Shaking through Security


Mullally was in uniform, his preferred uniform of blue jeans and Rutgers sweatshirt — a shirt loose enough to drape over his 9 mm Glock.  He could almost smell the object of his search, the inspiring and unique Grecian statue.  For something 12 inches high, it packed a million dollars per inch, according to the Newark Museum story in the Star-Ledger.

When the Captain flashed the photo during formation his heart began fibrillating like a violin string.  It was as if his fiancée were standing in her nightie, but the artwork was 2,500 years old and Gerda had been buried just two weeks ago.  He had taken compassionate leave from the Newark PD, then had sobered up and returned to work.

The Captain had called him in first day back.  “Mike, you’re a good cop, but you shouldn’t have broken the arms of the man who ran over your woman.  You get something in your head and run crazy with it.  The city is still rankled over paying out for your false arrest of that priest from Chicago.

Mullally didn’t say anything, just nodded and hit the street.  It had been his luck immediately running into Sammie the Junkie.  The knucklehead heroin addict had always proved informative.

“Whattya got to say, Sammie?” Mullally backed him over to a storefront on Bloomfield Avenue.

“I ain’t done nothing,” the kid bleated.





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