“Well, there’s no embassy to run to. You guys think we can just drive up to the nearest police station and ask for help?” Theo said.
“Yes!” Duke and Joan both yelled.
“Theo’s right,” JC said, bracing himself while Theo swerved into oncoming traffic to get around a slow moving Accord. “We need to avoid any police entanglements if possible.”
“That’s going to be kinda hard,” Theo said. Focused on driving without continuing to speak. Suddenly everyone heard the sirens. They were distant. The bigger problem was the helicopter they heard.
“News chopper?” JC said.
“Yup, surprised it took them this long. Soon they’ll be more than one.” He glanced to his left. “Duke, look. Mann’s Chinese Theater.”
“Why are we going to Glendale again?” Joan spoke while trying to see out the back window. It was impossible.
“On your left, Theo,” JC barked.
A black older model Mercedes sped up, bullets pouring out the passenger window into the side of the Ford. Duke and Joan did their best to leap to the right side of the car. The left rear window now matched the back window, a spider web of cracks making it impossible to see. Theo slowed briefly then swerved into the Mercedes, hitting it. The car careened off, slowed down and got back into traffic behind them as a water delivery truck laid on its horn, narrowly missing both vehicles.
“Glendale is my town,” Theo said. Focused on driving.
“Home to the second largest Armenian population in the U.S.” JC added. “Theo’s family has been there for generations. Those who aren’t locked up.”
“Hey, man, come on,” Theo protested. “Why you gotta be like that?”
JC smiled. “Some of Theo’s family aren’t too law abiding. Most are high ranking in the Armenian Mob. Untouchable.” Looked around at his friends in the back seat. “But he’s right.”
Duke and Joan turned to Theo, wide-eyed. “I told you. It’s my town,” he said. Ignored their looks. Easy to do because of the second black Mercedes coming up on their right. The first one was still behind them.
“You guys’ll want to hold on right about now,” Theo said. The pursuit car closed on them, ramming into the back of them. The Crown Vic lurched forward as the rear Mercedes hit it, throwing the grip of the tires off balance as well as Theo’s steering. Less than a second later, the Benz to the right hit them, knocking them into on-coming traffic.
“Awesome!” Theo yelled. He took advantage of the hit to turn left onto Highland Avenue, against the light and traffic. Cars honked or did their best to avoid hitting them. They shot up towards the Hollywood Bowl, turned right onto Odin and then onto Cahuenga, next to the Hollywood Freeway. It was early afternoon. Rush hour traffic wouldn’t be for another few hours. Theo was doing his best to bob and weave amongst the other cars, pulling onto the shoulder or into opposing traffic wherever it was necessary.
“Change of plans, folks,” Theo said. “Burbank. We’re going shopping, boys.”
He picked up his phone. Voice dialed a number. Started speaking in Armenian. Joan turned a questioning eye to Duke, who raised his hands and shook his head in the negative. The phone call ended. Theo was entirely on the right shoulder of the road, not even pretending to drive legally. Nobody asked him what was said in the phone call.
They turned right onto Barham. Up and over the Hollywood Hills. Barham turned into Olive, which went right through the heart of Burbank and the real Hollywood, the places movies are actually made. They sped past movie lots and major film companies. The big movie houses turned into real houses and small businesses. Theo kept glancing in his rear-view mirror. Started to slow down. Actually stopped at a stop light. Took a deep breath and exhaled completely. JC, Duke and Joan started to chuckle a little.
The light turned green.
The first black Mercedes slammed into the back of them, twisting the rear of the car and throwing them forward into traffic. Theo’s foot slammed down on the gas as they were sliding, making the car shoot forward before the Mercedes had a chance to open fire. Or a civilian had a chance to accidentally ram into them as well.
They sped over the overpass to the Golden State Freeway and turned left onto 1st Street. A shopping mall was on the right.
“Our friends still there?” JC asked.
