Day 2, Word Count: 3520
Krebs headed north, towards Chinatown and the City's heart. He walked with his shoulders drawn in and his head down. There was little traffic on the streets at this time of day, but in only a
few hours the afternoon rush would start and thousands of commuters would head for the trains, busses, ferries and cabs that would whoosh them off to suburbs in New Jersey, Staten Island, Long Island and Westchester County.
Krebs had a different work schedule.
The crisscrossed streets and avenues of lower Manhattan passed under the heavy boots of the young man as he slouched and slinked deeper and deeper into the maze of the City. Passing close to the site of reconstruction at the former World Trade Center, the police presence grew more and more
pronounced. The dark gray of stone buildings, marbled slabs of granite and concrete, shadowed the
narrow streets. A palpable feeling of loss and horror and anguish permeated the air. Here Death
had swept down on three thousand lives and even a man like Krebs was hard-pressed not to feel its
lingering presence.
Penetrating further, Krebs passed through the bustling crowds on the busy Chinatown streets.
Fishmongers, pirates and profiteers all hawked their wares at tourists, commuters, and residents
alike. Here, a human monster of shouting voices argued with itself in a slurry of foreign tongues and
regional dialects. The wave of black haired skulls parted around the ghostly form of the
pale-faced loner as he advanced deeper and deeper into the City. Bright colors from a thousand different cuts of cloth and flashing electronics assailed his eyes, but nothing slowed Krebs from his
northward journey.
Passing the ominous intersection of 1st Avenue and 1st Street, Krebs continued onward, turning
west, but still moving north. The packed streets of Chinatown relented to the more open and trendy
shops and alleys of Soho, Noho, Tribeca, and Chelsea. Now criss-crossing and backtracking, moving
west to east, then east to north and back to west again, Krebs came yet closer to his destination.
Passing the West Village, moving east into Alphabet City and then north again, the streets trailed
behind him in rapid succession. At 4th Avenue and 11th Street he turned north a final time and
headed for Union Square directly ahead of him.
The bustle of students, artists, musicians, lawyers, ConEd workers, bike messengers, and
fashionistas flowed around and over the Square. The wide circular stairs on the park's south side held
people of various makes and models. Dogs pranced and danced in an enclosed area on the west side of
the Square while rollerblading beauties trounced the concrete at the north end vying for territory
with predatory skate rats and surly homeless lunatics. Two wide, three-sided structures bordered
the south end of the park. Waves of people entered and exited those gaping mouths, descending
into the depths of the City, joining and disgorging from the arteries and veins of the massive subway
system.
Abraham Krebs would soon be rejoining those underground canals but first he needed to attend a special matter. The Family owned and controlled a townhouse just to the east of Union Square, on Irving Place, and it was here that Krebs's walking journey ended. A report was due.
Plus, he needed Mrs. Arkadian's rent money.
The Family would provide.
Chapter Five
When McGruder stepped out of the cab on the corner of 116th Street and Amsterdam Avenue Columbia University's campus spread itself out before him. A rolling quadrangle of green grass just starting to turn brown under the fall air laid beneath Greco-Roman edifices on three sides. Columned halls and imposing libraries faced off against each other and all of it was surrounded by the
encroaching City. Students moved with industrious purpose from one building to the next while some of their more laid-back counterparts lounged on the quad, frisbees flying and lattes flowing.
McGruder slipped into his coat and headed for a building just to the left of the rear end of the
quad. It was smaller and less ornate them some of the surrounding structures and housed a number
of the University's faculty. Specifically, McGruder was heading for the fourth floor and the
political science department's offices.
Entering the brownstone the reporter was struck by the lack of security. In the post-9/11 world magnetometers, x-ray machines and armed guards were the norm in NYC. But in the Ivory Tower of private education the elite and the intellectual alike felt safe and isolated from the world around
them. That suited McGruder fine. The less questions he had to answer and the fewer people who
knew where he'd been, the better.
