[JC Bannister 01.0] The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  Joan pulled up and parked. JC looked at Joan and inclined his head towards Sullivan. Joan tossed him the keys.

  “Package is in the trunk,” JC said. “Laptop in the backseat with everything you need to flush this turd down the river and set Garcia free.”

  “Admissible in court?”

  JC moved his head to indicate no. His eyes, hidden behind the Aviators, never left Sullivan.

  Sullivan’s faint smile disappeared. “Did you hurt him?”

  “Just his pride,” Duke said. “And his pension.”

  Sullivan looked between the two. Looked at Joan. Glanced at Lorraine, standing off to the side.

  “I’ll take a look at the computer,” he said. “It passes the stink test, I’ll take a look in the trunk.” Paused. “Was he breathing when he went in?”

  “Yes,” Duke said.

  Sullivan kicked the trunk. Campbell yelped from inside. “Sounds like he still is.” Moved towards the car, keys out.

  “Thank you,” Duke said.

  “Thank our friend,” Sullivan said over his shoulder. Got in the car and drove away.

  “How long do you think before Karen’s released?” Duke said.

  JC adjusted his helmet. “Doesn’t matter. We’re not waiting around.” Maybe a bit harsh to the kid, but his nerves were frayed being this close to the heart of the operation aimed at putting them in jail for life. “Joan, we good?”

  “Yeah. We’re good.” Joan answered JC’s question but was looking at Duke.

  “She passes?” Duke asked, lightly. Concerned eyes but trying to joke.

  “I didn’t blow her brains out, Duke,” Joan said. “Her passing or not is a JC question.”

  Duke’s burgeoning smile disappeared.

  “We came to an… understanding,” Lorraine said, stepping forward. Defusing. Looked at Duke until he took his eyes away from Joan. Lorraine then looked at Joan. “Right?”

  Joan stared back at the smaller woman. Turned to JC. “Where the hell’s the car Theo lined up.”

  Duke stepped towards Joan. Lorraine intercepted him. Placed her hand gently on Duke’s chest. The tall man looked down at the woman who had saved his life. Her eyes were gentle but scolding. A mother stopping her kid from getting into a pointless fight. She smiled. Shook her head “no” one time, barely moving it. Duke pulled back from the argument, his shoulders rolling forward. Chest deflating. Lorraine nodded her head “yes” one time. Barely moving it. JC watched them, saw Duke’s anger at Joan’s dismissal of the woman disperse.

  A car drove past. Stopped. Reversed and then stopped again, windows rolled down. JC and Joan had their hands on their guns. Duke as well, his left hand moving Lorraine behind him.

  “You guys need a ride?”

  The driver leaned over. Theo’s brother, the one who had taken care of the Bolivians chasing JC and the team a few days ago. Got out smiling. “Car’s gassed up, ready to go,” he said “Gasoline bomb with a two minute timer in the trunk. Done with the car, set it and walk away. All the evidence goes up in flames.”

  JC walked forward. Hand extended. “Thank you.”

  The man shook. “No problem, JC. Name’s Tigran. Theo told me he got shot. Said he’s gonna be okay.” JC nodded. Tigran nodded in return then turned towards Lorraine. “He told me you took care of him?” Lorraine smiled, blushing. Tigran walked over. Shook her hand. Face grave. “Thank you. Seriously.”

  “It was nothing. Flesh wound,” Lorraine said.

  “Still.” Tigran’s face softened. “Theo said you were pretty, but that word isn’t strong enough.”

  Lorraine blushed. Looked at the ground. Joan rolled her eyes. Tigran let go of Lorraine’s hand. His smile disappeared.

  “I’m sorry for what you endured,” he said. “If I had known, Pong would have died a long time ago.” Paused. “My family owes you. Both my families owe you.”

  Lorraine narrowed her eyes. Confused.

  “Theo will explain. You ever need anything, find me. You’ll have it. Anything at all. Thank you again.”

  Tigran shook her hand a last time. Nodded to JC, then walked off in the direction of City Hall. Everyone turned toward JC. Waiting for the boss’s orders. He didn’t smile, but it was nice to have a brief moment of peace where people weren’t bickering or others weren’t shooting at them. Where his team was ready to act and do what he commanded because they trusted him. Sobering.

