One Last Kiss. Mary Wilbon

Travis Bodine, stinking, spent, and hyperventilating, into custody. As he was driven away, he saw the blind black woman from the elevator and the gorgeous blond security guard, smiling at him and waving good-bye.

      It took a few seconds, but Travis Bodine realized what had happened to him. These two bitches had taken him down. He became enraged. He couldn’t beat on the window of the cruiser, because his hands were cuffed, so he started head-butting the window and cursing them.

      “Bitches! Bitches! Fucking bitches! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

      The officer sitting in the back loved it. He was waiting for an opportunity. With great pleasure he Tasered Travis, who folded like a lawn chair.

      The cruiser was silent again.

      When he was gone from sight, Laura said to Slick, “I thought for sure he’d notice that I switched the briefcases.”

      “I knew for sure he’d be too busy noticing you,” Slick said, winking at her. “You were perfect, Laura. I knew you would be. I remembered how scared you were that you’d make a mistake. I knew you wouldn’t. You’ve got to learn to trust yourself as much as I trust you.”

      Slick kissed her on the cheek.

      “I’m just glad it’s over,” Laura said, closing her eyes, leaning in and enjoying having her cheek kissed.

      The receiver in Slick’s ear began to crackle.

      “We’re still watching you.”

      Slick laughed.

      “Nice working with you, Commander,” she answered back. She wondered where he was. He could see and hear her every move, but Slick had no idea from where he was observing her.

      “Congratulations on a very successful operation,” the commander said. “You helped avert a crisis and capture a dangerous man who was on the way to becoming an even more serious threat. Now his ass is ours. We’ll take real good care of Bodine from here.”

      “I’m sure you will, sir.”

      Travis had been arrested by the Newark police, but after they were through with him, he’d be turned over to the Feds. The Feds didn’t like terrorists who tried to blow up federal buildings.

      The receiver in her ear crackled one last time. She knew the connection was being broken and that it would be un-traceable.

      Slick pulled it out of her ear, threw it into the street as she had been instructed, and watched as a taxi ran over it, smashing it into useless pieces.

      Smiling, she looked up to the roofs of the surrounding buildings, and the sharpshooters who had camped out there since midnight were giving them a thumbs-up.

      Slick and Laura nodded surreptitiously so as not to give away their positions.

      On the street, a dirty, rusted-out van with ST. MARK’S HOMELESS SHELTER printed on the side pulled up. The van lacked a rear bumper, and the passenger side window was mostly duct tape. The engine, however, maintained a steady healthy rumble. The Critical Incident team that had been stationed on the ground disguised as drunks and street people disappeared inside the vehicle.

      The van pulled away and disappeared into the morning. No one on the street even seemed to notice. It was as if they were never there.

      By the time Slick and Laura looked back up, the rooftops that had been speckled with dozens of men looking through rifle scopes had been cleared, too. Slick had heard the commander once refer to them as Alpha Team. They were probably getting ready for their next mission.

      A major disaster had been avoided quietly and professionally, without panic. And there would never be a news story or report about it. No one would recognize Alpha Team for the heroes they were.

      Perfect. That was just the way they wanted it.

      “Damn, those guys are good,” Slick said with admiration.

      Garbo stood on her hind legs, demanding Slick’s attention.

      “Yes, little girl. You were wonderful, too. You kept Bodine distracted after Laura switched the briefcase.”

      Slick bent down to give Garbo a biscuit, and the three of them started across the street. Slick stopped at a Star Ledger vending machine, bought a paper, and read the headline.

      NEW JERSEY SENATORIAL RACE HEATS UP

      Nothing like New Jersey politics, she thought. Slick drew in a long deep breath. “Let’s go home,” she said.

      “Let’s,” Laura agreed. “We’ve got some shopping and packing to do for our vacation.”

      They started walking to Slick’s car, a Mercedes SLK350 with a sticker on the window announcing that she was a retired police officer, a gift from one of her pals on the job that prevented her from being ticketed for any but the most flagrant parking violations.

      It also kept would-be car thieves away. They saw the sticker and decided it was a bad idea to steal an ex-cop’s car.

      In the distance, a police car with its siren blaring approached. It snaked and zigzagged its way through the heavy midmorning traffic.

      One by one, drivers swerved reflexively to let it pass.

      Slick and Laura looked startled as it stopped in front of them.

      A young police officer got out of the car. “Detective Slick?”

      After years off the force, the police still addressed her as “Detective” out of respect. And after all these years, Slick still cherished hearing it.

      “Yes, Officer. How can I help you?”

      “Captain DeStasio sent us to bring you to the station.”

      Slick started to ask why her old precinct captain would be sending for her, but before she could ask, the young officer continued. “All I can tell you, Detective, is that it’s about a murder. Some Halsey Street hooker went and got herself killed.”

      The young officer hesitated and looked away momentarily, then finished. His youthful voice was low and strained. “Could be someone on the job is involved.”

      Without saying another word, Slick opened the back door of the patrol car and helped Laura and Garbo inside. She walked to the other side and let herself in.

      The car worked its way back into traffic with the lights flashing and the siren screaming.

      Inside the car was total silence. No one spoke.

      Slick did a quick study of the young officer in the front seat. His appearance was impeccable. Uniform clean and crisp. Hair cut to regulation. Great physical condition. His eyes were forward and focused. He hadn’t expected to work in Newark, but when he got the assignment, he didn’t turn it down, because he thought he could make a difference. He argued with his young wife about it. She wanted kids, a house at the shore.

      He was doing his job, but it was easy to see he was despondent. He hadn’t heard that sometimes the cops were suspected of being the bad guys.

      Yeah, he knew about Abner Louima and Amadou Diallo, but those were not the norm for police officers. Those incidents were aberrations.

      He was probably fresh out of the academy, Slick thought, filled with the rookie’s altruistic ideal that the cops were always right and good.

      He couldn’t believe that the people he worked with could be guilty of anything more than taking a free meal from a restaurant once in a while.

      Slick knew exactly how he felt. She looked out the window at the same old Newark streets that she remembered so well.

      Halsey Street.

      Broad Street.

      Frelinghuysen Avenue.

      Ferry Street.

      The movie theaters, the barbecue joints, the check-cashing places, the jazz