“Thank you Detective,” Lauren said, caressing Peter’s back as his body violently convulsed. “You told me to leave my son behind next time I went to a drug deal,” she said.
“That was out of line, I didn’t...”
“Well, just so you know, if it meant saving his life, I’d do just about any crime you could mention. And so would my brother.”
Betts nodded and walked back to his car. He watched Peter as he reversed down the drive, the kid still vomiting. Betts drove away.
Chapter 38
It was evening when Betts arrived at his apartment. Inside, he was greeted with a kiss by his girlfriend, Yasmine, a sultry ex-cop turned personal trainer. Betts wasn’t sure about his relationship with Yasmine. Like him, she was divorced, had no kids, and had a cynical view of the world. Betts had a feeling that two cynics was probably not an ideal pairing, but he was prepared to explore the relationship.
“How’s things?”
“Fine,’ he said and went to fridge. He grabbed a cider and noticed a pot of green and brown casserole sitting on the bench. “Christ, what is that?” Betts said.
“Persian lentil casserole, very good for your digestion,” she said.
“Yeah, looks like it’s been digested a few times already.”
“You’re hilarious. I’ve made a pot of the stuff, and you’re going to try it, okay?”
“We’ll see. No promises,” he said.
“Fucking clients,” Yasmine said, “I had three bail on me today. That’s three unpaid hours.”
“You don’t charge them?”
“Not if I want to keep them. Anyway, I got a make-up session at six o’clock tomorrow in the park. I was thinking I might stay here tonight, save fighting traffic in the morning.”
“Yeah, no worries,” Betts said. He sat down and turned up the volume on the TV.
“Thanks, babe,” she said, and sat beside him with a bowl of casserole. “So what’s going on with you?” He looked at the bowl of murky stuff and closed his eyes.
“You know what, I forgot something very important. I gotta go,” he said.
“What the hell?”
“Sorry, Yas, don’t wait up,” he said and walked back out the door.
***
It was after 8pm when Betts arrived back at work. He went to the evidence room, located the stockpile of Rituxan, took a large box of it and signed it out. The cop at the counter looked casually over the box and noted on the computer log that it contained eighteen individual boxes. Betts carried the box back to his desk, and placed it beside his computer monitor, next to a six-pack of bottled water. He glanced up at the camera that was mounted on a nearby wall, satisfied that the monitor obstructed the bottles from its view. He paused for a moment and shook his head slightly, surprised that he was actually going through with this. It was so foreign, so…wrong. Then he pictured Peter, vomiting in the driveway. Writhing in pain. Slowly but surely dying.
Betts took six packages of Rituxan and removed the 500 mg plastic bottles, filled with the clear, life-saving liquid medicine. He replaced them with the bottled water, stashing the medicine in a sports bag. He put the boxes with water in the middle of the large box.
When he checked the box back into the evidence room, the cop at the counter opened it to see the individual boxes were still inside. He checked it in. No questions asked.
***
Later that night Betts returned to Lauren’s apartment, where he found the squad car parked on the street nearby. He drove up beside the vehicle and showed his badge to the uniformed officer behind the wheel.
“She left some of her belongings at the station,” Betts said, “just returning them.”
“No worries,” the cop said.
Betts parked in the driveway and carried the sports bag to her front door. He rang the doorbell and soon enough, she answered, in her nightgown.
“Hi, sorry to bother you so late,” he said.
“What is it, what’s happened?” she asked, wide eyed.
“Nothing, there’s nothing to be alarmed about. It’s just, you left something at the station,” he said.
“No, I didn’t,” she said.
“Yeah you did. Please take it.”
“What is this? What are you trying to do?”
“Please, I’m just trying to help,” he said. “That medicine you were trying to buy illegally today, well, I took some of it. You can have it. For Peter,” he said, holding out the bag.
“Why?”
“We’re being watched by a police officer, I’d appreciate it if you would just take it and say thanks.”
“Is this a trap?” she asked.
“No, it’s not a trap. It was only going to be destroyed. No sense in that, right?”
She hesitated for a moment, then accepted the bag.
“I have no idea how long that’s going to last, but if you need any more, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I hope it helps.”
She watched him in disbelief as he walked back to his car. Betts waved to the cop as he climbed into his car, surprised at his racing pulse. He had never crossed the line before, never accepted a bribe or anything for personal gain; not even contemplated it. But the kid’s life was at stake. He understood Mitch’s actions, though if it were him, he would have found an alternative, anything had to be better than importing heroin. But obviously, in Mitch’s mind, that was the last option available to him. Had to be. You don’t risk your life smuggling H out of Indonesia unless you believe there is no alternative. Stupid guy, he thought, shaking his head as he drove away.
Chapter 39
It was mid-morning and Doc was sitting in a crowded city bus, aware that he was being followed by an unmarked police vehicle, as expected. The bus pulled up at a stop on a busy street in the heart of Los Angeles, and most of the passengers disembarked, including Doc.
The cop sat in the unmarked car at the red light, watching helplessly as the crowd flooded the pedestrian crossing. He spotted Doc maneuvering his way across to the adjoining shopping precinct, which was accessible only by foot. The cop put his lights on and the crowd dispersed, allowing him to head down the busy pedestrian street. Surrounded by shoppers, he didn’t get far, and was forced to stop. He caught a glimpse of Doc just as he disappeared in the crowd.
