UnderCover

by David R Lewis

  “I believe we’re all set here, Mister Beckett,” Stitch said.

  “Thank you. Mike, why don’t we go to your office?”

  Leoni hit the chair behind his desk like he hadn’t sat down in a week. Crockett stared at him.

  “Relax. You’re okay. Everybody’s still breathing. No blood, no foul.”

  “I, ah…Jesus, Mister Beckett. I’m really sorry that…I mean, I think I owe you an apology.”

  “All right,” Crockett said. “Go ahead.”

  “What?”

  “Go ahead and apologize.”

  “Ah… I…ah…”

  Crockett grimaced. “Oh, shut the hell up. I’m kidding, for chrissakes.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thank you, Mister Beckett.”

  “Call me Dan. You look a little pale. You got any water or something in here?”

  “Out front.”

  “Go get some, come back, and settle down. We’ve got business to discuss.”

  “Yessir,” Leoni replied, and left the room.

  Quickly Crockett stuck one bug under the front right overhang of Leoni’s metal desk and another on the bottom of his desk chair. He lifted a gram bag of cocaine and a quarter ounce bag of marijuana out of his jacket pocket, dropped them on the desk, and sat down just as Leoni returned, clutching a water bottle. He gave Leoni time to take a seat before he spoke.

  “Tell me, Mike, has it crossed your mind that you may be a little out of your league here?”

  “Yes, it has.”

  “Good. I want you to think about that. I also want you to think about how much better your little import business might be if you had something to ship back to Italy in addition to motorcycles. I’ve left you some samples. You test ride my product. In a couple of days, when you’ve got your balls out of your throat and your dick outa your ass, I’ll drop by and we’ll have our chat. There’s just one thing I’d like for you to do for me.”

  “Yessir?”

  “Settle Wook down. If you don’t, he won’t be here anymore.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good. Now go unlock the door.”

  As Crockett crossed through the showroom behind Leoni, Stitch turned his back on Wook and followed them to the door. The two men didn’t speak until they were back in the Mercedes.

  “A grenade?” Crockett said. “A fuckin’ hand grenade? What are you, stupid?”

  Stitch went south.

  “Oh fine. Yuk it up, laughing boy. Jesus Christ, Stitch! What the fuck is the matter with you?”

  “Settle down, motherfucker,” Stitch laughed. “It’s a fuckin’ dummy. My ol’ man brought it back from basic training with the jarheads, dude. He was always gonna have it made into a cigarette lighter.”

  “A dummy?”

  “Yeah. I ain’t gonna fuck around with no ancient piece a World War Two ordinance, man. That shit is way too old to be reliable.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were gonna pull that thing out?”

  “An’, like, spoil the surprise, man? I had to sell it, Crockett.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Did you check out Wook, man? That fucker was gonna do somethin’ really dumb. I don’t know what he had behind that counter, dude, but I bet that asshole was fixin’ to start a gunfight. I had to stop him. Now he thinks I don’t give a shit if we all die. In his head that makes me more dangerous to him than he is to me. See?”

  “Yeah. I guess so. But Jesus, Stitch. I about soiled myself.”

  “Didn’t show, man. I guess that’s what they mean when they say somebody kept his shit together, huh?”

  Cletus and Bergman arrived back at the house late in the afternoon. Stitch and Crockett were waiting.

  “Son,” Clete said, “them old boys is as guilty as Judas.”

  “No shit?”

  “None at all,” Irwin replied. “They spoke quite freely, although communication lagged a bit after they inhaled some of the samples you left with them.”

  Stitch chuckled. “Ya think?” he said.

  Irwin looked at Crockett. “Mister Leoni was quite adamant with Mister Wook about his conduct toward you,” he replied. “‘You stupid shit. You goddammed nearly got us all blown to hell,’ were his exact words I believe. They discussed Stitch at some length. It would seem they consider him to be, to a large degree, irrational.”

  Crockett grinned. “I’ve never doubted it.”

  “Musta been the grenade,” Stitch said.

