03 To Love and Die in Newmarket

Fake Cop returns film noir-style, in the explosive first part of the first Fake Cop trilogy. Fake Cop gets mixed up with a washed up hockey player, a powerful gangster, and a very dangerous femme fatale. A tale of love, murder, the mall, and hockey. To Love and Die in Newmarket.

Transcript

SPEAKER_05 0:49

I am the city, both above and part of Newmarket, Ontario, Canada, melting pot of every race, creed, and religion in humanity. Well, not really, but kind of, you know. Anyway, from my famous mall and towering hockey arenas, to swanky Davis Drive, to the kind of revitalized Main Street, and the abandoned warehouse down by the docks. God damn it, Mendoza. I am the voice, the heartbeat of this cramped and sprawling, nasty and beautiful, poor and magnificent citadel of civilization. And this is the story of just one night in this city or town. I'm not sure what the category is now. I mean, what defines a city these days? Used to be kind of small here. Now there's like a hundred thousand people or something. Anyway, I'd like you to meet some of them. This one's Johnny. Johnny Kelly. Once a great hockey player, a high school champion. Now, a study in moppishness. A man who tonight has reached a crisis in his life. He came here this early evening hour to meet Sally Jenkins, otherwise known as Angel Dubois. Free, wise, and 26. She had the face of an angel, and a young shoe store clerk would mistake her for one. The brutalist design of Newmarket's Upper Canada Mall loomed over Johnny like a monolith. He assessed every inch, every crack, every stain, every trail of graffiti. Sport Jack. The LCBO. St. Germain's Bakery. Next month it'll be something different. The names of the stores change. But the memories, those are fixed, like blank stares at a math quiz. Johnny was 27 years old. He had a bad knee and a good heart. But tonight, the heart was hurting more than the knee. He first saw Angel a few weeks before at a Tuesday night men's hockey league game. Newmarket has produced a lot of great hockey players over the years, one of them being Connor McDavid, the greatest hockey player in the world. Johnny was great too, but he never made it to the pros. That knee just wouldn't let him. But every Tuesday night at Hollingsworth Arena, he was like the wind. It was the only time he felt free. Blades carving the ice, mullets flying out the back of the helmet. He was stuck working a dead-end job, in a dead-end shoe store, in the mall, the same one that towered before him right now, Upper Canada Mall. It was a hot evening, and Johnny could smell shoe polish from that mall. How could he have known that murder can sometimes smell like shoe polish? Sally, or Angel Dubois, had shown up at the arena with a teammate of his a few weeks back. Some asshole named Taylor. He looked like Richie Sambora from Bon Jovi. Same fucking hair and everything. And he always wore a San Jose Sharks jersey instead of the normal jersey, which really pissed off the team sponsor, Cosburn's Construction. One day Taylor went missing. No one was surprised. He was that kind of guy, you know. Bit of a scell. Ran with the wrong crowd. No one would know how wrong until later. Especially Johnny. I guess he had it coming. One Tuesday night, Angel came to the arena without Taylor, who'd been missing for a week. Nobody cared. Maybe his family, I don't know. Angel was looking a little lonely, and she was looking at Johnny. Johnny noticed, and decided to skate a little extra fast that night. And Angel noticed. He scored six times, got into three fights, won them all. It was his best men's league game yet. And he knew why. That little blonde in the white toque and the white gloves, standing by herself behind the penalty box. That's why. Johnny didn't know it at the time, but Angel's favorite spot in the arena was behind that penalty box. She just couldn't stay away from the bad boys. Or they couldn't stay away from her. One day, Angel showed up at the shoe store Johnny worked at. Footlocker. Footlocker was a subsidiary of the Venator group, formerly Woolworths. They played a huge role in the great North American shoe wars of the 1990s, and Angel was there, looking for a job of all the shoe joints, in all the towns, and all of the world. She walked into Johnny's. Fate, or some mysterious force, could put a finger on you for no good reason at all. They pretended not to know each other. They really didn't know each other just from the looks exchanged from behind the penalty box at Hollingsworth Arena. But anyone around them right now would have felt the hum and the zap of the electricity between them. It was like they were attached at the hearts by the electric chair. The manager at Footlocker, some lunatic who used to run Egg News Shoe store in the 80s and 90s, hired her on the spot. Now Angel Face Dubois and Johnny Kelly would be together almost every day. Johnny was hit by a bolt. He didn't know if it was love or fear. He didn't care. She stood there, her platinum hair shining under the shoe store lighting, looking like a quarter when a dime was enough. His eyes ran up and down her like searchlights. It was definitely the same girl from the arena, the one by the penalty box, the Sinbin. I knew Johnny Kelly. He would come into Fitzy's on Main Street sometimes. Fitzy's is a fake cop bar. Rough. Johnny wasn't a fake cop, but he was a lost soul. And all lost souls end up at Fitsi's, usually sitting in front of me in my private booth at the back. Let her go, Johnny, I said to him. The dame's just not worth it. She's trouble. Trouble, I tell ya. A big bowl of trouble, with a capital T. Johnny replied, But Brad, she can't be all bad. No one is. I took a slow sip from my room temperature water, let out a long sigh, and said, Well, Johnny, she comes the closest. So I let him have it, straight between the eyes. She doesn't fool me for a minute, I said. I know you got a hold of