by David Putnam
“Ah, son of a bitch.” I turned and slowly eased my arms and forehead down on the hot hood of the Ford Ranger. The burning heat on my exposed skin just didn’t matter.
My God, what a chump I’d been.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
“BRUNO, ARE YOU all right?” Chelsea put her hand on my back. Even in my emotionally distressed state, I found her familiar touch, the thought that she cared about me, comforting.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I shouldn’t have said that thing about you being a chump. I really thought you knew. Wicks is a lot like Blue. They both use people and when they’re done with them, they wad them up and throw ’em away. They just don’t care about anybody but themselves. Wicks is using you, and I’m sorry I’m the one who had to tell you.”
I looked up at her, trying to fight through all the crazy thoughts she’d unleashed and at the same time listen to what she was saying. “What are you really doing here?”
She looked shocked. “What are you talking about?”
“Did you really just transfer in from Public Relations?”
“Yes, what do you think I did?”
“Nothing. You just seem to have too much information, that’s all.”
She chuckled. “What, you think I came from Internal Affairs, or something like that? I told you, I came here to get some real-time street experience and found myself caught up in a bunch of bullshit games men play when their testosterone levels get out of control. Like that’s never happened before.”
“Okay, okay. For the moment, let’s continue with the premise that I’m a chump. Tell me how you think Wicks is using me and how you came to that conclusion?”
She visibly squirmed and started to pull away. I again took hold of her hand, gently this time, and said, “Please?”
She didn’t resist at all and glanced back over her shoulder. I followed her gaze. Thibodeaux came out of the trailer and stood on the stoop, his forearms resting on the railing as he smoked a cigarette and watched us. He was too far away to hear what we said.
I squeezed her hand. She looked back at me, her brown eyes large and innocent. I no longer believed her innocent of anything, not anymore, no matter what she tried to feed me. No one had ever confused me emotionally like this. I could no longer pick out the truth.
She nodded. “It’s simple. Just a little simple bit of deductive reasoning. That’s all.”
“Spell it out for me, please.”
“Wicks is given his own team to run, a team with little or no oversight, and what does he do? The first thing he does is insert one of his men into a street narcotics team to try and get something on the man who banged his wife.”
“That’s it? That’s how you arrived at me being a world-class chump?”
“Well, is it true? Were you transferred or were you inserted to rat on Blue? If you’re here as a rat, I think you’re one dirty dog for doing it. I think Blue likes to walk the line, and may step over into the gray area a little every now and then, but he doesn’t deserve to have someone looking over his shoulder. Not the way I see it. Not because Wicks wants to get even with him.”
I didn’t like the admiration in her eyes over Blue, and recognized this reaction of mine, in part, as a twinge of jealousy. I fought the urge to tell her about how Blue killed people for money. See what she thought about him then.
I didn’t want to lie to her, but in that moment, I realized lying was the bulwark of the undercover assignment. “No, I was transferred in. I didn’t get along with Wicks. As it turns out, he’s a bigot and he gave me my choice of assignment for transfer.”
Her mouth dropped open. She pointed to the hood of my truck. “Then what was that display all about just now?”
“I . . . I . . .”
I needed another lie and couldn’t think of one close at hand.
“You what?”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Wicks called me today and asked for a meet. He wanted to know about Blue.”
Now, all of a sudden, the lies came easier and spewed out like poison leaving my body. I’d worked the street busting crooks long enough to know the best lies contained at least a small kernel of the truth. I was walking a dangerous line with this one.
“What’d you tell him?”
“What could I tell him? Nothing. I told him Blue really knew the job. I told him how we took down sixty-seven suspects in one search warrant. What I didn’t know at the time was Wicks’ motivation. Just now, when you told me about the thing with his ex-wife, the reason for that meeting finally made sense to me. Now if he asks again, I’ll tell him to go take a flying leap.”
She smiled. “Good. I’m glad we had this conversation. We better get back inside.”
