The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  Meier put down his cup of coffee. Waited patiently. Looked down the barrels of six different weapons. His heart was racing but he didn’t show it. Had trained himself not to through his years in the courtroom. Knew his friend Raymond was experiencing the same thing.

  “You guys could have knocked,” Meier said. “I would have opened the door.”

  The agents said nothing, their reactions invisible behind their facemasks.

  Kowalski walked into the kitchen. Black bullet-proof vest on over his white shirt and tie. “SECRET SERVICE” emblazoned across the front and back, as were the vests of the other agents in the house. Festooned with radios and extra clips. M4 assault rifle now slung over his shoulder. Motioned for the other team members in the kitchen to stand down. Meier turned to him.

  “Agent Kowalski,” he said. “So nice for you to come back to my house. Uninvited again, I see. At least this time you came through the front door.”

  “Where’s Bannister?”

  “JC Bannister? Not here. I’m sure the boys who just checked my house told you that.”

  “But he was here.”

  “Yes, he was. Then he left. But you knew that because you managed to track him to this location.” Meier paused. “Right? I mean, I hope you didn’t just break down the doors of a highly respected lawyer for no reason.” Meier shook his head. “That would look very bad for your career. And your agency.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “My client? Well, I’m pretty sure I don’t have to tell you that.” Turned to Straub. “Do I?”

  “No, you most certainly do not,” Straub answered.

  Meier looked back at Kowalski. “My lawyer, Raymond Straub.” Smiled.

  Kowalski looked back and forth between the two lawyers. Irritation clearly visible across his face.

  “But,” Meier said, “I’ll play nice. I cannot tell you where JC Bannister is because he did not tell me where he was going.” His smile broadened. “See, I can be nice. Even when the guests to my home are not.”

  “So between the time Bannister was here and we arrive looking for him, your lawyer manages to appear?” Kowalski stepped forward to Meier. “Do you know how that looks?”

  “I live right over there, Agent,” Straub said, pointing at his house. “My friend called me and asked if I wanted a cup of coffee. I said yes. Walked over.” Shrugged. “Not a big deal.” Picked up his coffee and drank.

  Meier’s smile had disappeared. His face hardened. “How does it look, Kowalski? Suspicious? Like when I found my son dead in his bedroom just over there,” Meier said, pointing to his son Daniel’s room behind Kowalski, “pills shoved so violently down his throat the coroner said there was extensive bruising and trauma to his mouth and esophagus? Suspicious like that?”

  Kowalski’s eyes didn’t waver. He only stared at Meier.

  “It’s okay, Agent Kowalski, you can look in the direction of my dead son’s room. I won’t find it out of place,” Meier said.

  Kowalski turned and looked. Turned back to Meier. Face impassive.

  “See anything?” Meier said. “Ghosts? Your past?”

  Kowalski’s head looked like it was ready to explode.

  “Sir,” an agent said, walking into the room. “We found this in the closet.” He handed Kowalski the shotgun Meier had placed there earlier. Kowalski took it. Looked it over.

  “Why is a semi-automatic shotgun hiding in your closet?” he asked Meier.

  Meier shook his head. “It is not an animate object. It cannot hide. I think you are asking me why I hid it there. The answer is I did not. I placed it there. It’s where I keep it. I also have a handgun in the drawer of the bedside table which is locked. The key is hanging on the side of the refrigerator behind you.”

  “I can vouch that both weapons are legally purchased and registered with the appropriate government agencies,” Straub said.

  “Why do you feel the need to be so heavily armed, Mr. Meier?” Kowalski said, handing the shotgun back to the agent who had brought it in.

  “They are for protection against intruders,” Meier said.

  Kowalski shook his head. “Guess it’s a good thing your son didn’t have one in his room.”

  Meier stood slowly. Keeping his rage in check. “Why is that, Mr. Kowalski?”

  Kowalski shrugged. “Because he probably would have used it instead of all those pills. Would’ve been far messier. More for you to clean up.”

