T.E.I.T.S.: The Eye in the Sky

By Gerard Daniels

The ficional account of Eddie Curtis, the handyman, who is secretly ridding Beacon Hill of criminals when someone catches on to his activites and starts to blackmail him. Includes murder, politics, blackmail and mystery. His friendship with a Boston Policeman developes after Eddie retrieves a stolen purse on the street, and the fire storm that ensues when he fatally injures an African American teenager. Get into the mindset and the activities of a vigilante as he deals with logistics, race, and the guilt.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483558165

Book preview

Epilogue

PROLOGUE

It was 4:08 a.m. and the neighborhood was quiet, the predawn summer sky clear, and the few cars driving down Storrow Drive barely audible. In the moonlight, a stocky young man scaled a fence and climbed onto the roof of a single-story garage. He crossed over to the roof of another building and lowered himself down the sloped, almost barn-like shingled façade, grabbing the drainpipe while leaning into the angled structure with his knees. The pitch was slight but the long slate shingles gave him hardly any traction, and he was starting to rethink the entire move. Looking down to Chestnut Street, he realized he’d probably kill himself if he fell from this height. Five minutes earlier, he had been walking down the street and noticed the window was open on the second floor of the corner building. He had been watching it all week and hadn’t seen anyone come or go, nor had the lights ever been on. He’d been casing Beacon Hill for a few days, and he needed to score. He probably wouldn’t find any money, but maybe there’d be some jewelry or a laptop. He was hanging by his fingers as he shimmied along the gutter, his heart racing -- he had never felt so alive. He could sense the window was just a few feet away. He took a deep breath and moved his left hand another six inches as his unshaven face scraped against the edge of the stone.

Suddenly, a car came barreling down the street, its headlights off. He froze. He watched as it came to a stop at the corner of Brimmer and Chestnut. A man got out from behind the wheel and shined a flashlight up into his eyes, blinding him.

Gotcha, you little bastard, he whispered.

I can explain, the burglar said with a nervous squeal.

I put cameras up all over the hill. You’re the one who’s been breaking in everywhere. The tall thin figure studied the second-story man for a few seconds.

I don’t know what you mean, the scared kid said.

Well, it looks to me like your days of ripping people off are over. The man reached into his coat, took out a Taser, aimed at the kid’s buttocks, and fired. The shot whined as the electrodes unspooled and the projectile landed. The kid dropped to the ground in spasms of pain. The tall man pulled the leads out of the kid’s thigh, rolled them into a ball, and stuffed them into his pocket. He stood up and kicked the young man in the face, breaking his jaw, then kicked a few more times. By now, the kid wasn’t moving. The tall man took out a knife and crouched down to stab the criminal in the chest a few times before he slit his throat. The blood was already a four-foot pool when the man used the kid’s black hooded sweatshirt to wipe off the blade. He wrapped the knife in a handkerchief, looked around the corner, and looked at the trail. No footprints, no blood on his boots. He took the coat off and reversed it, popped the trunk open and laid the coat inside, got back behind the wheel and drove past the body.

Not until after 5 a.m. did anyone noticed the corpse. In the summer, there were too many homeless people and alcoholics around – some of them sleeping it off in doorways or on sidewalks – to worry about each one. A dog walker didn’t think twice about the stranger lying in the street until his pug started to lick blood off the ground.

The police responded within five minutes and sealed the area off. I’ll bet he fucked with the wrong guy, a heavily built officer with a shaved head said. They go to the bars and get drunk, and then think they can take on anyone. He was probably followed and jumped. He looks like a strong kid, though. May have been more than one that jumped him.

Yeah, said his partner, a shorter man with dark skin. No one heard anything though. You’d think a fight like this would have made some noise.

It was the middle of the night. People have the AC going, the windows closed … the big cop said.

I suppose. The short cop replied. Let the detectives figure it out. My shift ends at seven. He smiled at the big cop and shook his head.

