Superior Beef

By Kenny Ferguson

One stormy night, a Superior Beef delivery truck crashes, killing the driver. When troopers arrive, they find a big surprise. Not only is the driver dead, but there are three other dead bodies in the rear of the truck, wrapped in plastic. Soon, it comes to light that two of the dead men in the back of the truck were on duty police detectives, and so begins the public outcry for justice.

This gruesome story remains on the front page of the newspapers for weeks, and all police investigations to find the killers are stalled because of a lack of evidence. Desperate, the mayor calls Charlie Weadock, a retired Internal Affairs Investigator, whose brother-in-law was one of the victims. Charlie might be a little rusty, but it doesn’t take him long to learn that Superior Beef is associated with a New York crime family.

The case is overshadowed by the mob, as well as distractions from several government agencies and the fact that Charlie’s wife is pregnant, but he blocks out the media hubbub and accepts the mayor’s challenge. He creates his own investigative team by gathering a group of current and former police officers and one world class criminal informant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532043161

Kenny Ferguson

Kenny Ferguson served in the United States Air Force and worked for the New York City Police Department. He is director of security for a large building materials company in New York and lives in Metuchen, New Jersey, with this wife. He is the author of Shades of Blue, The Balkan Photo, Tariq, and The Lost Lamb.

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SUPERIOR

BEEF

KENNY FERGUSON

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SUPERIOR BEEF

Copyright © 2018 Kenny Ferguson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

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Because of the dynamic nature of the internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-4315-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-4316-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018908789

iUniverse rev. date: 12/21/2018

CONTENTS

The Storm

On The West Coast

Kennedy’s Kitchen

The Wake

The Macaroni Store

City Hall

The Funeral

One Police Plaza

The Midtown South Squad

The Hotel

The New Jersey State Police

Brainstorming

The Pickle Factory

A Walk On The Westside

Community Relations

Surveiance

The Bocce Court

Theories & Guesses

Frog Hollow Road

Mendel’s Computer

The Doctor

Ling Ling

Cold Cuts

The Dons

A Police Department Hearing

The Axe

A Company Meeting

1⁹Th Street

A Walk In The Park

Read My Lips

The Search Warrant

Theresa Is Missing

Too Tall To Fall

Fu Man Chu

Gull’s Landing

Frog Hollow

The Package

To the

readers who loved the Shades of Blue characters

THE STORM

RAIN, RAIN, RAIN. SURGES OF RAIN, BUCKETS OF RAIN, SLAMMING AGAINST the ten year old van stopped at a tollbooth. The driver, Boris Belofsky, grabbed his trip ticket from the agent and struggled to raise the van’s window. The worn hand crank came loose in his hand and he shoved it back on.

Get an EZ-Past! The drenched attendant yelled at him as he drove off.

Boris finally got his window closed and headed south. He was quite wet but thankful when the van’s heater began working. The heavy rain continued and a few cars and trucks sprang into view when a bolt of lightning ignited above him. Several flash bulb like explosion lasting only a few seconds each followed. The sky went silent again and those other vehicles faded away in the fog and darkness. His brief encounter with the lightning was enough to tell him that he was not alone on this New Jersey Turnpike. He slowly drove about thirty miles in the right lane but deep puddles frequently caused him to move to the center lane. He patted his pockets for a half empty pack of damp cigarettes and popped one between his lips. He began rotating the radio dial like a safecracker, spinning the dial to the left and right, he searched for some cheerful music and just as he found a station with the kind of soft soothing music he wanted, the van hit another deep puddle that jerked his fingers from the radio dial. Most of the vehicles on this rain soaked parkway seemed to be passing him but he didn’t care. He slipped the new sunglasses he bought that afternoon over his eyes for an instant but they blinded him and he quickly lowered them to the tip of his nose. He checked his image in the rear view mirror and grinned. Then Boris dropped his eyes to the speedometer. He was going 60 MPH on a 65-MPH parkway and slowed to 55 MPH. He continued turning the radio dial and shifting his eyes between the side view mirrors and the roadway. He flinched when a few more lightning bolts detonated around him to which the radio responded with intermittent static.

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The heavy rain and fog will move off after midnight, A radio voice said, and tomorrow will be warm and sunny.

