New York Minute
Chapter 1
Me

New York City. There's nothing quite like it. I suppose that's both a blessing and a curse at the same time. We live in a state of constant flux. A state of both primitive frustrations and exceeding bliss. A city plauged by darkness and glowing with the brightest lights humanity has every seen.

My name, is Jason Tucker. I live here, in New York. For the moment, anyway. You've seen me, probably a dozen times. I walk the street, pound the pavement day in and day out. I know you've seen me, because I've seen you. Maybe you don't remember me. Cops tend to be invisible anyways. But, lets see if I can't refreash your memory. I stand roughly six feet tall, and weigh about 220 pounds. My shoulders are broad, and my auburn hair is long and hangs in my face, unless I remember to tie it back. even then, my bangs are constantly in my eyes.

Generaly, I sport black pants and a dress shirt of some type. Black steel-toed boots and a long, blue trench complete my daily ensemble. Still don't remember me? Well, either way. Like I said, cops tend to be invisible unless you're afraid or on the run. But, either way, I live here in New York City.

Every day, I walk the line between the living and the dead. I save people from themselves, or end lives. Noth are in my hands on a daily basis. It's quite the weight to live with. Knowing that every day, I'm going to be dealing with the few people who can't help themselves, or refuse to, and instead choose to hurt others. And that...that reason right there. That's why I do what I do. It's my...it's my "Emma" factor. You'll learn what that means soon enough, I can assure you.

I can tell by the look on your face, that you're wondering why you're even reading this. Or why you even care who I am. Well, let me put it this way. There was something that happened, right in your back yard...not long ago. You could have been caught in the crossfire. But, because of me, and a number of my friends who gave their lives...you still live.
I suppose that bears an explanation. Well, I guess the best place to start is the beginning. They're a wonderful thing, beginnings. They hold the promise of hope, of good things yet to come if only you perservre through the trials and tribulations that life throws your way.

Anyways.....

I think the best place to start is with a man by the name of Harry Smith. I hadn't been in New York very long when I met Harry. Met him in a bar, actually, where I found him drowning his troubles in his third pint of Guiness. He was chasing each one of them with a tripple of Walker Black. So, needless to say...he was pretty hammered.

Harry...heh. His name didn't get much simpler than that. He was a plain man. Short, skinny. He wore glasses too. A nice guy, really. He worked for one of the larger trade firms down on Wall Street. He had a good living really. Six figure income. He had a nice home just off of 72nd ave. on 131st street. 5 bed, three bath. He had a little girl...she was cuty. Her name was Emma. About 5 years old. Little pig tails and smile that could light up Broadway.

He had a wonderful wife, as well. He name was Louise. She was, originaly, a down to earth girl, orginaly from Wisconson, she had met Harry online about 10 years ago. They got married a year or so after that and she moved to New York so Harry could continue his job at the firm.

For some reason, though...Harry was empty. And that's where I entered into his life. Walking into Mcsorley's on East 7th, I was entertaining thoughts of a nice big tankard of their homemade brew. It was strong stuff, but easy on the stomach, and a pleasure to have in your mouth.

So, I walked into the smoke filled bar, and sat down at a corner in the back, ordered my drink and my pipe. I know, it's an odd thing for a young guy to smoke, but the falvor of pipe tabacco is much better than anything else. Sweet, pungent, aromatic. While smoking...I sort of drifted off into though. My breath mingling with the snoke from my cigar, twisting it into shapes that you could let your mind wander in...

I just sort of drifted off into thought, when in walked Harry. I didn't take much notice of him at first. Just sort of watched him meander over to the bar, and sit down on one of the stools. I focused on him for a moment, as I saw him fiddling in his chest pocket. I instantly tensed, wondering if it was a weapon. I'm a twitchy cop. And I have my reasons for being like that, which...which we'll get to later.

Asking for the draft, the keep brought it over, and sat it down infront of him. Harry drew a couple of cigars out his chest pocket, and handed one to the keep. The talked for a what seemed like ages, though I couldn't overhear the conversation, I could see the sad look on the pub-masters face. Still I couldn't blame Harry for unburdening himself to the barkeep. They make the best therapists sometimes, and always have good advice. Take it from me, I spend a lot of time in bars, drinking away my problems.

Now, something odd struck me about Harry after the keep left him alone to tend to a lovey dovey couple that entered into the room. He was watching them, and every moment, he seemed to get sadder and sadder, like all the life had gone out of him. Finally, he smacked his glass of Walker down so hard, it shattered, cutting his hand up pretty bad.

