BAKER'S 12
Week 72: Oct 04 - Oct 08

Oct 04, 2004

meanwhile...
     "Karinna, you are a ghoul."
    "Not everyone can be a literature snob, Lester."
    "No, of course not. Some of us have to remain illiterate in order to provide communication challenges for those of us who are, in fact, capable of reading."
    "I do hope, Lester, you were not comparing my linguistic skills unfavourably to yours."
    "My dear Shamus, whatever reason could I have for doing such a thing?"
    "Alicia, have you seen Jann?"
    "Why would I have seen him?"
    "No reason at all; she was merely attempting to change the subject."
    "Have you noticed how often your preferred subject prompts that sort of response? Do you ever wonder why that might be?"
    "What book are you reading, Karinna?"
    "It's the biography of a rather remarkable assassin who retired on the spot after accidentally killing a child."
    "Is it a novel?"
    "Not at all; the case is quite genuine."
    "As genuine as any story can be when the main character is named for an invertebrate."
    "You would know about invertebrates, Lester."
    "Martina!"
    "Well I'm sure I don't know, but I think that if his behaviour today is typical of what we shall have to put up with during the cruise, then - "
    "Sorry I'm late. Have I missed anything?"
    "Short of yet another opportunity to demonstrate a shred of respect for the time of others, Jann, you have missed nothing."
    "Can we just go?"
    "Yes. Let's."
    The other five picked up their bags, and they continued on their way. Only one of the six noticed that there was a stranger following them.
    This information was not relayed to the others.

meanwhile...
     "Just a moment, if you please, Detectives."
     "Certainly, Mister Mayor."
    "Nicholas... I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. You know what I mean."
     "You are very welcome, Mister Mayor. Joe."

meanwhile...
     She stepped out of the car almost before it was stopped, striding down the walk and up to the door while he parked and turned the car off and made sure the doors were locked.
     She kept turning her head left and right as he casually approached the building.
     She was just about to pivot and enter when he stopped, so she had to check herself and turn back to him.
     "What is it?" trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.
     "I just want you to understand something perfectly clearly," Detective Straw told Detective St-Cyr. "This is my city, and that makes it my collar. You have no jurisdiction, and in fact my allowing you to come along is a courtesy, not your right. I've met this man, and you haven't."
     "Is this going somewhere?"
     "Just keep your mouth shut in there. You do not say a single word. Are we clear?"
     She had stopped rolling back and forth on her heels. "We're clear."

meanwhile...
     Detective:
     Although we have of course never communicated through any conventional means I have nevertheless had something of a relationship with the police force of this fair city for several years.
     No doubt the observation of my actions and your own deductive skills have led you to certain conclusions about my character and I daresay most of your suppositions and interpretations would be correct.
     Your sudden decision to pursue me with the aforementioned several years worth of pent-up vigour is in light of todays events unsurprising but it is neither necessary nor will you find it productive.
     I honestly believe that in order for you to coerce the information you seek you will have to exert a level of pressure that will be beyond the tolerance of those you are coercing and many of their ilk.
     That is to say that in your current course of action the risks far outweigh the rewards.
     Furthermore one of these imagined rewards is not genuinely worth pursuing.
     Yours with respect:
     Jellyfish.

Oct 05, 2004

meanwhile...
     "What do you want me to say? That I'm happy, thrilled, thankful, satisfied, grateful that the mystery that plagued me my entire life is finally about to be solved?"
     "I'm not looking for your thanks, old man; I don't really need it. Is this the guy or not?"
    "Let me tell you something about scumbags. We meet a lot of them, don't we? Can you still tell the difference between a scumbag and a non-scumbag? It happens to all of us, sooner or later: Relentless inhumanity, crooks day in and day out, even the people you're trying to help hate your guts, or at best they're only scared of you. You lose track of who's your friend and who isn't, or more to the point you start to take the really simple approach: If he's a cop, he's okay; if he's a victim or a witness, he's neutral; if he's a suspect or a sure thing or he's got priors or for any other reason he's given you a reason not to like him, then he's a scumbag. You pass any black male or group of black kids on a street corner, your habit is to think of them as dealers, scumbags. Any woman in a tight skirt who is on the sidewalk but neither walking nor peering into a shop? Hooker. Any man who comes up to talk to her? John, scumbag. That's what this job does to you. At first you get burned, then you protect yourself, and if you do that often enough and you turn out to be right, well, you start thinking things would be even easier if you got the jump on it early."
    "Are you going somewhere with any of this?"
    "Some of us get a permanent case of the Scumbag Syndrome. Most of us, actually. My first partner, rest his soul, he was one of the most untrusting old men you're ever going to meet, and let me tell you that old men wrote the book on not trusting people, but ex-cops are the experts. I got cured of the Scumbag Syndrome when I saw my second partner, a good man, hit a kid in the face. I say kid, he was seventeen, old enough to know better than to sass a Badge, but he was acting all tough and defiant and he made a sudden move my partner didn't trust, so Pow! he popped this kid right in the face, and broke his nose. Are you a parent?"
    "Yes. She'll be four in two months."
    "Oh, lovely age. Between baby and girl. That was my favourite period. They're so innocent, so pure, but no longer quite helpless. Favourite period, as a father. But it doesn't matter how old they get, as I'm sure you know, they're your children. And once you know what it means to care for a child, every parent in the world has your support and sympathy. That was what happened with this stupid kid, the one my partner hit. His mother heard him cry out in pain and surprise, probably the most honest sound this punk had made since he was in grade school. And then she cried out, too. That was when I realised. You know, the little things that just reach right in and rearrange you? This was one of those. I didn't care about the kid, one more brat taught a lesson in respect, okay it was more than he deserved, but still. No, it was his mother. I felt for her. Her emotion touched me in just the right way, and I found myself suddenly upset that my partner had hit this kid. It was just a second, but it was enough. It made me think. That was the first step in getting over Scumbag Syndrome.
    "Thinking is always the first step."

