by G. K. Parks
“You were supposed to be bait, not bring someone else in from the cold.”
“The groundhog must not have gotten the memo because winter’s still kicking our asses over here,” I retorted. Mark was even more suspicious now than before, but he remained tight-lipped to my glib comment. “Hoskins has relevant information to provide in exchange for his ensured protection. Some discretion may also be necessary to properly maintain his well-being.” Cooper nodded to a couple of federal agents, and they escorted Carl Hoskins out of my apartment.
“I have paperwork to process concerning all of this. Apparently, I have to explain the unnecessary reason for allocating resources to keep a tail on an asset, instead of our prime suspect.” Cooper didn’t sound pleased as he and the marshals left my apartment, slamming the door shut behind them.
“Detective,” Mark’s voice was acerbic, “would you mind giving us a few minutes.” Heathcliff glanced at me, probably to make sure I wasn’t in fear of my life, before he went into the hallway, muttering something about going to the lobby to talk with the remaining agents. I took a seat. Pissing Mark off at this moment would not have been a good plan of action by any stretch of the imagination. “What the hell have you gotten involved in?” Each word was uttered with such force and pause it sounded like a string of single statements.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer plausible deniability?”
“Parker.” My name was a guttural growl.
“Antonio Vincenzo.” I bit the inside of my lip and waited. He turned scarlet before circling through my apartment and slamming his hand on my kitchen table hard enough that the floor shook. “He approached me when I was working on getting evidence to clear my name.”
“And you didn’t think it was important enough to mention?” He was livid. His tone and posture were controlled to such a degree I was afraid he’d internally snap in half from the stress.
“He found me. Gretchen is the au pair for one of his guys. She must have called her boss who called his boss. At the time, none of this made any sense. The original security cam footage from Infinity was turned in later the same day to O’Connell. Vito made it clear our business was concluded. It was a favor for a favor.”
“Vito.” Mark’s death glare could kill those with weaker constitutions. I’d seen it done in interrogation. It only had me quaking in my boots; well, if I was wearing boots, there would have been 7.5 magnitude quakes. “You’re on the run and decide to get in bed with a mobster. Great. Just fucking great.”
“No.” Taking a breath, I forced myself to continue. “I thought that was the end of it.”
“You thought that was the end of it? What do you mean you thought that was the end of it?” His intensity reached his vocal cords.
“If you think this is bad, you’re not going to like what comes next.” Sarcasm and jokes aside, I didn’t like what came next either. He visibly braced himself with his hands digging indentions in my countertop. “Saturday night,” I cleared my throat, “after Saturday night, y’know, with everything going on, I felt it might be important to have this thing resolved sooner rather than later. So Monday morning, I went to Vito and asked him to be civically minded and surrender anything he had from the other four heists.”
“The bogus security footage,” Mark concluded. “Did you know they were fakes?”
“No.” I was adamant, and he could see for himself I wasn’t lying. “I wanted evidence to catch the crooked cop and be done with this.”
“What’d you agree to do for him in return?” Shrugging my shoulders, I swallowed uneasily. “Where did any of this get us?”
“Vito’s got his hands on all of the thefts. They’re his clubs. The liquor supplier, Stoltz Bros., is his too. Hoskins confirmed a fifth burglary as the original burglary, but it was swept under the rug by the upstairs brass. Heathcliff and I have been running through ex-cops. I’d say Vito has some high-ranking officer on the take and a former cop or two conducting the thefts.”
“If that’s true, why tell you about the police corruption? Was it to frame Hoskins since he was getting close to uncovering the truth? Why would he knock over his own establishments?” He was speculating on some theories but didn’t open his mouth to share them.
“Insurance?”
“Perhaps, but what better way to come off clean, or as clean as one can be, when you have a federal agent indebted to you?”
“I screwed up,” I confessed.
“That doesn’t even begin to describe what you did.” His anger was abating, but I preferred it to the disappointment etched on his haggard features. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?”
My gaze dropped to the floor. I wasn’t thinking. I was reacting to bad intel, a horrible couple of weeks, no leads, and mostly letting personal feelings and demons from my past wreak havoc on my rational thoughts. Finally, I pulled my gaze from the floor. “What are you going to do now?”
He rubbed both of his hands over his face a few times before meeting my eyes. “I’m turning this over to Cooper. You don’t deserve it, but I’ll put a nice PR spin on things so you’ll come out on top. This entire investigation just got flipped on its head. We’re now gunning for former cops and police brass in the mafia’s pocket. It’s a hell of a leap to justify from chasing after a couple of crooks in burglary division.”
“If anyone can do it,” I offered.
“Don’t. Just don’t.” He strode to my front door. “Stay put. Keep someone around for back-up because you’ve messed with the wrong people this time. I’ll be by to pick you up in the morning.”
“Mark,” I said as he opened the door, “I’m sorry.”
He snorted. “Funny. I can count the number of times you’ve said those words without an excuse or explanation on one hand.”
The self-loathing had fully kicked in by the time Heathcliff re-entered my apartment. He locked the deadbolts behind him and met my eyes. Choosing to remain silent, he went to the computer and resumed sorting through the local and federal databases for whatever leads he was working on.