Now I knew for sure that she came to the team without any hidden agendas. She’d just landed at the wrong place at the wrong time. Sadly, when the takedown of Blue and Thibodeaux occurred, a little of the ugliness would rub off on her reputation, no matter that she was involved or not.
She’d also know that I lied to her.
Ollie Bell drove up in her van and parked next to the steps of the trailer, just like she knew exactly where to go, like she’d been there before. Chelsea and I headed over as Ollie opened the van door and kind of half-rolled, half-fell out of the van.
Up on the stoop, Thibodeaux flipped his cigarette out into the ten-foot chain-link fence that separated the station from the neighborhood. He went inside.
I walked along with Chelsea. My mind returned to Sunday, the day of the barbecue. I should’ve asked more questions, a lot more. The biggest question I should’ve asked was who initiated the black bag wiretap on Blue and Thibodeaux when they worked at SPI. I knew the answer now, though. But did Deputy Chief Rudyard know?
And did it really matter? Blue and Thibodeaux had killed people for money. Killed three people just at the Mona gas station robbery surveillance. If the chief did know about Blue having an affair with Wicks’ first wife, then no way could he allow Wicks to investigate Blue. That’s why Wicks kept that information under tight wraps.
Still, omission of the information to me was the same as a lie. How did I know if anything Wicks said about Blue was true? Was there really a recording of Blue taking a contract? Had Blue really taken money to kill anyone? Or was all of this some elaborate ruse to take Blue down for stealing Wicks’ wife away from him?
The one true piece of evidence that Blue and Dirt were exactly what Wicks said they were was the fact that Dad had been set up for attempted rape.
All of these things and more ran through my brain as I stood by the van and watched Ollie negotiate the three steps up to the stoop, her bulk almost too much for her legs to handle. The purple satin under her arms looked darker from sweat. Chelsea and Ollie disappeared into the trailer.
Blue knocked on his window and waved for me to get inside.
If I had been smart, I’d have turned around and gone to find Wicks, made him tell me the truth before this whole thing blew up in my face.
But I wasn’t smart; I was a chump. I didn’t want to leave Chelsea alone with those two men in the trailer. I climbed the steps and went inside.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
OLLIE STOOD IN the only place that would allow for her bulk, close to the open door next to the row of file cabinets. She picked up an empty file folder and fanned herself. The heat hung in the small mobile home, and the stress from climbing the three steps just about did her in. Her breath came loud and fast.
I shuffled past her, made it to my desk, and sat down. Now Ollie was the only one standing.
Blue sat in his desk chair and swiveled to face her from his place four desks over. “Well? Jaime, is he there? Is it a go?”
Ollie held up her hand as she tried to catch her breath. “Dear Lord in heaven . . . if it ain’t . . . hotter than the hubs of hell . . . in this place. Don’t you all have an air conditioner?”
“Is Jaime there or not?”
“I needs a drink of water.” She spotted the water cooler and went over
to it. The wooden floor squeaked and whined under the load. She looked all around for a cup. “He’s there, but there’s a problem.”
“What problem? Stop dickin’ around and look at me. What problem?”
“I . . . I . . .” Rivulets of sweat striped her face.
“Ollie, tell me, what kind of problem?”
She continued to look around for a cup and spotted the one on the file cabinet by the door, the one with the “Danger Biohazard” sticker on it. The one Blue had pissed in and tossed his urine outside toward the fence and into the neighborhood that ratted on him to the captain. She waddled over, grabbed the plastic cup, and turned back with a huge smile.
I turned to look at Blue, waiting for him to stop her. His angry expression over Ollie dodging his questions shifted to a smile that matched Ollie’s.
Ollie made it back to the water cooler and started filling the cup. Everyone watched. The water cooler bubbled and glugged.
I again looked back at Blue. He saw me this time and shook his head. He didn’t want me to interfere and to let it play out, let her take her drink.
Ollie watched the cup fill like a woman lost in the desert for days. Her tongue snaked out and licked her dry lips at the prospect of wetness. She let off the spigot and stepped back. She started to raise the cup to her lips.
