The Permit

by William B. Scott

  "As a reporter, you've seen this BS before: 'Write what I tell you to, or I'm pulling a million bucks of advertising.' I guarantee Uriah's campaign manager is behind this rash of leaks, 'cause he's the daddy-rabbit of advertising here."

  As the E-Team scrambled to nullify Metro's character-assassination strikes, challenges poured in from unexpected confederates. Internet-radio talk-show hosts saw through the police department's clumsy gambit and immediately slammed Sheriff Uriah, his Tower sycophants, and rabid, young mainstream news reporters, who were demeaning Erik's hard-won reputation.

  "Tiger Lily," a gutsy, attractive host of Freedomizer Radio and a passionate cop-basher, disputed "shameful, disgusting news stories." In her trademark no-holds-barred style, Lily whacked the few complicit reporters as "unethical badge-lickers," then ripped the veneer off Las Vegans' fears: "Why is the media spewing false bull about Erik Steele? So-called journalists are slavishly regurgitating untrue garbage being fed to them by Metro's stupid Tower slugs! Why are we, fellow citizens, rolling over and accepting this BS?

  "I'll tell you why: Because we're all scared! Erik Steele looked like us. Lived like us. He was us! Like Win Steele said, if Metro could do this to Erik, it could happen to us. To you, to your son or daughter, husband or wife, brother or sister, mother or father.

  "If Metro's killers can get away with murdering Erik Steele—a patriotic veteran, an upstanding pillar of our community—in the middle of a crowd in tony Summerlin, then they can kill you or your loved one anywhere, anytime.

  "They also can blatantly trash victims' reputations, besmirch their character and dishonor their memory. All to protect the 'Blue Wall' gang of filthy killer-cops.

  "Wake up, sheeple! Don't buy the media's crap about Erik! It's nothing but fabrications! Metro's nasty, immoral brown-shirts are lying to us!"

  Accompanied by photos of Erik in uniform, Lily's well-articulated rant was posted on YouTube, where it immediately went viral, exploding as a cyberspace storm across the nation. Within minutes of the host's sign-off, Win was inundated with sympathetic Facebook postings, indignant e-mails and more requests for interviews.

  One call was from an ecstatic Link Mann. "The blowback against Metro and its media collaborators is incredible," the public relations guru said, more excited than Steele had ever seen him. "Metro's lies are backfiring, and the sheriff's poll numbers are taking a big-time nosedive! Metro's miscalculation could cost Uriah the election."

  Per Link's request, Win wrote and posted another sizzling blog piece, taking Sheriff Uriah to task for Metro's conspicuous campaign to impugn Erik's character:

  … With each weak attempt to play another card from the dog-eared, well-worn 'Old-Las-Vegas-Thuggery' deck, you and Metro look more and more like a raging Neanderthal, stumbling about and swinging blindly, hoping to connect with a roundhouse.

  It's not working, sir.

  Sheriff, you and your Tower flunkies are making matters worse with every ridiculous maneuver. The intelligent course for Metro should be painfully apparent: Release the unadulterated, original Ho's surveillance video to Sofia Knight and us, the Steele-family team. Release Hajji Taseer's 911-call audio tape. Admit that your officers screwed up and hold them accountable.

  … And you haven't the foggiest idea of what additional hell you unleashed with that mindless, inept attempt to trash Erik by leaking documents to the news media."—Winfield B. Steele

  The final paragraph was more than bravado. While writing the new post, a cryptic call from Doc Black confirmed that an unidentified entity was in the process of "negating" Metro's leadership. Further, a source on the inside was providing extremely valuable information about Metro's anti-Steele operation.

  However, Doc had ended the brief call with a warning: "Metro's going to attack again, and it'll be nasty. These roaches are running scared. They're desperate to shut you up. Be careful, my friend."

  Within three hours of Win posting the new blog missile, Metro fired back. Erik's memorial website was hacked, severely damaging it and other commercial sites hosted on the same server. Fortunately, Max Decimus and his team of high-tech employees quickly identified the "worm" as an "Atom Bomb," and traced the attack to its source.

  Max then fired a text message to Win: Recommend moving your blog to Blogspot.com. Let Metro take on the Google Gorilla.