a red-hot poker, Johnny, and the time to drop it is before it burns your hand off. You're all twisted up inside, boy, and still holding on to that red-hot poker. Johnny, for 24 years I've been a fake cop. For 24 years I've been living in dirt. And take it from me, Johnny. Some of it's bound to rub off on you. You get to hatin' people, you know? Everyone you meet. But I like you, kid. I know a lot of smart guys, and a few honest ones. And you're both. Don't get mixed up in this, Johnny. That's Jack Blackadar's girl. When I said that name, Johnny's face changed. Most people's faces changed when they heard that name. Jack Blackadar. Or more commonly known as Blackjack. Black Jack was the most feared gangster in New Market. He ran all the rackets, sold all the drugs, all the black market fruit loops, fixed all the elections, built all the hockey arenas with no big contracts, solved all the problems. You couldn't do anything in this town without Jack Blackadar taking a piece. A high school student would boost a Coke from the TB convenience store, and Blackadar would be standing right there waiting for his cut. He also fixed the price of Fruit Loops, which meant anyone trying to undercut the street sale of a box of Fruit Loops would pay a serious price. Decency and integrity are fancy words, but they never kept anyone well fed, and Blackjack had quite an appetite. I've been after him since 2006, my rookie year as a fake cop. He was a real stone in my shoe, constantly driving with a load not properly tied down. Most obvious crime a man can commit, and I couldn't nail him for it once. Every time I got near him, he'd just slip away. He owned all the judges, all the cops, the real cops, not just the fake ones, but he didn't own this fake cop. In 2009, he tried bribing me with a platinum album of Dark Side of the Moon, framed and everything. I'd taken a lot of classic rock albums as bribes before, and this was the sweetest one yet. Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon, Platinum. Framed. But I couldn't touch anything that Blackjack had touched. Too bad Johnny didn't have the same policy. Blackjack was the kind of guy who'd knock your teeth out and then beat you for mumbling. The only thing blacker than his heart was the ink in his ledger book. This man could turn a profit. Anyway, anyhow, he lived in the penthouse suite at the Sherwood Estates, just off of Davis Drive. His henchmen controlled the lobby, elevators, and every stairwell. Nothing happened at the Sherwood without Blackjack knowing about it. Blackjack Blackadar was a former hockey player that used to play with Johnny in high school. That's what stung Johnny the most, you know? Not just Blackjack's reputation as a man who could get mean, but they were teammates. Friends. They used to be anyway, until fate, or some mysterious force, put a finger on them. For no good reason at all. They both used to play for the Newmarket 87s. Junior B. Blackjack was called up from the Bradford Bulls. Junior C, the Iron League. He was the toughest goon in junior hockey. And he protected Johnny on the ice. But Johnny hadn't been able to count on that protection in a long time. And now, it was downright out of the question. For God's sakes, Johnny, you're killing your mother. But it was no good. I wasn't getting through. I'd never get through. Because right there, I knew the boat had sailed. And Johnny had fallen in love with a piece of dynamite. With a short, burning wick. Angel hadn't seen Johnny since the arena, but the minute she laid eyes on him, she knew he was always looking at her. Angel hated her life, only she wasn't strong enough to get away from it. All she could do was dream of some big payoff that would let her quit the whole shoe racket. Johnny was her chance of making that dream come true, to take an Uber to Toronto and never look back. Johnny didn't know it, but Angel had just finished doing a five-year stretch in a clink. The manager at the Footlocker wasn't the type who ran background checks. He didn't want to know. Christy was probably in on it. She was part of a caper at a shoe store in Richmond Hills Hillcrest Mall. She met a couple at cheap dime store lowlives named Flossie and Joey Piano. Angel was just out of high school, and they played her like a Van Halen album. Flossie and Joey got away and left Angel holding the bag. Now here she was, fresh out of the slammer, back in another cheap shoe store, trying to work another cheap angle. You know, the biggest mistake Angel made before was shooting for peanuts. Five years in the clink had taught her one thing, if nothing else. Anytime you take a chance, you better be sure the rewards are worth the risk. Cause they could put you away just as fast for a $10 heist as they could for a million-dollar job. So she decided to go for the night deposit every night at closing time. The last thing they did was drop off the night deposit at the bank. It wasn't just Footlocker, it was every store that worked in the mall. Usually the Footlocker night deposit held around five grand. But this Saturday was midnight madness. The mall would be open until midnight. Plus, it was jogging season. Footlocker's busiest time of year. Instead of five grand, that night deposit was gonna be fifty grand, enough to get an Uber to Toronto and something frilly. But first, she had to convince Johnny, and given the way he kept looking at her, she didn't think that would be too hard to do. He was broke, lonely, and lost. He was a puppy dog without a newspaper laid on the ground. It was Angel's first day in the job at Footlocker. The manager was on the phone working out some crazy deal with some rival shoe store. She sold her first pair in her first hour, and sold a can of shoe polish, which had a 50% markup for commission, but she had a different kind of commission on her mind. Just then, the large frame of Johnny Kelly appeared next to her. So, you like hacky?

