The Ruthless

by David Putnam

  He stared at me, not talking, waiting for me to admit the errors of my ways, the equivalent to kneeling and kissing his ring. He’d be waiting a long time. I liked him and respected him, but in the last couple of years—and more so in the last few months—he had not acted like a friend. When I left his violent crimes team to work in the courts so I could give my daughter, Olivia, the parental time she needed, time that she deserved, Wicks took it personally.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. I came up a day late and a dollar short with Olivia. That was my burden to carry and no one else’s. Now I could only do my best to make it right. Find her some small iota of justice. Going to jail for a G-ride threw a big monkey wrench into things. And now I had to deal with Wicks. No way would I let him deride or belittle me.

  “Well,” he finally said, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

  I stared at him and said nothing.

  “Bruno, what the hell were you doing in that stolen car?”

  I didn’t have an excuse, not for him. I shrugged.

  “You were driving it, for Christ’s sake. You know how hard that’s going to be to fix?”

  I held his bitter glare. “How did you find out?”

  But I knew. I’d made a small mistake by using the undercover name Karl Higgins when I was booked. Wicks had eyes and ears everywhere; that’s how he’d survived the politics for so long. He had not, however, tumbled to my big secret, or he wouldn’t be standing there talking to me. He’d be angry beyond belief that I had once again left him out of a major decision in my life.

  He waved his hand in the air and didn’t answer.

  I said, “You never returned my calls.”

  He took a step closer, his lips tight. He pointed a finger toward the floor. “That has nothing to do with this right here right now. So, buddy boy, don’t try and change the subject.”

  “Robby, what did you find out about Albert and Olivia?”

  I couldn’t get anywhere close to that investigation because of the huge conflict of interest, and the fact that I’d be arrested for obstruction if I tried. I could only sit in the courtroom and watch Derek work the system that favored the ruthless and the profane. So I’d asked my friend Wicks to look into it for me, do what he did best: figure out what had really happened. Who better to ask than your closest friend, a bulldog of a cop who wouldn’t let go once he caught the scent of a crook? But something had happened, and I hadn’t heard from him. For some unknown reason, he’d cut me adrift. Good thing I had already decided to go the long way around, through back channels in order to find out what really happened. I’d taken a big step in that direction just before the arrest in the Monte Carlo ruined all I’d gained.

  “I looked into it.” He turned uncomfortable and looked away. I knew him well enough to know the next words from his mouth would be a well-rehearsed lie. “And you just need to let it go. There’s nothing there. It’s just as the reports said—those two incidents, your daughter’s overdose and your missing grandson, are unrelated.”

  “Did you get a chance to interview Sams and put the heat to him?”

  “Stop it. Bruno, let it go. I told you that it would be this way and that you were barking at the moon. I told you to let it go and let the court handle Derek Sams.

  “Now look at you. What the hell were you doing driving that stolen car? You give up your star after all those years of service, and what? You turn into one of them? You revert back to type.”

  Back to type? I wanted to slug him.

  With him, it had always been us against them, and now, in his mind, I’d become one of them. Blind anger fueled his hateful words, so I didn’t take them to heart as maybe I should have.

  “I don’t think you looked into it at all.”

  He brought his finger up and stuck it in my face. “I warned you this would happen. Didn’t I? I told you that if you left the department, you’d go back to the street where you came from. Now I can’t help you. Not with all of this.” He waved his hand around as if the jail was the evil I had chosen over him.

  “I asked you to help me with Albert and Olivia. I never asked you to look out for me. Please, just go. Walk away. You don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’ll take care of the final disposition of what happened with Albert and Olivia.”

  He pulled his head back. His mouth sagged open. “Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m some kind of ignorant mope, not after all I’ve done for you.”

  “I don’t work for you anymore, Robby. I can talk to you any way I choose.”