  Before day's end, Win had reconstructed the Erik Steele Memorial Blog on Google's Blogspot. Max and his crew restored Erik's memorial website and moved it to GoDaddy, another Internet powerhouse.

  Max reported to the E-Team, "We've determined the 'Atom Bomb' was a very sophisticated attack. It wasn't launched by some nineteen-year-old hacker holed up in his mother's basement. This is government-grade information-warfare stuff."

  "Have you identified the source?" Kyler Steele asked.

  "We did," Max confirmed. "We're ninety-nine percent sure it originated at Las Vegas Police Protective Association headquarters. The PPA union's geek-gang launched 'Atom Bomb,' but we traced a go-order back to the advertising dude running Uriah's campaign."

  Win asked about counterattack options, if Metro hackers hit the memorial website or blog a second time.

  "I don't think these idiots have the guts to risk being clobbered by Google and GoDaddy," Max said. "Both companies have network traps that'll catch a hacker. They'll go straight to the feds, and the PPA geeks will be serving time."

  Max then offered to launch a "financially devastating response" against the police union. Win was sorely tempted, but declined… for now.

  * *

  That evening, Win noticed Layna crying softly. He sat beside and wrapped an arm around the pretty woman.

  "What's up, Princess?"

  "I feel so bad," she sighed, dabbing her eyes. "A quarter of our family's gone. Will we ever be happy again?"

  He had no answer. Together, they stared into a flickering fire in the Franklin stove. An overheated glob of sap exploded, breaking a leaden silence and spraying red-orange embers against a protective screen.

  A week at their mountain refuge had been revitalizing, although they'd not escaped that ceaseless, dark emptiness and sense of profound loss. Tomorrow they'd pack up and return to Colorado Springs. The following day would find them on the road to Las Vegas, a trip they were dreading.

  The coroner's inquest hearing would be a stacked-deck circus, a painful slog through the valley of Erik's death. And they would be helpless, neutralized and sidelined by that travesty of American justice, a one-sided, unique system of purported "fact-finding," unable to effectively challenge a torrent of vile lies about their late son.

  Through no fault of their own, Erik's parents, brother and friends were about to be subjected to a Las Vegas police department and Clark County District Attorney inquisition designed to re-kill a dead man and acquit his slayers.

  CHAPTER 23

  INQUEST INQUISITION

  "The only thing necessary for the triumph

  of evil is for good men to do nothing."

  Edmund Burke

  LAS VEGAS/CLARK COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  Prior to the kickoff of a Clark County coroner's inquest of Erik Steele's fatal shooting, a somber, tense group gathered in Sofia Knight's office. The lawyer briefed the Steeles and Erik's close friends on the hearing's absurd rules.

  "What you're about to experience is the most ridiculous, unfair, one-sided excuse for a legal procedure you'll ever find in America. We'll basically be impotent observers," Sofia warned. "I cannot challenge potential jurors, cross-examine the district attorney's witnesses, present our own witnesses, or object to any outrage that occurs in the courtroom.

  "I've not been allowed to preview any of the 'evidence' that will be presented. I don't even know what witnesses will be called. All we're allowed to do is scribble hand-written questions for submission to the judge, who will decide whether or not to read them in the jury's presence.

  "You're about to be subjected to a uniquely Las Vegas mockery of justice. And it's going to be ugly." />
  She answered a few half-hearted questions, checked a wall clock and announced it was time to troop over to the courthouse.

  "Everybody has to go through a metal detector. Leave your weapons here."

  The weak attempt to lighten a dismal mood flopped.

  The next six days of unmitigated hell for the Steele family and E-Team were beamed from in-courtroom television cameras to the citizens of Southern Nevada. Via Internet, the proceedings also were streamed in real time to viewers across the globe.

  Friends, supporters and the merely curious from Kansas to Canberra, and Paris to Shanghai and Moscow watched in disbelief, as two assistant district attorneys paraded more than fifty witnesses across the stand.

  Ho's employees, customers, three Metro shooters, a couple of detectives, a Clark County emergency medical technician, and a host of video-recorder experts spun tales about the shooting and subsequent Metro "investigation." Most lacked even a scrap of credibility, spouting blatant falsehoods, while under oath.

