The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  It was perfect.

  *****

  “Sir, we’re getting requests from the FBI and local police. Do we coordinate with them?”

  Kowalski grimaced. Faster than I expected. “No, do not. This is our crime scene. We control it.” Recognized the voice. “Agent Johnson, if I see anyone but badass men and women in black suits and white shirts when I get there, you’re the one I’m going to punish. You got that?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  *****

  The first time Kowalski met Catherine Marcus he hated her. She was a junior senator then, touring a VA hospital with her husband, the vaunted Army surgeon. She was there, shaking hands, thanking soldiers for their service and sacrifice. Cameras in tow. Getting the right angles. Kowalski could tell that she never gave a damn about the people she was meeting. How could she? If she really cared, she wouldn’t bring all the assistants and helpers and glad-handers along with her. The icing on the cake was when she shook the hand of the man Kowalski was there to visit. One of his friends who had lost a leg in Iraq. She stopped, shook his hand. Thanked him for his sacrifice, as if she knew the meaning of the word. When she turned to leave, Guy saw her rub her hand against the side of her leg, trying to rub off the sweat of a true soldier. The sweat of a man who lost his leg but none of his love for the country he almost died defending. The sweat of a man who had been waiting for weeks to see a doctor at his local VA hospital. Who made the trip up to D.C. to try and worm his way into finally getting someone to look at what turned out to be cancer that started in the stump of his leg. A leg he lost to friendly fire. From a depleted uranium round.

  He hated her from that instant. Years later, when he had the opportunity to be assigned to lead her protection detail, he had turned it down flat, but upon reflection, chased it down like an attack dog. Got the assignment and then watched her star rise on The Hill. Saw her gain the most traction from stumping for the military. Watched her continue to step on the backs and necks of the soldiers who protected this country only to use those same stepping stones as fodder for her own political career. Send them out into harm’s way again and again.

  He secretly hoped to be able to one day drop the ball and let her get shot by some crazy.

  One day, Kowalski’s training officer from boot camp was killed in Afghanistan. A well-known military man from the senator’s own state. Marcus didn’t visit the man’s family. Didn’t bother to write a letter of condolence. However, she did go on TV the very same day and demand that her constituents, fellow senators and everyone in the country support the surge. Support even more soldiers going over to that backwards-ass cesspool to fight for people who hated us.

  Kowalski decided that day, standing to the side, listening to her spout off her nonsense about how more soldiers will make things better over there. Decided that he was going to kill her himself.

  Slowly. Painfully.

  And then she chickened out. Coward. Tried to avoid the pain that was her due, have Bannister put her out of her misery. Marcus had not informed a soul about her cancer. Kowalski knew because he caused it. Because he was looking for the subtle signs. And because he was in charge of her protection detail which included coordinating her trips to the doctors. To the specialists. The oncologists.

  But once that condescending little prick Meier knew about her planned suicide, he had to be taken out. Kowalski had hired an old friend from the Army now working as a P.I. in Maryland. Had him follow the snotty little lawyer and report back his location. Easy to walk into the Meier house in Los Angeles late at night. Knock him in the head. Stuff pills down his throat till he nearly choked. Promise to get him medical help if he just takes one more handful. Say it’s just for show. Coward. Just like his boss. Got down on his knees and begged for his life instead of fighting like any human would.

  *****

  “Sir, where are you. Washington wants to know.”

  “Right behind you, Johnson,” Kowalski said. Jogged through the police lines, his badge held up to ward off any people in his way.

  “Sir, I don’t see you.”

  “Then turn around. Open your eyes. That’s it, keep turning.”

  Kowalski couldn’t see Johnson. Had no idea where he was. But he figured if he kept insulting him long enough, make him do ridiculous things, the younger agent would either stop asking or make a big enough fool of himself that he could be found.

  It was the latter. The agent stood near the stage. The senator’s body had been removed soon after she was killed. Her blood was still on the dais. And the grass beneath. Johnson was turning in a circle, scanning the crowd.

