JC’s smile was grim. He was familiar with this incarnation of Joan. She usually kept it locked away. Just as he kept his darkness hidden deep inside. He sometimes felt Joan was like a trained, dangerous falcon. Beautiful. Elegant. Deadly. Killing when and whom he directed her to hunt. It was sobering. Frightening. He knew someday she would fly away. But while she stayed, her loyalty was unlimited.
“No, not yet,” he said. “Just watch him.”
Her smile faded and the regular Joan came back to the fore. Duke stepped away from her, watching her. She looked at him. “What?”
“Uh, nothin’, Joan. Nothing at all.”
“Duke,” JC said, stepping into the mounting confrontation. “You need to take all the hardware we’ve picked up over the past few days over to Gorman’s shop. Charter a plane out of Hyde Field. It’s in Clinton, just outside of the beltway. I don’t want you driving all those weapons across so many state lines by yourself.”
“Dude, it’s no problem. I’ll just drive a van up.”
JC shook his head. “I need you free and able to help me, not locked up somewhere because a traffic cop finds you driving a truck full of stolen guns. Trust me. This will be better.”
Duke nodded. Not happy. But JC’s reasoning made sense.
“Fly into Logan. Charter flights land off in their own area. I’ll call Coletti and have him meet you with a van. Once that’s taken care of, get ready to leave the next day. You’re going to L.A.”
“Yes!” Duke said, fist clenched.
“You’re meeting a temporary team member there.”
Joan started to shake her head slowly. Groaned. “No, JC. You’ve got to be joking.”
“Sorry, Joan,” he said. “We need contacts in Los Angeles. And he’s the best I know out there.”
Duke looked between them. “What? Who is it?”
“Theo,” Joan said. Dismissive. Exasperated.
JC smiled. “Theo Petrosian. He ran with us for a while. Joan hates him. You’re gonna love him.” Looked at his watch. “Last thing. I have to go to Korea. Now.”
Duke stood there. Mouth open. Not even trying to hide his surprise. Joan crossed her arms. Half turned away. JC raised his hands, warding off their looks.
“Listen,” JC said. “When the crown prince of the largest multinational corporation in all of Asia calls and asks for your help, it’s kinda hard to say no.”
“No. See? Not hard at all,” Duke said. “No, sorry, I’m too busy. How about this — No, sorry, but I’m plotting to assassinate a United States Senator!” The last part was hissed through his clenched teeth.
“How much is he paying you?” Joan asked.
“Nothing. It’s a favor.” JC looked at their disbelieving faces. “A favor that will be paid back tenfold in the future. Access to company apartments across the world. Corporate jets. Cutting edge electronics. Doors opened for us that we couldn’t buy our way through, no matter how much money we had.” He shrugged. “If we make it through this current problem alive.” He looked at them both. “I have to. Besides. The guy saved my ass once when we were kids.”
Duke shook his head. “You’ve got some weird life, man.”
JC laughed. “You don’t know the half of it, buddy.” He checked his watch again. “His jet is waiting for me at Reagan National. I gotta go, like, now. Duke, Coletti will give you a small package. One of my crappy paperwork sets. Bring it with you when you come to L.A. Joan, I should be flying in to LAX about the same time as you. I’ll call you to coordinate schedules.”
“Share a cab?” Joan smiled.
“Sounds good,” he said, walking to the road and flagging down a cab. “Duke, stay out of trouble with Theo.”
“Okay, Dad, leave already!” Duke said as JC continued to watch him.
JC, Duke and Joan said their goodbyes as a cab pulled up and stopped, allowing JC to hop in. Joan walked back to the senator’s office. Duke hurried to the closest Metro station to take a train back to the car park where he had stashed the guns inside a rented van.
They didn’t notice yet that each had picked up a tail.
Chapter 18
What Did You Do?
JC walked through Terminal 7, looking for Joan. He had landed at Tom Bradley International Terminal. Took a shuttle bus. Waited. Her flight landed but she did not arrive, so he started to search. Not worried yet. Then he saw her. Business suit. Hair pulled back. Heels. Very much the professional. Duke was right. She cleans up nice. Times like these it felt like when they had first met. When they were both still pretending they didn’t know who the other person really was. Before Joan had tried to kill him.
