Brazen Violations

by Jonathan Macpherson

  “It costs a million of dollars.”

  “Wow, that is expensive. I bet your mom and your uncle tried real hard to get that money for you, didn’t they?”

  “Yeah. Uncle Mitch even sold his car.”

  “That was nice of him. So, what is your... do you have cancer, or...?”

  “Leukemia.”

  “Right. Hey listen, Peter, would you mind if I took a photo with you?”

  “Okay.”

  Betts squatted beside the wheelchair, his cell phone in hand, and took a selfie with Peter.

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  A middle-aged man wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase stopped beside them.

  “Is the boy a suspect?”

  “No, who’s asking?” Betts said.

  “So why the photo?”

  “You must be the lawyer. I’m Detective Betts,” he said, offering a handshake.

  “Richard Cheeseman,” he said, ignoring Betts’ open hand.

  “Richard. Can I call you Dick?”

  “No, you may not.”

  “Shame. Dick Cheeseman’s got a ring to it, hasn’t it? I’ll be seeing you. See you later, Peter.”

  Peter smiled. Betts gave him a friendly wink and walked down the hospital corridor, his mind ticking over.

  Cheeseman signed his name in the guest book, then strutted into Mitch’s room.

  ***

  “They say he’s got three months at the most,” Lauren said, before noticing Cheeseman.

  “This is my lawyer, Richard,” Mitch said. “This is my sister…”

  “Lauren,” said Cheeseman, offering a smile.

  “Yes, how did you…” she said.

  “I saw your name on the guest book. I’m terribly sorry, but I must ask you to leave.”

  Lauren nodded, kissed Mitch on the cheek. “I’ll come back later,” she said and walked out.

  “What did you say to the police?”

  “I said I had no idea I was being used as a mule.”

  “I instructed you not to say anything unless I was present.”

  “Yeah, well, I figure if I’m innocent I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “That’s playing right into their hands, you’ve got to trust me on this. Do not speak to them unless I’m here. Understood?”

  “Okay, okay. Lose the tone.”

  Cheeseman placed his briefcase on a chair and took out an electronic device – a bug sweeper. He scanned the room with it.

  “You think they would bug the room?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past these pricks. It’s clean,” he said, and put the device back in the briefcase. “I’ve been approached by your business associates, the ones in the importing business.”

  “What? You mean Doc?”

  “His associates.”

  “How did they find you?”

  “It wouldn’t be that difficult, they’re probably keeping an eye on the hospital.”

  Mitch didn’t like the sound of that. He had no idea he was in business with anyone other than Doc. To discover Doc had associates watching the hospital was unnerving. “And?”

  “They weren’t happy about you getting yourself arrested.”

  “Screw them, that quack should have done a better job stitching me up. I had an allergic reaction to the stitches.”

  “Anyway, it’s going to be okay. They assured me that as long as you stick to your story about the motorcycle accident and the operation, they’ll write this off as lost product.”

  “What about their end of the bargain, did they mention that?”

  “They said the arrangement has changed, in light of what’s happened. They are willing to sell it to you at a discounted rate.”

  “They want me to pay for it?”

  “Yes, seeing as you didn’t come through for them.”

  “How much?”

  “One hundred thousand. Apparently that’s a considerable discount.”

  “A hundred grand!? I can’t afford that, that’s why I went through all of this shit in the first place!”

  “Please keep your voice down.”

  “I’m keeping my mouth shut, protecting them. That ought to be enough!”

  “Apparently it’s not.”

  “Sixty grand is all I’ve got.”

  “They made it very clear they were not willing to negotiate. Said something along the lines of you being grateful to still be in business with them after messing things up.”

  “Did you even try to negotiate? You’re a lawyer, for fuck sake!”

  “I was concerned for my own safety. I still am, quite frankly. I’m not accustomed to being accosted by underworld thugs, and I don’t appreciate being put in that position.”

  “You’re a criminal lawyer, shouldn’t you be used to it?”