  Straub’s hand slammed against the table, making the coffee mugs jump. “How dare you—”

  Meier held his hand up, halting his lawyer’s indignant outburst. “Or perhaps it would have been used against the gutless bastard who snuck into his room like a goddamn coward and killed him.”

  Kowalski’s face was turning dark red. The agents with him looked confused over the exchange and edged away.

  “Be assured, Agent,” Meier continued, “the next time someone comes into my house uninvited, I will be using any weapon I have at my disposal. Same as when I discover the man who killed my son.”

  “Is that a threat, Mr. Meier?” Kowalski said. Overly aggressive.

  “I don’t know, Kowalski, do you feel threatened?” Meier shot back with equal aggression. “If I was making a threat against the killer of my son, why would you feel threatened?”

  Kowalski backed down. Walked around the kitchen. Looked at the refrigerator. Found the key. Touched it. Walked over to the sink. Looked out into the backyard. Glass crunched under his feet as he moved.

  Meier sat. Calming. He had made his assessment.

  “If you’re providing assistance to the fugitive JC Bannister I could have you arrested under the Patriot Act.” Kowalski said. “Rendered to another country for questioning.”

  Meier and Straub burst out laughing before Kowalski had a chance to finish. He looked at them, his face deflating.

  “Agent,” Straub said, “do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound, threatening two senior citizens with the Patriot Act?”

  “Besides, once we got out, and we would get out quickly, you would find yourself in jail for a very, very long time when we got through with you,” Meier said. “And that’s not a threat, Kowalski, just a statement of fact.”

  The two men sighed as their laughter faded.

  “Everyone out.” Kowalski said.

  “Sir?” one of the agents said.

  “Bannister isn’t here and these two old shysters aren’t going to help. We’re done here. Back to the vehicles. We’re wasting time.”

  The agents assembled in the house and those standing in the kitchen began filing out the front door. Kowalski’s eyes never left Meier. When all the agents were gone, he walked back over to the kitchen table. “JC was here. You helped him. If I can find a way to prove it, you’re going to jail.”

  “If you could find a way to prove it I’d be a pretty shitty lawyer,” Meier said.

  Kowalski shook his head. Outmatched. “If he contacts you, I hope you do the right thing and turn him in.”

  “If he did that, he’d be disbarred, you idiot,” Straub said, “so don’t hold your breath.”

  “Bannister needs to be held accountable for what he did to the senator,” Kowalski said.

  “Why aren’t you out there trying to catch the senator’s real killer?” Meier said. Paused. “Oh, that’s right.”

  Kowalski was silent.

  “You forget, Agent,” Meier continued, “I was privy to a number of meetings. Meetings which you may have forgotten that I was attending.”

  “What’s your point?” Kowalski said.

  “Reliable people know more than others want them to. All the loose ends can’t be tied up on this,” Meier said, standing again. In Kowalski’s face. “And if someone tries, I’ll make damn sure they don’t walk away scot free this time.”

  Kowalski looked at Meier. Turned on his heel and walked for the front door.

  Meier sat back down. Straub waited until the sounds of the SWAT team and vehicles out front had faded
away.

  “Who was that?” he asked his friend.

  “That was the man who killed my son,” he said as he reached for Straub’s cell phone.

  Chapter 51

  You Let Him Off His Leash

  Duke passed the string of black SUVs as they streamed towards Meier’s house, lights flashing and engines red-lining. Tried to hide his face with the sun visor. Glanced in the rear-view mirror as they kept driving.

  “We need a new car. There might have been a drone watching,” JC said.

  Duke dug out his phone and handed it to his boss. The man dialed Theo’s number, already pre-programmed in. Put it on speaker.

  “Theo, it’s me. Our car is likely burned,” JC said.

  Theo was quiet for a second. Thinking, JC hoped.

  “Okay, boss,” Theo said. “Go to the car rental lot on 8th and La Brea. Park right near the office. Go to the front desk and speak with Lola. Tell her you’re there to pick up a car for Mr. White.”

