Der Schatten Teufel The Shadow Devil

By Jim Ricca

Jim Richards returned home to Philadelphia after serving two years in the Military Police. He expected a joyful reunion with his fiancé, but learned she died after being brutally raped and strangled. Richards discovers she was the victim of a serial killer, possessed by a bloodthirsty demon, and he vows to hunt him down and kill him with his bare hands. Although the police claim they still are unable to identify the killer after a two-year investigation, Richards and a few former MPs go after him, armed with knowledge unknown to the police. His team must also deal with drug dealers, gunrunners, and an old adversary from his days in the Army. Richards also learns the spirit of his deceased lover has not yet left this earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jim Ricca
• Release date: May 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311451538

Jim Ricca

Jim was born and raised in Philadelphia, and lived there until drafted into the Army in 1971. He served a total of 18 years between the active Army and reserves as a Military Policeman, Artillery forward observer and in the Mechanized Infantry. He attended college on the GI bill and earned a B.A. in Political Science, International Relations from LaSalle University. He held middle and senior level management positions in the transportation, printing/publishing industries and plastics manufacturing field. Jim also served several years as a Special Agent/Special Investigator for a Federal agency. Jim is the author of the four book, Circle of Wounded Souls series, in addition to, Legacies; an American Journey, Hunting and Hunted in Alaska, The four book Alien's Reward series with Journey to Another Earth. In addition to, Der Schatten Teufel, The Shadow Devil, and Running Down Terror has been released along with: The Replacement Priest, and Escape from the Asylum. Jim resides in Maryland's Eastern Shore where he divides his time between writing and fishing the Chesapeake Bay and surf fishing along the shore..

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Going Home

I boarded the chartered civilian airliner in Anchorage for the trip home to Philly, via Ft. Ord California. I settled in next to another E-6, already asleep, or unconscious from the looks of him. As soon as the plane lifted off, I downed my four little bottles of brandy and nodded off to sleep.

For some reason, I was not as jubilant as I thought I would be, especially after all I’d been through. Only twenty-one years of age, I should have been ready to take on the world, but my time in Vietnam made me feel like I was a very, very old man in spite of the time spent in Alaska.

Twenty-four hours later, the bus departed Ft. Ord's out-processing station with a full load of thoroughly exhausted, but nonetheless elated soldiers, and drove toward the main gate, and then on San Francisco airport. Although we'd been warned, none of us were really ready for what was to come next. There was a reception committee of spitting, screaming hippies waiting for us as we left Ft. Ord’s main gate, and another mob had prepared a particularly nasty reception for us at the airport departure terminal. As we pulled off post, the hippies, punks, cowards and jerk-offs gave us a shit-rain while our driver moved through the mobs and eventually, after a depressing ride through San Francisco, we arrived at the airport terminal.

When my dad came home from World War II, his unit received a ticker tape parade in New York City. We were met with bags of garbage, dog shit, and bottles of urine. The civilian police were nowhere to be seen.

Screams of Baby Killer, Murders, and Rapists" were among the nicer things screamed at us. Their insults echoed endlessly around the terminal.

I got lucky and was able to get a quick shot to the mouth of some ugly, screaming, fat bitch, just after she spit on the soldier in front of me. I knocked at least one tooth from her ugly, venom spewing gob because I had to pull an incisor from the back of my hand.

Once inside, we thought we would be safe, but it didn’t stop; it only got more personal. The garbage was gone, but the spitting and screaming hippies continued harassing us all the way to the boarding ramp. In spite of the cowards and longhaired assholes trying to interfere with my schedule, I reached the plane just in time, took my seat, and tried to get some much-needed sleep, but it was not to be.

A mannish-looking girl, who appeared to be my age, was about to take her seat next to me when she noticed my uniform. In a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the cabin, she demanded this war criminal be moved from the seat next to her. An older, sympathetic stewardess quickly moved the nasty bitch to another seat after quite a bit of arguing.

There were other GIs on the plane but they all sat together in the rear of the cabin. I was the odd man out and had to sit by myself. An older man in a business suit with a G.I. haircut slipped into the vacant seat beside me and remarked, Sarge, you should have worn civilian clothes for your trip.

I replied, I'm on my way home and have them packed away.

He introduced himself as a Marine Colonel and said he would remain next to me until we got to Chicago, then see what he could do to help me out there.