"Ah, man.." he said, as the tavern master ran over with a cloth, wrapping his hand in it. "Just what I needed today. Better get to the hospital." He stood, and stumbled. I moved, and grabbed him, helping him stand.

The bar keep looked at me, said "Can you get him there? He's a little too much in his cups to drive." I nodded. It was no skin off my nose. Besides, this guy....had an aura around him. Something odd.

"What's your name, mack?" He asked, as I drove us along the quiet and empty streets. That alone was odd enough to make me tense. New York, quiet?

I shrugged. "My name is Jason. Jason Tucker. Most people call me Jay."

He nodded, and slumped against the window. "Sa pleasure to meet ya Jay. My name is Harry..." And from there he went on, telling me about every detail of his life. He was especially proud of little Emma. "She's top in her class fer spelling." He lisped at me. " Reads at a grade 4 level and she's only five years old. Man can't ask for much better 'an that."

I arched my eye-brow. "Than, why are you out getting so far down into your cups that you can barely talk?"

He coughed. "Simple. I ain't happy. I tell yah, it's hard out here. I have a good job, but my boss...he treats me like crap. Called me stupid infon' ah the whole staff today at the meeting. All because I had a better idea about how to do my job...help my customers a little, ya know? Offer better service. He didn' like that at all though."

He just kept going, like I was the one he needed to unburden himself to. "An my wife. Don't geh me wrong. We love eachother a lot. A LOT. But, lately...she's bin kinda distant. Well, when I mean lately...I mean tha last year. Ever since her dad died. She takes all her frustration out on me...It's gettin to tha point where I don wanna go home in tha evenin' and I don' wanna go ta work in the monin'. Specially with hangover hahaha." he laughed, drunkenly.

"Maybe I oughta just get it over with, ya know? Whadda my wife or boss care? Their just like everyone else. Only joy I have in this world is my little daughter...my dad died when I was a kid...s'why she's so important to me. I wan' her to have memories of me, ya know?"

I was puzzled, as we pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and I helped him into the waiting room. After he had been checked in, I asked him: "Then, why bother killing yourself. Then she won't remember you at all. Is that what you want?"

He sat there starring. "Naw, I guess not. Well, here, gimme yer number. I wanna thank you properly for helping me out." I obliged him, and gave him my cell number, and left. Heading back to my loft near Broadway for a good nights sleep.

The next day, my cell rang. It was Harry. "Hey, Jason. Thanks for last night. Listen, I told my wife what had happened. She wasn't too happy. Got the bruise on my face to prove it haha. Either way, she wants to know if you'd come round to dinner tonight so we can thank you."

"Sure, Harry. What shoud I bring?"

It was quiet for a moment, minus some small chattering in the backround. "Louise says to bring a dessert or something. Shes not very good with pastries, she says. Thats a bold faced lie, she makes an excellent pecan pie. It's my favorite... Anyways...Seven o'clock tonight, he's my address." I wrote it down, said goodbye and hung up. Now, not having to work, as I had just moved to the area and wasn't due to start at the NYPD till mondy.
I got to Harry's around a quarter to the hour, and was welcomed into the house by a beautiful woman with long red hair. "Hello, Jason. My name is Louise."

I nodded shyly. I'd never been very good around women. She seemed like a nice sort. "I uhh, I brought pecan pie. Harry said it was his favorite." I said, and held it out to her. She beamed at me, and thanked me. Then Harry appeared and lead me into the dining room.

We sat down, it was around 7:30 pm. Louise brought out the most...amazing pot roast that I'd ever eaten. It was better than my mothers, and that's saying something. I was raised in New England, and my mom had always been one of the best cooks in our tiny city in Maine. But this was out of this world, and I said so.
"You're very kind to say that. Tell me, Jason, where are you from?"

"I'm from a small city on the north coast of Maine. I lived there for 18 years or so, then moved to upper New Jursey. I enrolled in law enforcement, and, actually, went to school with the DA in this area. She actually found me the job I'm about to start. Then I moved to Massachussetts, where I lived with my girlfriend for around..oh..6 years. And, as I said, now I'm here."

Harry blinked. "What job?"

I nodded. "I'm head of the homicide division for NYPD, I'm a former Treasury Department agent.  I specialize in dectective work. Essentially, I'm a bloodhound. I'm put on the trail to hunt down the murderer." The nodded. "Didn't you say you had a daughter, Harry? You said her name was Emma?"