SPEAKER_03 14:45

I'm afraid I don't. No kidding. I hate brutality, Mr. Kelly. The idea of men beating each other to a pulp makes me ill.

SPEAKER_05 14:54

Something about the look in her eye made Johnny think she wasn't being all the way honest. And he didn't mind it. She looked up at him and said, You're not a brutal man, are you, Johnny Kelly? No, I'm not. Johnny replied. But sometimes I got bad manners. You're showing them right now, said Angel, as she pushed Johnny out of the way to move behind the cash register.

SPEAKER_03 15:16

Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna light my cigarettes?

SPEAKER_05 15:20

There wasn't any smoking allowed in the store or mall, but they didn't care. Neither did the manager, who was working his own angle on the phone in the back. She pulled out an export green, and Johnny lit it. She opened the cash register and remarked at how much money was in there. Johnny agreed and took note. Then she abruptly changed the subject back to them.

SPEAKER_03 15:45

You know, you're a curious man, Johnny Kelly.

SPEAKER_05 15:49

You're gonna make every guy you meet a little bit curious.

SPEAKER_03 15:51

That's not what I mean. You don't ask questions. You don't even ask me what my name is. Alright. What's your name? Angel Dubois. Yeah, I like it. Or where I come from. I'm thinking about where we're going. Don't you like it in here? Maybe I'm not ready to settle down. Shall I take you somewhere else?

SPEAKER_05 16:11

You're gonna find it very easy to take me anywhere, Angel. And she did.

SPEAKER_03 16:15

Well then tonight I guess I'm taking you to the Portuguese billiards. Because that's where I'm headed.

SPEAKER_05 16:20

Yeah, I love billiards, Angel. Especially Portuguese billiards. And rather ominously, Angel said, Just so you know, Johnny, I never call my shots. Johnny should have taken that last line as a warning, but he couldn't hear a thing with that grin plastered all over his mug. They went to the Portuguese billiards. Everything was a whirlwind after that. They went to the food court in the mall every day and shared a banana split and a bucket of New York fries. But the real romance took place at night. One day at work, Johnny asked Angel what her favorite place was in the entire world. She hesitated at first, like she was giving up some kind of secret, but then she said, Fairy Lake. She loved going to Fairy Lake. It was the only honest thing she'd ever say to him. Yeah, maybe I can take it as sometime, said Johnny.

SPEAKER_03 17:16

Maybe you should slow your roll, fella. I might not be that kind of girl.