“Yup. Both of them. Close,” Theo answered. “Hold on,” he warned, and then slammed on the brakes as he swung the wheel hard and to the right. They shot into a parking structure. It was dark and for a moment nobody could see anything. Theo slammed on the accelerator again for two seconds, and then slammed on the brakes. They slowed down to a crawl. Theo drove as if he was simply looking for a parking spot. He turned to the right. Stopped. Backed up. Pointed at the entrance they just came through.
“Watch.”
As their eyes accustomed to the dark, JC and his team saw ten men wearing ski masks and what looked to be bulletproof vests with “ATF” emblazoned on the front and back pulling spike strips across the only entrance. It wasn’t two seconds before one Mercedes came barreling through followed by the other. Both had their front tires blown out, rendering steering useless and forcing them to slide forward, totally out of control. The first vehicle slammed into a support post while the second slid past the first and into the back of a Chevy Malibu.
The armed men descended on the vehicles, yelling and pulling the occupants out, bloodied and dazed. The Bolivian hit squads were marched into the back of a waiting black van. The fake ATF agents piled into another van except for one. He gave his gun to a team member inside the van. Took off his bulletproof vest. His ski mask, too. Walked over to Theo’s vehicle, rubbing his hand through his hair. He looked like an older, taller mirror image of Theo.
He approached the car. Leaned down on the driver’s side lowered window.
“We good?” Theo asked.
“Sure thing, man. Your friends will find themselves on the Mexican side of the border tomorrow. No shoes. No clothes. Doused in motor oil. One plastic water bottle each, laced with a mixture of LSD and ipecac syrup. They won’t last long.” He smiled. “It will be painful.”
“The cars?” JC asked.
“Stripped for parts. Same as the guns.”
“Cool,” Theo said. ”See you Saturday?”
“You’d better be there. Your nephew is starting pitcher. You don't show up, you answer to me.” The man tousled Theo’s hair. Smiled, as did Theo. Clasped hands, then the man turned and walked to the waiting vans.
Duke and Joan sat in the back of the Crown Victoria. Mouths open. JC smiled. Theo turned to his friends in the back.
“Don’t you get it?” he said. “Nobody messes with me. Or my friends.”
Chapter 23
Your Lawyer
Theo’s brother had left a white Dodge Caravan for the team. They had driven it back to The Peninsula Hotel, stopping at Pink’s for hotdogs. JC, Duke and Joan were walking across the hotel lobby, Theo in the lead.
“Hold up,” Theo said, extending his arm across JC’s path. Like a real bodyguard.
JC looked up. Saw Detective Garcia. She looked even more amazing. Stunning was the word. JC smiled. Saw Detective Campbell. JC’s smile disappeared. Turned into a curt frown when he saw the handcuffs Campbell was dangling from his finger.
“Looks like you’re coming with us, Bannister.” Campbell’s pleasure was obvious.
“Detective Garcia,” JC said, ignoring Campbell. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Campbell answered. “We’ve got an eyewitness. An anonymous tip. Said a man matching your description was seen near the Meier residence the night of his death.”
JC rolled his eyes. “You have got to be kidding. Six foot one to six foot three. Fit. Dark brown hair. Late-thirties. That’s your description? Then you need to arrest that guy. And that guy. Oh, and him over there.” JC was pointing around the lobby at men who vaguely matched the description. Turned to Garcia. “This is really the way it’s done out here? This is the best Beverly Hills�
� finest can do?”
Garcia shrugged. “We got an anonymous tip. We need to follow it up.”
JC looked at her face. She didn’t look convinced. Interesting, he thought. Useful. Campbell, on the other hand, was totally sold on the idea. Turned JC around. Put the handcuffs on him.
“Let’s go, tough guy. You too, Stretch,” he said, nodding to Duke.
Duke’s eyes got wide. He threw his hands in the air. High.
“I’m not resisting arrest,” he said. “I’m not resisting arrest, officer!” Nasally. High-pitched. Mocking.
Garcia concealed a smile behind her hand. She took Duke’s arm down. Put it behind his back. Put one cuff on. Repeated the action on the other side. Campbell looked back at Duke, irritated. Duke started hamming it up even more. Leaning back against Garcia as she guided him forward. Making it look like she was marching him out the front of the hotel against his will.
