The Reckless

by David Putnam

I said, “Let’s move.”

  We ran for our vehicles.

   CHAPTER TEN

  NED SAT FORWARD in his seat, his eyes a little wider than normal. He was feeling the same thing I was over what was about to happen: a huge adrenaline dump, along with a little dopamine, caused a racing heart and a touch of euphoria. Didn’t matter how many times I kicked in a door, it always felt the same.

  The hot wind blew in and around us, drying out our eyes and lips. “Bruno, you go in first.”

  “No, this time I think I’ll take the hot seat, in the second position.”

  Contrary to the popular myth portrayed in novels and movies, the first through the door wasn’t the most dangerous position. The suspect inside sees and hears the first person coming through, and instantly reacts, but only fast enough to line up on the second one coming through the door: “the window of death.” That is, if you hit the house fast enough like you’re supposed to. The lead guy has to be quick to neutralize any threat to protect the second guy in. It’s almost as if the second guy becomes a decoy.

  “Let’s not argue about it,” Ned said. “You take first in this time. I do it next time.”

  “All right.”

  I made the last turn. In the rearview, the backup black-and-white made the turn into the alley. The second car, with Sinclair and his trainee, stayed with us. I gunned the truck. Opened it up.

  “Here we go,” I said.

  I hit the brake hard and skidded up in front of the house. We got out and ran. As I entered the dirt front yard, I caught the faintest hint of teargas. I drew my gun. “This is it. He’s here.”

  Sinclair from behind us yelled, “How do you know?”

  No time to explain.

  The front door stood ajar. I leaped the two steps to the porch, stutter-stepped, and kicked the door open.

  I entered on the run. “Sheriff’s Department! Sheriff’s Department!”

  The place, a shotgun shack, smelled of mildew mixed with shit. I stepped high over the floor, covered in every kind of trash ten inches deep. I continued through the living room, Ned right on my ass. We waded down a long hall toward the back of the house. I didn’t stop at the first door, a bathroom. I didn’t stop at the second door, a bedroom, and went right for the room at the back. Sinclair said they always fled out the back.

  I entered the last room just as a white male struggled to his feet from a filthy mattress on the floor. I kicked him in the chest. He bounced off the wall and came back at me. I pistol-whipped him with my gun barrel. He went down, out cold.

  I stood there, breathing hard, wanting to hit him again, but only if he moved.

  Ned grabbed me. “Take it easy, partner. Take it easy.”

  I shrugged him off. “I’m good.” I went down on one knee and handcuffed him.

  Ned said, “Is it him?”

  Slick lay facedown on the filthy mattress.

  “Yeah. It’s him. Can’t you smell the teargas?”

  Sinclair holstered his gun. “Yeah. I do. What’s it from?”

  “Dye pack from the bank,” I said. “It goes off when you exit with the bait money, red dye smoke mixed with teargas.” I rolled Slick over. Blood covered one side of his face from the laceration my gun barrel gave him on the top of his head. His right front pants pocket bulged with money. The faded blue denim over the pocket was burned bright reddish orange. That whole clump of bait money was no longer good. The intense heat fused all of it together.

  Sinclair said, “Son of a bitch, that is him. You got him. We’ve been huntin’ this bastard for the better part of a year.”

  I still tried to catch my breath. The excitement, the summer’s heat, the reek from inside the house, and the short run all worked against me. “You want him?”

  Sinclair looked shocked. “Hell, yes, I’ll take him.”

  Ned grabbed my arm. “He’s ours, we found him.”

  “It’s their city and it’s their banks he took down. He belongs to them. Take him, he’s yours.”

  “I guess I owe you guys a beer.” He pulled his radio and called in his trainee.

  Discouraged, Ned holstered his gun, turned, and walked back toward the hall. “More like a case of beer.”

  “You got it, no problem,” Sinclair said. “And thanks.”

