Don't Look Twice

by Andrew Gross

  Munoz had followed up with Personnel, but the gal there had gotten all nervous and told him they’d have to clear that through security before they gave out a forwarding address.

  “I said, ‘No problem,’ Lieutenant. I saw his age.”

  Pacello was over sixty, and Munoz had been able to pick up a social security number off the file. “I ran it by the local bureau in Connecticut where his checks were being cut.”

  “Twenty-two twenty-seven Capps Harbor Road,” the detective read. “Brunswick, Maine.”

  Hauck was familiar with it. A picturesque town on the coast where Bowdoin College was located. Hauck had gone to Colby, only an hour away. Pacello had likely retired up there. It was about a four-hour drive away.

  “And that’s not all,” Munoz said.

  Steve Chrisafoulis had been delving into the Pequot Woods, scratching for some kind of link between the casino, DR-17, and Nelson Vega.

  He’d found one.

  He came in carrying the DR-17 gang leader’s file. That same smug glint in his eye Hauck had seen before.

  “Fire away.”

  “Vega did a short stint in the army. In 2001 to 2002. He was with the 223rd out of Fort Hood, in New Jersey. Munitions.”

  “I can’t believe they even let an asshole like that in the service.”

  Chrisafoulis snorted. “Trust me, they caught on…” Steve opened the file on Hauck’s desk. “He got in trouble right from the start. Sexually harassing a female enlistee. Insubordination to his senior officer. A drunkenness charge. Fighting. He eventually got bounced. Doesn’t say exactly why, but it seems it involved some ordnance that went missing from the base’s weapons stock. Dishonorably discharged. May 10, 2002. No charges ever filed.”

  Hauck picked up the paperwork.

  “You see who his brigade captain is?”

  Hauck scanned Vega’s release, squinting at the signature on the last page.

  One of the signatures was faint, but as Hauck made it out, he looked up, a surge of triumph running through his veins.

  Captain Joseph W. Raines.

  “Raines was a brigade commander in the 223rd himself,” Steve said. “He left in 2002 and served as an instructor in the military police’s antiterrorism school. From there he left the service and went to Iraq as a consultant in some security outfit there. But he knew him. He signed the fucker’s release.”

  “Who the hell is he protecting, Steve?” Hauck knew Raines was just a pawn. “Who runs these companies?”

  Chrisafoulis tossed him a glitzy annual report. “The Pequot Woods.” Hauck flipped to the management page. A bunch of names and faces he’d never heard of. Professionals. Twenty members of the board. Plus a council of overseers.

  A couple of names stood out. Senator Oren Casey. The guy who was caught in all that trouble—Richard Scayne.

  “You know, if I were a good ol’ boy, I’d toss this over to Sculley and Taylor and wash our hands of it right now,” he said to Chrisafoulis.

  “Or to Sanger’s boss at the DOJ. Or the state attorney general…” The detective shrugged.

  “Yeah.” Hauck tossed the Pequot Woods report back. “Keep digging. If it’s not a gambling scam, I want to know what the hell it is. Me, I’m taking a drive up to Maine.”

  “You know they know we know about him, Ty…” Steve looked concerned. “If I was looking to keep something quiet, that would be the place I’d start.”

  “Yeah,” Hauck said, “me too.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Annie looked adorable.

  When Hauck opened the door she stood on the landing in a short white parka and jeans, a knitted cap pulled over her ears against the chill. He wore an open plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves turned up over a T-shirt and Top-Siders. He knew he was staring just a bit. He couldn’t help it.

  “You don’t look like someone who’s so scared.” He smiled.

  He let her in.

  “You told me to relax,” Annie said. “Besides”—she grinned—“everyone who’d want to hurt me is dead, right?” She took off her hat and scarf, revealing a green cowl-neck sweater and a nice, toned figure. “Here.” She handed him a Frank Family cabernet. “We serve it at the café. Anything I can do?”

  Hauck asked, “You know how to do a fire?”

  Annie shrugged. “Brownie troop 624, Oakland Hills, California. Merits for neatness and outdoor survival skills. I think I can manage.”