The flight to Chicago was uneventful, but I was too tightly wound up to get any sleep. I couldn’t get the scene at the airport terminal out of my mind. Why were these hippies venting at us, the real victims of that failed U.S. foreign policy and the war? We were mostly draftees, and we had no voice in the decision to serve in this war: a war we had no chance of winning. We didn’t have the resources to hide in Canada, or parents who could afford to pay our way to a college deferment. Since most of us were from poor or working class families, we couldn’t afford options. We spent the last years of our lives only trying to survive. There were no dreams of heroics, no hope of honor or glory. We only wanted to get it over with, return home, and try to put our lives back together again.

After we landed in Chicago, the same flight attendant who relocated the screaming bitch came by and asked me to follow her. I grabbed my duffel bag and as the 707 docked, she led me and the other soldiers onto the Jetway. However, instead of taking us into the terminal proper, we went down a set of stairs and outside to the tarmac. She turned to us and warned there were a lot of hippies in the terminal, and she didn’t want us to get the same abusive reception we’d had in San Francisco. We followed her silently, almost shamefully as she walked across the airport to other terminals where flight attendants or other airline employees met us, and then led each soldier directly onto their connecting flights.

On board my flight to Philly, I reluctantly removed my dress-green jacket and stuffed it into my duffel bag, along with my cap and tie.

A Marine Corporal, a large bruise forming on the right side of his face, sat next to me. He was trembling with anger and pent up frustration. His olive drab uniform, splattered with stains from some unknown liquid, bore a large tear at the shoulder. He gave me a quick glance and a nod.

San Francisco? I asked quietly.

L.A. he responded, choking back his anger and shame. But I got a few of them.

We said no more until we landed at Philly International.

An older flight attendant went to each GI and advised they should remain on board until everyone else deplaned, then she would let us know when the hippies cleared the gate area. We were grateful for the warning and waited a full fifteen minutes after the last civilian was gone before we slowly walked from the cabin. A few families were waiting anxiously for their returning soldiers who received a tearful and joyous welcome home.

There was no one waiting for me and a handful of other GIs, so we agreed to walk together to a small restaurant at the main terminal, where to get something to eat and pass the time before continuing our trips. We thought we'd have strength in numbers to protect ourselves from the hippies, but we were mistaken.

After our food was served, a group of long hairs took seats behind us and began the taunts; Baby Killers, Murderers, Hey GI, how many kids did you kill while you were over there?

We ignored them, remembering that we were warned not to fight these ignorant, cowardly, communist sympathizers and disgrace our uniforms. The hippies, frustrated by our failure to respond, began flipping their food at us. I could feel the heat rising within me, and my face was flushing rapidly as they got louder and bolder with their behavior.

A middle-aged lady stood up and walked past our table, placing her hand on my shoulder as she walked by. She stopped at the hippies’ table. You people should show more respect for these men who sacrificed so much to keep this country free.

We heard a young female voice respond, Shut the fuck up, you stupid old bitch!

The men at my table turned around in time to see a longhaired, pizza-faced punk, spit his mouth full of food directly into the woman's face. Fuck you bitch!

We immediately lost it as a group, and with military precision, went over the back of our booth and landed on the hippies with fists flailing.

The manager of the restaurant knew there was going to be trouble as soon as the scumbags began their bullshit, and he called the airport police right away. The man was not going to wait for the inevitable fight to destroy his establishment.

The police were just a bit late, or maybe not. The Police arrived within seconds of our response to the punks spitting on the lady, but they quickly observed we had the upper hand, so they allowed us to unload our anger for a few minutes before they pulled us off of the assholes.

I was surprised at the number of people in the tiny eatery claiming they’d witnessed the hippies’ physical assault on the nice lady, while she had been innocently walking past their table. The manager swore we were only trying to keep the hippies from beating her up and stealing her bags.

One of the younger Philly cops pulled me aside and eyed the Military Police insignia on my lapel, along with the ribbons on my chest, We know what happened here Sarge. These assholes come here just to harass GIs, so get your friends with the program and no charges will be brought against you.

I thanked him for his help, still shaking with the exertion and emotions from the fight.

I was over there myself, as were most of the guys in my squad. So welcome home, but I’m sorry you have to go through this shit after all you’ve been through.

The police hauled away the hippies and didn’t waste any time or effort trying to be gentle with them. A close look at the screaming punks as they were cuffed and hauled away, revealed the damage done during our dust-up; missing teeth, numerous lacerations, broken noses and contusions. The asshole I had been working out on had a broken jaw and flattened nose.

The police escorted us to their station within the terminal. They required our statements to complete their reports. After giving us enough time to clean up and get our stories together, they quickly and efficiently typed out the forms as each of us related the exact same story. The officers never bothered asking us our names; they claimed it would only cause problems later by requiring our presence at the court hearing.

I told them I was from Philly and would be more than happy to testify.