Blue was going to let her do it.
I jumped to my feet and quick-stepped over to Ollie. Just before the cup’s rim touched her lips, I grabbed it from her, jostling the cup, which sloshed some water down the front of her ample breasts, turning the purple fabric dark and making it dip down into her cleavage.
“Hey, hey, what the hell? Gimme that back.”
I moved around her to the door and tossed cup, water and all, outside. I came back and tried to move past her.
She socked me in the chest. “You dirty rotten bastard. You’re no good, you.”
I went over to Blue’s desk, grabbed his personal plastic cup, and scowled at him. I whispered, “That wasn’t funny. That was crude and rude.”
Blue shook his head. “I don’t think you’re going to make it here, Bruno. You don’t have a sense of humor. And if there’s one thing you need for sure in this job, it’s a sense of humor. Ain’t that right, Dirt?”
“You know it, boss.” He winked at me. “That and the sole desire to make these streets safe for white women and children.”
I held his gaze a moment longer.
I moved back to the water cooler. Ollie socked me again. This time, Blue, Thibodeaux, and even Chelsea chuckled at my expense. I filled the cup and gave it to Ollie, who put one hand on the desk to steady herself, tilted her head back, and guzzled down all the water.
When she finished, I filled it for her again and handed it to her. This time she reached up and patted my shoulder. “Sorry about hittin’ you, slick, but I was about ready ta DFO.”
Ghetto slang for Done Fell Out.
She drank half of the second cup and let out a long sigh.
“Okay,” Blue said. “Now are you ready to tell us what the problem is?”
“He at the Park View Hotel in Huntington Park jus’ like I said he’d be. And trust me, he knows everythin’ about Mo Mo’s operation. Used to be his right-hand man until he got all caught up in dat heron. You take his heron away, and he’ll give up his mama and all his chillrens.”
“And?”
She shrugged and gave him a hesitant smile. “I don’t know what room.”
Blue stood. “That doesn’t do us any damn good at all. We can’t kick in every door, not without alerting him.”
As if we could kick in any of the doors without probable cause and without a search warrant.
Ollie put the cup to her lips, tilted it back, and drank down the rest. She handed me the cup for another refill. I obliged.
The water cooler glugged again. For a fleeting second I had the thought that the five-gallon water cooler might not be enough.
“It ain’t that bad,” she said. “Ol’ Jaime, he either in 103 or 207. Dey in there cuttin’ up nine grams of heron, or will be shortly. You all are gonna have to move if you’re gonna get him.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
BLUE REACHED INTO his jeans pocket, took out a small wad of bills, peeled off two twenties, and walked over and handed them to her. “Thanks. You page me in about an hour. We get him, you get the rest. Now get out of here.”
Ollie shook her head. “You always did know how to treat a lady like a lady.”
Thibodeaux, leaning back in his desk chair, said, “You ain’t no lady.”
Ollie shot him a scowl but knew better than to banter with a rabid dog.
I wanted to kick a lung outta that dog.
Blue put his hands on Ollie’s shoulders, turned her around, and escorted her to the door. They stepped out onto the stoop. He stuck his head back in the office and said, “Suit up, boys and girls. We’re going to war.”
Outside the door, Ollie turned a little to the side and surreptitiously handed Blue a folded-up piece of paper. Blue took it and unfolded the used piece of cheeseburger wrapper spotted with grease. He looked at it, smiled, folded it back up, and stuck it into his back pants pocket. He looked back to see if anyone had seen the transaction. I quickly glanced away and at Chelsea. She’d missed the quick exchange altogether as she got ready, donning her Second Chance vest.
I pulled my bag from under my desk and started putting on my body armor. Blue came back in and took his bag out from under his desk. Thibodeaux still hadn’t moved and leaned back in his desk chair, his feet up on the desk as he watched us. His darkly tanned face was now marked with more lines than the first time I’d met him not so many nights ago. The tuft of white hair amongst all the jet-black on the top of his head stood out like a beacon and reminded me of an eight ball.
