Intended Target

by G. K. Parks

  “That’s not it.” I blinked a few times, wishing Martin wasn’t a morning person. Arguments and discussions should only occur after noon and numerous cups of coffee. Not before. “Everything’s different, but it’s the same. I can’t get out of the quicksand. The harder I try, the faster I sink.”

  “What?” My metaphor confused him.

  “I thought by moving in I could keep you safe.” I swallowed and tugged on the sleeve of his t-shirt, exposing the faded bruise and his scar. “That’s because of me. All of this shit is because of me. I convinced myself that things would be different once I moved in, but they aren’t. At some point, something horrible will happen again, and I don’t know how to stop it. That’s why I started sleeping downstairs, but you ruined that, which is why you had to promise that you wouldn’t let me hurt you.”

  “Alex,” he sighed, “I get it.”

  Biting my lip, I struggled to come up with a response. “Then what’s the solution?”

  “I don’t know.” He opened his arms, beckoning, and I hugged him as a sort of quasi-apology. “I wish you never left Martin Technologies.”

  “Too late now.”

  “We’ll have to figure out some way to make this work. You’ve been stuck in this uncomfortable state of flux for too long, and it’s making us both miserable.”

  “Well, misery loves company,” I mumbled. “But right now, we need to go back to sleep because this is a horrible start to our day together, and I want a redo.”

  When I woke up again, I wasn’t sure if our fight actually happened or if it was a dream. Most of our fights involved screaming and property damage, so this was tame. Maybe I dreamt it. Either way, I was capable of being more compassionate and understanding. Talking wasn’t one of my strong suits, but I was willing to work on it.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” Martin said when I turned to face him.

  “Please tell me we aren’t moving on to round two. I would like to be conscious for part of the day, but I’ll stay asleep to avoid another confrontation.”

  “I said my piece.” He brushed his lips against mine. “Where did we land on breakfast in bed?”

  “I’m not opposed.”

  “Great, I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll be here.” When he returned a few minutes later, I eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is that banana bread?”

  “And fruit salad.” He put the tray on top of the bed and sat down.

  I picked up the glass and took a sip. “That’s not orange juice.”

  “Why would I put orange juice in a champagne flute?” He took a sip of his own mimosa and stabbed a slice of grapefruit. “What would you like to do today?”

  “Apparently go into a sugar coma.” I nibbled on the bread. “Oh my god, this alone is enough to ensure that I’ll never leave again.”

  “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment rather than an insult.”

  I made a show of looking around the room. “Well, since you didn’t fulfill my request for a TV, I guess we’ll have to talk.” By the time I shut up, we’d finished breakfast, the entire bottle of champagne, had a light lunch, and it was getting dark out. Everything that hadn’t been said, regardless of how insignificant, was out there, and Martin looked like a kid in a candy store. “Are you happy now?”

  “Yes.” He grinned. “I know I said I wanted a weekend in bed, but I feel like celebrating. It isn’t every day that I win my girlfriend back from the U.S. government, even if it’s only for the next twelve hours.”

  Martin made a few calls and strongly suggested that I wear something elegant. Then we spent a few hours taking a private tour of an art gallery and enjoying a privately catered dinner on a rooftop overlooking the city. It was breathtaking and the most extravagant thing we’d done in quite some time. Close to midnight, we returned home.

  While Martin puttered around the kitchen, I went into the second floor guest suite, planning to give my notes the quick once-over before showing up at the federal building tomorrow. Inside, the room had been transformed into almost an exact replica of my living room. In fact, it was so precise, the furniture even matched, down to the scuff mark on my coffee table.

  “Martin,” I called.

  He appeared behind me. “Surprise,” he said, sounding sheepish. “Before you freak out, I can move it back if you don’t like it.”

  “You stole my furniture?” I went into the adjoining room, expecting to find my bedroom set shoved in the corner with my dining room table on the opposite side. Instead, the bed that had already been in the suite was moved. The main area was arranged in the exact same order as my living room with my couch, desk, love seat, coffee table, entertainment center, TV, bookcases, and all of my belongings where they were at home. “Why would you do this?”