  “Joan, take Lorraine,” he said, giving orders. “Get Theo and find us a new place to stay. Duke and I will take the bikes back to the garage. Call you from there and meet you as soon as we can.”

  Joan nodded and headed for the white Chevrolet Malibu Tigran had left for them. Lorraine followed. JC waited until they had pulled away. Turned to Duke. Smiled beneath his false mustache. Clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s ride, buddy.”

  They got on their respective BMW police motorcycles. Started them up. Rolled out together. Just like CHiPs, JC thought. He figured Duke was loving the moment. A quick glance at the ear-to-ear grin Duke was wearing confirmed it. Just like in any job, you take your enjoyment when you can.

  “Hey!” JC heard someone yell. Cop voice. Commanding. “Stop! That’s my motorcycle!”

  JC and Duke were already stopped, waiting for traffic to clear before they rode away. JC scanned the sidewalks. Saw a police officer. Motorcycle cop. Wearing the same uniform they were. Standing next to a group of other officers who were standing next to a line of Beverly Hills Police Department police cars. One SUV. Looked like three full-on police cars. Not the unmarked Charger like Campbell was driving but the specialized pursuit version. Great. Of all the bad…

  “They’re not police!” the motorcycle cop yelled. “They’re impersonating police officers!” Finger outstretched and pointing. Arm pumping and poking in their direction. “They’ve stolen police vehicles! Somebody stop them!”

  Chapter 59

  This Is Your Plan?

  JC and Duke pulled out in front of an old yellow Toyota Corolla, making it screech to a stop on twenty-nine year old brake pads. It was too slow. Bumped Duke’s left rear hard case as JC took off down the street first, away from the screaming motorcycle cop and his friends who were quickly entering their vehicles. JC glanced in his side mirror. Saw Duke recovering from the bump by the Corolla. Saw past Duke to watch the three cars plus the SUV give chase.

  “Aww, hell,” he said. Mostly to himself.

  Duke shot past him. Yelled, “Follow me.” Took a right onto South Santa Monica Boulevard. Sped up the street then took the next left, cutting across traffic onto North Crescent Drive. Accelerated hard. No sirens on their bikes but JC could hear the ones on the vehicles coming up behind them. Duke cruised up about two blocks and turned left onto Dayton Way, a residential street. I hope to hell he knows where he’s going. Cut across North Rexford Drive again. JC risked a glance left towards the police department. Looked clear. Duke continued on for another block, then turned left onto Burton Way. The wrong way on a one way street. Not subtle. Duke blasted up the left side of the street, veered right through a break in traffic, hopped the curb and rode over the grassy expanse between the east and west versions of Burton Way. No lights, no sirens. Just bad driving. JC glanced to his right. Now they were driving with traffic but there was a larger problem. On their right was the Los Angeles County Superior Court building. Police cars lined up outside. Of all the God-forsaken luck. Duke kept going. Straight back towards the direction they had come.

  “Where are you going?” JC yelled but he knew Duke couldn’t hear. He could barely hear himself over the sound of their bikes, the wind in their faces and the sirens that seemed to be coming closer, echoing around the neighborhood. Duke barreled straight on. Leaned right to turn onto what looked like Rexford Drive, the street the BHPD was located on. Doubling back to where the pursuit started. Not the worst idea, but definitely dangerous.

  Duke suddenly reversed course, leaned back to the left, shooting up Santa Monica Boulevard, heading into West
L.A. JC, seconds behind him, saw why. A roadblock had been set up across the intersection of Burton Way and North Rexford. The police were in the process of moving cars in place to further block Santa Monica Boulevard. Duke and JC were just able to scoot through before the vehicles completely obstructed their escape.

  They gained valuable seconds of breathing room as the real police officers scrambled to get their pursuit unstuck. Duke turned right down a street and then left. Now on North Santa Monica Boulevard, it looked like they were in the clear. Except for one problem.

  JC still didn’t know where they were going.

  He sped up. Got level with Duke. Yelled at the top of his lungs, “Where are we going?”

  Duke looked over at him. JC had been right earlier. Ear to ear.

  “UCLA,” Duke yelled back. “Dump the bikes. Strip. Disappear.”

