The Reckless

by David Putnam

  “It’s not funny, Bruno.” Ned tried to keep from laughing and failed. “It’s not funny. The DA said that his deputies wouldn’t ever file another one of my cases anywhere in the county. That meant that I couldn’t do my job, not as a real street cop.”

  I laughed some more.

  Ned shook his head, swallowed hard, and put his hand on my shoulder. “Okay, and … and here’s the rest of it. When I did put the cuffs on, I might’ve told him that now he’d be able to file his own case.”

  I laughed even harder.

  “Bruno? Bruno, it’s funny but not that funny. You wanna know what’s really funny? Let me tell you what’s funny as hell, my friend. You know what I saw today in that little turd’s office, that FBI supervisor’s office with the pin map covering one entire wall? Let me tell you what I saw when we first walked in.”

  I powered down the laugh.

  “Not so funny now, is it, big man?”

  I stopped laughing altogether. “What did you see?” But I knew. We’d worked together in a patrol car too long for him not to be able to read my signs.

  He smiled and shoved my shoulder. “I caught a teeny tiny glimpse of some heat between you and ol’ Mrs. Wicked Witch of the West.”

  “You’ve been on that desk too long, pal. Your radar’s all banged up.”

  “Naw, I saw it. You went all gooey-eyed there for a second. I caught it. I don’t think anyone else did, but I did. Tell me. Give me all the juicy details. She’s built like a—”

  “Okay, that’s enough. Change the subject.”

  “What?” He looked confused.

  “She’s a distinguished member of the FBI, and you don’t need to objectify her in that way. You don’t need to talk about her like she’s a piece of meat.”

  “Really, it’s going to be like that, huh?”

  “Yeah, just like that.”

  “Then that just means I’m right. That I read it right.”

  “Means nothing of the sort. You’re absolutely wrong.”

  We drank our beers and watched the night sneak in all around until the light from the partially closed front door sliced downward between us and into the yard.

  I couldn’t get Chelsea out of my mind. The way she looked. The way she smiled. Her eyes. Seeing her brought back all those emotions I thought I’d buried for good. Emotions I needed to have buried, for good.

  I said, “Can I ask you something?”

  Ned turned his head to look at me, but I couldn’t see his eyes anymore, with the dark on either side. “Anything.”

  “With Hannah, when did you know?”

  “What are you talkin’ about? What do you mean?”

  “When did you know? And by the way, it’s great that you got back together and you’re making it work.”

  “Yeah, right. No one said anything about it working.”

  “When did you know she was the one for you?”

  “She makes me crazy, Bruno.”

  “Yeah, Dad says those are the ones you want to look for. The spice that makes life worth it.”

  “Different kind of crazy, believe me.”

  “You going to tell me?”

  His tone changed, and even in the dark, I knew the old Ned had slipped back into place, knew that what came next might only contain a smidgen of truth.

  “Okay, you really want to know? On our third date, we drove out to Palm Springs for a long weekend. We’d slept together, but just hit-and-run kind of stuff. You know what I mean? We were driving through White Water, the place with all those thousands and thousands of windmills up on the hills, spinning all the time, generating energy from the wind.”

  “Yeah, I know the place.”

  “So as soon as Hannah sees all these windmills, she turns to me while I’m drivin’ and says, ‘What are all those for?’”

  “And I tell her, Palm Springs is full of rich people and when it gets too hot, they turn on all those fans.”

  “Come on, Ned, I’m not buyin’ this.” I stifled a laugh.

  “No, really. You know what she says? She says, ‘Oh.’ Just like that, ‘Oh.’ Right then, that’s the moment. That’s when I knew I was going to marry her.”

  I laughed along with him. “That’s not true—you made that shit up. I know Hannah. She’s not like … she’s not like that.”

  I’d almost said that she wasn’t a stupid woman, but she had at one time thrown Ned over for the notorious JB.

