For Better or Worse

by Al Lamanda

“That’s the least of your worries,” I said.

  Walt opened his coffee and took a small sip. “I’ve done a lot of thinking the past two nights,” he said. “Thirty years as a cop, and what do I have to show for it? A pension, fifty grand in the bank and not much else.”

  “You also took thousands of criminals off the streets and made this town a lot safer, put two daughters through college and paid off the mortgage, and you did it straight,” I said. “Not many can say that.”

  “So you believe me then?”

  “You wouldn’t be in my car otherwise.”

  “So, where do I sleep?”

  “With Elizabeth, of course,” I said. “You’re certainly not sleeping with me.”

  “I meant location.”

  “I know. My room,” I said. “I have a daybed in the basement, but I’ll probably spend a lot of time at the trailer before I lose it.”

  “I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Walt said. “How long do you have?”

  “The letter from the city gave me sixty days, so about fifty to go,” I said. “Forty before they cut off the electricity.”

  “What are you and Oz going to do with them?” Walt said.

  “Auction them off,” I said. “Oz is taking care of that.”

  “Beachfront condos,” Walt said. “That beach will never be the same.”

  “Nothing ever is,” I said. “Including us.”

  I turned down my block and parked in my driveway.

  Before we even got out of the car, Elizabeth opened the door and rushed out to greet us.

  * * *

  I did a turnaround with Regan in the car.

  “Where are we going?” she said.

  I dug out Carly’s list and passed it to Regan.

  “And all this stuff is for?” she said.

  “Walt’s lawyers, and you’re going to help me set it up at the trailer,” I said.

  “It’s going to cost you some burgers on the grill,” Regan said.

  “You’re a cheap date,” I said.

  “You’re a cheap dad,” Regan said.

  At the electronics store, Regan shopped while I pushed the cart. The tab for everything on the list was just over thirteen hundred dollars.

  I paid with a credit card, the one that gives you reward points.

  On the way to the trailer, we stopped at the grocery store and picked up what we needed.

  I parked on the beach in front of the trailer, and we carried boxes and set them down outside the door.

  “Dad,” Regan said as she looked at the trailer.

  “I know. Try not to think about it,” I said.

  I went in and carried out a large folding table and set it up. Then Regan went to work assembling things.

  I went to work grilling burgers, a few dogs, and to toasting buns.

  With everything half assembled, we broke for our very late lunch or early dinner, depending on your point of view.

  By the time Regan had assembled and tested everything, the sun had set and we put everything into the trailer and sat in our old beach chairs to watch it glow over the ocean.

  “Dad, isn’t there something we can do to stop them?” Regan said.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, get a petition to the town.”

  “Two signatures don’t make a petition,” I said.

  “I’ll sign it,” Regan said. “Father Thomas and all the nuns at the school will sign it.”

  “The school is in a different county,” I said. “And a petition requires ten percent of the population of the town.”

  “So, they just take our trailer away and that’s it?” Regan said.

  “They’re not taking it, they are buying our spot for twenty-five thousand.”

  “Even though you don’t want to sell it,” Regan said.

  “It’s the way things work sometimes,” I said. “And besides, after we sell the trailer at an auction, we’ll clear another fifteen thousand. That’s a lot of college tuition.”

  We watched the setting sun and listened to the crashing waves for a few minutes.

  Then Regan sighed and said, “Dad, is Uncle Walt going to jail?”

  “Not if I can help it,” I said.

  “Be a good dad and see that he doesn’t,” Regan said.

  “I’ll do my best,” I said. “Want to head home?”

  “We are home,” Regan said. “Let’s stay the night.”

  “Okay. Give Oz a call while I change.”

  I went inside to my room and slipped into an old pair of grey sweats and sneakers. Regan was talking to Oz on her cell phone when I went out and around to the side of the trailer to work the heavy bag.

  I warmed up with light jabs and hooks and then went to work and pounded the bag two thousand times before switching out to the speed bag for fifteen minutes or so.

  I had a good sweat going and kept it going with sets of push-ups and pull-ups before returning to the heavy bag for another two thousand punches.

  I ended with a hundred stomach crunches and a five-minute-long plank.

  When I returned to the trailer, Regan was down at the water, sitting in the sand.

  I sat beside her. We looked at the rising moon.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “Watching, listening to the waves,” Regan said.

  “I did that a lot,” I said. “It got me through some pretty rough times.”

  “Condos on the beach,” Regan said.

  “Think of it from the town’s point of view,” I said. “It’s millions into an economy that really needs it. The people that buy the condos put money into the town with their tax dollars, and they get a great place to live.”

  “And we lose,” Regan said.

  “Honey, it’s the cycle of life,” I said. “Do you know the one about the lion and the gazelle?”

  Regan shook her head.

  “The male lion is the top of the food chain and he loves to eat gazelle,” I said. “The lowly gazelle is at the bottom of the food chain and only eats grass. One day the lion dies and his body fertilizes the grass the gazelle eats.”

