The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  Duke called ahead to Theo. Told him the list of things he would need to question Campbell. It was a short list. JC told Theo they needed a new place to interrogate the kidnapped police detective. Lisa’s hair and makeup skills were even more in demand now that the manhunt for them was tightening across the city. She couldn’t be asked to leave. Might raise her suspicions. Couldn’t question Campbell in front of her. So another location was needed. Theo told Duke the address of the place to meet.

  Driving back took the better part of an hour even with the red and blue lights, police motorcycles and Joan flashing Campbell’s badge at everyone she saw. They pulled up in an alleyway behind a Thai restaurant. Small parking area. Hidden from the main street. Afternoon was a slow time for most restaurants. Plus most people would be staying home, glued to the TV to watch the drama of the assassination unfold.

  Theo was standing at the open back door of the restaurant. Waiting for them. Blue duffel bag on the ground next to him. Keys in his hand.

  “Open it up,” JC said as he dismounted.

  Theo nodded. Turned. Unlocked and opened the door next to the Thai restaurant. The sign said “Danger: Do Not Open.” Inside was nothing, just a darkness. As JC walked forward he saw the stairs leading downward into what he assumed was a basement level storage area for the restaurant.

  “Perfect.” Turned to Joan, waiting in Campbell’s car. Made a circular motion with his finger. She pulled out and turned the Charger around, making it a short trip from the trunk to the stairs. Theo picked up the duffle bag. Waited. Duke dismounted and came over.

  “What is this place?” Duke said.

  “One of my uncles runs a security firm but it really belongs to my dad,” Theo said with a wink. “This Thai joint is one of his customers.” JC guessed the place was either involved with some kind of shady business related to Theo’s family or the owners were forced to pay protection money to keep their business open. Either way, they would likely keep their mouths shut.

  Joan stopped the car. JC heard Campbell kicking and yelling inside. Theo stepped back as Duke walked over and retrieved his Remington 870 pistol grip shotgun from its dedicated mount on the police motorcycle. JC withdrew his pepper-spray from his duty belt. Pointed it at the trunk. Joan popped the trunk. JC opened it with his off hand.

  Campbell looked around in panic. Breathed in a lungful of air to yell. JC brought up the pepper-spray. Campbell stopped.

  “Easy way or the hard way, buddy,” he said, looking down at the man in the trunk. ”Your choice.”

  The detective glanced between his four kidnappers. Duke was casually holding the shotgun, aiming it at the ground. Joan’s right hand was on her gun, still holstered at her waist while her left was holding Campbell’s own gun. The one taken from him at the diner. Theo was grinning, ready to bust out laughing.

  “Don’t worry, guys,” Duke said. “This one’s a pushover.”

  Campbell swung his feet out. Wiggled and wormed his way upwards until he was standing. Still handcuffed. Looked at JC.

  “You’re all going down for this,” he said.

  “No,” Duke said, big grin on his face, “we're not.”

  “Move,” JC said. Emotionless.

  Campbell stood there for another second. Duke shoved Campbell’s shoulder. The police detective stumbled forward, then walked down the dark staircase. Joan followed, then Theo. JC went next with Duke bringing up the rear. He glanced around before shutting the door. Some of the staff from the Thai restaurant next door were watching through the closed screen door. An older man in his fifties, a younger woman and younger man, both in their twenties. Duke locked eyes with the older man. Nodded. The restaurant worker remained impassive as Duke closed the door.

  *****

  The basement was perfect. Dark. Dusty. Dingy. Various piles of restaurant related debris. By the time Duke had reached the bottom of the stairs the dim fluorescent lights were mostly on. Still flickering. Campbell was perched on an old metal restaurant chair. Still handcuffed. Theo had a laptop computer opened, started and sitting on another chair along with a smartphone cued up to play an audio file they had recorded earlier. An old milk crate held the tools that Duke had asked Theo for on the ride over. Roll of duct tape. Carpet knife, the kind with the wickedly curved blade. Los Angeles County phone book. Blowtorch.

