"And remain alive to enjoy it," muttered Fisher, adding some menace to John's comforting words.
Vineil leaned back and crossed her ankles. "I think I'll take my time and think about it. Deal could use a little sweetener. Your boy can sit in whatever nice little nine-by-seven concrete kennel he's in, slowly going insane while I'm out on bail."
Fisher snorted. "Don't be so sure about the bail."
John rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "You're not too bright, are you."
"Brighter than a conman's pet," said Vineil with contempt.
"Deal's off when your arrest goes public," said John. "You think Starr'll even speak to you after that happens? Hell, no. Probably unleash some spare goons on you."
"You ever had a little sister raped into a coma, pussy boy?" asked Vineil. "Had a wife's spinal cord shredded by a nine millimeter? What would you do to the fucker, I wonder?"
John couldn't help thinking of the inmates he'd been introduced to in Sing Sing; the revolting guy who'd leered into the cell at him and Nick, threatening for the hell of it.
Green, a shattered, probably innocent man surviving torture and the loss of his freedom and family.
The war criminal lacking in any shred of morality or decency, waiting only for the chance to murder and save his own life.
The mentally unbalanced, cheerfully self-aware man accepting and trying to stay sane in the solitary confinement cell his violent rages condemned him to.
The former CO, sad and accepting and almost sweet in a way that reminded him of Nick.
"I've met maximum security inmates," said John. "I can't think of a single one who'd be a better or safer person if only we just abused and broke them a little more. You better do everything in your power to treat and teach and rehabilitate these bastards before you cut them loose on my family."
"Get your idealistic head out of your ass. Starr throws out the trash, and we keep it in the landfill. You got a problem with that, I'll happily give your home address to a few rank pieces of garbage."
"Sometimes valuable things get thrown out in the trash," said John. "Depends on who's deciding what's garbage, and it doesn't get to be you. We aren't in the revenge business, we're protectors. And protectors don't get to attack like rabid dogs. Ever."
Vineil was looking at him oddly. "You care about bad guys?"
John thought about Nick, about many screwed up but fundamentally decent people he'd investigated and arrested. "Yes, I care about them. I don't usually like them, but to the extent that I impact their lives, I care."
Vineil took her time answering. She examined his expressions, looked into his eyes, and finally her own cold, defensive gaze softened. "Does that mean you care about me?"
John nodded. "I don't like you. But I care about your well-being as a person in my custody, and I care about you being safe and treated with dignity. I see your actions as pure evil, but I know you never intended them that way, and they come from a badly twisted sense of caring of your own."
Her head fell, and she hid her face in her folded arms on the table. "I care about the fucking civilians these guys hurt. Is that so wrong?"
"No," said John. "But it's wrong to do the hurting. Nick Aster is a criminal and a sincerely good man. I just met an innocent civilian your people tortured into a plea bargain. What you did to them is wrong on a devastating level."
"If you believe that about me, how can you care?"
"Because you're a person, with feelings and emotions. And because one day, you're going to be given a second chance and released. I want you to be a better, more understanding person by then, not a broken and bitter one."
A minute later, Vineil raised her head, cracked her knuckles, and addressed her lawyer. "I want to cooperate with him."
The lawyer let out an audible sigh of relief, fished around in his black leather laptop bag, and pulled out a file. He glanced at the others. "A few minutes of privacy with my client and AUSA Werner, please."
JOHN
Vineil looked hesitant as she stepped out of the interrogation room, like she expected to be in cuffs, or struck and dragged off somewhere. She gave Fisher an especially dubious look.
"Still not an evil prick," Fisher reassured her, albeit with a slightly dangerous half-smile.
"You understand how this works," warned John. "We have your full cooperation, in spirit and letter. If you don't keep up your end of that, or you tip off anyone, the deal's off and you rack up additional charges for interfering in a federal investigation."
The old anger twisted her face into a sneer and her fists clenched. "So you are planning to fuck me. Look at Mister Ethical now the cameras are off."
John shook his head. "I was thinking we could go to my office and start working together. But you could yell at me some more too, that's always a good time."
Her fists relaxed. "Screw you. Where's your office?"
"Don't read much, do you?" Theo had been hiding around the corner and chose that moment to make his grand entrance. Vineil's jaw dropped and she stared at him.
John hid an amused smirk. He was so used to Theo by now that he hadn't stopped to really appreciate today's ensemble.
Theo had turned his coat collar up and pulled a red baseball cap that read, "Make America Great Again" down low over his face. His army green vest was worn over a khaki coat, and bore buttons with the anarchy symbol, an image of Bernie Sanders reading "Feel the Bern," one reading "Hillary for Prison 2016," one announcing that Ted Cruz was the Zodiac killer, a rainbowed peace symbol, and a Guy Fawkes mask.
Theo planted his fists on his hips. "What? I'm inscrutable. My name is Elias Fouku, and I'll be your trucker and drug dealer extraordinaire today. I take payment in unmarked twenty dollar bills."