SPEAKER_05 17:21

It didn't matter. That night Johnny went to Fairy Lake. Angel wasn't there. So he went the next night, and the night after that, hoping she'd show up. Johnny never remembered seeing her in the daytime. Everything was just too much of a whirlwind. They seemed to live by night. What was left of the day just went away like a pack of cigarettes you smoked. Every night he went to meet her at Fairy Lake. How would Johnny know she'd show up? He didn't. What's stopping her from taking an Uber to Toronto? Nothing. How big of a chump can you get to be? Johnny was afraid to find out. Then she'd come along like school was out. And they would kiss, and every kiss carved his name on another bullet. They laid in the grass and watched the calm surface of the water. Maybe Fairy Lake wouldn't have seemed so calm if they knew Taylor's body was at the bottom of it. Johnny said, Why'd you ever go back to him, Angel? To Blackjack.

SPEAKER_03 18:22

Maybe because I hate him. I'm poisoned, Johnny. To myself and everyone around me. Johnny, I'd be afraid to go with anyone I love for the harm I'd do to them. But I don't care harming him.

SPEAKER_05 18:32

That's when she brought up the night deposit. And how they should take it. About how she had the perfect plan. About how the manager was always on the phone working some angle. Maybe he'd even turn his head. About how she could get away from Blackjack forever and run away with Johnny to Toronto. She couldn't take one more day in the shoe racket, she said. Or this town. Or his city. She really wasn't quite sure which one it was. Neither was Johnny. She needed a payoff, a big one. And it came in a pouch that was dropped off at the bank every night. But she couldn't do it without Johnny. She wouldn't do it without Johnny. She needed a fall guy. She looked up and over at him, tracking his movement, testing his face for a trace of his thoughts. He went quiet for a moment, and Angel thought she may have pulled the trigger too early. Just when she was about to back off and say, Never mind, she heard Johnny's voice say, swell idea, Angel. Yeah, I saw you looking at that money at the store. Sure, sure. Yeah, I'll help you take the money. And get out of this town or city or whatever it fucking is. But after that, we play it straight, Angel. That's when he took the night deposit out from his jacket. He knew what she was doing when he saw her looking at that money in the cash register on her first day. Well, he didn't know everything she was thinking, or else he'd be running right now. But he thought he'd impress her by showing a little initiative. She was impressed. Angel leapt into Johnny's arms, kissing him and thanking him. Of course they'd play it straight, she said. But they had to do this one last job. It was their only chance to break away, she said. And as soon as she could break away, she'd leave him flat, take a powder and an uber, and start over in Toronto. As they were laying in the grass, Angel said, You see that bright star in the center?

SPEAKER_03 20:25

The brightest star in all the heavens? Only it's so far away it don't seem like it. That's Toronto, Johnny.

SPEAKER_05 20:31

And they couldn't get there without that deposit. The Uber alone would be crazy expensive. It was getting late, so they called another Uber to go back to the room. It was the last Uber either of them would ever take. Hang on. Maybe it was the second last Uber, uh, I'm not quite sure yet. I'm just kind of making this shit up as I go along, you know. Don't even know how it's gonna end yet. Ever since they left Fairy Lake, Johnny noticed they were being tailed. He didn't say anything to Angel. He didn't want to worry her, or he didn't want to make her angry. He tried to figure out who it could be. One of Blackjack's men, maybe someone from the Venator group, the shoe cartel that ran Footlocker, a real cop? It was hard to know. Right now, Johnny had a lot of people after him. He wouldn't have to wait long to find out. When they got back to the New Market Inn, a three-star on the edge of town, Johnny heard a chilling but familiar voice from the shadows. Hey, Johnny, long time no see, huh? You're not a man, you're a slot machine. Hey, you'd slit your own throat for two bits plus tax. Johnny knew that voice anywhere. It was Mickey Two Shots, a former teammate from the Newmarket 87s. Next to Blackjack, Mickey Two Shots was the toughest guy in the league. They called him Two Shots because it never took him more than two shots to knock. Someone out, and it never took him more than two shots at the bar for him to turn into a violent animal. Johnny braced himself. Yeah, Mickey. I thought that was you. Did Blackjack send you? Blackjack? Nah. He's definitely looking for you. But I'm out for myself tonight. And you know why. The missing deposit from Foot Locker. You got it. I want it. I don't know what you're talking about, Mickey. And besides, I'm not in the sales game. Johnny replied, realizing he actually was in a sales game. Yeah, don't give me that baloney, Johnny. You'd sell your own mother if she was worth anything. Mickey shot back. Then he looked over at Angel with a sneer on his face. Yeah. They're all for you as long as you're in that chips. Yeah, I never seen a dame yet that's still around when you hit those skids. Angel just stared back at him with a bold, cold look on her face. Yeah, beat it, Mickey. Johnny snarled. Johnny, replied Mickey. Look at all the angles. You know Blackjack. You know how far he can reach. So just pay me off and I'm quiet. But use cash. Don't try and pay me off with no shoe polish handed to you by this cheap piece of baggage. Mickey said, motioning towards Angel. That was enough for Johnny. The moment the word cheap came out of Mickey's mouth, Johnny's fist went in it. He knew she was probably gonna shoot him in the heart one day. But nobody talked like that about Angel. Not when Johnny was around. They started trading left and rights, fists and teeth were flying. Johnny hadn't been in a fight like this since a bench clearing brawl against the Orangeville Crush. And it was against one of the toughest guys in Junior B. Angel was in the corner of the room, her back against the wall. She didn't look scared though. She looked thrilled. Her eyes shining with excitement. Adrenaline locking up her jaw. Johnny was starting to get the upper hand. He had Mickey's shirt pulled over his head and was feeding him right uppercuts. Hockey style. New market style. That's when he heard the gun go off. Mickey dropped to the ground in a crumpled heap. Dead. Johnny had a hell of a right hand, but he had never shot anybody with it. He turned around to look at Angel, and there she was, with a smoking hot pistol in her hand. He didn't even know she had a gun. Yeah, you didn't have to kill him. Yeah, I was winning.

