by David Grace
“Randy, it’s OK. We’ll be fine.”
“No! That’s what they always said. ‘We’ll be fine.’ ‘Everything is fine.’ And when they came back they didn’t have any legs!” Foy buried his face in his hands and began to cry.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” Starky growled.
“Have you ever seen your best friend blown up by an IED?” Kane half shouted back.
Starky was quiet for a moment then his face hardened. “I did my time in The Sand.”
“So, now you know what’s wrong with him. . . . Come on, let’s go get the bastard.”
The three men, the driver’s name was Jerry Danaher, jogged up the street and Randy Foy, his nightmare repeating itself, could only stand there and watch them go.
Staying out of sight of the rooms as much as possible they slipped into the manager’s office. Starky took the lead when they went inside.
“Hey, Oscar,” Starky called to the clerk. Oscar did not look pleased to see him.
“Officer Starky, is there a problem?” Oscar asked in a nervous tone.
“You’ve got a guest who is a very bad man. He’s not the kind of guy you want in your fine establishment. He’s bad for business. Real bad. But this is your lucky day. We’re going to get rid of him for you. No charge. . . . You got a picture?” Starky asked Kane. Greg handed over Farber’s photo. “What room is this piece of shit in?”
Oscar looked at the picture and for a fleeting second thought about lying and saying that the man wasn’t there but one look at the three cops drove the idea from his head.
“He’s in room 203.”
“Good. Grab your passkey.”
Oscar held out a plastic card but Starky waved it away.
“No, you’re coming with us.”
“You take the key.”
“We wouldn’t want you to give this guy a call once we’re out the door, would we?” Oscar frowned. “You come along with us just so you’re not tempted to do something stupid.” Starky waved Oscar from behind the counter. “Which one is 203?” Oscar pointed out the window toward the second door from the end on the upper floor. “You got it, Jerry?”
“Give me ninety seconds to get under the bathroom window.” Both uniforms pressed timer buttons on their watches and Danaher headed for the back of the building. At sixty seconds Starky nodded to Kane. “Let’s go.”
They moved out in a line close to the wall then up the stairs, Kane in front, then Oscar and Starky bringing up the rear. When they neared number 203 Kane took the passkey and pushed Oscar out of the way. Faint music and the words “. . . . seek medical attention in the event of an erection lasting more than four hours” drifted from the room. Greg gave Starky a nod and the cop crouched under the window on the opposite side of the door and checked his watch. A few seconds later he looked up and flicked his finger at Kane.
Greg slipped the mag card into the slot. It made a slight CLICK and then the LED blinked green. Kane twisted the handle and slammed into the room with Starky barreling in low behind him. Events seemed to melt together and it felt as if the seconds were ticking off both slow and fast at the same time. The covers on the empty bed were rumpled and out of the corner of his eye Kane spotted an automatic on the night table. A burly, shirtless man with a sagging belly materialized in the bathroom doorway at the same instant that Kane registered the sound of the front door slamming against the wall. The guy had heavy cheeks and a full day’s beard and he looked more angry than surprised.
“Police!” Kane shouted at the top of his lungs, “Down! Down! Down!” He pointed his Beretta at Farber’s pallid, hairy chest. The suspect glanced longingly at the pistol only five feet away. Suddenly there was a blur to Kane’s right and Starky smashed his Sig Sauer 40 caliber into the back of Farber’s head. In an instant Starky had pinned Farber’s neck to the greasy carpet with his right knee. Kane holstered his weapon and grabbed Farber’s right hand while Starky snagged the left. Kane pulled both wrists high up Farber’s back and Starky snapped on the cuffs.
“What was that?” Kane asked once they were both on their feet.
“You said not to kill him. You didn’t say we couldn’t bust him up a little. Besides, he was going for that gun,” Starky pointed to the nine millimeter pistol next to the lamp. “We’d have had to shoot him in another second or two.” Starky smiled and when Farber started to groan he mashed his foot on the back of the prisoner’s neck. “You want to give a shout down to Jerry so he can come on up here and join us?”