“Call my lawyer! Call my wife and kids! Let ‘em know Daddy’s okay. Let ‘em know I’m innocent! I didn’t do it, I swear!” he called back to Joan and Theo
Garcia was unable to conceal her smile. She half-chuckled. Let go of Duke’s cuffs with her right hand and smacked him across the back of the head. Playful. But hard enough to get his attention. “Knock it off, you.”
“Brutality! Police brutality!” Duke glanced over his shoulder at Joan and winked. He seemed to be having far too much fun.
“Arrested by a hot cop in Beverly Hills,” Joan said mostly to herself, shaking her head. “Dream come true.”
“God!” Theo said. “He is so lucky!”
“They’ll be at the Beverly Hills police station. It’s on Santa Monica,” Garcia called back to Joan. “You should get them lawyers.”
*****
JC had never been arrested in America. What surprised him the most was how it looked completely like it did on television. Metal desk. Metal chairs. Mirrored window. Speaker in the corner of the ceiling. Video camera, too. No windows. Drab. Beverly Hills looked a little cleaner than what he saw on the New York police procedural shows. But not much.
Campbell had insisted they keep the cuffs on JC. Garcia came in soon after to take them off. He asked her about Duke. Was told he was being questioned in another room. JC thanked her as she left.
JC smiled. Laughed a bit to himself.
He was imagining the fun Duke was having. Arrested. In Beverly Hills. Having a cop like Campbell trying to intimidate and lean on the kid.
Duke was a rock.
JC was trying to figure out which movie lines the kid was running through with the person questioning him. Figured Duke could go on for a couple of hours at least. Spinning stories together, mixing elements from this movie and that movie. Splicing them together. Acting out parts of his favorite movies.
He couldn’t see it, but he was damn sure Duke was having a helluva good time.
So JC waited. Turned his mind to the bigger issue: trying to figure out who killed Daniel Meier.
Here was the problem as he saw it. JC never liked Meier. Bad blood from the start. Marcus knew it. Kowalski knew it. Anybody Meier may have talked to knew it. Which could provide a reasonable scapegoat for anyone who wanted Meier dead. While any killing that JC may have been involved with in the past could never be directly connected to him, it wouldn’t take a prosecutor, or a detective, very long to start looking through his background and put a few pieces together. Have a pretty good guess at what he did for a living. The questions that kept coming back around were these: Would they think JC was the kind of psycho to kill Meier for no real reason? How could he prove or convince them that he wasn’t the guy? Who else wanted Meier dead?
The door banged open. Campbell stormed in. Sour look on his face. Followed by Garcia. “Where the hell are your cuffs, Houdini?”
JC said nothing. Pointed at Garcia.
“I took them off. There was no point in keeping them on,” she said.
Campbell said nothing. Looked at a file folder he was carrying. Sat down opposite JC. Laid the folder on the table.
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Bannister?”
JC shrugged. Said nothing.
“Where were you two days ago?”
JC tried to look at the folder.
“Answer the question.”
“I told you before. I was in Seoul, South Korea.”
“Really? Because we have an eyewitness who says different. Claims you were lurking around Meier’s house on the night he was killed.”
JC shrugged again. Said nothing.
Campbell shrugged his shoulders several times. Aggressively. “What’s that? Can’t you even talk?” Looked down at the folder. “You and your friend Stretch over there. Won’t say nothing.”
JC looked worried. “Duke? He’s not talking? At all?”
“Not a word. Like the goddamn Sphinx.”
JC relaxed. “Phew! Usually, situations like these, he won’t shut up. Real scared of authority figures. Tells them pretty much anything they ask. Not like me. Glad to hear he’s clammed up for once.”
Campbell took the bait. Hustled out of the room, followed more slowly by Garcia. JC called out just as the door was closing. “Campbell?” he said, getting the detective to turn around. “I want to talk to a lawyer.”
Campbell stuck his head back in. “That’s funny. Your lawyer just showed up.”
