“Moe usually does come in first. I just did it today because we had to unlock early for the guys who are installing the new taps. No sense Moe coming in that early when I’m just upstairs.”
Liz replied, “Oh, I see,” and continued into the kitchen.
It was obvious to me that Liz wasn’t at all comfortable talking about her life. She must really be afraid of something.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Justin was glad that Captain Bob’s boat was back in the water. He enjoyed living on the boat in the marina behind Cap’s Place. Sure the accommodations were cramped, but he somehow felt freer than he did in this spacious high rise apartment. Maybe it was the idea that they could fire up the twin diesels anytime they wanted and motor away. He liked the idea of being gone whenever he wanted.
Justin punched the number of the car rental agency into his latest burner phone. The young fellow who answered sounded like he was a gum-chewing teenybopper. Justin thought to himself that the whole damn world is getting younger, or I’m just getting older. A situation he’d never expected to encounter. He should have been dead so many times. So many others were.
The voice of the teenybopper on the phone finally penetrated his thoughts, “Hello. Hello, Enterprise on Sheridan. Anyone there?”
Justin shook his head to refocus, “Yes, this is Robert Ward, I’d like to make arrangements for you to pick up my rental car here at my home. I have no further use for it, but won’t have the opportunity to drop it off.”
“No problem Mr. Ward. Let me find your file. It will just take a moment.”
Justin could hear the sounds of a keyboard being worked over at an impressive rate. Shortly, the teenybopper was back, “I have it Mr. Ward. Now let me verify some information.”
Patiently, Justin verified the account information for Robert Ward, an identity that didn’t exist a week ago and whose life expectancy was now calculated in minutes. Justin said he would leave the car in the entrance drive to the apartment complex and leave the keys with the concierge. The teenybopper told Mr. Ward that he hoped he could serve his car rental needs in the future. Justin assured him that his agency would be the first he would call. Of course, Mr. Ward no longer existed and Justin never used the same rental agency twice, but the comment no doubt brightened the young fellow’s day.
Justin walked to the parking garage, drove the car to the front drive, parked, and gave the keys to the concierge. He returned to the apartment to take one last look around to assure it was in the pristine and orderly condition it was when he arrived. His buddy was living in some shithole over in the Middle East. At least when he got home, his place would look like it did when he left.
Justin shouldered his duffle, and took the freight elevator to the loading dock at the rear of the building. He walked down the service entrance driveway and up the street two blocks where he stepped onto the first city bus he saw. Whoever was following him was welcome to, but they were going to work for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PJ set the steaming mug of coffee on the corner of Tim’s desk and walked around the two desks facing each other in the style of an old partner desk. She settled into her chair and took a long pull from the can of Coke she was carrying. Their desks were one of four similar sets placed roughly in the four corners of the detective’s squad room. A small conference table occupied the center of the room.
“Thanks PJ. Appreciate it,” said Tim absentmindedly while looking at a case file spread out on his desk.
Looking up PJ asked, “What’s got you so engrossed?”
Tim replied, “Oh this. It’s the Martinez file. That homicide I caught while you were on vacation last year. Trial starts next week, so I thought I better refresh my memory. All in all it’s a pretty straight forward case, but don’t want any problems. Prosecutor’s a rookie, first homicide.”
PJ said, “I remember that one. Guess I’m surprised the perp didn’t cop a plea.”
Tim shook his head, “Gang banger, prosecutor going for the death penalty. Won’t deal.”
Tim’s desk phone rang. Looking at the readout he said to PJ, “LT.” Picking up the phone he answered, “Donovan here.” Listening for a couple of seconds, “Yes sir, be right there.”
PJ pulled her holster and gun from a desk drawer and slipped it onto her belt. Lieutenant Eddie Hassinger liked his detectives to look like detectives and he didn’t believe that you could look like a detective without a gun on your hip. She stated, “Lieutenant wants to see us.”
“Damn, I always knew you were a natural born detective.”
