School of Fish

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School of Fish Page 24

by Amy Lane


  On the other hand, he seriously considered taking the keys to the Tank.

  Ducks, Row, Truck

  JACKSON WAS a good boy when he got back to the house. He changed, finished his sandwich at the table, and then, ass hurting, brain jumpy and incoherent from exhaustion, he sat on the couch with the cat on his lap and let Ellery and Henry leave without fussing at them.

  He actually napped for about fifteen minutes, but when he came to, his head was clearer, and he found himself sitting in the quiet with his eyes closed and Billy Bob purring in his lap.

  His brain—usually busy and restless—went still, and he found the people and the events of the case appearing, in order, while he played with the pieces and tried to make them fit. He didn’t get frustrated when they didn’t fit immediately. He just went to the next piece and turned that around a little, and then the next.

  No urgency. His body was spent. He’d promised Ellery he would take care of this body because it was the only one Ellery got, and Ellery was fond of it for whatever reason. For once, he couldn’t urge himself toward healing or push his brain any further than it had already been. He had himself, the quiet, and the materials at hand.

  After about half an hour, he sat up. Billy Bob—who had been drooling complacently on his clean T-shirt—extended his claws and let him know delicately that the cat preferred Jackson where he was. Jackson smiled slightly, snagged his phone from the end table where Ellery had left it charging, and opened his notes.

  Family—James Cosgrove part of the Siderov Family. Is ZIGGY part of the family? Did “family” shoot at us because we were asking Schroeder questions? Is SCHROEDER family?

  —Need: hard search on Siderov’s family members—see if AJ turns anything up on Ziggy or “the German”

  —Action: Text Mira and ask her too

  He looked at the note in surprise because it really seemed to help him think. Go figure. He almost died and came back with a more effective way to use his brain. He knew there had to be a benny, right?

  But that wasn’t the only thing that occurred to him. He kept typing.

  Ty Townsend—student athlete. Who would want him out of commission?

  —Need: info on who’s making book on Ty and who would benefit most if he loses his full ride and student athlete status

  —Action: Hardison says he can get it. Text Hardison near end of shift to remind him.

  Okay, that was good too. He’d managed to make some contacts in the police force besides Kryzynski. Which reminded him….

  Kryzynski—his stabbing makes Ziggy pretty hot on the street. Too hot for the “family” to handle?

  Need: buzz on the street

  He tapped his finger on his lips for a moment because “buzz on the street” wasn’t easy to get, particularly when you were laid up.

  Action: Call Kryzynski just because it’s the nice thing to do

  And that made him sit up as he remembered that Sean wasn’t the only person in the hospital at the moment. In fact, he had a contact who could get him info on the guy who tried to shoot up the public defender’s office the morning before.

  But first, call Kryzynski.

  “Hello, Officer Rivers,” Dave said when Jackson was put in touch with Kryzynski’s room number. “Are you behaving today?”

  Jackson had to laugh. Dave and Alex may have been the best nurses at Med Center, but they had almost written him off when his heart had threatened to fail in June. They both agreed that they had seen far too much of him in the past ten years and they would rather he invite them to pizza, thank you.

  “I am resting after lots of water and a good meal and a day of moderate activity,” Jackson lied amiably, but Dave interrupted him before he could go any further.

  “Deb Choi is a friend of mine, you big fibber. We just shared a soda on the back dock, and she told me about a PI who had to get his ass stitched up and then refused to come in for treatment. Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, pretty boy. I can see right through you.”

  Jackson groaned. “Okay, well, the resting and hydrating and the good meal are the truth,” he said. “But, you know, glass on the ass—not dignified.”

  Dave snorted. “I’m supposed to accept that? She said you looked like shit, by the way.”

  “Did you notice the hot?” Jackson complained, hating that he was complaining. “I didn’t use to notice the hot, but I sure as hell am noticing it now.”

