This is the final installment of the Tommy Taffy series.
As a police officer, I’ve seen a lot of things during my time on the force. A lot of awful, sick things. Things that’d make you wonder if there’s any good left in mankind. Things that I’ve carried with me for years, things I’ll never forget. I’ve seen acts of human cruelty that exceed any horror you could conjure. But there’s one incident that stands out above the rest. One that has haunted me for years and has been the cause of many restless nights. An incident that still causes my breath to hitch in my chest at the mere thought of it. Something that terrifies me to this day.
The night I met Tommy Taffy.
July 24th, 1987
“Shit we got a 911 call over on Tenner Street,” My partner, Henry, said, leaning across the driver seat and opening my door.
I steadied the two coffees in my hands and ducked down, sliding behind the wheel. I passed a steaming cup to him and sighed heavily.
“Great. And here I was hoping we’d have a quiet night. What’re we walking into?”
“Dispatch said a young girl called it in, something about a domestic disturbance,” Henry replied, taking a cautious sip.
“Fantastic, I love getting in the middle of arguing couples,” I sighed.