[JC Bannister 01.0] The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  “I’m the owner of this shop,” JC said. “How can I help you?”

  “You can give me everything you’ve got on you. Then anything of value in this shop.”

  “Sorry, kid, but that’s not going to happen.”

  The young man, already angry at the world and the hand he thought he was dealt, raised the gun and pointed it at JC. “The hell it ain’t.”

  “You know what, why don’t you put that down before somebody gets hurt.” JC slowly took his hands from his pockets as he spoke.

  The kid stepped forward and cocked the hammer on the revolver. “Yeah, you’re sayin’ that ’cause you ain’t the one with the gun, bitch.”

  Man, JC thought as he shook his head, this day started bad two days ago and just keeps getting worse. JC looked at the other thugs gathered around the shop. One of the Hispanic boys stood apart from the rest. He was watching everything and everyone, analyzing, evaluating, but not acting. How am I gonna get out of this without killing all these kids? JC thought. You’re supposed to be a fixer. Fix this. Then something Mercier had said finally clicked. Community outreach.

  JC looked past the young man pointing the gun at him. He needed him closer. He addressed the group. “Which one of you guys is the smartest?”

  The thug with the gun walked forward, holding the revolver out at arm’s length. He stopped when the muzzle was about a foot from JC’s face.

  “I am, motherfu—” JC pivoted at the hips, moving his head and body mass out of the gun’s sight line, his right fist smashing into the man’s forearm while his left grabbed the gun. The blow loosened the younger man’s grip allowing JC to wrench the gun away from him. He stuffed the gun in his waistband with his left hand while his right took hold of the guy’s now empty gun hand. JC raised his right foot and stomped it on the man’s knee, dropping him to the ground and raising his arm high. He put his knee against the man’s shoulder, pulled backwards while pushing forward and downward with his knee and dislocated the guy’s shoulder with a sickening pop. The younger man screamed in pain. JC pulled out the revolver, palmed it in his right hand, grabbed a handful of the guy’s hair, pulled his head up and pistol-whipped him. Smashed the pistol into his face four times. JC stood up, pointing the gun at the ground while the thug bled, writhed and moaned at his feet.

  “The smartest guy never says he’s the smartest. Unless he’s a real prick,” JC said, thinking of Meier for a brief second. “Now, I’ll ask again. Which one of you guys is the smartest?”

  Seven fingers instantly pointed at the one Hispanic kid JC had noticed before. He looked at his friends then started shaking his head. JC approached him. “What’s your name?”

  “Bruno.”

  “Bruno?”

  “Vargas.”

  “Alright, Bruno. This shit sack is done. Out. You want to be the new boss of this crew? Lead them in a new direction?”

  “What’re you doing?” The guy on the floor was trying to get up.

  “Bruno, what’s this knuckle dick’s name?”

  “George Ziccardi. Calls himself Z-dog.”

  JC looked down at him. “George, you say another word I’m going to kick the living crap out of you.”

  “Fu—”

  George hadn’t finished the word before JC started stomping and goal kicking him. Ribs, stomach, dislocated shoulder, legs, ass: anything was game for about a minute. JC stopped, winded.

  “You come into my shop, threaten my friends, point a gun in my face?” JC was bellowing at this point. “Think you can mouth off to me?” Kicked him again for good measure. “Now shut the hell up before I lose my temper.”

  The shop was dead quiet. Except for the sound of Z-dog coughing and spitting blood onto the floor. JC took a few deep breaths to compose himself. Turned back to Bruno. “You want a job?”

  Vargas looked at him for about ten seconds. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “The job.”

  “Smart man.” JC pointed at Sparks who was standing wide-eyed and stock still. “He’s the new manager of the shop. Right now he’s a bit of a drunk. I need you to keep an eye on him. Make sure he stays on the wagon.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Two grand a month. Meals included. Clean up the shop, run errands. He tells you what to do day-to-day, but you work for me. If you want to learn the ins and outs of a machine shop, Sparks will teach you anything you want to know. He drinks too much but I hear you won’t find a smarter machinist. If you like the work and prove yourself I’ll pay for you to go to any college or university you can get into.”

