After the medical examiner took the body away, Harry and I walked to our cars. Harry leaned against his squad car and pushed back his hat and hooked a boot behind the other, he lit another Lucky Strike, his third since I arrived.
“This is the fourth murder in the past three months and this one is going to give me ulcers. This smells different. I don’t think it’s the same perp who’s doing the others.”
“Others?”
“Yeah, the Menomonee River Parkway murders. There have been about a half a dozen of ‘em; another in Brookfield that might be by the same guy.”
The radio in his squad car squawked.
“Hell, what now?”
He reached in the passenger side window and answered, “Two Hotel, over.”
“We have an 872 at 3270 North 91st Street. Shots fired.”
“Roger, is anyone on the scene yet? Over.”
“Negative.”
“Okay, I got it. I’m on the way. Out.”
“What’s up, Harry?”
“A shooting about six blocks west of here. You up for a ride?”
“Sure, why not.”
“Good, we can play good cop bad cop. I get to be the good cop.”
“That’ll be a first.”
We arrived at a cream colored brick two story building, situated on the corner of North 91st Street and Humboldt Avenue in a run down neighborhood. Weeds and old tires littered the front lawn. A couple of rusted old cars were jacked up on cinder blocks. They looked like they hadn’t been worked on for quite some time.
A group of six women was clustered around across the street as we approached Harry had the siren blasting and parked at an angle in front of the crowd, causing them to back up.
“What’s happening? We were told shots have been fired.”
“That’s right officer,” an older woman with graying hair answered, “Across the street. I’m pretty sure it’s on the second floor. The back apartment. I was out front getting the mail when a dark figure walked by and ran up the stairs.”
“A negro?”
“No, I mean he was wearing dark clothes.”
“Okay, continue.”
“Later, I was hanging wash in the back and I heard shots. I ran into my apartment and called the cops and then came back outside.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About twenty minutes. It sure takes you coppers a long time to get to a crime scene.”
Harry ignored her.
“Have you seen anyone leaving the building?”
“No, but they could have gone out the back.”
“Okay, stay here. Come on Max, I’ll need your help on this. Are you strapped?” I nodded and Harry walked toward the building. I followed.
“Stay close to me. It will give them someone else to shoot at.”
“Thanks.”
“Now when we get close and if you are in doubt, empty your clip.”
“I don’t have a clip. I have a revolver.”
Harry looked at me. “Whatever.”
We walked up the stairs. Harry first, his back against the wall, his gun pointed toward the ground at his side. I followed him.
My leather holster dug into my shoulder. I hated it when it did that. After being smacked against a wall by a two thousand pound bull, my shoulder always ached. My doctor said the discomfort would eventually fade, but he never felt a bull’s horn rip through the muscle and sinew of his shoulder. The discomfort never goes away. When we reached the top, Harry nodded his head toward the door. I knew what he wanted. I put my hand over the peephole while he positioned himself in front of the door with his gun extended.
He nodded once more before kicking the door beneath the lock.
“Aw shit, that hurt,” Harry said, grabbing his knee. The door didn’t budge
I looked at him.