  “Good.” Hauck handed her a log and a set of matches. “That gets you a glass of wine.”

  While Annie got the fire rolling, Hauck went back to the kitchen and checked the oven, sprinkled the asparagus with some oil and garlic, and opened the cab.

  “Nice view,” she said, looking out at the sound through the sliding doors.

  “Makes up for the décor.” Hauck smiled. “Early frat house, I’ve been told.”

  “Early single looks more like it.”

  He came around with a glass of wine. “Thanks for being kind.”

  Annie had gotten a nice little fire going and brushed off her hands over the hearth. “All set for the next task.”

  “The next task is easy,” Hauck said. “Just relax.”

  They clinked glasses and chatted for a bit, then Hauck took everything out of the stove. While he did, Annie took a look around, finding the stack of old watercolors Hauck had leaning against the wall. “I took this art class,” he said. “The instructor somehow convinced me I had talent.”

  “They’re not at all bad.”

  Hauck smiled. “Course, later he asked me if I could do anything about these parking tickets he had…”

  Annie laughed. She picked up some photos on the console table. A shot of Hauck’s family from years ago.

  “Yours…?”

  “Jessie and Norah.” Hauck nodded. He realized he was going to have to explain it to her at some point but didn’t want to alter the mood.

  “They’re cute. Is this your wife?” She picked up a picture of Hauck and Karen, sailing.

  “Just a friend.”

  “Sorry to be such a snoop,” Annie said, placing it back down.

  “I seem to recall I’m the one who asked you to look around.” He leaned across the counter. “Norah died about a year after that was taken. Car accident. Jessie’s thirteen now. She lives with her mom in Brooklyn. Karen and I…” He shrugged. “We were together for a while, but now that’s done. That’s her and her family…”

  “I’m sorry.” Annie placed her hands on the back of a chair and stared at him. “About your daughter.”

  “So now you’re up-to-date,” Hauck said. He dug the spatula into the meatloaf. “C’mon, that’s all old stuff now. Let’s eat!”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  The meal came off beautifully. The meatloaf was flavorful and moist; the four-cheese macaroni Hauck made was a ten.

  Cutting into it, Annie joked, “If this police gig ever falls apart, you can definitely come to me for a job!”

  Hauck exhaled. “Whew, that takes a load of pressure off my mind.”

  He would have liked to have been able to tell her about Foley and the job offer he’d received, but he didn’t feel it was right. They did talk a little about where he came from, in Byron, how he got to Colby and then went on to becoming a cop. Briefly, how things fell apart for Beth and him after Norah died and how he ended up moving back up here.

  Annie told him about her. How she had grown up in the Bay Area and met the guy of her dreams in college. “U of Michigan,” she said. “He had this dream of opening a restaurant out west and getting into the wine business. We went out to Healdsburg. I set the place up, planned the menus, did the kitchen…Even painted the goddamn walls. Once it proved to be a challenge, Richard just didn’t like being tied down to it. Sort of a pattern, I soon discovered—that commitment thing. We put our life savings into it—actually, my life savings! All the money in the world I got from my dad, who died when I was fifteen.”

  “That’s too bad.”

&n
bsp; “One day I woke up and found our accounts were down to zero. We owed every supplier three months in arrears. Richard cleaned us out. He had this little problem. You know, it involved a certain white powder and his nose. In the end he just bailed on me—with pretty much whatever we had left. Left me with a bunch of angry vendors and the place by myself—”

  “And a son,” Hauck said.

  “And a son. Jared’s nine now. He’s got some handicaps he’s got to deal with. He’s…” She put down her wine and seemed to stop. “I’ve made some mistakes. I wasn’t the perfect mother back then. I was broke. I wasn’t broke—I was over my head in debt and my husband had just walked out on me and I was trying to manage this place and Jared, by myself. I just got overwhelmed…” Annie frowned. “Everything just seemed to spill over. I couldn’t take care of him for a while. The state had to intervene. That’s not easy for me to say. He’s back in California with my mom. That’s why when this whole thing crashed down on me I was such a basket case. I need this thing to work out. I need to bring my son here. You have your daughter…”

  “Every other weekend…”

  “Then you understand. The good news is, I think he’s going to be able to finally come here with me. Before Christmas. I have a two-bedroom I’m renting. I’m trying to work it out that he can stay.”