  “Community college?”

  “Anywhere you get in.”

  “UMass?”

  “Harvard.”

  The guys behind him whistled and chuckled.

  “And if I don’t like the work? I don’t prove myself?”

  “Then I’ll fire your ass. And you’ll have lost the greatest opportunity you’ll likely ever see.”

  JC let the possibility sink in before he said, “There’s a third option.”

  “Yeah?”

  JC opened the cylinder of the revolver. Five bullets. Fully loaded. Closed it. Put it in his left hand. Handed it to Vargas, grip first. “Take it.”

  Bruno did, wrapping his hand around it, finger off the trigger. Turned it over in his hand, looking at the gun. JC smashed him in the face with his right elbow, knocking him to the floor of the machine shop. Bruno scrambled back up, gun in hand, ready to fight. Blood trickling from his nose.

  “Shoot him! Get that sonofabitch!” George yelled from the floor.

  JC watched Bruno’s face evaluate the situation. He knew the kid could try to shoot him in the head, get revenge for his gang leader’s beat down. Maybe just rob the place, steal the cars. But he was betting Vargas had different plans for his life and his future.

  Bruno looked hard at JC. Then handed him the gun, butt first. JC nodded. Smiled, clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome aboard.”

  “You little pussy. Just like your older brother, ain’t got no balls. Next time I see you, I’m gonna stomp the hell outta you. And your brother, too.” George was losing it.

  Bruno moved to kick George but JC stopped him. JC took out his wallet, took the money from it and dropped it in front of George. About a thousand bucks.

  “Mercier, give me your keys.”

  “What?” Mercier looked surprised.

  “Give me your keys.” It wasn’t a request.

  Mercier walked over, digging his car keys out of his pocket. Put them in JC’s hand. Walked back to stand next to Sparks. JC tossed Mercier’s car keys on top of the thousand dollars cash he had dropped on the floor. “That’s yours. Mercier will report the car stolen tomorrow at ten a.m. so get it to whatever chop shop you can find before then. Go to a hospital.” He squatted down in front of George. “Here’s the deal. Never come back here. Never bother anyone standing here or their families ever again. I hear of it, I’ll find you. And I’ll kill you.” JC stood. “Now get out of my shop.”

  George struggled to stand. His knee was hurting, his face was bloody and smashed, nose broken and his shoulder was dislocated. Worst of all his pride was demolished. He picked up the keys, pocketed the money and limped away.

  Mercier shuffled his feet. “Boss, you just gave him my car?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one. Coletti, too.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re going to need it. Something that can haul a few guys and some bikes.

  Mercier continued to look at him, searching for understanding.

  “Community outreach, Mercier.”

  The remainder of the gang watched all of this silently. Finally one of the black kids said, “What about us?”

  JC smiled at him. “You know how to ride a bike?”

  “‘Course I do.”

  JC looked at the rest of the guys there. “Anybody here can’t ride a bike?”

  Seven heads shook in the negative.

  “Good. Tomorrow aft
ernoon be at Strong Arm Cyclery in Newton Highlands at four thirty.” He pointed at Mercier. “You’ll see this guy and a guy that looks just like him. This is Mercier. Other guy is Coletti. They are your new coaches. And you are the new Strong Arm Cyclery racing team.”

  The guys looked at each other in disbelief. The one who had spoken up before said, “You want us to ride bikes?”

  JC smiled. “Nope. I want you to race bikes. You’re my new racing team. Coletti and Mercier will train you. Bruno will ride with you as well. He’s the team captain. You’ll get new bikes, a place to stay, food, team clothes and a thousand bucks a month.”

  “Just to ride bikes?”

  “What’s your name, guy?”

  “Louis.”

  “Good. Bruno is the Captain. Louis, you’re my Co-Captain.”

  JC addressed the group. “Like I said, you’re not just going to ride bikes. You guys are going to learn how to race bikes. And you’re going to win.”

