NYPD – A Thread in Time
The Contrarian
Wild Downtown Days and Nights
(1970s – 1990s)
And into the New Millennium
A Frankie Neptune Novel
By
Michael Watson
This work of fiction is shockingly honest, coarse, and explicitly transparent in the period's attitudes, language, sexual situations, and perversity. Some details or events fall out of the natural timeline.
Most names, situations, events, and characters are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the author and publisher's expressed written consent.
Contact the author at
frankieneptunevisualmedia@gmail.com
www.frankieneptune.com
ISBN 979-8-88796-419-5
Copyright 2022
Throughout the years, when all the hair bags eventually left,
They'd always imbued us with this reprise,
With a look of sorrow in their eyes,
"The Job is Dead."
In the third decade of this new millennium,
We all rue what's happening.
But
This time for sure
"The Job is Dead"
Forevermore.
So
Sadly
‘The Job’ will never, ever be the same again.
And
We say Rest In Peace,
With a heartfelt and eternal
Amen
******
Sooner or later, every NYPD Police Officer realizes:
“I love this fuckin' job
and
This job loves fuckin' ME!”
*
Frankie Neptune
2022
Sooner or later, every NYPD Police Officer realizes this fact:
I love this fuckin' job
and
This job loves fuckin' ME!
*Prologue*
My name is Michael Watson, Ph.D. I have known Frankie Neptune since we first met as teenagers growing up in the borough of Queens in New York City. At first impression, Frankie may seem mercurial and somewhat impetuous. Nothing can be further from the truth. He is a very complex individual.
When Frankie suddenly went from a tenured post in academia to the position of NYPD police officer, he was met with disbelief by those who knew him. He blew them off with, "It's just a midlife crisis." They all said he might have become mentally unbalanced and questioned his judgment. Frankie's retort was with his typical sarcastic tongue in cheek that invoked Oscar Levant, the famous 1940s pianist, "There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line."
Frankie knows he is not a genius. So he marches to the beat of a different drum. Deep beliefs and morals are hidden, camouflaged by his acerbic sense of humor and self-deprecation. He finds satisfaction in being quite the humorous contrarian. For example: When right-wingers surround Frankie, he leans to the left and vice versa. This behavior may sometimes be necessary for Frankie to make a point – doing it his unconventional way. Then again, it's also done for his amusement.
Since Frankie became a cop, he has joked that I am the Dr. Watson to his Sherlock Holmes.
I am a clinical psychologist with a successful Manhattan practice. I don't bother to engage in any deep analysis of my friend Frankie. Luckily for us, we do enjoy the confidentiality of the doctor-patient relationship. We fully trust and are brutally candid with each other. Frankie and I have sisters and come from single-mother households – so we are the brother each of us never had.
I believe Frankie's anecdotes are not enough for anyone to fully understand and appreciate him. One must look beyond his actions and appearances to understand his not-so-obvious motivations.
"To most, their revisionist history dictates their preconceived nuances as well as their inconvenient little secrets. These little secrets color their perception of how I do The Job and even how I live my life," Frankie says.
Frankie paraphrases author Carl Rogers: "Most people that hear what I say rarely listen to what I say or how I say it." Frankie is also a proponent of the term ‘Meaning is in people, not words.’
Frankie enjoys semantically playing around with someone he thinks is a Pupe (Pompous, Uninformed, Pretentious, Elitist). At first, Frankie may give some individuals the impression of being a neanderthal misogynist. He humorously agrees when confronted by these people.
But all the intelligent women who truly know him would vehemently disagree with those individuals who have predetermined their biased assessment of Frankie as a typical neanderthal and misogynist.
One of these sage women was Frankie's partner during his favorite times in the NYPD. Police Officer Mary Stewart. She has shared this anecdote with me.