CHAPTER 1

Eddie was staring off into space, drinking a Starbucks coffee on a stool that faced Beacon Street. His long, light brown hair was pulled back into a small ponytail. Boston Common was green, and vending carts were being pushed into place along Charles Street South. Sunshine cut through the window in sharp rays. His jaw line cast shadow onto the floor as he turned to listen: He could overhear people talking about a dead man on Chestnut Street. He smiled and thought how easy it was. He was getting tired of the crime lately. The economy had gotten so bad that the desperate were back to good old-fashioned break-ins. Whatever happened to cybercrime, was that still in vogue? Crash-and-grabs, car thefts, and stick-ups were making a comeback in the area. Eddie had lived here too long to put up with it all. The cops did nothing. Sure, they’d put on a dog-and-pony show and take fingerprints off a doorknob but they never caught the creep. Eddie knew he’d have to take matters into his own hands, and why shouldn’t he? His wife had been dead for over five years and he was pushing 60. Even if he got caught, what’s the worst that could happen? He wasn’t going to get caught, though. He was just an old handyman living in the cracks.

He had found the nanny cams online and thought it would be good to test a few. He knew the Flat of the Hill was always getting hit because the crooks could drive right onto Storrow Drive and speed away before anyone saw them. He had placed four of the small cameras around Chestnut, Brimmer, and David Mugar Way; they were easily connected to his iPhone. He was always working on the corner house for Mrs. Smyth, and it was easy to leave the window open. She was away for a few weeks on Cape Cod and he had use of her Acura TL. Last night just happened to be a lucky catch. All he was hoping for was a few license plate numbers. He did have a contingency plan, though, just in case.

The night before, Eddie wasn’t sleeping well and had decided to get up early and finish painting the window trim while it was still cool in the morning. Afternoon heat was a certainty. He made a half pot of coffee and was sipping his first cup when he grabbed the phone to see if anyone had texted or left a message. There was nothing, so he opened the app for the cameras just to kill some time. At first, he didn’t notice anything because the lighting was poor. Then he saw a moving silhouette on the roof. A man tiptoed across the garage.

Holy shit! Eddie murmured. He grabbed his tactical coat, with all the gear, and pulled on steel-tipped work boots. The silver Acura was parked on Pinckney Street and he was soon on his way. Mrs. Smyth would never know.

Looking back, it was really lucky. After his vigilante episode, he drove back to the same resident parking space and silently entered his basement apartment. He had to hope no one saw the car. But it was Mrs. Smyth’s, and she did live around there. How many times would he replay the scene? I did it! I really did it. All the planning, finding the Taser, setting up the cameras, watching and waiting. Now he had to keep calm and get through the day pretending that nothing had happened.

He finished his coffee and got up to leave the Starbucks. Hey Eddie, Joe from the hardware store said as he was coming in. They found a guy dead a few blocks over – stabbed! Jesus.

I heard, Eddie said. What the hell, right? I got to go. Take care, Joe.

You too, see ya ’round.

Eddie walked over to the Smyth place, and the police were still there. Yellow crime-scene tape was all around, but the body was gone. He didn’t want to talk to the cops but knew he’d have to if he went to work. He stayed back and blended in with all the other gawkers. Hopefully the gutters would not be checked for prints. Eddie was sure they’d find broken bones in the kid’s legs from the 20-foot fall, along with two piercings from the electrodes. It was a public street, though, and anything could have happened. He saw lots of familiar faces in the crowd. They all just nodded to each other. He turned around and walked up Chestnut toward Charles Street. He had other projects he could do, and sitting around all day would drive him crazy.

That night, the local news covered the story in a 15-second blurb with no video. The victim, it turned out, was a 25-year-old from South Boston named Justin JC Cleary with a long record for petty robberies and assault and battery. He was a heroin addict, and few were surprised his life had ended in a violent attack. He had lived with a few other junkies on the second floor of a three-decker on L Street. The press tried to get some answers, but no one at the apartment was talking. The detectives had made up their minds that this was not a high-priority case and that the kid had died in a fight with another hoodlum. No reason was needed. The Beacon Hill crime scene was probably just a dumpsite. The medical examiner had a backlog, so the autopsy would be a formality. Since the victim was a mess from the neck down, the electrode marks were never noticed. An X-ray, which would have discovered a fractured tibia, was never ordered. It was an open-and-shut case. Without a hysterical mother, a racial or gay component, or anyone who cared about the victim, the news media had no story. JC was just another dead loser.

