Dirty Blue: Dirty Justice - Book One

by N. E. Henderson

  He shakes his head. Mark’s silent for a beat while he places his palm on my desk, wrapping his fingers around the edge.

  “Overheard him boasting about it the other night at Phillip’s.” Phillip’s is a small dive bar that cops from all over the city like to frequent. It’s a place they can let down their guard and know there are enough badges that’ll have their back if need be. I say their because it’s not a place I go often. I’ve only been a few times in the past and I’ve always felt out of place. I’m not sure why; just never felt at ease there like the rest of the people I work with seem to.

  “What did he say?” I’m too curious not to ask.

  “That he’s going to be the one to bring down an Acerbi when so many others have failed.” I clamp down my teeth so that I don’t say something I might later regret. That motherfucker! What the hell does he and our chief have against Drago? It’s Vincent that’s allegedly done crimes—even if there’s no hard evidence against him either. So maybe they think ‘like father like son.’ Who knows . . .

  “Yeah, well, when there’s no proof of wrongdoing I’d like to know how he plans on doing that.”

  “Just be careful when it comes to Houston. That’s all I really want to tell you.” He looks away from me, scanning the large open area. Only two other detectives are seated at their desks, eyes on their computer and both wearing headphones, so no one is paying us a lick of attention. He almost seems paranoid.

  “Why the warning, Mark? I honestly don’t give a damn what Houston says. I’m going to do my job the same as I always do.”

  “I have no doubt you will. My point is, if that case goes south or doesn’t pan out, he’s likely to blame it all on you. Wouldn’t be the first time.” A dry laugh escapes his lips. “Or even the second or third. It’s his MO. I just want you to watch your back. It’s not always the criminals you have to be mindful around.”

  “Okay. I’ll be more careful. Thanks, Mark.”

  “Anytime.”

  He walks off and I bring my mug of coffee to my lips, pondering his words. It’s not always the criminals you have to be mindful around. Tipping the mug back, nothing comes out. Rats!

  It’s early afternoon, but today is slow and I need all the caffeine I can get. Getting up, I head to the break room. I could drink coffee all day long. I love the stuff.

  The break room is also the kitchenette and when I enter the small room it’s empty, so I get right to it, placing a K-cup in the machine and then putting my coffee mug underneath followed by pressing the button.

  Just as the machine is about to brew my steamy goodness, I hear rapid footsteps, alerting me someone has entered the break room, but before I can glance behind me, I’m grabbed forcefully by my right elbow and swung around, my back crushing into the stainless-steel refrigerator behind me, sending a sharp pain up my spine.

  “Ow. Son of a . . .” I glance down at the firm hand wrapped around my arm, then I look up, glaring at the motherfucker in the process. “What the fuck, Lance? Get your han—”

  “Shut your little mouth,” he spits in my face. Anger radiates from him and mine is about to match it. “Listen, bitch, and listen well.” He inches closer to my face, lowering to look me in the eyes. “That cock-sucking trap of yours better fucking watch what comes out of it, or you won’t like what’s shoved in it.”

  “Take your goddamn hands off me, now,” I force out, hitting him with the same animosity he did me only seconds ago.

  He does release the grip he has on me but steps even closer, making me press into the hard surface of the fridge, trying to get farther away but failing to do so.

  “You need to be more worried about doing your job than spewing worthless shit to the chief. You hear me?”

  “My job?” I raise my hands between us, pushing on his chest, gaining a few inches of space.

  “Find something on Acerbi. Put down your little fucking coffee, stop pissing around, and get the evidence I need to put that motherfucker away. Got it?”

  Don’t do it, Bri. Don’t show him any of your cards.

  Fuck it.

  “Sounds to me like you’re walking on the dirty side of that thin blue line, Houston.” I raise my eyebrow in every ounce of defiance I can muster. “You a card carrying member of the Dirty Blue?” I don’t give him time to answer—not that he would. “Sure sounds like it to me.”