  “Stop it, Johnson. You’re embarrassing me.”

  Agent Johnson stopped, facing away from him. Kowalski walked up behind him. Tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Now, other than the fact that Senator Marcus has been assassinated on my watch, what’s so goddamned important that you had to keep bugging me, asking when I was going to be here just like my ex-wife used to?”

  Chapter 47

  Your First Loyalty

  JC’s first call had been to Jacob Meier. As Theo raced through Los Angeles, JC set up a meeting with his lawyer. No explanation necessary to anyone privy to the conversation. Theo voice-dialed his contacts, always speaking in Armenian. JC had ordered him to line up two untraceable vehicles to be picked up just inside Koreatown. Duke had lamented the fact that their spare guns and equipment were lost to them in their hotel room. No way could they go back there at this point. Theo voice dialed again. Spoke in Armenian. Hung up.

  “No problem,” Theo reported. “Our gear will be out of the hotel in about four minutes. The room will be totally wiped down and cleaned two minutes after that. It will be delivered where and when we need it.”

  “Can you get us suites at the Biltmore?” Joan said sarcastically.

  Theo started speaking Armenian into his phone again.

  “Stop playing around,” JC barked. “We don’t have time for it.”

  The vehicle grew quiet again. Theo discretely hung up.

  “When will the cars be ready?” JC asked.

  “We’ll be at the driving range in five minutes,” Theo said. “They’ll be ready when we get there.”

  “Good. I have to make my second call.”

  JC used the web browser on Theo’s burner phone, searching for the next number. Joan leaned over to see.

  “Nope,” JC said as he pivoted it away from her. Joan turned away as well. Looked out the window to her left. JC found the number he was looking for. Dialed. Waited as it rang.

  “Yes,” JC said. “Agent Oldham?”

  Joan’s head snapped back to stare at JC, eyes on fire. Duke jump-turned in his seat as if he’d been bitten. Theo was startled by their actions. Leaned over to Duke. “Who’s Oldham?”

  “One of the Secret Service agents under Kowalski’s command back in Virginia. We embarrassed him when we took all those guns,” Duke whispered loudly.

  “Oh,” Theo whispered back. Duke’s words sunk in. “Oh!” Theo said louder, glancing back at JC.

  “No, Agent,” JC was saying, “I’m not going to say my name. I think you can figure that out on your own. Are you currently in Los Angeles?” Pause. “No? Then I highly suggest you find a way to get yourself posted out here. Matter of fact if you were smart you’d be running to your car and driving to the airport right now.” Pause. “Why? Haven’t you heard the news? I’m famous. Seems like all your little friends are out looking for me.” Pause. “No, Oldham, I don’t think the assassination of a sitting United States senator is a joking matter. Especially when I’m being set up for it.” Pause. “No, no, it’s time for you to listen. Here’s the deal. I am being set up. I called you because I can guess you’re not involved. I can also guess that your first loyalty is to the United States of America. Mine is too, believe it or not. I’m going out on a limb here with you because I imagine you’d like your career to experience a monumental leap upward.” Long pause. “No, I’m not trying to bribe you, n
ot trying to do an end-run around the process of law and order. I’m going to ask you two questions before I hang up. First, why do you think you were reassigned from Kowalski’s team after the situation in Virginia? And second, why do you think he never reported those guns and the SUV as missing?” Longer pause. “Nothing to say? I thought that’d get your attention. Get to L.A. I deal with you. If you are smart, you’ll do some checking and keep this to yourself. If you’re not smart, I’ll find someone else to deal with and you can watch their career skyrocket while you get tarred with the same ugly brush that’s going to bring down Kowalski.”

  JC hung up. Opened the back of the phone. Removed the SIM card. Broke it in half. Removed the battery. Tossed the pieces out of the window ten seconds after each other. Each piece skittering across the blacktop and into the gutter.

  Duke turned around. Joan’s eyes never wavered from JC. Never lost their intensity.