  “Mr. White?” Duke blurted out, smiling.

  “Yeah, thought you’d like that”, Theo chuckled. The boss there, a man named Alex, will drive you in a van to the parking lot of the Beverly Center. Once there he will give you the keys to a new vehicle. I’ll call them and set it up now. You guys call me when you’ve left the shopping mall and I’ll give you the directions to the new meeting place.”

  JC hung up. Did exactly as Theo said. They were at the car rental place in under ten minutes. Another ten minutes put Duke behind the wheel of a 1979 black Monte Carlo, JC riding next to him, aftermarket seat laid all the way back, pretending to be sick so he could cover his face with his arm. Duke dialed Theo on speakerphone. Listened to the directions to the meeting place. Pulled up fifteen minutes later.

  It was a fully functioning, working garage in Little Armenia, on Edgemont between Hollywood and Sunset. A-1 Auto Repair. Cars parked out front. Hispanics were working on cars on the inside of the garage while a red-headed woman answered phones in the office. A white panel van was in one of the bays. The glimpse JC got of the waiting room was depressing and dingy. He stood. Stretched. Tried to figure out who to talk to first.

  “Uhh, boss?” Duke said, nodding to two black and white BMW motorcycles with full BHPD markings on the tank and hard saddle bags. JC’s body tensed, dread flooding his system. Of all the bad luck places Theo could’ve picked.

  A man walked out wearing dirty coveralls. Wiping his hands on a red shop rag. Looked vaguely like Theo.

  “You Duke?” he said to both of them.

  “Yeah,” JC answered. “My buddy here somewhere?”

  “Yup. All three of them are in the back waiting for you.”

  Three? JC ignored Duke’s glance. Didn’t move. Didn’t feel like walking stupidly into an ambush. Edged backwards, nearer the Monte Carlo they had driven up in and closer to a jack handle leaning against the low concrete wall.

  “Hey. Come on guys. Back here,” Theo said as he walked from around the white panel van. Smiled.

  JC didn’t move. “Where’s Joan?”

  Theo grinned.

  “Why?” Joan said from behind him. JC pivoted, grabbing the jack handle. Joan was leaning up against the Monte Carlo, arms crossed. Smiling. “Jumpy?” she said.

  “We good?” he asked.

  Joan leaned away from the car. Stood. Put her arm around JC’s shoulder. “Yup. Come on. Let me show you.”

  *****

  Theo led them through the garage, threading amongst equipment, cars in various stages of disrepair and disassembly and piles of spare parts. In the back of the garage was a parking lot filled with increasingly aged vehicles the further they walked.

  “This place belongs to my cousin,” Theo said to JC and Duke, “the handsome guy in coveralls you met out front. These are all cars that people had fixed but then never claimed. Sometimes he sells them off, sometimes he just lets them sit.”

  A chain link fence with worn out redwood privacy slats encircled the abandoned and decaying cars. The smell of old motor oil baked hard in the sun mixed with the scent of bougainvillea that spilled over the fence from the back alley. They were approaching a smaller building near the edge of the property. Was about the size of a large two-car garage. A gate in the fence was to the right of it but it must have opened outwards because there were far too many cars jammed up against it to allow it to swing inwards.

  “This was the original garage on this location,” Theo said, indicating the wooden building in front of them. “Whole place used to be just a residential house. My uncle started here and took over the property. Left it to his son when he died. Now my cousin keeps this old building around for nostalgia’s sake.” Theo paused. “And for family business.” Smiled.

  JC looked at Joan. She shrugged. “You let him off his leash, this is what you get.”

  Theo walked into the old garage. Duke followed as did Joan. JC was slower. Looked around behind him, his disquiet still tickling the back of his neck. Rolled his shoulders, loosening them. Walked into the darkened garage.

  The two bays were relatively empty. Heavy cotton sheeting hung from the rafters. What looked like acoustic dampening tiles were located sporadically around the walls and ceiling. Windows spray-painted black. A drum kit and amps in one corner. Welding equipment and an engine lift were in another corner. JC looked around, taking it all in.

