This is the twenty-fourth chapter of “The Policeman.” As we have stated in earlier chapters, the story contains bisexuality and sexual acts involving adults and under-age minors, both related and non-related, in accordance with the shared story preferences of the authors. If any of this is objectionable to you, you might like to leave and go to another story.
This story is a work of fiction. Some persons and events are based on actual ones, but even those have been so significantly changed that nothing in this story should be read as anything but fictional.
Feedback, which is desired and appreciated, can be sent to “Brad Gillespie” at the address RBZ followed by the digits 3141 at gmail.com. Please put the story title in the subject line. But don't be surprised if the name on the responses is different. That e-mail account is under a different pseudonym than the one I used to write this story.
Feedback to “Tucson Daddy” can be sent to lannyr99 at yahoo.com.
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Phil awoke slowly, as though he were under a great depth of water. When he finally broke through the surface, he found his friends gathered around him, concern on all faces.
Christopher jumped on his bed to wrap his arms around Phil. “I'm so glad you're alive,” he said.
Phil looked around at the hospital paraphernalia. Tubes and bottles everywhere.
“Christopher? What are you doing here? More important, why am I?”
A voice he didn't recognize broke in. “You've been unconscious for three days, officer,” said the doctor.
“Oh,” Phil said. It was as though they were speaking a foreign language.
Another voice cut in. “Phil,” said the attorney from the D.A.'s office, “We are stymied. Where's Landon? Where is the evidence file? Everything's gone!”
“What? What do you mean?” asked Phil.
“We were ready to develop our side of the argument, but we have nothing to go on.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. “You have Landon and his testimony.”
“You can't possibly know that Landon is gone! You've been in a coma for days,” said the attorney.
“Huh? What? Gone. Don't understand.”
“One of our officers went over to bring him in for testimony. He's gone. Vanished. A young couple is living in the apartment he listed as his address. They know nothing about him. They've been there for a month.”
“The only thing we have to make this case is your testimony.”
“Wait! What about Landon's written report?”
“Like Landon, it's gone. Nobody can find it.”
The doctor who had just entered the room spoke, “If you want information from this man, he can tell you what he had for breakfast four days ago, but not today, yesterday or two days ago. He's just suffered a brain injury.”
“How long until we can talk to him about this?”
The doctor sighed, “You have to understand, gentlemen, that the brain doesn't have an off/on switch. It could be a day, four days, a month, maybe never.”
“What does this mean for the trial?” asked Phil of the attorneys.
“We'll have to postpone.”
“Is that it? Finito?”
“Meaning, if we can find Landon, or his file, or your memory, we'll go to trial again.”
“He's very tired, folks. Can everybody just leave now?”
Reluctantly, the entourage walked out. Christopher and his mom were the last to go.
After they'd left, the doctor placed a “do not disturb” sign on the door knob and closed it. Just to be sure nobody would bother them, he locked the door.
Walking back to Phil's bed, he was unbuttoning his shirt. Phil smiled, knowing he was about to pay a debt.
“Thanks so much for your help in this façade, Tony,” he said.
“Not at all. You've helped me a couple times,” said the doctor, stepping out of his pants. “Being married has its benefits. Sex with my wife isn't one of them.”
Tony's cock looked lovely to Phil. Taking that rod in his hand, Phil smiled up at Tony. “Let me help you with that,” he said. Opening his mouth, Tony leaned over to push his cock in.
“Just warm it up and get it good an' wet. I really need to fill your tunnel,” he breathed, looking down at a most beautiful sight. Phil was where he belonged. Eyes closed, lips wrapped around Tony's growing cock, and his hand slowly stroking him to full hardness.
A week had passed since Phil's doctor had declared him fit to return to duty and released him from the hospital. He arrived at the precinct late in the afternoon. Greeting a few of the officers he knew from this shift, they all welcomed him back. “We really missed you, man,” were the words he heard repeated. Made him feel good to be needed. Maybe he was doing something important for those folks who lived in the area and relied on his fellow officers and him to keep them safe.
Walking to his office, Phil closed the door while he rifled though a file cabinet for the memo he'd typed up just before his “accident.” Finding it, he placed it into a manila folder to keep it looking fresh, closed and locked the cabinet, and left his office. In no rush, he meandered off casually toward the chief's office. Not that he was interested in finding him seated at his desk at this hour. It was Maggie's, the chief's office assistant, desk he was interested. Looking around and seeing nobody nearby, he pulled the sheet from its folder, and slipped it beneath a pile of papers on her desk. Part one completed undetected.
Returning to his office, he pulled out his Rolodex, and quickly found the address listed for Landon, the actor who played Jimmy. Lifting it out, he carefully erased two of the digits of the house number and re-wrote them but in switched order. Replacing it in the Rolodex, he leaned back in his chair. Step two accomplished.
