The Heartless

by David Putnam

  The judge struggled to his feet, a much larger smile trying to make it out of his gloomy expression.

  I said, “I don’t want to be the wet blanket, but there’s going to be some shit about the judge being out on an operation when he was told not to. The presiding judge is going to—”

  “Oh, no,” the judge said. “To hell with him. I’m not worried about him. What can he say? We took down a murderer and two of his gun monkeys. They called the game, we didn’t. Right, Bruno? This was their doing.” He’d started talking like the old judge again, using antiquated terms like “gun monkeys” and “calling the game,” words often used in old crime novels and movies.

  “That’s right, Your Honor, you have nothing to worry about with the shooting. She’s right, it’s as clean as they come.”

  A wave of dizziness swayed me. I pivoted on my heels, and sat on the curb. I lay back and closed my eyes as the sirens turned down 10th headed our way, growing louder and louder, their echo pinging off the houses.

  The shooting on 10th was clean, but what happened in Mel’s, the shooting of Genie in the back of the legs to stop him … well, that could be viewed a number of ways, and most of those weren’t in the vein of how the public believed law enforcement should act. There wasn’t any doubt the media would crucify me.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  THE PARAMEDICS LOADED me into the back of the ambulance on a gurney and closed the doors. I didn’t want to go but couldn’t argue with them, not with the world spinning so fast and my stomach trying its best to heave-ho. They said the dizziness came with the blood loss and the blows to the head. Once they got “the volume up” I’d feel better and those symptoms would subside. They had cut off my truck driver shirt to find the two gunshot wounds, one in the fleshy part of my neck and the other high on the right upper back. I tried to tell them that those were merely pellets from the shotgun and no big deal. They hadn’t hit anything vital or I’d have already been a lot worse off. It was the steak knife wound where Genie had stabbed me that caused the most pain.

  Nicky wasn’t a relative, so they wouldn’t let her ride along even though she flashed her deputy DA badge. She was a material witness to the shooting. I wanted her to stay and give the judge moral support. The judge had somehow pushed aside his regret and remorse and stood in the street telling everyone who came within range what had happened, an instinctual strategy for sloughing off all the pent-up emotions. His rapid speech and storytelling worked as a distraction, rather than dealing with the true issue.

  The paramedic in back started an IV. I immediately felt better. The driver pulled away, headed south on 10th. Through the back window, I could see up to the top of the street. Wicks’ black Dodge rounded the corner at high speed. His car brakes hissed and smoked white. He stopped at the clot of police vehicles and got out in a rush. He’d made it in about twenty-seven minutes. Had to be a new record.

  I closed my eyes and tried to relax. He’d take care of the judge and Nicky. I needed to get to a phone to call Olivia and Dad to tell them I was okay. They didn’t need to see it on the news first. And this would be on the news.

  The paramedic said, “Okay, I’m going to give you something for the pain.” Seconds later the flush of the narcotic covered me all over with a warm blanket. I gave myself to it and drifted off. My last thought went to my guns. I’d left one in the street on 10th and one on the floor of Mel’s. I’d get them back eventually, but for the moment I was unarmed, a state I had never been in since I was sworn in as a deputy sheriff. I felt vulnerable and defenseless as I slipped into the darkness.

  I awoke in the ER with Wicks standing at my bedside, shaking my arm. “Hey there, buddy boy, how are you feeling?”

  “I … ah … what time is it?” I had a blinding headache.

  “Going on six o’clock. You’ve been doggin’ it here for close to eight hours. You going to make a career out of this hospital bed? We need to get back out there to take down Borkow.”

  “Where’s my daughter? Did someone tell my daughter? Where’s my dad?”

  “Your dad just stepped out to get a sandwich. Olivia is at home. Your dad said something about her being mad as hell about something. Once she heard you weren’t hurt real bad and would be home tomorrow, she said she’d talk to you later. That’s kind of tough. I guess you were right about needing to have a talk with her. You want me to say something to her? Tell her what a great job you did out there? Tell her that you’re, you know, hurt real bad and—”

  I held up my hand. “Just stop talking, okay?”