  JC nodded then braked hard and swerved behind Duke to avoid a white stretch limousine. Not a bad idea, JC thought. Lots of people milling about. Car traffic likely reduced, probably held at bay by concrete barriers of some sort. Duck into a bathroom or empty classroom. Lose the uniforms. Come out wearing the shorts and t-shirts they had on underneath. Blend into the crowd. Disappear.

  First they needed to get there. The sirens behind them were getting louder. Quick glance in the rear-view mirror revealed nothing, but JC knew it was only a matter of time before they found trouble. Neither he nor Duke were experienced motorcycle riders. If the police didn’t catch them soon then Murphy’s Law probably would.

  Duke turned onto Wilshire Boulevard, JC following. The streets gave way to trees and vegetation on both sides of the street. JC glimpsed putting greens just past the trees. Los Angeles Country Club. Soon past it, they were fast approaching the tall buildings in the distance. Hotels. Condos. Offices. JC was searching his memory for something that was bothering him. Some fact about UCLA was just beyond the range of his synapses. UCLA was located in Westwood Village. Movie openings. Close to Santa Monica.

  He remembered. Swore. The United States Federal Building, home to the local offices of the FBI, Secret Service and any number of other agencies that could be pressed into service against JC and his team, was about a stone’s throw from the UCLA campus. Rock, hard place, frying pan, fire. Name it and they were smack dab in the middle of it.

  The roadblock for them was set up at the intersection of Wilshire and Westwood boulevards. Luck seemed to be on JC and Duke’s side for a brief moment. Headed from Beverly Hills into Westwood, the road was on a downgrade. They saw the roadblock about two blocks away. Numerous black SUVs. Lots of men wearing suits. Assault rifles. This wasn’t a local response. It was federal. Probably Secret Service but just as likely to be FBI. JC wondered if Kowalski was there, watching them. JC hoped he was because Duke was turning right onto Glendon Avenue, one block before the roadblock could catch them.

  The federal agents had set up the roadblock with the intention of blocking access to the freeways for the fugitives. But JC and Duke had no intention of going there. They needed to lose the pursuit, not outrun it. As they shot up Glendon and started weaving in and out of small side streets, searching for the right place, JC wondered how the rest of the team was doing. He knew it wouldn’t be long before a news chopper was filming and broadcasting this. He just hoped it was filming the aftermath of their escape. Not the attempted escape itself.

  Duke was heading up the side of the UCLA campus now. The sirens continued to get seemingly closer but at this point there was no telling where the police or federal officers were. Sounds bounced and reverberated off the high-rise office buildings. Made the tracking of the source next to impossible. JC followed Duke as he turned into one of the schools entrances.

  UCLA has an enormous campus. Housing nearly two hundred buildings on over four hundred acres of land, it was a perfect place to get lost. Except for all the students walking around. JC and Duke were trying to drive up on sidewalks as most of the campus was shut off to vehicles. Staying away from the center of campus as much as possible, the two dodged and threaded their way through increasingly hostile groups of students. They were slowing down, not trying to hit anyone. JC was ready to just dump the bikes and run. But Duke was in the lead and he seemed to be looking for something.

  Duke circled the same building a second time. JC thought it looked like a parking structure. He was right. Duke gunned it right as they got near the entrance the second time, shooting into the darkened maw of the ugly building. JC followed as his friend wound their way up to the roof-top level of the structure. Four stories up. Out in the sunlight of the rooftop parking, Duke circled the top of the building once. Stopped at the end they came in at. Put down his kickstand. Dismounted but left the bike running. JC pulled up next to him.

  “This is your plan?”

  Duke nodded, still grinning as he removed his helmet and started ripping his uniform off as fast as he could.

  “You bet, boss. Hurry up. You wanna go to jail?”

  JC didn’t know the details but he knew he had little choice than to follow Duke’s train of thought. The man was already half out of his police uniform, taking off the bulletproof vest, putting it on under his T-shirt. JC dismounted.

  “Don’t shut it off, JC. Keep it running,” Duke said. Kicking off his boots.

  JC started taking his clothes off as well, as quickly as he could. “Alright, Duke. Tell me the plan.” Worry beginning to set in.

