Live Till I Die by John O'Rourke

Author:John O'Rourke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: John O'Rourke
Published: 2024-08-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

I WAS USHERED into the backroom of the Hoboken Police Station, which looked as run-down as the old Newark Station where I’d once worked. The interview room was constructed of cinderblock walls, painted white with two windows overlooking the back parking. It was a cold and unwelcoming experience. An officer directed me to a wooden chair far from the exit, pulled down the blinds and left me sitting there alone. I guess the cops thought the same tactics they applied to criminals would work with me.

Twenty minutes later the door opened and a slender, white-haired man in his fifties walked in. He was dressed in gray slacks and a long-sleeved white shirt with a black tie. I noticed he sported an empty shoulder holster.

“Mr. Nolan, I’m Lieutenant Phil Jennings.”

I looked up but didn’t say anything. Jennings pulled up the chair across from me and flopped his notepad on the table, catching his blue Bic pen before it rolled off onto the floor.

“So tell me your side of the story,” he said.

I spent the next hour going over my formal statement trying to provide Jennings with every detail while doing my best to avoid the topic of my current investigation; this was Gathering’s town, after all. I told him I’d encountered one of the thugs before, outside Gaetano Enterprises in New York, and he asked what I was doing there. I told him I was working a confidential investigation. He pressed me a bit, but backed off after a few apologies, shrugs, and headshakes.

I asked if he’d identified the man who had died.

“You mean the man you killed?”

I looked him in the eye and said, “Yeah, the man I killed.”

Holding my gaze, he said, “Yes, but we haven’t released his identity yet.”

“These guys tried to kill me and you’re saying you can’t tell me who they are?”

“Well,” he said, “we’re not confident you’ve given us the full story.”

“You’re fucking kidding me!” I yelled.

“Several people have corroborated your story, but the prosecutor has us looking to see if excessive force was used against the victim.”

“Excessive force? Three guys come into a bar and start beating the shit out of me, and you’re suggesting I may have used excessive force?”

“Listen, Nolan, I’m on your side here. You were outnumbered and in fear of your life. I get that. However, she isn’t as understanding as I am.”

“In that case, Lieutenant, I need to call an attorney.”

He slid my cellphone across the table. I pulled out the card George Adams had given me and tapped in the number. Adams answered on the second ring.

“It’s Nolan,” I said. “I need an attorney.”

“What the hell happened?” asked Adams.

“I’m at Hoboken PD—I can’t really talk right now.”

There was a moment of silence before Adams said, “Okay, hold tight. I’m sending someone over.”

An hour later, an attorney from a small law firm out of Pompton Lakes, New Jersey walked into the station and met me in the interview room. I almost fell out of my chair. He was a fat, bald man in his early 60s in a cheap, wrinkled blue suit.

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