  Clete took the floor and related the rest of what they’d overheard, including that both men were surprised at the quality of Crockett’s goods and how Leoni’s contacts in Italy would likely handle all the cocaine that could be shipped. The two men agreed that the marijuana could easily be sold locally.

  “Dumbasses,” Stitch said. “Man, ya don’t fuckin’ shit where ya eat. They probably think they’re gonna bag up some a the reefer and sell it themselves. Whatdaya bet them assholes been cuttin’ some smack and sellin’ it on the street, too. Jesus! No fuckin’ wonder they had some undercover slick on their ass.”

  “Now what?” Clete asked.

  “Now we go out to dinner,” Crockett said.

  “Dinner?”

  “Yeah. Italian. On me. Bravo over in Zona Rosa. You’ll love it.”

  “I ain’t worried about no dinner, son. I wanna know whatcha got your mind.”

  “Mamma’s lasagna and the house salad,” Crockett replied, grabbing the T-Bird’s keys. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll pick up Satin and meetcha there.”

  Clete looked at his friend’s retreating back. “Goddammit,” he muttered. “I hate it when he does shit like this.”

  “Italian grits,” Stitch said, slapping Cletus on the arm. “Ol’ Crockett can’t think on a empty stomach.”

  “Must be how he got that way,” Clete said. “Thinkin’ too much.”

  Crockett didn’t make it back to the lake house until about ten the next morning. Stitch, Danni, and Clete were sitting at the snack bar, each showing some of the effects of a really good Pino Noir from the evening before.

  “’Bout time,” Clete said.

  “Good morning, children!” Crockett said. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

  Clete’s eyes flickered to the drizzle-spattered windows. “Lovely,” he said.

  “Where’s Irwin?” Crockett asked.

  “He’s all excited about the bugs an’ shit,” Stitch replied. “Went over to the motel about a hour ago.”

  “Whisper went with him,” Danni said. “Said she didn’t want him to be bored over there all by himself.”

  Crockett grinned. “Shame to waste a perfectly good motel room.”

  “He was stewed last night,” Danni went on. “Said the only wine he’d ever had was Manischewitz, and then just for the holidays. The pino we had wasn’t as sweet as he liked, but it was pretty good.”

  “I bet that before this day is over he’s gonna have somethin’ pretty good that ain’t got nothing to fuckin’ do with the holidays,” Stitch said. “Ol’ Bergman is gonna leave here a changed man.”

  “And crippled,” Clete added. “What are we up to now, Crockett?”

  “I think we’ll let Leoni stew for a day of two, then discover that person or persons unknown have bugged his office.”

  Clete smiled. “That oughta blow his dress up.”

  “Exactly. If he gets scared, he might open up a little. I wonder if Irwin can fix me up with a wire?”

  “I watched him set up the room,” Clete said. “That guy could wire your underwear.”

  “I don’t think that extreme will be necessary, Texican.”

  “Should I warn Mom?” Danni said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “Irwin says we gotcha five square,” Clete said.

  “Okay,” Crockett replied, fingering the tiny microphone hidden under the collar flap of his shirt. “We’re there.” He put his cell phone back in his pocket and stopped the Mercedes in front of Leoni’s cycle shop.

  Stitch
opened the passenger side door and paused to grin at Crockett. “Shit,” he said. “I forgot my grenade.”

  Crockett chuckled and felt some of his tension flow away. “Maybe you won’t need it,” he said, and headed for the door.

  Michael Leoni was waiting for them in the showroom. Wook was behind the parts room half door, both his hands in plain view. He did not look happy. Michael, on the other hand, was smiling.

  “Good morning, Dan,” he said. “Good to see you.”

  Crockett looked at him for a moment. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said, and headed back out the door.

  Leoni pacing nervously beside him, Crockett walked the length of the front of the building and all the way to the back before he spoke.

  “Michael,” he said, stopping in the sun beside the rear door, “I’m not convinced we can do business.”

  “Why not? I’ve got a good line of supply.”

  “I’m not interested in your line of supply. I’m not interested in buying any of your product. I thought I might have some interest in selling to you, but I’m not sure you can make it worth my while. You’re too small time.”

