“It’s not a big thing.”
“It’s not a big thing? Lieutenant Martin tried it and almost had to go to the hospital!” He glanced back at his posse and gave them the thumbs-up. “These babies are so hot that the juice burns your skin. We’ve all got bets going. Come on, please …”
“Then will you go away?”
He nodded eagerly and held out the basket. Laura snatched four and stuffed them in her mouth, chewed until she could swallow, and then smiled.
“Did you see that?” Dennis roared, returning to his table. “Come on! Pay up!”
Laura went back to her peanuts, glancing at Mack. “I was in a car wreck when I was eighteen and lost the ability to taste spicy foods. Let’s just keep this between you and me, okay? That jalapeño trick comes in handy sometimes.” Laura leaned toward Mack. “You’ve got to hold your own against the boys, Mack. You can’t let them think they’re better than you.” The bartender brought her a bourbon, and she sipped it. “You’re a good officer. Brave. Intelligent. A little idealistic, but that’s nothing we can’t work on. You’ve certainly proven yourself over and over again, Mack. I got my task force. And I’m willing to put your name on the short list.”
Mack stammered, “But I haven’t even started the undercover program. I just got accepted—”
“Do you want this or not? I can make it happen. But you need to want it.”
A smile replaced Mack’s concerned expression. “No jalapeño-eating skills required?”
“Not unless you want to scrape the taste buds off your tongue.”
Chapter 3
Ron Yeager opened his eyes at the sound of his wife’s voice. “Your coffee’s ready,” Nan said. She was smiling, but Ron knew it wasn’t a happy smile. In the thirty years they had been married, Nan was never happy before ten in the morning.
He felt the weight of a coffee mug balanced on his chest. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, the other hand holding on to the mug, then pushed himself to a sitting position. Nan had come up with this morning ritual of putting the mug on his chest ten years into their marriage when she’d finally tired of spending thirty minutes each morning trying to wake him up. If he rolled over to try to go back to sleep, hot coffee would spill all over him. She hadn’t done this in years, mostly because these days he kept a regular bedtime schedule.
After setting the mug on the bedside table, he watched Nan open the drapes. Squinting, he groaned and lay back down. “I thought we agreed to stop doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“You know what.”
“Serving your coffee to you in bed?”
Ron chuckled. Right, such innocence. After all these years, she was still feisty. “Yes, that.”
“We did. But that was before you agreed to go back on the streets.”
Ron stretched. “I’m not going back on the streets. Your stubbornness is clogging your ears.”
“You’re two years from retirement. Why in the world would you want to go back on the streets?”
Ron sighed, rolled out of bed, and shuffled to his bathroom sink. “First of all, this isn’t a big deal. There’s a task force, and they want to talk to me this morning about it. That’s all.”
“Who is they?”
“Captain Laura Gates is heading it up.”
Nan turned. “Gates? As in James Gates?”
“His daughter. She was just a baby the last time I saw James.”
“Does she know you served with him in Chicago?”
Ron shrugged as he ran the toothbrush over his teeth. “I don’t know. I just got the voice mail, so I don’t have much information.”
Nan joined him in the bathroom, splashing water on her face from the sink on her side.
“Captain Gates is in charge of property crimes. No idea why she wants to talk to me.”
“Hey, don’t act like you’re too good for property crimes. Narcotics beat you to a bloody pulp. You could use something less exciting.”
“Property is where old detectives go to die.”
“No, it’s where smart cops go until they can pull their pension, which they know they can’t spend if they’re dead.”
Ron turned to face her. “I haven’t seen you this riled up since I brought that pound of dope home and hid it under the bed.”
“I am not riled up,” Nan said, applying her makeup. “And I wasn’t riled up then. I just thought you could have used more common sense. Especially since it came with a briefcase filled with forty thousand dollars.”
“It wasn’t my fault the lab closed at five. Some of us don’t work eight to five.”
Nan shot him a look and shoved the Aleve bottle into his hands before heading for the kitchen. “Nobody who has to take eight Aleve in a day should be back on the streets.”
Ron poured two in his hand and trailed behind her. “Would you rather I end up like Eddie Givens, going around taping orange stickers to abandoned cars on the highway?”
“Eddie hasn’t been shot at, now, has he?”
“Eddie chain-smokes and lives for his bowling league.”
Nan opened the fridge and pulled out jam. “Don’t expect a big breakfast. I’m retired. The best I can do for you is a couple pieces of toast.”
Ron poured himself some orange juice, kissed her on the cheek, and slowly walked back to the bedroom. She was cute when she stewed.
He pulled slacks and a long-sleeved cotton shirt out of the closet. He managed to get dressed in under ten minutes, a new record. He didn’t want to be late. He’d spent the last eight years sitting at a desk in front of a computer, first doing profiling, then, after a transfer to a new building, working with intelligence. He’d been counting down the days until retirement. His career had flown by up until last year when it suddenly slowed to a crawl, and he figured the next two years would crawl as well. Maybe this task force would speed things up.