Vineil snorted. "You choose 'fuck you' as your last name and I'm the one who needs to read more?"
Theo stuck his nose in the air and looked down it. "It's French."
"And I'm the leader of a tribe of Martian warriors," retorted Vineil.
John grinned. "Come along, boys and girls."
They took seats in Fisher's plain office and John passed a folder to Vineil. The top sheet bore a photo of Theo. His alias, Elias Fouku, and his cover as a trucker and drug dealer extraordinaire.
The next dossier was Lyndon Green's, and used his real identity. Robbery, murder, and a position of influence in the prison.
John leaned forward and planted his elbows on the government-gray metal table. "You're gonna tell Starr that you met with Fouku. Fouku told you about an inmate, Lyndon Green who would arrange for the hit in exchange for 'merchandise.' You meet with Starr and Fouku, and attend wearing a wireless transmitter."
Vineil's eyes blazed in anger. "Wait, you're looking to pin him with drug distribution along with murder for hire?"
"Yep."
"That's entrapment, you bastards. He doesn't run drugs."
"I've found evidence that he does," said Fisher with a cold expression. "He's institutionalized mass coercion of confessions and the framing of suspects, and you murder inmates under your care. We're agreeing to place you in a safe and humane environment for the rest of your life. You don't get to call us bastards now or anytime in this eternity."
"Fuck you. You're a GITMO interrogator. You don't get a high horse."
Fisher sighed. "I tanked my career and was almost murdered for having a conscience. Where's yours?"
John brought them back to the case. "Your role is to ensure that Starr trusts Fouku, and makes an offer of drugs in exchange for Aster's murder. Fouku's cover is solid, and Green is a real inmate. Fouku is going to put the three of you on a conference call and make introductions. Then Starr will make his offer. Green will accept."
"And that's it?" asked Vineil.
"No," said John. "That only gets us conspiracy. We want full-on murder for hire, so we can hold Starr without bail while the rest of the Federal investigation proceeds."
Vineil glared at him.
"You make sure Vineil loads the drugs onto Fouku's tr
uck hidden in cans of chili slated for delivery to the prison," explained John. "Fouku delivers the drugs, and Green texts Starr that payment has been made and he's seeking final authorization for the hit. Starr confirms it, and we'd like you to get him to request a proof of death. Then you're done."
She buried her face in her hands. "Then I stand in a park or an alley somewhere while you guys close in, knowing these are my last moments outside of a prison."
"Hey." Fisher leaned in, and suddenly he was the overwhelmingly compassionate man John had seen when Fisher had scared Nick. "You're wondering if it would be better to just go warn Starr and blow your brains out. I promise you, your life will be worth living. That's the offer we're making here."
"Yeah." Her voice cracked, but the sarcasm came through just fine.
Fisher sighed. "You people create your own hell, you know that? You made jail a place to fear horribly, a place without compassion, and now that's all you can imagine anyone doing. You're going to prison for murder, for assault, torture....heinous crimes. Do you now think all inmates are irredeemably horrible people?"
She started sobbing, her face hidden, shoulders shaking.
Fisher stood. "I never did," he said softly.
John stood and placed a gentle hand on her back. "Neither did I. That's why my partner's a felon named Nick Aster. Come on, we'll make your last case a good one."
JOHN
Theo didn't demand to drive this time, or even ask where they were going. John held the passenger door open for him, closed it with a soft push and a pat, and got in. His headlights illuminated the dimly lit, greenish-hued parking structure, but Theo's turned-away head was in shadow within the car.
John didn't pull out of the parking space. "Theo?"
"It's complicated, isn't it?" Theo asked at last. "What you do."
"Very."
"That was.... sadder than I expected," admitted Theo. "I was happier watching the good-cop, bad-cop confrontation. I went in wanting to see that Luciferian gilt be utterly devastated, but seeing her as a person, crying...."
"Nick said he doesn't want revenge," said John. "I do. I want to see every last person involved behind bars, preferably terrified and crying their eyes out. But.... in reality I'd comfort them."
"So you really didn't want to hurt Nick, when you hunted him and arrested him."
"Not at all," said John. "If you could have seen us in the interrogation room...." He smiled, remembering. "Nick didn't cry. He was playful and cheeky and we ate pizza together and he took the table apart and stole my watch. Hurting him was the last thing in the world I wanted to do."
"So how do you know who the real bad guys are?" asked Theo.
John backed out of the parking space, frowning, inner lip pinched between his teeth. "Everyone's the hero of their own story," he said finally. "Not sure my opinion matters."
"It matters to Nick," said Theo.
"Not a bad guy," said John, certain.
"Then would you please, for the love of all that is holy, tell him that?"
"I did," said John. "Before I left him in that horrible little kennel. An' I'm gonna keep telling him every chance I get."