He hit the stairs and made for the office of Urban Civics professor Jennifer Garcia. Garcia and
he had known each other for years and if anyone could answer the questions he had from his late
night conversation with Monahan, Jenny was the one. The problem was whether or not she'd answer
them. Or talk to him at all, for that matter.
The door to her office suite was open and before McGruder could even announce himself to the
student manning the secretary's desk, a husky voice rumbled from the adjoining office.
"You sonofabitch. You better turn around right now and get your narrow ass out of my office,
McGruder," yelled the voice. A pretty brunette emerged from behind a stack of books piled high on a
scarred wooden desk.
Jenny Garcia was tall and dark skinned. Her father had been one of the original Black Panthers,
himself the product of a Latin father and Black mother. Jenny had chestnut hair, naturally curly,
that fell to her shoulders. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, in stark contrast to her somewhat
rounded nose. Sea green eyes shown through her rimless glasses with a clarity and fierceness that
was hard to turn from.
"Jenny, jeeze, you act like I did something wrong," McGruder played coy.
"Wrong? Wrong?" She was storming out of the office now and McGruder actually had to restrain
himself from backing up. "I'll show you wrong, you hack."
"Hack!?"
"That's right. I can't believe you would even show your face here, after what you did to me,"
She was right up in the reporter's grill now and he actually did have to take a step backwards to avoid a lacquered nail in the eyeball. "You promised me you'd leave my name out. You promised!"
"I tried, Jenny, really. It was my editor," McGruder pleaded.
Now Jenny backed off a step. The fire had left her eyes and she sighed in exasperation. "You
know what, Terry? It always the same bullshit with you. Always."
She turned around and headed back for her office. "Just leave."
"Please, Jenny, give me five minutes."
By now the stunned TA at the desk had risen and put himself between McGruder and the professor.
"Sir, I think you should just leave - - " he started, before McGruder pushed him out of the way.
"Jennifer, it’s about Councilman Travers," McGruder said.
The professor had been closing the office door and now she stopped with her back still to the
outer office. "What about him?" she asked.
"Let me buy you a cup of coffee, Jen. Please. Ten minutes."
"Fine," she turned and closed the door behind her. "Robert, I'll be back in 15 minutes. If you
ever see this man in this building again, call security."
"Are you sure you're okay, Jen?" the boy said. "Do you want me to go with you?"
McGruder let out a short snort. Professor Garcia shot him a glance filled with hatred and he
stifled the rest of the laugh.
"No, Robert, thank you," she said. "I can handle this."
Chapter Six
They sat next to each other at the counter of the Washington Heights Diner. McGruder was nursing a black coffee that was far too bitter and Jenny had an herbal tea in a cracked porcelain cup.
They had made the five minute walk in utter silence, the taller woman leading McGruder by about five
feet at all times.
McGruder put down his cup and swung the swivel chair towards Garcia. Keeping her eyes straight ahead she said, "What do you want, Terry? Just say it and then leave me alone. I don't want to be near you anymore."
"Listen, Jen, I'm sorry about what happened. You know that. I couldn’t have known what was going to happen. If I'd known, I would've done things differently," he said. Sincerely. Which was a rarity for him.
"Bull, Terry. You would have written it just the same. I know it and you know it. That's why I loved you in the first place. Your uncompromising determination," she said softly.
"Not that time, Jenny. Really. I would've . . ." he continued as he turned back to his
coffee. "They pulled the rug out from under me . . . well, you know."
"Yeah, I know."
- - -
Two years ago McGruder had been doing an article on corruption in local politics. City council members had been embezzling federal funds earmarked for local scholarships for inner-city grads. McGruder's source had been an 18 year old girl from Harlem who'd not only had her college money bilked by the local politician-slash-preacher, but also been sexually assaulted by him. Date raped, in fact. When the girl turned to her professor as a confidant, Jenny Garcia called McGruder. She'd figured, with his connections to the department and his info on the embezzling scheme, he’d be able to get the cops to take down the Councilman without a lot of publicity for her or the girl.
