Chapter 3 - Apartment 4B
Arthur turned slowly toward the two men from Apartment 4B.
“You threatened me last night,” he said.
The one in the red jacket laughed. “Threatened you? Come on, Grandpa. You must’ve dreamed that.”
“You struck my wall at 2:17 a.m.,” Arthur continued. “You said if I called the police again, I would be carried out in a bag.”
The tattooed man whistled. “Wow, he remembers the exact minute. That’s cute.”
Officer Miller stepped between them. “Enough. This is becoming a disturbance.”
Arthur looked at him. “Yes. It became one weeks ago.”
Miller’s face hardened. “I said enough.”
For the first time, Arthur’s voice carried across the room. Not loud. Not angry. But sharp enough that several officers stopped what they were doing.
“You know them.”
Miller said nothing.
“You know them,” Arthur repeated. “That is why no patrol car came. That is why my calls vanished. That is why my complaint is in the trash.”
The station went quiet.
Reeves shifted uncomfortably. A woman at the records desk lowered her eyes. Somewhere in the back, the drunk man stopped shouting.
The man in the red jacket smiled, but the smile was thinner now. “Careful, old man.”
Arthur looked at him. “I have been careful my whole life. That is why I am still standing.”
Miller stepped closer until his chest nearly touched the counter. “Listen to me. You are going to walk out of this station. You are going to go home. And you are going to stop making trouble.”
Arthur studied him for a long moment.
Then he reached into his coat again.
Miller flinched. “I told you—”
Arthur placed a small black recorder on the counter.
The red-jacketed man stopped smiling.
Arthur pressed a button.
A voice crackled from the tiny speaker.
“If you call those cops again, old man, I swear you won’t see morning.”
Then came drunken laughter, pounding against a wall, and another voice saying, “Don’t worry. Miller’s got us.”
Every face in the station changed.
Officer Miller went pale.
Arthur stopped the recording and slipped the device back into his pocket.
“I have more,” he said.
No one laughed this time.
Before Miller could answer, a door opened at the far end of the station. Heavy footsteps approached from the hallway. The officers straightened almost by instinct.
Police Chief Daniel Mercer entered with a folder in one hand and irritation on his face.
“What is going on out here?” he demanded.
Then his eyes landed on Arthur.
The folder slipped slightly in his grip.
For three full seconds, the chief did not move.
May you like
Then he whispered a name the younger officers had never heard spoken with fear and respect at the same time.
“Judge Hale?”
