Targets Down

by Bob Hamer

  "I own some real estate here in the Valley. I used to own the property next door to the bar. I'd go in there long before it was called the Russian Veil. It's just a familiar spot. I don't go there every night, just on occasion. It was on one of those occasions I met Irina."

  Matt thought he was doing a good job of selling his story and was hopeful the detective was buying it.

  "Okay, that's enough for now." Ames called over a patrol officer. "Take this guy's identifying information and get an address."

  "Can I see her?" asked Matt.

  "No, just give the officer your information so I can get a hold of you if I need to. Then you can go."

  Matt provided the address of an apartment he rented as part of his cover. Even though he spent almost every night at home with Caitlin, the address on his driver's license matched, and he occasionally frequented the apartment to give it a lived-in look.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Matt returned to his car and drove a few blocks before calling Danny Garcia, who answered on the second ring.

  "Can you talk?" asked Matt.

  "Yeah, give me about ten minutes and meet me in the parking lot behind the Bistro Gardens."

  "Let's do this instead," Matt hesitated and said slowly, "I'll call Dwayne. All three of us meet at the warehouse in thirty."

  MATT BEAT DWAYNE AND Danny to the warehouse. He kept the lights dimmed but opened the garage door so the two could pull in and not draw attention to cars parked on the street at night in a warehouse district.

  Danny arrived a few minutes after Matt and parked near the far wall. As he exited his car, he said to Matt, "Dwayne just called. He's a few minutes out."

  Danny walked over to Matt standing next to the garage door waiting for Dwayne to arrive. Danny noticed the dark rings under Matt's eyes. Sleep wasn't coming easily for the undercover agent.

  "Are you doing okay?"

  "I'm fine," said Matt with no emotion.

  "Did you see the body?" asked Danny.

  "Yeah."

  Just then Dwayne drove in. Matt lowered the garage door after he entered. The three gathered around Dwayne's car.

  Danny started, "It was bad. I worked gangs for eight years in East L.A. I saw some pretty savage beatings, but this one topped anything I've seen. Looks like someone took a ball bat to her face."

  "Any doubt as to who was behind it? Is there any chance it could have been a random homicide? Maybe a john? Could she have been working and picked up the wrong guy?" asked Dwayne.

  Danny said, "She had cash in her pockets. If it was a robbery, they left the money and a watch. There were no calls in or out of the motel room. It didn't look like she was working. She was fully clothed."

  "It had to be Boris. I thought I was careful. I checked my mirrors. I didn't see anyone follow us from the Lodge to the motel, but I must have missed it." His voice trailed off.

  "No one followed you out of the coffee shop, and I watched you pull from the lot. I didn't see any obvious tail, but they could have been waiting off Ventura or Coldwater."

  Matt slammed his fist on the hood of Dwayne's car. "I told her I'd protect her." The hood gave, and when Matt removed his hand, a sizable dent was evident. Matt had seen death. He even caused it. He wasn't desensitized to violence. He lived with it every day, and it became a part of him. He killed in the line of duty, but never had he been the cause of a victim's death. His stomach twisted, and he fought to keep down his dinner. The disconnect was always tougher when working undercover.

  "Where do we stand with homicide?" asked Dwayne.

  "I'm not sure the detective bought Matt's act. When did you tell Ames you gave Irina the card?"

  Matt was staring beyond the conversation focused on an innocent girl lying dead on a motel room floor.

  "Matt," said Dwayne gently touching the undercover agent on his shoulder.

  "What?"

  "When did you tell Ames you gave Irina your business card?"

  "I told her I gave it to her the other night."

  "Ames is pretty sharp. I wouldn't be surprised if she gets an assignment downtown with the big boys, Robbery-Homicide, when there's an opening. She said the business card wasn't wrinkled and looked fresh, as she described it. She thinks you gave it to her tonight. They're trying to put you in the room. Did anyone see you with her at the motel?"

  "No, I stayed in the car when she checked in."