****
Frankie and Mary met a cop named Chuck from the 17th Precinct while working the Manhattan Puerto Rican Day Parade years ago. Frankie and Mary had heard about this guy through the grapevine. Chuck believed his calling to The Job was on the level and he took every aspect of The Job seriously. Chuck thought he was told by God personally to enter the holy crusade of policing.
Before the festive crowd gathered, the cops hung around their assigned posts. Not knowing Mary and Frankie were partners, Chuck ignored Mary's existence and directed his attention to Frankie. Chuck snidely said, "I can't see how a woman can seriously do this job."
Mary had already stepped away when Chuck uttered that statement under his breath. Chuck was substantiating everything Frankie had heard about him. This information came without the wry sense of humor most cops would attach to any subject. This guy was for real.
Frankie believed Chuck was suffering from what NYPD cops called ‘The Wyatt Earp Syndrome.’ Chuck was a cop 24x7x365, and NYC was the unforgiving jungle that God himself called Chuck to tame.
Mary remained quiet and knew something was brewing in Frankie's mind as Frankie silently listened intently to this cop's rant. Chuck was lost in his panegyric version uniquely carved in an NYPD stone encomium. She returned to their side, knowing Frankie was about ready to unload on Chuck, and Mary didn't want to miss the show.
Chuck stated what he believed to be a solemn tribute to cops. He prefaced it by mentioning that George Orwell was its author, but it was adapted to cops like Chuck and their sacred role in the NYPD. Chuck said he let all the perps know that the citizens of New York City believed the following:
"because rough men stand
ready in the night to do violence
on those who would harm us.”
"I'm proud to be one of those MEN; God wants it that way," Chuck said confidently. Every ounce of his body language told Frankie that Chuck fully believed this shit.
Frankie and Mary listened as Chuck continued pontificating. Frankie later told Mary that he didn't bother informing Chuck that George Orwell did not write that quote, but he did have similar sentiments.
Orwell's description of writer Rudyard Kipling was in a short piece, "Kipling believed men can only be highly civilized while other men, inevitably less civilized, are there to guard and feed them."
Kipling was referring to the British military. And Frankie wondered if Chuck would be offended by like-minded cops being referred to as ‘less civilized.’
Mary was waiting for the other shoe to drop, knowing of Frankie's propensity to be the contrarian. But this time – Frankie was the contrarian because this was serious. And, of course, with Frankie being Frankie – Mary knew it would be funny as well.
"Then again, when did Frankie say he was serious about anything?" Mary said to me with a quick smile and a giggle.
As Chuck stopped talking to take a breath, Frankie began. He gave his best abbreviated Robert De Niro impression of Travis Bickle from Martin Scorsese's hit 1970s classic film Taxi Driver.
You talkin' to me?
Are you fuckin' talkin' to me?
(Frankie looked behind and turned back to look at Chuck)
Well, then, who the hell else are you fuckin' talking to?
Chuck was confused and at a loss for words for Frankie's non sequitur. He thought he had met a kindred spirit – but he instead met Frankie Neptune. Frankie broke out in laughter. Mary laughed and shook her head. She finally got Chuck's attention as she punched Frankie in his left shoulder and proudly said to Chuck, "Yea, that's my screwball partner – Frankie Neptune!"
Regarding things relating to The Job, Frankie employs his Frankie Neptune Paradox of Familiarity.
Frankie would say to any other cop who had Chuck's mindset and believed Frankie did as well, "I ain't into this cop shit."
It would surprisingly throw them for a loop. He would use verbiage in the essence of a Frankie Neptune Tautology when dealing with assholes. Moreover, it was a semantic way to bend their minds as well. But cops weren't the only victims of Frankie's way of doing things.
Example: When questioning evasive people, Frankie would ask, "Is it true when you say yes, you mean no?"
That usually would confuse the likely perps. Their attempt to craft an alibi out of simplistic logic – thinking it was successfully framed and structured as a delicate artistically formed origami – would quickly begin to unfold.