No problem, I was told, but there will be no trial. Those scumbags will be taken to an extremely bad neighborhood in West Philly, and dumped out of the wagon. They'll be allowed to make their own way home or to the hospital of their choice, The Corporal laughed quietly. They'll be mailed a summons to appear in court in a few weeks, but they rarely if ever appear which will result in a bench warrant for their fat asses.

Kind of like parachuting into downtown Hanoi alone; with no weapons or even a compass, a scar-faced sergeant snickered. You’re in Philly now, boys, he addressed our group, Frank Rizzo’s Philly, and he don’t like these fucking hippies messing with our GIs.

The police, to insure there would be no more trouble, escorted the veterans who were catching flights out of Philly directly to their terminals. I was driven to the Frankford El terminal in the Northeast section of the city where I could catch a bus home. By the time I was dropped off by the same young police officer who first spoke to me, it was almost midnight, and I was lucky to catch the last bus scheduled to run for the night.

I thanked the officer who went out of his way to drop me off. He waved me off and told me, Be careful, Sarge, and make sure you take the police department test the next time it comes up. We need more ex-MPs on the force and you obviously know how to handle yourself, He stated with a grin while pointing to my ribbons.

My stomach was churning with anxiety and anger. I couldn’t believe the shit I’d had to eat since I left Ft. Ord. We were warned by the out-processing people what we could expect, but I didn’t think the hippies could be that evil. Christ, what the hell had gotten into them. What happened to all that peace and love bullshit they were spreading three years ago? It was probably just that, bullshit. I can't wait to get home and burn this uniform. I used to be proud of it. I went and did what I was supposed to do. I didn’t run and hide like a lot of the guys in my age group. I wasn’t a hero but I sure as hell wasn’t a gutless coward like them. Christ almighty, I am so ashamed of my uniform now.

I couldn’t help but think what a waste it all had been. I had lost everything because I was too stupid to see the hell I was going to be put through. I had broken up with my fiancé because I didn’t want to make her a widow, along with the belief that not having anyone back home waiting for me, would keep my mind on the dangers that lay around me. In addition, when I wrote to her from the hospital in DaNang, explaining why I ended our relationship the way I did, she never bothered to reply. I wrote two more short letters in Alaska, but never received a response. I asked my buddy Don Lappe to speak with her, but that was only three weeks ago and his response was probably in the mail.

To make matters worse, some rip-off artist; a slimy thieving bastard named Stu Levin, repossessed my car while I was in basic training. My brothers had stolen all my college savings to buy drugs, and the old man had turned into a mean drunk. My old job was gone, and worst of all, the only real friends I ever had in my life, except for Gerry and Don, were either still stuck in that hell hole, or buried beneath some cheap, bronze Veterans Administration cemetery marker.

Maybe I would have been better off if I had just stood up in one of the firefights and ended it all. At least I wouldn’t have had to put up with all that shit since I landed on the west coast and what was coming once I arrived home.

Jesus H. Christ, could it get any worse than this?

I climbed onto the bus and was fumbling in my pockets looking for change when the driver placed his hand over the coin slot, Take a seat soldier, this ride is on me.

Thanks driver, I really appreciate it.

It’s the least I can for you son. Go ahead and take a seat. Where’s your stop?

I told him.

He replied, Stretch out in the back and I’ll wake you up when we get to your stop.

I began walking toward the back of the almost empty bus, thinking at least one person in this goddam country appreciates what we did. I didn’t know it, but I was about to meet someone and experience an event I would never forget.

There were no more than half a dozen people in the bus, and no one, except for an old woman bothered to look up at me as I stumbled down the aisle with my heavy duffel bag. The night was chilly; I had put on my dress green jacket and tie in order to keep warm while I was in the police car. The army didn’t bother to waste a winter overcoat on me since I was being discharged, but I'd stolen one from a pile I found at Ord on my way out of the clothing issue building. It was in my duffel bag and I'd have to dig it out before the bus arrived at my stop.

An old, thin, gray haired woman stood up and blocked my path as I approached her seat midway to the rear of the bus. Oh shit, even the old people are going to break my balls today.

She silently stared at me for a long moment. Her eyes slowly scanned my face, then my lapel insignia indicating my MOS as a Military Policeman. She looked at my four rows of ribbons, sleeves with the bright yellow chevrons of a Staff Sergeant.

Her eyes then locked on mine.

I was stunned. Her gray-green eyes seemed to have borne witness to all the sadness in the world. In those startling eyes, I saw the untold sufferings of millions of people, and it hurt my very soul to look at them. I’ve seen these eyes before, but I couldn’t remember where as they glanced again at my left breast, my ribbons, and then settled on my two shoulder patches.