  A sleek, dark Crown Victoria slid to the curb out in front of our house and stopped. The headlights went off. The driver got out and stood by the open door.

  Chelsea.

  Ned said, “Bruno, my man, you can kiss my white ass. I gotta run.”

   CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NED GOT UP and went inside. When the door opened all the way, the light flashed from the living room, the brightness obscuring Chelsea as she stood by her car. Ned came back out with two more beers, handed me one, and stepped down into the front yard headed for his car. Chelsea met him halfway.

  Ned handed her the other beer and shot her his best Ned smile. “Go easy on him, he’s my partner.” He winked.

  He walked on, toward the street. Chelsea whispered loud enough for me to hear, “Idiot.”

  She came over and sat on the porch right where Ned had sat. She took a drink, and said, “Nice evening.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Why was she here?

  Silence. We sipped our beers. My heart thumped hard in my chest. She had to be able to hear it. She had to know how I still felt about her. I really wanted to believe her presence meant something related to our relationship, but knew it couldn’t. How could it?

  I said, “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

  “I thought I needed to apologize for what happened out there today. Things just got away from me, and I’m sorry.”

  “I understand.”

  “No. It was a good job you did, and I shouldn’t have acted like a complete bitch.”

  “You weren’t a … complete bitch.’’

  She smiled and shoved my leg.

  I loved that smile, would pay a great deal to see it more often—like every day, from now until the other side of forever.

  We didn’t need to say another thing. I was content to just sit there with her the whole night.

  She broke the silence. “I was going to call you when I transferred back to LA. I really meant to.”

  I didn’t reply. I wanted her to continue.

  “I kept meaning to pick up the phone … and …”

  “I know,” I said. “How have you been?”

  I’d let her off the hook. She smiled again. “Good. Really good.”

  “You going to tell me how you worked your way out of that deep hole and won a transfer out of North Dakota?”

  She took a long slug of beer, brought the bottle down, and stared at it. “That, my friend, is a long and ugly story.”

  “Can’t be too ugly since you made it out. You’re now team leader for all of bank robbery. That’s really a good crack.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  “Okay, sure.” By her tone, I knew I wasn’t likely to hear the story, not for a long while, if at all.

  More silence. I wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, her neck—the lobe of her ear, run my fingertips gently through her hair. The memory of our naked and sweaty skin moving together, touching, sliding, jumped out into the forefront of my thoughts. The way she returned a kiss was electrifying, like nothing I’d ever experienced.

  “I also came here to talk,” she said.

  “I figured as much.”

  “The way things went down today … I mean … well, the RAC has pulled me as the liaison for the team.”

  “Ah, man. Did you tell him about us?”

  “What? No. Nobody knows, and I intend to keep it that way. It’s just that I’m running the entire robbery bureau, and he now thinks your team is going to need more … attention. More time devoted to it than I’ve got available.�
��

  I wasn’t sure I believed her.

  “So you’re saying that we’re loose cannons and need to be reined in. That’s why you drove all the way out here tonight, to tell me to power it down.”

  “Yes, that and to discuss a couple of other things.”

  “Hey, you want to go inside and sit on the couch?” My heart skipped a beat waiting for the answer, the couch a big tell in her true reason for the visit and in how this meeting would end.

  “No, it’s kind of nice out here.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “This is a little sensitive, and I could get into trouble for telling you this.”

  “I understand.”

  “Your team was brought in for one specific problem: to chase one particular group of bank robbers. This crew mostly involves the Rollin’ Sixties Crips. They’re hitting us pretty hard, at least twice a week, and we can’t get a handle on them. They’re a unique and involved problem I won’t go into right now. I was going to put you on them tomorrow.”

  “But?”

  She took another drink of her beer, more of a dainty sip, to allow her a moment to muster her words, and then said, “Here’s the sensitive part—”

  “Wait, let me guess. I embarrassed the FBI today, and now they wanna get even, take us down a couple of notches first, before they give us the real case.”