  “I’d like to meet him one day.” Hauck smiled.

  “I’d like you to.” Annie’s eyes grew warm. “That would be nice. You know, you seem an okay guy, Lieutenant…And if I say so, not altogether terrible on the eyes…But that may be just the wine talking. Look at me, one night out of the shop and I turn into a total lush. I feel like I’m the one going through most of the wine.”

  “That’s only because I have to be up at the crack of dawn in the morning.”

  “What time is that?” she asked. “I’m usually at the fish market by six thirty.”

  “Three A.M.”

  “Three A.M.! That’s not the crack of dawn, Lieutenant. That’s the frigging dead of night. You have a second job you’re not telling me about?”

  Hauck chuckled. “I’m actually heading up to Maine. It’s part of the case…”

  “I thought this thing was all about gangs. I didn’t know they had gangs in Maine. I thought they just had lobsters.”

  “It seems retired blackjack dealers as well.”

  “Blackjack dealers?”

  “I can’t tell you, Annie, so don’t even ask. I guess I could stop and pick you up a couple of four-pounders while I’m up there…”

  “Sounds good. I’ll be sure to tell my supplier that I’m covered. So, look, why don’t I help you clean up a little then? I’m an even better dishwasher than a cook…”

  Hauck grinned. “I’ve got chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Chunky Monkey ice cream.”

  “Oh, God, you pulled out all the stops, huh?” She rolled her eyes amorously. “We could eat them while we wash…”

  “Not a chance. This is your night off.” Hauck got up and picked up her plate.

  “Jeez, why didn’t I meet you ten years ago…”

  They took in the plates and Hauck put out the cookies and ice cream, and they dug into them directly out of the container, leaning on the counter, talking about restaurants and movies they liked.

  And after ten, when Annie said maybe she should go and put on her parka and scarf and hat (“Still can’t get used to all this cold…”), she turned at the door, all bundled up, looking irresistible to Hauck.

  “I meant to tell you”—he stepped up to her—“you’re not exactly bad on the eyes either.”

  Annie shrugged. Her eyes glistened. “So we can call it a date, right? I just want to know so when I get in the car on my way home and think, That was really pretty nice, I won’t be wondering if this was some kind of lame excuse you came up with to get me to leave…”

  “Yeah.” Hauck smiled. “I worked on it all day. You can call me if you want to check. I’ll be on the road by four.”

  She looked in his eyes. “You could kiss me, you know. That would be okay. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

  Hauck smiled. He looked into her mossy round eyes and leaned forward, pressing his lips softly to her mouth.

  She placed her hand on his chest.

  She was funny and vulnerable, he was thinking, and at the same time independent and strong. She had pulled her life together when it had fallen apart. And he liked that. He let his tongue peek through, and she did as well, meeting his. The kiss lingered. He was trying to decide if there were any sparks.

  There were.

  “Something to look forward to,” Annie said, as he pulled away. “Don’t worry. I won’t stalk you tomorrow. But you be safe up there. And don’t forget the lobsters…”

  “Aye-aye.”

  He watched her cross the street, waving once, and climb into her Prius. He waved back too, feeling an undeniable lift in his heart as she drove away.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  In a darkened bar called the Alibi, off I-91, south of Hartford, Ira Wachman, Joe Raines, and Warren Hauck sat in a back booth.

  “This is one of those little tête-à-têtes,” Wachman said, “that no one is ever going to know existed, but where the fates of a handful of very important individuals swing in the balance.”

  “And then there’s the rest of us,” Warren said, draining the last of his scotch.

  “Yes.” Wachman nodded philosophically. “And then there’s us.”

  He looked at Raines. “I understand they know about this accomplice of yours? This dealer…”

  “Ex-dealer. But that’s nothing to worry about. I’ve got that under control.”

