The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  JC nodded. Said, “Yeah.” Partly to keep Oldham talking. Partly because he remembered how the man had been when they were in basic training together. Things had changed.

  “So one of the instructors had me doing inventory about a day later. Crap job, but again, I don’t mind. I love the agency. I’d do inventory all day every day if I thought it would help our mission.” JC could hear the pride in Oldham’s voice. Started to like him just a bit more. “I start digging into it. Just curious, you know? There’s no mention of any missing guns. None out for training purposes. Nothing like that. Funny thing is, we’ve all got new service weapons. The ones you guys took — it was like it never happened. You guys were in the Army. Things just can’t disappear like that, right?”

  “Well…,” Duke said.

  “I know, but not like this,” Oldham cuts in. Duke nods. “So I check more. Have one of my poker buddies in the motor pool check on the SUV you guys took. No report of the theft. We do some checking on it. Mileage is much higher than the other vehicles we had that night, but there’s no explanation for it. And the GPS? Scrubbed clean.”

  “Kowalski covered it up well,” JC interjected.

  “Yeah, better than I thought he could. Or would.”

  Bannister kept watching the street signs. Oldham was driving in large haphazard circles. Good.

  “But that’s enough to get you to come out here, is it?” he said.

  Oldham nodded. “So I start digging a little more. About four years ago, Kowalski’s performance reviews took a serious hit. Nobody knew why. Combative. Disrespectful. His boss wanted to give him the lead on the senator’s detail. Pretty sweet gig, really. She’s high profile but a low maintenance principal. No running around. Getting into trouble we have to cover up later.”

  JC nodded and snorted. Thinking of his time as The General’s aide.

  “But he turns it down,” Oldham said. “Upset about it. Then, like, two days later he does a switchback. Asks for it. Pulls strings to get the guy it was assigned to put onto something else.” Paused. “Weird, right?”

  It was odd. But, if as Duke had suggested at Meier’s house, Kowalski was planning this for some time, it made sense. Bannister wasn’t about to let Oldham in on his suspicions. Yet.

  “That was like four years ago, right? What else?”

  “I dunno,” Oldham continued. “There’s been strange stuff kind of swirling around Kowalski for years. Outbursts. Rumors. Nothing to really derail his career. But.” Stopped.

  “Like?” JC prodded.

  “Heard from a few guys he was asking about depleted uranium. Said he was looking for old uranium rounds that some guys may have brought home from the Gulf. It was weird, you know?”

  JC’s eyes widened. Leaned forward, gripping both seats to get closer.

  “How long ago was this?”

  “I dunno, maybe three years. About a year or so after he got assigned to the senator’s detail.”

  JC leaned back. Put on his seat belt. “Duke? Campbell him.”

  Duke snapped his seatbelt on. Looked at Agent Oldham. “Sorry, buddy.”

  “Wait, wait—” Oldham managed to utter before Duke pivoted and kicked him in the side of the head, just as JC had done to Detective Campbell. The effects were basically the same: head smashed against the side window, smashing the glass into pieces. Driver knocked unconscious. The big difference was Oldham was expecting it and he was far better trained than Detective Campbell. As soon as Duke had moved, Oldham had stepped on the brakes. Of course when he was knocked unconscious his body went slack allowing his foot to slip off the brake pedal. The deceleration achieved before the kick was enough that the resulting crash was far less spectacular then JC’s earlier in the day. The Chevy Silverado slowed to a crawl and bumped into a parked out-of-service taxi, setting off its alarm. The airbag didn’t even deploy. JC hopped out while Duke undid Oldham’s seatbelt. JC opened the door, dragged the man out and laid him down on the sidewalk next to the taxi. It was a residential area, far from any danger or pay phones. Lots of trees. He took Oldham’s gun, cellphone and wallet.