  Dave laughed ruefully. “Yeah, one of those things that doesn’t always end up in the instruction books for recovering cardiac care. Okay. I guess you get a pass, seeing as you’re all hydrated and fed and shit. Fine. I’ll let you talk to my patient. He knows how to behave.”

  “I’m sure he’s very docile,” Jackson muttered, and Dave gave a bark of laughter as he handed over the phone. “Sean?”

  “I preferred K-Ski,” Kryzynski said. “When you call me by my first name, I think I’m dying.”

  Jackson snorted. “You’re like a cockroach. Ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Pot. Kettle.”

  And some of that rare peace stole over him. “Yeah, maybe,” he admitted. “How you doing?”

  “In. Pain.”

  “Sorry about that, big guy. I was hoping you were stoned to the gills. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s how I spent most of my time in the hospital.”

  “I can see why,” Kryzynski said. “How are you doing?”

  Jackson thought for a moment about lying completely, but he decided against it. The story might make K-Ski smile. He gave an abbreviated version of the case so far, from getting Tage into custody to the mob being involved in human trafficking, to how he and Henry had been taking a lunch break with a sweet middle-aged teacher when someone wearing outsized cleats had tried to shoot at them through a steel door, and finishing with having to bend over the ambulance bay, ass out, while he gave his statement. By the time he was done, Kryzynski was chuckling rustily into the phone.

  “God. Only you.”

  “Very possibly. Anyway, I’m going to hit Christie and Mira up and do some cop work from my lacerated ass. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “That’s nice. So the guy who got me—he’s a mob soldier?”

  “Yeah, we put that together this morning when we got the kid protective custody from the human trafficking division. We flashed his picture around a lot by the way.”

  “Rivers,” Kryzynski gasped, interrupting with sudden urgency. “Why you? Why would they target you like that?”

  Jackson frowned because this had bothered him and Henry too. “We’re not sure. We’ve been poking a lot of hornets’ nests.”

  “But did you poke them all with that picture?”

  And Jackson had to think, and think clearly. He was suddenly very, very grateful for the past hour of rest. “Showed the DA’s office, showed the cops, showed your partner. I mean, we were trying to get the guy who shanked you. We tried to make Ziggy very popular.”

  “’Preciate it,” Kryzynski wheezed. “Did Henry show him to the guy at the high school?”

  “I’m pretty sure, but I know I didn’t have time to show the teacher lady. We were still talking to her. Does it matter?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Kryzynski took a deep breath. “Maybe I’m being para—” He breathed out. “—noid. But you saw the guy who got me. You can be a witness.”

  Jackson stopped talking for a minute. “But I’m not the only one who saw him. You saw—oh for fuck’s sake! Put Dave back on the phone.”

  Dave spoke next. “What in the hell did you just say? He is looking very worried.”

  “Look, I’m going to call in some reinforcements, but I need you and Alex to do me a favor.”

  “What’s—”

  “Don’t leave that room,” Jackson said. “One of you needs to be in there at all times. Have your supervisor call me if you need to, but I need a police presence in that room. Turns out Officer Wheezy there is a witness to mob activity. Goddammit, it didn’t even occur to me!”

/>   “Well, it did now,” Dave soothed. “And to be honest, there’s been cops in and out of here all day. It’s a pretty safe place to be.”

  Jackson thought about where he’d been showing the picture. “Unless some of them are dirty,” he said. “Shit. Put Wheezy back on.”

  “I’m going to tell him that you called him that.”

  “Heh heh heh heh heh heh….”

  “You are a bad, bad man,” Dave praised. “Here’s Wheezy.”

  “Dammit,” Kryzynski wheezed. “Why?”

  “Because I can,” Jackson told him. “Now, I need you to think about this carefully—like your life depends on it. Andre Christie?”

  “Rock. Solid.”

  “Okay. I’m calling him and having him arrange protection for you. Unless it’s someone you know and trust, they can’t stay. You understand?”

  “What about you?” Sean asked.

  “I was opportunity. Henry wanders up to someone involved and flashes Ziggy’s picture. Think about it. Schroeder pulls out his phone as soon as Henry’s gone, texts a buddy—”

  “Why… shoes?” Kryzynski wheezed.