  “Being physically threatened is not part of the job!”

  “Alright, take it easy.”

  “Believe me, I did everything possible to further your interests. My best advice to you is to accept their terms and not make a fuss.”

  “Accept their terms? Screw them, I can go rob a pharmacy. I don’t need to pay these pricks.”

  “Ah, actually, that’s not the way they see it.”

  “What?”

  “They have acquired the product and, as far they’re concerned, you placed the order and you have to pay for it. It seems they’ve got a no cancellations policy.”

  Mitch’s mouth dropped open slightly, his eyes widening. Being indebted to underworld thugs was not what he had had in mind when he accepted Doc’s proposal.

  “I’m sorry, Mitch, I’m actually on my way to court. I just popped in to give you an update.”

  Mitch lay silently gazing at the wall, still trying to gauge the depths of the shit he had waded into.

  “I’ll be in touch soon,” Cheeseman said and walked out.

  ***

  Outside the door Cheeseman leaned over the guest book to sign out. He held his fountain pen over the book and clicked the button. Inside the tip of the pen, a tiny light flashed, unnoticed by the officer on duty. Cheeseman signed the book and left.

  Chapter 9

  Betts walked along the hospital corridor, passing a doctor. He stopped and turned back.

  “Excuse me, Doctor.”

  The doctor turned. “Yes?” he said, a pained look on his face.

  “Detective Betts,” he said, showing his badge.

  “Yes, yes, what do you want?”

  “Can you tell me, is there a leukemia treatment that costs in the vicinity of a million dollars?”

  “How the bloody hell would I know?” the doctor said with an accent that was clearly upper class British.

  “You’re a doctor aren’t you?”

  “I’m an opthamologist, not an oncologist.”

  “Okay. Yeah. Well, it’s a shame you’re not a proctologist, then you might be able to pull your head out of your ass.”

  Betts headed for the lifts.

  As Betts passed the pharmacy on the ground floor it occurred to him that that would be the best place to enquire about expensive treatments. The pharmacist, an attractive young woman, was far more accommodating than the doctor.

  “I don’t know of a million dollar treatment. There is a new course of treatment that costs about a hundred and thirty thousand dollars.”

  “Expensive.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. What’s it called?”

  “Rituxan is the principal drug.”

  “Would you mind writing that down for me?”

  “I can do that,” she said, taking out a pen.

  Chapter 10

  In a conference room inside the Rampart Station of the Los Angeles Police Department, Detectives Betts and Forrest and Captain Braun were standing by a cork crime board with photos pinned to it in a pattern that resembled a family tree. They included security camera photos of the truck hijacking, the crash scene, a shot of Sheryl’s bloody corpse, a close up of her severed hand, a box of medicine marked Rituxan, and the m
asked men fleeing the scene.

  On the opposite side of the board was a mug shot of Mitch Walker in hospital, and the satchel of heroin. All the pictures were linked to an X that was marked at top center of the board.

  Beside the picture of Mitch, Betts pinned a print out of the selfie he’d taken of the nephew Peter, with his own image cropped out of the photo.

  “I’m almost certain that these meds, this Rituxan stuff, is the drug the boy needs. It’s for treatment of a rare form of leukemia, and there’s a very low demand, high price for this stuff, which is why it’s not subsidized.”

  “So you’re suggesting this crew took the Rituxan to pay Walker in return for the heroin?” Braun asked.

  “It fits, doesn’t it?” Betts said.

  “Maybe. But you’re not one hundred percent certain that Rituxan is what the kid needs,” said Braun.

  “I can find out easy enough,” said Betts.

  “Even if it is the same drug, it’s a long shot,” Forrest said.

  “It makes perfect sense. The alternative is we got a model citizen, with a bravery award for fighting crime, suddenly becoming a drug mule, risking his neck for less than a hundred grand’s worth of dope, which he would have no idea how to move on the street.” Betts said. “Walker is close to his sister and the kid. I’ve seen them. I have no doubt his motive was saving the kid.”

