Dead Beat (Flynt and Steele Mystery Book 1)

by Micheal Maxwell

  “Sure, he saw something messed up, but that’s not the point,” Steele said. “The point is that we’re the law. You know what the law really is once you get down to it? Just a blue brick wall. That’s what we need to act like. We’re not a comfy couch or a warm blanket. Got it?”

  Flynt shrugged again. “But, we got what we wanted, didn’t we?”

  Steele felt the bones of his patience starting to crack. “We’ll never be sure about that, will we? Who knows what else the kid knew, but he decided not to tell us because he knew we had absolutely nothing to hold over him.” He caught himself from going on a complete tirade. Really, was it anything worth getting this worked up over? Steele rarely lost his cool and he did not want to do it right here, in front of Flynt.

  Steele pinched the bridge of his nose and clamped his eyes shut for a moment. It was becoming almost habitual in the small amount of time he worked with Flynt.

  He needed sleep. When was the last time he got a good night’s sleep? It was hard sometimes, feeling Jacki lying next to him, motionless like a sack of bones. The guilt of how he sometimes did have urges she could not fulfill, the horror of feeling he was not supportive enough of her. It kept him awake many nights.

  And truthfully, he also needed a break from all these stupid punk kids. That was the real problem, wasn’t it? Even though he wasn’t questioning a little troublemaker, he still felt like he was babysitting. Flynt, who was always passively trailing two paces behind him, came with all the trimmings of a child, right down to the “but this,” “but that,” and all of the shrugs.

  Keep it cool, Noah.

  Just like that, he snapped himself back to an even keel. He locked away any lingering baggage from his home life, told himself to buck up over his missing sleep, and got down to the real point he was trying to make.

  “Here’s the important thing to remember, Comrade.” The use of the first name seemed to startle his partner. “That wasn’t just an interview, that was a major turning point in Josh’s life. It was the first time he was questioned by the police, and hopefully the last. We just pulled back the curtain and showed that boy what’s waiting for him backstage if he goes on playing the bad boy. Do you think what we showed him was ugly enough to make him play another part?”

  “I guess not.”

  It was a simplistic answer that infuriated Steele. It was something a kid would say.

  Noah took a deep breath and started for Room D to speak with Ryan.

  Flynt heard the term “scared straight” before, but could never make sense of it. Even if he was capable of coming down hard on Josh back there, what would the boy think about cops for the rest of his life? Would he suspiciously sneer at the words, “protect and serve” that was painted on the side of every black and white? Would he call them for help if he needed it?

  It was a scary thought. And it was why Flynt felt strongly that when there were two cops, one had to be the good one while the other played the bad one. There was a balance there, and kids could make better sense of the world when there was some degree of balance. Despite Steele’s harsh words afterward, Flynt was actually quite proud of how he conducted himself while they interrogated Josh Reynolds.

  If coming to grips with his opinion wasn’t hard enough, expressing it to Steele was a complete impossibility. So, when his partner asked if they were harsh enough to scare the kid straight, he simply said, “I guess not.” He could tell it angered Steele, but in a very uncharacteristic response, Flynt honestly didn’t care.

  Flynt fell in behind Steele as he stood in front of the door to Room D. Before his partner opened the door, Steele gave one final instruction.

  “Guard up, and I want to see some spikes.”

  Flynt didn’t know what he meant at first but then remembered the volleyball talk. It showed that Steele could latch on to an analogy and run it into the ground. Flynt liked this; he often did the same thing.

  Steele opened the door and they both stepped inside to find a woman sitting next to Ryan. Flynt thought it might be Ryan’s mother at first, but the pantsuit and name tag gave her away. She was a Welfare Department Juvenile Division officer. She had a pretty face that was expressive as the side of a mountain. The name on her tag read Deborah Couchman.

  The three adults nodded knowingly at each other. Ryan looked as if he just woke up and found himself in the middle of some abstract prank. Even at first glance, it was clear that Ryan was working so hard to keep his defenses up that he was actually flushed and sweating. He glared at both detectives for a moment, then seemed to decide Flynt was the one worth staring at it. Of course, Flynt was used to that kind of attention.

