The Lonely Constable

By Matthew Curcio

Alex Crawford is an aspiring journalist from the rich and affluent neighborhoods of Greenwich, Connecticut. After graduating from college with a degree in journalism, Alex finds it fitting that he accept a summer position as a full-time reporter for the Hampton Herald, a publication based in East Hampton, New York. Alexs first real-time story has him covering Axton Myerss, the executive editor of the New York Times, much-anticipated retirement. Much to Alexs delight, he soon learns that Axton too once used to work at the Hampton Herald, which was formerly known as the Southampton Observer. While continuing to meet with Axton, Alex learns of his broken past, while uncovering an article that Axton wrote as a twenty-two-year-old entitled The Only Constable. With the help of his new hires (Audrey and Nathan), Alex is able to meet the man behind the story, Peconic Village Bay Constable Miles Walker. Soon, Alexs summer starts to heat up as his relationship with Audrey intensifies and his friendship with Nathan grows. While searching for answers, Alex finds himself lonelier than ever before but one step closer to the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532037092

Matthew Curcio

Matthew Curcio currently resides in New York City. I Dream of Saturn is his fourth published work and third published novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Peconic Bay was where Axton Myers witnessed the murder of someone he almost knew by the hands of a man he would never speak to again. It was late in the evening, just past midnight but there was no curfew for reporting, let alone a curfew for romance. Axton Myers was a young and promising journalist for the Southampton Observer who got as close to the story as possible, regardless of the obvious and dooming warning signs. Unfortunately, for the summertime love of Axton Myers, Melanie Santos took her last breath on the night of July 12, 1987, in Peconic Bay. There were only two men to witness Melanie’s death but only so much was visible past the forbidden buoy……

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Upon entering the building, I nodded and smiled at a stocky, black-clad security guard, topping off my stupidity with a friendly wave that gave away my small-town roots. He eyed me as if an over-eager foot salesman had wandered into the news hub of the world with a stack of vacuum cleaner brochures. Either way, I was given permission to use the elevator and you could bet I never looked back. When I arrived, there was no secretary, nor was there an administrative assistant to confirm my appointment. His office looked like the living room of a Tribeca penthouse, modern, but filled with tradition. He had a white carpet so inviting that I felt guilty walking around in my business casual shoes.

There were multiple framed articles on the wall. There was one however, that caught my eye. The casing was a little bit smaller but the actual article and illustration more crisp than the others. The title read, The Only Constable. All of a sudden, the story that the Hampton Herald wanted me to cover on what Axton Myers would be doing post-retirement seemed insular to the adrenaline that overcame my body.

He extended a weighty hand, weathered with decades of newsprint and ink. Axton Myers, he said succinctly. His grip was firm. The gold-and-cherry-wood plaque on his desk confirmed that I had really landed in the office of the executive editor of the New York Times—that I had, in fact, scored a private interview with him.

I know, I said before thinking—a common malady with me. I mean—yes, obviously. No, that’s not—I felt my face turning red. I’m Alex. Alex Crawford.

Wrinkles radiated around his eyes as he grinned. Have a seat, Alex. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Orange Gatorade? Wait before you answer that question, where are you from?

Connecticut.

Axton sat up a tiny bit more in his chair and looked back up at me.

Connecticut, huh, whereabouts?

I hesitated for a bit but could tell he saw an interest. The Hamptons and Connecticut went hand in hand. After all, I had grown up right across from The Gold Coast of Long Island and had heard legends of fisherman and boaters who had made a living off that almost exact extinct lifestyle.

Greenwich.

That’s on the Long Island sound correct?

Well, yeah, but we call it the beach.

I then looked around the room and glanced up towards the framed article again.

Let’s get started shall we? Axton asked.

Sounds great, I said.

It was a terrible feeling knowing you were taking advantage of someone. It’s always worse when the victim was harmless.

Well, before we officially get started, can I get you anything? Axton asked. Water or…we might even have an orange Gatorade, well I like orange at least.