  The trainee escorted the bloody Dominic Johnson outside and had him sit on the curb to wait for paramedics to patch him up. I followed along, the pure heat of the outdoors better to breathe than the still, fetid air inside. In the front yard, the sun bared down on my head until I felt like an ant under a kid’s giant magnifying glass.

  I held my hand up to block out at least some of the brightness and looked around for some shade. Two houses down on the sidewalk, Rodney stood watching, his ball cap still down low just above his brow, as he tried unsuccessfully at inconspicuous. I walked down to him. “Thanks, man, you did good.”

  “Where’s my money?”

  I folded the hundred and forty into a tight little square and shook his hand transferring the money as subtly as I could. He shoved it in his pocket without counting it, turned, and fled at a quick pace. I watched him go. I didn’t know if I’d done him any favor. Three hundred dollars cash, all at once, could kill someone addicted to heroin.

  Three Crown Victoria vehicles, white, black, and maroon, made the corner and roared up the street, headed our way. I turned and took the few steps back to the house where Dominic sat at the curb, hands cuffed behind his back, his head bleeding. He swiveled toward me. “Of all things, caught by a nigger. Thought I was having a nightmare when I saw your black ass comin’ for me.”

  I’d learned, early in my career, not to engage the ignorant, and those besieged with bias. It benefited no one. I kept going, bracing for impact as the FBI came on the scene.

   CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I CAUGHT UP to Ned, who stood on the sidewalk by my truck. He said, “Incoming. The Wicked Witch of the West.” He smiled. “Now you’re gonna pay for not going to the bank with the suits and for that comment about catching this asshole after lunch. Man, that was a good one, though. I think I actually got some wood over it.”

  “Knock it off. She’s not like that.”

  “Wanna bet? She does not look happy. You stomped all over her great and wondrous FBI pride. Did it right in front of everyone, back there in the office.”

  All three cars had stopped at the curb. No one inside moved for one long breath.

  She got out on the passenger side of the lead car. All the other doors to the cars opened at the same time, dutiful little soldiers. She left her door open and stood there. “Bruno?”

  She wanted me to come to her.

  I didn’t answer, didn’t move.

  She came over and stopped right in front of me, too close, violating my personal space. I didn’t step back. Any other time, I would’ve enjoyed it, would’ve reveled in it. Her eyes alone had the ability to beguile me, to transport me back to another time, a place where I’d envisioned a different outcome for us entirely.

  “Bruno, what the hell happened here?” She pointed at the bloodied prisoner. “Tell me that’s not Dominic Johnson, with his head bashed in? What did you do?” She didn’t wait for a reply. She hurried over to where Dominic sat on the curb. The RPD trainee did his job, intercepted her, held up his hands to fend her off. She held up her tiny gold fed badge. “FBI. Is this Dominic Johnson?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Dominic said, “Nice ass. How come it couldn’t a been you that arrested me? Damn girl, you got it goin’ on.”

  Ned whispered, “Good question.”

  She turned and stepped back over to us, as she pointed at Dominic. “What happened? How in the hell did you catch him that fast?”

  Ned, with a straight face, said, “Ma’am, he just sort of jumped out at us as we were driving by. Said he wanted to turn himself in and go to jail. Said he was tired of runnin’, all these months, from the FBI.”

  I fought hard not to smile.

  Her face flushed e
ven more in the heat. “Bruno?”

  “We developed a confidential informant who gave us the location of a known fugitive, an armed and dangerous fugitive. We responded to this location and, fearing the suspect, a known transient, would flee at any moment, we forced entry and took him into custody, without incident.”

  “Without incident? What do you call that on his head?”

  “Yeah, police brutality,” Dominic said. “I was just mindin’ my own business sleepin’ up in my crib when that thug there clubbed me in my head. Damn nigger.”

  “You shut up,” Chelsea said.

  She turned back to me. “You can’t go into a residence after a fugitive unless you have a third-party search warrant to search the premises for that person.”

  Ned stepped in closer, his smile gone. “You have got to be kidding me?”

  “No, she’s right,” I said. “But the legal remedy has nothing to do with the criminal aspect of the arrest. The arrest stands.”