  Theo started the laptop recording. Then stepped back to join JC and Joan in the darkest part of the basement behind Campbell.

  “Does he know what he’s doing?” Joan whispered to JC.

  JC raised his hands slightly. Not a vote of confidence. He figured Duke wouldn’t go too far. Slapping a cop around was one thing. Seriously damaging him was another. JC needed Campbell alive and able to testify. Or at least agree to what he admitted during the questioning. A banged up dirty cop would produce contempt. A brutalized or dead one would produce sympathy. He hoped Duke understood the difference.

  Duke said nothing to his partners watching from the shadow. Or to Campbell. Instead he picked up the duct tape. Wrapped it around his captive’s body a number of times, pinning the struggling detective’s arms to his sides and taping him to the chair. Difficult to escape from. Slapped Campbell in the back of the head. Put down the duct tape. Slapped Campbell again. Retrieved another chair from the pile in the corner. Dragged it back across the dirty concrete floor. Slowly. The rusted metal legs grated noisily, leaving tracks in the dust. Duke set the chair up backwards, the back of the chair facing the now very nervous and profusely sweating Campbell. Went back to the pile. Picked up a dusty apron. Shook it out. Put it on over his policeman’s uniform. Walked back, swung one leg over the chair. Sat down. Put his arms on the back of his chair. Placed his chin on his arms. Waited.

  He didn’t have to wait very long.

  “What is this? Bad cop, worse cop?” Campbell said, his voice high with fear. “You forget I’ve been perfecting that shtick for twenty years.”

  Duke’s head rose from his arms.

  “No. That’s not what this is. The only cop in this room is you, Campbell. The rest of us are hired killers. You may have been a dirty cop but you still had some boundaries,” Duke said. Stood. Picked his chair up and hurled it against the stack of chairs he had just taken it from, making a clattering racket as a handful of them fell on the floor. “We have no such boundaries.”

  Campbell tried to keep his face looking as mean and tough as possible but the panic that started in his eyes soon took over. His mouth grimaced in soiled fear.

  JC kept waiting for Duke to start quoting some movie line that he might remember. Usually Duke’s demeanor changed when he did. Like he was acting out the scene. But nothing changed. What JC was seeing was all Duke. And that concerned him.

  Duke went over to the milk crate. Looked down at the tools.

  “I asked my friend there to bring these little devices” he said. “But on the way over I realized I’m going to skip them all and go straight to my favorite.” He picked up the portable blowtorch.

  “Duke,” JC said quietly.

  Duke ignored him.

  “I’ve got two questions for you, Campbell. How quickly you answer them will determine how damaged your body will be.”

  He turned on the blowtorch. Stepped forward.

  JC was standing between Duke and Campbell before Duke took a second step.

  “We need him alive and relatively unmarked,” JC whispered harshly in his friend’s ear. The hiss of the blowtorch kept Campbell from hearing.

  “Don’t worry, boss,” Duke whispered back, his eyes never leaving Campbell. “I’ve got this.”

  JC looked at Duke sideways. Then stepped back into the shadows. He was unsure. But he needed to let things play out a little bit more before stopping the show.

  With his left hand Duke pushed aside the apron and pulled up the bottom of his shirt. Two inches to the left of his belly button was an ugly, puckered, roughly circular scar.

  “Most people who see this figure it was a gunshot wound. I let them. Truth is
I was captured during my time over in Iraq. Questioned. With a blowtorch. The nozzle heats up quite nicely. Even turned off, the super-heated nozzle will melt flesh almost as if it were a stick of butter.”

  Theo turned to JC, eyes wide and questioning. JC shook his head slightly. Leaned over to Theo, whispered, “Shot in Argentina. Lost about two feet of his small intestine. Almost lost a kidney.”

  JC was somewhat relieved. If Duke was making up stories like this, perhaps he hadn’t lost all touch with what they needed to achieve here. Still, he was worried. This questioning was taking precious time. A whole city was looking for them. A whole country, almost. Scaring a man who was almost pissing his pants into actually pissing his pants served little purpose.