He beamed. "Yeah. Emma Aubrey Smith. She's in grade 4." He shook his head, totally and completely the proud father now. "She's already reading at a grade 9 level, she knows her multiplication tables to 12, and devours books. And the thing is? She does it all on her own. She's never once asked for help. She's a wiz. She's in bed....but, I guess we could get her out to meet you." He grinned.

Louise smiled, and stood, heading down the all to get their daughter. There was some muffled sounds, and then....God....then the girl screamed. The voices got louder and then I heard Louise. "Don't you talk to me like that, you stupid brat." Then...all hell broke loose. There was as scuffel, and something fell and broke. Then..a gun shot. I bolted up from the table, drawing my Colt SAA revolver from my chest holster, and moved down the halls.

"Louise? Louise are you ok?" I called. Harry tried to push past me, but I shoved him against the wall and put my face close to his and whispered. "There's been a gun shot. One or more of your family members are hurt. You are not going to do anything right now to interefere. Just go call the cops tell them that Officer Alexander says we have a Delta-Echo-12. I need back up asap." He took off down the back hall and I heard him pick up the phone.

"Louise? It's Jason. Are you ok?" I slowly worked my way down the hall till I got to a door that was semi-open. The light was on inside, and the walls were pink, I could see through the crack. I could hear sirens in the backround. There must have been a unit in the area.

Approaching the door, I pulled the ring-hammer back on the weapon, and held it firmly infront of me. I lifted my foot, and kicked open the door with my heavy, steel plated boots. And this is where my life started to change. There was a spent shell on the floor. 12-guage. And there was Emma. Her last scream of horror on her face. There was the sound of tired squealing. Blood everywhere.

Harry screamed. The officers grabbing him, holding him back as he tried to get to his daughter. I knealt down beside her, she was still breathing. I lifted her head, she tried to speak. A large bubble of blood expanded from her mouth and popped, splattering my shirt. Then her eyes....her pretty blue eyes glazed over, and rolled into the back of her head. A fresh scream tore from Harry's throat, raw, and unadaltered.

I looked up at the officer holding Harry back. He and his partner both had tears running down their faces. I noticed that I did too. Everything became a whirl of confusion. More officers arrived on the scene and began cordening off the area. Harry was escorted to a hotel, but not before I had the presence of mind to get a description of the car his wife had taken off in, and what the licence number was.

Then I was interviewed. During the interview, one of the officers approached me. "Detective?" He said. I looked up. "We found her. Her car is outside the Empire State Building. And, the officers on the scene believe she's inside, and armed. They're requesting the assistance of the head of homocide."

"Ok," I said. "I'm on my way. Time to put a bullet in her goddamn skull."

The police were wating for me when I arrived, the officer in charge stepped up and looked me over, then leaned in close.

"I've heard what they say about you, kid. You're good apparently.... So, tell me, as the head of homocide,  and former FBI Agent,  what do you see here." He pointed to Louise's car.

I shrugged. "Nothing I havn't seen before. This stuff seems to follow me. Officer...?"

"Hallen. Richard Hallen. Call me Dick. We aren't sure if she's armed, but any ideas?"

"Has anyone looked inside her car yet?" The officer shook his head.

"No, we were waiting for you."

I nodded, and walked over to Louise's car, and touched the hood, and looked in through the window. There as a long thin case, and a box of shotgun shells laying next to it. "Oh yeah, she's armed. 12 guage."

Hallen nodded. "Well, one girl and a shot gun...I think we have enough officers here. Are you lisenced?"

I nodded, and drew my badge out. I had been assigned to the NYPD presinct in this area earlier in the week and was due to start on monday. Then...then all this had happened. Hallen sighed. "What a way to break in a rookie..." Gesturing to me and three others, we drew our pistols and went inside.
Slowly creeping our way up the stairs, till we got to the emergency exit to the top of the building. There she stood, looking out over the ledge of the balcony.

Without warning she turned and opened fire. The shot was loud, but it went wide, cracking off the cement of the door jam. Without hesitating, I dropped to my knee, and pulled the trigger. The bullet caught her in the shoulder, and lifted her up off her feet. We moved in, flipping her over on to her back, Hallen slapped cuffs on her, and began to merandize her, while another officer radioed for an ambulance and kept pressure on the wound. She glared at me. And I narrowed my eyes.

After we got her down to the car, Dick turned to me. "That was a good shot."

I shook my head. "I've fire a weapon more than I'd like to count, I don't like doing it. Either way. With your permission, I'm going to go check on Harry. He needs a friend to fill him in. Dick nodded. I got in my car, and drove off to the hotel, looking for my friend. Thats what he was now. A friend.