Frankie believed that perps should cower from danger because they should perceive cops as the danger in their world. Frankie was a proponent of carefully crafted silent attitudes and suggestive open-ended verbal questions – a repetition of the same sense in different words.
He believed his semantic methodology was a more effective way of communicating to assholes – so they know who's in charge – and it would usually prompt voluntary compliance. It was much more effective than Chuck's verbose broadcast of his self-righteousness to the assholes that was supposed to make them shake in their boots.
Frankie would rather fuck with their minds than announce his intentions outright. So the assholes have to decide where Frankie is coming from and, if possible, fear where Frankie would be taking them.
Frankie was the king of verbal deadpan, but he employed a friendly smile that could turn into a Murder One Look (Cold Killer Look) within a second.
“Why say, ‘I'm gonna knock your fuckin' teeth out?’ when it's just as easy to smile and say, ‘Do you have dental insurance?’" Frankie would ask.
****
I have always found Frankie to be skeptical without cynicism and empathetic without being a ‘chump.’ He can simultaneously be crass as well as charismatic. Those are the baseline traits I believe we as a society should seek in our police officers. The other qualities should fall into place. Frankie has always said that citizens should hold high expectations from cops for the power given to them. But at the same time, cops should have high expectations from the citizens they serve.
"It's all transactional," Frankie believed.
I had the opportunity over the years to meet some of the people Frankie associated with in his time. This included but was not limited to the women, the cops, the artists, street people, and others in his orbit. This access has allowed me to lend an air of authenticity and familiarity to my poetic license, which I take great advantage of in this novel.
In my research, I have memorialized the antidotes Frankie and some of his contemporaries have shared with me. This novel is one fictionalized thread of the many that is Frankie's life and career. For example, Frankie has told me he hates using the word ‘career’ when it pertains to himself or others. But, of course, that's just Frankie's point of view, primarily related to Frankie being On The Job (cop-speak for being an NYPD officer).
Some cops speak of their law enforcement career, to which Frankie bluntly says, "This is a job, not a fuckin' career."
I have woven my own and others’ insights and interpretations of Frankie Neptune into this novel. When I finally brought the finished project to Frankie for his review and approval, it was fiction but based on his overall demeanor. This novel was a document of his place in his own time, on his terms. I wanted to know if I caught the essence of who Frankie Neptune is.
But surprisingly, Frankie told me to fuck off (he always punctuates his speech with the crude four-letter verb to copulate) and adamantly refused to read it.
Michael Watson, Ph.D
New York City, 2022
*1*
It's Nothing to Lose Your Head Over, or I'll Keep an Eye Out for You
New York City – Midnight Tour – 0400 hrs.
RMP 1715 – The Confines of the NYPD's 13th Precinct
The quiet of the early morning was broken by the terse radio transmission from the bored and monotone male voice of a sleep-deprived dispatcher:
13 Edward – 10-10 – Shots fired –
Latham Hotel – 4 East 2-8
Fifth floor – Room 5-7-1 – No callback.
Police Officers Frankie ‘Bounce’ Neptune and Mary ‘Spike’ Stewart entered the Latham Hotel lobby. Mary noticed that the night clerk was asleep behind his thick plexiglass cage. Frankie checked out the sleeping skell (a lowlife, useless individual) on the ratty lobby couch. The lobby and surrounding areas were empty as the two cops headed toward the elevator. The cranky old elevator took them to the fifth floor as they drew their revolvers. Mary turned the volume of the police radio down. No need for an incoming radio transmission that could have announced their arrival to the possible gunman.
The elevator door slowly creaked open.
The buzzing of blinking neon light and the muffled sound of 1010 WINS news that emanated from an old transistor radio filled the eerie air. Frankie and Mary's gingerly steps were in cadence with the intermittent buzz of the blinking neon light's ballast. The radio slowly got louder; it came from room 571.
Both cops stood still outside the room—one to the left and one to the right of the door.