SPEAKER_03 24:31

Yes, I did. You wouldn't have killed him. You would have just beaten him up and thrown him out.

SPEAKER_05 24:35

Yeah, you didn't have to do it, Angel.

SPEAKER_03 24:37

You wouldn't have killed him. He would have been against us. Gun the blackjack.

SPEAKER_05 24:41

She was right, and Johnny knew it. The gig would have been up, the caper off, the graves dug. Besides, Mickey was a fucking asshole. I mean, did you hear the guy? Fuck. So I guess he had it comin'. Johnny looked back at Mickey's body, lying on the hotel room floor like laundry the mate hadn't picked up yet. It was too late now. He knew they couldn't turn back. Something even stronger than love tied them together now. Murder. It's not like taking an Uber ride together, where they can just get off at different stops. They're stuck with each other, and they've got a ride all the way to the end of the line. And it's a one-way trip. And the last stop is the cemetery. Johnny and Angel split up in case there was another tale. The last thing they needed was to run into Blackjack right now. Or anybody else. They were gonna split up, take separate routes, and rendezvous at the Footlocker in the mall. Then they would grab the night deposit, call an Uber, and head to Toronto. Well that was the plan anyway, and we all know what happens when we announce our plans. Johnny had been standing in front of that mall all evening, smelling the shoe polish, wafting out from all the different shoe stores inside. His bum knee was killing him, and there was something happening to his heart, too. Before, Johnny's heart was beating loud with love, but after Angel killed Mickey, it began beating with something else. Fear. He didn't know what was waiting for him inside that footlocker in the mall. He took a step forward, on his bad knee, to find out. Hello, Johnny, said an old, familiar voice from the shadows. That's when a light switched on. And there he was, sitting right behind the cash register, always near the money, in a way that was both elegant and crude. Jack Blackadar, Blackjack. Hey, Blackjack. Hey, I thought that was you. Yeah, you killed Taylor, didn't you? Yeah, it's why he stopped showing up at the games every Tuesday night. And now you're here to kill me, aren't you?

SPEAKER_04 27:06

Kill you? No. Why would I want to kill an old teammate and friend? No, Johnny. Why, I'm just here to talk. Don't you want to talk to an old teammate and friend? You don't have many friends right now, Johnny. And are you sure you want to talk about someone getting killed? Do you think Mickey just fainted back at that hotel? He's dead, Johnny. And you killed him.

SPEAKER_05 27:30

Yeah, you're no friend of mine, snap Johnny. Yeah, it's your fault I'm not in the NHL. It's your fault I blew my knee. Man, Mammy gave me that injection before the big game? Yeah? I went back out in the ice with a numb leg and tore it to shreds. I could have played in a prose, blackjack. Yeah, I could have been something.

