Patricians: Power Politics (2 of 9)

Chapter 4: Next of Kin

Snow was still falling from the heavens early in the morning of the first day of 2034. Deputy Chief Wayne pulled up to a house and looked through the frost-tinted windows. Snow whipped up from the car's gravitation engines blew against the cold winter gale. Loud music vibrated from the rundown New York City home, and footprints half-covered in fresh snow revealed the number of people at the raging New Year's party. James Wayne sighed, looking towards the house. Some days were harder than others, but today had topped the man's career as one of the hardest.

Several people were gathered on the porch, watched the police officer sitting in his car. Once a proud neighbourhood full of hard workers, it had fallen on hard times, and many of the children in the ghetto watched the officer with worry. The drug war had turned peaceful neighbourhoods into warzones. Children now looked at police officers the way they looked at rival gangs, and Deputy Chief Wayne could feel the eyes fixated on him. Tension filled the air whenever the police were called to this neighbourhood.

"No more violence tonight," James muttered to himself before pulling his service pistol from its holster. Blood staining the snow, mixed with the bodies of innocent people, and would haunt James the rest of his life. Before stepping out, James cracked open the glove box and placed the gun inside, locking it. It was against protocol, but he felt having it would only create unnecessary hostility. James had an official duty to perform, and he prayed to God that he would not pay with his life.

Snow pelted James in the face, forcing him to squint and reducing visibility even more, and bright lights blurred and showed only the silhouettes of the people standing on the porch. Tension drew James' muscles tight in his neck and back. Two large shadows stomped down the wooden porch. James stopped in his tracks, raising his hands to show he wasn't a threat.

"Yo, whatcha doing here, pig?Dontcha know this is a private party?"

Several more people jumped over the porch railing and landed in the snow, surrounding the lone officer. Outnumbered and surrounded, he regretted the decision to show up alone.

"Are you here to ruin our little celebration because you weren't invited, or are you here for one of my people? Better speak quick, cop, before you can't speak at all."

"I'm not here to arrest anyone, but this isn't your property." James stared into the eyes of the large Greek man standing in front of him. Dark-skinned, a little overweight, and a tattoo identified the man as the infamous Greek Rocket. George Kritikos, infamous small-time gangbanger, leading the gang he called the Greek Mafia. He went by the street name Georgio. James put together who the people surrounding him were. All of their files were extensive, and each would die for their leader.

"So, why you here f you're not raining on our celebration?" Georgio nodded towards his people, who backed away in response.

Breathing a sigh of relief, James looked through the light towards the porch. The pungent smell of smoke billowed from the glowing cylinder hanging from the ringleader's mouth.

"Look, you want to be a hard-ass, then be a hard-ass, but if you watched the news you might have heard about the massacre tonight. I'm not here for you, but to tell a good man about a tragedy." The hand-rolled cigarette hit the snow, and for a few seconds, it continued to burn. George looked at his boys and then back at Deputy Chief Wayne, weighing the situation.

"Well, I didn't think a Deputy Chief would get off his ass to serve a warrant or do any hard lifting. What are you saying about my boy, Richter, though? You know we've been tight since we were little."