  “So what’s going to happen to the kid if he doesn’t get the drugs?” Forrest asked.

  “He won’t make it. The poor kid is already resigned to that fact.”

  “Unbelievable,” Forrest said. “I wouldn’t stand by and let my nephew die either.”

  “We’re agreed it’s a tragedy,” said Braun, “but let’s not lose sight of our job here, fellas. We got a homicide, three drug mules, and a probable heroin importation ring. You need to go back to hospital,” Braun said to Betts, “and see if you can actually get him to talk this time. Think you can manage that, or should I send Forrest?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Forrest, “no problem.”

  “I’m on it,” Betts said. “How you going with the truck heist? Still clueless?”

  “It’s got Canella written all over it. She’s quarterbacked more than a few heists,” Forrest said.

  “Allegedly,” said Braun.

  “Yeah, and my cock is allegedly the biggest in the building,” said Forrest.

  “According to who, your boyfriend?” asked Braun.

  “According to your mother.”

  “Show me what you got on Canella,” Betts said.

  Forrest nodded and led the way to his desk where he dug out a file and handed it over. Betts shuffled through the notes and photographs on Canella, a middle-aged, powerfully built lady who would be attractive, if not for her facial scars.

  “What happened to her?” Betts said.

  “Sucked off a sawn-off, who knows?” said Forrest. “Canella is in charge of a syndicate. Despite appearances, she’s respected by some heavy-hitters. She’s been suspected of involvement in at least eleven murders, the importing and distribution of illegal automatic weapons, orchestrating the robbery of armored vehicles, and the importation and distribution of narcotics. So guess how many times she’s been convicted?” asked Forrest.

  “I’d say it’s on the low end,” said Betts.

  “Zip.”

  “Got a good lawyer, no doubt.”

  “Yeah, and a unique ability to make witnesses disappear.”

  “A magician, huh. Who’s this Cakes guy?” asked Betts, picking up another file and reading.

  “Sammy ‘Cakes’ Canella is her son. He’s a stand-over guy with a sweet tooth,” said Forrest. “One murder conviction. Apparently he rammed a guy’s head through a cake cabinet, held his throat against the broken glass, reached in for a cake and ate it while the victim bled to death. He was released after nine years on good behavior.”

  “No doubt reformed.”

  “He’s still got a sweet tooth, if that’s what you mean. The other member of this triumvirate is Arthur ‘Doc’ Roberts, a former medical practitioner, de-registered for stealing large quantities of morphine, which he was alleged to have sold on the street. He was also charged with fraudulently operating as a plastic surgeon, performing surgery on women and seriously messing up their tits.”

  Betts looked over some pictures of the hideous breast implants.

  “Damn, is that a breast? Looks more like an Ugg Boot.”

  “It’s an Ugg-boob,” Forrest said, chuckling. “None of the women testified and the charges were dropped.”

  “Another magician,” said Betts.

  “Pity he couldn’t work any magic on those boobs,” said Forrest.

  “Let’s check the good doctor’s recent travel history.”

  “Allow me,” said Forrest, and sat down at the computer. He logged into the criminal database, quickly found Arthur Roberts’ file. “He left Los Angeles for Jakarta on the fourth, returned on the sixth.”

  “Same as our boy, Walker,” said Betts. “What a surprise.”

  “Dumb kid, getting mixed up with this crew. Still, you got to feel for the guy.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Going through all that hell to save his nephew. Kind of honorable, don’t you think?”

  “I hope you’re joking,” Betts said.

  “Don’t you feel for him? Just a little?”

  “I don’t feel for deadbeats.”

  Chapter 11

  Mitch was having his head dressing changed when Betts walked into the room carrying an electronic tablet.

  “How are you today?”

  “If you’re going to question me I’ll need to have my lawyer present.”

  “I’m not here to question you. I just want to show you a video. You nearly finished, Ma’am?” he asked the nurse. She nodded, wrapped up the bandage and left the room.

