Snitch

by Rene Gutteridge

  “Speaking of keeping up …”

  “Yeah?”

  “I need some advice.”

  “From me?”

  “I need chick advice.”

  “Chick advice.”

  “I can name all the minor prophets in the Bible, I know the four gospels by heart and find Leviticus interesting, but when it comes to women, it’s all Greek to me.” Kyle laughed. “That’s not really a good analogy, because I can actually read Greek, but you get the idea.”

  “Right …” Jesse fought to keep a straight face. “Well, it would be better if you knew French. It’s more of a turn-on than Greek.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s really about confidence. When you ask a woman out, there can’t even be a hint that you’re afraid she’s going to say no.”

  “But what if she says no?”

  Jesse sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “First, let me tell you why I asked to come along tonight. I wanted to talk to you about something.” Jesse propped his elbow up against the window and leaned his head against his hand. “I know my thing with Chaplain Greer probably sounds weird. But it worked. I don’t know what it was about him, but when he prayed, things happened. Good things. And now that he’s gone and I’m working undercover with the Huxtables, everything is falling apart. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “What about it?”

  “I need you to be Chaplain Greer. Just until he gets back from the cruise.” Kyle started to speak, but Jesse interrupted him. “I realize you and I started off bumpy. It could’ve been worse. A lot worse. But now I think we could have something good here. Sort of like what I had with Chaplain Greer.”

  “Jesse, I don’t have any special—”

  “You’re a pastor, right? And pastors are supposed to pray for their people. I’ll come to church on Sundays if you’ll do this for me.”

  “You’d better explain what ‘this’ is first.”

  “Whenever I go into the field, I need you to pray for me. And feel free to bless me too. Chaplain Greer used to do that, but he’s been falling off a little in that area.”

  “You’ll come to my church every Sunday?”

  “Sure.”

  “Every Sunday?”

  “Yes, yes. Every Sunday. I’ll even wear a tie and carry a Bible if that makes you happy.” Jesse folded his arms. “So is it a deal? You pray for and bless me, and I’ll turn you into a chick magnet.”

  Kyle’s face immediately flushed bright pink. “Well, I don’t really need to be a magnet. Washable glue would be fine.”

  “I’m just saying, if you help me with my problem, I’ll help you with yours.”

  “Okay … deal,” Kyle said. “On one condition. You need to understand that I can’t control what happens to you. I can pray for you and offer advice, but the rest is up to God.”

  “Okay. Same here—I can show you my moves, tell you to stop wearing fabric belts, and teach you some good lines, but at some point, you’ll have to carry this thing yourself.”

  Kyle smiled and stuck out his hand to shake. “Now,” he said. “Let’s get started. Give me some good advice.”

  Jesse thought for a moment. “I’ll never forget what my best friend in high school told me. We were eating lunch one day, and he just said out of the blue, ‘Man, with girls it can be as simple as the difference between a or the’ So I ask him what he means, right? And he goes, ‘It’s the difference between telling a girl you’re in a band or the band.’” Jesse laughed hard at the memory. “Isn’t that hilarious?”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “What he meant was if you’re in a band, you’re in a rock-and-roll type thing, but if you’re in the band, it means you’re in the marching band.”

  “I was in the marching band!” Kyle said. “First-chair tuba!” Jesse was suddenly certain he had the impossible end of this deal.

  A perfect early-morning temperature greeted Jesse as he got out of his truck in front of the body shop. Three huge garages dwarfed the building on the right, which they would use as their office. Jesse bent down to peer inside one partially open garage door. It looked like a typical body shop, complete with grease stains on the floor that were evidence of a previous tenant—the shop had once been a tire store.

  A bell chimed as he walked through the customer entrance. Colorful car brochures and paper-filled clipboards covered a small red counter. On the wall behind the counter, a collection of automotive repair licenses hung in crooked frames. Double doors on the left led to the garage, and a large glass window allowed customers to see the work being done on the cars.