***
Doc walked along the alley then turned into a shopping arcade. He passed through to another alleyway, where a van was waiting for him, door open. He climbed in, slid the door shut and sat down.
“All good?” Cakes asked, sitting behind the wheel.
“Yep,” Doc said.
As they drove out of the city, Doc occasionally looked through the tinted windows for any sign they were being followed. But they made it all the way back to Canella’s Smash Repairs without a hitch, and Doc didn’t get out of the vehicle until they were safely inside the workshop, roller doors down.
***
In the basement den, Carmen Canella, Cakes and Doc sat at the oak table, sipping whiskey. Doc wasn’t able to fully enjoy the aged scotch, knowing that Carmen was being generous because she must be about propose something that he was not going to like one bit. He had no idea what it could be, but his instincts were usually right about her, and the feeling of dread was strong.
“You promised me you would never get Cakes involved in your affairs again,” Canella said.
“And I wouldn’t have. But I’m really hurting financially at the moment,” Doc said.
“You’re hurting? We closed down everything coz of you! We got drones flying over our fucking heads!”
“I apologize, okay. A bit of good news, I spoke to my guy at the phone company. He confirmed that they only keep records of internet communication going back three months. He doesn’t think they are able to access email attachments.”
“He doesn’t think? That’s not good enough,” Canella said.
“That’s bullshit,” Cakes said, “the cops can drag out a lot mor
e info than your friend at the phone company. What about your guy who got busted selling the medicine?”
“Ray won’t talk. He’s reliable,” Doc said.
“Is he prepared to go down for armed robbery and murder? I doubt it,” Canella said.
“You know, sometimes you got give people a bit of credit. I been dealing with Ray for years, he’s never let me down,” Doc said.
“Mom’s right,” Cakes said, “he has to go.”
“Just like that, hey? Okay, no problem. I’ll fix it. I’m all for limiting liabilities.”
“Problem is, we don’t know if he’s talked already, cut a deal. I mean, we’re really in the dark here. They should have arrested you already for suspicion of heroin importation and attempted murder,” Cakes said.
“And where’s the bitch?” asked Canella.
“Who?”
“Your nurse,” Cakes said.
“I wish I knew. She’s got to be on the lam,” Doc said.
“Witness protection, that’s where,” Cakes said. “She’s probably given them enough to charge you with medical malpractice, heroin importation, and everything else you told her about.”
“She sold you out,” said Canella. “Normally I’d find that pretty funny, but I think the only reason you’re not in prison is coz they’re investigating us.”
“Don’t start inventing shit in your head. It’s me they want. They’re watching me like hawks.”
“They could be questioning my staff right now! How much interrogation do you think those telemarketers will stand up to?” Canella said.
“So what are you gonna do? Kill your telemarketers?” Doc asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Christ, I don’t wanna know! The reason we’re not inside is coz the cops don’t have anything! If they did, they’d have raided this place already.”
“Bullshit! They could be planning a raid as we speak! I need to know if we should leave the country or not.”
“You’re overreacting,” Doc said.
“Don’t start,” Canella said.
“We’ve sold hundreds of ID’s and credit cards,” Cakes said. “That’s double-digit jail time. We’re not sitting around waiting for that to happen. We gotta find out what they know.”
“How do we do that?” Doc asked.
“Get eyes in the cop station,” Cakes said.
“Get a cop working for us? It’s too hard these days,” Doc said.
“We’re not talking about getting a cop on the books,” Canella said, and got out of her seat. She walked over to a closet and pulled out a trunk. “I think it’s about time we used some of our toys here, don’t you? They’ve been sitting here long enough.”
“On a cop? Are you out of your mind? Getting the cop is hard enough,” Doc said, “not to mention extremely risky. Then wiring him up? Impossible. And even if you wire him up, how the hell do you expect him to co-operate?”
“If he doesn’t, we burn him,” said Canella, dumping the trunk on the table.
“Easy to say. But if it goes south, we’re maggot meat,” Doc said.
“We’re looking at twenty to life as it is, thanks to you. You had to involve Cakes, after you fucking promised me that you wouldn’t. It’s time for you to fix this. Your professional skills will be needed,” Canella said.
Doc knocked back the scotch and poured himself another. “Okay. I don’t like it, but if you think it’s absolutely necessary, I’ll do it,” Doc said.
Chapter 40
Ray shuffled along in the line of inmates looking over the various dinner choices. He had never minded jail cafeteria slop, it was the closest he got to eating healthy. He took his dinner and headed down the center aisle, looking for an empty seat, preferably next to a familiar face. He got lucky, waved over by a former cellmate who had done business with him on the outside about eighteen months back.
“Hey Bob,” he said.
“How’s it going, man?” Bob said offering a seat next to him. As Ray sat down, a big, heavy guy sat on the other side him. “This is my buddy Yuri,” he said. They exchanged nods, Ray feeling more than a little uneasy.
“So what did they get you for?” Bob asked.
