Blanket Immunity

by Adam Van Susteren

  “I need a video of you blowing him. Your face doesn’t need to be in it. You’ll put the phone against the TV here, hit record, do some work, with your back to the camera, then you back up and around and turn it off. No one sees your face.”

  Her head swayed as she thought about it. “Okay.”

  “Got any tats?”

  She nodded. “My shoulder.”

  “Keep your shirt on.”

  She started unbuckling her giant platform wedged shoes. “That it?”

  Omar stepped back, watching her take off her shoes as he thought. Omar rubbed his bald head. “I think so.”

  The girl wiggled to grab hold of her tight little jacket and take it off. She stood up, suddenly an inch shorter than Omar, without the five-inch wedges. She dropped her jacket on the floor next to her shoes, then pointed to the money.

  “It’s yours.”

  She put the cash in her purse and set it on top of her jacket. “Thanks.”

  Omar watch her unbutton her jeans and tug against them.

  She smiled at him. “You sure you don’t want to go first? I’ll give you a special rate,” she said as her pants and panties hit the floor.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Omar pointed to Brad. “His pants.”

  She started with Brad’s shoes, thunking them on the floor to the side of the bed. She pulled off his socks and threw them on the other side of the room, hoping Omar was enjoying the spectacle. She sidled up and sat on Brad’s right thigh, felt Brad reach to her movements as she unbuttoned his pants. “He’s waking up.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Mucho borracho.”

  “Oh. Mr. Big Drinker,” she said as she pulled both his pants and boxers off at the same time. She giggled and looked at Omar. “He’s Mr. Big Dick.”

  “It’s big,” Omar conceded as he grabbed Brad’s pants, found his cell phone, and tossed the pants on the floor. The phone was locked so he walked around the bed and used Brad’s finger to unlock it.

  He clicked around and set it against the television. He looked at the wall above the bed. It was completely bare, no framed artwork to cast a reflection. Omar raised his hands to see if it cast a shadow. He didn’t see one. He would be the invisible man.

  “Okay, tap here, grab that thing and play with it for thirty seconds, back away and come press stop.”

  She nodded at Omar and pressed the record button. She climbed up one of Brad’s bare legs and picked up his penis with both hands. After a few strokes, she crawled up a little further and put it in her mouth.

  Brad stirred, and moaned his approval, encouraging the girl to work harder. A minute later she came up for air and remembered to back off of him and turn the recording off.

  Omar picked up the phone and replayed. The girl tried to see the video over his shoulder, but he brushed her away. “Go finish.”

  Omar watched the video, as the girl continued with a live performance. When the video ended, Omar clicked to share the video via email. He sent it to Jo Channing with the subject line, [Wish you were her]. He watched the phone as it processed the message, glancing up to see the girl hard at work.

  With the video finally sent, Omar deleted the email from Brad’s phone. He grabbed his phone and texted Jo not to delete the email from Brad. Omar went to the bathroom and grabbed the bath towel. He wiped Brad’s phone. Pulled out Brad’s wallet, wiped it, pulled out the credit card and did his best to wipe it, then uses the towel to stuff it back in.

  While the girl worked on Brad, Omar wiped down the remote control and the light switch in the sleeping area. He wiped the inside door handle, then opened it holding the towel, and wiped the outside handle. Despite the door opening and closing, the girl kept at her job. Omar admired her work ethic.

  He went to the bathroom and wiped the faucet and toilet handles then dropped the towel on the floor. While some trace evidence might exist, they would need a real go-getter of a cop to bother looking into this motel room.

  Omar walked out of the bathroom and saw Brad’s head turn towards him with confusion on his face. It was as if the girl was breathing life into him. Omar thought Brad seemed somewhat alert, like a smiling baby playing peek-a-boo, enjoying the magic but not understanding what was going on.

  Walking by the bed, Omar stopped to pick up Brad’s pants. He pulled the boxers out and left them on the floor. Omar used Brad’s pants as a crude mitten and opened the door, entering the cool start to this November night.

