Chapter VII – Power Is Plentiful

 

Looking back on that inerasable evening, a blanket of stars distracted us all from the tragedies which would ensue. To Milton, we were all henchmen. Our only true purpose in life was to carry out his ill will. What made it worse was that none of us had the balls to confront him. Sure, Sergeant Adams schedules you a graveyard shift and maybe, just maybe you’ll muster the courage to opt out. But this? It wasn’t a matter of losing our jobs. With Milton, it was “shake my hand or lose the arm.”

 

With that in mind, each of us, myself, Tully, and Sprad, proceeded with completing each step of the Mossberger Murder Mission. Granted, the strategy to take all of Milton’s targets out in one sitting wasn’t just for the sake of convenience. As officers, we knew the innerworkings of all the surrounding departments. From Brooklyn to Long Island, the NYPD had above- and below-ground operatives everywhere. Of course, the longstanding objective is surveillance, which you need a lot of manpower for in a city like New York. Prior to the end of the war, the PD had a dual-rental agreement with President Eisenhower’s three-floor suite atop the Maycroft Hotel. Yet, the he remained unaware that his lack of attendance allowed roughly ninety officers, affiliates, and analysts to commandeer a working “sky station.” This was some serious shit. Condensed stingray interceptors capable of detecting phone calls twelve blocks away; stocked armories in the event of a sudden catastrophe; some of the quants even suggested that, in a few years time, the Department would convert one floor to drone assembly and takeoff, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. Bottom line, boots on the ground were meant for crowd control; the real issues were sent to our eyes in the sky.

 

Of course, Milton had every ounce of knowledge regarding the PD and its capabilities, and that’s why he went for us, specifically. Not only was Tully a Vice Cop, he had relations with (former) dealers who made a name for themselves as “rats” to escape jail time. These guys would give up anything in order to walk free, even a bit of their product. As expected, this would lead to a long line of connections.

 

And Sprad, are you kidding? Most people severely underestimate how much power the Coroner actually wields, especially when it comes to their reports. I remember three years ago when he was cited for a case involving the gruesome death of a young blonde. According to on-site witnesses, two legs were found sticking out of a meat grinder at the Temple slaughterhouse. Fowl play was immediately suspected, and then came Sprad. A body bag filled with the diced remains of an unidentified female were sent to his lab. After taking several samples of leg hair, he stated that the only characteristics which would be worthy of note were related to sex and physical appearance. But no one knew that Sprad was in on a hit orchestrated by the Luciano family; somehow, they turned their sights toward Marilyn Monroe. No one could believe the headlines two days later: “Movie Star Dead – Sleeping Pills to Blame.” Yeah, right.

 

And then there was me. I was head of the homicide division. I guess this is self-explanatory: Milton’s entire plan lives and dies with me.