The door was ajar as they peered inside. The cops saw a dark and cluttered room with a man sitting in an oversized chair with his face in the shadows of the ambient window light. Both cops saw the giant silver gun in his lap. A whiskey bottle sat on the table along with the transistor radio. The ashtray still held a smoldering cigarette among the many snuffed-out butts. The smoke danced in and out of the light as if it drew the cops into this scary scenario.
Frankie pointed and made his left hand into the shape of a gun. Mary shook her head yes. Mary motioned that she would be the first one inside. Frankie nodded. Like most RMP partners, each knew what the other was thinking. It was her turn, after all. Mary kicked open the door as they swiftly entered and pointed their revolvers at the man.
Mary screamed, "GIVE IT UP, MOTHER FUCKER!"
They immediately tried to compute this bizarre scene as they entered and quickly converged on the man. The hallway light lit up the room within a second of the entry. Mary felt something wet and slimy hitting her right shoulder. She held in the scream and took a deep breath as they both incredulously tried to figure out what was happening.
A goopy substance had slowly lost grip and fallen from the ceiling onto Mary. The noise as it hit her shoulder added to the askance of this circumstance. Finally, they noticed that part of the top of the man's head appeared to have been blown off in an apparent suicide. Mixed parts of his skull and brain matter had been stuck to the ceiling – until the goop was no longer attached to the cracked ceiling plaster and landed on Mary's shoulder.
"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! I gotta change my shirt—I need a fuckin' shower!" Mary said in a controlled but somewhat raised voice.
It seemed the DOA (Dead on Arrival) had put his 45-caliber pistol in his left eye and pulled the trigger. That's what took out his eye. Everything flew up from the left side of his head and brain. It precariously hung from the ceiling as if waiting for Mary's shoulder.
The first backup RMP (Radio Motor Patrol) consisted of two older cops—one with a white Afro (Q-Tip) and the other with an Irish brogue (Sully). Two other cops showed up in the room. They saw Mary bitching and moaning about the messy goop on her shoulder as Frankie laughed.
Q-Tip immediately sized up the situation. He stoically said, "Hey, Bounce, looks like Spike got the brains of this team."
Sully quietly went over to the box of cold pizza in the room, grabbed a slice, and said, with a straight face, "Yea, looks like she shoulders all the responsibility." He took a bite of the cold slice.
The other two cops who responded were a young female team: Laverne & Shirley. They wanted to be known as Cagney & Lacey but were instead christened Laverne & Shirley by Frankie.
It was Frankie's homage to popular 1970s television programs of a three-network era.
When Shirley saw the gory brains and blood, she ran to the corner of the room. She regurgitated the cheeseburger and fries she had eaten an hour before. In a few minutes, she returned and asked Sully for a handkerchief. Sully's retort was: "Whatsamatter with your sleeve?"
She composed herself and asked Sully about tampering with the crime scene by taking a slice of the DOA's pizza. He retorted matter-of-factly, "The DOA ain't gonna say nutin' about it anyway." Sully let out a loud belch followed by a smile.
Frankie took charge because Q-Tip & Scully were immediately in the wind (out of there). They never wanted to get involved with anything, both survivors of the Knapp Commission (1970s investigation of alleged police corruption). So naturally, with things under control, they left forthwith.
First, Frankie told Laverne to sit on the DOA (safeguard the body and crime scene). Next, he had Shirley take Mary back to the 13th Precinct to clean up. Knowing that the patrol supervisor was probably not monitoring the police radio, Frankie decided to go to the Korean joint to find him. Yes, he was at his usual place: the Korean whorehouse on Lexington Avenue.
They all left the room except for Laverne and the DOA.
Laverne looked around, grabbed a slice of cold pizza, and found a comfortable place to sit. She noticed some magazines on a table. They were raunchy pornography magazines. She flipped through one of them as her hand went down under her pants between her legs. "Might as well make myself comfortable," she said to the DOA.