  He walked toward the border crossing and paused at a full garbage can next to the San Ysidro trolley station. He neatly folded Brad’s pants and put them on top of the can. Someone would be very happy with the find. When Brad came to and didn’t have his pants, he’d think he’ had one hell of a party. And, thanks to that cute puta, he did.

  Chapter 29

  Startled by the sounds of the door opening, Jo looked up from Dzuy’s computer, anxiously waited to see who was coming into Omar’s apartment.

  “Jo?” a voice called out.

  Relief and panic swept across her, she could recognize Dzuy’s booming voice anywhere. “In here.” Jo shot out of her chair and stepped quickly to see him.

  The two met in the hallway. Reflexively, Jo stepped into Dzuy, who wrapped her in his arms. For ten long seconds they stood in silence. “Where’s Omar?”

  “Mexico.” Dzuy let the embrace end. “At least that’s where he said he was going.”

  “And Brad?”

  “A shitty hotel on our side of the border, with a puta.” Dzuy put his arm around Jo, leading her to the kitchen.

  “What’s a puta?”

  “Prostitute.”

  Jo whispered into Dzuy’s ear, “I’m scared of Omar.”

  “Me, too.” Dzuy unplugged his laptop. “Ready to go?”

  “Uh, yeah. Where?”

  “Your office. But first-” Dzuy put his hand on Jo’s back and rubbed around until he found her bra. He twisted the rear strap and clumsily searched for the cord.

  “Here.” Jo turned around, pulling her sweater over her head so Dzuy could see the back of her bra strap.

  Dzuy unhooked it and pulled the wire from the thin stack of three-volt coin batteries, the type normally used in a car remote control. He handed the wire around to Jo and she pulled it from the front of her bra as Dzuy re-clasped her bra.

  She held the wires in her hand as she put her sweater back on. “Did it record the whole time?”

  “Everything.” Dzuy said as he snatched the laptop and took Jo’s hand.

  “We’ll want to get that somewhere safe,” Jo said quietly, as she followed Dzuy out of Omar’s apartment and into the elevator.

  Jo watched the pained look on Dzuy’s face as they walked block after block to his car. When they finally got inside, she said, “There’s something more - what is it?”

  Dzuy looked straight across his steering wheel. “Omar said for us to go to a movie and pick up some earlier stubs. A quick check of a theatre’s video footage would show we arrived late. I’m trying to think of how to fake an alibi.”

  “You were right earlier. Let’s be done with it. If I have to take a penalty for what I did with Brad today, I will.”

  Still staring straight ahead, in a flat tone, Dzuy said, “I kind of like Omar. But I’m kind of afraid that if we get caught he might kill us.” He looked at Jo. “So I really don’t want us to get caught.”

  “I understand what you mean about Omar.” Jo massaged her forehead. “What are you thinking?”

  “No way to get around shadows,” Dzuy said with a frown.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think I can reset the cameras in your office to change the time to make it look like you got back from meeting Brad around four in the afternoon. But the front door camera would capture the night and the inside cameras wouldn’t have the proper shadow. The time stamp wouldn’t match the lighting.”

  “Jesus,” Jo said, as she put her hands in her lap.

  Dzuy shrugged at her and chuckled. “WWOD?”

>   “What would Omar do?” Jo asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Jo’s headed lifted in excitement. “He would do what Brad did. Find a video that records us going in somewhere, find a way to leave and come back, not on camera.”

  “That could work. Where?”

  “I don’t know? There are cameras everywhere, but what if we did a late lunch at the Mission Bay Hilton. That would get us on camera tomorrow. I’ll have a big beach bag and a blanket, walk to the big grass field and lay around until three. Change in the car back to today’s outfit, then drive to the office, to put us both there for a few hours on your video?”

  Dzuy nodded. “So tomorrow we say we’re at the bay all day. But really we’ll go there, then blaze back to your office to record it as today?”

  Jo nodded. “It worked for Brad. He would have been completely free if it weren’t for going to Omar for the money. We’ll set our alibi. We won’t say anything about it at all. We’ll claim our Fifth Amendment rights and let our lawyer hint that we have a strong alibi.”