  Theo chuckled. “My second cousin is in a rock band. This is their practice space when he’s home, but he’s away at college back in Florida.”

  JC saw a woman sitting on a stool near the back of the garage. Late twenties. Mousy. JC glanced at Joan who smiled and rolled her eyes. JC looked for Duke but he was already sitting behind the drum kit.

  “Allow me to introduce Lisa Hannigan,” Theo said. “Makeup artist and costumer extraordinaire.”

  JC nodded to the new arrival. “If you’ll give us a minute.”

  Lisa stopped chomping her gum long enough to say, “Sure.”

  JC whistled at Duke. Turned to Theo. Clamped his hand on the man’s shoulder and led him firmly back out the door. Joan and Duke followed. They stopped a short distance away from the door, between two cars so covered in dust and grime their make and models were indistinguishable.

  “What,” JC said, his irritation rising, “is that?”

  “Listen, you’ve got every cop in L.A. looking for you. Plus a few federal agencies. You need more of a disguise than a hat and sunglasses. She provides that.”

  Joan leaned forward. “She is an idiot,” she said, pointing back at the garage.

  “No, she’s just got different interests than you,” Theo said.

  “So my face is all over TV and you bring in some stranger to help us?” JC said. “How do you know she won’t run to the police first chance she gets?”

  Theo smiled. “She loves reality TV, man. That’s exclusively what she works on. Name a big budget reality TV show and she’s either worked for them or turned them down. She has no interest in news or what’s happening in the real world unless it directly impacts her little reality TV bubble.” He spread his hands. “Who better to bring in than a person who does their level best to avoid knowing about what is happening in the real world.”

  Joan shook her head. “An idiot.”

  JC was warming to the idea. “What about those police motorcycles out front?”

  Theo’s smile broadened. “My cousin has a service contract with the Beverly Hills PD. Those bikes came in for an oil change and annual service. They’re due to be picked up three days from now.”

  JS’s mind was racing. “Bikes are great, but we don’t look like cops.”

  Theo’s grin was so wide JC thought the man’s face was going to split in two.

  “That white panel van out front belongs to Lisa. Full of all kinds of costumes, including a compliment of scarily accurate police uniforms. Including ones for motorcycle cops.”

  Duke’s face lit up. “You mean…?”

  Theo nodded. “Yes, Duke, you’re going to be
CHiPs.”

  Duke balled up his fists, hunched over and said “Yes” quietly but powerfully.

  “This whole plan sucks,” Joan said. “Dressing up like a costume party when we need to be running straight at Kowalski.”

  JC’s plan, like all plans was evolving. He needed to bring down Kowalski and somehow clear his name, at least a little bit. He knew he wouldn’t get very far without a disguise of some sort. Theo was right, a baseball hat and sunglasses is exactly what the police were looking for. If Lisa was any good and could make his team look like other people, then everything just might work.

  “What does she think the job is?” JC asked Theo.

  “We need someone to do make-up for a small film shoot. Only working on a couple of people. Maybe some costume changes.”

  “How much are we paying her?”

  “Ten grand for the day.”

  Duke whistled.

  “You have the cash?” JC asked.

  “Yup, in a duffle bag inside. Plus we picked up all the stuff from our hotel room. That’s all in the garage as well.”

  JC clapped the man on the shoulder. “Well done, buddy. Well done.”

  “You want a hug?” Theo said.

  “Maybe later,” JC replied. “Right now we need to get rid of Kowalski and escape with our lives. And our freedom.”

  He turned back to the garage.

  “Let’s go talk to Lisa.”

  Chapter 52

  Lisa Hannigan

  “Hey,” JC said to Joan as Theo and Duke walked back into the garage.

  She stopped, coming back when he beckoned with a nod of his head.

  “I want you to call back to the shop,” he said. “Have Coletti and Mercier get Franklin and his group out of Boston. Put them back near Henderson.”

  Joan frowned. “Seems kinda soon. You sure?”