He carefully reviewed in his mind each step needed to keep Brian out of jail.
That meeting with Arnold barely a week ago… He recalled exactly what they had discussed, like it was last night. Confronted with evidence that he was a boy lover, no better than Brian, he felt intense regret.
“But it's out of my hands now,” he said, raising his head to look at Arnold.
“It only appears to be. But…,” added the lawyer.
“But? What do you mean?”
Arnold went on to outline what they needed to do to make the evidence against Brian disappear. First, there are two items in that file that the entire case depends on. Before he could go on, Phil mentioned them and Arnold agreed. “Remove these and take them home with you.”
“Might be risky,” said Phil nervously.
“Just tell me whether you can or not,” replied Arnold brusquely.
Phil held up his hands, and ducked his head. “OK. I gotch. Consider it done.”
Arnold smiled. The plan progressed.
“Landon, he's another key element. How to get him out of the picture, at least temporarily.”
“He's a heavy drinker and drug user. I can arrange to get him out of the way.”
“How?”
“I'll arrange to pick him up, find him so stoned he can't even think, and put him into a treatment center to dry him out. When he comes out, he won't have a clue as to what went on at the arrest.”
“Good. Then we have you to contend with,” Arnold said, looking directly at Phil, a wolfish grin on his face.
“What?” questioned Phil suddenly alarmed. “Me? What about me?”
“You're going to have a motorcycle accident!” the lawyer stated flatly.
“What the hell, you say?” Phil was not feeling good about this at all.
“Not really. I've got an old bike I'm having modified with a car. We'll go out of town a little and fake a crash. I'll have one of my men call 9-1-1, to pick you up. I know a doctor who will be waiting for the call. Tony Watson's his name.”
“Tony Watson? Hell, he and I have been buds for almost a year,” Phil exclaimed.
“You, my friend, are going to suffer a concussion causing amnesia. You won't remember anything about the arrest either.”
“Good grief, Arnold. How are we ever going to make this horrible example fly?”
Arnold just grinned. “Trust me. I've done worse and they worked. Just play along.”
“No sweat, boss man.”
“A couple more minor details. Type up a memo complaining that the file's missing. Date it the day before the accident. Print it out, Keep it safe. When you return to the office, arrive late, take the memo, and put it beneath some papers on the chief's secretary's desk. When you go in the next day, the chief will want to talk to you; he'll be suspicious about the file's disappearance, Landon's disappearance, and your accident, all seeming so coincidental. That planted memo, written before your accident, will give him second thoughts that some conspiracy is going on.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, I have a friend filling in for me as Landon's mom. She lives a bit down the street from Landon's address, where, by the way, I've hired a couple to take his place. They'll claim they've lived there for a month. Isn't it remarkable that her address is the same as Landon's except that two digits are switched? When you are discharged, go to the precinct, plant the memo, and change Landon's address to this.” He handed Phil a card with the house number on it.”
“Kee-ripes, you sneaky devil.”
“When you return, talk to the officer who went to Landon's address and ask him where he got it from. From your Rolo, of course. You take him back to your office and show him the revised number. He'll check his notes and realize he went to the wrong place. You'll go with him to his mother's address and ask to see Landon. ‘Poor dear,’ she'll tell you. ‘He's been on another binge.’ She hasn't seen him for a week. You'll request that she call you when he comes home. When he does show up, he'll be in no condition to talk.”
Phil's head was spinning as he tried to keep all the details from tangling. He shook his head and said, “I'll do it! It will make up for the damage I might have caused.”
He'd been welcomed back to the office. Walking into the precinct the next morning, several officers had greeted him warmly with handshakes, shoulder punches, and calls of, “Hey, look. The slacker is back.” He didn't even go to his desk first, but to the chief's office.
“Welcome back, Phil. We've really missed you here.”
“Thanks, chief. I'm glad to be back, doing something useful again. I was going stir crazy in that hospital room. Can't tell you how many times I almost checked myself out.”
They both laughed at this image of Phil quietly slipping out.
“Well, Phil, as you know things went bad after you were involved in that accident,” began the chief. He was staring at Phil, as though trying to look through his eyes and into the place where memories are stored. “The file was missing, and your boy, Landon, seems to have disappeared from the planet.” He raised his arms and hands in frustration.
Phil leaned forward, concern on his face. “That file's been missing for over a week. Did you not get the memo I sent about that?”
The chief looked puzzled, then leaned over his desk to pull out papers in his basket. Finding nothing, he stepped to the door and leaned out. “Maggie, could you come into my office, please?” She trailed him into his office and stood there. “Yes?” she asked.
“Maggie,” began Phil. “I put a memo on your desk a week ago. It was in regards to a missing file, did you not find it?”
Maggie, the model of efficient office management, frowned. “I don't recall seeing such a memo,” she admitted. “Give me a moment to check my desk. It might have gotten pushed out of sight.” She left for no more than a minute and a half, then returned, holding a paper. “Is this it?” she asked hopefully.
