by L. A. Witt
I shook my head, then winced as my neck objected. “I tried, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how many of my coworkers’ asses had been right where I was laying my face.” The bull pen was already filling up with those coworkers, in fact, most of them surreptitiously watching me, alone at my double desk.
Paula smacked me gently on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t ruin that couch for me, it’s my second home!” She looked at me sympathetically. “Having a rough time working your case while Andreas is out?”
“Andreas?” I made a face. “Jesus, don’t talk about him to me, okay? I’m in a mess of fucking trouble thanks to that asshole.”
“Hey, now.” Paula’s sympathy started to slip away. “Whatever else is going on, he’s still your partner, Darren. And I’m sure he’s not a drug abuser, whatever those jackasses found in his locker. He’ll be exonerated, you’ll see.”
“That would be nice. It would be nicer if he hadn’t gotten into that kind of mess at all, but I guess it’s too much to ask for him to be a decent human being and not antagonize IA to the point of wanting to get rid of him. And maybe me, by extension.”
“You think he wanted to drag you down with him? Come on, Darren, give your partner a break.”
“He’s not my partner right now,” I said coolly. “And if I’m lucky, he won’t be again.”
Paula stared at me for a long moment before reaching over and grabbing the Starbucks cup again. “Well. Looks like your membership in our club is revoked, then. Also, bastards who turn on their partners don’t get good coffee.” She swiveled around and dumped the cup in the nearest trash can, then walked away without a backward glance.
My portly, red-faced neighbor sat down next to me with a whistle. “What’d you do to get on her bad side, Baby-face?”
“Get fucked,” I said, then turned back to the file I’d fallen asleep on.
By noon, nobody was trying to talk to me, but a bunch of people were talking about me.
Well, actually, one person was trying to talk to me. “Darren!”
I started and looked up at the newcomer. “Trent? What are you doing here?”
“I heard you were having a bad day,” he said with a little head shake. “I thought taking you out to lunch might help improve it.”
I sighed. “No, probably not.”
“Let me take you out anyway. It’s a nice day. Some fresh air and sunshine will clear your head.”
“I’ve got a lot to do . . .”
“There’s always more paperwork to do, Darren. It’ll still be here when you get back.”
“Fine.” It was the sound of a man who not only knew he’d been beaten, he didn’t care. God, I was tired. “Whatever. I’ll drive.”
“Anything you want.”
We ended up getting drive-thru at a Mexican place and parking down by the river to eat. I tried not to think about the parallels between the last time I’d been down here and who I was with now. We ate in silence for a few minutes before Trent said, “Are you doing okay?”
I laughed mirthlessly. “No, I think I can safely say that I’m not doing okay. Nowhere close, actually. Andreas has dropped me in the middle of a fucking hornet’s nest, and now I have to deal with it all by myself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about my partner being a goddamn vigilante!” I snapped. “I’m talking about the audio files I found—holy shit, did you know he even bugged me? His own partner?” Oh, I was definitely going to Hell. “I’m talking about the files he’s got from the actual mayor, Trent. I thought something strange was going on when he kept following up on leads without me. He set up microphones all over the place—he’s got audio files of the mayor talking about drug shipments.” I didn’t really have to feign the beginnings of hyperventilation.
“Drugs? What kind of drugs? What sort of shipment?” Trent asked sharply.
“I don’t know what kind, but whatever they are, they’re coming in tonight. Millions of dollars’ worth, and apparently Mayor Crawford thinks things are getting too hot. He’s going to go and get them himself, and Trent, I am not fucking prepared for this. I can’t go after the mayor.”
“No,” Trent said distractedly. “No, you definitely can’t do that. And . . . tonight? A drop? What’s going on with that?”
“I guess it’s supposed to be tonight, and the mayor said he was through fucking around with middlemen. Something about his right-hand man being compromised, I don’t know―he didn’t name a name.”
I could almost hear Trent grinding his teeth. “Where were these files, Darren?”
“They were stored in a thumb drive, taped to the top of his desk drawer. I only found it because I was looking for evidence to exonerate that fucker.” I dropped my head into my hands. “But nothing he’s got is legal. I don’t think he cares anymore. Trent.” I reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. “You have to stay away from Andreas. You hear me? He’s at the end of his rope, there’s no telling what he might do.”
“And now? Where are the files now?” Trent’s shoulder was almost vibrating with tension under my hand.
“I deleted them, of course,” I hissed. “What else could I do? They were obtained unlawfully; they’re no good as evidence of wrongdoing.”
“That’s . . . probably smart,” Trent said after a second. He patted my hand and managed to look almost normal. “If I were you, I’d keep this information to yourself.”
“Who am I going to tell?” I asked sadly. “I’ve been a detective for less than two weeks and I’m already a pariah.”
“Yeah, I heard about your little tussle with Morris. Don’t let her get you down, okay? Now.” He hopped down from the hood of the car. “Drive us back to the precinct. I’ve got some stuff to do. We can talk more about this later though, all right?”
“Right,” I agreed, getting back into my car. “Later.” After I’d relayed a message to Andreas through Thibedeau.
The ball was in his court now. I only hoped he could get in to see the mayor in time.
