Acolyte Agenda

By Richard Wayne Carrell

Bobby Vann, a disgraced Philadelpia detective,resigns after accussed of brutality after he shot a teenager thinking he had a gun. As a result, he takes a police job in a small Vermont town only discover there is a powerful international company engaging in criminal activity. As he investigates, he isn't sure who are the company's allies, one of

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Carrell Books, LLC
• Release date: Oct 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781088041208

Book preview

CHAPTER 7

When Frank and I hooked up at Central Detective Division, it was a natural partnership. We were more like brothers. I was happy to be teamed with Frank and we had much early success. We became known as Batman and Robin. Frank was like Batman and I was his sidekick, Robin, without the tight pants, of course. Since we worked crazy long hours, we became known for our tenacity as well as our successes. Things were good. However, after a few years together, we started to move in different directions.

From the beginning, Frank wanted to advance. He was smart and started to take postgraduate courses. He took advantage of the program that reimbursed officers for their education expenses, so long as they took up law enforcement. Going year round at night, a couple of times a week, Frank received a master’s from Temple University to go with his bachelor’s degree in law enforcement. He also took courses in police administration at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in New York City. He would ride the train up and back once a week. It was not long thereafter that Frank working on taking the test for lieutenant. I was happy for him. However, down deep inside I knew it would only be a matter of time when we would split-up.

At the same time, Frank was headed in the right direction, my life started to head in the opposite direction. It also became more complicated. At first, things looked good. I married Frank’s sister, Vicky. Right away, we began talking about starting a family. She had finished college and was working on a graduate program in psychology. I was loving life and tried to concentrate on settling in on a happy marriage. I wanted to improve my station in life. I took Frank’s suggestion and took a couple of simple college courses. I also noticed that Frank’s English improved, and so did his overall sophistication. While I would not admit it, Frank’s upward movement towards sophistication seemed to bother me.

When we began our careers together, we went about the job like bulls in a china shop. What we lacked in knowledge we made up with brute force and hard work. It was not long after we were on the street that I realized that it was us versus them. I especially realized that how tough it was to make a collar. I had the temper and Frank the calm sense to offset my antics.

In addition, I found there was never any logic to criminals, and I realized right away that it was better to be safe than sorry. What developed from my personality was a quick-tempered cop, with a chip on his shoulder. Frank realized right away that somehow, I had to calm down. We would spend hours together talking about the how’s and the whys of good police work. I started going to the gym and began to return to my Marine weight. I went from two hundred pounds down to my military weight of one-hundred ninety pounds, mostly muscle. With the added muscle, I found myself becoming more physical with the suspects. On many occasions, Frank had to step in and pull me off mouthy mopes or confronting arrestees. In the next two years, I would have several complaints filed against me. Owing to the system that protects police, none of would stick.

Frank’s wife had not gone to work, but started a family having two daughters born in three years. On Sundays, my wife Victoria and I would go over to Frank’s for spaghetti and wine. Of course, the topic of the conversation would be police work and maybe a few minutes of how lousy the Phillies and the Eagles were performing.

As each week past and each month led to another, I became more and more obsessed with my job. I seemed to have lost any sense of symmetry between job and my private life. We worked many more hours than called upon. At times, the hectic schedule tested the patience of my partner and friend. Frank would come to work exhausted as he balanced his family obligations and education with our work schedules. Me, I did what all self-respecting Irishmen did when confronted with a struggle I drank. I guess it was the last nail in the coffin as far as my marriage was concerned.

As I look back, it all started out so innocent. At first, Frank and I would have a beer after work maybe two or three times a week. Soon, however, I wanted to go out every night. Frank was in the process of finishing his degree and cut back to once a week and then it was only for one beer or two, at the most. Often, I found myself drinking alone. Vicky finally finished her postgraduate classes and was in the process of writing her final paper for her doctorate when she realized she was pregnant. I was happy and wished for a son. At the same time, Vicky began to realize that the marriage was falling apart. It was so difficult to accept. She loved me, but I had changed.

