Beachside PD: Undercover

By Neil L. Yuzuk and David A. Yuzuk

UNDERCOVER—THE ONE JOB WHERE THERE IS NO BACKUP

A series of home invasions . . . Police officers gunned down in broad daylight . . . A call for help to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement . . . the Special Police and Law Action Team is assigned . . . SPLAT—cops who shoot first, ask no questions, and steal what isn’t nailed down.

What happens to a good cop who has to adjust his moral compass when he goes undercover? That’s the dilemma Danny Phillips faces when he joins SPLAT. Can Danny to resist the temptation to return to his free-wheeling days of scams, blondes, and bourbon?!

At the same time, Mike Zaragossa, The Gypsy Hunter, is back solving the cases of a kidnapped Gypsy girl, arson, and a Gypsy-aided terrorist plot to destroy the Kennedy Space Center.

As in all of Beachside PD novels the crimes are reality-based, so be prepared for the hot action of the hunt, as the bad guys are tracked down and brought to justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beachside PD Books
• Release date: Apr 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311340214

Neil L. Yuzuk

Neil L. Yuzuk was born in Brooklyn, New York. Now retired after twenty-two years, as a SPARK Substance Abuse Prevention Counselor, he wrote "Beachside PD: The Reluctant Knight," after collaborating with his police officer/actor/writer son, David, on a screenplay called "The Reluctant Knight."He's just completed the fourth book in the Beachside PD series, "Beachside PD: Undercover" and it is now available on Smashwords.Neil is available for book signings and other events in the Los Angeles/Southern California area and will travel as needed.

Book preview

1

BEACH ISLES, FLORIDA BUSINESS DISTRICT

DECEMBER, 2014

THE BEACH ISLES police car pulled into an empty parking spot on the corner gas station. Before she turned off the motor, Julia Fernandez called dispatch to let them know they would be on their lunch break. Stevie Basilio, her partner, reached under his seat and grabbed a bag of Cheetos with orange stained fingers.

Partners on the job and friends off it, they were lucky that their spouses understood their relationship and were friends as well. Their weekends were often spent at one house or the other, with the children happily splashing in the pool while the parents barbecued.

Family vacations were taken together and adult vacations were taken separately—time to renew marriage vows. There was always some teasing from their fellow officers but they took it gracefully. Life was good for these two young officers. They were relaxed and ready for lunch.

But for the heat, the day would have been pleasant; the humidity was low and the sky a clear blue. Fernandez was laughing at Basilio’s latest imitation of their sergeant as she reached the front door of the restaurant. With a crash, three masked men carrying shotguns burst out of the check cashing store next door. The second man through the door, spotted the surprised officers and he fired at Fernandez. His aim was high and Fernandez’s face exploded in a spray of blood, bone, and tissue. Her bright eyes, smile, and throaty laugh—gone for all time.

Basilio reacted quickly and was reaching for his weapon, but the third man snapped a quick shot at his midsection. The blast shredded Basilio’s hand and he dropped his weapon as he was knocked to the ground. The Cheetos burst into an orange mist that surrounded him. Fortunately, his vest absorbed the deadly blast, but the first gunman stopped and stood over him. Basilio looked up at the gunman, he wanted to plead for his life. But he never had the chance, as the gunman put the barrel of his shotgun to Basilio’s neck, and pulled the trigger, almost decapitating him.

The three gunmen jumped into a waiting Lincoln Town Car and the driver asked, What the hell happened?

Couldn’t be helped. We came out and there they were.

The driver looked back at the two bodies on the sidewalk, blood pooling around them and some of it running in rivulets to the curb and onto the street. People slowly approached the dead officers—it was like TV or a movie—but the smell of blood on the hot pavement made the experience real and many of them recoiled and stepped back—several vomited, polluting the crime scene. There was the faint sound of a siren in the distance growing louder.

Shit, said the driver as he put the car in gear and slowly pulled away. He was cautious and trying to avoid attention. It didn’t matter if anyone took down the plate number; the Lincoln and plates were stolen separately. He drove it to an abandoned warehouse where a Lincoln Navigator SUV was waiting. Grabbing the money bag, he opened the SUV’s back door electronically. He took out three pairs of sneakers as the other men stripped off their masks, coveralls and shoes.