  She said, “That’s right, smartass, but you just exposed yourself to a civil rights violation for illegal search and seizure.”

  “I’ve been there before.”

  Her face filled with rage. She raised her finger.

  Before she could speak, Ned interrupted. “Hey, no problem. We can just let him go and catch him again.”

  Her mouth dropped open in stunned silence.

  I grabbed Ned and tugged him away.

  Coffman and Gibbs pulled up sometime during the exchange and now stood close by, listening. I didn’t know how much they’d heard.

  Chelsea pointed at me and spoke to Coffman. “Do you know what these two boneheads have done?”

  I watched Coffman’s expression. I cared about what Chelsea thought, cared that I’d angered her, but at that moment, I cared more about what Coffman thought.

  His expression remained blank. “My men do what they gotta do.”

  “Is that the way it’s going to be?”

  Coffman said nothing and didn’t move an eyebrow.

  Chelsea called to him as she headed toward her car, “Can I speak to you over here, please?”

  Coffman held my eyes a moment longer, long enough to make me feel two feet tall. “Sure.” He followed her and stood close by while she ranted using her hands as she spoke, her volume low, so only he had the pleasure of her words. Unruffled, Coffman listened, casually took a fat black cigar from his pocket, unwrapped it, bit the end off, spit into the street, and took his time lighting the tip. Blue-gray smoke rose in the still summer air as he continued to nod, as if agreeing with everything she said.

  The RPD cop, Sinclair, came up to me. “Sorry, looks like you’re in the grease.”

  “Yeah, looks that way. Can you have your trainee go back in that pigsty and search for the gun and any more money Johnson could have secreted before we got in there? Your trainee can only search the room where we caught this guy.”

  “Sure, I understand.” He moved off and spoke with his trainee.

  Chelsea ended her conversation and came back over. “Just how did you develop this so-called confidential informant?”

  “Found him on the street.”

  “Did you pay him?”

  “Yes, three hundred dollars.”

  Ned said, “Three hundred dollars for a bank robber who has robbed eighteen banks, one of which was across from your office, is cheap at ten times the price.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “You can’t talk to him like that.” I looked for Coffman to help out.

  He took the cigar from his mouth, squinted in the smoke, and said nothing.

  Chelsea said, “Did you get a chit signed by this so-called informant?”

  “No. We didn’t have time, under the circumstances.”

  She again turned and headed for her car. “Fine,” she said, “that’s coming out of your pocket.” She got in and closed the door.

  Coffman said, “Johnson, can I have a word?”

  “Ah, shit.”

   CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE MERCURY HOVERED around ninety degrees after the sun went down. I sat on the stoop in the front of our house on Nord and watched the twilight encroach. Inside, Dad moved about, finishing up the dishes from dinner, the domestic clatter a comforting distraction from a needlessly hectic day.

  Ned came out with two sweating beer bottles and handed me one. He sat down next to me and took a long slug. “You sure it’s okay to leave Beth here overnight?”

  “Two kids are the same as one, and she’s already asleep. Looks like they really played hard today with toys scattered all over the house.”

  “Sorry about the crayon mural on the wall.”

  “Don’t worry about it. They’re kids.”

  “Who do you think drew the dinosaur and who do you think drew the house and tree?”

  “If you can make out a dinosaur and a tree with a house, then maybe you better go see a shrink, pal.”

  “It’s great that they get along so well. Thanks, I owe you. I’m beat, I can really use the break, even if it’s only one night.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. And if you want to make it a couple, three nights, it’s not a problem. Olivia can use the social interaction.”

  “I might just take you up on that.” He held up his bottle. “Didn’t think that RPD copper would really pay off with that case of beer.”

  “Yeah, a three-hundred-dollar case of beer, enjoy it.”

  “I’m in for half of that. We’re partners, remember?”

  “Thanks, but I didn’t slow down long enough today to ask you if you wanted to play in my game.”