  “Here,” Betts said, putting the tablet in front of Mitch and opening the internet. There was a video, cued up and ready. He hit the onscreen button and the news story played.

  “I’ve already seen the news,” Mitch said.

  “Just watch it.”

  Mitch watched as the story unfolded about Sheryl Bradshaw, a mother of two, killed when her truck was robbed by armed bandits. Images taken from CCTV cameras showed the masked bandits hijacking the truck and the violence that followed.

  “It is believed the culprits took a shipment of a rare and extremely expensive drug used for treating leukemia, said to be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Police say this narrows down the list of suspects considerably and believe it is only a matter of time…” Betts switched it off.

  “Single mother, two kids, about the same age as your nephew. Now without a mother.”

  Mitch squirmed in his bed.

  “What, did you think this was going to be a victimless crime?”

  Mitch turned away, a pained look on his face. Being involved in the heroin trade, it was no surprise to Mitch that Doc was associated with criminals. But he had assumed Doc would be able to get the drugs through a medical connection.

  “I’ve been in this game long enough to know hard core, irredeemable, scumbag criminals when I see them. You’re not one them…yet. I bet you had no idea your actions would result in a carjacking and the death of an innocent mother.”

  “You think I had something to do with that?”

  “Don’t play games with me, alright. I’m aware of your nephew’s leukemia, about the meds he needs, the Rituxan.”

  Mitch looked across the room.

  “Come on. A three-year-old could connect the dots here. You went to this shady quack, who promised you the Rituxan in return for importing a little product for him. You thought you were doing the right thing; couldn’t see any other way. I get it. But because of your decision, Sheryl Bradshaw is dead. Two of my guys had to go and explain to her kids, four and five years old, that their mom is not coming back.”

  Those fucking animals, Mitch thought. Why did they have to k
ill? I could have robbed her myself and nobody would have been hurt. And Peter is no better off.

  “Maybe you didn’t know who you were dealing with. This Doc guy, he’s a member of an extremely violent crime syndicate. This kind of stuff is a walk in the park for him. So here it is, two choices: you co-operate, you do less time, we put these guys away; or you keep your mouth shut and protect these animals. We’ll soon collect enough evidence, and you’ll be looking at heroin trafficking and accessory to murder. About thirty five years. But even if you keep your mouth shut, Doc will assume you’re going to talk. He’s got absolutely no reason to trust you. I think we both know what that means.”

  “Seeing as I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no clue what it means.”

  “It means he’ll get to you before you set foot in a courtroom. Whether that be in here, or in prison. He’ll take you out somehow.”

  Betts could see this was not having the desired impact on Mitch. He wasn’t surprised. The guy probably felt so guilty about Sheryl Bradshaw he might have wanted to be punished. But that wouldn’t help Betts. He had to push the kid, compel him to co-operate.

  “He won’t stop there, either. He’ll know your sister has been visiting. He’ll assume you’ve told her everything. Won’t risk letting her off the hook. And you’re nephew, Peter... well, I don’t think he’s got much time left anyway.”

  Mitch glared at Betts. “You’re really going all out, aren’t you?”

  “I’m being straight with you. We can protect Lauren and Peter. If you co-operate.”

  Mitch twisted in his bed, the pain in his head returning. He hit the button on his IV drip, administering more morphine into his system. His mind raced with images of Sheryl Bradshaw’s violent death, her orphaned kids, Lauren and Peter, the masked gunmen.

  “I’m talking about round the clock protection for your sister and nephew,” Betts said.

  Chapter 12

  Cheeseman parked his car outside the smash repairs workshop and sat still for a moment, filled with dread. He had been working with all manner of criminals for years, but he was still uneasy dealing with sociopathic killers. Doc was definitely sociopathic, and though he hadn’t met Doc’s family, he was expecting the same, or worse. Getting out of the car is always the hardest part. Once you get out you’ll be fine. He took a deep breath, put his game face on, stepped out and walked towards the workshop.