SPEAKER_04 27:48

Well, I did that to turn you into a winner, Johnny. Not a shoe store clerk. I guess I failed. Only thing I ever failed at, Johnny. Yeah, fuck this, said Johnny. Hey, I'm gonna get Brad. If you go to that dumb fucking moron of a fake cop, by Johnny, you'll see Taylor sooner than you think. As Johnny heard the cocking of a gun behind the counter. And don't even think about the real coppers, Johnny. They've been paid off like house painters. I'm just warning you. Perhaps you don't realize, but it's painful being killed. A piece of metal sliding into your body, finding its way into your heart. Or a bullet tearing through your skin, crashing into bone. It takes a while to die, too. Sometimes, uh well, a long while, Johnny. Now turn around. Johnny slowly turned around and said, Yeah, is that how friends talk, Blackjack? Fucking asshole. You stole my girl, Johnny. No one steals anything from me. Not even a dime, let alone a dish like Angel. Did you two think you were just going to hop into an Uber and drive off into a Toronto sunset? Why, you yellow. I had your back in the ice, Johnny.

SPEAKER_05 29:06

Yeah, well, you got a gun stuck in it now. You prick. Johnny could feel the gun poking right into his spine. It was heavy, it was hard, and it was loaded. The next words out of Johnny's mouth would have to be wise. Instead, they were honest. Yeah, you know, I'm trying to pitch you in love with somebody, Blackjack. Yeah, but it just doesn't work, you know? Hey, you fucking asshole. With a chuckle that sounded more like a snarl, Blackjack said, Love.

SPEAKER_04 29:35

I don't love Angel. I don't love anything, Johnny. I own things. And I own Angel Dubois.

SPEAKER_05 29:44

No one takes what belongs to me, Johnny. Johnny could feel Blackjack's anger rising like bread in the oven. He felt the gun press harder into his back. There was a lot of tension building in Blackjack's hand. Dynamic tension. The kind of tension created when a gun is fired. That's when he heard the shot. Johnny expected to see his own guts fall out of the exit wound. But there was no exit wound. There wasn't even a wound. There was only the body of Blackjack Blackadar lying in the floor like laundry, just like Mickey two shots. I guess he had it comin'. Fucking asshole. Before Johnny could figure out what happened, Angel appeared from the shadows of the stock room, holding the same smoking pistol she used on Mickey. Johnny said to her. Yeah, I don't think I was getting out of that one.

SPEAKER_03 30:40

No, you weren't. And you're still not.

SPEAKER_05 30:43

Angel replied in a metallic tone. Johnny was confused. What was she talking about? What did she mean? But he wasn't. And that's when it sunk in. Way too late, by the way. Angel had been using him the whole time. Just like she had used Taylor. Anything to get away from Blackjack with some money in her jeans. Johnny hadn't seen a mirror for a few days, but if he looked into one right now, he would see the word sucker written in red lipstick right across his forehead. Granted he would see it backwards because it's a mirror, but he'd eventually figure it out. He was a sucker, the biggest sucker on the Upper East End. The biggest sucker in the Upper Canada Mall. The biggest sucker in Newmarket. In a town full of them. Or a city, I I still don't fucking know. Angel had looks, brains, and all the accessories. She was better than a deck with six aces, but I regret to report that she also knew how to handle a gun. My gun. I'd been seeing Angel the whole time behind everyone's back. We'd been having an affair. That's why I cautioned Johnny so much about falling for her. Because I already had. Johnny moved slowly towards the cash register. He couldn't hear his own footsteps. It was the walk of a dead man. I guess he had it coming. I mean, I don't know. You know, maybe. He was a pretty good guy, actually. Just really fucking stupid. Angel asked Johnny one last question.

SPEAKER_03 32:20

You don't think I'm a murderer, do you, Johnny?