  His palm flies up, connecting with my chest, shoving me backward. Luckily for me, I have nowhere to go except maybe two or three inches, connecting to solid surface again. The force moves the refrigerator, rocking it.

  “Be real careful what you say, Andrews. I don’t give a fuck what you think, or what you think you know, but it better stay inside that pretty little mouth of yours, or . . .”

  He steps back with a smirk on across his face, never finishing his threat.

  “Or what?” I cross my arms.

  He laughs, then turns without another word coming from his lips.

  I rub my chest with my palm once he’s out of sight. It hurt, but it’s nothing compared to the fire burning inside my gut. Maybe it’s not Drago my time needs to be spent investigating. Maybe it’s detective Lance Houston.

  14

  After grabbing my belongings from the bottom drawer of my desk, I head out, needing a breath of fresh air to clear the steam mounting inside my head.

  I riffle through my purse, searching for my cell phone as I push out of the side door, exiting the police station. Connie isn’t here, at least not that I could tell, so I might as well call her to find out where she is. I can meet up with her and discuss this shit with a sane person. If I stay here any longer, I’m going to hurt that motherfucker, and losing my job isn’t worth it.

  It’s not fucking worth it, I silently chant that mantra.

  It’s my word against Houston’s, and no matter if it’s right or not, if I took this to Mike or human resources, at least half of the people on the force would take his side. They’d probably know I was telling the truth, but side with him since he has seniority over me; plus, he has more friends in this department than I do.

  Hell, even our chief leans on him more than me for some reason. We may both share the same title—detective 2—but that doesn’t mean jack shit when he’s been here longer than me.

  Point is, I think it’s in my best interest not to bring to light what happened in the break room, even if it is what I should do.

  No, I need to deal with Houston with caution. I can’t prove Drago is innocent if I get myself suspended.

  Before I call Connie, I glance up to make sure I’m not about to run into anything or anyone. I’ve stumbled over concrete parking spot curbs more times than I care to admit because I’m too focused on other things.

  Once I realize I’m good, I continue down the sidewalk and start to bring Connie’s contact information up when I hear the source of my anger, stopping me in my tracks.

  “Get in the fucking car.” Lance’s voice booms across the lot, earning my attention in his direction.

  He’s standing between his door and the inside of his police-issued cruiser talking to someone on the other side. My eyes naturally cut over to see who he’s bitching at. When I realize who it is, I’m taken by surprise.

  What’s she doing here? And with him?

  Chasity Carlisle is standing in front of his car with her arms crossed over a mint and black peplum dress.

  I scoot closer to the edge of the building, keeping out of their line of sight. I don’t want them to see me spying on them.

  Eventually, she loses whatever battle they’re having between them because she throws up her hands just before going to the passenger side of his car, getting inside.

  Once she’s in the car, he looks around the parking lot before ducking in himself, seconds later, taking off.

  Without too much thought, I hightail it to my personal car with the intent of trying to catch up to them. He never mentioned having a personal relationship with her and if he does, he can’t be a part of this c
ase. He knows this, of course.

  The thought occurs—does the chief know? Surely not. There is no way he would have put him on it with me.

  When I pull out of the lot, I grab my sunglasses from the visor compartment, putting them on in hopes if he notices someone following him, he won’t know it’s me. I doubt he knows what type of car I drive anyway.

  I easily spot Houston five cars ahead of me. With late afternoon LA traffic, I don’t want to stay too far back, chancing losing him in the throes of too many vehicles weaving from lane to lane.

  Once I manage to get in front of a couple of people driving slower than I need, I decide to stay three cars behind.

  My mind doesn’t stop racing with why she’s with him. Instinct tells me this has dirty written all over it. Could it be Lance that wants to find something on Drago and not the chief? But why? There wasn’t any connection between the Acerbi family and my colleague. If something had popped up during my research, it would have stuck out.