Oct 06, 2004

meanwhile...
     She turned around suddenly, because she knew there was somebody watching her.
     And it so happened she was right.
     He was leaning against the door frame, looking perfectly relaxed.
     "I'm - I'm sorry! Please, I won't tell anyone!"
     He smiled and walked toward her with his arms slightly forward, palms up. "You need not be afraid of me. I am not going to harm you."
     She placed the letter onto his hand. His fingers closed just enough to keep it from slipping to the floor.
    She wanted to believe him.
    Could she?
    After finding out... this?
    She had no choice but to argue against him. "But... I know your secret."
     "Yes," he said, smiling gently again and walking past her to the desk, "and I shall just have to trust you to leave it in the past where it belongs. I retired for a reason. I am not going to break my vow for any reason, and certainly not in order to hurt a friend. Particularly when the fault is mine. I was careless."
     "Oh, Nick... "
    "Please. I apologise."

meanwhile...
    "So, you're proud of yourself, then, I guess."
    "You know what, old man? I am. I'm closing one of the greatest mysteries this city's ever had. That's why I told you before that I don't need your approval. Because I know this is big, and I know I don't really need your help. This is my collar."
    "It fell in your lap. You did nothing to bring it about but stand there and listen. Sometimes, interrogation involves eliciting responses, but you didn't even have to do that. If Boyd's wife had stayed healthy, you wouldn't be here."
    "What do you think you know about it?"
    "I got a call, of course. I was told you were coming, and why, and I asked questions."
    "Somebody called you? Who? Why?"
    "You're such a spectacular detective; you figure it out. You know, back in my day when people dropped by on a stranger they sometimes called first. As a courtesy. Politeness. Sign of a proper upbringing. Maybe my informant knew you weren't the type to call first."

meanwhile...
     "Mister Mayor, a moment of your time, please!"
     "Nicholas, what is it? I don't think I've ever seen you take a single step faster than a walk in all the years I've known you."
     "I have just come from outside, the front of the building."
     "It's pandemonium, isn't it?"
     "Yes, and that is part of my concern. There is something wrong."
     "Is the car there?"
     "Yes, of course, but the crowd is too close, and the guards can only do so much."
     "Oh, well, I've had to deal with hecklers before. At least most of them are less invasive than the Press. Pesky little buggers. Unless you mean well-wishers with colicky babies?"
     "No, I do not."
     "You're really worried."
     "Joe. We have known each other a long time, and we have become friends and confidants, and in all that time I have always avoided any questions about my past. Believe me when I tell you that I have certain training, certain experience, which permits me a heightened level of awareness that others do not possess, when it comes to safety and danger from other persons. These instincts are telling me that you should not exit through the front of this building."
     "Are you... this is for real."
     "Please. Leave by the back."
     "I will."
     "Thank you, Mister Mayor."

meanwhile...
     Detective:
     Be advised that pursuant to the death of the boy I unintentionally shot today I will be leaving New Orleans and retiring forever from the occupation which resulted in me committing todays terrible act.
     The decision as to whether it is worth your time and effort to continue to attempt to track me down is of course your own.
     Yours in farewell:
     Jellyfish.

Oct 07, 2004

meanwhile...
     "You're not going to believe this."
     "Good afternoon to you, too."
     "We're putting together an arrest warrant for an old friend of yours. Would you like to guess who?"
     "Not today."
     "The Jellyfish."
     "No!"
     "Gospel truth."
     "That's a shock for all kinds of reasons! Who - "
     "Boyd."
     "Boyd? I thought he'd retired ten... good God, fifteen... years ago!"
     "He had. But being an honest citizen doesn't pay, apparently. Not enough to buy medication if you don't have the right insurance. He got picked up last night for breaking into a clinic and stealing some painkillers. Apparently his wife is dying of something horrible. So horrible, in fact, that Boyd would do anything to stay out of jail, so he can be with her. After a couple of non-starters he offered us the Jellyfish."
     "I can't believe it."
     "No, I was as shocked as you. The idea that anyone would have given us that name, after all this time, after how hard we pressed them. Heh. It turns out Boyd only offered this because he thought the man was already dead."
     "Understandable. He was old back then. And we weren't!"
     "Yeah, well, the arresting officer spoke to the DA, who spoke to Homicide, and together all three, four of them agreed to cut a deal. Probation and community service for the name of one of the most feared and respected men in the history of the city."
     "And it turns out he's still alive?"
     "We had his civilian ID photos from back then, ran them through the database and found a few matches with a man in Baton Rouge."
     "He never left the state?"
     "Maybe he loves the seafood. But like I said, we're drawing the warrant up, and there's a Homicide Detective on the way to see you, Louisa St-Cyr."
     "I'm not going to like her, am I?"
     "Not even a little bit."