  “See that end of the building,” Duke said, indicating the far end of the parking structure with his last boot. It was under repair. Piles of wood and bags of cement lay against the edge of the building. “We ball our clothes up. Take the ends and tie them to the handlebars. Ride that way as fast as we can and then jump off our bikes, sending them flying over the edge.” Duke was smiling so much he could barely speak. “They land, go up in a ball of flame and we walk away. Scot-free.”

  JC stood stock still. Staring at Duke. Mouth slightly open. He knew Duke watched too many movies. Half of his mind was screaming “This is the stupidest plan ever!” The other half was saying, “Well…” As half-baked as the plan was, it didn’t seem that bad at the moment. The chances of the motorcycles exploding when they hit the ground was not good. Even if they did, the distraction wouldn’t hold. Federal agents, LAPD and campus security would be flooding the school grounds and surrounding area looking for them.

  But still. If it worked…

  “What about civilian casualties?” JC said. Duke was already down to his shorts and t-shirt, bulletproof vest out of sight underneath. Wadding his clothes up into one big ball.

  “I checked. Nobody camped out on the lawn when we rode up. There’s a school of dentistry behind us. The street we came in is over there. Beyond that, botanical gardens. The cops, well, the real ones, are going to be blocking off traffic. The chances of anyone walking by and being in danger are nil.”

  JC stood there. It can’t work, can it?

  “Come on, man,” Duke yelled in his excitement, grinning. “You got a better idea right now? At this instant?”

  Duke was right. JC kept undressing. He was glad Theo had insisted on them wearing board shorts and t-shirts under their uniforms in addition to their bulletproof vests. If they made it out alive, he would give the man a big fat hug.

  Duke put down his ball of clothing. Ran over to the pile of construction supplies at the other end of the parking area. Running on the balls of his feet. Gingerly because he had no shoes on. Pulled back the tarp. Rearranged some of wood, making more of a ramp. Glanced over the edge. Ran back to JC with a huge smile on his face.

  “You’re gonna love this,” Duke said. “Ready?”

  JC finished wadding his police uniform, boots and helmet into one ball. Duke was wrapping the stray arms and legs of the uniform around the handlebars of the motorcycle, trying to somehow tie them on. JC guessed why — if they got away and if the motorcycles caught fire, the uniforms could confound the investigation even further. So JC did the same. They both mounted up and got th
e stolen police motorcycles into position. The door to the stairway they needed to use was to their left, behind them. Duke dug around in the right hand hard case of his motorcycle. Pulled out two flares. Lighted them both. Gave one to JC. Stuffed his own into the wadded up ball of clothes, right against the gas tank.

  “Ride as fast as I do. When I yell ‘Now!’ jump off the bike away from me. Tuck your head, roll and do your best to not fall off the building,” Duke said. Smiling the whole time as the red smoke from the flare eddied around his face and then dispersed in the light spring breeze.

  “You’ve done this before?” JC said over the sound of Duke revving his engine.

  “Hell no, man! Just seen it on TV.” Laughed. “It’s gonna be a blast!”

  JC heard sirens and the sound of a helicopter approaching. They were away from the high-rises of Westwood. The sounds weren’t bouncing off of anything. They were simply getting closer. JC wedged his burning flare into his wadded up police uniform, just as Duke had.

  “Let’s go!” JC yelled.

  “Go!” Duke yelled back.

  They opened up the throttles of their motorcycles at the same time, producing a powerful stereo roar. It was about fifty meters to the edge of the building and the bags of cement and planks of wood Duke had arranged. Not enough time to get much speed, but the two friends gave it all they had. In truth, all JC was hoping for at this point was for the bikes to go over the side. Exploding would be an exceptionally nice bonus, nothing more.

  JC didn’t bother to glance at the speedometer. Didn’t matter. Just kept his ears tuned for Duke’s yell of “Now!” In truth, that didn’t matter either. Once the plan was revealed to him, he could have taken charge. But the kid was having so much fun he didn’t want to ruin what might be their last moments on Earth. Or of freedom.

  “NOW!” Duke yelled as he dove to the left. JC dove off his bike to the right a split second later. Did his best to tuck his head and protect it with his hands and arms. Flopped and rolled side to side, like he did when he was a kid, rolling down grassy hills with his friends. With the daughters of Senator Marcus, Sue and Sarah. Only the hard concrete of a parking structure is worlds away from the grassy hills of his youth.