  “Why so generous? To all of us?” Bruno said.

  Several others nodded in agreement.

  JC’s smile faded. “Simple. Two days ago a good friend of mine died in my arms. Shot in the back because of my mistake. Today, instead of killing a bunch of dumbass kids who think they’re gangsters and are trying to rob me, I’d rather help a bunch of dumbass kids who could use a little direction.”

  *****

  Thirty minutes later the guys had all left. Most of their questions had been answered. Sparks left as well, promising to come back tomorrow at seven a.m., sober. Bruno promised he would be there to make sure. Mercier and JC were left alone, sitting in the front office.

  “So, boss, what are we going to do with all the guns in that van?”

  “Keep them here, same as before. The storage spot in the back is hidden just as well as it always was. Gorman and I dug it out, built it ourselves. It’s not on any blueprints and it’s completely invisible. We are the only ones who will ever know about it.”

  “Sparks?”

  “He can’t know. We’ll see in a few years.”

  “That was a nice thing you did for those guys.”

  JC nodded.

  “I gotta ask, though, JC. Why’d you hit Bruno like that? I mean, it seemed kinda cold.”

  “It was a job interview.”

  Mercier laughed. “You’ve changed man. I remember my interview with you. All you said was ‘You like bicycles?’ I shrugged my shoulders, said ‘Yeah, I guess’ and that was it.”

  JC remembered as well. Mercier and Coletti didn’t know about the extensive background check he did before he called them. The anonymous interviews with friends, employers, former co-workers.

  “Yeah, well, I kinda knew you guys already. Dragging a guy out of a burning ammo depot in Kandahar then visiting him in the hospital while he’s recovering can do that.”

  Mercier shrugged. “Okay, but why’d you hit Bruno?”

  JC smiled. His friend had noticed the dodge. “I wanted to see what he did in a stressful situation. Would he give in to his immediate emotions and throw everything away or would he think first and try to find the best long-term solution to the problem?”

  Mercier nodded. “Gorman would have approved.”

  JC smiled at the thought of Gorman. He missed his friend.

  “Let’s get these guns brought in and then get out of here, Vince. I’ve got a meeting down in D.C. tomorrow.

  “D.C.?” Mercier’s distaste was clearly audible.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Chapter 5

  Not by Half

  JC called Meier back later that day. He told Meier the meeting would be at eight thirty the following night, not six thirty as originally scheduled. The library closed at nine and JC wanted as few people there as possible. Additionally, the location had changed; the Reading Room not the parking lot. Meier tried to bluster, stick to the original north parking lot location and earlier time, but JC simply told him eight thirty or no meet. Meier agreed.

  Determined not to be outdone again, Duke arrived at the Central Library in Arlington two minutes after it opened the next day. He applied for a library card and spent a large part of the day surveilling the library and the surrounding area. He knew the library better than the people who worked there and almost as well as the architects and engineers who designed it. He walked all around the neighborhood, looking for surveillance, for trouble spots, for vantage points. There was a park just to the north of the library. It was large, about the size of eight city blocks. Baseball diamond. Basketball, tennis and volleyball courts. A small but nicely wooded area. The library itself had minimal parking in front, a large parking area in the back and the smaller parking lot to the north. There was underground parking as well, but it was closed for renovation.

  Joan had spent most of the day either exercising or relaxing in the park. She showed up as an early-morning jogger and spent the next two hours jogging around the park. Disappeared for twenty minutes and came back with an entirely different disguise and a dog. Stayed there for another two hours, playing with the borrowed dog and getting to know where everything was on the edges of the park. She repeated this four more times with four more disguises. She had been a business woman on a long lunch break enjoying a book, a babysitter with a sleeping “baby” in a stroller, a student enjoying the afternoon while pretending to study and a photographer taking pictures of the spring flowers and the setting sun. This last outfit was the one she was wearing when Meier showed up at about eight.