  Win, Layna, Kyler and Erik's incredulous friends and supporters occupied one side of the room, behind a waist-high wooden barrier. A sizable group of Ho's employees and skinhead, steroid-bulked Metro cops dominated the other.

  The Nevada Attorney General attended part of the hearing, always seated on the cops' side of the room.

  A TV camera operator and pool reporter were crammed into a gap between the jury box and the cops' bull pen.

  As an elderly witness gave yet another confused, contradictory account about "the man, who pulled his gun out of his pocket and pointed it at the officer," Sofia shielded her lips from the unblinking camera, and whispered to Win:

  "I'd shred every one of these witnesses on cross! What a crock of shit!"

  Indeed, the entire proceeding was a sick joke, a kangaroo court with stark, clear objectives: Establish a perception that Erik Steele was a drug-abusing, violent, gun-crazed, whacked-out nutcase, who had refused to comply with clearly enunciated, repeated commands from highly professional officers. Unfortunately, he had failed to respond, made a "furtive move," and Officers Krupa, Akaka and Malovic had to shoot the big redhead. Seven times. Five in the back.

  Tragically, the all-important Ho's security surveillance video recording system evidently had failed a few days before the shooting. The dad-gummed hard drive had not been repaired, before that fatal Saturday, and was "not operating."

  Darn it, not a digital bit or byte of Erik's actions inside the warehouse store, or even outside, where he was shot to death, had been captured on Ho's defective video recorder.

  Ironically, when Metro's own video-network specialist had arrived at Ho's, about four hours after the shooting, he merely rebooted the video-recording system and it worked fine. No problems.

  Then, in a staggering move that violated every best-practice procedure in Metro's manual, the department's crack detectives had left the offending digital video recorder in Ho's control for five days! For some reason, Clark County's prosecutors saw no reason to question that remarkable gem of "oversight."

  Further, detectives allowed Ho's personnel to mess with the "failed" recorder, during those five days. Ho's undercover security officer, Hajji Taseer, and his carefully selected IT experts had valiantly attempted to "recover the video," by screwing around with the hard disk. A contractor had run several recovery programs, but to no avail.

  Five days after the Steele shooting, a Metro detective decided maybe he oughta pick up the hard drive and send it off to experts, who would discover the hard drive had been physically damaged. Shucky darn.

  Ultimately, a U.S. Secret Service data-forensics expert, retained by Metro's homicide detectives, dropped a courtroom bombshell: Ninety-six percent of data on that damaged hard drive had been recovered. The four percent of "unrecoverable" data just happened to be the portion covering the time Erik and Kat had been in Ho's, and when Erik was gunned down outside the store.

  The glaring contradiction between assertions that the video recorder hadn't even been operating, and equally straight-faced claims of great efforts being expended to "recover" video data of the shooting, somehow escaped two brilliant assistant DAs, who were tasked with uncovering the facts of this case.

  Three shooter-cops and dozens of witnesses raised their hands, swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, then lied shamelessly. As if thumbing their noses at the law, the two prosecutors never challenged blatant discrepancies in testimony. This was their show, and they delighted in demonstrating, unequivocally, that Metro officers had a license to kill. A badge was a Las Vegas cop's "permit."

  Max Decimus and Rico Rodolfo surreptitiously used iPhones and iPads to conduct cursory background searches on each witness. Max slipped a hand-scrawled note to Kyler, who grimaced, shook his head and passed it to his dad. Win and Sofia read:

  "Most of these witnesses have Metro records. Intimidation? Deals?"

  Sofia nodded and whispered, "Of course. Every one of these eagle eyes, who claims Erik pulled his gun, just happens to have a file with Metro!"

  During a break, the Steeles' group was huddled in the hallway, outside the courtroom. Sofia was standing apart, checking messages on her BlackBerry. She yelped and rejoined the cluster, excited.

  "Hey! We just scored a major touchdown! Several more witnesses, who were watching the hearing on TV, called our office. They are soooo pissed, by what they've heard here! My investigator, Rod, is taking their statements now."

  She then whispered stunning "good news"—and swore the team to secrecy.