  “I’ve got a theory about that too,” Jackson reassured him. It had hit him while he’d been…. Dammit. He refused to call it meditating. God no. Absolutely not. He’d been napping, and that was his story, and he was sticking to it. “But let me call Christie first and get that ball moving. I don’t want you there unprotected.” He’d seen bad things happen when a criminal thought their loose end was unsupervised and vulnerable. One of them had almost happened to Ellery.

  “Thanks, Rivers.”

  “Well, you know. You’re growing on me. I’d hate to see shit happen to you, right?”

  “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Good. Christie should be calling in a minute.”

  Jackson hung up and—after earning a baleful look from Billy Bob, who apparently thought all humans should become his couch—stood up and paced restlessly, his body accepting the food and rest and moving into recovery. After a couple of barefoot strides toward the kitchen for some water, he hit Christie’s number.

  “Oh my God, are we engaged?”

  Jackson grinned as he started rummaging through the refrigerator. Maybe not water. Maybe soda. God. Sugar. Wonderful stuff. “Look, someone fired on Henry and me at Capitol Valley High today. And a totally innocent social studies teacher who is going to be in counseling for the rest of her life, but at least she’s alive. I was just talking to your partner, and he reminded me that we’d been flashing Ziggy’s picture around for two days, and—as we just discovered this morning—Ziggy has mob ties. Guess who likes to take out witnesses to crimes?”

  “Oh my God!” Christie’s horror sounded pretty damned genuine, so Jackson was going to take it on faith.

  “So you can get him some protection outside his door?” Jackson asked. “And make sure it’s not fucking Lindstrom and fucking Craft, by the way, because either they’re dirty or they’re dumb, and either way—”

  “Not a good idea,” Christie said smartly. “Okay, good. Who’s with him now?”

  “A nurse friend of mine who has promised that either he or his boyfriend are going to be there until your guys get there and talk to their supervisor about who is and who is not allowed into the room.”

  “Only cops that we okay,” Christie said, his voice grim. “Only hospital staff on the prescribed list. I hear you. They may have to move him to a secure room. I’ll let you know.”

  “Well, if they do, make sure Dave and Alex are part of his support team. They don’t let people die on their watch. It’s bad for their sex lives, so don’t do it.”

  Christie let out a short bark of laughter. “Understood. I’m on that ten minutes ago.”

  “Good—I got calls to make, so late—”

  “Rivers?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for having his back. Man, we watched him get pulled deeper and deeper with you and Cramer, and we were so worried about him. It’s good to see you don’t want him dead.”

  “Not even a little. Take care of him. He might be the only person in your department who doesn’t hate us.”

  “Well, not the only one,” Christie admitted. “Look, I’m going to get Sean secured. You need to call your girl at the DA’s office. I think she’s got news.”

  “Really?” Oh wow. Jackson really could accomplish a lot without running around getting his ass sliced. He snagged his soda from the fridge and decided to make an event out of it by getting one of those nice glasses Ellery kept in the freezer, along with some ice. Ooh. This could be like dessert.

  “Yeah. I can’t go into it now, but call her.”

  “Will do. Update me when you have K-Ski secured.”

  “Deal.”

  “Oh!” And let’s hear it for clarity. “The guy in the coma…?”

  “Still in the coma,” Christie muttered.

  “Has he been identified? And is he still under protection?”

  “Yes and yes.” Christie blew out a breath. “And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. Avi Kovacs—brother to Alexei Kovacs.”

  Jackson frowned. “Should I know that name?”

  “Only if you work organized crime in Vegas,” Christie muttered. “That’s the thing. Avi’s third cousin or whatever to one of the biggest mob bosses in Sin City, but we have no idea what he’s doing here.”

  All the air went out of the room, and Jackson remembered what Galen had said about a bigger picture. “Besides being involved in some sort of power transfer or takeover or whatever between Vegas and here?”