  I really should pay someone for a real haircut, he thought, more self-conscious than usual.

  “Can I go, now?” Ryan asked. He looked directly at Flynt when he asked the question, only glancing at Steele out of the corner of his eyes in a nervous sort of way.

  Steele didn’t even give Flynt time to reply. “Ryan,” he said, “you can leave any time you want. You’re not under arrest, and for the record, we deeply appreciate you taking the time to help us with this investigation.”

  Ryan shrugged, stood, and looked to Deborah Couchman. When the Welfare Department lady said nothing to him, Ryan started for the door. Flynt wasn’t sure what was coming next, but he was sure Steele wasn’t going to simply let the kid leave.

  He was proven right when Steele put a firm hand on the kid’s shoulder, stopping him. “Of course, we do have security footage of a kid that looks just like you breaking and entering at a storage unit on the other side of town,” Steele said. “I would hate for that to cause you any trouble down the line.”

  “Lieutenant you really shouldn’t touch him,” Flynt scolded. He immediately regretted it. Of all the times he screwed up, this was the first time that his partner was so angry he didn’t look at him.

  “I would agree with that,” Deborah said, getting to her feet.

  “Yeah Lieutenant,” Ryan said with a nervous smirk. “Hands to yourself.”

  “Let’s just keep things friendly,” Deborah said. “I’m sure Lieutenant Steele meant no offense.”

  Steele took his hand off of Ryan’s shoulder. “No problem Ryan. Now, should I call you a convicted felon or a helpful citizen?”

  “Whatever,” Josh said, returning to his seat.

  “Thanks, Sicario.”

  Flynt almost issued another correction. Sicario was Spanish for hitman. Fortunately for Flynt, just as he opened his mouth to convey this bit of information, he realized how fatal it would be to his career. Instead, he said: “I think we got off on the wrong foot, Ryan. My name is Sergeant Flynt, and this is Lieutenant Steele.”

  “Those are seriously your names?” Ryan scoffed.

  “I would recommend saving the chuckles until you’re free and clear from this station, son,” Steele said. Flynt didn’t like how tight his partner’s jaw was looking, a telltale sign of an angry dog pulling at its leash.

  “I’m not your son,” Ryan said, clearly agitated.

  “Where are the parents?” Steele asked, looking to Deborah.

  “His father is a zero. No one knows where he is…haven’t for years. And his mother is currently working at one of her two jobs. I’ve been unable to reach her.”

  “Got something to say about that?” Ryan asked, indignant. “You idiots gonna bully me over my folks like everyone else? You two going to take my lunch money, too?”

  Flynt laughed. He did that sometimes when he was uncomfortable and there seemed to be nothing worthwhile to say. “So, Ryan…you’re a Juggalo, huh?”

  “What’s a Juggalo?” Ryan asked sarcastically.

  “They’re people who really like Insane Clown Posse. It’s a band.”

  “Never heard of them,” Ryan said, crossing his arms. “I only see one clown in the room. Were you born at a carnival or just adopted by one?”

  It stung for a moment and then slid right off. “Have it your way, kid. I’m just trying to help you out her
e.”

  “Then turn around so I don’t have to look at your face.”

  Flynt gulped. He couldn’t remember the last time he was in a verbal chokehold as bad as this one. Even his fellow cops twisted a little humor into their jokes so that they weren’t all just blatant name-calling and teasing. He shot Steele a pleading glance and backed away from the kid.

  The look Steele returned him showed too much joy in it for Flynt’s liking. He was pretty sure Steele was about to rain fire down on this kid. Flynt almost felt bad for him.

  Almost.

  * * *

  Steele couldn’t even jump in and interrupt the painful exchange that his partner was having. It was like watching a boxing match and waiting for the coach of the loser to throw in the towel before things got too bloody. Flynt was actually answering the kid’s questions. One of the most basic rules of practical interrogation was to never, ever, ever, do that. Not unless you were working to make the suspect feel a false sense of control. And that was not something Steele wanted this punk kid to feel.