Please take my seat, she asked softly, waving one hand toward her seat as she gently grasped my arm with her other hand.

I was speechless for a second. I wasn’t expecting this.

Please, Mister Sergeant; please take my seat, She said again with a soft, eastern European accent.

I wasn’t brought up to take seats from ladies; I was raised to do the opposite. Its OK ma’am, there’s plenty of empty seats on the bus; you don’t have to give me yours.

Excuse me, sir, but I insist you take my seat; it is the least I can do for you.

Lady, you don’t have to do anything for me; I don’t even know you.

She reached for my duffel bag and tried to lift it. Let me help you with your bag; you must take my seat.

Lady, I just came home from overseas. I’ve been spit on, called a baby killer, a murderer and had to fight my way past a bunch of goddamned hippies just to get this far. I’ve had a really bad day today. Please, will you let me go to the back of the bus so I can sit down?

The bus driver had been watching our meeting in his mirror and he came back to see what the problem was.

The woman was growing more insistent as the driver approached.

Finally, she addressed the driver, Mr. O’Neal, this soldier will not take my seat.

The driver placed his hand on my shoulder and softly said, Take the seat, Sarge; it will make her feel better. He patted me gently on the arm, returned to his seat, and eased the bus from the curb.

I caved in. It didn’t feel right for me to take a seat from a woman of her age and frailty, especially when there was an empty seat right next to hers.

I tossed my bag on the seat in front of us before she slipped in beside me. She silently searched through her bag until she pulled out a small package of cookies, which she handed me. The woman then removed her purse from the bag and opened it to a set of pictures, which were inside little plastic sleeves.

Eat the cookies; you must be hungry after such a long journey.

I’m OK Ma’am; I’m more tired than hungry.

I’m sorry if I upset you, she apologized softly, you don’t know me sergeant, but I know you.

I stared at her heartbreaking face trying to place it, but she didn’t look in the least bit familiar.

She opened her mini-photo album and held up a small black and white photo aging to sepia tones. The lady handed me the photo and I held it up to the light from the overhead rack of fluorescents.

The picture was of an American GI in World War II paratrooper’s uniform, an M-1 slung over his shoulder. He was cradling in his arms, a very tiny young girl. The girl looked as though she was no more than ten years old, but I was never a good judge of children’s ages. The photo, though old, was still clear. The GI’s uniform sported the unmistakable white Screaming Eagle of the 101st Airborne on his shoulder and a set of Captain’s railroad tracks on his collar. The girl he was holding had long stringy hair, sad, sunken eyes, and had emaciated, skeleton-like limbs. She was dressed in what appeared to be a cloth sack or burlap bag.

Neither person in the picture was smiling.

That little girl was me. The woman pointed to herself in the picture with a trembling, bony finger. This soldier and his friends liberated us from a Nazi concentration camp in Germany.

I looked at her again, not knowing what to say. My year in that green hell now seemed like a picnic compared to what she must have endured. My father had told me about the camps his unit had liberated during one of his sober moments. He never finished any of the stories about the camps. He would just choke up and spend the rest of the day staring off into space.

It must have been hell on wheels for the prisoners and soldiers alike.

Many of his friends died trying to free us. Many more died after they freed us while they fought heroically to defeat the Nazis. The soldier in the picture carried me everywhere and made sure the doctors took good care of me. He went into the village nearby and found clothes for me then pinned his name and address on my shirt so he could find me later.

Her voice was cracking with emotion as she continued.

He came back and found me in a Displaced Persons camp when the war was over. He made arraignments for me to come to America where I was to be adopted by him and his wife. I had no family left. You see; the Nazis killed everyone I ever knew. However, I never got the chance to thank this man. He died in an auto accident, and it was such a tragedy; to endure all the suffering of that terrible war, only to die in an automobile accident on his way home. She began sobbing softly, and after a few moments, she regained her composure.

I was adopted by his brother and his wife. He had also served in the war as a bomber pilot, flying his plane against the Nazis until he lost his legs... She quieted after a moment, grabbed my arm with surprising strength, and stared into my eyes again.

You American soldiers are very brave. You have good hearts, and are the bravest and most generous people God has ever put on this earth. You sacrifice so much to help others but you expect nothing in return. I owe my very life to you and I am sorry I can not do more to repay you.

Lady, I’m really sorry all this happened to you, but you don’t have to thank me. That was my father’s war, not mine, I whispered. But I do appreciate your kindness today. Like I said, I’ve had a very bad day, and meeting you made me feel a whole lot better.

The woman gave me a sad look of understanding and held my hands in hers.