There were a number of advantages to having informants at city hall. Today, one of those advantages came in handy—getting the mayor’s schedule of meetings into my hands. With a little more help, I managed to slip into the building without anyone noticing.
As I made my way toward the conference room where Mayor Crawford was supposed to meet with a committee from the state’s Department of Transportation, I kept my head down. There were cops around, some of them picking up overtime by working security at city hall, and a lot of them knew my face. Word had gotten around to multiple precincts that I’d finally been busted as a drug addict, and that I was suspended until further notice. If one person recognized me—one person who wasn’t already in my pocket—I was getting escorted out of here. There was no margin of error today.
I stayed away from the conference room for the moment. There was security posted outside, and they’d get suspicious if I was hovering around. Fine. All I needed was to catch Crawford on his way to his next meeting. If my smuggled calendar was correct, that meeting was up on the sixth floor, which meant he’d be heading to the elevators in about five minutes.
Of course, the meeting ran late. When didn’t they? To make myself look less conspicuous, I busied myself on my phone. If anyone bothered to look, they probably assumed I was returning text messages or checking emails. No one needed to know I leveled up twice on Candy Crush.
Finally, the conference room doors opened, and Crawford emerged with his usual entourage—security, an assistant, a few suits I didn’t recognize—hot on his heels.
I stepped in front of the group. “Mr. Mayor, I need a minute of your—”
“Make an appointment,” he said dismissively, and kept walking.
“Mr. Mayor, wait.” I stepped in front of him “I’m Detective Ruffner. Twenty-first Precinct.”
He halted. His entourage did as well, the security guys bristling at the edges, watching me warily in between glancing at the mayor, probably waiti
ng for the green light to tackle me.
The mayor sighed, shifting his weight impatiently. “What do you want, Detective?” He spat out my rank with palpable distaste.
I straightened, setting my jaw. “I want to know what you’re planning to do to stop what’s going to happen at the Montrose Airfield tonight.”
“All right, that’s enough.” One of the suits tried to step between us. “The mayor is very busy and—”
“Montrose Airfield?” Crawford narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?
I scanned the others in the group, then met his gaze. “There’s a plane coming in tonight.” I shook my head. “I have no idea what’s on it, but there’s talk all over the street about the merchandise being stolen.”
The rest of his entourage rolled their eyes and exchanged incredulous can you believe this whacko glances.
Crawford looked right at me. His features hardened, but the faintest shift of his tense posture didn’t escape my notice. “Stolen?”
“Yes.” I waved a hand. “Like I said, I don’t know the details. I just know someone is going to be there to intercept the plane before the real buyers can get there, and—”
“All the illegal activity at that airport was shut down years ago. By your department.” The obnoxious suit snorted. “Or are you worried your dealer’s next shipment is going to wind up going to someone else, Detective Ruffner?”
I gritted my teeth. “If it is narcotics, then we’ve got the makings of a turf war, and—”
“Detective,” the mayor growled. “Are you really coming to me to ask what I’m going to do about drug smugglers stealing from each other?” He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Have you lost your mind?”
Shifting uncomfortably, I clicked my tongue. “Mr. Mayor, please. This could be huge. And really bad.”
“Then why aren’t you talking to the cops?” the suit asked with a sneer. “Or are they still not talking to you?”
More snickering, head shaking, and eye rolling.
I swallowed. “No one there is willing to listen because they think I’m a drug addict. But someone is going to get killed unless—”
“They think you’re an addict?” someone said.
Someone else laughed. “Wait, you said you’re Detective Ruffner, right? That junkie detective they finally busted?”
Crawford glanced over his shoulder. Glaring at me again, he growled, “Is that true?”
I exhaled hard. “It’s—”
“Detective Ruffner.” Captain Hamilton materialized beside me and grabbed my arm. “Just what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m—”
“Not a word,” Hamilton snapped, and hauled me back a step. “Was I not clear when I said you were suspended? Did that somehow translate to giving you free rein to harass the mayor?” Before I could answer, he turned to Crawford. “Mr. Mayor, I apologize. This—”
“This is one of your men, Hamilton?” Crawford asked.
Hamilton sighed heavily. “Yes. I’m sorry. He’s—”
Crawford glared at me, then stabbed a finger at the captain. “He’s out of control is what he is. Get him out of here!”
“Will do, Mr. Mayor. Sorry for—”
“Junkie son of a bitch,” the mayor muttered, and brushed past us. The rest of the entourage followed.
“Come on.” Hamilton jerked my arm, and in silence, we walked to the elevator. Even inside the elevator, he kept his hand on my arm, and I kept my gaze down, avoiding the scrutiny of the bubble camera above our heads.
Silence followed us down to the parking garage and all the way to Hamilton’s car. I slid into the backseat. He got in the driver’s seat. As he drove, neither of us spoke until we were out of the parking garage and on the main road.
Finally, Hamilton glanced at me in the rearview. “Think he bought it?”
I looked out the window. “Let’s hope so.”
“See anything yet?” Darren asked.
I lowered the binoculars. “Nothing yet.”
