The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  Or kill him.

  Duke saw Kowalski approaching from the shopping area. Wearing exactly what Duke expected him to wear: white shirt, dark suit, dark tie. Kowalski was scanning the crowd. Looked at Duke for a beat longer than usual then looked away. Duke raised his hand to flag him down. No point in making this even more tense than it should be. It’s a friendly meeting. Not high noon at the O.K. Corral. Duke half smiled. Movies started flashing through his head but he consciously shut them out. “Come on!” Gene Hackman screamed in his head. Enemy of the State. “Stop it!” That was Duke’s voice. And it worked.

  Duke didn’t expect Kowalski to recognize him. Lisa had done a bit of work on his appearance. Wider prosthetic nose. Blue contact lenses. Black wig with longer hair, greasy, covering his ears. The whole effect made Duke look like a six foot three sleaze ball. Plus it allowed his earpiece to be fully concealed. The microphone was hidden in his collar, the receiver in the crotch of his pants. Theo was in the van listening to everything.

  Time to start.

  Duke spread his hands out wide. Welcoming but at the same time doing what he could to show Kowalski he was unarmed and not a threat.

  “Do I need to frisk you?” Kowalski asked. Unsmiling.

  “Nope, nothing like that,” Duke said. “Just you and me here.”

  Kowalski stared at him. Then glanced around at the crowd. At the higher vantage points. “I kinda doubt that.” Back to look Duke over. “Nice hair.” Paused. “Why am I here?”

  “Did you check your bank account?”

  “Yeah. Some idiot transferred a million dollars into it.”

  “That’s the first of many millions. If we can come to an agreement here today.”

  “What agreement? The day the senator gets killed and I get a million dollars transferred into my account?” Kowalski was nearly seething. “You made it look like I was in on it!”

  Duke raised his hands, trying to placate the man. “Don’t worry, Agent. I magically put it there, I can just as magically remove it. Without a trace.” Paused. “And then I can send it some place secret where only you will ever know about it. It and maybe twenty or so of its little friends.”

  Duke let the thought of more than twenty million dollars sink in. Kowalski had to know they had the money. Now he knew Duke could perform the magic as well. The real question: was he going to buy the trick?

  “What do I have to do?” The first nibble.

  “Let me do like we planned to before Henderson,” Duke said. “Set up a phantom. Have a million or two funneled to him. We’ll make it look like exactly what it was. Senator Marcus orchestrating her own assassination. Only some guy who doesn’t exist and is now lost in the jungles of South America is the one who did it.”

  Duke knew he was leaving out the part where all of Franklin’s group, the Sons of Liberty, were alive and well and hiding outside of Boston. Left out the part where Senator Marcus’s name and legacy would be forever ruined once revelations of her siphoning away money illegally came to light. And the investigation that would follow.

  Duke hoped Kowalski would look past that. Look past the bad blood between he and Bannister. Look past letting his prey go. Focus on the bigger prize. Twenty. Million. Dollars.

  “And JC?” Kowalski asked. “He’s on board with this?”

  There it was. The first step towards the snare.

  “He will be,” Duke fudged. “He doesn’t want the money. Already told me to get rid of it.” Smiled. “Never told me exactly how.” Smiled even more at the little lie.

  Kowalski didn’t smile.

  “Let me deal with Bannister,” Duke continued. “I know how to sell him on the idea.”

  Kowalski was quiet, probably lost in his thoughts of wealth. This was always the hard part of the sell, Duke thought. He’d seen JC do this many times before. Duke had little experience with the salesman part of the business. His forays into that realm hadn’t always gone that well. JC operated differently than Duke had. And more successfully. So Duke adapted.

  It was working. He could see Kowalski warming to the idea. At least that’s what he thought he saw. What he told himself he was seeing. What he was trying to will Kowalski into doing. Only way to know for sure is for him to say yes.

  “Duke,” Duke heard Theo say in his earpiece, and then nothing but static. There was no way to respond at this point. He was waiting out Kowalski. Duke had no idea what Theo was trying to say, but he saw Kowalski start to slip away. Saw him look over Duke’s shoulder. Duke thought it was a distraction, a trick to get him to look at something then arrest him. Or shoot him in the back. Until he saw other people in the shopping area looking in the same direction.