  “Listen, guys,” JC said, glancing from teammate to teammate as he spoke. “Maybe you don’t agree with that move. But Kowalski was running security for the senator. We get to L.A. and he’s got all new guys. Nobody from their team in Virginia made the trip. No reason for that unless he’s got something to hide. I imagine him doing that raised a red flag or two that got explained away. I’m also quite sure he never reported the guns missing. Or the SUV we took. Pretty big mistakes. I need someone on the inside of the Secret Service looking into Kowalski. We need to apply pressure to him. He’s likely got every government agency at his disposal right now. We need to chip away where and when we can.”

  “You think you can trust Oldham?” Joan said dryly.

  JC shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said. “But I can trust that the average government agent both wants to do the right thing and wants to advance his career. If he thinks Kowalski is dirty, it’s his job to look into it. I mean, come on, the man assigned to guard a just assassinated senator didn’t report dozens of guns being stolen two weeks earlier?” JC rolled up the window. “If I was Oldham, once I got a whiff of corruption hanging around a man in Kowalski’s position, I’d be chasing it down like my life depended on it.”

  Joan shook her head. “Dangerous.”

  “Yeah, but the best move,” Duke said. “We can’t fight the whole US government. Right now, in this situation, Oldham is the only person we know on the inside who has the slightest bit of actual knowledge of us. Everyone else will be gunning for the senator’s killers.” Duke paused. Smiled. “Plus, we’ve still got the Sons of Liberty to bring out of hiding. When the time is right.”

  “Exactly,” JC said. “When the time is right. We need to keep them in our pocket a little longer.” Turned to Joan. Her eyes were cooling down. He knew she would never agree with calling in the Secret Service to help them out. The woman had trust issues, and rightly so. He needed to distract her. “After we split up, I’ll need you to call Coletti and Mercier. I imagine Kowalski or someone is going to start tracking down all the places and people I’m connected to. Have Mercier check Vargas out of the hospital right now. Hire a nurse, get his brother and take them to the farmhouse. The rest of the cycling team is already there. Keep them there. Have Coletti and Sparks move Franklin and the Sons somewhere else. I don’t care where. Somewhere quiet and out of sight. Old farmhouse or warehouse somewhere in the country. It’s probably more than they can take care of on their own, so have Bobby Hughes come down and help them. But for God’s sake, make sure he leaves his C-130 at home. Driving only.”

  Joan listened. Nodded. JC hoped that would distract her enough from the third phone call he mentioned but had yet to make.

  “What about your third phone call?” Joan said.

  Dammit. Didn’t work.

  “I’ll make that after I meet Meier,” JC said.

  She didn’t respond. Turned away from him. He imagined she could guess who he was going to call. But if he didn’t say it, she couldn’t tell him how horrible of an idea it was.

  “Boss, I’ve got a question,” Duke said. “If your name and picture are all over the news, how do you expect to get around Los Angeles for more than five minutes once you step out of this car?”

  JC thought for a second. It was bothering him, but he didn't have an easy answer.

  “Don’t worry,” Theo said. “I’ve got it.” Pulled his phone from his pocket. Voice dialed with Armenian again.

  Duke turned to JC, who shrugged in response. “Don’t worry, Duke. He’s got it.” Smiled. Leaned his head back. Tried to think about what he was going to tell Meier.

  Chapter 48

  Planning It All Along

  The two non-descript mid-sized sedans were waiting for the team at the golf driving range in Koreatown. Just as Theo said they would be. A very large Samoan man handed Theo the keys. Took the keys of the car they drove up in. Gave Petrosian a hug, engulfing him in his gigantic arms. Then turned and walked away.

  “Dude, was that Skinny Pete? From The Italian Job?” Duke whispered to Theo as they walked to the cars.

  Theo shook his head. “I’m a little surprised, Duke. You think one enormous tattooed Samoan looks like every other enormous tattooed Samoan?” Tossed the keys to JC. Continued berating Duke with a serious look to cover up the smile. The man did have a remarkable resemblance to Skinny Pete, but Theo wasn’t about to tell his friend.

