging him everywhere. The Crytoid was gonna’ haunt him to his grave…
“Well, there….Sargeant Leeds….let’s talk”.
Heinlein smiled and mumbled to himself….OK, Darlin’ – let’s hunt us some Circus Freaks……
Copyright 2025, Jon Croft
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