“Selling stolen meds. They’re trying to nail a carjacking and murder charge on me, but it won’t stick,” Ray said. “How about you?”
“An old murder charge from twenty years ago, can you believe that? Fucking DNA testing, you got to cover yourself in plastic these days, like a goddamned scientist or something.”
“Man, tough break,” Ray said.
“Tell me about it,” Bob said. “There I was, living clean, pretty much on the straight and narrow. I’d forgotten all about that murder too. Then boom! Say goodbye to freedom, pal, it’s back to the grey-bar hotel. Fuck, no sense in dwelling on it, right?”
“Right, you’ll go loco doing that,” Ray said.
“Yeah. At least me and Yuri got this place worked out. Nobody gives us shit, not even the screws.”
“Is that so?” Ray asked.
“Yeah. You stick with us and you’ll be okay. We got an understanding with them. I’ll show you. See that guard up there,” he said, pointing out a guard.
“Yeah,” Ray said.
“You make eye contact with him, because you’re sitting next to us, I guarantee he’ll look away.”
“For real?”
“Yeah, go on, try it,” Bob said.
“Nah, man, I ain’t eyeballing no guard,” Ray said.
“Go ahead, man, he’ll look away,” Bob said. “Do it.”
It was against his better judgment, but Ray didn’t want to piss off these guys on his first day. He turned his head and looked at the Guard on the wall. As he did, Bob squirted something into his slop, and Ray turned back immediately.
“Real funny,” Ray said.
“Keep looking at him, wait for him to make eye contact.”
“What did you put in my food, Bob?”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t touch your food. Look at the guard!”
“Fuck you,” Ray said and pushed his plate away.
“Alright, I put a bit of chili in it, just a joke. Lighten up, Christ!”
Ray began to stand up and Yuri placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stay seated.
“Yuri don’t like people leaving the table like that. Come on, eat your food.”
“No offense intended,” Ray said to Yuri, and tried again. But Yuri kept his ass on the seat.
“Where Yuri comes from it’s the height of rudeness to leave the table without eating. Eat something.”
“I’m not eating.”
“Come on, it won’t hurt you. You gotta eat.”
“I’m not fucking eating it. Okay, man?!”
Yuri grabbed Ray by the hair and shoved his face into the slop. Ray thrashed about and the plates nearby went flying, mess everywhere. But he couldn’t shake Yuri, his face buried in casserole. Bob checked on the guards, who looked away, as they had been instructed. When white foam poured up the sides of Ray’s face over the edge of the bowl, Yuri released him. Ray was convulsing, his face covered in slop, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth foaming. He looked at Yuri, who finally began to speak.
“I’m sorry, I-.” Before he could finish, Ray lunged at him, grabbed him around the neck with both hands and spat a chunk of the poisoned slop and white foam into Yuri’s mouth. Yuri spat it out as Ray collapsed on the floor. Then Yuri began to choke and convulse.
“Oh, Christ,” said Bob. “Guard! Get a doctor!”
Chapter 41
Doc parked his Mercedes in the Rampart Police Station parking lot and looked in the mirror to see the unmarked police car pull over a few car lengths back, the cops inside pretending not to be cops. Doc got out and leaned against his car, cleaning his glasses. He looked over to the cops.
“Aw shit. Just what we needed: being made out front of LAPD. What’s he up to?” Detective Pyke said, pretending to be on his phone.
“He’s just
messing with us,” said Detective Simpson, squinting into the early morning sun.
“Let’s go talk to him,” Pyke said.
The two cops got out of their car and walked up to Doc, who was lighting a cigar.
“Hey, what’s up Doc?” Pyke said.
“My place got raided yesterday and I’m not sure why. I wanted to talk to somebody about it, see if there’s anything I can clear up, assist the police with their enquiries in any way I can.”
“You can talk to me,” Pyke said.
“Okay, great. My lawyer is on his way, so once he gets here, we’ll come in. What’s your name? I’ll ask for you,” Doc said.
“I’m Detective Pyke. Why don’t you come have a seat inside. You’ll be a lot more comfortable,” Pyke said.
“I’m okay, thanks.” Doc said.
“Come on, we’ll get you a comfy seat and a nice cup of coffee.”
“I don’t drink drip coffee,” Doc said.
“Right. Well, I was just on my way to a coffee shop, I could pick up something for you if you like.”
“I don’t know, I really--”
“It’s on us. What do you like, cappuccino? Macchiato?”
“Hmm… I am a sucker for those caramel macchiatos.”
“I know what you mean! Detective Simpson will show you in, I’ll be back with a coffee in no time. Okay?”
“Thank you, that’s very nice of you,” Doc said.
“No problem,” Pyke said. Simpson led Doc up the steps and inside the offices of the police station.
Pyke picked up his cell phone.
Chapter 42
Betts was in his bathroom shaving when his phone rang. He toweled the foam off his face and answered.
“You won’t believe this,” Pyke said on the other end of the line. “Doc Roberts has rocked up at Rampart wishing to discuss the raid on his property and assist the police in any way he can.”
“Is this a joke, Pykie? Coz it’s a little early in the morning.”
Brazen Violations Page 9