  Leoni appeared to be slightly wounded. “I bring in anywhere from six to eight kilos a month. I ship to Chicago, Detroit, and Denver.”

  “Just my point. Plus, I have no need for heroin. The market is glutted thanks to our friends in the mid-east. That shit is invading places at nearly the lowest prices in history. I assume you’re hiding it in the bikes that don’t make it to the showroom. You’d have to ship a boatload a month to get a decent return. Your business is going down the tubes and you know it. That makes you desperate. Desperate people make mistakes.”

  “I’ve had this network in place for six years,” Leoni said. “It’s solid. My people are dependable. We’ve never had a problem of any kind.”

  Crockett smiled.

  “We haven’t!” Leoni said. “I can ship cocaine to my suppliers and to those I supply. We can make a lot of money.”

  “I already make a lot of money, Michael. I wouldn’t consider any business arrangement that couldn’t move a minimum of twenty keys a month.”

  “Twenty keys! That’s a lot of coke.”

  “As I said, that is the minimum.”

  Leoni’s eyes flitted as he thought. “Let me make some calls. How much money are we talking about?”

  Crockett went for the big lie. “Twenty-five grand a kilo,” he said. “Ninety-seven percent purity guaranteed.”

  “What? That’s not possible! Where do you buy the shit, Columbia?”

  Crockett’s eyes grew cold. “Have I asked you where you get your product?”

  Leoni’s face lost some color. “No,” he said.

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sorry, Mister Beckett. It’s just, the price. I was reacting, not really asking.”

  “Leaves a helluva profit margin to anyone doing business with me, don’t you think?”

  “God, yes,” Leoni went on, beginning to sweat in the sunshine. “Please give me time to make some calls.”

  Crockett thought for a moment. “Very well,” he said. “Before you do, and in case you get overly excited and talk too much, I should caution you that my identity is not what you believe it to be. My organization is peopled by ghosts, Michael. They cannot be stopped. They can walk through walls. I can reach anyone at any time. If we do go into business, you need to remember that.”

  Leoni swallowed. “Let’s go to my office,” he said.

  As they approached the front door, Crockett spoke up. “Your office and phone have been swept, I assume,” he said.

  Leoni licked his lips.

  “Oh, hell!” Crockett went on, pushing his way inside. “Stitch!” he barked. “Shakedown.”

  Stitch followed him into the rear of the building.

  Two hours later the whole crew was assembled at the lake house snack bar after lunch. Crockett grinned at Clete. “Texican,” he said, “I thought Leoni was gonna swallow his tongue when Stitch exposed that bug I put under the front of his desk. The guy got white as a sheet.”

  “Reckon you’ve let him stew long enough?”

  “Probably. An hour enough time for you girls to doll up for a short appearance?”

  “Wait and see,” Whisper said.

  “Okay. Irwin, we set up?”

  “Certainly. Cletus and I will be in the back bedroom. We’ll be able to receive and record anything from anywhere on the premises. I’ve left some random equipment on the table to validate Stitch’s story on the bug. As I record I’ll also make a copy.”

  Crockett punched some numbers into his cell phone. It was answered almost before he finished.

  “Michael,” he said. “One hour. Here. Alone. If you don’t know where here is, ask Bennie. I’m sure he knows the way.” He disconnected and turned to the group. “Any questions?”

  “Yeah,” Cletus replied, his eyes wide. “Ghosts? Walk through walls? Really?”

  “Creating the illusion, my boy,” Crockett replied in his best W.C. Fields. “Creating the illusion.”

  Almost exactly an hour later Leoni arrived in his shop’s pickup truck. Danni, in a red bikini and heels arranged herself pleasantly on the arm of the couch. Stitch took a seat at the coffee table by the tools Irwin had supplied, Crockett relaxed in an armchair, and Whisper, in a lime green bikini and dark green heels, walked to the door. As Leoni started to knock, she opened the door, looked him up and down, turned her back, and walked to sit next to Danni and kiss her on the cheek. Leoni hesitated for a moment before actually entering the room and closing the door behind him. He stood and waited, unable to decide what to do with his hands.