  Dwayne interrupted, "Can we trust her?"

  "Trust Ames?" asked Danny. "Yeah, I think so. She's got a solid rep at North Hollywood, and, like I said, she's on the short list for RHD downtown."

  "I think maybe we should bring her onboard," said Dwayne.

  Both Dwayne and Danny looked at Matt. He had his head down.

  Dwayne waited a few moments expecting a response. Matt said nothing. "Matt, what do you think? You okay with her getting cut in?"

  Matt looked up, "If you and Danny think it's wise, then I'm good with it."

  "Not exactly the enthusiastic response I was seeking," said Dwayne.

  Matt shook his head slowly. "Dwayne, I got that girl killed. She trusted me and I got her killed."

  "Matt, she's dead. But you didn't get her killed. Now we need to work even harder to put this where it belongs. Danny, when we get done here, go brief Ames. She needs to play it tight, but give her what you can. We don't need her doing a deep background on Matt and stepping in our flower bed. Matt, how do you want to handle this?"

  Again Matt was slow to answer, his mind beyond the warehouse, "I'm heading over to the Veil."

  "You think that's wise?" asked Dwayne.

  Matt snapped, "Yeah, Dwayne, I think it's wise."

  MATT CALLED CAITLIN FROM the car. "Honey, this is going to be a late one."

  "You okay, Cowboy?"

  "They beat her to death. I know who's behind it. Now I have to prove it."

  "Just be careful."

  Matt wasn't listening. "I'll see you when I get home."

  "I love you," said Caitlin.

  "I love you too."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Matt pulled down a side street. He had several recording devices available, which he alternated as they were downloaded by the evidence technicians. The movies had the bugs secreted in olives, but those devices were only reserved for the imagination of some Tinseltown screenwriter. When Matt first started his undercover work, the FBI was still using a Nagra for some operations. The device was the size of a thin paperback novel. The current generation of recorders was much more manageable but still not ideal. The smallest device had the least amount of recording time capability. He seldom used it because most meetings lasted beyond the time restraints. But the tiny digital recorder might prove helpful tonight. He would need to act fast once he got into the office. He turned on the device and slipped it in his shoe. He raced over to the Russian Veil.

  MATT PULLED INTO THE back and made his way to Boris's office where he barged in unannounced.

  "Why'd you have to kill her?"

  Stump jumped up from his seat as did Jesse. The security team did its job. Before Matt could react, he was braced up against the wall. "Why'd you have to kill her?" shouted Matt over Stump's shoulder.

  "Strip him and check for a wire," said Boris, all the more intimidating because the delivery was so casual.

  Stump started to rip at Matt's shirt. Matt was able to free his right arm and landed a solid uppercut to Stump's midsection. Stump folded, but before Matt could land a second blow, Jesse grabbed the right arm and threw Matt back up against the wall. Stump swung wildly and hit Matt in the jaw.

  "Enough!" shouted Boris. "I said check him for a wire."

  Jesse had Matt's arms pinned to the wall. Stump continued to rip at the shirt. Matt's bare chest lay open.

  "Drop yo
ur pants," said Boris.

  Jesse released his grip and Matt unbuckled his trousers. His pants fell to the floor.

  "You want me to bend over so your butt boys can check for hemorrhoids, " spitting blood as he spoke.

  Stump threw a powerful punch to Matt's midsection. The undercover agent saw it coming and tensed enough to deflect some of the impact.

  Boris shouted, "Enough! Get dressed."

  Matt had trouble catching his breath. He took his time, pulled up his pants, and buttoned what few buttons remained on his denim shirt.

  In a now calm voice Matt asked, "So why'd you have to kill her?"

  Boris responded with a question, "Why did you meet with her at the Sportsmen's Lodge?"

  He had her followed.

  "She said she wanted to talk with me."

  "So why did you tell me you were going home to soak your back?"