  “Sorry, Oldham,” he said as he walked back to the truck, Duke already in the driver’s seat. JC got in the back seat, handing Duke what he took from Oldham. Duke popped the magazine from the gun, clearing the bullet in the slide and dumped it all in the glove box. Tossed in the cellphone and its battery along with the wallet, minus the credit cards and cash. Locked the glove box up, started the vehicle and drove away.

  JC heard the sirens in the distance. They worried him far less now.

  Chapter 62

  Detective Karen Garcia

  Karen Garcia flung the door to the Beverly Hills Police Department wide open. For a split second she thought it might hit the doorstop so hard it would shatter into a thousand pieces. Secretly hoped it would. But the designers had anticipated that people leaving the police department might not be in the happiest of moods and built in an automatic device that slowed it enough to keep the department from having to replace plate glass doors daily.

  She had been held all morning and into the afternoon. Spared the indignation and danger of being mixed with the real criminals in a holding cell, her day had been spent in an interrogation room. Or the office of her commander. Small consolation, really. Her own people, her friends and co-workers had stared at her. Confused. Contemptuous. She did her best not to read anything into their gazes. Turn innocent rubber-necking into hateful glares when it wasn’t the case. But it didn’t take very long before all her darkest moments of self-doubt and weakness began to be imagined in the eyes of those who looked at her.

  Her commander didn’t explain much. Said something about the charges against her vaporizing. Said the main witness was now deemed unreliable. Told her to stay close to L.A. but not to worry. Karen could guess who the witness was. Only person who had been around her long enough to see her do anything. And the only person who had much in the way of bad feelings for her. But Campbell and her commander were on friendly terms. She wondered what could have happened to make that turn sour.

  Duke’s image flickered across her mind. She pushed it away as she walked down the street. Looking for the closest bar so she could just sit for a minute. Down a whiskey. Or two. But the more she walked, the more she thought about the odd multi-lingual man. And the more she thought about it, the more sense it made that he and his team were involved.

  “What have they done?” she growled out loud. Venting frustration. Stomping her way down the sidewalk. Could this day get any worse?

  “Detective Garcia?”

  The voice came from behind. Garcia turned to see an African-American man walking towards her. Older. Slightly shorter than her. Wearing khakis and a navy blue cotton jacket. Back straight, head held high. Law enforcement of some type. Maybe military. She couldn’t remember ever meeting him before.

  “Can I help you?” Garcia said. Tired.

  “It’s how we can help each other, Detective.” The man stopped in front of her. Extended his hand. “General Marvin O. Robinson, United States Army.”

  Garcia shook his hand. Smiles on the outside. But inside she was cursing, realizing that somehow her day had just gotten worse, even though she didn’t know why yet.

  “How can I help you, General Robinson?” she repeated again.

  “Bannister, Duke, Joan, Theo,” The General said, coming straight to the point. “You’ll likely want to talk to them. So would I. Let’s work together and find them.”

  Garcia’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the team’s names, despite her efforts to control them.

  “How do you know them?” she asked.

  The General smiled. “You could say I’m an unofficial member of their team.”

  “Then maybe,” Garcia said, “the best step is for us to walk back into that building. Sit down. Have a chat,” indicating the BHPD.

  The General’s smile faded slightly. “That won’t do any of us any kind of good, detective,” he replied. “I spoke to
one of my former captains. Seems he’s found himself a nice position in your department. Told me quite a few things about what you’ve gotten yourself involved in. I imagine finding the people who killed the senator this morning might shine up your brass star a bit, now wouldn’t it?”

  Garcia sighed. She was tired and didn’t need this man stepping into the investigation. Didn’t need his help or hindrance.

  “I need to find them, as I said,” The General continued. “I could go chasing around the city to find them. Or I could hitch my wagon to the one person who could both help get me through all the police checkpoints and who Duke and the rest are likely to let close to them.”

  “General, I respect your service to this country but this is a police matter and frankly, you have no business being involved in it.”

  “I’m through asking, detective,” The General said, his voice rising as his jaw set and anger crept into his face.

  “And I’m through telling, General,” Garcia said. “I cannot and will not allow a civilian to interfere in this matter.”

