Out For Blood

A Matt Murphy Mystery - Book Two

by H. Paul Doucette

There are bad cops, then there are BAD cops.

When one of the good ones receives a call alerting him to a deal going down on a major case he's working, he has no choice but to follow up on it.

Standing in a darkened alley across from a bar, they watch the seedy bar across the street. When he decides it's now or never, he and his partner step out with their weapons drawn and advance on the building. His instincts tell him that this could be a setup. But little he know that it is and it has been set by one of his own, a brother cop.

Matt Murphy stood beside the hospital bed looking down at his best friend. He had been shot and was now fighting for his life. Murphy knew that this might happen one day, it came with the job, but he still wasn't completely ready for the reality of it. As he stood there he vowed to find the one responsible and realized that for the first time in his life he wanted to kill someone.


Chapter One

 The sun was riding low in the western sky. Its light still illuminated the tops of the buildings while the lower sections were cast in soft shadows, not yet dark enough to activate the street lights. People filled the sidewalks bustling from work to either bus stops or the subway. The end of day mob; the life blood of the city. It was the lull between the throngs of workers heading home and the emergence of the night crawlers looking for the promise of fun and sin.

New York. Ain't no place on earth like it.

The blue and white Chevy sat parked between two buildings facing the street. Two men sat in the front seat watching the pool hall across the street. It was early in the evening and, even though they had the windows down and were wearing loose colorful Hawaiian shirts, it was still hot inside the car. They were both about the same age and build: about mid thirties and stocky. One had a half smoked cigar in the corner of his mouth.

“Shit, man, do ya gotta smoke that piece of rope?” griped the man sitting on the passenger's side.

“Ya got no taste, Pete. No fuckin' taste,” replied the driver blowing a cloud of blue smoke into the car's cabin.

“I got taste,” Pete said, waving the smoke out the window with his hat. “It's just not in my ass like some.”

“Heh, heh, heh. Yeah,” the said chuckling. “Ya got a point there, I guess.”

They sat quietly for a moment, then Pete asked, “Hey, Jake, you sure he's inside?”

“That's what I hear.”

“Well, I wish he'd hurry up. It's too fuckin' hot in this alley.”

“Patience. Patience.”

Just at that moment, someone exited the pool hall. He was skinny and had long hair. He wore denims and a T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes tucked up under one of the sleeves, and sneakers. He stood in the doorway for a moment checking up and down the street then headed off down the sidewalk.

“There he goes,” said Pete sitting up.

“I see him. Give it a second or two,” Jake said putting his hand on the key in the ignition.

Jake eased the car out of the alley and slowly rolled to the curb watching their target as he continued down the sidewalk. They kept a half block space behind the man. About a block further along the man turned off the sidewalk into a vacant lot.

“He's headin' to his usual spot,” Pete said.

“Yeah. Looks that way.” Jake pressed the accelerator and the car lurched forward. At the next intersection, he swung left around the corner and drove two blocks then parked the car. They got out and walked across the street toward another vacant lot next to a small grocery store. They stopped just short of the lot and stood at the corner of a building, waiting.

A few minutes later their man came across the debris strewn lot and took up a position against the wall of the building on the other side.

“Hey, Freddie,” Jake said, as he and Pete stepped into view.

“Aw, fuck, man,” the man moaned as the two men approached him. He watched as they closed on him knowing it made no sense to run.

“Hey. You sound like you ain't glad to see us. I'm hurt. Really.”

“Yeah. After everything we do for you, I mean,” said Pete, as they arrived to stand on either side of him.

“Whaddya guys want? I paid you already, didn't I?”

“Yeah, you paid us,” said Jake as he took hold of Freddie's arm and started to lead him away.

“Hey man, what da fuck.” Jake steered him into an alley with Pete following behind.

“Shut yer hole,” Jake growled.

Once well inside the alley, Jake pushed Freddie against the wall. The bricks felt ice cold against the sweat soaked T-shirt as Freddie suddenly realized he was in some serious shit.

“Wh...whaddya want, man?”

"Out For Blood" by H. Paul Doucette


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