  “First question,” Duke said. Turned off the blowtorch. Picked up the smartphone. Turned the volume all the way up. “Do you recognize the voice on this recording?”

  Duke pressed play. Kowalski’s voice spilled from the tinny speaker in the unit. It was an audio file from one of the recordings Theo and Duke had made of their meetings.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know him! That’s my C.I., the guy who told me about Bannister landing in Los Angeles.” Campbell couldn’t move his mouth fast enough to answer Duke’s questions.

  “What else did he tell you?”

  “Bunch of stuff. Told me when and where to pick up Bannister this morning. Called me last night and again this morning to make sure I got the details right.”

  “Son of a bitch,” JC said under his breath. Although he already knew Kowalski had set them up, actually hearing it confirmed angered him even more. Kowalski was going to pay.

  Duke turned off the audio recording. Set the phone down. Turned on the blowtorch. Walked slowly around Campbell. Twice. Letting the nozzle heat up. Walked over to the laptop. Clicked a few keys. Stopped the recording. Opened another audio file and started the recording again. Walked back to Campbell. Turned off the blowtorch. Set it down.

  “Second and final question. What did you do to set up Karen Garcia?”

  Campbell looked confused. For a split second JC’s heart sank as his stomach started to flip-flop. Then Campbell came through.

  “That bitch?” the man said, the words spitting out of his mouth. “Not a damn thing that she wasn’t half involved in already.”

  JC was in motion as soon as Duke was. He stopped his friend, phone book held with two hands, high over his right shoulder, ready to come swinging down into Campbell’s face. Duke’s anger faded as his normal self took control. JC took the phone book from him, set it down and stepped back.

  Duke’s breathing slowed. Campbell’s face was morphing the fear of Duke with his unwarranted anger at Detective Garcia. Duke picked up the blowtorch. Turned it on, the pop and hiss of it unnerving even his friends.

  “I’ll only ask you one more time. What did you do to set up Detective Garcia?”

  “And I’ll tell you again — nothing that wetback cunt didn’t have coming to her!”

  Duke hadn’t stepped back after JC did, a fact that JC had missed. There was no stopping Duke. He was simply too close. The blowtorch was in his right hand as he grabbed the back of Campbell’s head with his left, his left elbow pressed into the detective’s shoulder, leaning him back and immobilizing him. The blowtorch was off as Duke raised it to Campbell’s face, the nozzle reddish and faintly glowing in the dim fluorescent light. Duke moved it towards Campbell’s left eye. The man tried to pull back, his eyes flitting between Duke’s grim anger and the instrument that would take his sight. There was no escape.

  JC was almost to Duke when Campbell screamed.

  “All right, all right, I did it, I set her up!” JC froze. “I told the sergeant she was doing shady stuff, dealing with you guys. I never knew it was true. I exaggerated and lied about things. Told him that she likely was involved in the kidnapping. Hell, for all I know she was. Oh, God, please stop him!” The man was wailing. Duke kept the blowtorch inches from Campbell’s eye and pressed him for more details. Within minutes Campbell had explained everything. The recording, while nowhere near admissible in court, would likely free Garcia.

  Mission accomplished, Duke stood. Stopped the laptop’s recording software. Turned to his team, a boyish smile on his young face. “See, Theo, I told you this guy was gonna be a pushover.” He looked at their faces. Paused. “What?”

  *****

  Duke was the last one coming up the stairs from the basement. Theo had packed up their equipment and gone up first, followed by Joan. Campbell came next with JC pushing and prodding him up the stairs. Duke came last, carrying his pistol grip Remington 870 shotgun. He had a Beretta 92FS in his holster, completing the policeman’s outfit. Duke thought he might be able to scare Campbell with it. Hadn’t needed it. The man had folded faster than he had expected.

