by Bob Hamer
Himmler was quiet for a few seconds. He furrowed his brow and then said, "She's not the first to die."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Although Matt and Dwayne were listening to Bobby Himmler, he now had their full attention.
"What do you mean she's not the first?" asked Dwayne.
"She's not the first girl to bite it. Rumors have it several have been off'd when they crossed Boris or his crew."
"Boris has a crew?"
"Yeah, my cousin Jesse's done some things with him."
"What kind of things?" asked Matt still hovering over the reclined Himmler so there was no mistaking who maintained the power position.
"You know, things . . . runnin' girls, weapons, drugs, anything, man. If you're looking for a piece, Boris is the man to see. He's like a jack of all crime."
Matt laughed, "I like that . . . so Boris moves guns?"
"About six months ago, Boris got Jesse a whole crate of AK-47s and a box of handguns. At least I think they were 47s. They might have been something else. I'm not into guns like Jesse is. They looked like those things I see them Arabs pumping over their heads when they're burning the American flag. I do know they were like mint condition fresh off the assembly line."
"What kind of handguns?" asked Dwayne.
"Some kind of autos, short, not real long. It could easily hide in a pocket."
"You mean like a Saturday night special?"
"No, these were well built. Not some cheap thing you get off Alvarado from the Mexicans. I picked up one Jesse had and looked at it. It was about six inches long. It was pretty nice. I think Jesse said they were made in Russia. I almost asked Jesse for one but then changed my mind."
"Does Jesse still have them?"
"I think he's got one or two of the 47s. He sold most of them to some guys with the MS-13. They said they were shippin' 'em down south to Salvador or Guatemala. That's where their homies are. Jesse made a chunk of folding money on that deal."
"What about the autos?"
"He may have some. I really don't know. I'm not into guns. You should know that, Matt. I didn't have one last night. I know throwing a gun into the mix causes more problems than it's worth. If it's a rip, I figure give 'em the drugs. I can always make another batch. If it's the cops, it means more years. I've got priors. The gun means another count and amps it up on sentencing. I'm innocent of that charge."
"Right, Bobby, you're innocent," said Matt with about as much veracity as a criminal defense attorney at a press conference.
"So how'd you know Annika or Crystal?"
"I dropped a lot of coin on her one evening, like multiple lap dances. She was something else, just beautiful and a really good dancer."
Matt laughed out loud.
"What?" said Himmler.
"A really good dancer, you mean like the Bolshoi Ballet?"
"The what? . . . No, not ballet. You mean you've never had a lap dance? She was good, and I do mean very good. So I sprang for the whole enchilada. Know what I'm saying?"
"Yeah, Bobby. I think Dwayne and I are following this love story."
"That's when she told me her real name was Annika. She said I couldn't tell anyone, especially Boris. He didn't want the girls telling too much about their selves, especially their real names."
"You got any more? Where she was from? How long she had been here? How'd she get to the States?" asked Matt.
"If I wanted some geography lesson, I would've watched the Travel Channel. I had other things on my mind. But Annika's her real name. I'm sure of it. That's gotta be worth something."
"Why do you think Boris had anything to do with her death?"
"Man, things just happen to people who hang around Boris, especially people who cross him. Annika wanted out. She told me that and even asked me if I could help her."
"And did you help her?"
"No, what was I gonna do, fly her back to Russia in my private jet? I told Jesse she was looking to leave."
"Why would you do that?"
"Cause Jesse's got all kinds of connections. I figured he'd know someone who could help. Listen, I liked her. I figured if I could help I wouldn't have to pay the next time, know what I'm saying?"
"And did Jesse help?"
"No, the next thing I know she shows up on the news."
"So this just happened."
"Yeah, just the other night. That's why I figured Boris is behind it. I don't have nothing specific. But like I said she ain't the first who worked there to disappear."
"Maybe they just moved on," said Dwayne.
"Yeah, maybe so," said Bobby but without much conviction, defeat falling across his face.
Dwayne sensed Bobby was already regretting the attempt to bargain his way out of prison. Dwayne hesitated but only for an instant, "Can you get us in?"
"Sure, pay the cover charge and go through the front door."
