She had also explained why neighborhood watch programs don’t work and how she made certain everyone in the neighborhood paid their yearly dues. Ron couldn’t imagine Ruth walking door to door collecting the money, but apparently she did, and nobody thought twice about not paying this one-woman association.
“What do you do with the money?” Ron asked.
“Pay teenagers to mow the lawns for these people who can’t seem to do anything but sit on their porches. You might think parking your car on the lawn would kill the grass, but it doesn’t.”
Ron had come over to explain the situation across the street, but Ruth’s entire life history had filled every second of his visit. Ron had faded about thirty minutes into it, his mind wandering to the task force. He’d been tuning in about every fiftieth word when he heard, “my tax dollars.”
And then she stopped. Ron had no clue what she’d just said or what those three words meant, but Ruth was leaning toward him like she expected a reply. Ron nodded and smiled, but that didn’t seem to do the trick.
“Well?” she asked, in the same impatient tone that introduced every sentence.
“I’m not sure I’m following,” Ron said carefully, wishing he had some tea to sip.
“I’m a taxpayer. I demand to know what my taxes are being used for.”
“Um …”
“You think that’s unfair?”
“No … ma’am, I just don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
She nodded toward her enormous front window. “So what are you all doing over there?”
Ron finally caught on, but he didn’t want to give up too much information. “Ma’am, one of my officers let it slip that we’re running an undercover operation out of that house.”
“Let it slip? It came roaring out of his mouth like a lion.”
Ron cleared his throat. “At any rate, we’re undercover officers, and we need you to keep that information completely confidential. We can’t have this location compromised. It could put our officers in a dangerous situation.”
Ruth sipped her tea and eyeballed Ron. “Fair enough.”
“I can’t stress how important it is for you to not discuss this with anyone in the neighborhood or elsewhere. There could be legal implications.”
“I understand.”
Through the large window, Ron gazed across the street, wondering what his team was up to. Apparently Ruth thought he was looking at the shiny black Lincoln Town Car in the driveway. “I would park it in the garage,” she said, “if I had room. I’ve got two Cadillacs already parked in there.”
“Why so many?” Ron asked.
“They belong to my late husbands.”
“What do you do with three cars? Drive a different one each week?”
“No. I don’t drive. Never have. I take the bus to the grocery store. That’s just about the only place I need to go. I have a daughter in Texas who comes to visit as often as the sun eclipses. But she does see to it that I have all I need.”
“You don’t drive any of your cars?”
“No. But I can’t bear to sell them.”
“They’re meaningful to you, I’m sure.”
“They remind me to eat my vegetables and that I’m not twenty-five anymore, a lesson all of my husbands could’ve learned.” She sighed, gesturing toward a small mantel that held three urns. “Ralph, Monroe, and Saul.” She studied them for a moment. “The cars are under the corporation. I don’t want to have to pay the taxes if I sell them.”
Ron stared at the car. Two others in the garage? Not being used? Back in his UC days, they used to borrow people’s cars all the time—the cousin who owned the plumbing business, the uncle who drove the Corvette. But today it practically took a vote from Congress to borrow a car because of all the liability … unless they were held in a corporation’s name, and then things got a lot easier.
“About those cars,” Ron said. “What would you think of loaning them to my undercover agents?”
Ruth looked intrigued. “Why would I want to do that?”
“We need vehicles. If something happens to your vehicle while we’re using it, your corporation will be reimbursed for it. It’s called a citizen loan. It’s done all the time.” Okay, all the time was a bit of a stretch.
“So apparently my tax dollars aren’t being used to supply officers with cars they need.”
“They are, ma’am. But the narcotics division gets all the good ones.”
Ruth raised a curious eyebrow but then said, “Why not? They’re just taking up room.” She stood and walked to the kitchen, where she pulled out a drawer, and then returned with three sets of keys. Before giving them to Ron, she turned toward the window. “So what do you do over there all day?”
“Comb the neighborhood for criminals.”
Ruth dropped the keys into his hand and followed him out to her porch.
“Thank you, Mrs. Butler. We will return the cars as soon as we finish with them.”
“All right.”
Ron walked carefully; his leg wasn’t fond of porch steps. As he crossed the street, she called to him. “Don’t forget—keep your grass under three inches.”
Ron’s cell phone rang. It was Nan. “So, are you doing anything dangerous?” she asked.
Ron turned and gave Ruth a quick wave. “You have no idea.”
Rhyne heard Mason rummaging in the refrigerator, but he had more important things on his mind than fretting about how Mason treated his house like a complimentary all-you-can-eat buffet. He adjusted his black silk shirt, combed his hair, patted cologne onto his neck, and walked out of the bedroom. Mason was sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal.
“Why are you eating?”
“I’m hungry.”
“I told you to be ready.”
Mason glanced down at himself. “I’m ready.”
“That’s what you’re wearing?”
“My tuxedo’s at the dry cleaners,” Mason said as he shoved more cereal into his mouth.
“Is this some sort of joke to you?”