  Duke emerged back into the sunny Los Angeles afternoon. Theo was standing to the left of Campbell’s Charger. The trunk was open. Theo’s duffle bag was gone, which meant he had already deposited it in his own ride, a newer silver Toyota Camry. Joan was standing to the right of the Charger, hand on her gun which was stuck in her waistband. Most people would think she looked angry, but after three years Duke could tell she was just irritated, likely at the delay Campbell was creating. Although not privy to the details, he guessed JC, who had his back to Duke, was trying to convince Campbell, who was facing Duke, to get back in the trunk of the car. Of course, Campbell wanted nothing of the sort, so he needed a little persuading. Duke figured the best thing would be a punch to the gut which, a few seconds later, is exactly what JC did. Campbell doubled over as most men would. JC shoved him into the back of the car, Theo swung the detective’s legs into the trunk and Joan slammed the lid shut. Duke glanced down, noticed he was still wearing the kitchen apron from the basement.

  Duke heard the conversation coming through the still open screen door of the Thai restaurant. It was mostly between the two men. They were discussing getting ready for some thing or another. It wasn’t clear what. Their voices were excited. He could tell by their intonation the older man was the leader. Not a big stretch. The girl was arguing with them. Telling them not to do it. Strange. Still, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

  As he heard the screen door open with a screak, Duke stopped in his tracks. The background buzz created by hearing one of the many languages he knew spoken crystallized into perfect clarity. The girl spoke loudly. Not English. Not even Thai.

  She spoke in Laotian. Which, while not completely outside the realm of possibility was itself somewhat odd. What caught Duke off-guard was the manner in which she spoke. Angry. Haughty. Wealthy. Imperious. And afraid.

  That, and of course, what she said.

  “You two idiots are going to get us all killed.”

  Chapter 55

  You Save Our Lives

  Duke turned, his mouth slightly agape at the tonal and language clash in his head. Saw the female restaurant worker walking toward him with a butcher’s knife in her hand. Behind her and slightly to her left was the elder restaurant worker. He was pointing an AK-47 at Duke. The younger man was holding a TEC-9. Both were cheap, beat-up weapons that could pump out a lot of bullets in a short time. Duke realized the woman looked more like a human shield than anything else.

  “Nobody move,” the older man growled in accented English. No way for Duke to know how long he had been in the U.S. but his English was not good. Passable for day-to-day things, but not much beyond that. Totally out of his depth in a situation like this.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw JC turn. He couldn’t see Joan or Theo. He guessed Joan still had her hand on her gun. Theo was unarmed as far as he knew. It took less than a second for Duke to realize there was no escape. No way to fight it out. The restaurant workers had the advantage. There would be no chance for Duke and his team to make it out with everyone alive. Duke, being the closest and the one in the direct line of fire would likely be the first to die.

  He hoped the rest of his team realized this.

&n
bsp; Duke had turned completely and was facing the three-person team from the restaurant. The young woman was about four feet in front of him with the older man another foot behind her. The younger man with the TEC-9 was to Duke’s right.

  “You dress like cops. But you no act like cops,” the man said to Duke. “Who in the trunk?”

  “Stupid rapist imbecile,” the girl spat in Laotian.

  “Shut up before I shoot you in the back,” the man said in Thai.

  “Hey!” Theo yelled from the back of the group as he bullied his way forward.

  “Get back here, fat man,” Joan hissed as the newest member of their team stomped forward, chest out. Duke glanced over his shoulder. Theo looked pissed.

  As he passed Duke, Theo shoved the taller man strongly to the left. Duke was out of the line of fire. But Theo was now directly in it. The young woman holding the butcher’s knife had moved to the left as well leaving Theo face to face with the man holding the AK-47.

  “Do you know who I am?” Theo barked. “Hunh, old man? Do you know who the fu—”

  Theo’s tirade was cut short by the butt of the assault rifle smashing into the left side of his face, knocking him down and to the right.

  “You look like sonofabitch gangster who take money from me. Say it for my protection. Only you younger and fatter. No matter. I hear he in prison forever.” The old man had stepped back after swatting Theo away. He grinned at Theo over the rifle barrel. “So whatchu gonna do?”

  Theo didn’t move or shrink from the gun pointing at him. “You’re a dead man,” he said.

  The girl and Duke were now standing to the side of the argument, with only a few feet separating them. She still held the butcher’s knife, but it was at her side.