  He started to take another drink and stopped. “Bruno, you can always count me in for any game you wanna play. You never have to ask.”

  I took a drink to hide the emotional lump that rose in my throat, then said, “Hey, don’t sit so close. People will think we’re a couple or something.”

  He chuckled. “It’s good to be back working together. I thought it was a little weird at first, but as soon as we started rollin’ hot, we fell right back into the groove. I gotta tell you that was the most fun I’ve had in at least a year.”

  “Yeah, it was all right, wasn’t it?”

  “How big a piece of your ass did Coffman chew off?”

  I gave him a fake smile. “He wasn’t happy. In fact, I can safely say he was the maddest I’ve ever seen him. He yelled and waved his arms, damn near bit through his cigar. Couldn’t help thinking, though, that some of it was just for show to ease the FBI’s damaged ego. Hoped some of it was for show, anyway. Man, he was mad. No way did I mean for it to turn out that way.”

  “He had no right to go at you like that.”

  “Yes, he did. We should’ve waited for him.”

  “In our place, under the exact same circumstances, do you think he would’ve done anything different than what we did?”

  “No.”

  “There, you see. Did he at least say, ‘Atta boy,’ for puttin’ the Habeousgrabous on this guy so quick?”

  “Yeah, he did, right at the end when I was walking away. I’m worried about him, Ned.”

  “Give it a rest. I told you, you don’t have to worry about Coffman. He’s a solid dude.”

  I clinked my bottle to his. We drank some more.

  I said, “You never told me what got you launched from the street narco team and banished to the desk.”

  “Eh.” He waved his hand. “It was nothin’. Really. The brass, you know how they can be, how they think. They always make a big deal outta nothin’.”

  “Ned?”

  “All right. All right, if you gotta know. I can’t believe you haven’t already heard this. The story shot around the entire county and beyond, like some kinda black plague that’s chased my ass ever since.”

  “You’re stalling.”

  “All right. Here it is. I was workin’ street narco outta Lennox station. You knew that part, right?” I nodded.

  “Okay, so it was my turn in the barrel. I ha
d to take all the cases for the team over to the court to get them filed with the filing DA. I was hung over and in kind of a foul mood.”

  “Oh, really. That’s odd.”

  “You wanna hear this?”

  “Go ahead.”

  He paused, as if reliving the event, or trying to sort out which way he really wanted to tell it.

  I elbowed him. “Go on.”

  “I’m in the DA’s office, you know, in that outer room, waiting my turn along with all the other coppers there to file cases. Took a couple of hours to get to me. My turn comes. I go in, sit down at this guy’s desk, and hand him the cases for the whole team. This dude, you know the type—dress shirt, tie, no jacket—is sittin’ there smiling like he’s havin’ the greatest day ever, like this is the best job in the world. And there’s absolutely nothin’ to be smilin’ about, and I mean nothin’. He’s sitting in an office without windows, doing the old paperwork shuffle for a long line of dirtbags waiting in jail for their turn at the revolving door. Anyway, I’m not paying much attention to him because of my hangover. He’s jabbering away and the first words that get through is that he’s not gonna file one of our cases. And it happens to be one of my cases. He said the PC was too thin, not enough probable cause. I opened my mouth to argue with him, and that’s when I see it.”

  “Oh no, what? What did you see?”

  “Get this: the dude was under the influence of a stimulant.”

  “Ah, crap. Don’t tell me that, Ned. Don’t tell me you busted the deputy DA right in his own office?”

   CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I DID. I also found a half-gram of coke in his desk drawer. Got him for possession.”

  I started to chuckle. “You’ve got to be kidding. And they rolled you up for that?”

  “Well—”

  “Ah, man, what else did you do?”

  Ned’s tone shifted to a little less confident and he squirmed. “If you’d still been my partner, you would’ve stopped me.”

  “Tell me.”

  “That deputy DA didn’t want to go to jail, and he resisted arrest a little. I had to choke him out.”

  I started laughing and couldn’t stop.