People don't realize it until they get behind the wheel of an electric vehicle, but we often gauge our speed by the sound of the engine. Lacking that extra sensory input, one's first time in a Tesla can be somewhat disconcerting. Lisa had initially experienced that, but it seems that she had adjusted quite nicely over the past couple days.
After sliding into the passenger seat, Lisa navigated us to Lance Rivers' home. The neighborhood was middle class, but my first impression was that it was a good, wholesome area. A couple women were pushing strollers down the sidewalk as they talked and laughed. The yards had neatly cut grass and trimmed hedges. All in all, it seemed like a good place to raise a family.
After stopping in front of a single story, well taken care of house, with white, vinyl siding, we exited the car and approached the door. A man with short, dark hair, chinos, and a striped, button up shirt greeted us after we rang the doorbell.
A genuine smile, revealing straight, white teeth, brightened his face as he said, "Hi. How may I help you?"
"I'm Jon, and this is Lisa. We were wondering if we could have a few moments of your time."
"Sure. Come on in."
He ushered us inside, and we followed him into the living room. Lisa and I sat on the couch, Rivers took a comfortable looking chair.
The inside of his home was neat and clean. Not big, but just enough space for two people. The living room had no TV, and a few pictures were on the mantle above a fireplace. Off white carpet seemed to blanket the entire house, and there wasn't any clutter.
"What can I do for you," he prompted.
I spoke, "We want to talk to you about Scott Mahoney."
The moment I said Mahoney's name, a dark cloud passed over his face.
"I think you should leave."
Lisa quickly jumped in. "My sister is missing. She's one of the women who testified against him. Now she's gone. I have to find her. Please, help us."
"If he has your sister, you're too late. Now, please, I must ask that you leave."
"No," I said. "What does he have on you? Why are you so afraid of him?"
"I'll call 911," he threatened.
"No, you won't," I responded. "He knows who we are. I've had to deal with him a lot more than I could have ever dreamed of, over the past couple days. He even left a woman's body for me to find. You call the police, he'll know we were here. And whatever he's holding over your head that scares you so much… He'll probably make good use of it."
Rivers looked deflated, afraid. Like a deer in headlights. He was straddling a line and he didn't know what to do. He clenched his hands in his lap.
"I'm going to take him down," I said. "Take that to the bank. But, we need to find these missing women first. They are the priority. And if they aren't alive, then I do it for their families. But, I'm taking him down, one way or another. And, we could really use your help. You've been close to him. You know things. Where could these women be?"
He said, "I can't let you take him down."
"Why not?" I asked. Then, "Of course.. It's whatever he has on you. Right? If something happens to him, you're afraid it'll come out."
"It will come out. It's set up that way, to keep me in line."
"What is it?" I asked again. "We can help each other. I take care of your problem, you help me find these women."
"I'll go to jail if it ever comes out."
"So, it's some kind of evidence. Look, no need to play some kind of way with me. I've seen it all and damn near done it all. My job isn't to send anyone to jail. I'm just trying to save lives, and take down a real piece of shit cop. Level with me and you have my word I'll take care of it for you. Just help me find her sister and the others." I looked at Lisa. She gave me a tight smile and a slight nod.
The gears were turning in his head. The possibility that he could be free from Mahoney's menace… That could be an extreme weight lifted from his shoulders. But, if something went wrong, his life would be over.
"Why did you join the force?" I asked.
"To help people. Because I believed in something. For the good of society."
"And you were willing to risk your life to do that?"
"Of course I was," he exclaimed.
"I can tell you still believe in that. So, I'm asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to risk your life for the lives of three missing women, and all of Mahoney's future victims. Because there will be more. If you saw what he did to Starr… He's losing it. He's dangerous. Let's stop him."
"It's a gun, with my fingerprints and DNA on it." He hung his head as he said it.
Then, he continued.
***
Shift was over and they were in the locker room getting ready to head home for the night. Or, wherever they would go after a long shift of fighting crime.
"Hey Lance! Why don't you come to the bar with us? Grab a beer or two. Or… If you're feeling really adventurous, a bourbon or something. Now, how about it?" his partner, Scott Mahoney, said in his too friendly, sports announcer's voice.
He'd been riding with his new partner, Mahoney, for a little over a month. It's always an adjustment period when you get a new partner, and they hadn't really clicked, yet. There wasn't anything wrong with him, but sometimes it takes a little time. Trust had to be built. You had to figure out how you fit in with each other. Learn how the other guy moved.
So, maybe a couple drinks would help the bonding process.
The bar was a hole in the wall with a variety of local craft beers. Dark and gloomy, with a couple pool tables along the far wall, this was the perfect place for back room deals and clandestine conversations.
The five guys sat at a round table. Lance, Mahoney, a black officer named Jackson, blonde and blue Kirkland, and a guy with brown hair they called Dalton. Lance had never seen Dalton around the precinct, and he just didn't carry himself like an officer. To be honest, in any other situation, Dalton would have set Lance Rivers' cop sense to tingling.
But, a friend of his fellow officers was a friend of his.
