Wolf in the Big City

Chapter 1 - Routine

November 17, 2017
9:43 AM
Corner of Chambers and River Terrace

"Stop! NYPD!"

Every day started the same. Every day began with the same routine.

"I said freeze! You're under arrest!"

One cup of coffee. Two slices of bread, slightly under toasted. One coating of peanut butter between them. A bottle of orange juice from the convenience store. With pulp. Always with pulp.

"He's going right!"

"I'm on 'im! Hey I said stop!"

Navy blue tie. White button-down shirt, light blue pinstripes. Slate grey jeans, not too tight, not too loose. Brown shoes. The thick, navy blue hoodie with 'NYPD' emblazoned in bright yellow letters on the back that I'd got as a joke from a flea market. New York Yankees baseball cap.

"Dispatch I've got a suspect running southbound on River Terrace, white male, mid-thirties, wearing a white cap- Eddie cut through the park!"

"Badge four five niner two, please repeat your last."

A short walk to the nearby cafe to grab some breakfast, if I couldn't be bothered to make toast, and right back around to work. The convenience of both my workplace and two bakeries within five minutes walk of my apartment, well it spoke for themselves. Getting assigned to Precinct One was the best decision I'd ever made. If the decision had been mine to make anyway.

Most of my colleagues were rather envious that I could walk to work, as opposed to taking the bus or the subway. I sure as hell didn't mind, it just meant I could get a little bit of exercise whenever I had to go to work, or get lunch.

"White male, mid-thirties, white cap and blue jeans, running southbound on River Terrace! Suspect is wanted on suspicion of murder, possession and sale of narcotics! Pursuing now!"

"10-4, diverting unit in your vicinity to assist."

Once I got to work, the precinct captain gathered us together for roll call and case assignment. This applied to the officers, mostly, and we detectives had our own briefings from our team leads. Today was no exception; my partner and I were working a homicide involving a small-time drug dealer who'd mistakenly shot an innocent around our neck of the woods.

We'd canvassed the neighbourhood around the park, asked a bunch of the regular junkies about the whereabouts and routine of this dealer. One of the druggies, well an ex-abuser anyway, told us that he could arrange a fake buying meet with the dealer in question.

Ever since the NYPD got that new-fangled radio system there's been less fuss with officers wearing radios with wired receivers getting tangled up when trying to draw their weapon. Now we've got throat mics wirelessly connected to a central receiver inside our badges. Everyone had one, officers and detectives alike. Made the whole 'badge number' system a lot more relevant, meant that every precinct's dispatcher could keep track of all officers under their register by their badges.

Tech these days 'been getting a lot more sci-fi these days too, due to the rapid research of small-scale technology. Things were getting smaller and smaller, like how my phone was huge about four years ago and now it was almost back to the size of those old Nokia phones with the buttons. Except with fewer buttons. Sony did make good phones.

"Eddie where's he at?!"

"Right here!"

I leapt over a fence just as my partner barreled across the park lawn and slammed into the man I was chasing shoulder first. The suspect's body crumpled sideways as Eddie's burly body bashed into him and brought him right down into the grass. I slowed my dash to a stop as he brought the man's arms around his back and packed his wrists into handcuffs, before hauling him back up onto his feet and shaking his head.

I had to chuckle while my partner brought our suspect back to our car so we could do some questioning. What was this guy thinking, trying to outrun both me and Eddie at the same time? Not a chance, especially on our good days. I raised a hand to my neck and tapped the activation button on my throat mic, hearing the slight crackle in the buds in my ears.

"Four five niner two, this is Dispatch, are you code four?"

"Badge four five niner two, reporting to dispatch. I'm code four, suspect apprehended and secure. Bringing him back."

"Copy, bring 'em home."

I shook off the slight stress of dashing a hundred yards or so as I watched Eddie escort our suspect back to the street corner where our car was. I joined him right after, keeping in front of him so the idiot between us couldn't attempt an escape, not like it mattered with the handcuffs he had on.

That was going to be our day; I knew the rest of the routine by heart. We'd bring the dealer back to the station, grill him until he gave up everything he knew, search the fella's apartment for the murder weapon and put in a conviction notice. Like it or not, this guy was going to sit in our lockup for a long time.

One short car ride later and we had our prime suspect in a cell. He was already registered in the NYPD central database so we had his details on tap. Eddie and I spent the rest of our day combing through the man's apartment. Our victim had been shot by a .22 handgun several times in the chest, the killer had probably regretted his decision in buying a small-calibre pistol. 

The gun itself was a hard find; we ended up having to trawl the dumpsters at the foot of his apartment for it since we couldn't find it in his home. Once we found it, the whole story unravelled.

The whole thing was a case of mistaken identity; our dealer had his sights set on a rival that, by sheer coincidence, stayed in the same apartment block he did. But when it came time to do the dirty, he instead shot a college student returning home from a late-night out studying. The whole thing was disheartening. In the end, I had to comfort the crying family while Eddie prepared our shooter for a life behind bars.

And that was my day, encapsulated in a foot race and a packet of tissues given to a bereaved mother and father. A pistol found amidst a sea of trash and an innocent young man, mistaken for the wrong person at the wrong time. My life as an NYPD detective.

My name is Daniel Joshua Anderson. I'm thirty-three years young and I'm a member of the homicide team in Precinct One. This is my story.