Eddie returned to the Smyths a few days later. He couldn’t see anything on the gutters or on the drainpipe. The forecast called for rain, and that made him feel even better. He checked for the surveillance camera on the roof ledge—he could hardly see it -- and finished the painting job.

A couple of weeks went by, and a series of break-ins had taken place on South Russell Street on the other side of the hill. Across Cambridge Street, Massachusetts General Hospital towered. A lot of nurses and doctors lived on Beacon Hill so they could get to work quickly. Eddie was repairing a window from the latest home invasion and talking to the young woman who lived there.

I can’t believe this, she said. They took my MacBook and the coins in that jar—and some earrings, but left the TV.

Well, Rose, it’s the little stuff they take. Eddie informed her.

Can I do anything better in the back on the fire escape? Rose asked.

Well, I could get you some bars that cover the window. It would slow them down. Best thing is if they see it from the ground before they climb up. They can still break them, if they have time and want to make noise.

Really, she said, but they still can get in?

Well yeah, but it’s like work. It’s like having The Club on your car’s steering wheel. They could use a hacksaw and cut it off, but it’s hard work, and they might get caught. You want them to go to the other guy’s car. Eddie laughed. So if they see the bars, they might keep going. Don’t give them an open invitation. If they wanted to work for a living, they’d have a job.

What assholes, she said. I work all day treating patients and come home to this.

Her uncharacteristic language took him back. It’s not fair Doc. These guys don’t care that you work for your money. Half of them are on drugs. It was quiet for years, but I’m seeing more stuff like this.

They went out the front door and left my door unlocked, too. It could have been worse, she said. I’m glad I wasn’t home. Would they try to rape me?

No, you’d scare them off, rapists are a different breed. These guys are sneaks. If they had any guts they’d hold up a liquor store or a bank. They don’t want any witnesses.

How do you know all this stuff? the young doctor asked.

I used to be a prison guard, he said, a CO, corrections officer. I’d talk to the inmates all the time to find out what makes them tick. I didn’t last long. I’d come home and scream and curse at the wife without thinking about it. The prison world is crazy. You yelled at everyone. Bad habit to get into. I wasn’t cut out for all the politics. Boston is all Democrats and the union trying to tell you who to vote for. It made me sick.

She smiled. So, what else did they tell you?

Well, Rose, er, Doctor. I don’t think there’s any rehabilitation to speak of. They like to make a big deal out of a guy getting his GED behind bars. The liberals would give him a party platter and gush over the graduation class. If the bastards stayed in high school to begin with, maybe they wouldn’t be behind bars. If I had nothing to do all day, I could get a GED standing on my head. He laughed. They go in as car thieves and come out with more fencing connections and learn to sell drugs and all kinds of other stuff. They take bars of soap and pretend it’s a gun and practice disarming each other.

Wow, really? she asked.

Yeah, it’s a school to learn how to be a better crook. And in Massachusetts, you really have to screw up to do real prison time because the jails are so crowded. When I was a CO we’d let the inmates with the shortest time left leave, because we had too many and not enough beds.

That’s scary stuff. I see a few in the ER, but they always have two guards with them.

It’s a good thing they do. Some of these guys are animals and will never learn. They’re all so macho, too. Especially the Hispanics and blacks, well, all of them—the white trash too. They would never admit to ever being wrong. I asked a guy one time, ‘Why are you in here?’ meaning, what crime did you commit? His answer was, ‘My lawyer screwed up.’ Not robbery, not murder, ‘my lawyer’s fault.’ These guys have no conscience and the system is terrible. I say bring back capital punishment. He laughed again.

Well, I don’t believe in that either, she admitted.

I know Doc, do no harm? he asked.