  She froze and stared at me. I’d hit it right on the nose.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean for this to happen this way. Seeing you in the office like that caught me off guard, and then, with all those agents watching me and my guys as if we were … Well, I just let my mouth overload my ass. I promise you, it won’t happen again.”

  She waved her beer bottle. “I should’ve known you’d have figured it out. And it’s done. We’re going to have to live with it. It was partly my fault.” She smiled again and nudged my leg. “I should’ve listened to you when you said you’d get him after lunch. My God, Bruno, that took a jumbo set of balls to say something like that.”

  “Yeah, I’m not normally like that. You know me.”

  She cut her eyes away, a little embarrassed by the comment.

  She said, “You’re going to be assigned a new liaison. His name’s Jim Turner. He’s really a great guy, so take it easy on him, okay?”

  “Can do.” I wanted to lean over and kiss her but didn’t have the nerve. I didn’t want to risk shoving her away emotionally. I could wait; go slow with her until she was ready.

  She got up to leave. “One thing though, Bruno, you really need to get a handle on Ned. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think he might be a bad influence on you.”

  “No, that was all me today. Ned had nothing to do with it.” I reached out a hand, held my breath to see if she’d take it.

  She did. Her skin was warm and soft to the touch. She smiled and held on. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the office.”

  “Thanks for coming by and for the heads-up. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t.” She held my eyes a moment longer, turned, and slowly pulled her hand from mine, fingers extending to the tips, until they parted. She headed for her car. All I could do was watch her go. She hesitated at the car door, got in, started up, and headed off down the street leaving my chest hollowed out.

  The door behind me opened with a flash of yellow light. Dad stepped out. He sat on the stoop next to me. He didn’t say anything for a long time. He wanted me to say it and I couldn’t.

  “That Chelsea I saw out here?”

  I nodded.

  We both said nothing.

  He patted my leg. “It’s getting late, why don’t you come on in?”

   CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  OUR TEAM MET in the parking lot in Riverside next to the tall blue-glass building that housed the FBI on the top floor. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want them to see me do it and think me jealous of their federal aerie.

  Eight o’clock in the morning and the sun already beat down on all things not smart enough to hide out in the shade. I stood by my truck, arms folded, with Ned next to me. Sweat rolled down the side of my cheek. Coffman and Gibbs came up. Coffman took the unlit cigar carcass from his mouth. “Lieutenant Wicks wants a word, Bruno, tonight after shift. Meet him at the office.”

  Ned said, “I’ll go with you.”

  “I didn’t say Bruno and Kiefer, did I, jackass?” He turned and headed for the double glass doors of the building, obviously still smoldering over yesterday’s caper.

  Ned said, “I’m going. It’s not right you taking the heat for this thing. We both did it.”

  “Let it go. You’re new to the team. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to get chewed out. Just don’t try and arrest and choke out Wicks. He’ll shoot your dumb ass.”

  Ned socked me in the shoulder. “And you wonder why I don’t tell you shit.”

  “Come on, let’s get in there.”

  “No, really,” he said as he tried to keep up. “Coffman already chewed you out. With Wicks jumping on, it’s the same as stepping on your neck when you’re already down.”

  “Wicks isn’t like that. He’s not gonna work me over again. It’s something else.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.” But I wasn’t. Not entirely. We made it to the door and entered.

  No one spoke in the elevator on the way up.

  On the drive over to the FBI office, Ned didn’t ask what happened the night before after he left me on the porch with Chelsea. He knew I wouldn’t kiss and tell, even if it had gone the other way. In fact, he said little, if anything at all. He’d come in the house, talked with Dad, played with Beth, drank a cup of coffee, and we headed out.

  Something was eating at him.

  I welcomed the silence. I needed to think things through about Chelsea. I played the night before back in my mind over and over and couldn’t be sure if she was interested in getting back together. She didn’t go for sitting on the couch, but the way her hand lingered in mine when she walked away spoke volumes. Didn’t it? I needed to work up the nerve and just ask her out. Take the big step and ask her to coffee. Just the thought of asking her made my heart race.