They actually had a good time. Beer and drinks were flowing, the guys were laughing. Breaking each other's balls. Lance felt like a jock, part of the in crowd. All they needed were a few cheerleaders…
Lance started to feel a little woozy. He'd had too much to drink. Way too much. His vision began to blur and he started blinking his eyes.
"Hey, Rivers. You ok over there?" Mahoney's chipper voice was like a cheese grater on his brain.
"Yeah. Think I just need a little air," Lance replied.
"Dalton, why don't you walk our new friend outside so he can get some air. Make sure he doesn't get behind the wheel. Be a damned shame if we have to book him for a DUI."
Everyone laughed at Mahoney's stupid joke, as Lance wobbled his way out of the door. The night air was cool, refreshing, and he felt a little better. Vision was still blurry, but his brain didn't feel like it was about to be a topping for a plate of pasta.
Mahoney and the rest of the gang filed out of the bar, and Mahoney began speaking. "Dalton, Lance is riding with you. Jackson, get Lance's keys from his pocket and drive his car. Kirkland is riding with me. Follow us."
Lance could feel a pair of hands first pat his pockets, then dig into one of them. He was then led to a car and eased into the passenger seat.
The convoy headed away from the bar and the lights of the city, and ended up traveling down a long dark road.
"Where are we going?" Lance asked.
"We're almost there," Dalton responded, softly. His voice was like a reassuring pat on the leg.
And, sure enough, they pulled into a parking lot and shut the car down within a minute.
After stumbling out of the car, Lance stood before a small building. Old and worn, the words of the sign had been weathered away. His vision was so blurry he probably wouldn't have been able to read it anyway.
They entered and crossed through one space into another, then down a flight of stairs. Walked into a room with a concrete floor and walls.
; A woman sat on a bare mattress, naked, with a collar around her neck. The collar was connected to an enormous kettle bell weight. She could have probably picked it up and carried it, but she would have needed all of her strength and it would have been slow going. Her long, fiery hair was all over the place, in the most extreme case of bed head. She stared at them with empty eyes.
Lance said, "What's going on?"
He made to turn around and realized the barrels of four guns were all pointing at him.
"Well, now. You're going to fuck her, then kill her." Mahoney had a smile on his face as he said it.
"I'm not... I can't… This is kidnapping, rape. This is illegal," Lance said, incredulous.
Mahoney backhanded Lance with the pistol he was carrying, drawing blood from his mouth.
"Ok, ok. Now, you don't have to fuck her if you can't get it up. I understand all too well. But, you will kill her."
Mahoney extended his gloved hand, offering the pistol to Lance. "Take it!"
Lance took the pistol, felt its weight. It was an old Beretta 92.
He pointed the Beretta at Mahoney's head.
Mahoney, still smiling, said, "She's going to die tonight. No question about it. Nothing you can do to stop it. The only question here is do you live, or die? Think about it for a second. Pull that trigger, you die instantly." He gestured toward the other three guys. "You won't save the girl, no matter how heroic you may feel. So, what's your choice?"
Mahoney began whistling the melody to "Hey Joe" by Jimi Hendrix.
Lance lowered the pistol, said, "I can't."
"Now, you got to be a little more clear, son. You can't what? Die? Shoot her? Or, shoot me?"
Lance blinked a few times, then closed his eyes. Blood trickled down his chin from being hit with the gun. He didn't see a way out. He was beat before he even had a chance to fight.
Live or die?
The instinct of the living to continue living is extremely powerful. Sure, people take risks that could result in the end of their life, but most don't really believe they'll die. In general, people aren't suicidal. If one has the choice to jump off of a mountain or not jump off of a mountain, nine hundred and ninety nine times out of a thousand a person will choose to not jump. To continue living. To take another breath.
Lance's morality wouldn't allow him to take the life of an innocent. He joined the force to do exactly the opposite of harming innocents. He lived his life to protect the innocent.
But, he didn't see how he could protect this innocent.
"You did good," Mahoney said. "This was just a test, and you passed."
Lance felt Mahoney's arm around his shoulder. Felt pressure on his wrist as Mahoney reached to take the gun from his hand. He felt Mahoney's hand slide down his own, moving toward the but of the gun in order to remove it from his grasp. He felt a more intense pressure around his hand.
The gun bucked, startling him.
Lance's eyes shot open. He looked toward the woman, who now had a red circle in the center of her chest.
"Now, that wasn't so hard. Was it?"
Lance raised the gun again, leveling it at Mahoney's face.
"There was only one bullet in that gun. Now, go ahead. Pull that trigger again."
He did.
Click.
Dalton stepped toward Lance and hit him on the back of the head with the but of his pistol. Lance dropped to a knee, struggled to stand back up. Dalton hit him again, the second blow knocking Lance unconscious.
Mahoney pulled a plastic evidence bag from his pocket, knelt down, and carefully placed the gun into the evidence bag.
***
"When I woke up, he told me that he had the gun tucked away somewhere safe, and if I ever crossed him it would find its way into the hands of a detective."
Lance sat back, his body deflated. He'd been carrying that around, and there wasn't anyone he could talk to. I could tell that he'd needed to get that off his chest, to share his burden with someone.