I’m fine, seriously, I ate something before I got here, I said.

I’m going to have an orange Gatorade then, I don’t take these things too seriously.

Something about Axton made me feel comfortable. He was a really down to earth guy. It was almost as if he was trying to make me feel warm so I would open up to him. Whatever was spoken in the room stayed in the room. He was old school, he was rich, famous and good at what he did. Nonetheless, I had to stick to my game plan because, let’s face it, we were both playing the same game. His was just coming to an end.

So, Alex, it looks like you studied at American University, how did you like D.C.?

Well, Washington was cool but don’t ask me if I like politics.

Ah, good answer, I was never much of a political guy myself. Axton said. Let’s face it, the scandals are there, but it’s expected. I like an unexpected controversy.

I couldn’t agree more, I said.

My eyes then started wandering towards the same article as before, The Only Constable.

I’ve been noticing you have been staring at that same framed work, Axton said.

Sorry, yeah, just something about it I guess, I said.

I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing but either way I kept my calm and ran with it. Axton laughed about it as he lowered his glasses from the top of his nose to the corner of his desk.

You know, just off the record, it wasn’t supposed to read that title you see there.

No?

I shouldn’t be getting into this, Axton said as he picked his glasses back up.

Actually, I think I’ll take that orange Gatorade now.

Axton then got up and smiled. As he walked to the mini fridge in his office, he stopped to stare at the same article.

The Lonely Constable, he said as he handed me the fresh drink.

Excuse me? I said as the water from the condensation of the plastic bottle spilled on my Ralph Lauren tie.

The Lonely Constable - that was the article I first wrote, he said.

I looked down at my newly purchased dress shoes just to remind myself I belonged here.

Seems like the title change was a big success.

It was, it definitely was, but it wasn’t the - never mind, Axton said.

Wasn’t the what? I asked.

Nothing, he responded.

Wasn’t the truth?

Axton then stared at me with a different view this time around. An experienced, yet gentle man started to show his hidden past. I was fine with it. After all, I was reporting. This was my job and nowadays, any way you can get to the nucleus of the story is acceptable. I had to look clearly at the article one last time.

It was a middle-aged man named Miles Walker, Axton said. Maybe late 30s, could have been early 40s, but it doesn’t matter.

So, this man Miles, was he well liked? I asked.

He was a local guy, at the time he was just promoted to Senior Constable, Axton said. You know, a political thing.

Axton then began to go on a history lesson of what the role of your typical Bay Constable entailed. I listened. The Peconic Village Bay Constable was a unique job and those who did it typically didn’t get involved for the money.

They wore the uniform. They carried the sidearm. They made the arrests. But the sunsets and the seagulls were their beat partners.

That was a good way of putting it and Axton should have ended it there, but instead he kept going.

It was a local job, almost all town workers were born and raised in Peconic Village right outside of Southampton, NY. If they weren’t from Peconic Village, chances were they grew up in Amagansett or Montauk and had been around baymen and fishing their whole life. Constables often got confused with police. They were not police, nor were they police of the waters. Constables are peace offers who carry guns.

After Axton described the basic functions and responsibilities of a Bay Constable, I wanted to fill out an application and make a career change. All of a sudden, these long, underpaid hours working for a fairly profitable Long Island based newspaper seemed not worth the struggle. Our interview instantly became a therapy session for Axton. He didn’t want to actually interview me, his career was practically over. It was like he wanted something from me and I wasn’t sure if business related questions would ever come about. Axton was the Executive Editor but he was more like a kid in heart. With three months left until retirement I don’t think he was really concerned with bringing new talent onto a team he would be exiting. Axton was hunting for a bigger fish than that and I was the shark that swam into his shallow seas.

Seems like you spent a lot of time with that department? I asked.

I was about your age, at the time, he said.

I then saw an image of what I could be. Everyone needed their start somewhere and Axton was just a future reflection of the life I was fated to live. If I could just find his secrets, if I could learn even more. All of a sudden, my reality became more transparent and I was back on track to where I should be.

