The Velvet Badge: A New York Noir by Bob Mantel

Author:Bob Mantel [Mantel, Bob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jakey Press, New York
Published: 2022-06-01T16:00:00+00:00

5 DAISY AND THE CHIPMUNKS

The old pair of antlers hung on the office wall, slightly off-center. And, while expected, the telephone conversation knocked Ellia Chase off balance.

The first harsh ring of the instrument that Wednesday was like a sudden grope from behind. As it intruded, half a slurp of sweetly creamed wake-up coffee ran down the front of her Lane Bryant blouse, a thumb-smudged copy of the New York North Star fluttered to the floor, and the city’s chief of police detectives whispered, “Son of a bitch!” An expression of frustration totally in keeping with her exalted position’s current trajectory.

Ellia gritted her teeth to stifle a scream after hitting the side of her heavy oak desk in her mad dash to the phone. As she put the hard red plastic receiver in her ear, she heard “Fuckin’ answer already!” blasting from its earpiece. Sadly, this was a standard summons from Lenny Ray Liebtag, New York’s short-tempered thin-haired mayor, whose popularity, despite the enormous personal charm he now displayed, was inexplicably on the wane with increasing blocks of voters.

The connection sounded thin and distant, like shouts heard through a plate-glass window. “C’mon!” Hizzoner thundered, pulling out all the stops, “You fuckin’ better talk to me!” Chase lost her nerve and replaced the receiver, content to watch tugs and various other marine craft power their way along the East River. But Mayor Liebtag was nothing if not insistent, re-dialed and this time got a first-ring pickup. “Don’t fuck with me, Chief! You better believe I’m not in the mood!”

Chase took the hint, then glanced at the front-page photo that had prompted his call and squeezed her into the tightest corner of any department head in recent memory. “Seen the paper yet?” Hizzoner wanted to know.

“I’m looking at it now,” the chief said and proceeded to explain how the department traitor who’d leaked the photo had already been sacked first thing that morning.

“Sacked?” Hizzoner shouted. “I don’t give two shits about sacked! I want to see our people taking charge! Briefing the press with a perp in cuffs TODAY! or I swear to fuckin’ Christ you’ll wish it were your head attracting flies in that toilet!”

That didn’t leave Chase much wiggle room. Certainly not for a joke that might have cushioned the blow under less dramatic circumstances. Instead, having made his position perfectly clear, Liebtag lost no time washing his hands of Ellia, muttered “Stupid bitch!” to a trusted aide as he slammed down the phone and, within minutes, was tap-dancing his way around reporters’ questions on the steps of City Hall.

The time of his call was noted in the chief’s official logbook, whose cover was embossed with an official New York City seal. Later that morning, once her hands had stopped shaking, Chase recovered her bearings sufficiently to re-focus on Mrs. Simpson’s betrayal. For there it was again: Capers’ sawn-off head, grinning up at her from Page One of the city’s tabloid of record, resplendent in its purloined crime scene photo. Covered

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