“Shit,” he muttered. “That plane is due in fifteen minutes.”
“And they probably don’t want to be seen loitering around here longer than they have to.” I peered through the binoculars again. “Patience.”
He grumbled something under his breath, but I ignored it. I remembered my early years well enough. Nothing was more boring than waiting for something to happen when all you wanted to do was kick down doors.
We were hunkered in an empty hangar facing the tiny airport’s tarmac. Across the street in a beat-up van outside an equally beat-up garage was the rest of our team—all of them hand-picked by Paula and operating under her watchful eye—who were monitoring the cameras I’d set up this morning before going to city hall. That was to say nothing about people I had planted all over the roads leading to the airport. If anyone came within half a mile of this place, I’d know about it.
And if shit went south, SWAT was standing by in a barn across the street and, in a nearby field, more SWAT was waiting in a helicopter that was ready to fly in on a moment’s notice. I didn’t like having this many people involved—no matter how carefully they’d been vetted, all it took was one leak to fuck everything up. We didn’t have much choice, though.
My heart thumped against my ribs. All we had to do was wait, and hope to God everyone had taken the bait.
My earpiece crackled to life. “We’ve got confirmation the aircraft is headed this way. Over.”
“Copy that. Over.” I turned to Darren. “You catch—”
“Yep.” He put up his own binoculars and scanned the area.
A second later, another transmission came through: “We’ve got a vehicle entering. Two individuals.” Pause. “Looks like one is Crawford.”
My heart sped up.
Two minutes later, sure enough, the mayor walked out onto the air strip. He was alone except for a single security guard. The guy was armed, but he wasn’t one of the guards I’d seen at city hall.
In fact—
“Is that Officer Huan?” Darren whispered.
I looked through the binoculars. “I’ll be damned.”
“Jesus. Are there any cops left who aren’t dirty?”
“Sometimes I wonder.” And I hoped like hell none of our backup was dirty.
“He’s a little light on security for something like this.”
“The more security he brings, the more people will know what’s going on.”
“But if he thinks his shit’s about to get ripped off . . .”
“He’s a sitting politician,” I said. “And he probably knows we’re sniffing around. He can’t afford more witnesses who might testify against him.”
Darren exhaled. “Well, he’s here. Question is, where’s—”
“Ruffner,” Paula said on the radio, “I’ve got a visual on Newberry. He’s alone and three minutes from your location.”
I chuckled. “That answer your question?”
“Yep.” Darren fidgeted. “Is it just me, or is this too easy so far?”
“If you just jinxed us . . .”
“I’m just saying. Something doesn’t seem right.”
My spine prickled. It wasn’t that I thought this had been too easy. Up until this point, I’d mostly expected it to be. But Crawford and Newberry were both damn good at keeping their hands clean. Even if they showed up here, there was no guarantee they’d incriminate themselves.
So help me God, if Trent tries to be a hero and make an arrest . . .
I tamped that thought down.
“I’ve got a visual on Trent,” Darren said. “He’s coming around the east side of the terminal on foot.”
“And here comes the plane.” The lights in the distance were coming in as fast as a little twin-engine could, and Crawford and Huan were watching.
Near the terminal building, Trent halted. Hidden by shadows—he thought—he watched too, and the whole world seemed completely silent except for the incoming plane and, when it touched down, the squeak of tir
es hitting the runway. Nobody moved while the plane taxied.
As the aircraft came to a halt in front of Crawford and Huan, Darren nudged my arm. “Trent’s on his way in.”
I turned my head. Yeah, he was on his way, walking fast and determined, and even from here, he looked pissed.
Huan saw him, and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. Crawford was busy speaking with the copilot, who’d just stepped out.
My heart beat faster as Trent closed in. “Paula, you guys getting all this?”
“Every word, hon,” she said. “The engines are creating some background noise, but we’re picking up—”
“Oh shit!” Darren hissed.
I shifted my gaze toward Trent.
Just in time to see him whip out a pistol.
“Fuck!”
The muzzle flashed twice, and the crack of gunfire echoed through the night. A split second later, Crawford slumped against the side of the plane. Then he crumpled to the ground, leaving a smear of blood on the white finish.
The copilot tried to scramble back into the plane, but Huan grabbed him. One swift kick, and the man dropped to his knees on the pavement a few feet away from Crawford.
“Out of the plane!” Trent bellowed, waving his weapon at the pilot. “Out of the plane! Now!”
“Shit!” Darren turned to me. “What now?”
I clicked on my radio. “Paula, we need—”
“Already on it, baby. SWAT will be there in four. Helo’s going up as we speak.”
“Good. Now we—”
Something cold and solid dug into the back of my head. I froze.
Beside me, so did Darren.
“Hands behind your head.” The cold voice wasn’t one I recognized, but it sure as shit wasn’t friendly.
I slowly put my hands behind my head. “We’re cops. We—”
“I know who you are, Ruffner.” Beside me, Darren was pushed forward a step. “Hands behind your head, Corliss.”
Darren swore under his breath, but obeyed.
“Now move.” The thing against my head—the gun that was probably going to splatter my brains all over the tarmac—nudged sharply. “We’re going for a walk.”
