by G. K. Parks
“I’m still homeless, and with my bank account frozen, I remain indebted to you. Do you think you can put up with me for a little while longer?”
“If you really twist my arm, I suppose I can manage.” His relief was evident, but he was never one to leave well enough alone. “But if you want to tip the scales more greatly in your favor, it might depend on your willingness to put out. In the name of full disclosure, there’s currently a cocktail waitress and flight attendant vying for your spot, and they were both more than willing to throw themselves at me twelve hours ago.” I slapped his arm for the poor attempt at a joke and went into the living room to move my incriminating whiteboard away from prying eyes.
I needed to make certain there were no signs of mob connections remaining in plain sight of the impending troop of law enforcement officers. Now wasn’t the time to have that discussion. Frankly, there might never be a time to have that particular discussion. Thankfully, we were investigating crooked cops who were knocking over nightclubs, not establishments used for money laundering. As I began scooting the desk back to the office, Martin came into the hallway.
“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” He helped shove the desk back where it belonged. “Do you mind?” He reached for the hem of my shirt and waited for permission before lifting it to examine my scarred side. “Wow, I leave for a week and come back to find you in one piece. It’s amazing.”
“Time heals all wounds, right?” There was something intense and poignant between us that I didn’t fully understand. But it dissipated when the front door opened, and Mark announced himself.
Twenty
Martin provided sustenance for the troops and gave a full statement to everyone at the table. Thompson was fighting with the computer in the office to display a photo array of police officers for identification. While he, Martin, and Bruiser were occupied, I was brought up to speed on last night’s surveillance. No club was hit. The surveillance teams didn’t run across anything suspicious. More than likely, the guilty party or parties were paired with federal agents and didn’t have a chance to conduct an independent heist. Whoever wasn’t working stakeout managed to somehow discover Martin’s arrival and followed him from the airport to deliver a threatening message.
“Things at the precinct today weren’t good,” O’Connell chimed in. “Lines are being drawn. I wouldn’t be surprised if by the end of the week we haven’t turned on one another like rabid dogs.”
“Where are you with this?” I asked Cooper.
“Surveillance teams are on Hoskins, Fisher, and Metz, but no one has stepped out of line or done anything suspicious.”
“They don’t have to. Word spreads, and they can find sympathy with both the old school brass and the newbie officers,” Heathcliff added. “I’d bet my badge the guys who spoke to Jen and the chuckleheads from last night think they were helping out a wrongly accused brother in arms.”
“We need to change their minds,” I hissed.
The rest of the afternoon was spent devising an attack strategy. Defense wasn’t cutting it, and heads would roll. While Cooper couldn’t officially enact anything at the moment, he agreed to make sure I passed the physical requirements for a field agent and all my assets were relinquished. I needed to get off the sidelines and do something to set the crooked bastards off kilter. Before things concluded, Martin, Jones, and Thompson came out of the office.
“Nailed them,” Thompson offered. “We’ve got two names, an officer and a newly promoted detective, both with personal ties to Hoskins. Hoskins was Officer Perkins TO, and Detective Spinelli listed him as a recommendation for his promotion.” O’Connell and I exchanged a charged look; we wanted blood.
“I’ll run their mugs past Jen and see if she recognizes them,” O’Connell said, pushing his chair away from the table. “Are we ready to go?”
Cooper and Mark were coordinating something out of the office, and Mark waved them off. Thompson and Heathcliff got up to follow O’Connell; even when it came to riding together, it was still an us versus them situation. I followed the cops to the door.
“Nick, a minute.” I wanted to talk to him without being overheard. Heathcliff offered a reassuring smile, and Thompson bumped against my arm as they walked out the door. Making sure the coast was clear, I pulled O’Connell aside on the front step. “The bastards came for him last night. I didn’t even know he was flying in, and they stopped him. Who the hell are these people?”
“They’re cops, Parker.”
“If Hoskins wants to come at me, then he better bring it.” I thought briefly about Vito. An alternative solution might be a viable option, after all.
“Are you positive it’s Hoskins?”
“No.” I sighed. “Do me a favor, check these numbers as part of a detective’s shield.” I rattled off what I remembered from my dream. “See if we can get a correlation between the numbers, a medium build, dark hair, and probably a smoker. Someone with a deep, raspy voice.”
“You just described half the precinct, but it’s worth a shot.”
* * *
After everyone left for the day, I sat alone in the second floor office. My face was buried in my hands as I tried to compartmentalize the rage. Mark was right; split second decisions tended to work out negatively. For someone with usually good instincts, my ability to rationalize was obviously impaired. I flipped the whiteboard around and stared at Vito’s name written in the center.
O’Connell said lines were being drawn. How many of those lines was I willing to cross? The only hard evidence in this case was my statement, the bullet, and whatever Ernie and Sam provided. Martin and Bruiser identified a couple of policemen who theoretically could argue they made a routine stop last night. If Jen identified the same men, and that was a big if, then maybe they could be questioned. Of course, they’d get a union rep, and the whole thing would turn into a pile of paperwork with no real answers. Unions were great ninety-five percent of the time.