That all went into the stolen car’s trunk along with their weapons. Two of the men emptied gallon cans of gasoline into the trunk, on the front and back seats and the last can was poured onto the concrete floor under the car, and then led away for a fuse-trail.

The three gunmen got into the Navigator as the driver lit the gasoline trail that led to the stolen car. Forensics? Nothing would survive.

BEACH ISLES POLICE Chief, Eric Dink Sinclair looked at the bodies of his two dead officers and his rage spilled over at the newly arrived Crime Scene Unit.

Damn it, can’t you put the tent up and cover them before the media shows up.

Going up right now, sir.

Make it fast, Sinclair shouted and then turned to the officers on the scene and said, Arrest anyone who tries to take cell phone photos.

Yes sir.

Sinclair reached for his cell phone and called his longtime friend and fellow Beachside PD chief, Joshua Chamberlain—Julia Fernandez and Steve Basilio were transfers from Beachside PD.

2

AT BEACHSIDE PD, Chief Chamberlain was sitting behind his desk when he took the call. He hung up the phone and put his head in his hands. Basilio and Fernandez had been among his first hires and he was hurt when they moved to Beach Isles PD.

They were good road patrol officers.

He looked at the wall and the photos that hung there—his personal wall of heroes—those killed on the job and those who received the department’s highest awards. Now that he’d taken control of the department, sometimes he would look to them for inspiration. Fernandez and Basilio’s pictures would go there now, even if they were no longer Beachside PD.

The job was more fun in the old days when I’d let Hagen run things, he thought. He focused on the photo of Michael Frakes, the most heroic police officer he’d ever known. He had awarded Frakes’ Medal of Valor to his daughter Amanda, posthumously. His eyes looked at the Chief and seemed to say, "No time to waste, Chief, need to get things done."

Yes, Sergeant, he replied and reached for the intercom.

Morgen, he called through his open door. Please come in here.

Morgen Dingli, his long-time secretary came into his office. She was in her mid-fifties, a tall and gracious woman who was incredibly efficient. They were close and sometimes Chamberlain wondered who really ran the department. He stood and walked her to the sofa and sat opposite her. This was not usual and her eyes searched his face for a clue. She saw his wet eyes and her heart started to beat faster.

Josh, what is it?

There’s no easy way . . . Stevie Basilio and Julie Fernandez are dead. They were killed in a shootout, just a short time ago.

Morgen swayed for a moment, the chief reached out to catch her, but she caught herself and sat forward, elbows on her knees, put her face into her hands and rocked.

My babies, my poor babies, she said in a muffled voice.

Chamberlain waited until she sat up and said, We have work to do.

We need to take care of the department. There’re a lot of cops here who worked with them. We’ll need grief counselors . . . and we’ll have a memorial service, of course.

Morgen, I think it would be best if we coordinate with the Beach Isles service instead of holding one of our own. I need to minimize the impact on our department and yet recognize their service.

Okay, why don’t we spearhead a college scholarship fund for their kids?

Great idea, we’ll get Danny . . .

He’s away with Anna and her daughter, up in New York, Josh.

Right, see if we have a number for him and get him back here, he paused. When are they due back?

On Tuesday.

Chamberlain paused in thought. I’ll tell you what, let them enjoy the rest of their vacation, I don’t foresee the funeral happening for a week. He shook his head and continued, Call in the lieutenants for a meeting. He looked at his watch. Let’s say at three. We’ll work out a plan of how we’re going to handle this.

I’ll get right on it.

They both stood up.

I want you to sit in on the meeting, your input will be invaluable.

Morgen touched the chief’s face, I’ll be there and we’ll get through this together.

The chief pulled Morgen into a hug and said, Morgen, I don’t know what I’d do without you.

For a moment Morgen rested her head on his chest and fantasized what it would be like married to this man, this married man who needed her. She shook her head at her fantasy and said, Yes, we’ll get through this together. You need to let me go so I can get the ball rolling.

The chief released her and watched her walk away. For a moment he fantasized what it would be like married to this woman who was so unlike his weak and sickly wife. He shook his head and thought, it can never happen.

"IS SERGEANT SANDERS still on duty?" Chamberlain asked Morgen, after he met with his lieutenants.