One of Terry’s oldest friends was the cop he went to with the story. A detective, Harvey Stern, was a twenty year man with the Force – true blue.
few hours the afternoon rush would start and thousands of commuters would head for the trains, busses, ferries and cabs that would whoosh them off to suburbs in New Jersey, Staten Island, Long Island and Westchester County.
Krebs had a different work schedule.
The crisscrossed streets and avenues of lower Manhattan passed under the heavy boots of the young man as he slouched and slinked deeper and deeper into the maze of the City. Passing close to the site of reconstruction at the former World Trade Center, the police presence grew more and more
pronounced. The dark gray of stone buildings, marbled slabs of granite and concrete, shadowed the
narrow streets. A palpable feeling of loss and horror and anguish permeated the air. Here Death
had swept down on three thousand lives and even a man like Krebs was hard-pressed not to feel its
lingering presence.
Penetrating further, Krebs passed through the bustling crowds on the busy Chinatown streets.
Fishmongers, pirates and profiteers all hawked their wares at tourists, commuters, and residents
alike. Here, a human monster of shouting voices argued with itself in a slurry of foreign tongues and
regional dialects. The wave of black haired skulls parted around the ghostly form of the
pale-faced loner as he advanced deeper and deeper into the City. Bright colors from a thousand different cuts of cloth and flashing electronics assailed his eyes, but nothing slowed Krebs from his
northward journey.
Passing the ominous intersection of 1st Avenue and 1st Street, Krebs continued onward, turning
west, but still moving north. The packed streets of Chinatown relented to the more open and trendy
shops and alleys of Soho, Noho, Tribeca, and Chelsea. Now criss-crossing and backtracking, moving
west to east, then east to north and back to west again, Krebs came yet closer to his destination.
Passing the West Village, moving east into Alphabet City and then north again, the streets trailed
behind him in rapid succession. At 4th Avenue and 11th Street he turned north a final time and
headed for Union Square directly ahead of him.
The bustle of students, artists, musicians, lawyers, ConEd workers, bike messengers, and
fashionistas flowed around and over the Square. The wide circular stairs on the park's south side held
people of various makes and models. Dogs pranced and danced in an enclosed area on the west side of
the Square while rollerblading beauties trounced the concrete at the north end vying for territory
with predatory skate rats and surly homeless lunatics. Two wide, three-sided structures bordered
the south end of the park. Waves of people entered and exited those gaping mouths, descending
into the depths of the City, joining and disgorging from the arteries and veins of the massive subway
system.
Abraham Krebs would soon be rejoining those underground canals but first he needed to attend a special matter. The Family owned and controlled a townhouse just to the east of Union Square, on Irving Place, and it was here that Krebs's walking journey ended. A report was due.
Plus, he needed Mrs. Arkadian's rent money.
The Family would provide.
Chapter Five
When McGruder stepped out of the cab on the corner of 116th Street and Amsterdam Avenue Columbia University's campus spread itself out before him. A rolling quadrangle of green grass just starting to turn brown under the fall air laid beneath Greco-Roman edifices on three sides. Columned halls and imposing libraries faced off against each other and all of it was surrounded by the
encroaching City. Students moved with industrious purpose from one building to the next while some of their more laid-back counterparts lounged on the quad, frisbees flying and lattes flowing.
McGruder slipped into his coat and headed for a building just to the left of the rear end of the
quad. It was smaller and less ornate them some of the surrounding structures and housed a number
of the University's faculty. Specifically, McGruder was heading for the fourth floor and the
political science department's offices.
Entering the brownstone the reporter was struck by the lack of security. In the post-9/11 world magnetometers, x-ray machines and armed guards were the norm in NYC. But in the Ivory Tower of private education the elite and the intellectual alike felt safe and isolated from the world around
them. That suited McGruder fine. The less questions he had to answer and the fewer people who
knew where he'd been, the better.
He hit the stairs and made for the office of Urban Civics professor Jennifer Garcia. Garcia and
he had known each other for years and if anyone could answer the questions he had from his late
night conversation with Monahan, Jenny was the one. The problem was whether or not she'd answer
them. Or talk to him at all, for that matter.