  He clenched his teeth, grabbed me by the throat, and shoved me up against the wall. He moved in close, his breath laden with burnt tobacco and expensive bourbon. “I have a good mind to leave you right here and let you rot.”

  I tried not to choke and sputter. “That’s fine by me. Do it. Get the hell outta here.”

  The jailer came into the alcove. “You okay, Lieutenant?”

  “Yeah, I got this.” The jailer left.

  Wicks let go, stood back, straightened his suit coat, and adjusted his tie. “For old times I should fix this for you, but I’m not going to, Bruno. Not this time. Before anyone can help you, you have to hit rock bottom, and I don’t think you’re there yet. Not with the way you’re talking to me. You understand? I’m sorry, my friend, you got yourself into this, so you’re just going to have to pay the price.”

  I rubbed my throat and said nothing.

  He said, “And now, what I’m going to say next, I am not talking to you as a friend, I’m talking to you as a cop. Don’t go near Derek Sams or his court case. If you do, I will personally get your bail revoked for this stolen car caper and see that you get the aggravated term in Chino.”

  He turned and walked away.

  “Hey?” I said.

  He turned back. “Keep your head down, huh?” A term of endearment we used to say to each other.

  He started to come back, anger and violence in his expression.

  I waved. “Don’t. Just let it go.”

  Wicks hesitated, watching me. He turned and left.

  The jailer came back into the alcove to put me back in the cage. “Can I get my phone call now?”

  “Sure, why not?” He pointed to the pay phone on the wall. “You know the routine, dial ‘O; it’s got to be collect, pal, or not at all.”

  The guy wasn’t doing me any favors; the law mandated two calls. I waited for him to leave or to at least step back out of range. Once he did, I dialed a number I had memorized. Since all phone calls in the jail are recorded, I whispered coded words into the receiver to Black Bart.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I STEPPED OUTSIDE the back gate of the jail, never happier to breathe the fresh air of freedom. I propped Nigel up with one hand under his arm. Two and a half days without meth and he looked like a tornado had scooped him up and set him down twenty miles away, raggedy, torn, and ready to fall to pieces.

  We were arrested on Friday, and the system didn’t kick us both out until Monday afternoon. I could’ve gotten out earlier, but I needed to stay close to Nigel so he wouldn’t get eaten alive inside the human zoo. I took partial responsibility for his involvement. He’d stolen the car all on his own, but I’d been the one to arrange the meeting with the PI behind the Crazy Eight or we wouldn’t have been there.

  We were both given public defenders and arraigned in court. They released us on our own recognizance with a promise to appear at a later date. I should’ve felt worse about having a criminal record; instead more guilt piled on over missing the Monday morning court session to Derek Sams’ trial for the murder of a dope dealer, William Percy, aka Bumpy Spanks.

  Nigel made a phone call and got us a ride. After forty minutes, a young woman pulled up in an old Toyota Corolla. She looked thirty-five or so, dressed in denim jeans with holes in the knees. She wore her mouse-brown hair in a ponytail so severe it tugged back the skin from her face. She didn’t smile and only grunted for us to get in. Nigel got in the front seat. “Thanks, kiddo, I owe you
.” He leaned over to give her a quick peck on the cheek.

  With one hand, she shoved his face away. “Don’t. Who’s he? You didn’t say anything about someone else. I won’t have any of your doper friends in my car, especially … especially him.” She looked over her shoulder at me and sneered. “Get out, mister, no free rides.”

  “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but I really need this ride, and I’m willing to pay for it.” I reached into the plastic bag that contained all my property and pulled out a separate envelope with $3000.00 noted in black ink on the outside by the booking officer. Good thing that PI refused to take my money. I pulled out three bills and showed them to her. “I can pay my own way. It’s worth fifty to me.”

  She looked at the money as if it were a cheeseburger and she hadn’t eaten in a month. Then she looked at me. “You’re not one of Dad’s regular friends. You’re not a doper?”