  Duke tried to protest but there was no time. JC threw the keys to Duke and got in the back seat. Duke jumped in leaving Joan to ride with Theo. New burner phones were waiting in the cars with two extra SIM chips each, just in case. No guns. Those would come later.

  JC lay down in the back seat. Right arm over his face, left hand holding his belly, face grimaced in pain. If anyone saw him he would look like a person on the verge of vomiting. Duke was right. His face was all over the news. Sitting up driving a car would get them arrested fast.

  JC told Duke the address of Meier’s house. “Think you can find it?”

  “No problem.”

  “Speed as much as you want but no tickets. Don’t drive past the place. Park one street over, behind the house. We’ll approach from the back.”

  Duke adjusted the rear-view mirror. “Not my first rodeo, JC.”

  JC sighed. Not at Duke, but himself. He was quiet. Planning. Realized the sigh could be misinterpreted. “I know you do, David.”

  Duke said nothing. Drove quickly. JC took a guess at what was keeping him quiet.

  “Look, Duke. We’ll do what we can to get Garcia taken care of. We’re really up against the clock here. Right now, our freedom is a bit higher on my list than hers.”

  Duke didn’t reply quickly. JC waited him out.

  “I get it, boss,” he finally said.

  Sometimes being called “boss” sounds more like judgment than respect.

  JC didn’t respond.

  *****

  Duke found the house easily. Parked one street behind it. They got out. Ran for the gate of the house directly behind Meier’s. Hopped over it. Either nobody was home or nobody saw their movements because there were no shouts or alarms. They walked through the back yard. Stopped at the fence. Scanned Meier’s back yard. Nothing out of the ordinary. Well-watered lawn. Minimal ornamentation. Hopped that fence as well. Approached the rear sliding glass door of Meier’s house.

  Duke leaned over as they walked. “I feel like Joe Pesci in Casino, walking up to Sam Rothstein’s house.”

  “Never saw it. But you’re a little taller than Pesci.”

  They stopped at the sliding glass door. Saw Meier inside, sitting at a small table next to a very large stainless steel refrigerator. JC knocked lightly. Meier turned, stood.

  Duke turned to JC. Screwed up his face, puffed out his chest. His voice rose half an octave, developed a whine. “You know I’m trying to put something really big together out here. You know what I’m talking about?”

  JC had no idea what Duke was talking about. Shook his head. Glanced at him. He had a big grin plastered across his face. “Smarten up,” JC said. Walking
up to Meier’s back door hours after the senator was killed with big smiles on their faces wasn’t the best of moves.

  Duke was still in character. Pointed his finger at JC. “You muddafu—”

  Meier threw the door open, startling Duke, almost knocking the plate glass door off its tracks.

  “Get in here. Now.”

  They followed him through the large kitchen and into his expansive den without a word. Comfortable sectional sofa. Leather. As were the two easy chairs. Family pictures on bookshelves. Meier sat on the sofa. Picked up the remote in his right hand, likely out of habit. Big TV was on but muted. The screen was split into four pictures. All news channels. All about the assassination earlier that morning.

  JC and Duke stood.

  “The senator?” Meier said, indicating the television with the remote but his eyes on JC.

  “Wasn’t us.”

  “Figured that. You know who?”

  “Kowalski. The man assigned to protect her.”

  JC paused. Took a deep breath.

  “He’s the man who killed your son.”

  The silence in the room seemed to swell in magnitude. Meier turned back to the television but other than that he didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on the TV. Not watching. His mouth was closed, breathing through his nose. His breathing became deeper. Faster. Louder in the quiet room.

  “You have proof?” he said, not looking at the two men, his voice thick.

  “Not yet. But I will get it,” JC replied.

  Meier tore his gaze from the television. Looked only at JC. “Sit.” JC did. “Tell me what you know,” Meier continued.