  I’d only heard him string lots of sentences together like that when someone from his team was hurt.

  “I can throw it right back on her, just say the word. When I get done with her, she’ll be like putty in your hands, trust me on this.”

  “I don’t want you to throw anything right back on her or anyone else. Get the nurse. I need to get out of here. I need to go talk to my daughter.”

  I knew what had happened. There was only one thing that could make her that mad, and without a doubt, I deserved every bit of her anger. I just wished I’d had the nerve to tell her myself about what I’d done to Derek before she’d found out on her own.

  I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The dizziness hit but not nearly as severe as before. I could control it.

  Wicks held up his hands. “Whoa there, cowboy. The doc said they’re keeping you overnight for observation. You took a couple of hard kicks to the head and you lost a lot of blood. So if you’re going to get up, take it real slow.”

  “Just get my clothes, would you, please, mother?”

  I wanted to know where Nicky was but couldn’t ask him. He went over to the cabinet and took out a brown paper grocery bag. “Your dad brought these for you. They cut off all your clothes. The way you slept, they think you might have a concussion.”

  I held out my hands and looked at them. They were bandaged. He handed me the bag. I set it on the bed next to me.

  Wicks asked, “What happened to your dickbeaters?”

  I held them up, the white bandages like catchers’ mitts. “It’s from a hot toaster.”

  He chuckled. “Oh man, I saw that part. You picked up that six-slice toaster and went at Little Genie like some kind of caveman. That was one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen. I mean, what a brutal fight, winner take all.”

  “Wait, what do you mean you saw it?”

  “Buddy boy, you are a movie star. Old Mel, the owner of the restaurant, is paranoid about his people stealing plates of food and money from the till. He’s got the whole place wired for video. We got a beautiful VHS tape of the whole thing.”

  “Oh, man, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  I SAID, “IS there going to be any shit over it? I mean the way I took him down?”

  Wicks shook his head. “Not from our department. He would’ve gotten away had you not shot him in the legs. No, they said it was unorthodox, but you get high marks for stayin’ in the game like you did. It doesn’t hurt that this guy really gave the department a black eye escaping through the window of Visiting like that. The brass are just glad he’s back in custody. That was really something, I’m tellin’ ya. What a knock-down-drag-out ass kickin’. I wish I’d have been there.”

  “Huh. That’s not at all what I expected as a reaction from the department.”

  “Now that other copper, that blue-belly, his department put him on admin leave pending disciplinary review. I talked to his lieutenant, who said he’d be surprised if the guy doesn’t draw thirty days on the bricks. He may even get the ax. He’s on probation.”

  “Ah, man, that isn’t fair. I’m the one who chased Genie right into his lap. He did exactly what he was supposed to do. Can you do something to help that guy?”

  “Their department is afraid of that VHS tape. I mean scared-to-death kind of afraid. They don’t want what happened in that restaurant to get out. They’re sure it’s going to leak. Three civilians were hur
t and the place was absolutely trashed. They don’t understand that it was just the cost of doing business.”

  “How bad were the civilians hurt?”

  “Not bad. Bruises, some broken bones, nothing major, but it’s going to be a big paycheck for them if that VHS tape ever makes it to a civil trial. No way can they take it before a jury. Risk management is already negotiating an out-of-court settlement in the high six figures for each of them and the restaurant owner.

  “Firing that blue-belly is a preemptive move for their department to moderate the liability for when the tape does leak. They’re right; it’s way too good for it not to. When it does, they can say, ‘See, we took care of our own dirty laundry.’”

  Wicks picked up the TV remote and turned it on. “Take a look at this. The story’s gone national.”