  “At least we have a plan.”

  Feeling more resolute, Jo held Dzuy’s hand. “I think the odds are Brad won’t remember anything, so it would be really hard to tie all of this together if we don’t say anything. I can’t imagine Omar would say a word. So just remember, if we ever do get questioned, we say nothing other than ‘I would like to invoke my Sixth Amendment right to counsel’ who will then invoke our Fifth Amendment right to freedom of self-incrimination.”

  “So where to, counselor?”

  “If it’s okay, I’d like to stay with you tonight.”

  Dzuy squeezed her hand. “To my place.”

  Chapter 30

  “Hey. Hey,” the young woman said to Brad as she poked him. After the cute little guy left, she stopped working on Brad and took a shower. She wrapped up in a towel and crawled under the covers, watching telenovelas as Brad slept, bottomless, on top of the covers.

  Five slices of pizza and most of a two-liter of Coke lay next to her pile of clothes on the floor. The delivery guy had quite an eyeful when he saw her answer the door in the towel and Brad lying half-naked on top of the bed.

  “Hey.”

  Brad opened his eyes and looked at the source of annoyance with confusion.

  “No more money. It’s ten. I go,” she pushed the covers off her and stood up, leaving her towel on the bed.

  Brad’s eyes opened wider at the pretty, naked woman. “Wha?” He looked down at his nudity. “Where am I?”

  As she was fastening her bra, she said with a smile, “El hotel. Duh. You drink too much.”

  Brad’s eyes darted from her to the television playing advertisements in Spanish, then back to her. He started to sit up. “Whoa. My head.” And lay back down and closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them he was sad to see her pants were already back on and she was working on her shirt.

  “Who are you?” Brad asked quietly.

  With her arms in her shirt sleeve, before pulling it on, she walked to Brad and kissed him on the cheek. “Tu novia,” She said with a smile and pulled the tight shirt over her head.

  “Where’d we meet Tu?”

  She giggled as she stepped into her high wedge shoes. “Here.” As she strapped them into place, she looked up. “Tu novia means ‘your girlfriend.’” She picked up her little jacket and purse, stepping towards the door.

  “Wait. Did we… sex?” Brad asked looking at his exposed parts, afraid of AIDS or some other disease.

  “No. Just-” the woman held up a hand a pantomimed three seconds of a blowjob. “Adios,” she said with a little wave and shut the door behind her.

  Brad looked around the shitty hotel room. “What the fuck?” His head pounded as he stood up. He walked past his socks on the floor, his wallet and cell phone on the dresser next to the television blaring some sort of show in Spanish. He straddled the pizza box as he looked inside his wallet, happy to see his credit and debit cards along with his license. He checked his phone. Ten pm. Several text messages. The low power warning flashed.

  He set the phone back down and scanned the dark room in hopes of finding a phone charger. He saw his underwear and groaned as his head throbbed when he leaned over to retrieve them. He put them on. Where are my fucking pants?

  Brad stepped back over the pizza box and opened the door. He overhead distant conversations in Spanish from other guests. He surveyed the parking lot full of run-down cars and saw the sign for the name of the hotel, “Casa de Dormir.”

  Brad stepped back, closed the door and locked it. “What the fuck?” he mumbled. The noise from the television was bothering him. Scanning for the remote, he saw it on the bed. He pressed a button and the channel went down, ESPN Deportes blared sports highlights in Spanish. Brad pressed another button and the volume receded.

  He took a breath and tried to catch his bearings. His immediate concern was that he was thirsty and had to pee. A few staggered paces led him to the bathroom, where he relieved himself. When finished, he flushed and turned on the sink. He cupped his hands under it and took a gulp. With his mouth full and ready for a second gulp, he spit it out and stood upright.

  The young woman who’d been there. The neighbors speaking Spanish. The television playing in Spanish. The Mexican name of the hotel. I’m in Mexico and just drank the water.