Five minutes later they had Farber dressed and re-cuffed. For a moment Kane thought about calling Danny and having him cancel the search but he changed his mind. If they wanted any chance of Farber leading them to whomever hired him to kill Brownstein his capture had to remain a secret. Kane threw the prisoner’s wallet, phone, keys and gun into a pillowcase and stuffed everything else he had with him into Farber’s go-bag.
“You want to follow us to the federal lock-up?” Starky asked as they walked Farber toward the door.
“I’ve got a unit down the street. I’ll transport him.”
Starky gave Kane an angry glare.
“What is this, ‘Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am?’ We bust this guy for you and you screw us out of the collar?”
Kane thought for a moment then pulled out his phone.
“What’s your sergeant’s name and number?” Starky frowned then grunted, “Max Kirov” and recited the number while Kane dialed. “Hello, Sergeant Kirov? . . . This is Agent Gregory Kane, Homeland Security Office of Special Investigations. I ran into a situation with a wanted federal fugitive. Two of your officers helped me take him down. . . . Yes, officers Starky and Danaher. The suspect is wanted for the murder of a police officer and aiding in the escape of a man being held for the murder of two federal agents. . . . . Yes, a real piece of shit. Anyway, I wanted you to know where your men have been for the last half hour and to tell you that Homeland will be sending you a letter of commendation to be put in both their jackets. I really appreciate the cooperation. . . . Absolutely. Their help was invaluable. I’ll make sure they get credit for the collar. . . . He’s right here.” Kane handed Starkey the phone .
“Yeah, sergeant, he’s in cuffs. . . . No, Agent Kane has a federal warrant so he’s taking custody of the guy. . . . We’ll be back on patrol in five.” Starkey handed the cell back. “Sorry I went off on you.”
“No problem. Thanks for the help.”
Starky looked at Farber and frowned. “I just wish we could have shot the son of a bitch.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got something worse than that planned for him.” Kane gave Farber an evil smile but received only a blank stare in return. You just wait, Kane thought. When they returned to the cruiser they found Randy Foy still standing there, watching.
“You see, Randy. Everything’s fine,” Kane told him while Starky secured the prisoner in the back seat. Farber looked out and spotted Foy and gave him the stink eye. “Don’t worry. He can’t hurt you. He’s never getting out.”
“I’m not worried,” Randy said, “not about him. . . . Did he have a gun?”
“They all have guns. It’s fine. It’s just part of the job.”
“That’s what my sergeant used to tell me. ‘It’s the job.’“ Foy gave Kane a helpless, wounded look.
“The thing you’ve got to remember, Randy, is that it’s no longer your job. Not anymore. Never again. You did your part. Now you just have to let it go.”
“How can I do that? How am I supposed to do that?”
“I’ll tell you a secret, something that my brother told me to help me with my own problems.” Foy stared at Greg, confused. “Are you listening?” Greg waited and finally Randy nodded. “OK, here it is. You can’t reach back in time and fix everything that you think went wrong. You can’t live in yesterday and dream about tomorrow because that leaves you no room to be alive today. Randy? . . . Randy are you listening to me? Here’s the most important thing Tommy told me: You have to accept that yesterda
y is gone and that tomorrow doesn’t exist. We live our entire lives only in this one instant. Everything happens only in the here and now. The past is dead, Randy. It’s dead and gone. Do me a favor, OK? Please, remember that and let it go.”
Foy stared at Kane as if he had been speaking in some secret code for which Randy held no key.
Of course he doesn’t understand how to do that, Kane thought. Neither do I. Physician heal thyself.
“That’s OK, Randy. Don’t worry about it.” Kane patted Foy’s greasy shoulder and headed back to the cruiser and his prisoner.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Starky and Danaher wedged Farber into Kane’s backseat and used the belt to strap him down tight. “That ought to hold him,” Starky said testing the second pair of cuffs that secured Farber’s manacled wrists to his belt. Kane read Farber his rights from a card then shook Starky’s hand.
“Thanks. I’ll get your cuffs back to you tomorrow.”