  “I am your dad’s friend, but you’re right, I’m not a doper.” I moved my hand with the money closer. “Here. Take it, please.”

  She snatched it away. “Thanks, mister.” She turned in her seat, pulling the Corolla away from the curb and putting distance between the jail and us. Fine by me.

  Nigel said, “Karl’s a good Joe, Penny. He works at TransWorld Freightliners. He’s giving me some work. It’s piecework, sure, but it’s still work. A place to start anyway. I’m finally getting my life back together. I am, you’ll see.” The lie flowed from his mouth smooth as liquid silk.

  “Shut up, Dad. Just shut up and sit there. I had to take a half-day off work to pick you up. I said I’d never do it again and here I am doing it again.” She looked in the rearview and caught my eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. It’s just that Dad has priors, if you know what I mean?”

  “That’s okay, I understand.”

  “Where to?”

  “Sorry, but it’s a little bit of a drive to my place. Shoot over to Alameda and take it south. This time of day, that’ll be the fastest. The freeways will be jammed already.”

  We drove, and for a little while, no one spoke. Nigel had withdrawal symptoms; his hands shook and his facial muscles twitched. He put his head against the window and eased down a little in his seat. He closed his eyes, his lids fluttered, the picture of someone in the throes of night terrors.

  Penny maneuvered through the afternoon traffic and spoke over her shoulder. “It wasn’t always like this. Dad used to work for Boeing. He had a great job as an aerospace engineer. We had a nice … a nice life. Until he lost it all.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that, his house, his family, everything, gone. Dope ate it all. That stuff is insidious.”

  “Hey, kiddo, I’m sitting right here.” He didn’t open his eyes when he spoke. He’d heard it too often. Her disparaging words no longer carried the same sharp-edged bite.

  But for me, what she said did pile on another layer of guilt. I wasn’t Nigel’s friend, not really. I was only using him as a conduit into a criminal life where I didn’t have access.

  I’d heard his story, or ones just like it, again and again throughout my years in law enforcement: coke, heroin, meth, and ruined lives. Not just the users but entire families were impacted for decades to come. South of the border, hundreds of thousands of people died and continue to die over the United States’ gluttony for drugs. Sometimes I thought it might be better to just legalize all drugs. That way only the person who made the poor choice would take the hit. Legalize it, tax it, and put all the money toward rehabilitation. Society would be better served.

  But my worldview was tainted now. Drugs had stolen my little girl from me, along with my grandson.

  From Friday to Monday afternoon, I could only catnap. I had to stay vigilant to the dangers in the jail. Now fatigue hung off my bones like a blanket soaked in warm water. I fought the urge to curl up and sleep. Anywhere would be fine. Only there wasn’t time. I had to get home, shower and change, and get down to Compton court to see the tail end of today’s session of the Derek Sams trial. If I hustled, I could catch the last witness for the day.

  My biggest problem right now was Dad. I’d have to explain where I’d been. He had to be worried sick. He’d be angry and justifiably so. I considered making something up, a whopper of a lie. But lies diminished Dad’s integrity, his honor. I couldn’t take much more guilt before I spun deeper into the depths of despair, unable to dig out. I would have to tell him the truth, at least a small portion of it. Later on, he’d find out the rest.

  Nigel started snoring.

  I leaned forward in an attempt to stay awake. I caught Penny’s eyes in the rearview as she watched me. “Sit back, please.”

  I stayed.

  She nodded as if she understood my decision and accepted it.

  I asked, “So where do you work?”

  She looked to the road then back. “Why?”

  “Just making conversation.”

  “I work two jobs. I’m a legal secretary during the day; and on weekends, I’m a hostess at Stars, a night club in Hollywood. I’m going to law school at night.”

  “Geez, when do you sleep?”

  “Yeah, and I need this right now like a hole in the head.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What happened? Which one of you stole the car?”

  “I’m going to let your dad tell you that one.”