Good old Theo, JC thought. Came through for me again.
The door opened. An older man appeared. Little shorter than JC. Grey, nearly white hair. Large face. Broad shoulders. Barrel chest. Trim belly. Black pants. Black Polo shirt. Another place and time, this man would be a blacksmith. Or brewmeister. Or mason. Looked serious. Good for Bannister.
The man walked in. Sat down. No briefcase. Clasped his hands on the table in front of him. They looked like medium-sized hams. Eyes were a little red. Face a little puffy. Maybe he’d been drinking too much. Bad for Bannister.
Something about the man seemed off the more JC looked at him. The man was holding back. Hiding something. This was also bad for Bannister.
“They can’t hear us. They are watching. But they cannot listen. Feel free to say whatever you like to me,” the man said.
“Okay, good. Did Theo send you?”
“I know nobody by the name of Theo.”
JC was taken aback. “Joan, then?”
“Joan did not send me.”
“Kowalski?” JC was reaching now.
“Mr. Kowalski did not send me here,” the man said.
JC looked into his red-rimmed eyes. Something familiar.
“Allow me to start again, Mr. James Caddoc Bannister.”
JC figured it out exactly as the man spoke the words.
“My name is Jacob Meier. I am Daniel Meier’s father.”
Chapter 24
I Have a Problem
JC stared at the man. Jacob stared back.
“I am truly sorry for your loss, Mr. Meier,” JC said. “I cannot imagine the pain you’re feeling right now.”
Meier’s eyes turned vacant. Looked down at his hands. Unclenched them. Stared at them, half open on the metal table.
“I lost my father a number of years ago,” JC continued. “Hit by a tour bus while going for a jog in the afternoon. It was an accident. It’s not the same, of course,” he said, trailing off, regretting the comment.
“They say that you killed him. My son.”
JC didn’t respond. There had been no question. A man in Jacob’s situation needed time to work things out as best he could.
“Kowalski. Campbell. They seem convinced it was you,” Meier continued.
“The senator told me you spoke with her today,” JC said.
“Yes. We spoke.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She didn’t believe you could have done it. Wasn’t in you. Despite your profession.”
“You know what I do?” JC said.
“Daniel told me. The senator hinted at it. I’ve done some checking. I�
�ve got a pretty good idea.”
“Do you know what I do?” JC repeated. Speaking clearly.
Jacob paused. “We’ll get back to that.”
JC waited. Watched the man try to pick up the pieces of his life.
“Tell me about my son.”
JC sighed. There was no easy way to say it. Slide into it, don’t be confrontational. But be honest. Despite the situation.
“I only met him two times, JC said. “Once in a bar in D.C. and once in a library in Arlington. Both times he was the intermediary for another person. The senator. I won’t lie. I did not have a favorable impression of your son. I found him arrogant and dismissive. However, the senator held him in high regard. She is quite broken up about his death. As are others who knew him better than I, I’m sure.”
Jacob was still looking at the table. At his hands.
“Thank you. For your honesty.” He looked up. His eyes were less vacant. More focused. “Daniel was a lawyer,” Jacob Meier continued. “Well trained. Well educated. Damn good at his job. He wasn’t a perfect son. Not an admirable, well-liked man. He was arrogant. He did value power and the appearance of power more than he should have.” Jacob stopped. Looked down at his hands again.
“But he was my son.” His voice broke. “He was born almost two months early. Very small. When the doctors let me hold him, he fit inside my hands. Just like so. The doctors had low expectations. Told us all the things he likely could not or would not be able to do. But I had high expectations.”
He looked back up at JC.
“Because he was my son.” Jacob’s voice was deepening. Bannister thought the man was getting even larger and more powerful the more he talked.
“Last night I held my son’s head in these hands. Tried to revive him. Useless. Lifeless.”
He was breathing heavily now. His voice controlled but rising.
“In the middle of the night, they came into my home.” Jacob curled his right hand into a very large fist and slammed it down onto the metal table. Denting it. “My home! And they killed my son.”
The Fixer, Season 1 Page 14