Mason looked up at him. “I don’t know, Rhyne. I don’t know what’s going on. You’re not telling me anything, remember? You want me to go along with all this, but you’re keeping a lot of information to yourself.”
“That’s because I don’t know if I can trust you.”
Mason’s angry gaze turned back to his cereal. “Right. You never know, I could be a snitch.” He grabbed his cereal bowl and put it in the sink. “Maybe you’re the snitch, Rhyne. And maybe you’re setting me up. Maybe that’s why you’re being so secretive.”
“You don’t know what kind of people we’re dealing with. If you did, you would have more respect for the situation.”
“What situation? All you told me was to get here at noon. And be ready. Be ready for what? A lecture on my dressing habits?”
With one shove, Rhyne knocked a chair over. It smacked the kitchen floor and got Mason up and scurrying toward the refrigerator.
“What are you doing?” he yelled.
“Getting your attention,” Rhyne said. “I don’t want you to blow it for us. For me.”
“I don’t know what I’m blowing. Why don’t you bring me up to speed?”
Rhyne sighed. He still had his doubts about Mason, but on the other hand, Mason seemed too stupid to be any cop’s informant. “You’ve heard of Vincent Ayala?”
“Yeah. Of course. He’s rolling in money and has his hands in everything on the strip.”
“This goes all the way up to Mr. Ayala.”
“What does?”
“We’re meeting with him this afternoon. For the past two months, I’ve been dealing with some of his guys. They put in a good word for me. They’ve noticed we’re turning the vehicles we’ve acquired into major profit. That got his attention.”
Mason looked genuinely impressed. “That’s cool. But … it doesn’t add up. I mean, Vincent Ayala has millions of dollars. Why would he be interested in stolen vehicles?”
; “He’s not.” Rhyne smiled. “He’s interested in what’s inside.”
Mason’s eyes lit up. “The run we did in Arizona.”
“There’s more to come if we make a good impression.” Rhyne saw a healthy fear in Masons eyes. “Are you up for it or not?”
“We’re actually going to meet him? I heard he punched a photographer once just for trying to take his picture. Very few people know what he looks like.”
“We’re about to be two of the few.” Rhyne grabbed his wallet. “Let’s go. And tuck in your shirt.”
Mason stuffed his shirt into his jeans and followed Rhyne out the front door. But before he’d taken two steps, Rhyne gasped and quickly turned around, shoving Mason back inside. “Hurry! Hurry!”
Mason stumbled backward, hitting his shoulder against the door frame. Rhyne pulled the door shut and locked it while Mason tried to catch his breath.
“What’s the matter?”
“We’re just going to have to wait here for a while.” Rhyne peeked out the curtain of his front window.
“Why?” Mason whispered.
“Her name is Ruth, and we’re not leaving this house until she’s back inside hers.”
Chapter 16
Captain Gates, the files are ready, and they’re on Sergeant Yeager’s desk,” Jackie said over the speakerphone.
“Thank you, Jackie.” Laura rose but as she did, Mack knocked on her door. “Hey, Mack. Come on in.”
The eagerness that usually shone in Mack’s eyes had vanished.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as they both sat down.
“You know,” Mack began, “I was so excited to work on this task force. I couldn’t imagine why I was selected, but I went into it with everything I’ve got.” She looked up at Laura. “Captain Gates, I just don’t know if that’s going to be enough.”
“You’re a talented cop. You’ve got good instincts. I know you don’t have any undercover experience, but the only way you get undercover experience is to do it.”
“Detective Lunden said he went to some special school for it.”
Laura smiled gently. “That’s because Jesse works in Henderson and they have money flowing like a river over there. Most undercover cops just jump in feet first and go for it. Sergeant Yeager can tell you that.”
“I like him,” Mack said.
“You should. He knows what he’s talking about.” Laura leaned forward on her desk. “Mack, don’t doubt yourself. You can do this.”
“I’m just not fitting in.”
Laura had never fit in well either. “It’s not easy. The fact is that it’s still a boys’ game out there. If you’re going to fit in with the boys, you’ve got to think like one.”
“According to my mother, I should’ve been born one. So why don’t I fit in?”
“I’m going to shoot straight with you,” Laura said after a small pause. “Sometimes, well, it’s just that you come across a little …”
“Yes?”
“Religious.”
Mack nodded. “I know. And that confuses people when I lose my temper, doesn’t it?”
“Um … I’m not sure the temper is the problem. Listen, there’s nothing wrong with being religious,” Laura said. “I admire that about you, Mack. I really do. You’re a person with strong character and convictions. It’s part of what makes you a good cop. But it doesn’t really belong in the middle of what you’re doing.”
“If God wasn’t in the middle of what I’m doing, I wouldn’t be doing it. He made me who I am, gave me the desire to help people and bring criminals to justice.”
“I understand,” Laura lied. She didn’t have the foggiest idea where Mack was coming from. “But you have to understand that it makes people uncomfortable.”
“People are uncomfortable because they know they’ve messed up, and they don’t have a way to make everything right. Believe me, I know. My sister Hayden has probably sinned a total of eight times in her entire life. Then there’s me.” Laura nodded and smiled like it all made sense. It didn’t, but she wasn’t going to let her apprentice slip away over sins, or whatever Mack was talking about.