“No problem. They’re doing what they were made for.” Starky glared at Farber. “Rot in hell, asshole!”
Kane waited until they had left then turned toward his prisoner.
“Anything you want to tell me, Mearle?”
“I’m not talking. Go fuck yourself.”
“Not today,” Kane said and pulled out his cell. He scrolled through his phone list and muttered: “Tony . . . Tony . . . Tony Canaro!” In the rear view mirror Greg saw that he had Farber’s attention. Kane tapped the entry and a moment later the line was answered.
“Tony, it’s Greg Kane. . . . Yeah, I’m doing great. Better than great. Guess who I’ve got cuffed in the back seat of my car? . . . . Not even close. Remember the deputy who went missing with my nephew Jason? . . . . Yeah, that’s him, Mearle Farber. So, you want to guess again who I’ve got locked up in my car? . . . . Yes, fucking way! After killing Jason and letting Ryan Munroe loose he’s been hiring himself out as a hit man. . . . God’s truth. I’ve got an arrest warrant on him right here in my pocket. The thing is, Tony, I think BPD has jurisdiction of this case, I mean, he killed a Baltimore County Deputy Sheriff and he aided and abetted the escape of a BPD prisoner. So, I was wondering Tony, if I was to turn him over to you, do you think you could find a cell for him?”
“Hey, you can’t do that!” Farber shouted.
“Shut up, Mearle. I’m on the phone here. . . . Sorry Tony, you were saying? . . . . I don’t know, an hour, maybe a little longer if the traffic is bad. Will that be enough time for you to do up the paperwork?”
“Hey, you’ve got a federal warrant on me. You’ve got to take me to a federal lockup!”
“Shut the fuck up! Don’t make me use the Taser on you, Mearle. . . . Yeah, Tony, Farber says he doesn’t want to go back to Baltimore. . . . Yeah, too fucking bad, right? So, have you got a place for him? . . . Good, that’s real good.”
Kane paused then turned to watch Farber while he talked to Canaro.
“You know, Tony, we don’t want any mix-ups,” Greg said with an evil grin. “We want to make sure the booking sheet is right, so I think you should sign him in as ‘Baltimore County Deputy Sheriff Mearle Farber.’“
“You son of a bitch!” Farber shouted and lunged forward as far as the belt would allow. “You can’t do that!”
“You know, he seems upset but hell, Tony, we need to be accurate here. . . . No, gen pop will be fine. He doesn’t need any special treatment.”
Farber started thrashing at his bonds. Kane just smiled and then gave him a wink.
“So, Tony, make sure you note that he’s got to be kept available for his interview with U.S. Attorney’s office. They’re going to want to talk to him so we might as well clear it on his intake form right up front.”
“You can’t do that! The trustees process those forms. If they think I’m talking to the feds those animals will kill me!”
“What’s that, Tony? . . . Really? You think there might be a problem? . . . I’ve got an idea. Let’s move him around if there’s any trouble. Give him a tour of the facilities if things go bad for him at Kenilworth. . . . Yeah, I think so too.”
“Bastard! You fucking son of a bitch!” Farber screamed.
“Tony, he’s freaking out back there. I’m going to have to hang up now. I might have to tase him. . . . Yeah, I will. I’ll see you in a little while.” Kane clicked off the phone.
“You can’t do that. Putting me in gen pop that way is the same as killing me. It’s flat out murder.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Kane said and started the engine.
“You’re bluffing. Well, it won’t work. I’m not going to talk.”
Kane turned east. It took him almost twenty minutes to get to the 295 then he merged into traffic and headed north.
“What do you think? Stay on this or take the 95?”
“Fuck you!”
“Yeah, at this time of day they’re both going to be a bitch. You know, I think the 95 might be the better bet.”
“This is coercion. Even if I talked nothing I said could be used in court.”
“Talk? I thought you were exercising your right to remain silent.” Farber glared into the rear-view mirror and struggled against the belt.
“Hey, there it is,” Kane said a few minutes later. “I-95 north, six miles ahead.” Kane glanced in the mirror. “Hey, nice teeth, Mearle. Are they real?”