  Duke turned. There was a jumbotron high above the second tier of stores. It was tuned to one of the national news networks with a breaking story. The shoppers and tourists stopped and became quiet, allowing the sound of the news report to filter down to where Duke and Kowalski were standing. Even above the adjacent street noise, they could hear it clearly.

  “In an even stranger twist to the developing story of the assassination of Senator Catherine Marcus earlier today,” the newscaster said, looking first at her papers then somberly at the camera, “the Sons of Liberty, the group from outside Henderson, Nevada, that the Secret Service, the F.B.I. and local law enforcement all claim were massacred by the man suspected to be behind the killing of Senator Marcus have appeared this evening alive and well. We’re going to our affiliate, KHNV, with the breaking news report. Jose Gonsalves is reporting live. Jose?”

  “Thank you Monica,” Jose Gonsalves said, live from some location with the desert as his backdrop. “This is an almost unbelievable turn of events here at the Sons of Liberty compound outside Henderson, Nevada. The Sons of Liberty are alive and well. Just hours ago I received a phone call from their leader, a Mr. Franklin Adams. He arranged to meet with me here in front of their burned out compound tonight, and I have to say, it is shocking to see a man, and his group of followers, whom everyone assumed was dead, walking around, talking and telling jokes. Franklin Adams has some choice words for the government agencies involved in the destruction of his compound, and let me tell you Monica, he is a character.”

  Duke turned back to Kowalski. Kowalski’s suit jacket was now unbuttoned. Right hand inside his jacket, underneath his left arm. Not moving. Duke knew it was resting on his gun. Time suddenly seemed to be very short.

  “Guy, listen to me…”

  “Your plan just got blown all to pieces, didn’t it?”

  Duke raised his hands to chest level. Supplicating. Talking fast. “Listen, buddy, the Sons of Liberty were one small wrinkle that we were going to iron out later. Now that it’s out in the open, it’s a slightly bigger wrinkle, but it can still all be ironed out. All we gotta do is—”

  “There’s nothing to iron out,” Kowalski said. Cold. “They’re alive means there’s no phantom. No phantom means you’ve got nothing. And if you’ve got nothing?” Paused. “Well?”

  Duke was frantically searching for an angle but found none. Except the obvious. “I can still get you the twenty million dollars. Tonight. Sent wherever you want it. Free and clear.”

  Kowalski shook his head. “Live like a fugitive? Hunted, like you and Bannister have been? No way.” Adjusted his hand on the grip of his pistol. “On your knees.”

  Duke slightly shook his head. “What?”

  “You heard me, killer. On your knees.”

  Duke slowly went down on one knee. Stopped.

  “All the way, you murderer.”

  Duke’s mouth was set in a grim frown. Put his second knee on the ground, shaking his head slowly, disgusted with the injustice of what was about to happen. He was straining his ears, hoping to hear the wail of an ambulance siren. Hoping for the cavalry.

  Nobody came.

  “JC’s going to kill you,” Duke said. “You know that, don’t you Agent?”

  “We’ll see. Any last words, Duke?” Kowalski asked. “Some stupid movie lin
e you think is relevant?” Stepped back two full steps. Slowly. Hand still inside his jacket.

  Duke wracked his brain. Trying to get a message to Theo in case he was listening. “Yeah, I do. Han shot first.”

  “What?” Kowalski said, confusion on his face.

  “You heard me you traitorous coward. Han shot first.”

  Kowalski shook his head. “Whatever. I never understood you and your stupid team.”

  Duke smiled. “That is why you fail.”

  “You ready?”

  “Come on, motherfu—” Duke yelled as Kowalski yelled out “He’s got a gun!” at the same time. Kowalski pulled his SIG Sauer 9mm from his Miami Classic shoulder holster and fired two shots into Duke’s chest. The crowds in the Hollywood and Highland shopping center screamed and ran, terrified that the worst of L.A. had come to life. Blood exploded outward from Duke’s chest as Kowalski’s shots hit their mark. Duke looked surprised. Looked down at his chest as he fell backwards. The blood seeped through his clothes and onto the concrete around him.