The Contrarian
Wild Downtown Days and Nights
(1970s – 1990s)
And into the New Millennium
A Frankie Neptune Novel
By
Michael Watson
This work of fiction is shockingly honest, coarse, and explicitly transparent in the period's attitudes, language, sexual situations, and perversity. Some details or events fall out of the natural timeline.
Most names, situations, events, and characters are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the author and publisher's expressed written consent.
Contact the author at
frankieneptunevisualmedia@gmail.com
www.frankieneptune.com
ISBN 979-8-88796-419-5
Copyright 2022
Throughout the years, when all the hair bags eventually left,
They'd always imbued us with this reprise,
With a look of sorrow in their eyes,
"The Job is Dead."
In the third decade of this new millennium,
We all rue what's happening.
But
This time for sure
"The Job is Dead"
Forevermore.
So
Sadly
‘The Job’ will never, ever be the same again.
And
We say Rest In Peace,
With a heartfelt and eternal
Amen
******
Sooner or later, every NYPD Police Officer realizes:
“I love this fuckin' job
and
This job loves fuckin' ME!”
*
Frankie Neptune
2022
Sooner or later, every NYPD Police Officer realizes this fact:
I love this fuckin' job
and
This job loves fuckin' ME!
*Prologue*
My name is Michael Watson, Ph.D. I have known Frankie Neptune since we first met as teenagers growing up in the borough of Queens in New York City. At first impression, Frankie may seem mercurial and somewhat impetuous. Nothing can be further from the truth. He is a very complex individual.
When Frankie suddenly went from a tenured post in academia to the position of NYPD police officer, he was met with disbelief by those who knew him. He blew them off with, "It's just a midlife crisis." They all said he might have become mentally unbalanced and questioned his judgment. Frankie's retort was with his typical sarcastic tongue in cheek that invoked Oscar Levant, the famous 1940s pianist, "There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line."
Frankie knows he is not a genius. So he marches to the beat of a different drum. Deep beliefs and morals are hidden, camouflaged by his acerbic sense of humor and self-deprecation. He finds satisfaction in being quite the humorous contrarian. For example: When right-wingers surround Frankie, he leans to the left and vice versa. This behavior may sometimes be necessary for Frankie to make a point – doing it his unconventional way. Then again, it's also done for his amusement.
Since Frankie became a cop, he has joked that I am the Dr. Watson to his Sherlock Holmes.
I am a clinical psychologist with a successful Manhattan practice. I don't bother to engage in any deep analysis of my friend Frankie. Luckily for us, we do enjoy the confidentiality of the doctor-patient relationship. We fully trust and are brutally candid with each other. Frankie and I have sisters and come from single-mother households – so we are the brother each of us never had.
I believe Frankie's anecdotes are not enough for anyone to fully understand and appreciate him. One must look beyond his actions and appearances to understand his not-so-obvious motivations.
"To most, their revisionist history dictates their preconceived nuances as well as their inconvenient little secrets. These little secrets color their perception of how I do The Job and even how I live my life," Frankie says.
Frankie paraphrases author Carl Rogers: "Most people that hear what I say rarely listen to what I say or how I say it." Frankie is also a proponent of the term ‘Meaning is in people, not words.’
Frankie enjoys semantically playing around with someone he thinks is a Pupe (Pompous, Uninformed, Pretentious, Elitist). At first, Frankie may give some individuals the impression of being a neanderthal misogynist. He humorously agrees when confronted by these people.
But all the intelligent women who truly know him would vehemently disagree with those individuals who have predetermined their biased assessment of Frankie as a typical neanderthal and misogynist.
One of these sage women was Frankie's partner during his favorite times in the NYPD. Police Officer Mary Stewart. She has shared this anecdote with me.