"You know what we mean."
"You mean make an intro?" asked Himmler.
"Yeah," said Dwayne.
"I don't know. That's a rough crowd. Matt could just walk in and see what it's all about."
"But you know it's more than that. It could take months for me to catch on. You can make it happen a lot sooner," said Matt.
"Besides, the crowd at the Russian Veil can't be any rougher than the old gang in prison. Which by the way will be a life stint; this is your third strike," said Dwayne.
There was a prolonged silence. Himmler knew the consequences of this latest arrest. He knew if the DA or the Feds pressed he was looking at life.
Matt was skilled at working the silence and with perfect timing said, "Why go to the pen when you can send a friend."
Himmler broke out into a big grin. "Yeah, I can make the intro. Kind of a shame this sap minister's death is my get-out-of-jail-free card. Nobody'd care if it was just the girl."
"Yeah, it's a real shame, Bobby," said Matt.
"And I can still get the money?"
"Apples and oranges my friend. Agree to intro me, and you get out of jail. Find the killers and you get the money."
Himmler started to raise his left hand. The handcuffs clanged against the metal bed railing. "When do these come off?"
"Once we know you can put this together," said Dwayne.
"I'm e-harmoney.com," said a grinning Bobby Himmler.
Just then Dawn Platt walked in with two food trays. "Excuse me, you see the guy sitting out here? I told him I'd get him and his partner meals. He's not around."
Dwayne said, "They went to lunch. Thanks for bringing the meals but they're covered now. You can take them back."
"Wait," said Bobby.
Dawn hesitated, afraid he recognized her.
"Leave one of them for me. I just got my appetite back."
She smiled, left a tray, and walked out of the room.
Bobby tucked a paper napkin into his hospital gown, lifted the cover on the plate, and grabbed at the fish sandwich removing the top half of the bun. He searched around the plate.
"Do you see any mayonnaise?" he asked.
"Yeah," said Matt pointing to a small packet off to the side of the plate.
Bobby took the pickle and tomato off the fish. Holding it up he said, "You guys want these?"
Both Matt and Dwayne shook their heads, as much in disgust as a negative response to his question.
Bobby picked up the mayo packet, ripped it open with his teeth, and spread it on the fish. Replacing the top half of the bun, he grabbed the sandwich with his free hand and took a bite. He began chewing with his mouth open, juices and mayo running down the corners of his mouth. Himmler wasn't exactly that perfect dinner companion, but it looked as though Matt may have found a date for the next big dance.
Matt shook his head in disbelief.
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"What?" said Bobby, food spitting past his lips.
"Who knows you got popped last night?" asked Matt.
"Nobody. I didn't make any calls. Your Gestapo guards saw to that."
"What about the product? Was that yours, or did you pick it up off the street?" asked Matt.
"Shouldn't you be reading me my rights or something?"
"Not if you're looking to go home before the sun sets," said Matt.
"Okay. I cooked it myself. Nobody even knows I was dealing with you. My old lady knows I was doing something late, but she didn't know who or when."
"Your old lady? I thought you were in love with Annika," said Matt.
It was Bobby's turn to smile. "Now we're talking apples and oranges."
"Is this other significant other gonna wonder where you are?" asked Matt.
"Hey, it's not like we're married. We got what you might call an open relationship. She works the streets, and she lets me seek the company of others when the mood strikes."
"Sounds like the perfect yin and yang match," said Matt dripping with sarcasm. Matt then looked at Dwayne. "What do you think?"
"I think I can sell it to the bosses."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Matt and Dwayne stopped at the nurses station, Steve was still working it with Lucy Liu.
"Boss, we need to go," said Matt in a businesslike manner mustering more respect than he often showed real administrators.
"Thanks men. Were you able to get those issues resolved?" said Steve.
"Yes, sir. It was just like you predicted. As usual you were spot-on. I don't know how you do it each and every time. I guess that's why they put you in charge," said Matt gushing with admiration.
Steve nodded with authority as he handed the nurse his business card and took her phone number.
As they entered the elevators, Matt said to Steve, "The director would be proud of how you are reaching out to our community."
"Protect and serve," said Steve.