  The General sucked air into his lungs. Garcia leaned forward, as if anticipating the blast of words that was surely coming. But none did. The man simply exhaled. Deflated slightly.

  “You’re right, detective. I apologize.” Took another breath. Exhaled again. “I’m offering my services, here, Garcia. Bannister and Duke both served under me. I was a friend to the Senator. I’ve been unfortunately involved in this from the very beginning.” He stood up straight. Shoulders back. Proud. “If you don’t mind, this civilian would like to help you apprehend the people behind the assassination of Senator Marcus. I think you and I both know it is not our friends.”

  Garcia didn’t make him wait long. Nodded. Walked. The General turned and was in step with her instantly.

  “How do you know it wasn’t them?” she asked, her mind already working out ways she and The General could find them. “How can you be sure? They’re all killers, aren’t they?”

  The General snorted. “Oh, they’re killers all right. So are you, from what I hear. So am I. But this? Not their style. Bannister wouldn’t have done it that way.”

  “How can you be sure?” she asked again.

  The General looked forward. Back straight, shoulders in their proper place.

  “Simple. I taught him better than this.”

  Chapter 63

  Cut Them to Pieces

  JC and Duke didn’t drive very far after taking Oldham’s SUV. JC stopped after half a dozen blocks. Duke ducked into a liquor store and picked up a couple of burner phones with Oldham’s credit card. And a bottle of Wild Turkey for authenticity. Bannister slid over to the passenger seat. Got one of the burners working as Duke drove. Put a call in to the garage owned by Theo’s cousin. Asked for Mr. White. Left the number. Minutes later Theo called back with a pickup location. A parking lot off Sunset, near some comedy club. Theo was waiting there in yet another non-descript vehicle. JC left the truck parked on the street. Left Oldham’s cellphone and gun, both locked up in the glove box. Dropped the keys down a drainage grate not far from the vehicle. JC made Duke leave the bottle of rye whiskey behind as well. Duke cracked it open, poured some on the side of the closest building. Spilled a bit in the vehicle. Wiped his prints from the bottle. Smiled.

  He knew GPS tracking and a government locksmith would get the vehicle back for the federal team. Oldham would likely get chewed out for losing the suspects. Maybe an official reprimand on his record. But he had a plan in place to help the agent out. Later. If things fell together like he was expecting them to.

  Theo had them set up in another hotel. Palms Inn, further down Sunset. Little Armenia and Thai Town overlap quite a bit in Los Angeles. The hotel was located smack dab in the middle of both. As they drove up, JC noticed how the quality of their hotels had steadily declined as this job had worn on. From the premiere hotels in Beverly Hills to this place. It didn’t really matter. He would never say it out loud. He knew Theo was doing his best. Pulling strings to get them places to stay on the sly. No need to make the man feel bad about his work when there was no functional problem with it.

  Petrosian had gotten three rooms. Two for the team, one for Lorraine. Lorraine’s was on the second floor, right above Theo and Duke’s room. Joan and JC were sharing a room. Common situation. Two beds. Joan refused to sleep in the same room as Duke or Theo if at all possible. JC would avert his eyes if she requested. The boys? Maybe yes, maybe no.

  JC was tired. In the past two days he’d been kidnapped and tortured. Been in one serious car accident and one minor. The thing he wanted to do more than almost anything was to just lay down in a plush hotel bed and sleep until all the soreness left his body.

  The only thing he wanted to do more than that was to finish this business with Kowalski.

  Theo was out getting a late lunch for the team. Thai restaurant across the side street. Duke was upstairs dealing with Lorraine. Joan sat on the one chair in their room. Quiet. JC looked at the bed. Realized he wasn’t going to get up if he lay down. Decided to take a shower instead. Almost as good as an hour nap, in his experience. Went into the bathroom, undressing. Took a good hard look at himself in the mirror. Muscled. Not chiseled like he was in the service. Lots of bruises. Scars still there. The band of scar tissue across his lower back and upper buttocks from when he was trapped in the fire in Iraq. Coletti and Mercier saving his life, then Theo saving his mind in the hospital, nursing him back to health. JC frowned. Most of his scars were mistakes. Reminders of how he or another had screwed up.