Patty picked up a blank legal pad laying on her desk and turned toward the door straightening her slacks and blouse as she walked. Tim hurried from his chair to catch up with her. His shirttail was nearly completely out in the back of his trousers, that were themselves long overdue for cleaning and pressing. His tie was pulled loose and his collar was unbuttoned. Beauty and the beast.
Patty and Tim walked down the hall from the squad room to the doorway of the Lieutenant’s office. The door was closed, so Tim knocked sharply. “Enter,” was the baritone refrain from within.
Lieutenant Eddie Hassinger was a thirty-year veteran of South Florida law enforcement. The last twenty of it in Hollywood. By most accounts, he was a cop’s cop. A “straight shooter” by cop shop measures. Ebony skinned, he stood just over six feet tall with salt and pepper black hair worn in a brush cut. The salt was much more prevalent than the pepper these days. While Eddie Hassinger was a bit softer around the middle than he had been thirty years ago he still projected a commanding appearance.
Gesturing toward the two chairs facing his desk Hassinger said, “Sit, Sit. I wanted to get a better feel for this whole deal with the owner of that bar,” looking at an email on his computer screen, “Jack Nolan, that you sent this request to meet with OC about.”
PJ felt her stomach clench. The whole deal with Bracchi at Cap’s was her case, but Hassinger called Tim when he wanted to talk about it. This cop world is a damn tough fraternity for a woman to break into. She took a breath and said, “Well Lieutenant, let me give you what we know.”
For the next fifteen minutes, PJ, Tim, and Hassinger discussed everything that had happened between Bracchi and Jack. Everything they were aware of. Finally, Hassinger said, “Okay. I’ll get something set up with Kaur. You both know how he is, always acting so damn busy. Like the rest of us aren’t. Can you get this Nolan in on short notice PJ?”
“I would think so, Sir. You think we can get something set in the next couple of days? I only ask because I don’t know when Bracchi’s next push will come.”
Hassinger made a note on his desk blotter, “I agree with your concerns, I’ll push Kaur as hard as I can.”
PJ nodded, “Thanks Lieutenant. That’s all we can ask.”
Hassinger turned in his chair to face his computer, “I’ll give you guys a call as soon as I hear.”
Knowing that was their sign to leave, Eddie Hassinger was not a man for small talk, PJ and Tim rose and headed for the door. Hassinger called over his shoulder, “You ready for next week Tim?”
PJ kept walking, but Tim stopped and said, “Yes Sir. Just giving the case file a final read-through when you called.”
Hassinger asked, “Evidence all lined up. No chain of custody issues?”
“No sir. No issues. Everything’s where it should be and all the receipts are complete. No issues.”
“Good. If there are problems I don’t want them to be of our doing. Understand?”
Tim stiffened ever so slightly, “Yes Sir. Understood. No problems here.”
“Great.” Hassinger went back to banging on his computer keys.
Tim left and hustled to catch up to PJ in the hallway.
When they got back to their desks Tim gathered up a stack of evidence receipts and told PJ he was going to the property room to verify that all of the evidence on the Martinez case was truly in order.
PJ had just settled into her chair when her desk phone rang
. The readout told her it was Hassinger. “Hello, Sir.”
Without preface, “Can you get Nolan in here within the hour?”
“Ah, maybe, probably, I’ll sure try.”
“Try, and call me right back. Kaur is available now if we can make it happen within the hour. Otherwise, he’s going to be hard to get to in the next few days. Call me as soon as you know.” Click. The line was dead. PJ stared at the phone in her hand for a couple of seconds thinking what an ass Hassinger could be sometimes. If it wasn’t that he always backed his people, and he was a damn good cop by instinct, he would be considered a real flamer. As it was, he was just considered brusque.
PJ called Cap’s Place and a woman answered on the second ring, “Hello, this is Detective Johnson with the Hollywood Police Department. Is Jack Nolan available?”
“Hi PJ, it’s Marge. How are you? Haven’t seen you in awhile.”
“Hi Marge. I’ve been in, but I think you’ve been locked back in the office.”