Phil took it from her hand and said, “Yes it is. Thanks.” He handed it to the chief, who scanned it quickly and handed it back to Maggie. “Could you file this, please?” he asked her.
“Well, shit! How can all this be happening! We're primed to go to trial for this bastard, and everything is falling apart. He had been pacing, then slowed, stopped, and turned around. “Landon! We couldn't find him either. What sort of SNAFU caused that?”
“Tell me about it, chief.”
“I, well, actually the DA's office sent an officer to his address. Seems he didn't live there. The couple claimed they'd been there for a month.”
“Can I talk with that officer?” asked Phil, feeling rather smug that the plan was falling into place neatly.
“Maggie,” called the chief, not even bothering to get up. She was there, so quickly that she might have been just outside his door.
“Yes, chief?”
“Can you get officer Trenton in here, please?”
She disappeared, back to her desk. A few minutes later she reappeared, to tell the chief that he had been on patrol and was just reporting in. “He'll be here shortly.”
The chief, though frustrated over the complete mishandling of the case so far, seemed somewhat relaxed. He and Phil chatted amicably, filling him in on what had happened while he'd been hospitalized. They stopped their conversation when a young officer stepped up to the doorway.
“You wanted to see me, chief?” he asked uncertainly.
“Yes. Please come in. Officer Trenton, this is…” he began.
“We already know each other, sir,” said Trenton, shaking Phil's hand warmly. “Everybody here knows Phil.”
“Good. You two can talk about it on the way to get Landon,” the chief said idly.
“But…” began Trenton.
“Just go. You and Phil here can work out the complexities on your way.” He waved them away. After leaving the chief's, they went directly to Phil's office, where he pulled the Rolodex closer to him and spun up Landon's address. “Is this the place you went?” Phil asked.
Trenton pulled a small folder from his pocket, and turned several pages. He compared the two addresses for a few seconds, then declared, “Holy shit! No! We went to this address.” He showed Phil the house number. After pretending to examine it and compare it to the one on the card, he smiled. “You apparently mixed the two digits. See. These two are switched.” Again, that smug feeling enveloped him.
Phil lifted the phone on his desk. “First, we call. Did you do that the last time?”
“No,” came the dejected response.
“Save yourself a trip, maybe.”
He waited while the phone rang once, then twice, and was interrupted, by a recorded voice saying that the number was no longer in service.
“No phone,” sighed Phil. “Odd behavior for an actor who might get a casting call any second. Let's go talk with him.”
They didn't speak on the drive, each lost in his own thoughts. Half an hour later, they pulled up at Landon's address, where Trenton parked by the curb. Getting out, they walked to the front door, and rang the bell. The woman who answered smiled at the police officer and asked, “May I help you?”
“Yes ma'am,” said Trenton. “We'd like to speak with Landon.”
She put her hand over her mouth and gasped. “You… you're not here to arrest him, are you?” Trenton stepped back a half step and put his hand on his service weapon. “Ma'am, is he here?”
“No. He's not. I swear,” she said.
“Ma'am,” said Phil. “I worked with him on an assignment. We need to find him. He is a witness to an arrest. If he were wanted, we'd know already. He's not.”
“Oh, my,” she said, visibly relieved. “Won't you please come in?” She opened the screen door for them, and they entered. “I wish I could help you, but I'm afraid he's gone off on one of his benders. I haven't seen him in days.”
“Would you mind, ma'am, if we had a look in his bedroom? He might have left a clue as to where he went.”
She escorted them to a bedroom. “Amazingly clean for a young single guy,” thought Phil, although he realized his mother probably kept it like this. He and Trenton walked around the room, touching nothing. If forensics had to come back, they'd expect them to leave it in as pristine a condition as they found it. After looking for scribbled notes on pads of scraps of paper, Phil said, “Thank you.” They walked out of his room. “You keep a neat place for your son.”
“Poor boy,” she sighed. “I just never did try too hard to make him keep it neat himself.”
Back at the front door, Phil thanked her again and gave her one of his cards. “When he comes in, please tell him Phil called and wants to see him.”
She took the card, glanced at it, and laid it on the coffee table. “I will, officer,” she said.
Opening the door, they left, and she closed it behind them. Picking up her phone, she opened her directory and speed dialed a number. On the second ring, Landon answered. “They were here. That Phil you spoke about.” She stopped talking and listened for a moment. Her brow furrowed and she snapped, “I know the routine. You don't have to remind me.” Another pause. “What next? The clinic?” she asked. “OK. As planned.” She hung up and turned on the TV to settle in for another evening alone. “What the hell,” she was thinking, “Watching TV and being paid to do it. She could be doing worse.” Pouring herself another glass of wine, she sank back into the very comfortable couch to watch her favorite crime show.