Yes, Morgen replied.

Please have her come to my office.

He was behind his desk reading Sanders’s file, when his intercom buzzed, Sergeant Sanders is here.

Send her in.

Chamberlain hadn’t had much interaction with his Front Desk Sergeant, but he knew that with McCafferty out ill, she was picking up the slack with assigning Road Patrol and Dispatch. When he saw the tension in her step as she entered the office, he stepped out from behind his desk, greeted her with an outstretched hand, and a smile. As they shook hands, he took a close look at her. She was short and solidly built—not chunky—fit and pleasing, Chamberlain thought. Her best feature was her smile set in a chocolate brown face, it was deep—a big smile with shapely lips and beautiful white teeth. He also sensed an intelligence about her. The last thing he noticed was her uniform. It was clean and fresh, ideally, as it should be . . . and it was worn with pride.

Please have a seat, he said as he pointed to a chair. Can I get you anything? I have freshly brewed coffee or bottled water?

Water would be nice. I usually don’t drink coffee this late in the day.

Water it is. He put the folder he was holding on a table, went to the refrigerator, took out a bottle of water, and handed it to her. She held it tight to steady her nervous hands. He returned to the refrigerator, took out a large coffee mug and sat down opposite her.

I see you’ve applied for Lieutenant McCafferty’s Road Patrol and Dispatch position when he retires.

Yes sir, she said.

Chamberlain pointed at the file with her name on it. It’s a fine record, Latasha. May I call you by your first name?

I actually prefer Tasha, if you don’t mind.

Tasha it is. He sighed and put his hand to his forehead, trying to rub away his headache.

I know that you’ve been taking on the responsibility of Road Patrol and Dispatch in Lieutenant McCafferty’s absence.

I don’t mind, sir. Bob is a friend and anything I can do to ease his work load . . .

Thank you. Tasha, I’m relieving you of your front desk duties.

Did I do something wrong?

No, Chamberlain quickly reassured her. You did nothing wrong. I need someone for a special assignment and I think you’re the one to handle it.

Her look of relief was palpable as she opened the water and took a deep drink.

Part of my reasoning is, as the Front Desk Sergeant, you know all of the officers in the various units and you get along with all of them. No easy task.

Thank you.

You’re welcome. Two of our former officers were killed today in Beach Isles . . .

I know, Tasha said quietly.

I want you to liaise with Beach Isles—coordinate the funeral ceremonies and you’re authorized to volunteer our people to help so Beach Isles can concentrate on doing what needs to be done. I also want you to prepare a joint memorial service. Any questions?

Tears formed in her eyes and slowly spilled down her cheeks. The chief reached for a box of tissues, Tasha grabbed a handful, and wiped her cheeks and eyes.

I’m sorry, sir, we were close. They backed me up once on a routine traffic stop. The guy had an Uzi Pistol in his center console and might have used it on me if I was alone.

I know. They were good cops. That’s the second part of your job. I want you to work with anyone else who needs support here at BPD . . . and don’t forget to take time for yourself.

Yes sir, I will, when the job is done. When do you want me to start?

I’m meeting Chief Sinclair tonight and I’ll set up an appointment. I may ask you to meet with me on Sunday, so try to not make plans. If we do meet, dress for a barbeque, I’ll let you know about the time.

Yes sir.

The chief stood, went to his desk, picked up a sealed manila envelope, and sat back down. One more thing, you will be promoted to the rank of Lieutenant for now. Here are your new orders, badge, ID, and bars.

Where will I work from?

McPherson’s office is still empty, you can have that. Coordinate with Morgen and I’d like to meet with you on a daily basis so you can keep me up to date.

He stood and Tasha did the same.

Congratulations on your promotion, I know you’ll do the job. He reached out his hand and Tasha took it.

Thank you for everything, sir. I just wish it didn’t happen this way.

I know, but it did and there’s nothing to be done about it. Leave all of your contact information with Morgen and I’ll see you on Sunday. If not, Monday morning here.

CHAMBERLAIN REACHED FOR his phone and dialed Beach Isles PD.

Dink, its Josh. I’m sending over a Lieutenant Sanders. She’ll coordinate having some of my people fill-in while you take care of your department.

Thanks, buddy.