Well, I’m in the healing business Eddie, that’s my belief.

More power to you, Doctor, but I think it’s a good thing in murder cases where the evidence supports it. But don’t let them sit around for years with appeals. Shoot them at dawn. He laughed again. Now that would be a deterrent.

You’re too much, Eddie. She laughed, too.

Eddie looked at the job he was doing. The new glass fit and he pushed the pins easily into the old wood. He took a handful of glazing compound and worked it into the edge of the plate glass. Then he used his putty knife and gave it a smooth finish. He’d come back in a few days and repaint it when it was solid.

The young doctor was sitting in the living room, wearing light blue scrubs, and was waiting for Eddie to leave so she could lock up and get back to the hospital. As Eddie packed up his tools, she stood up and waited by the door.

I feel so violated, she said to him.

You should Rose, you were, he told her.

What can I do? she asked.

Short of buying a handgun and becoming a Republican? I’d say get an alarm system, another dead bolt on the door, and the bars on the fire escape. A big dog is good, too.

A dog? No, I have no time for a dog.

Well, keep the faith then. Look on the bright side: They already got the good stuff, so they won’t be back for a while, he said seriously.

While he was in the middle of the glass job, Eddie had placed one of the small cameras pointed into the courtyard. He figured whoever was doing this would be back. There were a few apartments off the fire escape that had not been broken into. He assumed the guy would be back in a few days when the heat was off. Eddie would be watching. According to his logic, the fire escape was close to the ground and did not go to the roof, just to other windows of the building. So that meant the burglar was climbing up from the ground or through another apartment. The detectives had noticed, too. He’d find out. The recorder would be on.

A few days went by and Eddie scanned the digital footage on his laptop. He was able to tap into free Wi-Fi on Cambridge Street, and no one was the wiser. The only thing to see were people coming and going and tossing out the trash in the back alley. A week later he watched again, and this time he could make out a man climbing the fire escape to a window, holding what looked to be a screwdriver. He attempted to open the window but failed—must have gotten nervous and given up. Eddie watched as the sparsely bearded guy – he was young and appeared to be Middle Eastern—went down and into the first floor window on the back of Irving Street.

So that’s your place, eh Ali Baba? You don’t shit where you eat, you dumb bastard, Eddie said low and steady. "Well, let’s see how you like it."

The next day, Eddie figured out which apartment building the man lived in. He went to the front door and looked at the intercom directory. There was only one unit on the first floor. There was a basement unit, one, two, three and four. He rang the buzzer for number one and waited. Nothing. He looked around, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a set of lock picks. The knob looked old. He stuck the wrench in first and raked the pin tumblers for less than 20 seconds. The cylinder turned clockwise and the latch retracted; he was inside the hall. He made sure no one was watching. The apartment door was in front of him on the left. He knocked and waited for any movement inside.

Maintenance, he said. Hello?

There was silence throughout the building. An old mortise lock was holding the door closed. He shook the door and it was loose. He fished a used-up Charlie Card from his wallet, the type that replaced the old tokens on the public transportation system, and quickly jimmied the door open. He left it ajar for cover, in case anyone came home. He looked around and saw a MacBook on the couch. He noticed another laptop and a camera, a camcorder, and some coins scattered on the kitchen counter. The small apartment was dimly lit, and the place was a mess. Whoever this guy was, he did not believe in washing his laundry. There were other things in plain sight that didn’t make sense, like six watches and lots of women’s jewelry. This was the guy all right, stealing from his neighbors. Well, it doesn’t look like a sleeper cell for Al Qaeda.

Eddie went into the bathroom. He was saving this trick for the right person. He pulled out a small syringe filled with a pasty substance. He saw the man’s toothpaste next to an old faded toothbrush on the sink, took the syringe, and injected the poison into the tip of the tube. The hydrogen cyanide was going to come out in the first half inch the next time the guy was in the mood for some dental hygiene. Eddie was wearing a pair of latex gloves because the poison was concentrated. Just touching this stuff could kill me. When he left the small apartment, everything was in its place. All he had to