  Hank, wearing a blue mechanics jumpsuit, came through the double doors holding a rag. “Hey, Detective Lunden.”

  “This place looks great.”

  Hank glanced around. “Yeah, I kind of wish it were my own shop.”

  “It will be for a while.” He looked through the window into the work area. One of Ruth’s cars was lifted up like it was being worked on, and one of the doors had been removed. “When do the insurance guys get here?”

  “Maybe another week. Sergeant Yeager said that this kind of thing takes time, and you guys hadn’t expected to move this fast.”

  “You here alone?”

  “Mack’s here,” he said, just as she came through the door to the office behind the counter.

  “Hey, Jesse.” She smiled, but not as broadly as usual. Hank walked back through the doors.

  “Where’s everyone else?” Jesse asked.

  “Sergeant Yeager had to go into the office to talk with the insurance guys. Wiz and Dozer went to get breakfast.” She pointed to a pot of coffee in the small waiting room. “That’s ready if you want some.”

  Jesse walked over, took a foam cup, lifted the coffeepot, and poured his way toward a brighter outlook. He took a sip. “You look tired,” he said as Mack leaned down to put something away behind the counter.

  She popped up. “Do I?”

  “A little.”

  “I didn’t get much sleep. I kept playing the scene over and over in my mind, you know? How could I have done it differently? What did I do wrong? What did I do right?” She yawned. “Sorry. Anyway, Kyle gave me a good perspective.”

  “Kyle?”

  “Yeah, after you dropped him off last night, we talked for a while. I know, I know, we probably talked the thing to death, but that was my first real UC job.” The megawatt grin was back. “It was exciting.”

  “It always is. It doesn’t get any less exciting, but after a while, you get a little less idealistic.” Why was he even trying? She didn’t have a cynical bone in her body.

  “You know, the whole time I was in that bar, I had this amazing calmness. It was weird. I figured my heart would be beating out of my chest, but it sort of felt like I was transformed into this other person. I became her, and talking to this Mason guy was just part of who I was.”

  “That’s good,” Jesse said, sipping his coffee. “You had to think fast, and you did. Not everyone can do that.”

  “I’m a little nervous about calling Mason. I need to really think about what I’m going to say and how I’m going to react to his questions.”

  “When are we making the call?”

  “This afternoon. Sergeant Yeager wanted us to wait until he got back.”

  “Right.” Wait. One of his favorite things to do. Jesse looked up to see if he could spot the hidden cameras. He knew there was recording equipment on the counter too. This was a state-of-the-art setup, thanks to money coming from the insurance companies. A small price to pay to save thousands of dollars in claims. He watched Mack for a moment. She shuffled papers and went about her tasks like they were the most important things anybody could do. Even tired, she was so dang plucky. “You know, Mack, I have a hard time picturing your life. Growing up, I mean. How did you go from that to this?”

  “How do you envision my life?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. All I know is that you were homeschooled.” Jesse leaned o
n the counter. “So maybe I’m stereotyping. Its not fair, I know. But it’s life. We’re all stereotyped in one way or the other. Take me. When people find out I work undercover narcotics, the first thing they wonder is if I have my own drug problem. It’s a fair question. Some cops get pulled in. Even before they know that I’m a cop, they draw all kinds of conclusions about me based on my appearance.” He pointed to the tattoo on his forearm, then crushed his foam cup and tossed it free-throw style into the wastebasket on the other side of the counter. “Undo your stereotype for me. I hear ‘homeschooled,’ and I think ‘sheltered kid living in a commune with no idea what the real world is like.’”

  “My life was nothing like that,” she said, laughing. “I actually was raised as a clown.”

  Jesse smiled. At least she had a sense of humor about it. But she wasn’t laughing anymore. “Please tell me there’s a punch line coming.”