  “Oh dear God.” Christie sounded shocked. “You’re right. Fuck me. Fuck this shit. We are in Mobland now. Goddammit, I did not want to be in Mobland with Sean in the hospital. Fuck me. I’ve got to go to our lieu and tell him all the fucking things.”

  “I’m… sorry?” Jackson wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, Christie was right; Mobland was not the place anybody wanted to be. On the other hand….

  “Don’t be sorry,” Christie said tersely. “You probably saved Sean’s life. Fucking Mobland. I’ll scramble the troops, hit up the organized crime division, and ask about your trafficking case. If the DA’s office doesn’t have answers for you, maybe my guys do.”

  “Affirmative, and thank you.”

  “Try not to get shot again.”

  “That too. Later.”

  “Later.”

  Jackson hit End Call before adding ice to the frozen glass and then poured the cola. The charge of sugar on his tongue was sort of amazing. Just like the commercials promised, right? He took his little glass of heaven to the table and sat gingerly, pulling up the DA’s office, human trafficking division, next.

  Mira answered.

  “Jackson? How you doing, sweetheart? Word on the street is you almost got your ass shot off!”

  “More like fileted,” Jackson admitted. “But it’s mostly still there. How about you?”

  “Well, you sure have been keeping us busy,” she admitted. “We’ve got Tage in protective custody, but we tried again with his parents, and they still refuse it. I think they’re trying to keep their extended family safe, but honey, I don’t see good things happening there. If they won’t cooperate, we can’t even ask for guard duty.”

  “Do we have a lead on where Siderov is? Or Ziggy?”

  “Well, Ziggy is pretty hot, but we’ve had a couple of sightings of him around town. Although not, oddly enough, at the high school.”

  “Do Ziggy or Baldwin Schroeder have a younger brother or sister?” Jackson asked. “Or maybe the SRO at the school, also named Schroeder? I need someone with a contact to, say, someone on the cheerleading squad or the swim team?”

  “Let me check on that,” Mira muttered, obviously working on her computer. “Why?”

  “Because Henry flashed Ziggy’s picture to a coach we think is implicated right before someone took a shot at us. I’m thinking—”

  “He texted this pe
rson and they got hold of a gun?”

  “Probably from the person who activated him—or even his or her own locker. Cleats too. Whoever shot at us had oversized cleats on—not their own shoes—and then disappeared into a group of kids who were just getting done with activities. And whoever it was, they weren’t that smart or that good. The shots were off, the execution was bad. The only thing they did well was ditch the gun and blend into the crowd of kids. So I’m thinking Baldwin Schroeder, the coach, has a younger sibling, or his cousin the SRO whose first name I don’t know does. Or it’s Ziggy Ivanov. Someone who could respond to that text immediately but….” He paused for a drink of soda. Bliss!

  “Not expertly,” Mira said. “I get it.” He heard her tapping for a moment. “Okay, now I’ve got some news for you, but it’s weird news.”

  “Is there any other kind?” Jackson asked, but only half facetiously.

  “Not this weird. So we have gotten two calls today from the US military down in So-Cal, if you can believe that.”

  Jackson almost spit out his soda. Oh yeah, he and Ellery knew So-Cal. In particular, they knew tiny little pockets of the desert that held secrets and more secrets, and yes, some of them were military secrets.

  “Stunning,” he said, his voice robotic in his own ears. “Go on.”

  She obviously detected something odd about his tone because she continued, but slowly, as though afraid of what he was going to say or do. “So,” she said, “one of these calls is from a Colonel Jason Constance, and he says a civilian has intercepted a shipment of young immigrants who are just about sex-trafficking age for the underaged set. Someone has interviewed these kids. They are all from the Sacramento area, and he wants to know if he can return them to us, if we can find their families and place them.”

  Jackson’s heart was pounding arrhythmically in his chest, and he wasn’t sure it had anything to do with the stress-induced heart murmur that had recently been repaired.

  “Can you?” he asked, voice squeaking.

 

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