Also, I want to volunteer my crime lab. I’ll notify Dr. Kuo to give your case top priority. That way we can keep any info we get between us—no leaks.

I’ll see you tonight. Bye.

Chamberlain put the headset gently back in its cradle.

3

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

DECEMBER, 2014

DANNY PHILLIPS PUSHED his chair back from the Friday night Sabbath meal, patted his stomach, and gave a loud belch.

Elysa laughed and Anna protested, Danny.

It’s the only way to make room for the dessert, Anna, Jay Gardner, Danny’s oldest friend and lawyer said, and belched almost as loud. His date, Sandy, playfully punched his arm and said, I’ve never eaten Jewish food. That was delicious. It’s so different from the food I was raised with . . . and yet . . . somehow the same.

I’m glad you enjoyed it, said Danny’s mother, Jenny Philikowski. Elysa helped me prepare.

I can’t wait to see how that stew we made comes out tomorrow, Anna said.

"Not stew, it’s called cholent, said Jay, and when you come in from the football game tomorrow the aroma will be all through the house and when you eat it, he kissed his fingers, Mwah."

Danny and Jay headed into the living room while the ladies cleared the table and began to put the dessert of hot tea, raisin cake, Jell-O, and cut up chunks of chocolate-covered halavah next to a cut-crystal dish of raisins and almonds.

So what’s the deal with you and Sandy? Danny asked. Jay had met Sandy, a cocoa-complected beauty, at Danny and Anna’s Caribbean island wedding. I thought it was just a one-time thing.

That’s what I thought, but when she started nursing school at Hunter, we began to meet occasionally . . . and here we are. I wanted beauty and sophistication and instead I have beauty and intelligence. She’s just naturally loveable.

Very loveable, Danny agreed.

By the way, how are you handling life with Elysa?

She’s not dating much, but she brought around this guy who’s gonna be her prom date and I pulled him on the side and growled at him, ‘You’d better not pull any funny stuff with my daughter. I’m not afraid to go back to prison.’ I haven’t seen him since.

Both men laughed.

We’re picking Jack up on Sunday and heading over to Central Park for ice skating. My sister Rina and the kids are coming with us, join us?

Can’t. I have a case going to trial on Monday and I need to prep my witnesses. Are you planning dinner at Keen’s?

Probably.

Let me know when you’re going and I’ll try to join you.

Sounds like a plan. Shall we have dessert?

"Yes, I love your mom’s raisin cake, especially with a glaizellah tay."

Danny laughed and said, I love your Jamaican-Yiddish accent.

Jay laughed. They stood and with arms around each other’s shoulders they went back into the kitchen. Despite the snow and below freezing temperatures outside, the kitchen was warm with the beginning smell of the cholent and the good company.

Childhood stories were told, for the first time, to Elysa and Sandy. The last story came when Sandy asked Danny and Jay, How did the two of you become friends?

Danny started, I had a friend named Angelo Tedeschi . . . and to make a long story short, he was a brute. He terrorized the neighborhood kids and we first met when I fought him to a standstill. Danny paused, remembering. "Actually, he beat the snot out of me but I wouldn’t stay down. I think he got tired of hitting me and finally he called it quits. Afterwards, we met up at Original Pizza and I split the money I made by betting on myself that I could last more than three minutes in the ring with him.

From that time on we became buddies. I was the brains and he was the brawn. One night we went down to Canarsie Pier. That was before they cleaned it up. We were looking to roll drunks. That’s how we met Jay. He was getting beat up by eight other kids.

Being Jamaican and kind of small for my age, they felt free to teach me I wasn’t wanted in their ‘hood.’

"We didn’t care that he was getting beat up, but the odds of eight to one bothered Ange and we joined the fight. I took them on one at a time, but Angelo was like an avenging angel. He even chased the last two off the pier and into Seaview Park, to give them a beat down. With the odds more in his favor, Jay got in some shots as well. After that, he started to tag after us and we sort of kept him, like a pet.

Jay and me, we tutored Angelo enough to keep him in school; and between Angelo and me, we kept Jay alive. That was good in another way, because we learned to love Jamaican food. Like our moms, his mother was a great cook and we were always eating at someone’s house, Jewish, Italian, Jamaican—it was all good.

