Hellhole

Mention New Amsterdam, New York and the response is either gushing love or hateful revulsion. When it comes to NANY, there is nothing between the two extremes. Some, however, have learned to embrace both sides. Seth Burdian, NAPD Precinct 47 Captain, was one of those.

In elementary school PS 422, he was bullied by the larger students. He was short, even for a gnome, with a “classic” gnome nose, large and straight with wide nostrils, and large, round ears he didn’t grow into until well after puberty. His frizzy, medium-brown hair and olive-tan skin didn’t help. He was called “tinker” by classmates and teachers alike. It was a different time, but things hadn’t really changed as much as people liked to believe.

That bullying led to him studying dan-tama, the halfling martial art, from the age of nine. High school was better for him, though. PS 47 was in the middle of the Bunker borough, between Potato Hill and the Arts District, and far more diverse than the mostly elf and orc schools he had previously attended. That’s also where he decided he wanted to be a cop.

After nearly fifty years on the force, though, being a cop was no longer what he had joined for. It went from busting criminals and helping people to budgets, paperwork, and press conferences, like this one. Seth approached the podium as one of the beat cops pushed a small set of steps in place. He ascended the steps to stand high enough to be seen and to use the mics.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, the entire city’s police force, along with agents from the ATF, are hunting for the serial bomber responsible for the attacks on the subway. We are following all leads and have identified several persons of interest.

“We urge residents to remain vigilant. If you see an unattended package or bag, not just in the subway, but in the surrounding areas as well, please stay away from it and call 911. The hotline is remaining open for tips. Thank you.”

The reporters began shouting out questions. Seth held his hands up to quiet them. He was about to point to the reporter from the World News Network when a reporter from Eagle News butted in.

“Captain Burdian,” she yelled, her bleach-blonde pixie-bob bouncing around her long, pointed ears. “Is your leadership role in this investigation an attempt to pull heat off the allegations of racism and lack of diversity in the department?”

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You allege that I’m in charge of the investigation as a publicity stunt. Is that right? In other words, you’re saying that, as the Police Captain in the precinct in which the first and third bombings took place, and a life-long resident of the city, I’m not the best qualified? I can assure you that I’m quite capable, except as a handyman; I don’t have a mechanical bone in my body.”

“Th—that’s not what I said at all,” she sputtered. “I’m not a racist!”

“I didn’t say you were, ma’am, but you felt the need to defend yourself.” There was a smattering of laughter through the gathered press. He pointed to the reporter from WNN. “Your question, sir.”

#

Seth stood in front of a large subway map on the wall, holding a pointer with a black marker affixed to the tip. “Here’s the bomb locations, in order.” As he described the locations, he circled them on the map with the added reach of the pointer aiding him. “The first was three blocks from where we’re standing, here. The next two were spread out, here, and here. The last was across the bridge, here.”

“You said you had an idea of where the next would be.” Special Agent Sarah Ignatz, ATF, stood behind Seth. At five feet two, the light brown human woman with her black hair in a puff stood a foot and a half taller than him.

“You’re not from NANY, are you?”

“No, I’m from the Midwest. Small town girl in the big city, and all that.”

“If you look at these platforms, they all serve areas that are now integrated neighborhoods. They used to mark the boundaries between segregated neighborhoods.

“The first here, Little Albarth, the dwarf neighborhood, used to extend from there east. To the west was Grunnuk Town, orcs. Now, this entire area between them has been gentrified and integrated and those other neighborhoods have shrunk.”

“The others are the same?”

“Not all of them have gentrified, but they’ve all integrated. And the order in which they integrated is matched by the order of the bombs.”

“So, what’s the next target?”

He changed the marker out for a green one and circled two more stations. “It’s one of these.”

“I take it they both integrated around the same time?”

“Yeah, although my money’s on this one; the Arts District.”

“We can keep a team at both locations,” she said. “I’ll join you in the Arts District station.”

#

They sat in the controller’s office at the subway terminal. Even with all the cameras on the platform it was impossible to see everything in the throngs of commuters. Seth knew there were plain-clothes ATF agents and police in the crowd, but he couldn’t pick any of them out.

“This is like looking for a needle in a haystack,” he said. “Every other person down there has a backpack, or gym bag, or briefcase… we’ll be lucky if we see the package and manage to clear the station. I doubt we’re going to catch our man here.”

