by Terry Keys
What the hell was he saying here? Was he officially blaming me for Franklin’s death? Was I about to be put on leave?
“With that said . . . personally, I don’t believe you were reckless with Franklin. But I’ll be honest with you; there are others who disagree, but my opinion is the only one that counts. We’ve set up an office area for your team. I’m excited to see what you’ll be able to accomplish.”
I breathed a slight sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir,” I said.
Chief Hill clasped his hands together on the desk. “Have you made any hiring decisions?”
“Officially, I’ve made two offers. I also have a third I plan on making later today.”
“Care to tell me who they are?”
“I’m trying to make sure my team is diverse as well as highly skilled. I made an offer to Detective De Luca. I feel like she’s seen a lot, and she brings a well-cultured background. She’s also got a unique perspective on perps, and she goes with her gut when she believes it to be correct. Those are probably some of the same reasons she was hired on the force here, I would suspect. I also made an offer to a detective out of New Orleans—Paul Lafitte.”
I could tell the news of Lafitte caught the chief off guard. “Isn’t Lafitte an old buddy of yours?”
“Yes, sir, we served in the military together. We did a couple tours in the desert. I’ve trusted that man with my life in some of the toughest situations, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m questioning your choices. It’s your team, your officers. I’d just like to be kept in the loop. Who is the third person you’re making an offer to?”
I hesitated before answering. I knew my third offer would be sure to field a few questions and raise some eyebrows. I didn’t care I felt like it would make my team stronger and that mattered more to me than anything else.
“I plan on offering Brett Smith a position leading my data analysis team.”
“Brett Fingers Smith?” Wilcrest asked.
The room fell silent.
“I know he’s had a checkered past, but I’ve been able to use and trust him for quite some time now. He’s the best at what he does. He’s provided me with valuable intel that others, quite frankly, wouldn’t have found. No one outside this room knows that I’m even thinking about this. I plan on having a meeting with him at his house before I make him the offer.”
“Porter, you realize this means we’ll be giving a former criminal access to classified information in some cases?” Chief Hill said.
I smiled. “No offense, sir but Fingers has always had access to those files and any other files he’s wanted to have access to.”
It was out of character for Chief Hill to have anything but a scowl on his face, but even he grinned at that one.
“Touché, Porter. Duly noted. You do understand not everyone will be a fan of this.”
“Sir, not everyone was a fan of me being promoted to detective or being your choice to lead the Major Crimes Division. I’m following in your footsteps, doing things that not everyone agrees with.”
Again Chief Hill smiled. “I like you, Porter. Always have. You’re a no-bullshit guy, and I like that.”
“I always try to let people know exactly where they stand, sir. There anything else you’d like to discuss? I’m anxious to get back to work. I still have a perp out there to get my hands on. I doubt she’s sitting around sculpting pottery.”
“No, that’ll be all, Porter. Good luck.”
I stood up and shook hands with both of them. Then I headed to find De Luca. I wanted to run the Fingers hire by her to make sure I wasn’t completely off my rocker before I made him the offer.
I’d sent her a text asking her to meet me in my office.
“What’s up, Porter?”
I gestured for De Luca to close the door.
“Have a seat. I need to run something by you.”
She pulled up a chair, a puzzled expression on her face.
“I’m thinking about bringing Fingers on board and making him a part of our team. Tell me I’m not crazy.”
“Hmm. Will my opinion have any bearing on your decision?”
“Yes. I value your opinion. I mean, if it’s a crazy idea and I’m nuts for thinking it, just say so.”
“Well, obviously you think he would add value to the team, and he’s the best person for the job. Will everyone agree with it? No. But if you start making choices for this team based on everyone else’s opinions, then you’re not the guy I thought you were.”
“Do you think we’ll be exposing the department in any way? I mean, his past isn’t exactly spotless. Am I making a mistake here?”
“Well, Porter, neither is your past, if you’re basing your criteria solely on that.”
“Slightly different scenario but I get it.”
“Not really. Guys, especially black men, have been convicted of rape and other crimes with much less evidence and circumstance.”
“You always give it to me straight, don’t you?”
De Luca got to her feet. “Only way I know how to give it. If he’s your guy, stop talking to me and go get him.”
What De Luca said made a lot of sense. She was right; my mind was about ninety-eight percent made up before I’d even called her in. There was no doubt now.
Chapter 60
I left the station and headed for Fingers’ house. I stopped at Starbucks to get myself a fresh cup of coffee. I got Fingers a tall mocha frappucino. Computer nerds like those, or so I’d heard.
Fingers’ house looked more like a hideout than a home. It was tucked behind a thickly forested plot of land. He had an electronic gate with a video camera. I guess he saw my vehicle approaching, because the gate swung open right as my truck neared.
I parked and headed toward a door concealed in the side of the garage.
“Come on in, Porter.”
Fingers was tall and slim. He probably didn’t weigh more than one hundred fifty pounds, and that was being generous. He wore black-rimmed glasses that I imagined all technology buffs wore.
I handed Fingers the Starbucks drink. “A lot different than your last digs, Fingers.”