SPEAKER_05 32:23

And Johnny's last words were, Angel baby, don't ask a dying man to lie his soul into hell. Angel plugged Johnny before he had a chance to say he loved her for the last time. She shot him right in the heart. His good heart. She left Johnny and Blackjack behind the counter at Footlocker, grabbed the night deposit, and vanished into the night. Ten minutes later, she was sitting in front of me in my booth at Fitzy's with the night deposit. I got the girl and the money. Pretty rare, I know. So why did I feel lower than a snake in a wagon rut? Did I actually have a uh hang on, the fucker one of those things called? Uh shit. Right, a conscious or some fucking thing? Did that stupid sad sack Johnny get to me on some superficial level? When I told him I liked him, I thought I was just trying to butter him up. But maybe, just maybe, I did feel something for the kid. I hadn't felt anything since losing Mendoza in the warehouse down by the docks. God damn it, Mendoza. Why? I mean I know why, but still, fucking why. Maybe Johnny resurrected what I thought had died with Mendoza. My heart. I've lived too long without these emotional luxuries. The real cops are coming, Angel. I just can't trust ya, baby. Not after what you did to Johnny. I'd be sleeping with one eye open for the rest of my life. Or at least until the weekend when you ditch me for some other chump. I understand killing Blackjack and Mickey. They were dickheads. But Johnny? I mean, uh, I guess he had it coming. But really?

SPEAKER_03 34:17

But I couldn't help it, Brad. I just couldn't help it.

SPEAKER_05 34:20

Angel replied, I just couldn't help it. You never can help anything, can you, Angel? You're like a leaf that the wind blows from one gutter to another. You can't help anything you do, even murder. Out of luck, just get out, will you? I gotta sleep here, motioning to my private booth at Fitzy's. This wasn't a two-for-a-nickel shooting. She had put the blast on three men, but she wasn't done yet. She began pleading with me.

SPEAKER_03 34:46

Brad, I never told you I was anything but what I am. Well, you just wanted to imagine I was. You're no good for anyone but me. You're no good, and neither am I. That's why we deserve each other, Brad.

SPEAKER_05 34:57

A dark chuckle came from my mouth as I said, Angel Face, what I deserve is way worse than you. And when it comes, I guess I'll have it coming. Take her away, boys. That's when the real cops came out from behind the bar. I called in a favor to Captain McCluskey. He still owed me for helping one of his rookie officers break up a violent brawl between two slow pitch teams at Newmarket South Lake Hospital. He was in on the sting right from the beginning. He didn't know there was gonna be a bunch of murders, but he wanted Angel Face Dubois just as bad as I did. Just as bad as any man did. A couple of dead skulls and a washed-up hockey player weren't gonna get in his way. Or mine, Angel kept pleading.

SPEAKER_02 35:46

Brad! Brad! Tell him I don't know anything, Brad. Listen to me. You can save me, do you hear me? Tell him I don't know anything. Say, Angel is innocent, I swear. Angel is innocent! Say it, Brad. It'll save me if you do.

SPEAKER_05 35:59

I didn't say anything, except for this. Build my gallows high, baby. Johnny never knew his girl had gone straight back to me with all the money. As for the others, why they had no idea she'd ever been with me. And I framed the whole thing, just so I wouldn't have to split the take. The Double Cross to end all double crosses. But still, I couldn't stop thinking about Johnny or Mendoza. Was it my fault that they were both dead? Eh, probably. Was it my fault that they had it coming? Probably, I don't know. When a man's got it coming, he's gonna get it, whether he likes it or not, one way or the other. The real cops hauled away Angel Face Dubois or Sally Jenkins. They let me off with a warning. Pretty lucky there, actually. Angel looked back at me one last time, as if to say, Why, Brad? Indeed, Brad. Why? I'll tell you why, because I'm a fake cop. A fake rogue cop. And I'm on the edge. I should be in prison, actually. Uh, three men are dead. The murder weapon was mine, and I stole 50 grand from Footlocker. I was also driving with a load not properly tied down. Not only am I not in prison, I still have the 50 grand and the murder weapon. And a pretty big load on the top of my car. Not a bad day. I texted Ramirez, my new fake partner. I met him at the hospital for my last kidney stone. He was a security guard on patient watch, looking for some more action. He was young, knew the streets, tough, and had grit. He had a bright future as my partner. Ramirez picked me up from Fitsi's in a 2023 Ford Explorer cop car that I bought for him to drive me around in. I've had my license permanently suspended. Part of the job of being a fake cop. Turns out it's actually illegal to pretend to be a cop. Ramirez and I pulled away in the fake cop car. While Angel pulled away in a real cop car, I thought about her. I thought about Johnny. And of course, I thought about Mendoza. Then I started thinking about pizza. Ramirez looked into the rear view mirror and saw the false mask of a conscious on my face and said, Forget it, Brad. It's just New Market.