Then things seemed to deteriorate. When she called me and told me that she was having stomach pains and was headed to the hospital, I thought it was nothing to worry about but later that night I was on my way home when I received a call from dispatch to call Frank. With a slight quiver in his voice, he explained that Vicky had lost the baby and she was in the hospital. I didn’t know what to do. I eventually got drunk and showed up at the hospital angry and out of control.

After that disgusting display of outright stupidity, our marriage started to crumble. She continued to love me, and I loved her, but I was falling apart before her very eyes. I would come home late, get up early, and leave the house. Sometimes we would not see each other for days. She had to resort to calling me at the station to find out what was going on. It appeared to her that I had put my job ahead of her. She was probably right. She struggled and finally after not knowing what to do she gave in and left me. It was strange. I was in the process of accomplishing what I wanted as a police officer. By all standards, I was by most about the best cop in my division. With my drive, I began to develop the instincts. You know the instinct to know when somebody was lying or to know what somebody was thinking. With all the accolades, I also carried a chip on my shoulder. I was to be known as the toughest cop in Philadelphia.

Frank had gotten another promotion; as a result, he moved to headquarters to begin a career in administration. Me, I made sergeant and got what I always wanted. I was reassigned to homicide. I felt like I was born to be a homicide detective. It was a tough job and it was a mean job. Robbery and homicide worked hand and hand except for one thing, the crime scenes. Whereas in robbery, the victims were alive the crime scene was of little importance. Many times, I never even visited the scene of a robbery. The victims were just names, the scenes just places. Homicide was different. The victims lived with you for months, even years after the murders. Your investigation would have included knowing about them in detail. Your chief ally was the background and life of the victim. In most cases, the murderer was a person close to the victim. Rarely was there a random murder. People killed out of hate, love, and the ugliest of the emotions, jealousy. With all that, I found myself angrier and more depressed. All I perceived as good and right had now turned to despair and disaster. A thug killed my dad; my wife, was gone and I missed both. Now, my best friend and partner was gone, and I missed him. All that I had to show for my life was my badge and my beat-up Mustang. A downhill spiral eventually led me to where I found myself.

The fate of my career in the PPD began with a call to Western Homicide. For over six months, a Latino gang had been hitting fast food places in and around North and West Philadelphia. One of the alleged ringleaders, Emilio Renaldo, an illegal immigrant, was linked to at least three stick-ups, one of which involved a vicious homicide. Like most criminal gang activities, the robbery jobs had the same style. They would take place toward the end of the late evening shift. Two men would go into the counter and order food. Two men would knock on the back door of a McDonalds or Burger King and after the door was opened, they would force their way in. After the employees were rounded up and locked in the walk-in cold box, the registers and safe were looted. On one of the jobs, an unlucky night manager was shot through the neck when he didn’t move fast enough.

Intelligence reports, mostly from snitches, placed Renaldo and his people doing the stick-ups. Even though intelligence divisions of all police departments share information, I would not know the connection between the gang and the death of my father until that fateful night. Robbery had obtained a search warrant and wanted backup. Renaldo and two of his men were living in a small apartment building off 49rd Street in West Philadelphia.

When the call came in, we would be the backup. As usual, the plain-clothes detectives would go in with a small, well-armed SWAT team. To provide a secure crime scene, uniform officers would follow the initial assault, control any crowds, and secure the area. It was going down at 3:00 in the morning. It was a good time to go after someone that was armed and dangerous. Usually, by the middle of the night, the targets were sleeping, drunk or high.

A quick check of Renaldo’s arrest sheet included priors for assault, possession of drugs and concealed weapons. The word on the street was he was especially dangerous. Usually, he carried automatic weapons and was not afraid to use them.

Just after the call, I was sent over some photos of the bad guy. As soon as I saw the picture of Renaldo, something made me take notice.

Who in the fuck is this Renaldo guy? I said. What made that face so familiar I asked myself? I knew I should know the person, but I was tired and somewhat edgy, so maybe I was mistaken. In the last week, I had slept only a few hours each night. Looking back, my drinking was seriously starting to disrupt my