  The entire ordeal was embarrassing. Yes, he felt bad for Flynt getting verbally eviscerated by this little chunk of phlegm, but enough was enough. Steele made the decision then and there that as soon as they were done with this little twerp, he was going straight to the Captain’s office to recommend that Flynt be placed on leave, ideally without pay. The kind-hearted cop weakened their position so much that they couldn’t even get the kid to admit that he liked his favorite band. Getting him to talk about his involvement with a potential criminal was an absolute pipe dream now.

  It wasn’t all Flynt’s fault, though. Ryan was sharper than a tack. It was insane how good he was at seeking out weaknesses and exploiting them. The fact that he had the cushion of Deborah from the Juvenile Welfare Division was likely only building him up further.

  The only good thing about the thrashing Flynt was taking was that it gave Steele time to coil his spring to its tightest potential. Time to let loose. As furious as he was with his partner, the older brother effect was starting to take hold, the condition that made siblings hate each other until an outside bully got involved.

  The pleading look Flynt extended to him was all he needed. It was game time.

  “Tell me this, Ryan: Is one of the jobs your mother has at the hospital? A brian surgeon maybe?”

  “What do you—”

  “Let’s hope so,” Steele said, not giving the kid a chance to say anything. “Do you have any idea the kind of legal fees she’s going to be up against trying to keep you out of Juvie?”

  “Lieutenant, that’s quite enough,” Deborah said, again getting to her feet. She looked angry, but also a little scared. But that was fine by Steele. He’d worked on cases with this same sort of government official looking on. He didn’t say anything out of sorts—nothing that could get him into trouble.

  “And if your mom can’t afford the legal fees, maybe you can help her pay them off once you get out of jail. Better get a good job to help with an expense like that…not playing in some loser no-name band. Let me give you a glimpse of your future, Ryan. You’re going to deal with the court, crime-fatigued judges, and cross-examinations from bloodthirsty lawyers. And then, when you’re in prison, well…imagine all the stories you’ve heard. The sweaty bunkmates that like to snuggle. Dropping the soap. All of that. It’s all true. You think ex-cons would make that stuff up?”

  “Lieutenant,” Deborah said again, with force in her voice this time. “I recommend you control your tongue, or it’ll be you in front of a judge.”

  Steele knew he was at the cusp of taking it too far. He was usually pretty good about keeping things civil but the last two days wore him down. He nodded to her and then took a step back, getting control over himself.

  “Ryan” he finally said. “If you want a better future for yourself, this is how it starts. First, you apologize to my partner. Second, you apologize to me. Third, you tell me absolutely everything you know about the Zany Zygotes, their involvement with Terry ‘Thorny Bone’ Johnson, and the events leading up to your pitiful attempt at taking your band to the next level. Ready?”

  Ryan nodded, his eyes wide and glassy.

  “Good. Go.”

  Ryan Brolin carefully followed steps one through three.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Following the interrogation of Ryan Brolin, Steele felt a headache coming on. He’d never found himself restraining his words to such a degree. He went to the breakroom and downed three aspirin. When he came out, he could not find Flynt. He assumed his partner went to some private place to heal up after being so badly burned by Ryan in Room D.

  Steele looked down the precinct hallway to where it ended at a large open area. He looked into that open area and decided that it was time to do something he dreaded ever since coming onto this force yesterday morning. It was time to establish his territory. Humans took the act just as seriously as animals; the only difference was people were more subtle about their approach in that they typically didn’t urinate on things to mark what was theirs. Although Noah never thought of himself as a lone wolf type, he knew that’s what he would be within this precinct if he didn’t present himself otherwise. After all, in a way, he was a lone wolf now—and that’s exactly what he was now joining, a full-grown pack.

  The moment he stepped into the open area of the Detective Division, the game began.