“Alex?” Martin asked from the doorway. “Can I come in?”
“It’s your house, isn’t it?”
“Fine.” He was annoyed by my tone. “You do realize it’s not my fault, right? I just wanted to surprise you. Getting home last night wasn’t supposed to turn into this steaming pile of shit.”
“No, it’s my fault.” Spinning around in the chair, I stared at him. “They’re after me, and you’re caught in the middle.”
“Again, we’re going to have this argument?” He pulled up a chair. “Let me get this out of the way for you. You’re going to say something like ‘run away and don’t look back’, and I’ll respond with ‘you can’t control everything. I know what I’m getting myself into’, and you’ll disagree. We’ll go back and forth for a while until one of us storms off.”
“See, you don’t need me around. You’re perfectly capable of arguing with yourself. I’m sure you can do other things with yourself too.”
“Hey, you were the one in my bed last night. Were you fantasizing about me? Because I’d like to remind you, I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve you haven’t even seen yet.” He raised a challenging eyebrow and smirked. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
“So you say.” Originally, I was hired to do just that, so it was difficult to shake that ingrained thought process after watching him nearly die before my eyes. “You know why it’s easier said than done.”
“Alex.” He knelt on the floor and took my hand.
“If you’re going to propose, I will shoot you.”
“Oh god, no.” He snickered. “It’s been two months. I’m not fucking psychotic.” I laughed in relief, and he continued. “These last two weeks have been hell. Maybe you weren’t bleeding to death, but you were shot. You showed up at my house and demanded I cut a bullet out of you.” He pressed his lips together. “The hospital calls to say you’ve been admitted. You’re no longer under arrest, but they almost killed you with whatever medication they administered.”
“Dysfunctional much?”
“That’s us.”
He shook his head at the absurdity.
“You’ve been through too much to walk away, I take it.”
“We’ve been through too much to let some idiot with a badge think pulling over my car in the middle of the night will have any real effect on the way things work.”
“Can’t let the bad guys win, right?” Martin once said that, and it seemed applicable to repeat it now.
“Right.” He stood up, pulling me with him. “Now let’s go upstairs and make sure the springs in my mattress are decent.”
* * *
The next morning, Martin left for the office with Bruiser and a federal protection detail. Mark had pulled some strings to make it happen, and I thanked him as soon as I stepped foot in FBI HQ and the OIO offices. My next stop was Director Kendall. After signing off on a few legal notices and waivers, I was granted field agent status and permitted access to my bank accounts and credit cards. I was no longer persona non grata.
Taking a seat in Mark’s office while he read through morning reports and checked office memos, I broached the topic of moving back into my apartment. Initially, I wanted to distance myself from Martin, but after much consideration, one fact remained true. I was the last line of defense. If I pissed off the wrong people, how could I be sure the van out front with a few bored agents would save the day? Mark considered the conundrum and suggested I stay at Martin’s for the duration. Moving back into my apartment was more hassle than it was worth. As it was, I was supposed to be living in my apartment anyway, so the chance they would locate and attack Martin wasn’t very plausible.
After reviewing a few of the finer details with Cooper and the other FBI agents, I borrowed a federally provided car from the motor pool and drove to the precinct. In hindsight, it would have been advisable to give someone a heads up, but I would have been deterred from enacting phase one of my plan. Stopping by the major crimes division, I knocked on Moretti’s door. Briefly, he discussed the internal investigation and elaborated on just how divided the precinct was.
Two schools of thought existed among the police department. One was to always have the back of your fellow officer no matter what. The other was to serve and protect while upholding the law. This led to fights in the locker rooms, requests for new partners and new TOs, and quite a few outside incidents. The whole place was going up in flames over the investigation. So much for keeping it an IAD matter only.
“I want this resolved as quickly as possible. When we can’t keep our own house clean, how can we be expected to protect the neighborhood?” Moretti posed a good question. “The commissioner is busting all of our balls. It’s going straight down the line. Police corruption will not be tolerated by any stretch of the imagination. The whole thing is getting blown even further out of proportion.”
“In the event I throw more fuel on the fire, remember, Lieutenant, it’s because I only have the best intentions.” Moretti glowered but was resigned to whatever I was about to do. This was the permission I needed.
Exiting his office, I took my jacket off and hung it from the empty chair across from Heathcliff’s desk. Perhaps it was posturing, but I wanted my gun and badge to be highly visible for what was to come. No one was in the bullpen, and I didn’t need an audience in case things went horribly awry.
Sauntering up to burglary division, I found Hoskins sitting behind his desk. A quick sweep of the room supported O’Connell’s claim that the description I provided matched half of the detectives in the department.
“How’d last night go?” I asked, sitting across from him.
“Nothing happened. I’m overjoyed,” he snarled. “Did you remember anything you wanted to add about Infinity? The other day at your place you were less than helpful with those clods from MC hanging around.”
“Yeah, but I’m just trying to figure out if I can trust your guys.”
“Follow me.” He got up from behind his desk, and I assessed him. Medium build, dark, close-cropped hair, and a badge hanging around his neck. Was he the shooter? He led us to the space between the double doors near the stairwell. “Well?” He was impatient.