  So why are they together?

  Is he trying to dig up more dirt on Drago than she originally gave me?

  That thought goes straight out the window, and not because Tom said I couldn’t speak back to her. No, the interaction between Lance and Miss Carlisle was personal. He knows her more than a cop knows a witness. He knows her on another level.

  But what and how?

  Jumping on the four-o-five, I follow his car for nearly fifteen minutes when he exits the interstate, going into Brentwood.

  For the life of me, I can’t figure out where he’s going, then it hits me. She had a Brentwood mailing address on the information I took from her.

  Could he have just been giving her a lift home? Maybe she really was at the station giving more details, or I wonder if she regrets giving up her son? But their interaction was definitely personal and not at all professional.

  Perhaps it’s possible I’m blowing this up more than I should. Or it could be possible I want Houston to be involved in something he shouldn’t because I want Drago to be innocent. I still think D is, but there is that one ounce—that kernel—telling me he’s not being fully honest.

  I just want to stop dwelling on that thought for one day, because it’s beginning to eat at me, and soon he’s going to have to come clean if he wants anything long-term.

  Turning off the main road, I follow another couple of minutes when Houston slows, turning into a drive and then stopping in front of a gate. He quickly rolls down his window to press digits into a keypad. It only takes seconds for him to gain entry to the property, and the gates close automatically once he drives through.

  When his car is out of sight, I pull forward, looking through the wrought iron bars. There is a large house, not as big as the one Drago resides in, but a decent size home. It’s not as big as a lot of the houses in Brentwood, but this is still a high-dollar piece of property, telling me someone with money lives behind those gates.

  From my view, there is something oddly familiar like I’ve seen it before. Maybe in a photo, because I know I’ve never been here until today.

  My curiosity spikes, or maybe it’s the need to know that has me grabbing my smartphone. I go to the county land roll site and type in the address of the property.

  What the . . .?

  No, the word plays in my mind as my head shakes from side to side.

  This is deputy chief of staff to the mayor, Dylan Harper’s residence. That’s why it looked familiar. I remember my father talking about him and that has to be where I saw pictures. My dad must have been his realtor.

  Not wanting to sit here too long and chance Lance seeing me, I drive off, turning down another street, and then doing the same when I see another street ahead. I pull over, putting my car in park then snatch my smartphone back up.

  I quickly Google everything I can on Harper. He’s married to Haley Harper. They have two kids, and I learn Dylan served ten years in the military before getting into politics nearly fifteen years ago.

  Not finding anything that might connect Chasity to him, I scan images until I land on a photo of her with Harper, his wife, and their two sons. Clicking on the article, I read it and learn she’s his adopted niece through his wife.

  Dropping my hand and phone to my thigh, I drum my fingers of my other hand on the steering wheel, thinking.

  Why did that not come up during the interview? I mean, if she were really concerned for her life and Gabriel’s, why not go to her uncle?

  There is nothing about this that makes sense and I’m not going to get anywhere until I hash it out with someone.

  I pick up my phone, doing what I had originally intended to do before I saw Lance and Chasity together. I call my partner.

  “Bitch, where you at?” her voice demands.

  “Meet me at Grounds in fifteen minutes,” I request.

  “Bri?” she draws out, knowing something is up.

  “Just be there and don’t mention where you’re going to anyone.”

  She hangs up after agreeing to walk over to the coffee shop across the road from the precinct. She’ll beat me for sure, but that place is always packed so she should have enough time to scrounge us up a booth.

  I’m right when I walk in, seeing her tucked in the back. It’s really the perfect spot to talk discreetly.

  When I slide in, she pushes an extra-large paper cup of specialty coffee in front of me. I spend the next fifteen minutes filling her in on everything—including the details of my involvement with Drago. She’s silent, taking everything in. Connie likes to absorb everything before making her thoughts known. This time isn’t any different, but I do see judgment in her eyes. She’s by the book. I like that about her actually.