“We still may. Five of my people down there have bomb sniffers.”

Seth scanned the monitors, trying to pick out the agents, and failing yet again. He turned to face her. “Do you know the story of the ’39 Hill Massacre?”

“Learned about that in my race relations history course. The humans around Hill Street protested the police not protecting them from the mafia. The cops and fire department attacked the protestors, killing, what was it? Fifty-two, fifty-three? Then the fire department sat by while fire ripped through the oldest buildings, the ones that were built by human slaves in the eighteenth century. Only the stone buildings remained standing.”

“Right. What’s now called Potato Hill used to be called Tinker Hill. I know, nasty, right? Gnomes had been living there since the early 1700s. Every ship that sailed conscripted gnomes to do repairs, build tools, build pulleys, and so on. Usually, they’d grab an entire family. Easier to force someone to work when their wife and kids are being held hostage. Once they reached the colonies, they’d offer to let some of them go. Most that were offered the chance took it. Like my grandparents.

“When the potato famine hit, the incoming halflings from Ireland were dropped on Hill Street. To the big people in charge there was no difference between us. Anyway, Hill Street used to be the divider between Darkfall, the dark elf neighborhood, and Potato Hill, until the massacre and fire cleared most everyone out. My mother was there; she told me about it many times. The police set the fires, and the fire department kept their hoses on the humans and anyone that tried to help them. The police shot, burned or bludgeoned to death forty-eight humans, two halflings, three gnomes, and one dark elf.”

“When did the humans come to Hill Street?”

“Started during the civil war. Prior to that, there was some animosity between the dark elves and the ‘littles’ as they called us then. By bringing in humans that had nowhere else to go, it gave our people a larger ally. The Hill Massacre was the end of the problems with the dark elves, though. Like people in this city tend to do, they pitched in to help everyone displaced by the fires. And to help bury the dead.”

Sarah’s phone chimed. “One of the bomb sniffers picked up a trace of TNT.”

They both pored over the monitors, trying to figure out where in the crowd the bomber could be. Instead, Seth saw a different kind of disturbance. “Look at that, nobody’s helping!” He keyed his radio. “All units on platform seven west, mugging in progress near the turnstiles.”

Turning back to Sarah, he said, “This city is a hellhole.”

Four figures broke from the crowd toward the scuffle. As they approached, the mugger started gesturing wildly, and the crowd moved toward them, blocking the approaching officers. The crowd started attacking the victim.

“Any unit on platform seven, what the hell’s going on down there?”

“Cap, the mugger started yelling that the victim was the bomber, still trying to get thr—” She was cut off by the crowd now scrambling away from the mugger and victim.

“Anybody, what’s going on?”

“Bomb near the turnstiles. Two in custody. Clearing the station now. Divert the trains.”

Sarah grabbed her radio. “EOD, platform seven, near the turnstiles. Meet NAPD plainclothes and ATF agents there.”

#

The local “cop bar” was rowdier than usual, and a dozen ATF agents were mingling with New Amsterdam’s finest. Seth returned from the bar with two pints of bitters; one for himself and one for Special Agent Ignatz.

“Cheers to a job well done, Sarah.”

“And to you, Seth.” She took a long draught of the cold brew. “We’re lucky nobody set off the bomb when they attacked him.”

“Maybe. Although, I think if they’d noticed it any later, there wouldn’t be enough of him to stand trial. New Amsterdamers really don’t like it when you mess with their city.”

“What about the mugger?”

“We’re still debating on whether to charge him… on that count. He had two stolen wallets in his possession when they cuffed him.” He took a sip of his beer and wiped the foam off his lip. “The New Amsterdam Times will probably call for clemency and assistance for whatever injustices brought him to crime. The Wall Street Tribune will point out that he’s every bit as guilty as the bomber and should be tried for his crimes. Meanwhile, the Daily Crier will call him a hero and demand a parade in his honor.”

“Where do you stand on it?”

“I’m somewhere between the Times and the Tribune. He’s trying to claim that he knew that was the bomber and was just trying to stop him. I’m sure he can find a lawyer that will argue that, so the DA is torn on whether to add that assault and battery charge, or just stick to the possession of stolen goods charges.”

Sarah lifted her glass in a toast. “Where else but New Amsterdam would a mugger catch a serial bomber?”

“Where else, indeed?” Seth laughed. “NANY is a hellhole, but it’s my hellhole, and I love it.”