“The cop who attempted to knock over the club had a medium build with short, dark hair, and wore his shield around his neck.” I looked pointedly at his badge. There was a two and a nine, but it wasn’t conclusive.
“Are you accusing me of something?” He stepped forward and forced my back against the wall. “Is this because I didn’t come when you called? I’m not your pet.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you showed up at my place at a particularly inopportune time. You fit the description, and you have the know-how. With years on the job, you damn well ought to know how to knock over a place.”
“Bitch,” he slammed his fist into the wall, inches from my face, “throwing around accusations right now isn’t very wise. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re all on edge.”
“Why? Are you planning to send another couple of guys to deliver a second threat? Because let me make something very clear,” I growled, leaning forward and getting in his face, “don’t fuck with me. You should know by now I’m not so easy to kill.” He slammed his palm against the wall, and his face turned red in anger. “Furthermore, it’s Agent Bitch to you. And assaulting a federal agent is a felony. Now back the fuck up.” He seethed ire before taking half a step back and allowing me to pass with no choice but to turn my back to him.
“You should realize you have the wrong guy.” His anger was contained now.
“We’ll see.”
Storming down the stairs and back to major crimes, I brushed past Heathcliff as I grabbed my jacket. He gave me a curious look, but I continued out of the precinct. This was hostile territory.
Twenty-one
Taking a deep breath, I entered the dive bar. “I’m here to see Vito,” I announced as the hefty bartender ran a rag across the counter’s gleaming surface.
“There’s no Vito here, especially not for a federal agent like you.” He continued wiping the countertop, never looking up. How he even noticed my badge was astounding.
“Tell him Alex Parker would like to pay her respects,” I said, unclipping my badge and laying it face-up on the counter. “And right now, try not to think of me as an agent.” The bartender barely shrugged, but it set something in motion behind the scenes. One of Vito’s other lackeys went into a back room, and after staring down Mr. Personality for another three minutes and regretting stepping inside the bar in the first place, Vito emerged.
“Ms. Parker, please.” He gestured to a booth in the corner. One of his enforcers stood blocking my path and wouldn’t move until I surrendered my handgun. Removing the clip, I gave him my unloaded weapon but insisted on keeping the bullets handy. He didn’t seem pleased by my insolence. “Tony, let her through.”
“I just want to make sure you don’t accidentally shoot yourself with my gun, Tony,” I whispered haughtily.
Vito took a seat in the corner booth with his back to the wall. This made it painfully obvious if anyone was about to get shot in the back, it’d be me. Joining him, I ran through the pertinent information, wanting to limit his knowledge of the ongoing investigation and those involved.
“After our ride, I thought I made it abundantly clear our business was concluded.” Despite his words, Vito was intrigued by my presence.
“Mr. Vincenzo, I was hoping you might be amenable to providing further assistance.” His face betrayed a look of smug satisfaction.
“You guys hear this? A federal agent is asking for my assistance. You believe that? Maybe afterwards we should all go to church because the world must be ending.” Coming here was a mistake. He was posturing in front of his lackeys and hired help and at my expense. Too late now, Parker. I sat gracefully through the remarks and jokes, waiting for him to pay attention.
“Let’s consider this quid pro quo. The other burglarized establishments belonged to you. The liquor supplier is in your back pocket, and it’s not going to take competent detectives very long to make those
connections.”
“You came here to threaten me?” He didn’t sound angry, just mildly interested.
“No.” The sincerity in my voice was surprising. “As far as I’m concerned, knowing people with entrepreneurial interests isn’t a crime. What goes on beyond the black and white on paper, I don’t need to know. Although, if you want to avoid the hassle from those with a less live and let live attitude, I thought you might be able to provide some hard evidence on the identities of the thieves.”
He drummed his finger on the tabletop to a rhythm only he heard while he considered my proposal. “I didn’t realize Quantico taught a class in blackmail.”
“It’s not blackmail. It’s mutually beneficial. Your interests are protected, and I help remove some dirty cops. From what you said earlier, you don’t want them hanging around either.”
“Who says I got anything to give you?”
“Maybe you don’t, but being a businessman, I thought you might have established a few assurances in case someone develops sticky fingers.”
“I’m not saying I have anything, but if security cam footage were to show up, you’d owe me.” Shutting my eyes, I swallowed. “Don’t look so glum, bella. I’m not gonna ask you to pop a guy, but don’t confuse that with being an altruist either. A favor’s a favor, and I will collect.”
“If something usable turns up, then you have a deal, Mr. Vincenzo.” Maybe I should slit my wrist now in order to sign the contract in blood. Wasn’t that the practicality of dealing with the devil?
“Funny how quickly you dropped the pretext of not knowing who I am. The goons with badges must have scared the shit out of you Saturday night for you to be here today. Are you sure you want this problem taken care of the legal way?”
How did he know everything about everyone? I suppressed the shiver that was traveling down my spine. He knew of my involvement with Martin and what happened Saturday. Was nothing sacred? He probably knew what color underwear I was wearing too, but if I asked and he did, I’d never sleep again.