  Wachman chuckled gloomily. “Since my friend Warren here was kind enough to introduce us, you’ve said you had a number of things under control, and I haven’t slept through the night since. This Pacello…This ex-employee of yours, he knows precisely what?”

  “He knows this gambling thing between Sanger and Kramer is just a sham. He knows that Kramer had nothing to do with it.”

  “No.” Wachman shook his head. “It would not be good for that to come out at all.” He sipped his Coke. “Is there some way we can, how to put it—step up the situation?”

  Raines looked at him. “Step it up?”

  “Ensure things don’t go south any farther. Put a stamp of certainty on it.”

  “You mind telling me what that means?” Warren came to life, flicking an ash.

  “You know precisely what it means, Warren. Shut this little line of inquiry down. We let this whole thing play out as a form of misdirection…” He looked at Raines. “All that shit you learned in Iraq, right? Problem is, it hasn’t worked any better here than it did there. Now it’s time to just get a little more direct. Up the tempo. What is it we don’t understand?”

  “Tell me precisely how you want it upped?” The casino security man shrugged, seemingly without concern.

  “Hold it a minute.” Warren didn’t like where this was going. “You and I have an understanding, Ira. Personally, I don’t give a flying fuck what happens to this guy up there, but you and I agreed from the start certain people were hands-off. And as far as I’m concerned that still goes. I’ve got stuff in the works. Give me a week, ten days, max. I’ll get Ty off this. My way. It just needs a little finesse.”

  “I’m not sure if we have ten days,” Wachman said to him. “I can’t say I relish the idea of spending the rest of my life in federal prison, Warren. Do you?”

  “Five days then. A week.” Warren took hold of the government man’s wrist as he went to pick up his drink. “Listen, you came to me, Ira, you asked me to play this out. I’m in this as deep as you. As deep as anyone.” He turned to Raines. “You keep this Pacello dude under wraps, whatever you have to do. I’ll handle my brother. I’m not the one who dropped this thing right in his fucking backyard.” He shifted back to Wachman. “I said I would work it out. I still will.”

  His voice traveled across the darkened bar.

 
Wachman glared. “We’re all in equally deep, Warren. It’s just that some people have more to lose. Anyway, relax…Never leave it to a political hack to go back on an agreement, right? A week, ten days…Maybe you’re right. I don’t see how that makes a difference. But whatever you have had better work.”

  “It’ll work.” Warren nodded, exhaling a ring of smoke and leaning back. “Jesus, you’re starting to make me jumpy, Ira…” He slid out of the booth. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to take a pee.”

  Wachman watched the door to the men’s room close, then said to Raines, “My group may not be as committed to our earlier understanding as my friend here. You understand?”

  Raines nodded. “That’ll get messy.”

  “It’s already messy, Mr. Raines. A government prosecutor is dead. Several other people have been killed to protect that. But it’ll end up the-fucking–Ninth Ward–messy if the rest of this shit hits the fan. My people met a couple of nights ago. We’re all in agreement. Whatever has to be done, just get it done.” His gaze was determined and unmistakable. “Don’t worry about the mess, Mr. Raines. Just shut this investigation down.”

  The casino man downed the last of his drink. “Any need for me to hang around?”

  “No.” Wachman adjusted his tweed cap. “Sometimes a rising tide sweeps up everything in its path. I’ll explain it to my friend as best I can.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Hauck made it on the road before four, only the high beams of fast-moving truckers cutting the darkness on the thruway. He put on some Van Morrison.

  By six, he had beaten the morning rush into Hartford, with Imus on the radio.

  An hour later he was well into Massachusetts. Daylight brought the old mill towns of Auburn and Worcester passing by.

  He wasn’t sure what he would find up there. This had the choreographed feel of another cover-up. Josephina Ruiz, Raines’s video, those pictures with Josie—all trying to ward him off. Both gang members who orchestrated the initial drive-by were dead. Vega was free. Someone was going to a lot of trouble and risk to tie up loose ends.