  “Knock it off,” Joan said.

  JC had left the bathroom door slightly open. Wanted to be able to hear what was going on. He glanced back out. Joan could see him through a reflection in the mirror by the television. “Knock what off?” he said. Tired. Looked back at himself in the mirror. Too many mistakes.

  “Second guessing yourself.”

  “What makes you think that’s what I was doing?” he said, surprised yet again at how well she read him.

  Joan closed her eyes. Leaned her head back on the worn pleather chair. “Take your shower. Theo’ll be back soon. After food they’ll want to hear your plan.”

  JC turned. Towel wrapped around his waist. Opened the door more. “What about you? What do you want?” Always the double entendres when nobody else was around.

  “I want to hear you finished with your shower,” she said. Eyes still closed. Slight smile.

  JC was too tired to smile. Closed the door partially. Less than before. Took his towel off and got in the shower.

  *****

  The team had their meal in Theo and Duke’s room. Theo bought more food than needed. Even after Duke returned from taking some up to Lorraine, they still had too much. Theo tried to apologize. JC waved it off. No need. The man had picked up some more burner phones at a Home Depot just up Sunset from the hotel. Placed them on the shelf next to the bolted down flat screen TV. Told the team that weapons would be ten minutes away if they needed anything. Little Armenia was his town, or to be precise, his family’s town.

  They ate in relative silence. Waiting for the boss to explain his plan. Small talk, but subdued.

  JC ate in total silence. Thinking. Simple plans had always been his strong point. Not simple to the point of running face first into a hail of bullets. Just something uncomplicated. Unexpected.

  He was struggling with the unexpected part right now.

  And his shrinking team.

  Theo was out. The man could move, could help, but he had been shot. Too much movement would open the wound and start it bleeding again.

  That left Joan and Duke.

  And Kowalski. The agent was as much a part of his plan as anyone on his team. Kowalski had killed the senator. Framed JC and his team for it. But the frame-up wasn’t perfect. There were holes in it. And Kowalski was desperate for those holes to be filled.

  One way to fill them was with a dead JC Bannister.

  JC guessed if he was dead Kowalski would thr
eaten the rest of his team to keep their mouths shut. Then, over time, let them quietly disappear. Or quietly disappear them. But it all started out with a dead JC.

  Something he was eager to avoid.

  However, it was a jumping off point for his plan. If the thing Kowalski wanted most was to find JC in order to kill him, then why not give the man what he wanted and arrange a meeting?

  JC looked at the team. He had stopped eating five minutes ago. They were still finishing up. Watching him without watching. Still waiting.

  “Duke,” JC said. “The money Marcus paid us. Where is it now?”

  “Split up amongst a dozen accounts in about half a dozen countries,” Duke said, polishing off his third container of spicy flat noodles with basil and shrimp.

  “Good,” JC said, picking up one of the burner phones. “Keep five million. Send the rest back. Make it look like it never left.”

  “And the five million?” Duke asked.

  “I want you to use it all. Dirty up Kowalski with it,” JC said, dialing. Put the phone to his ear. Listened to it ring three times.

  “Hello?” he heard the man on the other end say.

  “Jacob,” Bannister said. “How are you doing?”

  The lawyer paused. JC could hear the TV in the background suddenly mute. Imagined the plush den. The leather sofa. The pictures of his dead family. Closed his eyes.

  “I’m alright, considering. Been watching a bit of TV.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I hope you’re calling me from somewhere far away from here.” Paused. “And on an untraceable phone.”

  “How’s it looking for us, Jacob?” Not answering the question was answering in and of itself.

  “You’ve got to get out of here, JC. They’re closing everything down.”

  “Something I need to finish first.” Paused. “A promise to a friend.”

  “That can wait.”