Joan saw him. A warm smile spread across her face. JC sometimes wondered what could happen between them. If things were different. If they allowed it to work. But like every time before, he told himself, “Not now. Not yet,” and pushed it away. He smiled at his friend and partner. Held up a shopping bag for her when she got close, eliciting a quizzical look from Joan.
“You got something?” she said sweetly. “For me?” Batted her eyelashes. “I didn’t know we were dating, James.” Took the bag from him. Held onto his bicep warmly. Melded her body against his. Looked up into his eyes. Puckered up for a kiss. Eyes closed.
JC leaned in a few millimeters before Joan started laughing. Opened her eyes just in time to miss the mask slip back over JC’s emotions. He sighed, exasperated. “I didn’t. I mentioned I had a female team member to my friend’s wife. She gave it to me at the airport to give to you,” he lied. “She said it was a scarf or something.” JC had bought it for her in the Duty Free area of Incheon airport. Little over a thousand dollars. Killing time waiting for his flight.
“Hermes?” Joan said, looking more closely at the bag. “I like your friend’s wife, JC.” She opened it up. It was colorful. Beautiful. “JC, this is very nice. You must thank her for me.” Joan wrapped it around her neck. It looked perfect.
JC shrugged. “She gave me this, too. For Duke. I mentioned he liked videogames. It’s some rare, limited edition XBOX or something.” JC had bought it in Duty Free as well. To balance out the scarf.
“Our son will be so happy for his new toy,” she joked. “Let’s go. I’m hungry and I don’t want this crap airport food.”
“Share a cab?”
“Of course,” she said, walking together with JC. “Oh, Duke said something about you starting a cycling team?”
JC shrugged. “Some neighborhood kids. Looked like they needed a little direction in their life. Maybe we could help them out.”
“Well, I think it’s great. You need more balance in your life. Duke said you should call and check on them, though. Coletti told him one of the guys was having some trouble. Vargas, he said. Some guy named Z-dog is giving him and his brother a hard time.”
JC shook his head. “I swear, I told Z-dog.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Joan laughed. “Who calls themselves Z-dog anyway?”
They walked out of the terminal. Talking casually about work. Neither had any checked bags. Their exit was quick. They were approaching the sliding glass doors when they saw Kowalski walking towards them. Rolled up newspaper in his hand. He looked pissed. Dangerous.
“Were you expecting him?” JC asked under his breath.
“No. I thought he was still in D.C. Supposed to be coming out tomorrow,” Joan answered just as quietly.
“Lovely,” JC said.
“What did you do, Bannister?” Kowalski’s voice rose, cutting through the noise in the terminal.
JC stopped. Something was very wrong. Kowalski’s manner was totally inappropriate for the situation. JC started looking around. Trying to locate other Secret Service Agents on Kowalski’s team. Didn’t see any. Still, something was off.
Kowalski threw the newspaper at JC. He caught the morning copy of the L.A. Times, the paper falling open to the front page in his hands. “MEIER: SUICIDE? FOUL PLAY?”
JC scanned the article. Meier was dead. Suspected suicide. LAPD investigati
ng. Showed it to Joan. Looked back at Kowalski. The man was shaking his head in disbelief.
“What the fuck did you do?”
Chapter 19
Through Playing Nice
JC glanced down at the newspaper Kowalski had thrown to him. Skimmed the story. “Daniel Meier, son of prominent attorney Jacob Meier and aide to Senator Catherine Marcus, was found dead this morning. Although evidence strongly points to suicide, Beverly Hills police are investigating suggestions of foul play.”
JC tried to wrap his mind around Meier’s suicide. It was too convenient. Too neat. Too obvious a move. Kowalski and Senator Marcus both knew he had little love for Meier. JC figured he likely wasn’t the only one. Killing Meier and making it look like suicide would be the right move. If JC were a psychotic killer who took out everyone who upset him. But that wasn’t JC. He was a fixer. He found solutions to problems. He did his level best to not create more problems for himself. And suiciding Meier did nothing but create more problems. Besides, JC thought, if I had killed the man, there would be no way to ever trace it back to me.