  “It was a family business,” she continued. “My parents lost their jobs around the same time, and they were trying to support a large family, so they started this clown business. We were definitely not in a commune! We traveled all over, to county fairs and places like that.”

  “Are you being serious?”

  Mack looked up. “Why?”

  “You’re not exactly helping dissolve the stereotype.”

  “What’s stereotypical about that? How many clowns do you know?”

  “Personally?” Jesse asked, unable to hide the taunt in his tone.

  “Working as a clown has actually helped me in my career. Especially now in undercover work. I know how to act, and that’s part of the job, right? Playing a role.”

  “It’s definitely going to come in handy when we have to bring down those seedy circus trainers.”

  She put away some folders. “Well, it hasn’t failed me yet. My parents were amazing people, and they taught me everything I needed to know about surviving in this world. Let me assure you, this job is a heck of a lot easier than entertaining forty five-year-olds.”

  Jesse laughed, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the absurd conversation or the mental picture he was forming of Mack in clown makeup.

  Hank walked back through the doors wearing the first smile Jesse had seen on him. “You won’t believe who is on the phone.” He held his cell phone toward Mack. “Hayden. She wants to talk to you.”

  Mack snatched the phone away and quickly put it to her ear. “Hayden … I can’t believe it … I’m so excited for you!” Mack rushed through the doors and down the hallway into a small office.

  “Our sister. She just got engaged to her boyfriend, Ray,” Hank explained.

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Seven.”

  “Ah.” He studied Hank for a moment. “So … were you a clown too?”

  “Mime.”

  Of course.

  Wiz and Dozer came in carrying coffee trays and sacks. “Bagels, but no donuts,” Dozer said with disappointment. “Wiz thinks diet is important.”

  Wiz walked over to the coffee pot and refilled his takeout cup.

  “You’ve had two cups already. Sure that’s a good idea?” Dozer asked Wiz.

  “Stay out of my drinking habits,” Wiz said. “And for the record, it doesn’t matter what I drink. I just have a small bladder.”

  Jesse laughed.

  “Shut up, Jesse, or I’ll tell Ruth you’ve got a crush on her,” Wiz said.

  Jesse’s hands flew up in self-defense. “All right, all right. You have me.”

  “Good, because Ruth was about to have you at hello,” Wiz said.

  Dozer walked over to the waiting room and plopped down in a chair. “We need a TV in here.”

  The bell rang and Ron walked in, looking exhausted. “Everyone here?” he asked.

  Dozer leaped to his feet.

  “Yeah,” Jesse said. “We’re working like crazy.”

  Mack came through the doors beaming. Jesse felt a pang of envy. He couldn’t recall beaming about anything when it came to his family.

  Ron leaned his cane against the counter and placed a sack on the floor. “I’ve never seen so much bureaucracy in my life. These people can’t even say maybe’ without checking with four other people.” He looked into the garage. “Well, at least we’re starting to look like the real thing. We’ll just have to play up the idea that we’re adding on as we can afford it.”

  “What about body parts?” Wiz asked.

  Hank laughed and leaned in to Mack. “I feel like I’m on CSI.”

  “We’ve got some in the warehouse behind the shop. Enough for now, but Captain Gates requested more. Who knows how long that’s going to take, though.” Sergeant Yeager pulled out a two-way radio from the sack. “We need to put this in the shop.”

  “What’s it for?” Mack asked.

  “The likelihood that we’ll need the radio is small, but we’re putting it in the shop just in case someone we come in contact with is wearing a bug detector.”

  “A bug detector?” Hank asked.

  “A counter-surveillance device,” Jesse said. “They’re small enough to carry in your pocket, and they vibrate if they detect a signal, like a recording device.”

  Sergeant Yeager patted the radio. “The signal put out by the two-way would confuse the detector and make our contact question whether it’s picking up the two-way or something else. Besides, most body shops would use one of these to contact tow trucks and salvage yards.” He handed it to Wiz. “Why don’t you get it set up somewhere.”