“Yeah, a lot more secluded. You found my last hideout, remember?”
I laughed. “And I suppose you didn’t think I could find this one if I wanted to?”
“Pleading the fifth. So what’s up? What brings you here? A simple phone call wouldn’t have worked?”
Fingers had established quite the lab. As I looked around the room, there were at least twenty monitors. Wall-mounted TV screens also filled the room. I counted ten security cameras, and those were just the ones I could see. I didn’t want to guess what all this equipment cost or how long it’d taken to set up the network.
“Well, I’ll get right to it. HPD recently started a new Major Crimes Division that I’ll be heading up. I’ve been promoted to captain and tasked with building the team, including the hiring. I need a data analyst, and I want you to be that guy.”
Fingers face went blank. “Let me get this straight, Porter. You want me to join the good guys and actually work for a paycheck that, like, gets taxed and everything? You do remember arresting me seven years ago, right?”
“I remember all too well. You broke the law; we arrested you. That’s how it’s set up to work. But I’m here because I believe you turned over a new leaf. I’m putting together the best Major Crimes Division in the world, and I need the best of the best on my team. That means you. I’ve already looked past your background and taken into account all the cases you’ve helped me solve since then. So what do you say?”
“I say you have a boss, and he’ll never be okay with this. Besides, I don’t think I’d fit in down at the station.”
“Like I said, I’m making the hiring choices. I’ve already cleared this with my superiors. Also, I don’t need you at the station; I need you right here in your office, doing what you do best. This is where I’ve always needed you. Why should t
hat change? Just going to put you on the payroll and make it official. I’m giving you a second chance. A clean fresh start.”
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor here because you like me. You need me to make yourself look good.”
I wasn’t sure where Fingers was coming from. I hadn’t expected this type of response. Then I realized that, besides a quick call and a bunch of data requests, I didn’t really know Fingers the man—what he was about, his story, or what made him click.
“Listen, I’m not trying to pull the wool over your eyes here. This would be a win-win for both of us, and yes, it would make me look good. Honestly, it would make both of us look good. I’ve mentioned this to only a few people down at the station, and I already have doubters. You have a chance to prove them wrong.”
Fingers stared down at the floor and rocked back and forth in his chair.
“Let me tell you a story, something that isn’t in my file. My parents were both special ops. They were both assigned to teams that were run undercover and off the record. They were promised a huge sum of money for obtaining certain information for the government. Someone ratted them out and they got ambushed and killed. I never got the money my parents were promised. No one even acknowledged that either of them worked for the government. They just moved on to the next two suckers. I was twelve when they were killed.”
Fingers eyes welled up. I could tell the pain of his loss was still raw. I surmised from his account that he had negative feelings toward authority and the police. I couldn’t say that I blamed him. No wonder he had reservations about me and my motives.
“Fingers, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened to your parents. Sounds like they got the shitty end of the stick. That’s not going to happen here. Like I said, I believe we both have something we can offer the other. You have the chance to turn the tables around and make your mark here. Rewrite the history book on Brett Smith.”
Fingers and I talked for more than an hour. In the end, we came to terms. Fingers was officially a member of the MCDH, effective immediately.
One of the terms of our agreement meant him meeting with me and Chief Hill. This would give both sides a chance to meet face to face, man-to-man.
Chapter 61
Stacy arrived in New York City ready to get back to work. She’d spent a few days mourning the death of her sister and deciding who she would target next in her sister’s memory. Porter needed to be taught another lesson. A painful lesson. Franklin, she decided, was only her first cop. There would be more, many more. They wouldn’t get off easy like Franklin did, either.
She’d purchased a dozen nine-inch Bowie knives from a string of stores along her drive from Lake City. The killings in honor of her sister would be gruesome, bloody, and extremely painful. She would make her victims suffer a slow, agonizing death. She’d also picked up some new goodies that she couldn’t wait to put to use.
She wouldn’t need her car here. She’d never ridden a subway but couldn’t wait to try it out. She needed to learn how to get around. There was little time to waste. She couldn’t wait to shop for new clothes to fit in with the locals. Every corner of every street was filled with hundreds of people. Everyone was moving a million miles an hour. Not a blade of grass in sight. The high-rises here were breathtaking.
It was nearly one thirty p.m. Stacy walked by a storefront window and caught a reflection of herself. She absolutely loved the red hair and was a bit envious that she hadn’t been born that way.
After she’d finished stuffing herself with pizza, she hurried back to the apartment she’d rented. The Metro Apartments were less than one minute from a subway station, and she wanted to be able to get home and out of sight as quickly as possible.
She’d sent a text to Marci a day earlier asking for a hit list of sorts. She wanted the names of the five officers who’d had the most run-ins—be it before or after becoming an officer. She was looking for the worst cops NYPD had to offer.
Marci finally sent a list of names: Mark Romero, Luke Rasmus, Bryan Sills, Justin Dudley, Jermaine Carter.
Now it was time to do her research and pick her next victim.
It didn’t take long to discover that all of them had one glaring thing in common: each had been placed on administrative leave at least once. Three of them more than once. And one three times.