****
Frankie and Mary met a cop named Chuck from the 17th Precinct while working the Manhattan Puerto Rican Day Parade years ago. Frankie and Mary had heard about this guy through the grapevine. Chuck believed his calling to The Job was on the level and he took every aspect of The Job seriously. Chuck thought he was told by God personally to enter the holy crusade of policing.
Before the festive crowd gathered, the cops hung around their assigned posts. Not knowing Mary and Frankie were partners, Chuck ignored Mary's existence and directed his attention to Frankie. Chuck snidely said, "I can't see how a woman can seriously do this job."
Mary had already stepped away when Chuck uttered that statement under his breath. Chuck was substantiating everything Frankie had heard about him. This information came without the wry sense of humor most cops would attach to any subject. This guy was for real.
Frankie believed Chuck was suffering from what NYPD cops called ‘The Wyatt Earp Syndrome.’ Chuck was a cop 24x7x365, and NYC was the unforgiving jungle that God himself called Chuck to tame.
Mary remained quiet and knew something was brewing in Frankie's mind as Frankie silently listened intently to this cop's rant. Chuck was lost in his panegyric version uniquely carved in an NYPD stone encomium. She returned to their side, knowing Frankie was about ready to unload on Chuck, and Mary didn't want to miss the show.
Chuck stated what he believed to be a solemn tribute to cops. He prefaced it by mentioning that George Orwell was its author, but it was adapted to cops like Chuck and their sacred role in the NYPD. Chuck said he let all the perps know that the citizens of New York City believed the following:
"because rough men stand
ready in the night to do violence
on those who would harm us.”
"I'm proud to be one of those MEN; God wants it that way," Chuck said confidently. Every ounce of his body language told Frankie that Chuck fully believed this shit.
Frankie and Mary listened as Chuck continued pontificating. Frankie later told Mary that he didn't bother informing Chuck that George Orwell did not write that quote, but he did have similar sentiments.
Orwell's description of writer Rudyard Kipling was in a short piece, "Kipling believed men can only be highly civilized while other men, inevitably less civilized, are there to guard and feed them."
Kipling was referring to the British military. And Frankie wondered if Chuck would be offended by like-minded cops being referred to as ‘less civilized.’
Mary was waiting for the other shoe to drop, knowing of Frankie's propensity to be the contrarian. But this time – Frankie was the contrarian because this was serious. And, of course, with Frankie being Frankie – Mary knew it would be funny as well.
"Then again, when did Frankie say he was serious about anything?" Mary said to me with a quick smile and a giggle.
As Chuck stopped talking to take a breath, Frankie began. He gave his best abbreviated Robert De Niro impression of Travis Bickle from Martin Scorsese's hit 1970s classic film Taxi Driver.
You talkin' to me?
Are you fuckin' talkin' to me?
(Frankie looked behind and turned back to look at Chuck)
Well, then, who the hell else are you fuckin' talking to?
Chuck was confused and at a loss for words for Frankie's non sequitur. He thought he had met a kindred spirit – but he instead met Frankie Neptune. Frankie broke out in laughter. Mary laughed and shook her head. She finally got Chuck's attention as she punched Frankie in his left shoulder and proudly said to Chuck, "Yea, that's my screwball partner – Frankie Neptune!"
Regarding things relating to The Job, Frankie employs his Frankie Neptune Paradox of Familiarity.
Frankie would say to any other cop who had Chuck's mindset and believed Frankie did as well, "I ain't into this cop shit."
It would surprisingly throw them for a loop. He would use verbiage in the essence of a Frankie Neptune Tautology when dealing with assholes. Moreover, it was a semantic way to bend their minds as well. But cops weren't the only victims of Frankie's way of doing things.
Example: When questioning evasive people, Frankie would ask, "Is it true when you say yes, you mean no?"
That usually would confuse the likely perps. Their attempt to craft an alibi out of simplistic logic – thinking it was successfully framed and structured as a delicate artistically formed origami – would quickly begin to unfold.