  The elevator door opened. We disembarked into the empty and sterile FBI waiting area.

  The same clerk sat on the other side of the bulletproof glass. She saw us, picked up the phone, dialed, said one sentence, and hung up.

  Ned said, “You know, we need to get a key to get in this place. I don’t wanna come here every day and feel like we’re waiting to see the principal, the ugly gal with a big wart on her nose waiting with a big paddle.”

  Coffman spoke around the dead cigar in his mouth. “That statement tells me a lot about you, my friend. Just keep in mind that I don’t have a wart, but I do carry a big paddle.”

  The door at the side opened. An athletically fit FBI agent in khaki utility pants and a red polo shirt said, “Right this way, gentlemen.” We filed through.

  He wore his sandy-brown hair with blond highlights, short on the sides and longer on top like a school kid. He looked like a So Cal resident, with tan skin and blue eyes, who took a day off when good surf conditions hit the coast. This time, he guided us right to the door at the end of the hall that led to the robbery bullpen.

  Once inside, he led us straight through the rows of Special Agents, who all looked up and stared. He stopped at Chelsea’s desk. Chelsea looked up, caught my eye, and restrained a smile.

  Our guide and escort stuck out his hand to Coffman first. “My name is Jim Turner. From now on, I’ll be your liaison agent. I’m taking over for Agent Miller here.” He looked at Chelsea and smiled.

  Just that quick, my heart sank to the bottom of my feet.

  The smile wasn’t the big reveal though. It was the way their eyes worked each other over, the intimate depth of knowledge that transferred in that briefest of instants. My God. He and Chelsea were a thing.

  Ned moved a step closer and elbowed me. He’d see
n it, too.

  “Knock it off,” I said too loud. Everyone turned to look. I didn’t move or acknowledge them.

  I wanted to sock Special Agent Turner right in his perfectly white teeth, make him eat those enamel chompers like Chiclets gum.

  Coffman’s pager went off, disrupting the violent, smoldering undertone. “Excuse me, is there a phone I can use?”

  Chelsea looked disturbed. She’d seen my grimace and now knew that I knew her nasty little secret, knew that she’d played me for a fool last night. She said, “Please, use this one.” She handed him the receiver. Coffman dialed. Just that quick, I shifted from lovesick to angry. What a fool I’d been.

  The smug Special Agent Jim Turner asked Chelsea, “Can I please have the Bogart case?”

  She still looked at me, her expression now one of concern. She worried that I’d make a scene, ruin it between her and her beau, tarnish her newly recovered FBI reputation. I guess she didn’t know me as well as I thought she did.

  I said, “I’ll get it. It’s in our stack, right?” I moved to the side of the desk and started to go through the pile assigned to us the day before.

  “No,” Chelsea said. “It’s not there.” She pulled open her drawer. “I have it right here.” She took out the fattest file folder I’d ever seen, at least five inches thick. She handed it to me, reached in her drawer again, and came out with two more file folders at least three inches, each. “Raymond Desmond Deforest. We’ve named him ‘The Bogart Bandit.’”

  Turner said, “Bogart has robbed eighty-six banks, from San Francisco, down to San Diego. We’ve been looking for him for two years.” He gave me a smug smile.

  Ned opened his mouth to make a snarky comment. I shoved the two smaller files into his chest. He said, “Hey, take it easy, partner.”

  Coffman hung up the phone. “Sorry to piss in your Wheaties, boys and girls, but we’ve been pulled off. We have to go.”

  Chelsea stood. “Hold it. According to the MOU your department signed, you are to be supervised and scheduled by the FBI, unless prior approval has been arranged.”

  “Yeah,” Coffman said. “My boss said you might say something like that. So he said I can leave two guys.” He turned to us. “Bruno and Ned, you’re it. Me and Gibbs have to go help run down Frank Duarte.”