The more she dug, the more she knew Mark Romero was her man. He’d been placed on leave without pay three times and investigated for everything from excessive use of force to tampering with a witness. One of the accusations against him was that he forced prostitutes to perform sexual favors in lieu of going to jail. To Stacy that was the same thing as rape. He forced women to have sex with him against their will.
So why haven’t they nailed this guy, she wondered?
A few more website checks and Google searches provided her with even more reasons not to like Mark Romero. Turns out the guy had married the chief’s daughter. It explained how a prick like him managed to keep himself from getting fired or prosecuted.
A quick residence search told Stacy he lived in Columbus Square on Columbus Ave. She looked up the apartment complex online. The pictures blew her away. The place was luxury to the max. No way a piece of shit cop could afford a place like that. Why’d this asshole have the golden ticket? Father-in-law must be protecting him. Stacy wanted to make an example out of him.
Chapter 62
Stacy loved stakeouts. She’d become so enthralled with getting every possible detail; she was like a lion hunting its prey, carefully stalking for days or even weeks and then attacking in one fell swoop.
“Come on, Stacy,” she said as she watched from her hideout across the street from the luxury apartment high-rise. “Open your eyes and find this guy.” No sooner had the words left her mouth when he finally appeared.
Mark was tall, late forties, bald, and clean-shaven. His eyes were ocean blue. He had an e-cig in one hand and his Starbucks in the other. Stacy followed at a discreet distance. She followed him into the parking garage and watched as he got into his red Corvette which she’d already placed a tracking device on.
“Not in uniform? Where you headed, Mr. Romero?” she muttered.
She already had a cab waiting in the garage. Twenty-five minutes later, her question had been answered and several other assumptions were starting to become clearer.
What the hell was this guy doing in the middle of the Bronx?
She followed him as he stopped at four different buildings in the projects and spent way too much time in each one. He damn sure wasn’t doing an investigation. And as she watched him argue back and forth with what appeared to be a gangbanger at the fourth stop, it became crystal clear: Romero was shaking down bad guys. Another reason to get rid of the piece of shit. The man he was talking to now was even taller than Romero. He wore a do-rag, was tatted down and, if she was seeing correctly, had a pistol tucked into the side of his pants. No surprise there. He talked with his hands and was clearly in charge of the other men who stood behind him. Romero stood emotionless and puffed on his e-cig, blowing his smoke right into the man’s face.
“These guys don’t look happy, Mr. Romero,” she said.
Maybe these guys were sick and tired of getting shaken down. They didn’t know it, but they wouldn’t have to worry about it much longer.
Finally, the man shoved a package in Romero’s chest and not too friendly-like, either.
Romero smiled and headed back to his car. Stacy nudged the cabdriver to follow.
“You some kind of cop, lady?” the taxi driver asked.
“Just drive, hombre.”
Romero didn’t stray far from his last stop before his brake lights flashed again.
Stacy gasped. Romero pulled right next to the curb on a street full of prostitutes.
“Goddamn you, asshole!” she said.
“You his wife or something, lady?” the taxi driver said.
“No. I told you to just drive. If that bastard was my husband, he’
d be dead . . . and not figuratively. I mean dead. Gunshot to the head. No more questions. Got it?”
The taxi driver nodded.
Stacy watched Romero motion girls over to his car. Not a single one of them had gone over before he called them. They knew he wasn’t a paying customer. He was a disgusting pig abusing his power. Finally after a few minutes of negotiations, one of the girls got into the car and off they went.
Stacy had an idea. She told the taxi drive to take her to Smoke Heaven, a smoke shop she’d pulled up on her phone. It was about ten minutes from the spot where she’d seen Romero pick up the girl. Once they arrived, Stacy told the taxi driver to wait for her and went inside. She asked for a manager and went to the back of the store. Fifteen minutes later, she came out with a small bag in her hand.
“Okay, let’s go. Take me back to the place we were before.”
They arrived back at the corner where Romero had picked up his girl She looked around for the girl Romero picked up. No sign of her; that was good. It meant Romero had yet to return.
She grabbed her bag and told her taxi she no longer needed his services. Paid him out and off he went.
Stacy walked over and found herself a spot on the wall.
About a minute later, a man came hurrying toward her from across the street.
“What the hell is this?” The man looked like a seventies pimp. He wore a cheap suit that screamed, I-bought-this-out-of-the-back-of-a-van.
He leaned against the wall next to Stacy. “Hey, girl, you lost?”
Stacy rolled her eyes. “This must be your shithole street I’m on, no?”
He leaned even closer and got right in Stacy’s face. “If it’s such a shithole, what are you doing here? Get the fuck outta here before I make you disappear, bitch. Unless, that is, you want to work for Uncle D?”
Stacy returned the favor and leaned in close before she responded. “Listen. Uncle D, is it?” She’d taken her gun from her waistband and pressed it up against him where no one else could see it. “I won’t be here long, and I’m not looking for trouble. But you have about two seconds to slowly back away from me and walk back across the street. I’m not trying to move in on your territory here. I’ve got some unfinished business with an old friend. You’re a business man, so I’m sure you can appreciate that.”