  I’m expecting her to ream me out, but I’m also expecting her to give me her honest take on the situation, which I know she will.

  She takes longer than I would have thought before she speaks, and I already know what’s coming first.

  “You fucked the guy you’re supposed to be gathering criminal intel on?”

  “Yes.” What else am I supposed to say to that? I did. And I know I’d do it again even if I hadn’t been drunk. It might have taken longer, but there is something about him that won’t let me refuse.

  “I’m not sure what to say to that, Bri. That’s a world-class fuck up if I’ve ever heard of one.” She takes a long sip of her drink. “Was it at least worth it?”

  “Are you asking me if he’s good in bed?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Yes.” I smile thinking about the talented equipment between his legs. “He’s good. But that isn’t why I called you here.”

  “Yeah, we’ll get to the other, but you haven’t had sex in forever. This calls for a little more than a ‘his dick was good’ response.”

  “You’re letting go of the fact he’s suspected of importing illegal drugs?”

  “No.” She deadpans. “Sleeping with him was stupid on your part. But what’s done is done.”

  “So,” I sigh. “The other part of everything I’ve told you?”

  “Screams even more fucked-up.” She pushes her cup away, letting me know she’s finished her coffee. “Something’s fishy. What? I don’t know. But”—she pulls in her lips, chewing on it as she pauses in thought—“Lance should have divulged any personal association when the chief assigned you both to Acerbi. The fact that he didn’t either means he’s hiding something or he was with her because of the case. Maybe even both.”

  “My thoughts too,” I confirm.

  Connie sits up, leaning closer to me.

  “I don’t know if I’m okay with you not going to Mike about what he did in the break room. That’s bullshit, Bri. Mike, me, hell, there are others that would side with you. Everyone knows he’s a douchebag. Touching you goes beyond that. That motherfucker needs to be cut down at the knees.”

  I knew she would feel this way. I do too, but there is too much riding on me proving Drago is innocent.

  “I can’t risk Internal Affairs getti
ng wind of this. The chief might even decide to reassign me and—”

  She cuts me off. “And? So what if you get moved to another precinct. Hell, maybe he’ll move Houston. We both know he’s not going to fire him.”

  She’s right on that. The chance of Lance losing his job is slim. Most of the time when a detective fucks up or gets in trouble they’re just moved somewhere else. He’d have to do something worse than manhandling a fellow badge in order to lose his job.

  “I’m not saying shit, at least not now, so what do you think otherwise? Is it a stretch that Houston wants evidence on Drago for some other reason?”

  “A stretch? No. Nothing is a stretch these days. One thing I am sure of is you need to watch your back on both fronts: Houston and Acerbi.”

  Knowing I’m not going to gain anything else from this conversation, I look at my smartwatch and tell her I have to run. It’s past time for me to pick up Gabe anyway. I should have been home thirty minutes ago.

  I swear I’m the worst neighbor.

  Scooting out of the booth, I stand. “Call me if anything happens,” Connie says, getting out herself. “Just keep me up to date, will ya?”

  “I will.” Even if it isn’t what the chief wants.

  I’m no closer knowing what to do than I was earlier today, but that’s something to worry about tomorrow. I plan on going home and enjoying a few hours with a certain four-month-old.

  * * *

  The need to shower is overwhelming. I didn’t smell it earlier, but now I do—or it could be in my head.

  I smell him, though. I smell him on me.

  A shudder goes through me. Running up the stairs, I can’t get to my second-floor condo fast enough.

  I should call or text my neighbor, letting her know I’m going to grab a quick shower before I pick up Gabe, but I’m too antsy. I just need this stench off of me.

  Connie is right. I should report his ass, but the thing is, I don’t want to go to human resources or anyone else for that matter. I want to lay him out. I want to pummel him myself. How dare he touch me like he did? Who gets that right? Not him!