The van hit another deep puddle and his fingers jumped once again from the radio dial to the steering wheel. Belofsky had to hold on tight this time to keep the old van steady on course. He continued searching the airways for a relaxing music station as sporadic patches of fog danced through the van’s headlight beams like ghostly manifestations. The rain intensified again and drilled against the top of the van in heavy surges. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, He massaged his left eye with his left hand, and then switched to rub the right eye with his right hand. Then rubbed at the windshield with a dirty rag he found between the seats but it just made observation worse. He cursed the old van. Calling it a piece of shit and spit at the dashboard. An unlighted sign reflected in his headlights. It alerted him to an upcoming service area. He was tempted to stop and wait until the storm past but he had three quarters of a tank of gas and strict orders to stay under the speed limit. Keep a low profile and don’t make any unscheduled stops. He thought he heard moaning coming from the back compartment but it was a sound produced by the tires hitting a worn part of the roadway. A New Jersey Police cruiser came out of nowhere and zoomed up to him at high speed. He didn’t see the police car’s emergency lights until it past him. The flashing red, yellow and blue lights faded into the dark night ahead of him. He could still see the pulsing bacons in the sky long after the police car disappeared from view.

Belofsky checked his speed again and began a calming conversation with himself. Finally finding the right music station, he relaxed and tried to light that soggy cigarette that was still dangling from his lips. As he brought the flaming match to his cigarette, a huge tractor-trailer roared past him on the driver’s side of the van spraying a wave of rainwater on his windshield. Unable to see the road, he leaned closer to the windshield and began pumping the brakes. As the worn windshield wipers cleared the excess water from the glass, he saw that his van had moved off the roadway into the service lane and was approaching the rear of a stopped lumber truck at high speed. He stomped on the brakes with everything he had, but it was not enough and too late, much too late.

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The flatbed truck loaded with lumber barely moved as the van slammed into its rear. The van split in half at the driver’s waist sending the unlit cigarette and the upper part of Belofsky’s body into the material loaded on the flatbed. The lower half of his body came to rest under the flatbed with the engine block. The radio continued playing soft music…

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Twenty minutes later Troopers, Dudley Dipple and Josef Olsson snaked a path around the snarled traffic to reach the accident scene. Dipple lead the way, lights flashing and siren whaling and Olsson followed him as if the two police cars had an invisible magnetic attachment. Traffic in the southbound local lanes was crawling past the accident in one lane. There was no fire but everyone slowed down to take a peek at the sight.

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Ten minutes later, Sergeant Harold Norris arrived at the accident scene. Norris surveyed the two damaged vehicles as he approached Dipple and Olsson. He paused to examine the load on the flatbed truck which now included the front of the van. What’s in the van, Dudley?

Says Superior Beef on the side, boss.

I can read, you know? The sergeant sniffed the air. Smells like the load went bad already. C’mon, Joe. Norris turned to the other trooper, Get these people out of here. Get the traffic moving.

Trooper Olsson saluted, made a military about face and walked away.

The Sergeant Norris came back to Trooper Dipple. Okay, Dudley. What do you have?

Dipple flipped a few pages of his notebook. The flatbed truck belongs to Elizabeth Lumber and Hardware in Elizabeth, New Jersey. The driver is over there in my car. Dapple nodded in the direction of his police car. He says he blew a tire and pulled off the road to check it. He stopped his truck pretty much where it is now, shut the engine off and got out to check the tires. When he got back in to call for help, this van rear-ended him. He flipped another page. "The van is registered to Superior Beef Inc. 437 West 14th Street, New York City. I had the dispatcher call them. They said the van was parked in front of their store when they closed yesterday. They think it was stolen."

What about the driver?

He’s a male, white about 30 years of age.

Any Id?

Who knows?

What’s that mean?

"If he has any ID, it’s got to be in his wallet, somewhere under the flatbed.

What’s that music?

Classical, I guess. Violins, piano- …

I know what kind of music it is, where’s it coming from?

Oh. Dipple glanced under the truck and cringed. It’s in there somewhere with him. We couldn’t shut it off, Sarge.

Great, what’s in the van?

Sorry. Dipple walked to the back of the van and pointed at the rear doors. The doors are locked and the keys are… I guess under there with the dash board and the rest of him.

You know we have to identify this guy.

Well, I thought… Dipple looked at the other trooper. I mean, Joe and I thought we’d wait for the medics.

Norris leaned around Dipple to look at the front section of the van. Medics are not going to help us find the keys or his ID.

Trooper Dipple tilted his head at the median as an ambulance and a tow truck crossed the highway from the express lanes. A State Police Accident Investigation Team (AIS) followed them across.

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Sarge, Trooper Olsson called, The tow truck driver wants to know if he can have the van now.

Norris shook his head in disbelief. Tell him to go away. We’ll call him when we need him.

Olsson hesitated as if he didn’t hear what the sergeant said.

The sergeant moved closer to Olsson. "What do you think, Joe?