“Of course they’re real.”
“Too bad.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Farber tried to snarl but Kane could hear the fear in his voice.
“Oh, come on, Mearle. You know how it works. The old cons always want a ‘Welcome to Gen Pop’ blow job but they don’t want their dicks bitten off so they have to take precautions. They usually only knock out the top four teeth, though I have seen them get a little over zealous and take out the bottom ones too.” Farber’s face went white and he involuntarily clenched his jaws. “Of course, that might be from the lack of proper tools. I hear that they usually just smash the guy’s mouth into the edge of the sink two or three times to get the job done. I guess it’s not an exact science.” Farber tucked his chin in as far as it would go against his chest and looked wildly around.
“There we go,” Kane said, pointing. “I-95 North. It won’t be long now.”
“What’s it going to take?” Farber asked.
“What’s what going to take?”
“Stop fucking playing games with me. What do you want from me to turn this car around?”
“Are you saying that you want to waive your right to be silent?”
“Stop screwing with me and tell me what it’s going to take to turn this car around.”
“I haven’t thought about it. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you tell me everything, starting with you killing my nephew and ending with you doing a rabbit last night and then we’ll see what we see.”
“I’m not talking without a deal.”
“Suit yourself. . . . Jeez, this traffic is a mess.” Sweat began to drip down Farber’s face and a sour smell filled the car. Kane cracked the rear windows a few inches on each side.
“I’ll talk but I’m not waiving my rights. None of this is admissible in court. You got that? This is all under duress.”
“Admissible, not admissible. That’s for the lawyers to figure out. I’m just a cop. . . Hey, it looks like it’s thinning out a little.” Kane hit the gas and plunged into a gap in the fast lane.
“Shit! Stop the fucking car. Stop! I’ll tell what you want to know!”
“Stop? Here? Are you nuts? Why don’t you just quiet down and enjoy the ride, while you still can.”
Farber began to suck in air in rapid gulps.
“Hey, settle down or you’re going to hyperventilate. I’m not stopping to give you first aid.”
Farber looked wildly around like an animal stuck in a trap.
“It wasn’t personal,” he said in almost a whine. “I didn’t have any choice. What was I supposed to do? Munroe offered me half a million bucks, tax free!”<
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“Well,” Kane said, “if it was tax free. . . . So, where’d you dump the cruiser?” Farber tugged impotently at the cuffs and Kane waited him out. He knew that getting the answer to that first question would be like pulling the keystone from an arch. After that it all would come flooding out. Half a minute went by. Kane kept his eyes on the road, not even looking at Farber in the mirror.
“I sank it in Liberty Lake where it turns into the Patapsco River,” Farber said in a breathy voice. “I can show you where.”
“Where’s the kid’s body?”
“In the trunk. He didn’t suffer,” Farber said in a rush. “A quick one to the head. He didn’t feel a thing.”
Kane’s heart went cold and he wanted to put his weapon against Farber’s forehead and pull the trigger. Instead he clenched his teeth and grasped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. A full minute passed before he could bring himself to speak.
“Are you still in contact with Ryan Munroe?” Kane said in a voice like gravel falling through a grate.
“Burner phones, sometimes we meet someplace. I don’t know where he is or how to find him.” Farber looked nervously out the window as Kane passed a lumbering semi. “For Christ’s sake pull over. I’m doing what you asked.”
“There’s plenty of time to turn around if you tell me what I want. Who ordered the hit on Brownstein?”
“What? Who?”
“So much for your cooperation. I’ve got you on tape so stop fucking around.”
Farber licked his lips and in response Kane pressed a little harder on the gas.
“All right. All right! It was Munroe. Who do you think?”
“Why did he want Brownstein killed?”
“He wanted him disappeared. Why? He’s got some deal with somebody who’s developing a new drug. The guy needs some chemical that Brownstein was going to make illegal so he had to go.”
“What did you do with him?”
“I made him disappear.”
“Stop fucking around. Where’d you put him?”