  “Since you love your apartment and didn’t want to make this your home, I brought your apartment here. Your dresser didn’t match mine, so I left it and your bed. However, we can redo our bedroom if you want.” He looked at the bed that had been in the room. “I left that here just in case you ever need a break from the fourth floor.”

  “I always knew your guest suite was bigger than my place.” I sat down on my couch, feeling strangely at home and in the Twilight Zone at the same time. “I’m still keeping my place for my own sanity and for when I have a dangerous assignment, so where am I going to sit or work when I’m there?”

  “I bought new stuff for your place. Well, originally I bought it for us to use here, but I thought you’d like this better. Do you?”

  I stood and went into the bathroom. Thankfully, he hadn’t ripped out my vanity or cabinet, and the towels and toiletries were the same as what was in here the last time I checked.

  “When did you do this?”

  “Friday. Marcal’s been overseeing the move. It’s why I wanted to keep you upstairs this weekend.”

  “Where are my notes? My work is sensitive.”

  “I know.” He led the way into the office. “I moved everything in here during the move. It’s in the same order. It’s just in a different location. I was going to move it back sometime today, but we were reconnecting. No pun intended.” He grinned. “Say something, Alex.”

  “You love me.” I sounded dumbfounded on account of being completely awestruck.

  “You just figured that out? Obviously, I don’t say it enough.” He enveloped me in his arms. “Do you like it, or do I call the movers to replace everything tomorrow?”

  “I can’t believe you did this. Everything,” I went back into the guest suite, “is in the same place where I had it. It’s incredible.” I sat on the couch, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down next to me. “You’ll do anything to get invited to my place, won’t you?” I reached for the remote and flipped on the television. “The TV even works.”

  “Speaking of TV, I have something else to show you upstairs.”

  “Oh, I have something to show you, right here,” I purred.

  “Upstairs first,” he insisted, dragging me off the couch and up the steps. “I couldn’t figure out why you wanted a TV in the bedroom when you didn’t even have one in your bedroom at home, and then I figured it was for one of two reasons. Either it was because you can’t sleep when I’m working late or away, or it was so you could monitor my home security system.” He had left a gift box on the dresser. Inside was a tablet and stand. It was preloaded with my favorite movies, television shows, and every streaming subscription service available. It also connected directly to the home security system, which was the real reason I wanted a television in the bedroom. “This way, you can watch whatever you want, any time you want, and it won’t disturb me if I’m asleep beside you.”

  “Thank you.” There was so much I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

  “Say you’ll stay. Say that moving in together wasn’t a mistake.”

  “How can I possibly leave now? My apartment’s downstairs, and you’ve given me all kinds of neat toys to play with.” I shook my head. “It’s too much. You ca
n’t keep spoiling me like this. I haven’t given you anything.”

  “That’s not true. You spent the day reintroducing me to my girlfriend. I’ve missed her. But don’t disappear again because I’m out of romantic gestures.”

  Thirty-eight

  “Good morning,” I greeted when Agent Lucca stepped into the conference room. “I’ve been thinking, and I’m positive we can get Facini to crack. Also, I phoned the district attorney’s office to see what they planned to do with Gavin Levere. Once the PD concludes its investigation, they’re considering bringing him up on manslaughter charges, but they’re willing to cut him a deal if he can provide valuable testimony to us for the murder of Assistant U.S. Attorney Weaver. And after reviewing everything and speaking with Detective O’Connell, we’ve concluded that Tim Coker’s involved. He has to be. He’s the only connecting piece.” I flipped through the ballistics and forensic reports. “I like Philip Dennison for the shooting. The forensics doesn’t necessarily lead to him, but it doesn’t disprove he’s our killer either. We need a confession or some damning corroboration from the other involved parties.”

