West: Quartermaine Park – Part 3

Wednesday 16 – Thursday 17 October 2013

Their presence in Quartermaine Park immediately cut down the nocturnal activity by local drug dealers and users. Nobody was really stupid enough to be dealing or using in front of the cops the younger officer had suggested.

‘That’s not entirely true, Deacon,’ said Sergeant Frank O’Brien. ‘We’ve collared plenty of idiots using and dealing here. Right in front of us, but didn’t give a shit about it. They were too desperate to get high or get rich.’

Deacon hated it when his Sergeant corrected him. He felt like O’Brien was treating him like he was still a rookie, and he hadn’t been one of those for a good six years now.

‘But you’d know that, of course, if you hadn’t decided to transfer to Walker’s station house.’

Frank O’Brien still had not got over his prized rookie, Max Deacon, leaving the fold to join Pete Walker and his elite investigation squad. Nobody outside of the squad could say for sure what Walker’s team did, but there was speculation that ranged from internal affairs to a cold case team to a dedicated narcotics group. Deacon had spent four years under Walker’s spell before returning to his position as O’Brien’s partner.

‘You still haven’t told me how you managed to get your old job back,’ O’Brien said.

‘No one else wants to be your partner, Frank,’ Deacon replied curtly.

‘And you’re not going to tell me about your time with your new buddy, Walker?’

‘If I told you, Frank, I’d have to kill you.’

Deacon’s reply ended the conversation, and they both turned their attention back to the people in the park. During the day, there were no families to be seen; it wasn’t a family friendly place to be. It had been, at one point, but the ever-growing drug trade in the neighbourhood had forced families from the park, and to much safer locales. This evening, there were a bunch of low life no hopers who were waiting for the police to disappear so that they could make sell some drugs, make some money, and engage in whatever other illegal activities that they could think of.

‘There he is,’ O’Brien said, and pointed to a well-dressed man walking towards the public facilities.

‘Sticks out like a sore thumb. How obvious could he be?’ replied Deacon. ‘You wanna go in now, or give him a bit of time to incriminate himself?’

‘Wait and see who he meets up with. Maybe we can take them both down at the same time,’ O’Brien replied.

He and Deacon watched as the well-dressed man continued on past the toilet block, and stopped underneath a lamppost and waited.

‘All units in the vicinity of 1225 Parker Way, please assist. We have a report of a possible assault on a Nora Aitcheson.’ The voice crackled over the radio, and startled both O’Brien and his partner.

Deacon looked at O’Brien. ‘You gonna respond?’

O’Brien shrugged, and then looked at the man they were supposed to be watching. He sighed, and begrudgingly picked up the handset, responding to the call.

‘Unit three two three en route to 1225 Parker Way. Anything to add, Carol?’

‘Proceed with caution, Frank. Reported by the husband, Wade Aitcheson, but his is not at the location, repeat husband is not at the location. He called the wife, but an unknown male, who made threats against the wife, answered the phone. Units five ninety, four oh one, and three sixteen, are also en route, but you’ll get there first. Stay safe, boys.’

Frank replaced the handset, started the ignition, threw the car into reverse, and finally sped out of the car park, leaving their well-dressed businessman to conduct his business in peace.

‘Don’t worry, Frank, we’ll get Turner another day,’ Deacon said.

Underneath the yellow glow of the park lamppost, Marvin Turner, recently snubbed by up and coming artist, Erica Keen, waited for his contact. He was aware that the police had staked out the park, and were watching him, but they had nothing to go on other than the word of a disgruntled junkie who had a beef with Turner, and who was now facing jail time under the three strikes law. He watched as the patrol car sped out of the car park.

‘Back to business then,’ Turner whispered to himself. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder, after being under so much pressure from the police, what sort of emergency could draw O’Brien and his sidekick away from him tonight?

. . . To be continued . . .

About Danielle

I like to write. What more is there to know?
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