“Yeah, been a lot of that lately, actually feels good to get back behind the bar for even a little while. Dana had a doctor’s appointment, so I’m covering for her for a couple of hours. You’re looking for Jack?”
“Right. I’d like to talk to him if he’s around.”
“He’s right here.” Lowering her voice Marge continued, “Come up with something to get him out of here, will ya, he’s driving me crazy today.”
PJ chuckled, but before she could respond she heard the phone being passed.
“Jack Nolan.”
“Hi Jack, it’s PJ. Can you get down here within the hour? We can meet with Lieutenant Kaur of the Organized Crime Unit if you can make it here within the hour.”
There was a long pause and then Jack replied, “I hate to leave right now, Marge is here alone today.”
PJ quipped, “You really think Marge can’t run the place for a couple of hours without your help?” After a short pause, “I’d really like for you to hear what Lieutenant Kaur has to say. I know you have reservations about getting involved with a formal investigation, but at least hear him out. We really shouldn’t wait because you don’t know when you’ll face Bracchi again. Things could get even uglier than they already are real fast.”
After another pregnant pause Jack sighed, “Okay. Where do you want me?”
“Here at the department headquarters on Hollywood Boulevard. Call my cell when you get here and I’ll meet you in the lobby. How soon will you be here?”
Jack replied, “Fifteen minutes if I don’t catch a bridge.”
“Great, and Jack . . . thanks. See you in fifteen.”
PJ disconnected her call with Jack and immediately dialed Lieutenant Hassinger’s direct line. She told him Jack would be there in about fifteen minutes and Hassinger told her to bring him to the small conference room on the second floor.
PJ was in the ladies room “freshening up” when her cell phone buzzed. Jack said he was pulling into the visitor parking lot. She returned to her desk, picked up her notebook and the file she had started on Bracchi’s threats against Cap’s Place, and headed for the elevator down to the lobby.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I found a parking spot in the visitor lot at the Hollywood Police Department. Walking up the walk toward the front entrance I couldn’t help but think how uninviting the building was. Its four story white poured concrete exterior with narrow slits for windows looks more like a medieval fortress than a building in which one would seek community services. The architecturally unattractive result of a desire to minimize the cost of public buildings coupled with the need, perceived across the country, to harden all law enforcement facilities. A sad reflection on the times.
I walked into the lobby just as PJ was emerging from a door marked Authorized Personnel Only. She was wearing her cop face, but I did detect the slightest hint of a smile when she saw me. At least I wanted to see a smile. As we met I said, “Hello PJ . . . er Detective Johnson.”
“Hi Jack. Thanks so much for coming in on such short notice. Follow me, we have a conference room on two.”
I would follow PJ just about anywhere. Even in her “uniform” of a dark pants suit and sensible flats she was just downright good looking. Before I could get my fantasy under full steam, we were stepping onto an elevator headed to the second floor.
After we exited the elevator and started down the hallway, dotted with closed office doors on each side, I asked, “If I may inquire, who are we meeting with?”
PJ stopped and turned around to face me, “First, there will be Lieutenant Eddie Hassinger. He’s my boss. Good guy. Little direct at times, but a good guy. Second, will be Lieutenant John Kaur. He’s in charge of the Organized Crime Unit. I really don’t know him at all. I know one of the guys that works for him but he doesn’t say much about Kaur.”
“I guess I’m surprised that Hollywood has such an organized crime problem that you have a dedicated unit.”
PJ looked momentarily uncomfortable, scanned up and down the hallway to ascertain that we were alone, and said, “Interesting observation. It’s a very small unit, never more than three or four people assigned at one time. Really, what they do is work on the federal task force that the FBI runs. Tim told me that the position doesn’t warrant a lieutenant, but that Kaur has some political hook and the position was created so he could be promoted. More pomp and circumstance than direct police work.”
I chuckled, “Good to know that the American political system is alive and well, even in little old Hollywood.” I reflected on PJ’s statement for a second and added, “Not too excited about putting my life in the hands of a guy who specializes in pomp and circumstance.”
PJ replied, “If this goes anywhere I’m sure it will be the federal task force that handles it. Kaur is just our conduit to the task force.”