Frankie believed that perps should cower from danger because they should perceive cops as the danger in their world. Frankie was a proponent of carefully crafted silent attitudes and suggestive open-ended verbal questions – a repetition of the same sense in different words.
He believed his semantic methodology was a more effective way of communicating to assholes – so they know who's in charge – and it would usually prompt voluntary compliance. It was much more effective than Chuck's verbose broadcast of his self-righteousness to the assholes that was supposed to make them shake in their boots.
Frankie would rather fuck with their minds than announce his intentions outright. So the assholes have to decide where Frankie is coming from and, if possible, fear where Frankie would be taking them.
Frankie was the king of verbal deadpan, but he employed a friendly smile that could turn into a Murder One Look (Cold Killer Look) within a second.
“Why say, ‘I'm gonna knock your fuckin' teeth out?’ when it's just as easy to smile and say, ‘Do you have dental insurance?’" Frankie would ask.
****
I have always found Frankie to be skeptical without cynicism and empathetic without being a ‘chump.’ He can simultaneously be crass as well as charismatic. Those are the baseline traits I believe we as a society should seek in our police officers. The other qualities should fall into place. Frankie has always said that citizens should hold high expectations from cops for the power given to them. But at the same time, cops should have high expectations from the citizens they serve.
"It's all transactional," Frankie believed.
I had the opportunity over the years to meet some of the people Frankie associated with in his time. This included but was not limited to the women, the cops, the artists, street people, and others in his orbit. This access has allowed me to lend an air of authenticity and familiarity to my poetic license, which I take great advantage of in this novel.
In my research, I have memorialized the antidotes Frankie and some of his contemporaries have shared with me. This novel is one fictionalized thread of the many that is Frankie's life and career. For example, Frankie has told me he hates using the word ‘career’ when it pertains to himself or others. But, of course, that's just Frankie's point of view, primarily related to Frankie being On The Job (cop-speak for being an NYPD officer).
Some cops speak of their law enforcement career, to which Frankie bluntly says, "This is a job, not a fuckin' career."
I have woven my own and others’ insights and interpretations of Frankie Neptune into this novel. When I finally brought the finished project to Frankie for his review and approval, it was fiction but based on his overall demeanor. This novel was a document of his place in his own time, on his terms. I wanted to know if I caught the essence of who Frankie Neptune is.
But surprisingly, Frankie told me to fuck off (he always punctuates his speech with the crude four-letter verb to copulate) and adamantly refused to read it.
Michael Watson, Ph.D
New York City, 2022
*1*
It's Nothing to Lose Your Head Over, or I'll Keep an Eye Out for You
New York City – Midnight Tour – 0400 hrs.
RMP 1715 – The Confines of the NYPD's 13th Precinct
The quiet of the early morning was broken by the terse radio transmission from the bored and monotone male voice of a sleep-deprived dispatcher:
13 Edward – 10-10 – Shots fired –
Latham Hotel – 4 East 2-8
Fifth floor – Room 5-7-1 – No callback.
Police Officers Frankie ‘Bounce’ Neptune and Mary ‘Spike’ Stewart entered the Latham Hotel lobby. Mary noticed that the night clerk was asleep behind his thick plexiglass cage. Frankie checked out the sleeping skell (a lowlife, useless individual) on the ratty lobby couch. The lobby and surrounding areas were empty as the two cops headed toward the elevator. The cranky old elevator took them to the fifth floor as they drew their revolvers. Mary turned the volume of the police radio down. No need for an incoming radio transmission that could have announced their arrival to the possible gunman.
The elevator door slowly creaked open.
The buzzing of blinking neon light and the muffled sound of 1010 WINS news that emanated from an old transistor radio filled the eerie air. Frankie and Mary's gingerly steps were in cadence with the intermittent buzz of the blinking neon light's ballast. The radio slowly got louder; it came from room 571.
Both cops stood still outside the room—one to the left and one to the right of the door.