Those boys were always hungry, Jenny added.

What happened to Angelo? Sandy asked. How come I never met him?

Angelo was murdered three years ago and he’s buried less than a mile from here, Jay said.

Was his murderer caught?

No, Danny said in a quiet yet intense voice, but he paid for his crime." Anna gave Danny a sharp look and Danny gave his head a quick shake no, to cut off any more questions. With that, goodbyes were made and Danny and Anna were off to a near-by hotel in Sheepshead Bay.

Elysa was staying overnight, in Danny’s old room, with Jenny. Since her adoption by Danny, she’d been studying Judaism—history and culture more so than the religion. Out of curiosity, she’d prevailed upon Jenny to take her to synagogue on Saturday morning.

DANNY AND ANNA were quiet on the ride to the hotel. They were in bed when Anna turned to Danny and asked the unanswered question, Danny, did you kill Jimmy Hagen?

Danny looked at Anna, You don’t want to know.

Yes, I do. You promised no secrets.

Danny sighed and put his hand on her shoulder. He stroked her satin-smooth skin, moved his hand to her back, pulled her close hugging her tight, and moved back so she could see his face.

Anna, there are people you love because of blood, my mom, Jack, my sister, and her kids. Then there are those you choose to love, sometimes even stronger than blood, because you chose to love them—especially you, Elysa, Jay, and Angelo. He leaned forward and kissed her softly.

You knew Angelo as a shady cop. He was a vicious thug but to those he loved, Danny paused. To those he loved, he was a loyal and fearsome friend. I did what he’d’ve done if the situation was reversed.

You murdered Jimmy Hagen, in cold blood. Anna pulled back.

Not murder, self-defense.

How was it self-defense? You fired two bullets into his head as he was sleeping.

Anna, I’m not going to explain myself, but this one time. Angelo put himself in harm’s way but when Hagen threatened our lives I had to protect you and Elysa the best way I knew how . . . by eliminating the threat. That made it self-defense.

There had to be a better way.

The rule of the street in Brooklyn is to protect those you love—so it’s kill or be killed. It was no different from when we were in the shoot-out with the carjackers. We had to kill or be killed. Hagen threatened your life . . . and that is self-defense. I hope that you never have to make that decision, but if you do, Danny left the rest unsaid.

I hope I never have to. Anna kissed Danny, turned her back, and spooned into him. Danny pulled her in close by putting his left arm underneath her and his right arm over her, cupping her warm breast. Eventually they fell asleep, each with their own dreams.

4

THERE WAS NO moon as three men wearing dark camouflage coveralls and masks exited a Lincoln Town Car and approached a large two-story house in Beach Isles. The neighborhood was quiet, asleep. They walked in a single file up the driveway sticking close to the hedges that lined it. They made their way to the back of the house and entered through the unlocked, rear sliding doors.

They moved quickly but silently through the nicely decorated living room, up the carpeted staircase, and into the main bedroom. A Latin couple was sleeping on a large bed. The powerfully built man was wearing his pajama bottom and his long-legged, blonde wife was wearing the top. Two of the men rushed in at him and as he woke, they hit him with an old-fashioned police sap. Stunned he fell back and they quickly tied his hands with common duct tape above his head to the headboard. Then they immobilized his legs.

The wife, now awake, started to scream. The third man quickly grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the bed. One of the other men first taped her mouth and then her hands above her head. She kept fighting, kicking out at them, until one of them brought his fist down on her exposed stomach. That took the fight out of her.

What’s happening? came from the bedroom doorway. It was the couple’s fourteen-year old daughter standing there. Long dark hair, wearing a Beyoncé night shirt that clung to her maturing figure.

Grab her.

The young girl turned to run and she fell in the carpeted hallway, her ankle badly twisted. One of the men was on her like a cat.

Take care of her, was the next order. He picked her up, carried her to her bedroom where he quickly raped her, and then cut her throat.

In the master bedroom, the two men began to question the husband.

Eduardo, where’s the jewelry and cash?

The husband shook his head, no.

One of the men went to the wife and tore open her top. He took out a hunting knife and cut her panties off. Elena was fully exposed. He took the tip of the knife and ran it lightly from her breastbone to her mound. The long and thin wound welled