  Sirens sounded in the distance. Getting closer.

  Chapter 67

  I’m Gonna Kill All Of Them

  JC and Joan were back in the hotel room. Hadn’t left the room since Joan arrived. Joan was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Saying nothing. JC was pacing. Had started soon after he had gotten to the room. Didn’t break or pause when Joan came.

  Joan did what she always did when JC paced. She waited quietly for him to express any concerns he might have. He rarely did. JC’s pacing was not the actions of an insecure, undecided man. It was the pacing of a man of action being forced to wait. Being forced into inaction as a result of circumstances. He didn’t always pace. But when he did, Joan waited.

  Until the silence and her own inaction welled up inside of her and she was forced to do something. Joan picked up the television remote. Turned on the flat screen television bolted to the wall. Muted it. It was just after nine thirty. Still a few hours to go until the meeting with Kowalski at the Roosevelt. Should be right about time for the news of Franklin Adams and his group to be hitting the airwaves. She started flipped through channels but quickly stopped. Couldn’t believe her eyes. The same report was on all the channels.

  “Jackie,” she said to JC. Quietly. Their old secret pet name.

  JC stopped pacing and turned to Joan, then to the TV just as Joan took it off mute.

  “This unbelievable footage is coming to us from multiple bystanders at the shooting incident that occurred just minutes ago at the Hollywood and Highland Center. Witnesses claim they thought they were seeing a wedding proposal between two men when one of the men got down on one knee. But when the other man pulled a gun and shot him, they realized they were seeing something altogether different.”

  JC sat slowly onto the same bed Joan was sitting on. The footage showed exactly what the newscaster said it did. Joan instantly recognized Kowalski. It took a half-second longer to see through the wig and recognize Duke as well. She was silent. When the footage showed Kowalski shooting Duke in the chest, Bannister’s hands went up to his head. A soft “no” escaped his lips.

  Joan dropped the remote control, hopped off the bed and ran from the room. She went next door to Duke and Theo’s room. Didn’t bother knocking, just kicked the door in. Nobody was inside. She turned. Tore down the hallway and up to Lorraine’s room. Did the same to that door only to find the room empty as well. She stood in the middle of the room. Tears streaming down her face. Willed them to stop. Wiped them away. Stalked back to the room she shared with JC.

  JC was still sitting on the bed. The television was muted. He was looking at something on his smartphone. Joan stopped. Looked at him. He had no tears. No anger. He was poised. Coiled. But not overcome with grief as she had almost been moments before.

  “What is it?” Joan said.

  JC didn’t answer. Engrossed in what he was doing.

  “Jackie? My good friend just got shot and killed on national TV, so you’d better start talking.”

  JC looked up as if he had no idea she was already standing there.

  “Come here,” he said, nodding to the empty space next to him on the dilapidated bedcover. Joan sat as JC continued to talk. “Something wasn’t right about that shooting. I mean, besides the obvious. Look.” He had found a video of it on one of the internet sites. Played it back for her. Joan forced herself to watch it. “Did you see it?” JC said.

  “See what?”

  “Watch it again.”

  Joan gritted her teeth, trusting the man who had saved her life. Watched the short video again. Leaned forward. “Play it again,” she said.

  JC was right. Two things were wrong. First was the amount of blood. It cascaded outward when the bullets hit. Not the way a body usually reacts. It looked just like the movies. But JC and Joan had seen too many people shot, had shot too many people themselves, to realize it wasn’t right. The second problem was the placement of Duke’s hands. They were held up, but out to the side. When a person usually begs for their life and then gets shot anyway, they try to put their hands in front of the gun. As if they could stop the bullets with their hands. Duke didn’t. His hands were out to the sides as if he was actively trying to avoid getting shot in the hands.

  “Sonofabitch,” Joan said. “I’m gonna kill Duke.”

  “If he’s still alive, I will too.”

  They both stood. JC glanced at the TV then grabbed the remote and turned the mute off. Sat back down.