  “No problem,” Wiz said.

  “When do we call Mason?” asked Jesse.

  “In a little bit. We’ll call him from the land line here so he can trace it if he wants to.” He looked at Mack. “We’ll rehearse it. You’ll do fine.”

  “I feel ready,” she said. “I’ve got a little bit of nerves going, but I’m confident I can handle it. I’ve been praying like crazy. I’m getting a sense that God is going to do some big things here, and we’re going to get these guys. Aren’t you guys feeling it?” She looked at Jesse, then at Sergeant Yeager.

  “Yeah, sure,” Sergeant Yeager said.

  “Good,” she said, slapping her hands together. “I’m going to go pray one more time.” She hurried through the swinging doors.

  Jesse gestured toward the doors. “What is that?”

  “It’s called childlike faith. It’s just that most people don’t take it literally.”

  Chapter 29

  Rhyne slipped the tailored black jacket over his shoulders. He felt instantly powerful. Soon enough, he’d have the Rolex to match. He looked at himself in the door mirror, wondering how a man like Vincent Ayala could have so much money and not indulge a little. It was practically a crime not to. All Rhyne needed to complete the look was a cigar and a glass of cognac.

  “You look smooth, man,” Mason said as Rhyne walked into the kitchen.

  Rhyne pulled a stack of money, neatly secured with a rubber band, out of a drawer. He handed it to Mason.

  “What’s this?” Mason asked. “You already paid me.”

  “Let’s just call it a bonus.”

  Mason flipped through the crisp bills. “Really?”

  “I told you we’re going to be rolling in dough. Do you believe me now?”

  Mason nodded, still staring at the stack of cash. Rhyne smiled at the expected response. “So, do you trust me now?”

  Mason looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you trust me to run this thing?”

  “Sure, Rhyne. You set this whole thing up. You got us the meeting with Ayala.”

  Rhyne slipped off the Armani and laid it carefully across the back of the couch. “Well, Mason, I don’t trust you. That’s why I had you followed Friday night.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “What were you doing at that bar?”

  “Why would you follow me?”

  “I have to know I can trust you, Mason. You’re no good to me if I can’t trust you.”

  Ma
son snorted. “Yeah, well, I don’t know what it takes for you to trust me. All you do is worry that I’m a snitch.”

  “So what were you doing there?”

  “Why don’t you tell me, if you’re so smart?”

  Rhyne kept silent. He knew Mason would eventually keep talking.

  “Look, man, I’m just trying to get out of your hair, okay? I just needed some extra cash.” He sighed and glanced up at Rhyne. “Okay. You got me. I was working a deal to sell some parts. I’ve got a ton of stuff left over from last month, and there’s a new place opening up. They’re willing to deal under the table. They need everything.” He looked at the cash in his hand. “I … I didn’t know this was coming. I swear I wasn’t trying to betray you, Rhyne. I swear it. I was just trying to get some cash so I could get my own place.”

  Rhyne blinked. He loved the power he had over Mason, who had been reduced to a blubbering idiot. “So, you had a meeting. How do you know these people?”

  “I don’t. I just ran into the guy when I was waiting for you the other day. We struck up a conversation, and he mentioned his shop.”

  “Interesting. Have you sold anything yet?”

  “No, not yet. They’re going to call me.”

  “They have your cell phone number?”

  “It won’t happen again. I promise. It won’t.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “It was stupid, man. I just thought it would be a quick way to get some cash. That’s all.” Mason’s eyes pleaded for understanding.

  “I hate being paranoid. It can destroy a person … or make a person destroy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What else do they know about you, besides your cell phone number?”

  “Just my … my name. My first name.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes.”

  Rhyne exhaled a long, ferocious breath. “All right, Mason. I’ll give you one more chance. But this is it. You mess up, and that money you’re holding will turn into blood money.” Rhyne studied Mason. He looked scared enough.