I looked at Blue. “Isn’t he going with us?”
“Ol’ Dirt, he’s old school. He believes in fate, not body armor. Ain’t that right, Dirt? Go on, tell ’em.”
Thibodeaux smiled. “A bullet is life’s coupon to the unknown, and since we’re redeemed in death, what does it really matter?” He stood and swung his gun belt around his slim hips.
I looked over at Chelsea, who’d paused in putting on her gun belt. She shrugged, as if saying, “What a twit.”
I agreed with her, only I hoped he’d get redeemed a lot sooner than later.
I pulled on the green raid jacket with “Sheriff” in bold yellow letters on the back.
Blue put his on. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Since we don’t know which room, we’re going to hit them both at the same time. Miller, you’re with me. We’re going to the room on the first floor. Dirt, you and Bruno take the one upstairs, 207. Questions?”
Chelsea said, “We don’t have warrants. What if they won’t let us in when we knock?”
Blue looked at me to answer that question, a strange thing for him to do because I didn’t know any better than she did. Not for sure, anyway. I thought about it for a moment, tried to think like Blue, and said, “Okay, we have reason to believe a felony is occurring in these two rooms. If we wait to get search warrants, the evidence could be gone or destroyed, so we’re going to secure both locations pending a search warrant.”
This worked in part as a true statement, according to law, but not within department policy. Like the rock house on Peach, this concept sat way out there, just beyond the edge and deep into the law’s gray area.
Blue slapped me on the shoulder and smiled. “Maybe you’ll make it here after all, kid.”
Chelsea said, “Is that exactly legal?”
Thibodeaux picked up his bag and moved past us. “It’s close enough for government work, chicky baby.” He stopped and nodded toward the window where, outside, Ollie mounted her van to leave. The whole left side dipped as she got in. “You know why they wear purple like that?”
Neither of us would answer him. Something we didn’t want to know.
He chuckled. “So the lions won’t chase
’em.”
Another rude slur aimed indirectly at me. He worked overtime trying to get me to fight him. I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t play the game his way. Not until the time came. Then he’d better look out.
Blue said, “Knock it off, Dirt.”
Thibodeaux shook his head in disgust. “Like you said earlier, you gotta have a sense of humor. And I think it’s really sad, but I think you lost yours, Blue. Come on,” he said to Chelsea. “If you’re ridin’ with me, let’s roll.”
Blue eased past me then stopped and looked up into my face. “I guess that means you’re ridin’ with me, big man.” He stayed there for an uncomfortable moment. His breath smelled of spearmint that tried hard to mask spicy food.
I broke away first.
I wanted to ride with Chelsea, but Thibodeaux and Blue had different ideas, almost as if Thibodeaux and Blue planned it ahead of time, which didn’t bode well for what awaited Chelsea and me.
Out in the parking lot, Chelsea opened the passenger door to the lime-green Ford Thunderbird. She hesitated for a moment, looking back at me. She got in and closed the door. Thibodeaux did the same, only he grinned and gave me a knowing nod before he got in the driver’s seat. Again with that Cheshire cat kinda grin.
I got in the passenger seat of the ’79 Nova just as a thought hit me. An ugly thought that made me into a chump all over again. This Jaime Reynosa that, according to Blue, we now pursued for the sole purpose of getting at Mo Mo—had Reynosa’s name come up on the wiretap? Was Reynosa Blue’s next victim? I couldn’t call a time-out to contact Wicks to find out or to warn him. Blue made sure of that by having me ride with him. I could only stay close to Blue, and if that was the case, try and keep Reynosa alive. Blue assigned me to go with Thibodeaux to the second-floor room. I could handle Thibodeaux, and that gave Reynosa a fifty-fifty chance to stay alive.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
BLUE STEERED THE Nova north, weaving in and out of side streets as he headed to Huntington Park trying to avoid the last of the go-home-from-work traffic and failing miserably. The normal twenty-five-minute drive would easily take an hour.