  “Steele!” one of the five officers in the room exclaimed. “There you are! Where’s your little Commie buddy?”

  Steele ignored the remark and walked on. He didn’t so much as look in the man’s direction.

  “Now we got a deaf one to go with the dummy!”

  This remark was made by one of the other officers, and Steele did not pay him any attention, either. The rest of the crew broke into laughter. The only person in the room that didn’t seem to find the crack to be funny was sitting in the far corner of the room. It was a middle-aged female officer, sipping on coffee and not even looking up from her desk. She was focused on paperwork or whatever she was doing. Her mannerisms bordered on machine-like.

  “Oh,” Noah said, halting, feigning confusion and looking back at the door. He was a pretty good actor if he did say so himself. “I guess this is the Comedy Improv Lounge. Could one of you guys point me to the Detective Division?”

  That earned him a few chuckles, par for the course in territorial shifts like this one. Noah learned long ago that hazing could be nipped early on with the right responses. They weren’t as hard as most cops, from his experience, and they really weren’t as closed off as they would lead you to believe. Now, to make proper contact.

  “I’d introduce myself,” Steele began, “but it sounds like you guys already finished your investigation.”

  A tall black man in a crisp white shirt made his way to Noah and extended his hand. “Ben White,” he said.

  “Yeah, but he liked black better,” a man in a brown shirt, yellow tie, and khakis said.

  They’re already making fun of each other.

  Steele congratulated himself on taking the room in record time. Just like that, he bypassed the bulk of the razzing. They were already seeing him as one of their own.

  Ben White started making introductions, and Noah gave each hand a firm, confident shake. “The clown in that wretched yellow tie is Fletcher. The guy with the mustache is Donaldson. Sanchez here is our token Hispanic.”

  “White is just sour,” Sanchez teased. “He can’t handle two minorities taking up the same space.”

  “Viva la Raza,” White said. “May I continue? Now, the nice lady minding her own business is the real brains of the department, Kerrie Luna. She’s mad at us today, so she’s keeping to herself. Right, Kerrie?”

  Kerrie didn’t flinch. White went on.

  “Be nice to her. She’s the only one who can work a computer.”

  Sanchez moved to the center of the room, standing in front of White with a bit of dramatic flair. “On behalf of the entire detective division, po
lice department, and the City of Puta Gorda, I want to extend our deepest sympathy for you getting stuck with the Furball Leprechaun. We are truly sorry.”

  The room full of detectives applauded enthusiastically. Across the room, Kerrie looked up and smiled. She was prettier than Steele noticed before. Her long, almost black hair was in a ponytail and pulled over one shoulder. Steele snapped his gaze elsewhere. Making warm eye contact with Kerrie was fine, but letting the other guys see it happen wouldn’t be too politically savvy.

  “I am grateful for the condolences,” Steele’s words were solemn and heartfelt. “This is a difficult day for us all.”

  He checked himself when he realized that playing along with the joke might be taking him a little too close to home. This department’s real reasons for condolences were still thick in the air.

  He cleared his throat. “So where is my desk?”

  “The Captain said you’d be taking Bill’s.”

  “I’m not comfortable with that.” Steele looked over the room. He spotted an empty desk near the center of the room with no personal effects or paper on it. “Who sits there?”

  “Nobody, anymore.” White watched Steele closely. “He’s in a better place now.”

  Is there anything I can say that doesn’t involve death?

  Steele hung his head low. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He’s not sorry!” Sanchez butted in. The rest of the guys were already laughing. The mustached guy named Donaldson even snorted. “He’s retired, not dead.”

  Guilty on two counts of gullibility, Steele thought. Yikes.

  Steele shook his head, grinning. “I’ll take that one, then.”

  He walked to the empty desk and sat down. He turned on the computer and began looking through the drawers while it warmed up. The others went back to what they were doing. Some gave him glances here and there. He was a little bummed that Kerrie was not one of them. Yes, he loved Jacki every much but it was always nice to feel attractive.