“I can’t be somebody I’m not,” Mack finally said.
“That’s the whole idea of undercover work.”
“Yes. But you also can’t lose who you are. Sergeant Yeager told us that yesterday. He said that we’re playing a part, and we’ve got to make a distinction or the lines could blur, and then we would have a hard time distinguishing between right and wrong.” She leaned back in her chair. “There would be a lot fewer problems to shoot down if people would step aside and let God control their lives.”
Laura folded her hands together on top of her desk. “Mack, you can’t save the whole world. There will always be car thieves and drug dealers.”
“I’m not talking about criminals. I’m talking about cops. What I wouldn’t give to see some fruits of the Spirit taught.” Mack glanced at Captain Gates. “You look confused. Don’t they teach that at your church?”
The white lie she told a couple of years ago when Mack invited her to church was coming back to haunt her now. Laura called up a pleasant smile. “Yes. We’re very fond of fruit. Except for apples, of course.” Laura tried to steer the conversation back on track. “Mack, we don’t live in a perfect world, which is pretty much what guarantees our employment. Now,” she said in a serious tone, “I know you can do this. You’re just going to have to try harder. You and I both know church is important, but your job isn’t to make everybody know that. Your job is to catch criminals. You’re a good cop. Don’t let the others make you feel inadequate. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Stand up for yourself and show them what you’ve got.”
Laura smiled graciously, even though she felt like a complete failure. Her dreams had been swept away by people who knew how to get to her, and by one split-second decision she learned to regret … to loathe.
“Mack, promise me you won’t quit. I picked you for the task force for a reason, and it wasn’t because of your religious views. You’ve got instinct and determination. You know how to read people. It’s a … God-given talent.”
Mack lowered her eyes and smiled. “Sometimes it’s a curse.”
“How so?”
“Because I know when people are lying about going to church.” She rose and thrust out her hand for Laura to shake. “If you ever want to come, I would be honored to have you as my guest.”
Laura shook Mack’s hand and worried about the dumbfounded look on her own face. Yet the warmth in Mack’s eyes sent relief to her heart, which was a strange way to feel after being caught in a lie.
“Captain Gates, you’re right. This is an opportunity of a lifetime. I’m not going to give up. I can do this. Thank you for the inspiration.”
“Uh … yes, sure.” Laura walked around her desk as Mack went to the door. “Mack,” she said. Mack turned around. “You can’t be seen here once the operation begins. You can’t be seen anywhere near the police department.”
“I know.”
“I’ll see you after it’s over.”
Mack nodded. When she’d gone, Laura took a moment to gain her composure. Nobody had ever called her a liar to her face before. But somehow, she felt … understood. She couldn’t put her finger on what drew her to Mack, but it kept drawing her. If Laura were a praying person, she’d pray that Mack would rise to the top and do all the things Laura never could.
Laura walked down the hall to Ron’s office. She checked the hallway to make sure nobody was around, then marched to the desk. She picked up the copies of the case files, slipped off the thick rubber band, and shuffled through until she found the five she needed. She took them back to her office, shut the door, and promptly buried the files under a tall pile of papers.
Jesse moved the curtains slightly and peeked out the window at Ruth’s house. She’d been outside potting flowers when he arrived and he’d decided to pretend he didn’t hear her call hello. But she was nowhere to be seen now.
> Dozer and Wiz had already left, off to their lame training assignment. Jesse turned to Kyle and Mack. “Okay, look. I’m going to go along with all of this, if only to keep myself from getting killed when we start the real thing.” He looked at the piece of paper in his hand. “All right, the coast is clear. Lets go.”
Jesse settled into his seat and handed the piece of paper to Mack. They drove toward the freeway. “This address is in your patrol area, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure which apartments these are.”
“Shouldn’t we find out first?” Kyle asked. “We need to be informed.”
“Don’t get too excited about this, okay? It’s a training exercise. We go in there with our undercover identities and carry on a conversation about how we’re interested in renting. We ask a few questions our alter egos might ask, and then we’re done. It’s to help you learn your identity. It’s not a big deal.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at Kyle, whose expression was filled with concentration. “Kyle, tell me about yourself.”
Kyle’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror. “Why?”
“If we’re going to work together, we need to know each other.” That line would never work on another cop, but Kyle wasn’t any ordinary cop, and Jesse wanted to know why.
“Well, I grew up in the Southwest. My mom was a homemaker, my dad an accountant. I graduated from high school a year early and finished my undergraduate …” Kyle paused, then caught Jesse’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“You have a master’s?” Jesse asked.
“Why would I have a master’s?”
“Because people who don’t have masters’ degrees never refer to their degree as undergraduate.”
Kyle didn’t look like he knew what to say, so Jesse filled in the silence. “I don’t care what kind of degree or degrees you have. None of it matters on the streets. Maybe you’d fit in better teaching courses at the academy. That’s where most of the guys with masters’ turn up. Or in the FBI.”
Snitch Page 11