  "I did go home and soak my back but not for very long. Listen, she sounded scared when she asked to meet with me. Before I got involved with importing girls into the United States, I wanted to know the full story. If she was dissatisfied with the operation, I didn't want her running to the cops or immigration. I wanted her to think I was on her side. I wanted to see what she had to say."

  Boris arched an eyebrow, "And did you find out?"

  "Yeah, I did, but now, thanks to you, I've got some female detective from LAPD calling me and asking questions about Irina's death. Your boys, at least I'm assuming it was your boys since you wouldn't be so stupid to dirty your hands directly, left a real mess in that motel room. At least dump the body if you're going to play assassin."

  "How did the LAPD know to contact you?"

  A calm settled in the office which seconds before was in controlled chaos. "Because I gave her my card. Boris, she was unhappy. I wanted her to think I was on her side. I told her I was going to talk to you, and we would resolve her visa problems and immigration fees. You just can't go around eliminating every disgruntled employee with a beating. It's bad business. Sometimes a little honey makes a lot of sense."

  "So why do you think I did it? The little whore was probably working the streets. You dropped her off at the motel. You think she stayed in the room. I suppose you paid for the room. How do I know you didn't go back for a little taste?"

  "Boris, that's lame. I could have had all the taste I wanted in your back room and for free. Why would I rent a room and pay her for action I could have gotten here? You and I both know we're better businessmen than that. Look, you had her killed. We both know it. We both know you screwed up. I'm not interested in hooking up with a sloppy businessman who doesn't understand the basics in crisis management. Surely the KGB taught you better than that."

  "I was at a bomb-making seminar when the rest of my class was taking crisis management."

  Matt detected a slight smile as Boris made the comment.

  "Well, if you expect me to go into business with you, I suggest you read up on problem solving. Why did you have her killed?"

  The Russian slammed his fist on the desk and raised his voice, "Enough. If you want to join me, then help me; if not, leave." His eyes bored through the undercover agent. Then in a calmer voice he said, "No hard feelings; we part as former comrades."

  "Boris, I'm in. I just want to make sure you're smart."

  "I am smart, my friend. Smart enough to avoid the American labor camps."

  ON THE WAY HOME Matt called Dwayne. He apologized for his behavior at the warehouse before he reported the results of the meeting with Boris. Dwayne understood. No good investigator can be detached, and Dwayne knew Matt was a great investigator. Dwayne would have been disappointed had his undercover agent not taken the death of the Ukrainian immigrant girl so hard.

  "Dwayne, I pushed him every way I could. He didn't deny it when I confronted him, but he never said the magic words."

  "Are you still okay with continuing?"

  "Yeah, I'm in and all the way. I have to stay inside his decision cycle and force him to react."

  "Good. I'm glad you're in. You had me a little worried tonight."

  "I don't quit, especially when an innocent girl pays with her life."

  "I understand. We're not done yet."

  "Not by a long shot. Where do we stand with getting on the phones and inside his office?"

  "I spoke with headquarters today. They received Steve's affidavit. They say we should get it signed by late next week," said Dwayne.

  "It took God six days to create the world. How come these guys who think they're God can't sign off on a piece of paper in a week?"

  "Matt, you know the process."

  "Yeah, I know," said Matt almost apologetic. "I would love to have heard Stump and Jesse's report to Boris after the beating."

  "We'll be up on him soon. These guys are going down."

  "And hard. By the way my next voucher will include the cost of a new denim shirt. Stump tried to play strip poker without the cards. I'm guessing he had playground issues at recess."

  "That may have to be offset by the cost of repairing the dent in the hood of my car."

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Ramon Sanchez, the principal at Caitlin's school, wanted to meet with the parents of those boys involved in the playground fighting incident. Sanchez thought a less confrontational atmosphere would be the classroom rather than his office so he set up the first appointment in Caitlin's room with Michael Hughes's parents.

  The school board had a no-tolerance policy when it came to fighting. There wasn't a whole lot of wiggle room for the principal. The policy was written by lawyers and was designed more to limit the school's liability than to prevent recess violence in the elementary grades.