After enough time passed, I regrouped and went to the computer. He pulled a chair over without a word, and I sat down as he continued running the data. “Glad you can still sit.” He smirked slightly. “I figured with the ass-chewing you just received, you might slide right out of the chair.” I graced him with a brief chuckle. “The prognosis looks good,” he continued. “Your sense of humor remains intact.”
“Might be the only thing left once everything is said and done.”
* * *
Mark determined part of my penance was going to be the silent treatment. He picked me up at six a.m. the next morning. Heathcliff and I had pulled an all-nighter as we dug through what felt like hundreds of incident reports, old news stories, and whatever IAD records he could access. The situation was grim. Civilian complaints ranged in the hundreds; the majority were unsubstantiated. After trying and failing to instill all of this newly gained knowledge to a completely silent Mark, I gave up and sipped my coffee from the passenger’s seat. On the bright side, Heathcliff got to go home and enjoy some well deserved rest. The wicked weren’t so lucky.
The too-familiar conference room seemed particularly cramped today as agents from organized crime sat in to discuss ongoing investigations and surveillance regarding Antonio Vincenzo. While suspected of having his hands in drugs, guns, and girls, no solid evidence had ever surfaced or remained. After the briefing, Cooper updated the remaining agents on our most recent discoveries. Det. Hoskins’ statement regarding the first burglary had caused all police records and evidence to be reevaluated, this time by a crew of federal agents. I was positive Moretti just loved having his precinct invaded by feds. It was another hex mark to add to my current tally.
By lunchtime, boxes of files and evidence started flooding into the building. O’Connell and Thompson made an appearance to check on our progress and see how things were turning out. The rumor circulating through the precinct discouraged the fires of distrust among
the cops. The scoundrel was believed to be caught, and life was set to return to normal. The good guys had badges to go along with their guns. However, the few lucky enough to be in the know were keeping a close watch on their commanding officers to make sure no one was acting particularly squirrely or interested in locking down the whereabouts of the detained Det. Hoskins.
Too many cups of coffee later, I found myself dazing off into the ink covered fibers of the paper in front of me. “Parker,” someone said my name harshly, and I snapped my gaze up. A quick sweep of the room failed to produce the speaker, and it felt important that I draw into question my own sanity. After a few moments of observation, my focus returned to the page.
The report I was reviewing was from the date of the original heist at The Odessa, currently dubbed heist zero. While the report was supposed to be for a mugging that occurred two blocks from the hotel in question, something seemed off. Scanning the pages two more times, I realized what the incongruence was. Captain Stephens, the brass in charge of the entire precinct, signed off on the report. Since when did a captain concern himself with a petty mugging? Maybe it had been a slow night, or the victim was a personal friend. But something just didn’t sit right.
“Parker.” The conference room door opened, and SAC Cooper and Director Kendall were standing in the hallway. “My office. Now.” Kendall wasn’t giving me a chance to argue.
Making a quick note of the file number, I headed out the door. Was this the long procession to my execution? After all, my head was on the chopping block for the guillotine. Mark made my lapse in judgment seem like treason, and as we all know, that’s an offense punishable by death.
“Yes, sir?” I stammered, standing as near to the doorway as possible. Mark was already in Kendall’s office, and Cooper was in front of the door, blocking any getaway attempt I might try to make.
“Agent Jablonsky has informed me of your extracurricular activities. Apparently, your time away from this office has done nothing to dull those instincts of yours.” Kendall gave me a focused and knowing look. “How you managed to uncover crime family connections to current and former law enforcement officials is astounding.” None of this sounded like the torture I was expecting. “The information Hoskins provided has given us enough impetus to squeeze the shit out of Papadakis.”
“Sir?” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say at this particular juncture, but I felt compelled to utter something. Kendall held up a hand for silence.
“You requested an interview with Harrigan, and now seems as good a time as any. Between the descriptions and connections Papadakis has affirmed, thanks in large part to the dedication of Detective Hoskins’ strong-willed work ethic, maybe you can cajole something solid out of Harrigan. He might be able to recognize the shooter from a list of former officers we’ve compiled.”
“There’s a suspect list?” I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.
Cooper produced a USB drive. “It contains pictures of everyone who could be in Vincenzo’s back pocket. You’re a friendly face, and Harrigan may be more willing to open up to you than one of us. It’s their rookie photos, so maybe the uniform will help refresh his memory.” I glanced uncertainly at Mark who intentionally avoided my gaze as if I were Medusa.
“I don’t understand.” I couldn’t wrap my mind around why I was still working the case and hadn’t been thrown in holding for violating the penal code prohibiting dumbassery.
“Parker,” Mark spoke without looking at me, “these are your leads. You run them down.”
“The marshals are downstairs, waiting to escort you to the safe house. When you’re finished, they’ll bring you back here. Anything you find out, bring to us immediately. If you don’t believe you can handle that, I’ll assign a babysitter to keep you on track,” Kendall added. Obviously, Mark’s spin on things painted me in a positive light with my only flaw being my go it alone attitude. If Mark ever wanted to go private sector, he should work as a political campaign manager; with his silver tongue, he could probably get the antichrist elected.