  The six o’clock news came on. The talking head with a pretty face and blond hair held an ice-cream-cone mic. She stood on the sidewalk in front of Mel’s, her lips moving without sound. Wicks left it muted. Good thing, with my headache.

  “You don’t need to hear anything she’s saying, just watch.” The cameraman moved in close going right by her and shot tape of the interior through the window of the restaurant and caught all the destructive aftermath. The mashed food, the overturned tables, the broken glass, all the blood on the floor where Genie ended up with both legs gunshot. It did look like the end result of some kind of B-rated horror movie. Somehow it looked worse than when I was standing in the middle of all that mayhem.

  Wicks laughed. “Looks like a pro football game went into sudden-death overtime. I’m tellin’ you, this one is going to be talked about in the locker room for decades.”

  The TV feed shifted to interviews of patrons who’d been in the restaurant at the time. They looked angry and spoke with wild hands.

  “Turn it off.”

  Wicks shut it off.

  “How is the judge holding up?”

  “He’s eating it up with a spoon.”

  “That’s just a façade,” I said. “It’ll hit him tomorrow, you wait and see. When it does, we need to have someone with him.”

  Wicks turned serious. “The shoot team is going to need a statement from you sooner rather than later. Nicky backs both of you guys right to the wall. With her in your corner, that shooting on 10th won’t be any problem.”

  “They find both of my guns?”

  He ignored that question. “Nicky and the judge told the shoot team everything except how you guys got there. How did you track Genie to that location? Why don’t you tell me how that happened and I’ll pass it on to the team.”

  In all the action, the hot emotions, the blood and death, the judge and Nicky had the frame of mind to protect Twyla. Good for them. Now Wicks wanted to know in case he could use the same information to track down Borkow. That wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t care about informants, and at times, needlessly exposed them to discovery.

  “It was an anonymous phone tip.”

  “Bullshit. Come on, Bruno, don’t yank on my dick here.”

  I said nothing and stared at him. “Does it really matter? I thought you said the department was just happy to get Little Genie back in custody?”

  Wicks shook his head, his jaw locked in anger. “Did this tipster also tell you how to find Borkow? He’s the one we really need to get. And if this so-called tipster knew where to find Genie, he might know where to find the others.”

  “No, but the sooner I get home, the sooner the informant might call again.”

  “Yeah, right. I know bullshit when it’s being spoon-fed to me. We’re gonna revisit this later, you can bet on it.”

  He took a step closer to the bed. He pulled out a Smith and Wesson 9mm from the small of his back and handed it to me. “There is going to be some shit over that peashooter you used on Little Genie; it wasn’t department approved. You might take three to five days on the bricks, but that’s not a big deal. You and I have both been there before. I can cover the loss of wages with some overtime. You know the routine.”

  I took the gun from him. “Thanks.”

  It was a good thing I did. The door to the room opened. In walked John Lau, Nicky’s husband.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  JOHN LAU CAME in wearing his starched and pressed Los Angeles County Sheriff’s uniform tailored to hug his fit body, the creases razor sharp. He wore the tan and green well. He had wide shoulders and a narrow waist. His black shoes were spit-shined to a high sheen, and his gun belt creaked when he walked. His expression didn’t betray his purpose, but why else would he be at the hospital if it weren’t over his wife, Nicky Rivers-Lau? I remembered the look on Nicky’s face when she told me she’d staked him out at the North Woods Inn restaurant and caught him holding the hand of another woman while they crossed the street to the hotel. And what she said about being glad she wasn’t me when Lau found out about us.

  My pulse rate increased and my face flushed hot. I couldn’t keep the guilt from sauntering into the room right alongside him. My stomach churned acid. I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after me.

  Lau was Wicks’ friend. Wicks was my friend. That dropped Wicks right into the middle of my mess. Now Wicks would be forced to make a choice. I’d been the one to force him into it. It’d been my error in judgment.