  “Michael.” Crockett said. “Good of you to come. Sit down. Something to drink? Iced tea? A Guinness, perhaps?”

  “Uh, no thanks, Mister Beckett,” Leoni replied, moving to sit on the edge of a recliner. “I’m okay.”

  “You’re sure? I believe we have some juice if you’d care for that.”

  “Nossir. I’m fine. Thanks. I spoke with some of my people. I can handle the business we spoke about.”

  Crockett ignored the comment. “I think Michael will have some iced tea,” he went on. “Rascal?”

  Danni uncoiled herself from Whisper’s casual embrace and sauntered into the kitchen. Leoni watched as she poured his tea from a large pitcher on the counter and strolled over to where he sat. She handed it to him without eye contact or ceremony and resumed her seat by Whisper, gently nuzzling her partner on the neck. Leoni shifted his position and looked back to Crockett. Crockett’s eyes held his and did not look away.

  “Ladies,” he said. “Please excuse us.”

  Arms about each other’s backs, the girls ambled toward the stairway. As they passed behind Crockett, Whisper trailed her free hand along his shoulders. He did not acknowledge the contact.

  Stitch,” Crockett said, “tell him.”

  Stitch held up the small black disc he’d removed from under Leoni’s desktop. “It’s old,” he said. “Battery’s dead. Not even current technology. Coulda been there for years.”

  Leoni swallowed and said nothing. He didn’t seem aware his iced tea glass was dripping on his pants.

  “How long have you been in your current location, Michael?” Crockett asked.

  “Uh, almost six years.”

  “During that time, did you ever check your office for bugs?”

  “Nossir.”

  Crockett grimaced and took a drink of his Guinness. “Any idea when this might have been put in your office, Michael?”

  “Nossir.”

  Crockett stared out the window for a moment before looking at the man again. “Any idea when this bug might have been put in your office, Michael?” he repeated.

  Leoni licked his lips. “We did, ah, have a little trouble a few years ago,” he said.

  “A little trouble?”

  “Yessir.”

  Crockett smiled. “The name Daryl Hansen mean anything to you, Michael?”


  Leoni flinched and slopped iced tea on his leg. “Ah, well, he was a kid that used to work for me.”

  “Just a kid that used to work for you, huh, Michael? Just a kid that used to work for you that was found out by the submarine racetrack tied up, cut up, and with a large hole in the back of his head and a bigger one in the front. How stupid are you? And don’t answer that. I already have a clear idea.”

  “We caught him stealing product and trying to sell it,” Leoni said. “We had to do something!”

  “By ‘product’ you mean heroin, Michael?”

  “Well, yeah!”

  “I don’t give a damn about your employee problems!” Crockett snarled. “Good help is hard to find. It’s your disposal technique that concerns me. One of your shop’s employees turned up mutilated and dead. What the fuck did you think was going to happen? You think you’re bulletproof? You think you weren’t right at the top of the suspect list? You think a body wasn’t going to draw a little attention to you? How fucking stupid are you, Michael?”

  “Not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice,” Leoni muttered, finding some courage.

  Crockett laughed. “You mean the cop?”

  Leoni nearly dropped his tea. “What cop?” he asked.

  “Oh, please,” Crockett went on. “The state trooper that was dispatched on an undercover assignment to your shop. The one that seems to have disappeared about four years ago. The one that is in the middle of another lie you’re trying to tell me. Who do you think you’re dealing with, Michael?”

  “They’ll never find that body,” Leoni said, nearly boasting. “It’s miles from here on county land. He’s gone for good!”

  Stitch started laughing. “Motherfucker,” he said, “your stupidity is boundless. Jesus Christ!”

  Crockett grinned. “Go away, Michael. I’ve had all this I can take.”

  “What about our deal?” Leoni protested.

  “What deal?” Crockett asked.

  “Whadayamean? We had a deal. I called my people.”

  “Sing the weeps, walkin’,” Crockett replied. “The door’s right over there.”