I have seen the way those communist, bohemian long-hairs treat you soldiers, and it is a disgrace. They should be sent away to countries where they do not enjoy the freedoms you soldiers have bought for them with your blood. They would learn very quickly, the freedoms they abuse are worth fighting and dying for. But they have been raised by parents who cater to their every wish, and they have never known discipline; never known what it means to go hungry or to have to toil and sacrifice for just their basic needs, like food and water. She wiped a tear from her eye, before they grew cold and determined.

These people who torment you are cowards, born of cowards, and they in turn will bear even more disgusting and greedy cowards. The lady hesitated a moment to wipe more tears from her eyes before she continued, I love your country like a young child loves its parents. It has fed and sheltered me and given me a life I could never have imagined when I was in the camps.

Gripping my arm tightly and staring deep into my eyes, she went on, I am sometimes fearful these cowards will someday, somehow take control of this country, and destroy it. But when I see there are still many young men like you who are willing to stand up and fight the evils in this world, as your fathers’ generation did, I am filled once again with hope for this great country.

The bus driver called out my stop as he slowly brought the vehicle to a stop. He jumped from his seat and ran back to help me with my duffel bag.

Good luck, and welcome home Sarge, he extended his hand in friendship. Regardless of what these stinking hippies say; we’re damn proud of you.

I shook his hand, choking up with emotion.

Thanks, I said through my tightening throat. Thanks.

The driver turned to the woman as we were walking to the front exit, You missed your stop Mary, but don’t worry, I’ll drop you off on the way back.

As I descended the steps, Mary, who had followed us to the front of the bus, leaned forward and hugged my neck as the driver stepped onto the curb.

I will pray God will give you strength and happiness in your coming life young man. And please, accept my thanks for all you have done. She then smiled and said, We shall meet again.

Thank you ma’am, thank you.

I knew after the reception I'd received so far, I was going to need all the help I could get.

I slowly walked the two blocks to my parent’s house, where I wouldn't be very welcome, but I'd only be there until I could find an apartment and a job. I knew my parents would take my brother's side against me when I try to collect the money they'd stolen, so there is no way I'm going to live with those junkies and thieves.

I kept asking myself as I walked, How the hell did I ever get myself into this situation. Whatever made me decide to serve in that goddam war instead of just taking off for Canada when I had the chance? I answered aloud, Because you're a fucking, misguided idiot!

The reception I received upon entering my parent's house was about what I expected. My mother gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before she said, Welcome home. It's too late for me to fix you something to eat. If you're hungry, there's left over spaghetti in the fridge. If you get up early enough, I'll fix you a hot breakfast.

The old man shook my hand, welcomed me home, and after a brief moment he remarked angrily as he turned to follow mom to bed, You're not going to lay around my house collecting unemployment and drinking yourself stupid until your benefits run out; so you'd better start looking for a job right away.

CHAPTER TWO

I slept until nine my first day home. There was no desire for me to sit at the kitchen table eating breakfast and listening to my father and mother bitching at me to get a job. I knew I'd have to find one right away since they'd let my brother's steal my savings. Since my car was long gone, I hoofed it to the bank, cashed my last army paycheck, which amounted to all of $600.00, then went home and called my old buddy, Don Lappe.

Welcome home, Jimmy, Mrs. Lappe half shouted after I identified myself. I can't tell you how happy I am to hear your voice and know you made it home alive!

At least she was happy to know I was back!

She added, Don joined the Philly Police where his two older brothers are also serving, and he won't be home until four this afternoon. I'll tell him you called and I'm sure he'll be overjoyed to see you again. Plan to have dinner with us tonight and be sure to wear your uniform!

Make sure you tell Donny my car was repossessed while I was in basic and I don't have a way to get to your house, I replied before she said she had to run, and then hung up the phone.

My hands began shaking when I tried to dial Donna's number. For some reason unknown to me, I was really terrified to make that call. I still loved her in spite of our two-year separation. I frequently thought about her while I was in the service, but only when I allowed myself that dangerous luxury.

I'd seen guys get killed after they lost situational awareness while worrying about their girls back home. I knew a few others who received Dear John letters, and died shortly afterward. One good soldier, committed suicide by standing up during a vicious firefight. He read the bad news letter that morning and completely fell apart. We tried talking him out of his depression, and even went so far as to ask the 1st Sgt to give him a few days off until he could get his head together. However, we were short on manpower, and he had to go on a mission to escort a Thunder Road run to Khe San.

I'll wait till I talk to Don about her first, I muttered to myself. He probably ran into Donna or one of her friends since he's been home, and my buddy would let me know if there was any chance of Donna taking me back or even speaking to me.