“No babysitter necessary, sir.”
“Good. Now get back to work.”
Cooper opened the door, and I stepped into the hallway. Mark and Kendall were in the midst of discussing things, maybe me, so I gave Cooper the pertinent file number and informed him of the gnawing feeling Captain Stephens’ name on the report had caused. By the time the elevator dinged, Cooper was well-versed in my theory and had formulated an attack strategy for the rest of the files and evidence stuck in review.
We parted ways as the elevator doors opened, and he went back to the conference room. I continued down to the garage and met with the marshals, who stuck me in the back of a SUV with darkly tinted windows to help protect the location of their safe house. It was late in the afternoon by the time we pulled to a stop in front of a nondescript building, and I was allowed to see Sam Harrigan, bartender extraordinaire.
Twenty-five
“Mr. Harrigan,” I called, knocking gently against the partially open door. “Sam?”
The safe house was a small, secluded, single dwelling with a few marshals stationed inside. The bedroom occupied by Sam Harrigan was converted into something strongly resembling a hospital room. The only furniture present was a dresser with a television, a chair, a tray, and a hospital bed. Harrigan was in bed, and despite the couple of weeks he’d already spent recovering, he didn’t look so good.
“Alexis?” He hit mute on the television remote and stared as if he were trying to determine if I was a wraith coming to claim him or simply a figment of his imagination. “Did they bring you here for questioning?” I wondered if his mind was jumbled from painkillers, the entire ordeal, or if no one bothered to fill him in on what was going on.
“Can I come in?” I asked, trying to be respectful of his personal space. The marshals briefed me on his prognosis and recovery. As of yet, there was no feeling in his lower body. The doctors weren’t positive if his spinal cord was compromised or if it was a reaction due to the extreme trauma. Either way, they weren’t sure when or if he’d walk again.
“Sure.” He offered a brief smile. “But don’t be offended if I can’t get up.” In the short time span in which I had gotten to know Sam, he wasn’t one to complain, but there was a forlorn sourness to his tone. I walked into the room and leaned against the nearest wall.
“Mr. Harrigan,” I began, “words cannot begin to express how sorry I am.”
“Alexis,” he studied my clothing, perhaps seeing the real me for the first time, “you’re one of them?”
“Sort of.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, but it remained lodged in my chest. “Mr. Papadakis hired me to assess the possibility of Infinity being robbed. Unfortunately, things spiraled out of control. Now I’m working for the FBI to track down the shooter.”
“But you’re a waitress.”
“Actually, I’m not. Former federal agent, reinstated.” His eyes were filled with resentment. “Mr. Harrigan, I know you’ve been through a lot and have answered so many questions already.”
“You knew this would happen?” The heart monitor beeped as his pulse and pressure spiked. “You let some asshole cop bust into the bar and shoot me in the back. Where the hell were you when that was happening? Aren’t you supposed to protect the public?”
“Sam,” my voice faltered, and I reminded myself this wasn’t about me, “we need your help identifying the shooter.”
“What really happened?” He grabbed the metal bar dangling above the bed and hoisted himself into a seated position. “You were there. All I remember is the door opening and a man walks in and says he’s a cop. I turned around to grab my wallet off the bar to show him my identification, and everything went black.” Tossing a nervous glance toward the door, I wasn’t sure what the marshals would think if I clued in their star witness, but Sam deserved to know what happened that night.
“Nice guys finish last.” I stared into the empty space above the bed. “You were trying to be a gen
tleman and waited to walk me to my car. I was in the storeroom, getting my purse when the double doors open. I heard talking and then the gunshot.”
“So you left me to die?” My mind screamed yes, and I shut my eyes to bury the answer far away. He didn’t need to be revictimized by the admittance of my guilt.
“The man in question came around the bar; he fired a few shots into the door. I caught a ricochet. As I attempted pursuit, he burst out the double doors and told the group of police officers that I was the shooter. I shouldn’t have left you there. It was a mistake to run.”
His angry expression abated slightly as he considered my words. “Why’d it take you so long to come here?”
A bitter chuckle escaped my throat. “Between being on the run, getting released from the hospital, and then sorting through evidence and filing the proper paperwork, bureaucratic red-tape can be a bitch.” He didn’t necessarily warm to my presence, but at the moment, his resentment was under control. “We’ve made progress and have some solid leads. I know it’s an inconvenience, but would you mind looking through some photos to see if you recognize anyone?”
Three hours and numerous breaks later, he positively identified two former police detectives as being at the bar Saturday night. They were regulars, and he spotted them easily enough. However, he was blank on the shooter. “It’s just a blur. It was some guy, but everything about him is foggy.”
“Do you remember what he was wearing? If he was white, black, Hispanic, Asian? His hair color or eye color?” Although I already knew our suspect was a white male with dark hair, I didn’t want to lead his answers. He tried to replay the night over again. “Try to focus on something small and insignificant,” I suggested. “Did he have a jacket?” Maybe my guided questions would lead to something concrete. Although eyewitness testimony was always the least reliable, I just hoped mine wasn’t included in that umbrella statement.