He knew it was neither a plausible alibi nor an effective defense.
JC looked at Kowalski. Tried to formulate a response. One that didn’t sound like a complete lie.
“What the fuck did you do, Bannister?” Kowalski repeated.
Joan dropped her bags, stepped forward and punched Kowalski. Right on the chin. Snapped his head to the right, jarring his brain stem. Caused his brain to bounce against the interior of his skull. Kowalski dropped like his puppet strings had been cut. The man had almost half a foot of height on her, but Joan had knocked him out with one punch.
JC looked at her. Shocked. Saw her slip the two-finger carbon fiber brass knuckles back in her pocket. She was a good friend. A loyal soldier who had taken the initiative when her boss was caught flat-footed.
Joan was standing over Kowalski. Waiting for him to come to. She didn’t look at JC.
“You’re welcome.”
“I wish Duke would have been here to see it,” JC said, smiling. “He’s gonna love hearing the story.”
“Tell him and you’re next. He’ll bug me for a year trying to get me to do it again just so he can see it.”
“He’ll just have to live with the story.”
Kowalski stirred. Saw Joan above him. Tried reaching for his service weapon. His motions were sluggish. JC moved forward. Stepped on his right hand, pinning it to the ground. Joan stepped on his neck. Bent down. She smiled. Inches from Kowalski’s face. Nearly choking him.
“You got knocked the fuck out. By a girl.”
Kowalski struggled to breathe with Joan’s foot on his neck. JC feared she was crushing his trachea.
“Joan, I think he’s had enough.”
Joan didn’t move.
“You come after one of us, you come after the whole team. Understand?”
“Joan.”
“We didn’t kill Meier. If we had there would be no witnesses. No proof. No trail leading back to us. Only a dead body with no suspects.”
“Joan.”
She stepped off Kowalski’s neck just as he was starting to turn blue.
“Remember that.”
Joan stepped back. Picked up her bags. People had watched the confrontation. No one had moved to interrupt them. No security guards stepped forward. Nobody wanted to get involved.
JC bent down and removed Kowalski’s firearm from his shoulder holster. The man had loved Miami Vice in basic training, JC remembered. Guess it stayed with him. Put the gun in the pocket of his overcoat. He knew Kowalski likely had a backup weapon somewhere. However backups were notorious for being difficult to draw. With Joan by his side, the Secret Service agent would never reach it so JC didn’t bother trying to take it from him. He helped his former friend up from the ground.
“This wasn’t us, Guy,” JC said. “I swear to you. I’ve been out of the country. Joan’s been with the senator. Duke’s been in L.A. for the past week trying to get things set up for us.”
Kowalski rubbed his neck, recovering from the punch. And the choking. “You know all those things can be faked,” he wheezed. “Person with your resources could afford it.”
JC shrugged. “It wasn’t us.”
“Yeah, well, the senator has her doubts,” Kowalski said. “And the LAPD might want to talk to you. And Duke.”
“Let them,” Joan said. “We’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” Kowalski said, looking over JC’s shoulder. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Joan and JC turned. Walking towards them were a man and a woman, police badges on their belts. The woman looked to be about five foot nine. Dark shoulder length hair, mid-thirties, likely Hispanic. Stunningly beautiful. She wore a dark grey business suit with a white t-shirt underneath. Crisp, well put-together. Her partner was in many ways the polar opposite. White, male, older. Likely late-fifties, messy salt-and-pepper hair. Probably six feet tall but hunched over so he looked about as tall as the woman. Shabby-looking bargain bin suit. Deep-set darting eyes in a weathered face. Loser. Except for his badge. And his gun.
Joan stepped protectively in front of JC. He put his hand on her shoulder. Patted it. Gently applied pressure. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.”
The male detective removed his badge. Held it up like a beacon. “Beverly Hills PD. You JC Bannister?”
JC nodded.
“Speak, boy. Are you or not?”
“Yes, sir,” JC said loud and clear, like a fresh recruit save for the slight smirk on his face. “My name is JC Bannister.”
“We’ve got some questions for you. Need to take you down to the station. Come on.”