I picked up the newspaper, checked the ads for used cars, and saw a few junkers in my price range. Before I started calling the sellers, I went out to the garage and discovered all my tools were gone. Not only were my tools missing, but also the toolboxes and my floor jack. Those bastards even sold my tools to get drug money, which meant I'd be unable to fix any car I bought. I swore right then and there, they were going to pay with their blood for ripping me off, and I didn't give a shit what my parents said about it.

The phone was ringing when I entered the house. As soon as I answered, I heard, You son of a bitch! You made it home! I'll be right over, Jimbo; we have a hell of a lot of catching up to do! Donny hung up before I could respond, but I knew he'd be here in less than ten minutes, so I went out and sat on the porch with one of my old man's beers to wait. But it was a good thirty minutes before I heard the distinct sound of a high-performance engine approaching from the west, and saw Don's 396 Chevelle lock up it's brakes and skid sideways into the driveway.

I was a bit surprised but happy to see he'd stopped to pick up our old buddy, George along the way. George tried talking me into fleeing to Canada when he heard I was drafted, but there was no way I was going to run like some coward, especially after promising Don's mother I'd look after him while we were in Vietnam.

My two friends bailed out of the car before it even came to a full stop and they knocked me to the ground in their rush to welcome me home. We must have rolled around on the driveway for a good ten minutes before they let me up, dusted me off and Don shouted, Let's head back to my house! Mom's putting on a huge feast, and my brothers picked up a half-keg for your welcome home party, Jimmy.

Jimmy, you look like you've lost a bit of weight, George remarked as he squeezed my shoulder.

Don't you worry your pretty little head about Jimmy's weight, Georgie, Don laughed, My mom will put that weight back on him in less than an hour! He turned back to me, Damn, I can't tell you how good it is to see you again, Jim. I've really missed you, and I've been worried sick about you ever since I left Nam, but damn if you didn't make Staff Sergeant!

I made it back, Donny…

Jim, what's wrong with your eyes, George asked quietly as he stared at me. They look like…

Forget that shit, George, Don growled. He's just seen too much, but now that he's home, he'll be over it in a few days. Don tossed me a picture of a brand new 73 Chevelle and said, I'm picking that baby up this weekend, Jim. I've saved every penny I made while I was overseas and most of what I've made since I joined the police department, so I'll be paying cash for it! No payments and it will be all mine!

You know my car was repossessed by that slimy bastard…

Yeah, I remember you told me when we were in basic. But he ain't getting away with it, buddy. Me, my brothers and every cop in the 15th district has been busting his balls ever since. I swear that cheap, thieving prick must have at least twenty moving violations on his record, and a shitload more for vehicle write-ups.

And I've been busy at night slashing the tires of every car on his lot, George laughed, And that's in addition to what everyone else has been doing to that bastard; like tossing paint remover on his cars, cutting brake lines, smashing headlights, taillights and breaking windows.

Thanks guys, I laughed, But now that I'm back, it's my turn to get even with that asshole, and compared to what I'm going to do, the troubles he's seen so far will seem like the good old days.

Although it was mid-March and still cold outside, Mrs. Lappe and her husband fired up their barbeque and charcoal grilled the best steaks I've ever had. The party was reasonably quiet but definitely a happy one. Don's family couldn't do enough to thank me for partnering with Don and making sure he made it home in one piece. I had to remind them it was probably just a matter of luck, but they wouldn't hear it.

His brothers kept peppering me with questions to confirm what Don had told them about his time there. After verifying most of his stories, his oldest brother Danny, a Vietnam vet, leaned close and said, We heard about your being wounded during the big battle when the NVA crossed the DMZ in tanks. We were really worried about you, Jim. I'm glad you made it back OK. And I see you've picked up more than a couple medals too, he said quietly as he fingered my four rows of ribbons.

I don't think I'd written to Don more than four or five times after he'd received his compassionate reassignment and early discharge, but I never mentioned anything about that horrific nightmare.

How did you know I was wounded, Dan?

A guy I know from Judge, Joe Carberry, was a medic in the med-evac unit where you were treated. He's a friend of the family and knew you and Donny were there. I think you met him once or twice here before he was drafted. He told us you were wounded pretty bad during a huge explosion when the Quang Tri ammo dump blew, and again in a chopper crash, and again from bomb shrapnel. Joey said you also got hit in the face when you and some of the other wounded on his ward grabbed rifles and went out to the perimeter to help fight off NVA sappers trying to get inside the wire. Joe gave you your meds and a couple milkshakes when you were able to swallow them. Carberry got out of the army about a week or two after you were brought into the med-evac. He said a doctor from Philly claimed he was going to send you home to Valley Forge Army Hospital. When we checked for you there, they claimed you never made it.