Nan brought his toast into the bedroom on a plastic plate. She smiled a little as she set it down, and Ron let out a laugh. In recent years, they’d always shared breakfast together at the table. Before that, Nan brought it to the bathroom. He would insist he didn’t need to eat, and she would insist he did. Then he would grab three or four bites while getting ready. That always seemed to satisfy them both.
“You don’t have to say yes,” Nan said, observing the uneaten toast.
Ron pulled her into a hug. “Don’t worry, my dear. They’re not going to send an old man into any dangerous work. Maybe they want me to head up the retired police officer’s fund-raising campaign.”
“I just don’t have a good feeling.”
“I have a better chance of dying of boredom at my current job than I ever did on the streets.”
Those steely eyes that had followed him out the door every day of his career, the ones that told him she would be okay if he didn’t come back, reflected back a rare vulnerability. “You’re worried?” he asked.
She ordered him to eat his toast and then went back to the kitchen. He sipped his cooled-down coffee. Back in the day, it would’ve been caffeinated, but thanks to high blood pressure and heart palpitations, he just drank it for the fat in the cream he wasn’t supposed to be adding.
He straightened his shirt and checked his watch. Time to go.
“I’m out the door,” he hollered as he grabbed his keys, badge, and wallet.
She came from the kitchen and looked him up and down. “Slacks. Haven’t seen you in those on a weekday in a long time.” Ever since he was transferred to intelligence, he’d worn jeans to work. Nobody noticed or cared.
“How do I look?”
A tender smile passed over her lips. She pulled his cane out of the umbrella holder next to the door and handed it to him. “You’re kidding yourself if you think you can make it through the day without this.”
“I was going to grab it.”
“Uh huh.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t forget to take your medication at noon.”
Ron parked at Area Command downtown and took th
e elevator to the third floor, where he found Laura Gates’s office. Her door was open, and he could see that her window framed a nice view of the dazzle and glare of Las Vegas. She was concentrating at her desk and didn’t see him, so he gently knocked.
“Captain Gates,” Ron said. He stuck out his hand as he stepped toward her desk. “Sergeant Yeager.”
She glanced at his cane, then offered a professional smile and the handshake of a three-hundred-pound man. She had the same red hair and green eyes as James.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” she said, gesturing toward a chair. He set his cane against her desk and tried to sit down like he didn’t have a metal rod in his leg.
“The last time I saw you, you were a baby.”
Captain Gates looked surprised.
“I patrolled with your father up in Chicago.”
“I knew you were in Chicago, but I didn’t realize you served with him.”
“Just a couple of years. He was a good man.”
“I began my career there.”
“Really? I thought James moved to Oklahoma.”
“We did. Dad served out his career in homicide there.”
“How is your father?”
“He’s fine.”
“Tell him hello for me.”
Captain Gates rose to close the door behind him as she said, “So let me tell you why I’ve asked you here.” She returned to her desk and sat down. “In the last couple of years, we’ve seen a surge in auto theft, particularly in the nicer parts of town. People are starting to get upset, and the politicians are making some noise. Of course, nobody wants to take into account the budget cuts we’ve endured over the last couple of years, but that’s a whole other story.” She folded her hands over some papers on her tidy desk and smiled. “Thus, the task force.”
“You’re spreading the cost among several agencies.”
“That’s right. I’ve been authorized to bring in officers from Boulder City, Henderson, and North Las Vegas.” She paused, looking over a sheet of paper in front of her. “I’d like you to command the task force.”
“Me?”
Laura smiled. “You’re surprised?”
Apparently his expression was speaking for him. “I just … I haven’t been involved with a task force in … well, in years. And by years, I mean decades.”
Laura laughed. “Nobody is counting your gray hairs.”
Ron rubbed his head. “That’s because I’m bald.”
Laura gave a nod toward the cane. “Did you get shot?”
“Car wreck.”
“Oh.”
“It hasn’t stopped me from doing my job.”
“I like your attitude,” she said. “And I’m not worried.”
“Captain Gates, as flattered as I am that you have asked me, I am curious. I haven’t exactly been on the radar screen in a while.”
“Your record keeps you on the radar.” She opened the file in front of her. “I’m familiar with your cases here in Las Vegas and back in Chicago too.”
Ron looked down. He hadn’t left Chicago on the best terms.
“Sergeant Yeager, I can read between the lines. I know what the court documents say, and I know what the police reports say.”
“What exactly would be my assignment?”
Her understanding voice took on a more professional tone. “I want you to put together a UC team.”
Ron tried to hold back a laugh. “Undercover?”
“This theft ring is big, and I want to bring it down from the top.”
Ron shifted. His leg ached when he sat in one position too long.
“Sergeant Yeager, you’re not telling me you’re too old for this, are you?” she said with a hint of teasing.
Ron smiled. “No, but my leg might be trying to tell me something.” Ron leaned forward and locked eyes with her. “There are a lot of UC officers around here. Why not bring in one of the guys from narcotics?”
