The Bernie Factor
Page 30
~~~~~
“Schwartz, listen very closely to me,” Gionelli instructed. “It is absolutely imperative that you cease and desist all actions immediately. Do you copy?”
Marty Schwartz stared at the radio microphone and tried to comprehend what his boss just said. Did he even hear what I said? Surey Whiteside is alive, and he’s telling me to back off? He returned his attention to the black Mercedes that was driving further west toward the foothills, away from the Pine Valley population and closer to the remote areas people went to escape the confines of city living and be left alone. He couldn’t help but think of the irony of this chase and the one that he thought ended the kid’s life so many years ago.
“Schwartz did you copy me?” Gionelli repeated through the radio.
“Did you hear what I said?” Schwartz asked. “I’m chasing a dead guy who is somehow linked to one or both of these O’Fallon guys you sent me to run down and get back to Vegas. What the fuck is going on?” By the end of his transmission Schwartz was yelling and spitting into the microphone.
“This is a direct order that comes from way above my level,” Gionelli lied. “I’m ordering you, right now, to stop your pursuit and fall back to your partner’s position. You do remember having a partner, don’t you?”
Schwartz grimaced at the fact he left his partner behind at Nick O’Fallon’s residence. That was a major no-no, and he knew it. What if something happened to the kid while he was off on his personal wild goose chase? But still, it was Surey Whiteside. Could he really just stop?
“Did you even think about your partner’s safety?” Gionelli asked. He knew this tactic would cut into Schwartz more than any other. Through his gruff exterior, he was a mother hen at heart. If O’Neil were in trouble, he’d double back. “You left your partner at a crime scene! What the hell are you thinking? He’s got your back, and you hang him out to dry? Forget about the policy violations. What about having his back?” Gionelli knew just what buttons to push with Schwartz.
Schwartz mashed the brake pedal and fish tailed the sedan on the two lane country road. He came to rest perpendicular to normal traffic flow, half of the car on one side of the double yellow line, and the other half on the other side. He took one last look out the passenger window and watched the Mercedes taillights crest a small hill and then dip over the top and disappear into the night. The red and blue lights lit up the pitch-black darkness of the lonely country road. Schwartz punched the gas pedal and the back end spun around, pointing the car back east. Schwartz righted the vehicle and accelerated back to O’Fallon’s house.
“Schwartz, do you copy me?”
“Copy,” Schwartz replied.