I was shocked to hear about Carberry. He was somewhat familiar to me, but army haircuts, uniforms, and strange surroundings are enough to make anyone forget somebody.

The table grew deathly quiet while Mrs. Lappe added, I spoke to your mother about your status but she didn't seem to be very concerned. She just said she hadn't heard anything about you at all, and as far as she was concerned, no news was good news. Honestly, Jimmy; I was shocked by her attitude. Since your family didn't care, we kept after the people at Valley Forge, but they had no idea where you were. They claimed you were on the flight roster of seriously wounded from Vietnam to Maguire Air Force Base, and then you were supposed to travel to Valley Forge by ambulance, but you weren't on the plane and you never showed up at their hospital.

It wasn't until I got a letter you wrote from Alaska when we realized you were still alive, Don said. And I got to tell you, buddy; it was a hell of a relief to get that stinking letter, even if it took us a couple hours to decipher your lousy handwriting.

Just then a somewhat familiar person walked into the kitchen. He stood there and stared at me for a long time while the room went silent. Finally, he stated, Jimmy, you look a damn sight better than the last time I saw you. He held out his hand and said softly, Joe Carberry; I was your ward medic after you were brought in.

I jumped to my feet and embraced Joe with all my strength as he wrapped his arms around me and said, I can't tell you how good it is to see you again, and all in one piece, brother. Welcome home!

Joe sat and after he downed a beer, recalled the crazy antics of my Green Beret friends who came to see me on his ward. If nothing else, Jim's buddies kept everyone entertained, and from what I heard, he was almost drafted into the green beanies, but some general put a stop to that shit.

Everyone turned and stared at me for a long moment before Danny asked, What the hell were you doing with the Green Berets when you were an MP?

It's a long story, Dan. I'll have to fill you in some other time.

He even had a Green Beret tacked to his bedpost! They were trying to have him shipped to the Philippines where they had their own hospital, Joe added before Mrs. Lappe slipped a huge slice of Strawberry Shortcake in front of me.

I know this is your favorite dessert, so I bought this at the bakery as soon as I hung up the phone earlier.

I concentrated on my dessert while the conversations swirled around me, but as soon as I finished, Don's father asked the big question; What are you going to do now, Jim?

I noticed his evil grin before I answered, "First, I have to get a set of wheels, then I need to find a job and an apartment, because I can't live at home anymore. In addition, as soon as I find out about my benefits, I plan on going to college and getting a degree. I don't want to be a printer for the rest of my life; even though the money is good, advancing into management from the shop floor is almost impossible. I was even thinking about getting a degree in Law Enforcement and joining either the Philly police or the State police. I really liked the work I did as an MP in Alaska and I've been thinking about doing civilian police work.

Mr. Lappe gave me a big smile, as did everyone else at the table and a moment later, Don handed me a pen and slid a pile of forms in front of me. Just sign where the little red X is Jimmy and we'll have you in the next class at the academy. Don was grinning like the cat that just ate the canary when we heard a hard knock at the door.

Mr. Lappe waved his son toward the door and a few moments later, a tall, husky, uniformed police officer strode into the kitchen. He was wearing the silver eagles of a colonel, and after greeting everyone with a smile and nods, he held his hand out to me. You must be Jim Richards; the man I've heard so much about. I'm Andy Suitor and I want to say I am honored to finally meet you, Staff Sergeant Richards. He turned to Mr. Lappe, Has he completed the paperwork yet?

Not yet, Andy: he just finished his dinner and is about to put ink on paper.

Suitor grinned at me, I've heard a lot about you, son. I even called up to Alaska and spoke to Colonel Marx about you after Don told me you were coming home last week. He said you were the best MP he's ever known, and was damned upset to lose you. He was also a little bent you took your discharge after he went through the trouble of promoting you to Staff Sergeant in hopes of keeping you in the Army.

Colonel Marx was one, tough Provost Marshal, Colonel Suitor; he was fair but wouldn't hesitate to kick your ass if you screwed the pooch, or pat you on the back if you did a good job.

Suitor laughed as he shoved Don out of his seat and sat next to me. I'm a Chief Inspector, not a colonel, Jim. Marx told me an amazing story about how you managed to capture two serial child molesters and killers victimizing young boys on your base for over two years. Would you mind telling me about it?

Everyone at the table gasped before they flooded me with questions, but I waved them off. It was a very difficult and painful case for me and everyone involved. If you don't mind, I'd rather wait a few weeks before I tell you about it.