The officer there told me that Harry had decided to go to work, and he left, dressed in full black atire. Said he was going to take the subway. I blinked, then panickd, thinking about what he'd said about noone missing him..now..he had no one to miss him.

Racing to the nearest station, I saw him. As a train rounded the corner, Harry turned around, saw me, and a tear rolled down his face as I moved to grab him. Leaping out to the train, I reached......

I missed. And Harry was gone. I found out later that the found pieces of his clothing scattered haphazardly all down the line.Either way, that was one of my first days in this city......

I told you this story to set the mood for my existance. Its painful, but happy. Sad but light. I'm not infalable, as you'll find out. But, hopefuly, I do more good than harm. However...my story for the moment doesn't end here. Not quite.

I walked into the office on monday, and Dick came up. Turns out he's a sergent, and I work for him. "Jason, good you're here."

"Hey Sarge," I said, as I shrugged off my trench, and sat down at my new desk, unpacking. He still stood over me. I looked at him and smiled. "I'm alright, Sarge. I've been doing this for a while, don't forget."

He nodded. "Yeah, and you did good last night. I've...decided to add you to my devision. Homicide and tactical. Are you ok with that?"

I grinned. "And have another chance to take down people like Louise Smith? I'm all over it."

"Good," he said. "Follow me, we aren't quite done with Louise. She hasn't talked yet, and we thought we'd give you a chance to question her."

I smiled grimly and stood up, throwing my coat back on, I trudged over to the questioning room and sat down. "Hello, Louise."

Her lawer leaned forward. Man, these guys tick me off. They always seem to act superior, like every day for them is an episode of CSI or Law and Order. "My client will not answer any questions. You have no right to do this, we'll let the courts decide the how and why of-"

I cut him off. "First, shut the hell up. This isn't television, so stop being so melodramatic. Second. I have more right to question her than you do to represent her, council. I was there the night we arrested her. I was in her house when she took off after shooting her daughter. He had the bruises to prove she was abusive. And he told me everything about her father, and her lack of anger management.

"Now, Louise. Here's how things are going to work. Either you confess now, and we see if we can't get you some help. Or, you refuse to admit what you did, and we try you on first degree murder. I should let you know, I have absolutely NO problem with the death penalty." I folded my hands and leaned across the table. "Now. Tell me what I need to know. Let us help you."

She mumbled something under her breath. "Pardon me?" I said.

"I said she deserved what she got. And that failure of a husband of mine. He was an idiot. Weak. Stupid. And besides, you have nothing. NOTHING. If you did, I'd already be infront of a judge."

I chuckled. "I'm pretty sure I just told your lawyer to cut the crap, that inculdes you. Second, we have you fleeing the scene. We have my testimony. We have the autopsy from your daughter. We have the murder weapon. Your prints are all over the weapon, your husbands are not. Your prints are on your daughters clothes, as well as your blood. His are not. I have more than enough to condemn you. More than enough to lock you away, and more than enough to put you on death row. Now, help me by helping yourself."

She looked at me from under hooded eyes. "Why should I help you, pig?" she spat, and it hit me in the face.

Her lawyer yelped. "We'll plead insanity. What will that get her?"

Whiping the spittle from my face, I looked at him. "Nothing. I just withdrew the offer."

"You can't do that! You don't work for the DA."

I shrugged. "No, but she'll go with my reccomendation. I have enough evidence to bury her. So, unless she pleads guilty, which she won't, she's stuck."

"My husband will get me out of this. If anything, hes more scared of me than anything. He'll be afraid to-"
"
No, he won't." I said.

"Pardon?"

"Harry is dead. We found this in his hotel room." Only a small precentage of suicides leave a note. Lucky for me, Harry had.

Dear Jason,
Thank you for being my friend. I realise how juvenille this sounds, but it meant the world to me. No one has ever gone out of their way for me before, like you did. Tell my wife, that any love for her I had vanished when she took away that which meant the most to me. With the death of Emma...I find myself dead on the inside. I figure, I may as well be dead on the outside.
Ever heard that song, New York Minute, by the Eagles? Well, that should be your clue on where to find me, if you can't figure it out before hand, at any rate. You really are a fantasticaly smart person. But, you know, its ironic how much that song is like my life, even my name is in it.
Best Wishes,
Harry.

I tossed the letter on the desk. "You aren't getting out of here. Ever, Louise. You missed your chance. Harry's dead. Your daughter is dead. And you're glad. I hope you burn." Standing I left the room.

It all happned fast. The worst part is...I'd have to be at the trial.

My name is Jason Tucker, and let me tell you...they're right. Everything can change in a New York Minute.