  Lau came over to Wicks, who watched him, one predator to another. “Evening, John,” Wicks said. “What the hell are you doing here?” But Wicks knew. He was testing the water to see if there was going to be a problem. Wicks offered his hand and they shook.

  Lau looked half-Chinese with his almond-shaped eyes and his black hair left a little longer than SEB usually allowed. I could see why the women went for him, why Nicky might have loved him. He also had to be smart and cunning to be the commander of SEB.

  “I came to ask your detective a couple of questions. You don’t mind, do you, Robby?”

  “Oh, is that right? Questions about what?” Wicks must not have told Lau about how Wicks had caught his detective stepping out with Lau’s wife.

  Lau held his hands wide. “I’m not sure I like your tone, Robby. What’s going on? I thought we were friends.”

  “Cut the shit, John. How can we help you?”

  Lau’s face twisted into a smug grin filled with anger and animus. I didn’t have time for this bullshit. I needed to get home to Olivia. I needed to sit her down and explain the best way I could what had happened with Derek. Try to make her understand why I did it. I couldn’t begin to think how those words would sound. I didn’t have an excuse or valid reason. I had screwed up big-time. That was what I would have to tell her and hope she’d forgive me.

  Lau nodded toward the Smith and Wesson 9mm sitting on the bed next to me. “What’s with the gun? You two expecting trouble? Maybe I should have some of my guys stationed outside your door? After all that’s happened, you never know who might be coming for you.”

  There it was, a veiled threat revealing his true motivation for standing in front of us pretending concern about another matter.

  I said, “I had to leave my two guns at the scene. Wicks was kind enough to lend me this one.” I picked it up, dropped the magazine, put the magazine back, and checked the slide to be sure one was down the pipe. I did it to play along with Lau’s stupid little game.

  Wicks smirked. “John, you might not know how investigators take your gun for evidence since you’ve never been in a violent confrontation. They hold them for ballistic confirmation.”

  Lau crossed his arms on his chest, a move that accentuated his thick biceps. “I got a call from Homicide. They told me that a gun registered to me was used in a shooting in that clusterfuck over in the Crenshaw district. I just wanted to know how your guy came into possession of my gun and why he thought he needed to use it shooting an unarmed man in both his legs. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”

  Wicks didn’t have all the facts and this item caught him unaware. He looked surprised. “Why don’t we let Homicide strai
ghten out all those minor details, shall we, John? Bruno took down a violent offender who’d escaped from the jail. The same guy I think your elite division has been looking for hot and heavy and haven’t been able to find.”

  Wicks had taken my side and forsaken his friend. I’d be in his debt. “Now if you don’t mind,” Wicks said, “my detective needs to finish debriefing me on what happened.”

  Lau hesitated, staring Wicks down. Another friendship lost over a woman. He headed for the door. He turned. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Then I’ll expect answers.” He left.

  I took a shirt out of the paper bag, dropped the front of my hospital gown, and put it on. I slipped on the underwear and the jeans. I didn’t feel as vulnerable with pants on. I stuck the gun in my waistband under my shirt.

  Wicks said, “Bruno, seriously, the doc said you need to stay here overnight for observation.”

  The hospital door opened and in walked Dad carrying a bag with a hero sandwich in one hand and a Coca-Cola in the other. He smiled when he saw me.

  He didn’t know how much I needed that smile.

  I leaned over and slipped into my shoes without putting on the socks. “Hi, Dad.”

  He came over close. “Should you be getting out of bed right now? I thought the doctor said you’d be in the hospital for at least two days, maybe three. He said you’re pretty beat up and took a couple hard knocks to the head.”

  “I’m fine, Dad.” I took the Coca-Cola and sandwich from him even though I wasn’t hungry. I opened the can and took a chug, more to show him I was okay.

  Wicks said, “I have to make a couple of phone calls. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks, boss,” I said.

  He left.

  “Please, Bruno, get back into bed. Do it for me.”

  “What’s going on with O? Wicks said she wouldn’t come to the hospital.”