  “Someone’s in a good mood,” Lucca said, leaning over my shoulder and scanning the papers. “Is this what happens when you make me work on a Sunday while you stay home?”

  “Yep. Oh, and I checked in with our surveillance units. Brad’s been hanging out at a cheap motel and going to work. He looks clean. The unit on the Greenwoods hasn’t noticed any unusual activity either. Hell, we might be able to get them to turn on Coker if your assessment’s accurate.”

  “My assessments normally are. The Greenwoods want to take over Coker’s gym or his client base, so if they aren’t involved in blackmail or murder, there’s no reason not to reward them,” Lucca declared.

  “Fine, you wave the carrot around. I’ll carry the stick. It’s obvious you shouldn’t possess any type of weaponry, regardless of how rudimentary.” I cracked a smile. “So that’s my agenda for the day. Where do you want to start?”

  “I want to start by asking what you’ve done with Agent Parker.” He lifted my coffee cup, finding it filled. “How many of these have you had?”

  “One.” I jerked my chin toward the mug near the empty chair. “Yours is over there.”

  “Um, thanks.” He took a seat. “Let’s start by getting Levere down here. We’ll talk to him about the gambling and any instructions he was given concerning his fight with Santos. With any luck, he’ll be able to point a finger at Dennison and maybe Coker. Then we’ll move on to Facini. Depending on how things go, we’ll either bring in the Greenwoods at that point or go straight for the big dog, and we’ll end by making our move against Dennison.”

  “The only snag is Mr. Harper. He’ll see what we’re doing and keep his clients quiet.”

  “Not if Levere and Facini have someone else representing them.”

  “Do they?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, you’d know the answer to that if you had been here yesterday.” He collected the files and went to the door. “I’ll phone for a transfer, check again with our techs upstairs and the accountants, and I’ll meet you inside the interrogation room.”

  Maybe hell had frozen over because Lucca and I were actually on the same page. More accurately, I was through screwing around and getting screwed in the process. Since this case started, I’d been saying it needed to end. The pieces were spread out on the table. The only thing left to do was assemble them into the perfect picture.

  On my way to the conference room, I passed Jablonsky in the hallway. He offered a good morning as he continued to his destination, and I brushed Martin’s warning aside for the moment. I had too much to think about without his paranoia getting inside my head. I knew Mark. I had trusted him with my life on numerous occasions. He wasn’t the antichrist, despite what Martin might think.

  While I arranged the interrogation room and made sure the recording equipment was functioning, Lucca made the transfer request. Gavin Levere had been in police custody since Jack Fletcher’s assault. Even though Fletcher planned to drop the charges, the police department had every reason to hold Levere while they concluded Hector Santos’ autopsy. While Santos’ death did not appear to be caused by premeditated murder, the blunt force trauma that Levere delivered during the fight might be directly linked.

  “Mr. Levere,” I said, nodding at the agent that escorted him into the room, “we meet again.”

  “This is bullshit,” Levere snapped. “I didn’t kill Hector, and I was told the assault charges were being dropped. What the hell is any of this about?”

  “Do you have that carrot handy?” I asked Lucca. “Or should I hit him with the big stick?”

  “You are aware of your rights, Mr. Levere,” Lucca said, probably wondering if I’d really hit Levere, “so I’m not gonna waste your time reminding you what they are and what penalties you might be facing. Here’s the truth. We’re in a bind. Three people have died because of these fights, and I’m not talking about what went on inside the ring. If you have any knowledge of why these deaths might have occurred, you should come clean now. I’m prepared to petition the district attorney’s office to drop all charges against you, but that’s only if you help us.”

  He snorted. “This is another trick.” He focused on me. “You offered a deal before, but I’ve been stuck in custody ever since.”

  “Are you aware that placing bets and gambling is illegal without the proper licensing?” I asked, refusing to let his accusations goad me. I held up my hand before he could protest that he never partook in any such activity. “Having established this fact, are you aware of any illegal activity that may have occurred at the boxing matches or outside the boxing matches?”