“Thanks. I think I have an understanding of the lay of the land.”
Turning to again head down the hallway, PJ said over her shoulder, “We better get going. I don’t know Kaur but I do know my LT and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
We stopped in front of the last door at the end of the hall. PJ slid the sign on the door from Open to In Use and we entered. The room was a nondescript windowless box. An assortment of pictures of street scenes were the only decorations on the walls. From the vintage of the cars in the pictures I guessed they were from the forties, and it seemed reasonable to presume they were from Hollywood, but there was certainly nothing to confirm that. An oblong dark wood conference table and six black straight back roller chairs occupied eighty percent of the available floor space. A small table with a telephone on it nestled into one corner. The entire image was very utilitarian. Very cop shop.
PJ and I had just settled into two chairs along one side of the table when the door opened and in strode a black man I estimated to be in his early fifties. He wore dark trousers with crisp creases, a starched pale blue shirt with a dark blue necktie. A semi-automatic pistol rode tight on his belt. He strode directly up to me, put out his hand, and said in a deep baritone voice, “Eddie Hassinger. Thanks for coming in on such short notice Mr. Nolan.”
I was caught in that awkward motion of attempting to rise from my chair while extending my hand to shake and answering, “Ah, yes . . . no problem. Nice to meet you Lieutenant. PJ . . . er Detective Johnson says good things about you.”
Hassinger paused for just a second, looking first to PJ and then back to me, “Oh, I see. Probably means I’m not working her hard enough.”
I sensed PJ shifting in her seat on Hassinger’s reaction. She commented, “You’re working me plenty hard enough Lieutenant.”
Hassinger walked around PJ and me and took the seat at the end of the conference table. He said, “I understand you were a prosecutor in Michigan for a period of time.”
“Yes, just over five years.”
Cocking his head to one side he asked, “Why’d you leave?”
I reflected for a moment, “Guess same reason as most, chasing the
almighty dollar.”
Hassinger smiled and shook his head up and down, “Damn it Johnson. Leave it to you to bring me the only honest lawyer in the world.”
I couldn’t help but like this guy. PJ had him pegged right. Straight to the point and says exactly what he thinks. What more could you ask for in a boss? I smiled and said, “Please call me Jack, Lieutenant.”
Just then the door again opened and in strode the antithesis of Hassinger. Short and slight, by cop standards, about 5 foot 8 inches and 150 pounds with the beginning of a paunch. Greasy, black hair in need of a good shampoo and a trim. Rumpled dress slacks with a dark green shirt adorned with large flowers worn outside, covering, but not concealing, what must have been a very large handgun on his hip. I presumed the large bulge on his opposite hip was a pouch of additional ammunition.
He looked past PJ and me with watery, dark eyes sitting atop huge bags, adorning his pasty face, “Hello Eddie. I’ve only got a few minutes, so let’s get started.” With that, he took the chair at the end of the table opposite to Hassinger.
I detected the slightest sigh from Hassinger before he said, “Jack, this is Lieutenant John Kaur. John is head of our Organized Crime Unit. John, this is Jack Nolan. Jack owns Cap’s Place, the bar Anthony Bracchi is trying to muscle in on. I sent you the report that Detective Johnson has prepared to date.”
Kaur patted the portfolio he had placed on the table, “Yeah, but I only got the report a few minutes before leaving to come here so I’ve only skimmed it. Does look like Bracchi has focused on your bar Mr. . . er.”
Hassinger prompted, “Nolan. Jack Nolan.”
With a distracted tone, “Yeah, yeah, Nolan. I have to tell you Mr. Nolan, this is the first time we’ve heard of Bracchi doing anything around here. Previously, he has treated this area as a vacation spot. Never pursued business down here. He’s a New Jersey, New York guy.”
I quipped, “Lucky me.”
Looking at his now open portfolio Kaur asked, “So Eddie, what did you have in mind.”
Nimble Be Jack: A Jack Nolan Novel (The Cap's Place Series Book 2) Page 10