  Regan looked at me. “Is that from some philosophy book you read?”

  “No, the Lion King,” I said.

  Regan smiled. “Feel like a snack before bed?”

  “Sure,” I said. “As long as it’s not grass.”

  Chapter Nine

  After breakfast, I went for a run at the water’s edge, and when I returned, Regan, Harry and Carly were assembling things on the folding table.

  A limo and driver were off to the side.

  “Bekker, be a dear and get the discovery boxes from the car,” Carly said.

  I carried three large totes from the limo and set them on the table.

  Carly looked down the beach at the waves. “Well, this is nice,” she said.

  “Is everything working?” I said.

  “Fine,” Carly said.

  “Do you need the limo?” I said.

  “Not for a while,” Carly said.

  “Can he give Regan a lift home?” I said.

  “I don’t see why the child can’t ride in style,” Carly said.

  “I don’t want to spoil her,” I said.

  Carly looked at the trailer. “Right,” she said. “Regan, knock yourself out.”

  Regan walked to the limo and the driver opened a door for her. “Cool,” Regan said, as she got in.

  “So, what do we do first?” I said.

  “Start by making a pot of coffee,” Carly said.

  I made a pot of coffee. Then I showered and changed and joined Carly and Harry at the table.

  “Grab that folder marked credit card receipts and see what you see,” Carly said.

  I opened the thick
folder. “It goes back five years,” I said.

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Carly said.

  I started reading bank-provided credit card statements. It was like reading the phone book. Seventy percent of the charges made were made by Elizabeth, and they were for clothing, sometimes household appliances, and the occasional dinner out. A few years ago, Walt splurged for a new hot water tank for the house. The rest of the charges were made by Walt’s daughters, and they were mostly for college books and clothing.

  One charge stood out like a sore thumb. A charge made four months ago at a jewelry store for three thousand dollars. It was made by Elizabeth.

  I showed it to Carly. “Do we know what this is?” I said.

  “No,” Carly said.

  “It’s the only charge over a thousand in five years,” I said.

  I used my cell phone to call Oz.

  “Regan home yet?” I said.

  “Not yet,” Oz said.

  “Is Liz handy?”

  “Hold on.”

  A few seconds later, Elizabeth came on the line. “Jack?” she said.

  “A charge for three thousand made four months ago, do you know what it’s for?” I said.

  “Oh dear,” Elizabeth said.

  “What?”

  “It’s a retirement watch for Walt,” Elizabeth said. “You won’t tell him?”

  “Nope. Thanks.”

  I hung up and reached for a folder marked phone activity. The FBI had pulled the landline phone records going back five years. The majority of the calls on the landline were made during the day, most likely by Elizabeth.

  “Have they deemed any calls from the landline as suspicious?” I said.

  “No,” Carly said. “Every repeat number has been verified.”

  “What about his cell phone?” I said as I picked up the file marked cell phone records.

  “No calls to or from DeMarko or any of his people,” Carly said.

  “What about statements from the C.I.?” I said.

  Harry opened a tote and rummaged through it and handed me another thick file.

  I glanced at a few pages. “The C.I.’s name has been blacked out,” I said.

  “We’re meeting in the judge’s chambers to request his identity be revealed,” Carly said.

  “What time?” I said.

  “Three.”

  “Mind if I attend?”

  “Have you a decent suit?”

  “I’ll get one,” I said.

  I called Regan on my cell phone.

  “Dad?” she said.

  “Is the limo driver still there?”

  “He’s having coffee and donuts with Oz and Uncle Walt,” Regan said.

  “Go to my closet and grab my grey suit, a white shirt, red tie, and black dress shoes, and give them to the driver to bring to me,” I said.

  “Sure,” Regan said.

  “Thanks honey. I’ll see you later.”

  I set the phone aside and started to read. According to reports, the C.I. was on parole from a federal penitentiary and went to work for the FBI as an informant. Over the course of a year, the C.I. had been invaluable with the information he gathered on the streets.

  Six months ago, the C.I. reported to the FBI that information learned on the street was that a police captain was in bed with mobster Jimmy DeMarko, allowing DeMarko free rein to conduct his illegal activities in exchange for compensation.

  The FBI jumped on the information and asked the C.I. to get more.

  He did. Over the course of the next few months, the C.I. was able to narrow down the police captain to Walt, and that’s when the FBI teamed with the state federal prosecutor and Internal Affairs to begin the investigation into Walt’s involvement with mobster Jimmy DeMarko.

  Dying from cancer at this time, DeMarko spent his final months in and out of a coma, and was of little use to the investigation.

  After DeMarko’s death, the C.I. brought in the golden nugget. He had information from a reliable source that Walt had a secret safe deposit box in a bank in the Cayman Islands.

  With cooperation from the British and Cayman governments, the FBI flew to the island of Grand Cayman where the safe deposit box containing six hundred thousand dollars in Walt’s name was discovered.