  “It’s a sport. People wager. That has nothing to do with me,” Levere insisted.

  “It might. Were you ever asked to take a dive?” Lucca asked, and Levere looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Did your coach ever ask you to take a dive?”

  “You aren’t supposed to be speaking to me without my attorney present,” Levere said, apparently having earned his law degree while in central booking.

  “Do you really want Mr. Harper here for this?” I stood, circling the table. “His interests reside with the man paying his fee, and I’m positive that he wouldn’t want you to implicate that person.”

  Levere looked at Lucca. “What’s in it for me? Are you serious about having the charges dropped? I didn’t kill Hector. We fought. I never meant to hurt him that badly.”

  “Except you did,” I muttered.

  Lucca tossed a warning look in my direction and sat in front of Levere. “I watched the fight, and I’ve read your stats. You should have lost.”

  “I didn’t want to lose. I’m tired of losing.” Levere sighed. “I want the deal in writing and signed by the district attorney himself before I say anything else.”

  “How do we know you have anything we want to hear?” I challenged.

  “Coach Coker wanted me to throw the fight, and I can name two other people that heard him say it. Hector wasn’t expecting what he got. I don’t think he knew the matches were rigged. Shit, even Coach started calling out the combos to give Hector a fighting chance, but he wasn’t listening.” He sniffed and looked away. “Hector and I were supposed to go out for burgers afterward, but we never got the chance.” Levere looked into my eyes. “We weren’t enemies. That was just hype. We trained together. We were buddies. I never meant for him to get hurt like that.”

  Finally, some remorse and honesty. It was what I’d been waiting for since this started. I nodded to Lucca, and he pulled the paperwork out of his breast pocket. The deal had already been signed. We just had to make sure we had a willing party.

  When Gavin Levere was finished spilling his guts, a junior agent accompanied him back to central booking. He’d be free soon enough, which meant we had to get the rest of our ducks in a row before word spread. Lucca radioed the surveillance unit to bring in Ron and Linka Greenwood, the two witnes
ses that were present when Coker instructed Levere to throw the fight.

  “I feel like I need a shower,” I said, heading back to the conference room, “but it’d be pointless since the sleaze factor is about to get worse.”

  “You do realize this doesn’t put us any closer to identifying the shooter, which is the entire point of our investigation,” Lucca said. “The killer is still seven moves ahead.”

  “It’ll work out. We’re playing dominos, not chess. It doesn’t matter how far ahead he is. When the pieces start falling, they’ll be no way he can avoid getting crushed.”

  “Are you really that certain Philip Dennison is our shooter?”

  “I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  “That isn’t saying much,” Lucca retorted, immediately looking like he regretted the dig. “Sorry, I was out of line. You actually have a stellar reputation, Parker. Commendations, meritorious service award, your work speaks for itself. Anyone would be lucky to work with you.”

  I shoved Lucca into the wall of the empty conference room. “Whatever you think you know, you don’t. Whatever Jablonsky said to you or let you read on Thursday, just pretend that didn’t happen. You don’t like me. I don’t like you. We bitch at one another, and somehow, we get the case solved. You do your thing, and I do mine. Don’t be a pussy. I don’t want or need your pity.” I let go of his shirt front and stalked across the room. “You just had to ruin my good mood, didn’t you? Next, you’ll probably pull out your taser and shock me again just for the hell of it.”

  “That could be fun.”

  “If you’re so keen on shocking someone, go surprise Facini with our newfound knowledge. He needs to pave the way to Dennison. I’ll talk to the Greenwoods when they get here. We’ll share our knowledge at lunchtime,” I glared at him, “and you’re buying.”

  Lucca opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but instead, he bowed his head and went out the door and down the hall. Taking a deep breath, I glanced at my scribbles and went to wait for Ron and Linka. In the interim, I phoned the precinct. Detective Thompson answered, and I updated him on the fight and Levere’s pending release.