  "This revelation is critical to our case against Ho's," she cautioned. "It categorically destroys Ho's employees' claims that Erik was acting erratic and whacked-out in the store.

  "We've got 'em by the short ones now, and you folks will own Ho's, after I drop this hand grenade in court! Game over!"

  Through clenched teeth, Win said, "You gotta be… ! That means Taseer lied on the stand and was involved in the Metro cover-up."

  "Looks like it. Based on statements from three independent, highly credible witnesses, that's what actually occurred," Sofia declared.

  "Testimony from these new witnesses confirms that Ho's employees were cherry-picked and pre-briefed by managers. Every one of them lied under oath today, and can—will—be charged with perjury."

  "Good Lord," Layna whispered. "When you think this nightmare can't get any worse, it does.

  "How could such a horrible thing possibly happen?"

  Sofia had miscalculated. Her "good news" wasn't so good, when viewed from the family's perspective.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… ."

  "No apology necessary," Win assured. "We have to know everything! It's just… . Damn!"

  He was incredibly frustrated.

  "Look, since he was a kid," Kyler explained quietly, addressing Max, Rico and Sofia, "Erik was always incredibly lucky. Everything seemed to go his way. Always! How could so many things have gone so wrong that Saturday? How could Erik be that terribly unlucky?"

  Win glanced away and unintentionally locked eyes with a medium-height, pot-bellied figure exiting an elevator. Dressed in a coat and tie, he had short-cropped, prematurely gray hair and black eyes that were too close together.

  Win immediately recognized evil on the hoof: Captain Michael Greel.

  The Homicide captain looked much worse in person than he had on TV two months earlier, spewing absurdities within minutes of Erik's murder. He was haggard, hollow-chested, almost withered. Greenish dark loops under each eye exacerbated a gaunt, sickly appearance.

  Rage surged through the elder Steele's being. Months of intense grief, compounded by the inquest hearing's overbearing, maddening parody of justice, exploded.

  The next seconds unfolded in slow motion, as if in a dream. Three steps and Win was blocking Greel's path. Two burly bodyguards at the officer's five and seven o'clock halted, in position, when Greel stopped.

  "Captain Greel?"

  "Yeah. Who's asking?"

 
"Win Steele. Erik Steele's dad."

  Black eyes narrowed and a sneer was forming, when Win's fist slammed into the homicide chief's face, smashing a fleshy, acne-pitted nose and splitting the upper lip. In the same motion, Win's right leg followed, sweeping Greel's legs from under him. The cop fell hard, butt, then head smacking the faux-marble floor.

  Before the stunned bodyguards could move, Win dropped to a knee and drove an elbow into Greel's exposed throat, crushing the larynx. As the captain fought for his final breaths, two guards grabbed Win by the shoulders and yanked him away.

  "Win!" Sofia was shaking Steele's arm and slapping his chest. "Hey! You okay?"

  The lawyer was wide-eyed, alarmed. Win stared at her, reality gradually returning. The whole Greel attack hadn't occurred. Imagination only.

  "I… yeah. Fine," he croaked. Clearing his throat, he pointed.

  "That's Mikey Greel, Metro's chief cover-up architect."

  Sofia followed Win's arm, noting three men in suits entering a cipher-locked, officials-only door.

  "Yeah, so what? Geez! You were white as Casper!" Sofia exclaimed.

  "What's wrong?" Layna asked, rejoining the group.

  "God-effy! I thought he was having a heart attack!" Sofia exclaimed.

  Win shrugged and shot his wife a sheepish glance. No way was he going to "share" the delightful, albeit imagined, buzz of beating Metro's most evil cretin to death.

  Actually, he wasn't just fine. He felt damned good.

  * *

  On the inquest hearing's final day, a decidedly egotistic Metro Detective Brian James took the stand. He and Rob Vaca, a Deputy Public Administrator and former cop, had broken into Erik's condominium and stolen two handguns and two rifles, within hours of Steele's murder.

  None of that was mentioned, of course.

  The shaved-bald, rotund detective confidently claimed that Erik had carried a second pistol on his person, a .380 caliber Ruger LCP, and that it wasn't listed on his concealed-carry permit.