So tell me, Alex Crawford, are you currently working? Axton asked. It could be anywhere, are you presently employed?

I should have expected this question. I guess I wasn’t as prepared for the interview as I thought. I should have just had a fake side job that I was formulated to use but of course I didn’t. I choked. I stumbled over my words. It’s a good thing at the time I didn’t really care about this position because in the real world I wouldn’t have gotten it. Being that I was already a reporter it was a lose-win situation.

Well, technically I’m…you know it’s funny, I said.

Well, you must be working some job if you can afford those fancy cufflinks, Axton said.

Now I was fried. There was no coming back from this type of verbal attack. He found my cuff links which normally wouldn’t be a big deal but because they were a gift for a first year Hampton Herald Reporter, my cover was blown. The crazy thing about it was that I was so oblivious as to how long of a tradition the cufflinks were. I was so foolish for wearing them, especially after all the other pointless cufflinks I could have chosen purchased by my grandparents as Christmas gifts. I had a decent collection, but I chose to wear the Black and Orange, which could be seen across the room, nonetheless across a desk.

You’ve known this whole time or was it really just the cuff links? I asked.

Axton then took a sip of his orange Gatorade and then sized up the plastic bottle alongside my sleeve.

Yep, same color, Axton said. Man, they really have some tradition over there don’t they?

You really knew? I asked.

Yes, the whole time, Axton said. You have way too much confidence for someone who walked in on their first job interview.

My conscience grew heavy and deep. This was not how I was raised, however, in college and throughout every business class, this was deemed as survival.

Well, it’s a dog eat dog world, right? I asked.

I could tell that Axton was now offended and no longer comfortable and his face showed that he had just lost a potential friend in me. This feeling in return made me uneasy. I wasn’t that kid who grew up bullying others, and I certainly wasn’t the kid to take advantage of those who were only there to help. I laughed because I wasn’t sure what else to do or say. Axton laughed back, I could tell he expected better. After a long pause, Axton began to speak.

Is that what you think this industry is all about, just lying and taking advantage?

I never said anything like that about reporting.

I had a hard time finishing my sentences and I was now on the defensive. I never wanted to be in this situation, but once again I started to find myself in more inelegant dialogue as I began to mature into adulthood.

It seems like you have a lot to learn, Axton said.

Well, I wouldn’t argue that, I replied.

Tell you what, I would never give you this job even if you wanted it, Axton said. Well, at least, not with what you’re showing me right now.

I was now deeply insulted. This conversation didn’t have to get personal but at the end of his tenure with the Times, Axton wasn’t one to hold back.

You know what, I’ll just leave, I said.

I started walking towards the door and there was so much risk by turning back around, yet so much reward if I did. Up until this point, I had played everything safe, I went to college like my parents said. I didn’t have that much fun in college. I spent so much time in the library it was unjust. If there were ever any girls who wanted to get to know me I pushed them away. If I did get to know somebody I forced them to hate me, because God forbid they got too close. I started to realize in these next few steps towards the door that I had been missing out on precious opportunities. I was still young, I was working in the Hamptons, for God’s sake. The summer just started and my adrenaline hadn’t been pumped in years.

Sit back down, Axton said.

Leaving wasn’t even an option. I did a 180 as I heard the first syllables of his demand. I had my briefcase in my left hand and I dropped it before I was even back near my chair. I adjusted my tie and sat back down. I continued to keep the competitive confidence that drove my youth lacrosse coaches crazy. Technically, I was giving in but I wasn’t going to let Axton win.

So what’s the story? Axton asked. Did they really have you come here and ask to report on me?

Mr. Myers, that is exactly what they had me do, I said.

Axton scratched his head, looked down at the table as if he was being criminally interrogated and slowly looked back up.

I’ll give you something even better, Axton said. "By the way just call me Axton, I hate Axe, just don’t call me Mr. Myers ever again"

I could tell something great was coming. It was like Axton just flipped a switch, although he also seemed like he was holding onto something. You would think he would be content with the credentials and career he assembled.