Lisa went to him, wrapped her arms around him. He fell into her embrace, tears escaped his eyes.
After a moment I asked, "Do you know where he keeps it?"
He looked at me, said, "In a bank deposit box."
Fuck.
"Which bank?" I asked.
"First National. The downtown branch. Box 666."
"You sure about the box number?"
"He took me to the bank and showed me one day. Wanted me to know he still had it. It was like a joke to him. He said that the devil would keep an eye on it."
Chapter 20
Looks like I was going to have to rob a bank.
If I went into the bank with guns blazing, I'd have every police officer in the city of Duncanville on my tail within minutes. I'd be hunted like a prize stag. Public enemy number one. And, that wouldn't help my cause at all. Plus, there was the risk of someone getting hurt. That would be all on me.
Nah, I had to find another plan.
This was a job for clever, not brute force. I wanted to rob the bank without the bank knowing they'd been robbed. That would allow me to see this through without my face being on a wanted poster.
I sat in the car thinking as Lisa drove. After leaving Lance Rivers' house I told her to take me to my warehouse. The ride would give me a moment to find an angle, and I must have been doing some serious thinking because she took notice.
"Everything ok?" Lisa asked.
"Yeah. Just trying to figure out how to rob a bank."
"You're actually thinking about robbing that bank?"
"No choice," I replied. "Have to get that gun. Without it we don't have Rivers' cooperation."
"It'll be all over the news. You could go to jail."
"That's why I have to figure out how to do it without anyone knowing a bank was robbed."
If only I could convince the bank to give me the contents of the box. If only I could bribe the bank manager, but it's not like a bank would be strapped for cash.
What would compel a bank to open its vault and let me take what I want?
Wish I was a detective. I'd walk in there with a warrant…
That line of thought got me thinking.
We arrived at the warehouse and Lisa parked. It was business as usual inside, and we went to my office after motioning for Duster to join us.
I introduced Lisa, then asked him, "You know any dirty judges? Any rumors about one being on somebody's payroll?"
"A judge? Hell nah. I wish. We'd never have to worry about going to jail," he responded.
"Any ideas on how we can get our hands on a warrant?"
Duster just looked at me.
Lisa asked, "Does it have to be a real warrant?"
"Explain," I said.
"I remember a few years back, there was this story on the news about a prisoner who drew up false release papers and submitted them to the prison. They let him go, per the order. A few days later they figured out it was a forgery, but he got to taste freedom for those few days."
It wasn't like I hadn't seen a warrant before, but legalese was a language I didn't speak.
"Ok, Duster. Do we know a lawyer dirty enough to draft us a warrant?" I questioned.
He simply shook his head: No.
Then I had a thought.
"Do you remember that Mexican cat who was doing all the ID's and fake social security cards? What was his name?"
"Flaco?" Duster asked. "From the Southside?"
I slapped my desk. "That's him. He still around? I wonder if he could do a warrant?"
"I'll call around and see if I can find him." Duster turned around and left my office.
"What are you thinking?" Lisa queried.
"I'm thinking about becoming a detective for a day."
"Under what premise would a bank have a warrant served?"
Money laundering. Wire fraud. Tax evasion. Nothing that would get us into a deposit box.
Counterfeiting? I wasn't sure I could pull off a secret service act.
Stolen jewels?<
br />
Maybe…
That's heading in the right direction, at least. The warrant had to be related to something physical in order to get into a safety deposit box. I woke my computer and pulled up a search engine. Ran a search for crimes involving deposit boxes. A few entries popped up, but they were all about items being stolen from deposit boxes. Which was what I was trying to do, but didn't offer any solutions as far as I was concerned.
Duster came back into my office, said, "Flaco said to come by his shop."
Flaco worked out of a small shop with a large sign above the door that read, World's Best Electronics. Flaco himself wore a handle-bar mustache and a bald head. He led Lisa and me past the glass, cell phone and tablet packed counter, into the back of the store.
The back of the store was a tangle of work benches and random electronics and parts. Flaco took a seat at a workbench. Lisa and I leaned against another.
"What's up, Dough? Your guy said you had a special request." Flaco spoke with a slight Hispanic accent and a deep, gravelly voice.
"Can you produce a warrant?" I questioned.
"Like, an arrest warrant?"
"A search and seizure warrant," I said.
"I can produce anything you want for the right price."
"We're gonna use the signature of a real judge. I'm also gonna need FBI credentials for me and my friend here." I gestured toward Lisa. "And, business cards with the address and phone number of the local field office. I need all of this yesterday, too."
He thought for a moment. "All of this is gonna cost you, homes."
"Money's not an issue."
"You're gonna have to tell me what you want the warrant to say and get me a digital copy of the signature."
"Why a digital copy, specifically?" I questioned.
"You ever seen a CNC plasma cutter? Or a laser cutter? Think one of those, only I'll have an ink pen attached, instead of a cutter." He made drawing motions as he spoke.
I had an idea of where I could get both the language of a federal warrant and the signature of a federal judge.
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