The door to her office suite was open and before McGruder could even announce himself to the
student manning the secretary's desk, a husky voice rumbled from the adjoining office.
"You sonofabitch. You better turn around right now and get your narrow ass out of my office,
McGruder," yelled the voice. A pretty brunette emerged from behind a stack of books piled high on a
scarred wooden desk.
Jenny Garcia was tall and dark skinned. Her father had been one of the original Black Panthers,
himself the product of a Latin father and Black mother. Jenny had chestnut hair, naturally curly,
that fell to her shoulders. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, in stark contrast to her somewhat
rounded nose. Sea green eyes shown through her rimless glasses with a clarity and fierceness that
was hard to turn from.
"Jenny, jeeze, you act like I did something wrong," McGruder played coy.
"Wrong? Wrong?" She was storming out of the office now and McGruder actually had to restrain
himself from backing up. "I'll show you wrong, you hack."
"Hack!?"
"That's right. I can't believe you would even show your face here, after what you did to me,"
She was right up in the reporter's grill now and he actually did have to take a step backwards to avoid a lacquered nail in the eyeball. "You promised me you'd leave my name out. You promised!"
"I tried, Jenny, really. It was my editor," McGruder pleaded.
Now Jenny backed off a step. The fire had left her eyes and she sighed in exasperation. "You
know what, Terry? It always the same bullshit with you. Always."
She turned around and headed back for her office. "Just leave."
"Please, Jenny, give me five minutes."
By now the stunned TA at the desk had risen and put himself between McGruder and the professor.
"Sir, I think you should just leave - - " he started, before McGruder pushed him out of the way.
"Jennifer, it’s about Councilman Travers," McGruder said.
The professor had been closing the office door and now she stopped with her back still to the
outer office. "What about him?" she asked.
"Let me buy you a cup of coffee, Jen. Please. Ten minutes."
"Fine," she turned and closed the door behind her. "Robert, I'll be back in 15 minutes. If you
ever see this man in this building again, call security."
"Are you sure you're okay, Jen?" the boy said. "Do you want me to go with you?"
McGruder let out a short snort. Professor Garcia shot him a glance filled with hatred and he
stifled the rest of the laugh.
"No, Robert, thank you," she said. "I can handle this."
Chapter Six
They sat next to each other at the counter of the Washington Heights Diner. McGruder was nursing a black coffee that was far too bitter and Jenny had an herbal tea in a cracked porcelain cup.
They had made the five minute walk in utter silence, the taller woman leading McGruder by about five
feet at all times.
McGruder put down his cup and swung the swivel chair towards Garcia. Keeping her eyes straight ahead she said, "What do you want, Terry? Just say it and then leave me alone. I don't want to be near you anymore."
"Listen, Jen, I'm sorry about what happened. You know that. I couldn’t have known what was going to happen. If I'd known, I would've done things differently," he said. Sincerely. Which was a rarity for him.
"Bull, Terry. You would have written it just the same. I know it and you know it. That's why I loved you in the first place. Your uncompromising determination," she said softly.
"Not that time, Jenny. Really. I would've . . ." he continued as he turned back to his
coffee. "They pulled the rug out from under me . . . well, you know."
"Yeah, I know."
- - -
Two years ago McGruder had been doing an article on corruption in local politics. City council members had been embezzling federal funds earmarked for local scholarships for inner-city grads. McGruder's source had been an 18 year old girl from Harlem who'd not only had her college money bilked by the local politician-slash-preacher, but also been sexually assaulted by him. Date raped, in fact. When the girl turned to her professor as a confidant, Jenny Garcia called McGruder. She'd figured, with his connections to the department and his info on the embezzling scheme, he’d be able to get the cops to take down the Councilman without a lot of publicity for her or the girl.
One of Terry’s oldest friends was the cop he went to with the story. A detective, Harvey Stern, was a twenty year man with the Force – true blue.
Read more!
posted by RJackson at 10:24:00 PM
0 comments