meanwhile...
     Madam:
     This is to express my deepest regret and most sincere apologies for having murdered your son.
     It was of course never my intent to do so nor has it ever been my practice to endanger anyone not directly related to any of my contracts.
     For what it is worth please know that I shall never accept another contract nor perform any similar service again for the rest of my life.
    Although I know neither apologies nor currency can compensate for the loss of a child your attorney has been entrusted with a parcel containing the equivalent of at least one million dollars in gemstones.
    If you prefer not to accept this token of my remorse I request that the gems be sold and the money donated to a childrens charity preferably one affiliated with the Catholic Church but of course the choice is yours.
    Yours in mourning:
    Jellyfish.

meanwhile...
     "Sir? Mister Nicholas Ryder."
     He was undeniably an old man, but he stood perfectly straight, and there was an energy about him that left no doubt of his strength, physical and mental. His past showed most visibly in the lines around his eyes, and it was in those eyes that one saw he still had many years left in him. Those eyes were warm, caring. Friendly.
     "So," said Councilor Straw, rising and holding out his hand, "you're the legend of the Saint Andrew's Soup Kitchen."
     The handshake was returned firmly and gently. Nearly everything about the man was firm and gentle; one just felt it immediately. "With respect, I hardly feel I deserve to be called a legend, Sir."
     "Really? You've more than doubled the Kitchen's fundraising, and tripled the number of people it serves. Furthermore they tell me you're just getting started. And you've accomplished all of this in... eight months?"
     "Almost eight months, Sir, yes."
     "Almost eight months." Straw smiled.
     Ryder smiled back.
     And thus was born over a decade of friendship.

Oct 08, 2004

meanwhile...
     "What exactly is your problem with me, old man?"
    "You came in here thinking you were some kind of superstar. In my own house, from the moment I opened the door, you have shown me nothing but contempt. You have not earned your superior airs, young lady. Because you fell into this collar by accident, and you don't need me to identify the suspect. You were going to make your arrest even if I said No, this wasn't him. So why are you here? To show off. To grandstand in front of me. You are transparent about it. That's why I told you, right from the beginning, that the Jellyfish mystery never plagued me. To take you down a peg, which you certainly need, and to try and explain this case to you. The real case.
    "Do you know how many people the Jellyfish killed? Possibly as many as twenty. My estimate is eighteen, but I count Griffon, who was in the car with Sanders. I figure there would have been a contract on Griffon within the year anyway. Eighteen people. And of those eighteen, do you know how many had blood on their hands? Do you know how many had killed already, either directly or through issuing the orders? Out of eighteen, seventeen. That's right; there was only the one exception. And the moment he made that exception, he quit. He sent me a note when the boy was still in the hospital, and then he sent me another one once it had been confirmed the boy was dead. Do you see what I'm getting at? He was a killer, yes, but to those of us with the ability to think for ourselves he was not a bad guy. That's why I bored you with my little prepared speech about scumbags. He was a hit man, a pro, and everyone knew he was going to be almost impossible to track down, so we didn't really bother because we did not see him as a threat to public safety. That was the deciding factor. He was a threat only to his objectives, and only once he had been hired. What's he to you? A plaque? A citation? Nobody who was there will take you seriously. The ones who weren't there may think you're great, but I just want you to remember this:
    "They're wrong. You're living a lie.
    "Now get out of my house."
    "No."
    "What?"
    "I said No. Old man. You may have been a cop, but that's in the past, along with every tiny accomplishment you may have enjoyed in your life. Along with meaning to your existence, and sex, and anything but pity from people in the street. You are no longer a police officer. But I am, civilian, and I am conducting an investigation and I asked you a question and I am not leaving until I get an answer unless you would rather discuss this back at the station.
    "Is it likely that this man is the Jellyfish?"
    "Yes."
    "Thank you."
    "Don't mention it."

meanwhile...
     The two Detectives entered through the side door and navigated the church's winding corridors straight to the kitchen.
     Although they were walking side by side, Detective Straw was leading Detective St-Cyr. He could walk this route blindfolded.
     The Mayor, Josiah Straw, was there, of course. He and Nicholas Ryder had been close friends for years.
     If Ryder had come to Baton Rouge and met the Mayor a few years earlier, he probably would have become Detective Philip Straw's Godfather.
     They were standing beside each other, aprons on, spoons in hand, chatting and laughing with the people they were serving.
     "Excuse me, Mister Mayor, Mister Ryder," said Detective Straw formally, clearly, getting their attention immediately. "This is Detective St-Cyr from New Orleans Homicide. She has some business with Mister Ryder."

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