  “I get it. That means he did. You seem like a nice enough person. I’m sorry he dragged you down with him. Take some advice, get as far away from him as you can.”

  A sad admonishment coming from his own daughter.

  “I like your dad.”

  “He’s a drug addict.” She checked the mirror. “Do you use?”

  “No.”

  “Addicts are good at lying.”

  “I don’t know you so there’s no reason to lie.”

  “Unless you want something you haven’t asked for.”

  “I don’t want anything but a ride home.”

  We’d made it to Alameda and headed south. “When we come to Imperial, take a right; then to Wilmington, take a left; then a left on 120th. You can let me off there, a few blocks in.”

  “Is that where you live?”

  “Close enough.” I didn’t want Nigel to know my address.

  “That’s not a very nice part of town where you live.”

  “I grew up there.”

  “What does the company you work for do? What did Dad call it, TransWorld Freightliners?”

  “It’s an import-export business that’s mostly logistical. We move things around, store it for a while, then sell when the market for that item heats up.”

  “Huh? Never heard of anything like that before.”

  “Yeah, whoever thought it up is making a fortune. I’m just a small cog in the big machine.”

  “Is Dad really working with you?”

  “He’s making some money here and there.”

  “That’s good, I guess, but he’s still using. I can smell it on him.”

  “It’s hard to kick when you’ve been at it as long and hard as he has. It’s really good of you to help him out like this, giving him a ride. Being there for him when it counts. It tells him that you still care. He needs that.”

  “You think he’ll ever come out of it? You think he’ll ever quit?”

  “There’s always hope.” I didn’t know why I said it. Hope no longer fit anywhere in my vocabulary.

  She checked her mirror and locked onto my eyes. “Why did you get arrested? Why were you in the car? You don’t seem the type.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard it before, but this time it’s the truth: wrong place, wrong time.”

  She smiled and looked as if she believed me. She had great eyes, and seeing into them gave me a glimpse of a world that used to exist and no longer did, not for me. Not until I finished what needed to be done, and maybe not even then.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TEN MINUTES LATER, she pulled over on 120th Street. I got out and stood by h
er open car window. “Thanks again for the ride. You saved me a lot of trouble.”

  Through the driver’s window, she handed me a business card for a law office down the block from CCB, the Criminal Courts Building in downtown Los Angeles. “This is where I work. My home number is on the back. If you could look out for him and let me know how he’s doing, I’d really appreciate it.” She smiled big for the first time. She stayed a half beat longer and drove off. I watched the car until it made the first turn.

  I looked at the card and played back in my mind what she’d said. A part of me wanted to think there had been a subtext to her request, that we’d somehow, in that short car ride, connected. I looked down the street where the car had made the turn, then back at the card. I crumpled it up and let it drop in the gutter.

  Twenty minutes later, I opened the door to our house on Nord. Junior Mint, Olivia’s big dog, jumped me and wanted to play. He was a real handful, a hundred pounds of pure muscle. I got down on the floor and wrestled with him until I ran out of steam and called it quits. He’d play all day if I let him. I opened the back door to let him out in the yard to do his business. He wouldn’t go until I stepped out on the porch. He had an unwarranted fear I’d close the door and lock him out of my life. He’d only started acting that way after Olivia passed.

  He moved around sniffing the shrubs and trees out back. Olivia loved Junior, and to see him and to touch him reminded me so much of her it continued to bring burning tears to my eyes. He had the red bandana tied to his collar that she put there. I’d never take it off. I’d given him to her when he was just a pup. Back then, almost three years ago, he was small and fluffy and mostly black with a tinge of brown. He had huge paws. The first time she saw him, her face glowed with genuine joy. She held him up to look at him. “He looks just like one of those Junior Mint candies. I’m going to call him Junior Mint.” She brought the puppy in close and let him lick her face. She giggled. I could still hear that wonderful sound and hoped like hell time wouldn’t diminish the memory.