  JC was driving down from Boston. The Hyundai Santa Fe had a few extra weapons in the back, but not many. He didn’t know what to expect at the upcoming meeting, but he didn’t want to be driving around with an arsenal in the SUV, either. Duke had outfitted the vehicle weeks ago when they bought it to make it a secure haven, safe from any listening or eavesdropping devices. Turn on the radio, push a button for a pre-tuned station and the noise and music would stop. Powerful amplifiers pumped out inaudible white noise and radio frequencies that would render any listening or recording devices useless. JC had wanted a secure and mobile location to have a conversation with a client without concern for who was listening. It was the perfect vehicle for the situation. JC required a little one-on-one time with the person calling the shots this time.

  JC’s phone rang. Joan. Eight oh five.

  “Meier’s here.”

  “More than a little early.”

  “You’ll never guess what he’s driving.”

  “BMW? Porsche? No wait — a Range Rover.”

  “Bentley.”

  “Nice.”

  “Yeah. Parked it so he’s taking up two spots. Nobody can scratch his precious car.”

  “I’d probably do the same. If I was driving a Bentley.”

  “No you wouldn’t.” Joan paused. “Can I blow up his car? Please?”

  “No.”

  “Not now, of course.”

  “No. You sound like Duke.”

  “How about a couple of flat tires. He’ll never see me.”

  “Don’t approach or engage. Observe.”

  “But…”

  “Goodbye, Joan.”

  JC called Duke to let him know who had arrived. Double checked with him to make sure he was ready. He said he was. JC was getting close. He liked the suburbs around Washington. Didn’t like the district itself, but Virginia was quite nice. He was about ten minutes away when Joan texted that Meier had gone inside. He knew she would have sent Duke the same text and that Duke would be picking Meier up and tailing him. Joan was probably positioning herself at the library’s main entrance immediately after sending the text.

  JC pulled up in the north parking lot, saw Meier’s Bentley and parked between an older Benz and a Prius. Waited. Duke’s text came in twenty seconds later: “reading room. alone.”

  “hold” was the reply JC sent. He sat inside the SUV, making Meier wait. At eight thirty-nine he exited his vehicle. Resisted the urge to adjust his holster or check his pockets. Instead, he just set the alarm
on the vehicle and walked past a mother and her twin boys with their arms full of books, heading toward the older Benz on the driver’s side. They loaded up and were driving away as he pulled the library’s side door open.

  Meier was sitting in the reading room. Eight forty-three. He had no books, no magazines, no newspapers. Just another expensive suit, pinstripe this time, and a different pair of shoes. Same watch.

  JC located Duke, indicating he should approach. Duke got up and walked casually over, sitting at a table in the largely empty room. If Meier saw him, he didn’t indicate it. All his attention was on JC, who did not move. Standing just inside the reading room entrance. Watching. Meier glanced at his watch. Eight forty-four. He indicated that JC should join him. JC stood there another full minute. Staring. Then moved and sat at the table next to Meier. Meier turned sideways to face him.

  “So?” Meier said.

  JC was irritated by this man. It wasn’t his wealth. Or his familiarity with being the one holding the power in most situations.

  It was the arrogance that seeped out of every pore of his body.

  “So? Tell me, Meier, what’s different today?”

  “I don’t understand the question,” Meier replied.

  “Do you suddenly have more power today than you did the other night?”

  “Pardon?”

  JC spoke slowly, insultingly. “Where’s your boss?”

  “They will arrive shortly.”

  “Library’s almost closed.”

  JC’s phone rang. Joan. “Uhh, JC? Things just got a little busy out here. We’ve got a black limo and three SUVs. All with U.S. Government plates. They’re pulling around to the north parking lot.”

  “Meet me there,” he answered. Looked at Meier.

  “They’ve arrived, I assume?” Meier looked pleased at this apparent show of force. He had no idea that despite having more men and more firepower, his team still wouldn’t be enough if things turned sideways. Certainly not enough to save him. JC knew the truth; none of the team waiting for them outside would make a move to save Meier. If one of JC’s team didn’t shoot him, he would likely be cut down in the cross fire. The reason was simple.