Captain Gates seemed to have expected the question. “Narcotics already has their hands full and their resources exhausted. Besides, I want the best.” She stood, walked to a nearby table, picked up a stack of folders, and handed them to Ron. “This is the long list of available officers. I’ll give you until the end of the week to make the short list, only five officers. There’s an office down the hall where you can work until we secure the area we’ll be using.”
Ron stared at the folders on his lap.
“Something wrong?” Captain Gates asked.
“Uh, no. No. I’m just … It’s a lot to process.”
“You get your pick, Sergeant Yeager. There are a lot of excellent officers who would jump at an opportunity like this. I only have one request.” She pulled a single folder from her drawer and handed it across her desk to him. “I want this officer on the task force.”
Ron opened the folder, pulled his bifocals out of his shirt pocket, and slid them on his face. “Mackenzie Hazard?” Ron flipped through her history, noticed she didn’t have any undercover experience, then looked up at Captain Gates. “Why her?”
“She’s someone I’ve taken under my wing. Someone with great potential. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. I’m counting on you to be resourceful but pragmatic. You’ve got full access. Dig as deep as you need to. There’s a summary of the auto-theft problem we’re dealing with at the bottom of those files. Our task force is only authorized for six months, so we’re going to have to be swift.”
Ron stood, trying to tuck the stack of folders under his arm so he could grab his cane. “Six months?”
“Not my timeline. I asked for a year. Didn’t get it.”
“I’m going to need time. I won’t send the team out into a UC operation until I know they’re ready.”
“There’re at least two dozen experienced officers in that pile. I think you’ll be able to find the perfect team.” Captain Gates stood and offered her hand. “Welcome to Task Force Viper.”
“Viper. That stand for something?”
“No. I just thought it sounded sexy.”
“Nothing catches criminals like sexy.”
Laura grinned and waved him to the door. Ron made his way down the hallway, careful not to let the folders slide out from underneath his arm. He found the office: a small, windowless box with a wobbly looking desk and an empty file cabinet. He dropped the folders to the desk, then tried out his chair. It leaned to the left. This was really going to help his back problems.
He stared at the white walls.
As the saying went, undercover work is a young man’s game. Ron smiled.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Chapter 4
The Henderson sky glimmered with stars that could never be seen on the strip. Not many were visible in Henderson either, but at least a few popped through the megawatt city glow. From where Jesse Lunden stood on this cool evening, he could see the Vegas valley spread wide, its lights twinkling inside a sprawling desert bowl.
Elliot Stillman, nicknamed Dozer for his excessive napping tendency, stood a few feet away. Without a technical support team, there was nothing to do but wait. Dozer’s eyes, fixed and focused, also held fear. Jesse stepped to his side. “You ready?”
Dozer nodded. They’d been working undercover together for three years, and before that they had worked the same patrol shift. Dozer stood more than six feet tall and had the build of a linebacker. Jesse was barely five-eight. When they worked an undercover case together, they made a great duo. With every introduction, the attention always shifted to Dozer because of his size. But they knew the importance of respect, so Dozer would lean down, Jesse would whisper something in his ear, Dozer would pretend to disagree, and then Jesse would hit him.
The reaction was always the same. The bad guys’ faces told the story. The big one could beat them up, but the little one called the shots.
This time, though, Dozer was going in alone. Jesse’s cover might have been blown, and they didn’t want to take any chances. The meeting with the dealer was delay
ed for three weeks while they scrambled to get Dozer in. But now they had their big break.
One of their informants had provided them with a potentially big break by introducing them to Carlos Vinetti, who had eluded law enforcement for three years. He wasn’t a big-time dealer, but they believed he had bigger connections. The meeting was to take place in eight minutes: a pound of marijuana for seven hundred and fifty dollars.
Jesse would be the “eyeball,” positioning himself in the Laundromat across the street from the apartment building. Their other partner, Gundy, would stay in the Suburban a few blocks away and take notes. Jesse checked his watch. Dozer did the same.
“Dozer, you’re going to be fine. They’re going to be more scared of you than you are of them.”
“That’s what my mom used to say about bees until she got stung thirty times.”
“We’ve got your back. I’ll keep track of anyone going in or out of the building, and I’ll be in constant communication with backup, okay? Just go in there, make the deal, and we’re done.” Not optimal conditions. Usually they tried to set up a buy in the relative safety of a parking lot. But Vinetti had insisted on this apartment.
Dozer nodded. “I’ve got to go.” He climbed into a Mustang that looked too small to hold him. He pitched a thumbs-up and offered a steady smile before he drove off.
Gundy hopped into the driver’s seat of the Suburban. Jesse got in his truck, then drove to the back of the Laundromat and went inside to the office. It had a perfect view of the front of the apartment building.
Jesse checked his watch. Ten o’clock. Outside, the Mustang roared into a parking spot.
“Dozer’s here,” Jesse radioed to Gundy.
“How’s he look?” Gundy asked.
Jesse watched Dozer get out of the Mustang with the duffel bag. “Like the kind of guy who could kick a puppy.” Dozer always wore the same expression when he went undercover.
Jesse watched him open the front door and disappear inside. After five minutes, Jesse gave an update to Gundy. “There’s been no activity since Dozer went inside.”
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