JC didn’t move, the smirk still there but his attitude changing. “Last I checked Beverly Hills didn’t have an airport,” he said. “Certainly not one this large. So you want to explain to me why Beverly Hills PD is trying to arrest a person in Los Angeles jurisdiction?”
“Listen, you!” the man started in. His partner put a hand on his arm. Held him back gently. The man grimaced but let her talk.
“You’re right.” She pointed behind her to a shorter, wider, unattractive version of herself wearing tan pants and a blue blazer. “That is Detective Morales with the LAPD Airport Division. If you’d like, she can take you into custody. Process you through Central Booking. Have you stuck in county for awhile. Maybe a few days waiting for transfer to our station house.” Detective Morales smiled. It didn’t help. “Or you can come with Detective Campbell and myself. Have a nice pleasant ride. Clear this all up quickly.” The detective smiled. Went from stunningly beautiful to radiant.
Irritation came off of Joan in palpable waves. JC didn’t need to look at her to feel it. He glanced at Kowalski. The agent had an arrogant smirk spreading across his face. JC looked back at the female detective.
“Detective…?” he started, quizzically.
“Garcia. Detective Karen Garcia. My partner is Detective Jeff Campbell.”
“Oh, like the soup,” JC said with a smile.
“You son of a—” Garcia stopped Campbell again. JC hadn’t moved. Waiting.
“Listen, Detective Garcia. I’d like to help. Really I would. I’m going to guess you want to ask me questions about Daniel Meier’s suicide. Special Agent Kowalski there told me that. Problem is, I was out of the country when it occurred. South Korea. You can check.” Smiled. Helpful. Benign.
“Why don’t you come down to the station with us anyway? Get a statement made. Clear all this up.”
“No thanks,” JC said.
“I’ve had about enough of you.” Campbell shrugged off Garcia’s hand. Moved towards JC.
“Detective Campbell,” JC barked, all bonhomie gone. Campbell froze. “I am through playing nice. If you had probable cause to arrest me for anything, you would have done so. Which means you do not. I will not go down to the station with you. I will not answer any more questions. You have enough information right now to clear me of
any suspicion in this matter. Place your hands on me and I will have your badge, your pension and any shred of dignity you have left.” Campbell’s body remained frozen. His face was contorted into a red, embarrassed, angry mask. “Am I clear?”
Campbell nodded his head slowly. “Don’t leave the city,” he snarled.
“I will come and go as I please, Detective Campbell.” JC turned to Garcia. His whole demeanor changed. Nice. Pleasant. Helpful. “Detective Garcia, my colleague and I will be staying at the Peninsula in Beverly Hills. Please feel free to contact me there. Should the need arise.”
“Bannister? JC Bannister?”
JC turned. The speaker was male. Five foot five, north of two hundred and thirty pounds. He wore flip-flop sandals, cargo shorts and a red Hawaiian shirt, stretched tight across his large belly. Curly, medium-length brown hair set atop his wide, fleshy face.
“Yes?” JC replied with a hint of a smile.
“I’ll be your driver this afternoon,” the man said. “If you’ll please follow me.” He indicated outside to a waiting black Lincoln Town Car.
“Nice shirt, fat boy,” Campbell snorted.
The driver turned to Campbell. Aggressive. Grabbed his belly with both hands and shook it at the detective. “This may look like fat to you, but when I’m fuckin’ it’s all balls!”
Garcia, Campbell and Kowalski stood stock still. Shocked. JC managed to not laugh while Joan just rolled her eyes and groaned.
The driver turned back to JC. “What a dick,” he said, pointing his thumb at Campbell. “Lady cop’s hot, but him? Complete prick.”
JC nodded. Joan shook her head.
The man calmed. “Your vehicle, sir.” Started walking towards the exit. Joan followed.
JC nodded at Kowalski, nodded and smiled at Garcia and ignored Campbell. Followed Joan and the driver, then stopped. Said, “Hold up, guys,” turned and walked back to Kowalski. Pulled the agent’s gun from his overcoat. Holding it by the grip with his index finger and thumb, barrel pointing down.
[JC Bannister 01.0] The Fixer, Season 1 Page 11