Suitor slapped me on the shoulder, No problem Jim, I understand. In the meantime, get those forms completed because the next academy class starts the first of May and I want you in it. He rose, shook hands with me again, and then growled at Mr. Lappe, Captain, if those papers aren't on my desk first thing in the morning, you'll be patrolling the SEPTA station at Broad and Girard. He pointed to Don and his brothers, And each one of you will be assigned to your very own station on the Broad Street subway on graveyard shift. He turned back to me and stated, I'll be seeing you soon, young man, before he saluted and left.

I glanced up at Captain Lappe with raised eyebrows.

He's my cousin, but he's still a prick, Jim, Don's father stated without a trace of humor. Andy is second in command to Rizzo. He's in charge of all personnel and assignments, in addition to Internal Affairs and Highway. I think he can count all his friends on the force on just one hand.

But he's also one tough son of a bitch, Danny added. I saw him go toe to toe with Rizzo once, and the big bambino backed down, if you can believe it.

The old man raised his hand for silence. He was broken in by your grandfather, just like Rizzo was, and he still has the scars to prove it. From what I was able to gather; your grandfather, Emile, is a legend among the older cops in Philly, and they either worshipped the guy or hated his guts. He laughed briefly, But from what I know about the ones who hate him, I'd have to say your grandfather was a hell of a good cop. He pointed to the forms in front of me, Get those forms signed before you do or say anything else. Suitor wasn't kidding around and I'd rather not cross him.

I completed an application for appointment to the academy and then a few other forms requiring my personal history, before a series of what looked like computerized test answer sheets, with columns of little boxes you fill in with a pencil while taking a test. There were six of them and I signed each one where indicated.

All together, it took me about forty-five minutes to complete the forms. When I finished, Don slid the forms into a big manila envelope while sharing conspirator's grins with his family.

OK Jimmy, now that's all done; you'll be starting at the academy the first of May and on the streets with one of us as your partner by the end of July.

If I recall, Don; isn't there a written test, interviews and physicals for me to complete, not to mention the background investigation? I thought the process to just to enter the academy took almost a year.

Normally it would, Don's father stated as he slapped the table and refilled my beer, But in your case we were able to get a special dispensation from the pope, not to mention you have friends in all the right places.

I thought he was kidding until Dan added, And by tomorrow afternoon, you'll have scored a perfect hundred on the tests, and with your ten-point veteran's preference, you'll be number one in line to start at the academy.

To say I was overwhelmed was an understatement. Staring at everyone around the table, I was unable to put into words my shock at their efforts to get me on the force. Danny just laughed as he pointed to me and remarked, We never forget anyone who helped us when the chips were down…

Donny cut him off, Jimmy, don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to; just be glad we have the pull to help you out because there won't be another class for at least a full year.

His father held out both hands as he quietly stated, It ain't what you think, Jim. You're going to be assigned to a special squad requiring a unique set of abilities and a certain background. With your reputation in the area, no one will suspect a thing, but Donny will brief you all about it in a little while. He glanced at the wall clock and announced, Its time for me, Danny and Tim to turn in. We start our shifts at two, which gives us all of five hours to catch some sleep.

When I stood to leave, he and his sons each gave me strong embraces as they again welcomed me home. Joe Carberry repeated their actions and said he'd catch up with me later in the week. Mrs. Lappe gave me a long hug as she thanked me for keeping her son safe, before she again remarked how good it was to see me again.

Don grabbed my arm, Let's go over to Georges where we need to have a long talk.

I glanced over at my old friend, and recalled George had said very little after we arrived at Don's, but now he was avoiding eye contact with me. Something was wrong and I wasn't sure I wanted to know what it was.

CHAPTER THREE

Don kept up a running account of what I should expect at the police academy all the way to George's apartment. After we were comfortably ensconced in his living room, with beers in hand, I stared at George and simply asked, What's up?

He went into some of the more notable things that occurred in the area since I'd been drafted. Some events were hilarious and others concerned the deaths of people I knew, most of whom died by drug overdoses or car accidents. He recalled John Wah's murder in a local bar, and how no one had the slightest idea who'd simply walked into a bar and shot him in the head. Don suggested he'd been dealing drugs and probably stiffed his supplier.

I knew he was just getting into that shit when I was drafted, but I didn't know he'd been that deep into it, I remarked.

Yeah, he got in fast and heavy.

We grew silent as we recalled crazy Wah, and how he could always be counted on to provide entertainment with his outrageous antics. Then, after a few long moments, I decided to kick the dog sleeping at my feet.

Have either of you seen Donna?

Don closed his eyes, shook his head slowly, and looked away.

George stared at me as his eyes watered up and turned red. Jimmy, I hate to give you such bad news so soon after you returned from the army…

I