  Ramon wanted to hear the facts before he assessed an appropriate punishment. There weren't any constitutional safeguards in this meeting, and the rules of evidence took a backseat to getting at the truth, but the principal was a fair man. Caitlin was confident he would do the right thing and minimize Michael's punishment. Had Michael somehow avoided splaying the blood of the two aggressors all over the playground, Caitlin might have been able to cover up the entire incident. Shed blood opens all sorts of doors that can be difficult to shut, especially in a public-school setting.

  Michael entered with his mother and stepfather, Alicia and J. D. Pinney. As always Michael was dressed neatly. His clothes weren't expensive or even pressed, but his faded shirt was tucked in. His blue jeans were clean and, unlike even some in the second grade, were around his waist not low on his hips like an MTV rapper.

  Michael's mother, Alicia, was also neat. Her clothes may have been Salvation Army Thrift Store bargains, but she took pride in her appearance.

  Both contrasted the stepfather. He was dressed like the runner-up centerfold for Neo-Nazi Monthly. Unshaven and unkempt, J. D. was thin, more like a meth user whose two- or three-day binges served as the ultimate diet aid. Most bikers were overweight, but J. D. was an exception. He still had a beer gut, but his arms and legs were pencil thin. He wore shorts which hung just above the calves. Both legs were tattooed in prison-blue ink of various, incomprehensible designs. His sleeves rolled up to below the elbow also revealed numerous tats while an 88 crept just above the collar.

  When Ramon Sanchez introduced himself and extended his hand to Michael's stepfather, Michael stood up and also shook hands with the principal who smiled at the gesture.

  Alicia shook hands but said nothing. Caitlin did notice, however, her jaw was slightly swollen and her left eye puffy. Throughout the evening Alicia kept her head lowered, less as a submissive gesture, more to conceal her apparent pain.

  Sanchez tried to put the family at ease with one of those familiar, "Trust me, I'm with the government. I'm here to help" speeches, but the family had little faith in anything anyone from a public agency said.

  In res
ponse to the principal's inquiry, Michael explained what happened. He looked Mr. Sanchez in the eye and calmly told the story. He was straightforward and articulate, as articulate as a second grader can be when confronted by authority.

  When he finished, the principal asked, "Is Isaiah Goldman your friend?"

  "No, sir. We're not even in the same grade."

  "But you like him, don't you?"

  "No, he's a whiner. He complains all the time."

  Caitlin stifled a laugh. Isaiah, the smallest student in the third grade, was a chronic complainer. If the glass was half full, that half was polluted. He was extremely bright, well beyond his grade level, but Caitlin was somewhat surprised it took the students this long to stone the perennial pessimist.

  "So why did you help him?"

  "It wasn't a fair fight. It was two against one. They tied him up and were throwing rocks at him."

  "And you thought that gave you the right to attack those two boys?"

  "It wasn't a fair fight. If it was a fair fight, I would have just watched."

  "You should have contacted the yard-duty monitor."

  "She was over by the swings."

  Michael's stepfather stood up and began to pace. J. D. wasn't exactly mad, maybe more adult ADD. Alicia sat quietly as the principal and Michael spoke.

  J. D. said, "I'm not sure I would have come to the aid of a Jew boy, but Michael did what he was taught to do."

  "I understand, but we have a no-tolerance policy for fighting. I am certain you, your wife, and Michael were made aware of that policy at the beginning of the year," said the principal somewhat nervously as J. D. toured the room.

  "I can't believe you'd tolerate someone getting the crap beat out 'em," said J. D.

  "That's why we have yard duties."

  "Don't sound like she was doing her duty," said the biker.

  J. D. was walking behind Caitlin's desk and spied pictures beneath the glass top. He stopped for a long moment and stared, then said, "Yeah, whatever, do what you have to do. I think we're done here." He pointed to his wife and with a single hand movement conveyed his intentions.