  The bank manager picked Walt’s photo out of a lineup, although he wasn’t one hundred percent positive, as Walt had allegedly only been to the bank the one time.

  The discovery in Grand Cayman led to federal and local warrants to raid Walt’s home and arrest him.

  I quit reading and set the files aside.

  If it wasn’t for the six hundred and fifty thousand, I would file it under “fiction.”

  If it wasn’t for the six hundred and fifty thousand.

  “Who wants some lunch?” I said.

  Carly glanced at her watch. “We have time, what do you got?” she said.

  “Burgers, dogs, steak tips, baked beans, and three different kinds of soft drinks,” I said.

  “Why not?” Carly said.

  While I was grilling, the limo returned, and the driver carried over my suit.

  I tossed a few extra burgers, dogs and tips on the grill, and we ate at the table with the sun on our faces and the crashing waves as background music.

  After eating, I changed into my suit, and we took the limo to the courthouse.

  As I looked around the plush interior of the limo, Carly said, “Welcome to the dark side, Bekker.”

  Chapter Ten

  The judge was a tough old bird named William Brooks. A thirty-year man on the bench, he had a reputation for fairness and toughness.

  Tom Napier was surprised as hell to see Carly walk into the hearing room with Harry and me in tow.

  “Carly,” Napier said with genuine surprise in his voice.

  “Tom,” Carly responded, ice-water cold.

  “Miss Simms, it’s nice to see you practicing law again,” Brooks said.

  “Thank you, your honor,” Carly said.

  “Who is the big gentleman with you?” Brooks said.

  “John Bekker, your honor,” Carly said. “He’s a private investigator retained for investigative purposes in this case.”

  Brooks looked at me, and then turned back to Carly.

  “As I read in your motion, Miss Simms, you are requesting full disclosure concerning the identity of the confidential informant,” Brooks said.

  “Yes, your honor,” Carly said. “As the People’s case against Captain Grimes rests solely upon the shoulders of the informant, the defense must have the identity of its accuser to properly prepare our case.”

  Brooks looked at Napier.

  “What say you, councilor?” Brooks said.

  “Your honor, revealing the identity of the confidential informant will destroy his future usefulness to law enforcement, and might possibly put his life in danger,” Napier said.

  “Your honor, the defense said nothing about making the informant’s identity public.” Carly said. “The need to know speaks to his credibility as the only witness the People can provide. Their entire case against my client is this man’s testimony, and we have the right to know who he is and how he came by his evidence.”

  “Your honor, please,” Napier said. “Miss Simms is trying to overrule the informant’s Fifth Amendment rights by…”

  “Enough, Mr. Napier,” Brooks said. “We both know the Fifth Amendment doesn’t apply here. I see no reason why the informant can’t take the stand at the grand jury hearing if I close it to the public.”

  “Your honor, defense requests the name and unedited reports submitted by the informant for the purpose of preparing a line of questioning at the grand jury hearing,” Carly said.

  “Granted,” Brooks said. “Is there anything else?”

  “No, yo
ur honor, not at this time,” Carly said.

  “Mr. Napier?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “Then I will see you at the grand jury.”

  * * *

  At the elevators, I pushed the call button and stood beside Harry.

  Napier stood beside Carly, who looked at the closed elevator door.

  “You’re lucky the federal prosecutor isn’t handling the grand jury,” Napier said. “Once Grimes is indicted, the kid gloves come off. Once he’s found guilty, the Feds will want their pound of flesh.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Carly said, still watching the doors.

  “Sweetheart, it doesn’t matter if you discredit my informant, you have no viable way of explaining the six hundred and fifty thousand,” Napier said, “now, do you?”

  “You always were too impressed with yourself, Tom,” Carly said.

  Napier looked Carly up and down. “Still got those gorgeous legs, sweetheart,” he said with a sly grin.

  The elevator arrived and the door opened. Napier took a step forward, and I reached out with my right foot, caught his ankle, and he fell into the car.

  As the door closed, I said, “We’ll catch the next one, sweetheart.”

  Carly looked at me and grinned.

  At the curb a few minutes later, Napier approached Carly from behind.

  “I didn’t appreciate your gorilla tripping me like that,” he said.

  I turned a bit and looked at him and he backed up a few steps.

  “If I asked him to, he’d snap your neck like a dried twig,” Carly said. “Now, be a good boy and send me the discovery on the C.I. like the judge told you to.”

  Napier turned and walked away.

  The limo arrived, and we got in and rode back to the beach.

  * * *

  I pounded the heavy bag while Carly and Harry worked at the table.

  Some of my best thinking was done while hitting the bag or on a long jog. The heightened activity pumped blood and oxygen to the brain, and after a while, I zoned out, and thoughts just seemed to free-fall and take shape.

  After about thirty minutes of hard bag work, I pulled off the gloves and went around to the table.

  “Is the cave man hungry?” Carly said as she looked up from a file.

  “Where’s that FBI report on the bank in Grand Cayman?” I said.