The door was ajar as they peered inside. The cops saw a dark and cluttered room with a man sitting in an oversized chair with his face in the shadows of the ambient window light. Both cops saw the giant silver gun in his lap. A whiskey bottle sat on the table along with the transistor radio. The ashtray still held a smoldering cigarette among the many snuffed-out butts. The smoke danced in and out of the light as if it drew the cops into this scary scenario.
Frankie pointed and made his left hand into the shape of a gun. Mary shook her head yes. Mary motioned that she would be the first one inside. Frankie nodded. Like most RMP partners, each knew what the other was thinking. It was her turn, after all. Mary kicked open the door as they swiftly entered and pointed their revolvers at the man.
Mary screamed, "GIVE IT UP, MOTHER FUCKER!"
They immediately tried to compute this bizarre scene as they entered and quickly converged on the man. The hallway light lit up the room within a second of the entry. Mary felt something wet and slimy hitting her right shoulder. She held in the scream and took a deep breath as they both incredulously tried to figure out what was happening.
A goopy substance had slowly lost grip and fallen from the ceiling onto Mary. The noise as it hit her shoulder added to the askance of this circumstance. Finally, they noticed that part of the top of the man's head appeared to have been blown off in an apparent suicide. Mixed parts of his skull and brain matter had been stuck to the ceiling – until the goop was no longer attached to the cracked ceiling plaster and landed on Mary's shoulder.
"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! I gotta change my shirt—I need a fuckin' shower!" Mary said in a controlled but somewhat raised voice.
It seemed the DOA (Dead on Arrival) had put his 45-caliber pistol in his left eye and pulled the trigger. That's what took out his eye. Everything flew up from the left side of his head and brain. It precariously hung from the ceiling as if waiting for Mary's shoulder.
The first backup RMP (Radio Motor Patrol) consisted of two older cops—one with a white Afro (Q-Tip) and the other with an Irish brogue (Sully). Two other cops showed up in the room. They saw Mary bitching and moaning about the messy goop on her shoulder as Frankie laughed.
Q-Tip immediately sized up the situation. He stoically said, "Hey, Bounce, looks like Spike got the brains of this team."
Sully quietly went over to the box of cold pizza in the room, grabbed a slice, and said, with a straight face, "Yea, looks like she shoulders all the responsibility." He took a bite of the cold slice.
The other two cops who responded were a young female team: Laverne & Shirley. They wanted to be known as Cagney & Lacey but were instead christened Laverne & Shirley by Frankie.
It was Frankie's homage to popular 1970s television programs of a three-network era.
When Shirley saw the gory brains and blood, she ran to the corner of the room. She regurgitated the cheeseburger and fries she had eaten an hour before. In a few minutes, she returned and asked Sully for a handkerchief. Sully's retort was: "Whatsamatter with your sleeve?"
She composed herself and asked Sully about tampering with the crime scene by taking a slice of the DOA's pizza. He retorted matter-of-factly, "The DOA ain't gonna say nutin' about it anyway." Sully let out a loud belch followed by a smile.
Frankie took charge because Q-Tip & Scully were immediately in the wind (out of there). They never wanted to get involved with anything, both survivors of the Knapp Commission (1970s investigation of alleged police corruption). So naturally, with things under control, they left forthwith.
First, Frankie told Laverne to sit on the DOA (safeguard the body and crime scene). Next, he had Shirley take Mary back to the 13th Precinct to clean up. Knowing that the patrol supervisor was probably not monitoring the police radio, Frankie decided to go to the Korean joint to find him. Yes, he was at his usual place: the Korean whorehouse on Lexington Avenue.
They all left the room except for Laverne and the DOA.
Laverne looked around, grabbed a slice of cold pizza, and found a comfortable place to sit. She noticed some magazines on a table. They were raunchy pornography magazines. She flipped through one of them as her hand went down under her pants between her legs. "Might as well make myself comfortable," she said to the DOA.