MALACHI FRANKS
Malachi Franks smiled as he bundled up his creations to be passed on to a certain corrections officer. They'd talked for so long about the rabid dogs locked up in the Sing Sing IMU, sexually perverted like the sadist who'd violated him long ago in the prison they called a group home. Just last week, one of them tried to bite an officer's ear off. His friend's, to be specific.
Putting them down was treated as if it would be some evil. It would, in reality, be a kindness. They went slowly mad in those kennels, painting in excrement, screaming, clawing their own wrists open and trying to chew through the arteries. Their victims would finally be able to sleep at night, knowing their nightmares would never be released. And the rabid dogs would never bite again.
Nick Aster didn't sound that bad, on the face of it. But someone was willing to pay to have him put down, so he must be one of of those clever ones, the sociopaths that hide behind a smiling face. The money would make it possible for Franks and friend to put down quite a few..... so they'd start with Aster.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
A Change of Reality
JOHN
"Where we going?"
John braked at the exit of the parking garage. "NYPD precinct. Homicide."
"I knew I shouldn't have let you drive," said Theo, wide-eyed. "You're insane."
"I'm trying to exonerate an innocent man."
"That's nice, but they'll probably confiscate me as a trade-in," said Theo, pulling the red Make America Great Again cap down over his eyes.
"Captain Monroe is meeting us there," said John.
"Hmm," said Theo, mollified. The good Captain had impressed him indeed. Operation Lion's Den appeared to be working.
JOHN
Detective Amar Matharu worked out of a cramped desk in the corner of a gloomy squad room with barred windows looking out on a row of dumpsters. Law books in shelves covering one entire wall made the place smell like an old university library.
"I remember that case," said Matharu. "I remember Lyndon. I liked that man, I thought he was innocent. I was shocked when he plead guilty and I had to close out the file."
"Is there anything that might point to another suspect, or cast doubt on the conviction?" asked John. "Green's helping us run a sting, and I promised I'd look into his case. My partner and criminal consultant thinks he's innocent too."
"Many," said Matharu. "Captain Monroe gave me the go-ahead to reopen the case earlier today. It was an armed pharmacy robbery that went bad, and the suspect ended up shooting and killing three people. The robber wore a mask, but the camera footage caught him dropping a bottle of pills. There were a lot of smudged prints, and the only decent one we pulled off the bottle was Lyndon's, but here's the thing. Lyndon was one of the pharmacists."
"So of course his prints were on the bottle," said John.
Matharu nodded. "The robber pulled off his mask a block away from the pharmacy, and a bystander got a look at his face. Described the suspect to us as 'a colored guy.' Actually used the words, 'they all look alike,' but when we put Lyndon in a lineup the witness ID'd him. Lyndon didn't have an alibi. I had to arrest him, but I wasn't about to call it done any time soon. One of the other pharmacists had a boyfriend with a long history of violence and drug distribution, and she even told me she was afraid it'd been him. Lyndon's ATM card had been used across town where he said he'd been at the time of the robbery. "
The detective looked down at his hands. "Lyndon was.... tortured in jail? That's why he entered a guilty plea, to get out of there?"
John nodded. "That's what he claims. Afraid it's probably true. If you pull his medical records after he got to Sing Sing, it sounds like there's physical evidence."
Theo was standing closer to his side than he'd been a minute ago, pale, but his expression lacked its usual hostility. The detective was visibly upset, and John felt for him. If this'd been his case....
"Shit," said Matharu in a quiet voice. "He was scared, when I interrogated him. I had a feeling he was innocent, so I reassured him. I told him I wasn't trying to pin this on him, if he was innocent he was going to be okay. I thought something was off when he plead guilty, but they ordered me to close the case and move on. A few too many things about a few too many cases were off, and I ended up putting in a transfer to IA."
Captain Monroe stepped forward and placed his knuckles on the jacket Matharu had on his desk marked Green, Lyndon.
"Amar, this is your priority. If you can find evidence to exonerate the guy, great. Find evidence that he was mistreated in jail, great. Who ordered it, even better. Find out who actually committed that robbery too, you'll be responsible for getting an innocent man out of prison and three murdered men'll finally have their killer behind bars."
John cleared his throat. "Ah - Lyndon was relieved when I told him you probably didn't do this
to him. He liked you, and then spent years thinking you ordered him to be tortured."
Matharu gripped the edge of his desk hard. "Jesus."
"Might be nice, no matter how this comes out, to tell him otherwise."
"I will. Thanks, Langley. I'll take care of this guy, I promise."
JOHN
Theo backed a semi-truck and trailer into the parking lot of a rust-stained warehouse. John tried not to look surprised. He really should just stop being astonished at the wide variety of esoteric expertise Nick and his circle had. Theo handled the thing like it was a Ford Taurus.
Broken Blue Lines: Love. Hate. Criminal Justice.: An FBI Crime Drama / LGBT+ Love Story Page 42