  “One of our camera crews was just up the street when the shooting occurred,” Monica, the anchor, was saying. “I understand they are in place now? Yes? Okay, we’re going live from the shooting at Hollywood and Highland. Bill?”

  “Yes, I’m here, Monica,” Bill the on-the-street reporter answered. Out of breath.

  “You’re live, now, Bill. Go ahead.”

  “Monica it’s a horrible scene here just outside the Kodak Theater. One man is lying on the ground in a pool of blood, another man standing over him, gun drawn. It could be straight out of a movie, but it’s all too real here in Hollywood tonight. The shooter appears to be none other than Guy Kowalski, the Secret Service agent heading up the investigation into the assassination of Senator Catherine Marcus.”

  While Bill was reporting in as gory detail as he thought he could get away with, the cameraman zoomed in on Duke lying on the ground.

  “Witnesses claim that the suspect was kneeling, actually on his knees, when Agent Kowalski yelled something about a gun, pulled his own gun and then fired at the suspect. Not only was the suspect on his knees, but witnesses also claim his hands were raised in surrender.” Bill took a breath. “Lots of questions right now, Monica. We’re trying to get answers, but as you can imagine, nobody is willing to go on the record just yet.”

  The cameraman zoomed out as an ambulance rolled into view. Bill continued to talk but JC hit the mute button again. The EMTs were out of the ambulance, stretcher being pushed by the smaller one while the slightly taller and infinitely rounder one carried the med kit. JC and Joan quietly watched, waiting for some sign of life from their friend, something to confirm their suspicions.

  “Sonofabitch,” JC said with a smile.

  “What?” Joan asked. Impatient.

  JC sat on the bed with a sigh of relief. Pointed at the screen. “That’s Theo.”

  Joan squinted as the cameraman zoomed in again on the EMTs now feverishly working on the body that appeared to be dead. Cap pulled low on the head. Surgeon’s mask to cover up the face. But the size and girth? “I think you’re right.” Continued to watch. “But who’s the girl? And who’s driving?”

  “I imagine one of Theo’s family members is driving. The girl? Who do you know with black hair, about that size, who would risk anything if Theo or Duke asked her to?”

  Joan shook her head. “I’m gonna kill all of them.” Smiling.

  Chapter 68

  That’s Not Gonna Happen

  Getting shot at n
ear point blank range was never good. Didn’t matter how good the body armor was. How protective the ceramic-polymer plate was. It was always scary. An experience Duke sincerely hoped he would never have to repeat.

  Lying there, looking up at the dark sky over Hollywood, trying desperately to catch his breath, Duke almost smiled at how well it seemed to have worked. He had remembered to keep his arms wide enough so as to appear to be pleading for his life, but not so close that he got shot in the hands. The bag of prop blood Lisa had duct taped to the bullet proof vest worked like a charm. In fact, it worked a little too well. There was too much of it. Luckily, Kowalski didn’t seem to have much experience shooting people so he didn’t appear to have noticed it. He even came over to check on Duke after he was shot, just as they had expected he might, looking for a pulse. Duke bit down hard on the big blood capsule in his mouth. Then as soon as Kowalski was close enough but before he was able to check Duke’s vitals, Duke coughed. A huge glob of blood splattered all over Kowalski’s face and shirt and tie. Splattered beautifully. Duke had to cough a few more times to cover up his laughter. Kowalski’s reaction had been perfect. Utter disgust. Stood up, wiped his face off. Stayed well away from the apparently dying man.

  Theo’s biggest argument with the plan was a headshot. The body armor would be fine for protecting anything other than a headshot. Duke knew he was right, but argued the agent would follow his training. A headshot looked like an execution. Two shots to the chest look like prudence in putting down a threat. Kowalski had turned out to be an excellent and unwitting partner in their plan.

  Duke couldn’t wait for Theo to get there. Lying out in the open was dangerous. Soon enough the sirens came. Duke wanted to look around but he was supposed to be dead. He heard the news reporters giving their viewers the latest up-to-the-minute news. Heard them shouting questions to Kowalski. All he could do was lay there and wait.