  Brad remembered the bottle of Coke in the other room, next to the pizza. He sat on the edge of the bed and drank directly from the two-liter. After several gulps, he picked up the pizza box and put it on his lap. He looked up in disgust. Really? Who puts pineapple and jalapeno on a pizza?

  He pulled off a piece and took a tentative bite. It wasn’t bad. He sipped more soda, the warm, sweet carbonated beverage not sitting well with his stomach, but he was so damn thirsty.

  Brad steadied the pizza box on his lap as he leaned forward to pull his phone off the dresser. He looked at three bars of reception. I must be near the border, in Tijuana.

  He looked around the tiny room again, hoping for a sign to tell him if he’d had a bad meeting with Jo and was now on the run, or if he just went from drinks with her to happy hour with someone else and randomly ended up down here. His eyes focused on his shoes. Where are my pants?”

  He set his phone back on the counter. He sipped as much warm soda as he could handle without getting sick, and had a few more bites of pizza as he wondered what the hell happened.

  Brad put the pizza box back on the floor, took his shirt off, set it on the corner of the bed and climbed into the part of the bed where the woman had pulled back the covers. Brad resolved to figure out what had happened and how to proceed in the morning, once he could think straight.

  Ten minutes later, with a gurgling stomach, Brad was asleep again.

  Chapter 31

  “Good morning, Cassie,” the kind-faced, fifty-something man with a thin gray goatee, said in the lobby of the police station. “I’m Detective David Larson.”

  Cassie shook his extended hand.

  Larson felt Cassie’s eyes quickly inspect him from his face to his shoes. Instead of a uniform or a suit, he chose a soft light brown sweater on top of a white shirt, with a green tie, grey slacks, and brown shoes. “I want to have a chat in my office about a few things.”

  “Oh,” Cassie responded with a hint of relief in her voice.

  He opened the door and made sure Cassie followed him to his small, stuffed but organized office. After Cassie entered, he shut the door and pointed to the chair across the desk from his. “Please have a seat.”

  Larson walked around the desk. As he sat he noticed Cassie’s eyes focused on the classic tape recorder sitting in the middle of his desk.

  “It’s not recording. I will ask your permission before we do. I just wanted to have a friendly chat with you to see if you can help me understand some facts that have been brought to my attention.”

  “Okay. But should I have a lawyer here?”

  “If you want one. Sure. But why don’t you hear
me out a bit first. Then, if you want to call your lawyer, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

  Cassie nodded. “Okay.”

  Larson gently scratched at his goatee, pretending to think. “I’m going to let you in on something we don’t usually share.”

  “K.”

  “Brad Gecina is going to come in to give me a copy of a video of you two later today. He wants to cut a deal to make sure he doesn’t go down for trying to defraud the taxpayers out of eight million dollars.”

  Cassie’s eyes widened with fear.

  “He knows what will happen. Everyone will abandon him. It usually starts with the lawyer saying they won’t represent you. Then your work lets you go. Then you’re in jail and spending all your money defending against a prosecutor who’s pissed off because he was tricked into giving immunity. And Brad knows the power of immunity deals. I think he’s going to see how much he can pin on you in order to cut a deal.”

  Larson leaned his head to the side. “But he was a cop so he makes all cops… hell, he makes me look bad. So if one of you two is going to get any kind of a deal, I’d rather it be you. What do you think about that?”

  “That I should call my lawyer.”

  Larson nodded. “That’s a good idea. Want me to leave you alone for some privacy? Want me to stay and the three of us can talk together?”

  “I’ll take a minute to call him first, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. I’ll step out to get some coffee. Want me to bring you a cup? Or some water?” Larson said in a friendly tone, as he walked two steps past her to the door.

  “Coffee would be great.”

  Larson left the office.

  Cassie dialed her cell phone.

  “Aaron Baker.”

  “Hi, Aaron. It’s Cassie Young. I’m at the police station and need your help.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Cassie looked over her shoulder at the glass door. “The police said that Brad is going to testify against me. That there was fraud in getting the city to pay for Brad’s raping me.”