"That's LAPD. Our motto is Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity," said Matt.
Dwayne added, "With an emphasis on integrity."
"Whatever," said Steve.
The three exited the elevator on the second floor and headed toward ICU. The waiting room outside the intensive care unit was crowded with concerned family members of the patients behind the double doors. They were hoping for miracles. Some were praying, others crying, still others sleeping. All exhausted from the vigil.
Flip Mitchell wasn't among those waiting. The doors to the unit were secured, and only a limited number of visitors were allowed admission. Steve picked up the phone to call the nurses station.
Matt and Dwayne walked over to the window away from the families and looked out across the parking lot.
Matt said, "This is one place I don't want to spend much time."
"Yeah, hard to live without hope. Glad I worship a God of miracles."
Matt nodded but was ready to change the conversation. "Did you catch Bobby's comment that during the press conference they mentioned a witness?"
"Yeah, I'm not sure that was the wisest move. I'll check on it when we get back to the office."
"Someone might be looking to eliminate witnesses."
Dwayne nodded then said, "Is there any doubt in your mind Boris is connected to all this?"
Matt shook his head. "No, maybe if one person threw Annika into the ravine, it might have been the next generation of the Hillside Strangler, but three goons in a pickup sound more like biker bar clientele. The fact Lydia wasn't raped makes it sound more like a contract dump than a drunken frat party train wreck."
"Most frat boys or perverts aren't packing either."
"Dwayne, it's too much of a coincidence Annika dies after telling Bobby she wants out and Bobby tells Jesse, the same Jesse who bought automatic weapons from Boris, the owner of the strip club where she worked."
"I'm not a big believer in coincidence."
"Caitlin says it's God being anonymous," said Matt nodding with assurance. "We need to take a hard look at the Russian Veil if we're going to solve who's behind a double homicide and the attack on Flip's wife."
Steve joined the two. "Lydia is asleep. The nurse said Flip went to LAX to pick up her mother who is flying in from Nashville to take care of the kids."
"Did the nurse say how Lydia was doing?" asked Dwayne as the three walked to the elevator.
"She gave me the patient confidentiality speech, but when I said I was the acting assistant special agent in charge of the terrorism division at the FBI and Flip worked for me, she said Lydia is doing better and should be out of ICU by the end of the week."
"You do realize it's a federal crime to impersonate an FBI administrator?" asked Dwayne.
"Really? Who ever brags about being a bureaucrat?" responded Steve.
"Yeah, Dwayne, Steve's right. It's tough to even get free drinks at a bar when you say you're a Bureau hump. They only comp street agents."
"It shouldn't be a crime to dumb down your law enforcement credentials," said Steve with a look of innocence Dwayne almost believed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As Matt and Dwayne were walking to Jason Barnes's office, Matt said, "If I can get him alone, I know I can convince him. He understands the Marine Corps brotherhood. Flip's still in the Reserves. He did a combat tour in Iraq during the initial run up to Baghdad. The boss will approve it just because of that bond."
"You guys and your oorah. How many Marines are in this office?" said Dwayne.
"Enough to make a difference," said Matt with a confidant smile. "We need to beat Clinton in there. Give me five minutes, and I can sell the undercover operation."
Kathryn Wilson was the gatekeeper to the office of Jason Barnes, the assistant director in charge, the man who ran the Los Angeles Field Office of the FBI. The always neatly dressed lady with shoulder-length gray hair guarded the ADIC's office like a pit bull with pups. No one crossed the threshold of Jason Barnes's doorway without her permission, and no one dared challenge her resolve to protect her boss. At sixty-three she was nearing retirement but enjoyed every day being privy to some of the nation's most secret investigations. Although never a street agent, she believed herself to be as much a part of the team as any investigator. In reality she was. She was a respected member of the FBI family, loved by many but feared by more.
"Well, if it isn't Frick and Frack," said Kathryn as Matt and Dwayne entered the large waiting room outside the ADIC's office. "I assume you've come to seek permission to impose mischief on society."
Matt smiled. "Something like that."
"He's expecting us," said Dwayne.
She laughed.
"What?" asked Matt.
"I wondered why Clinton came running in here. She must have heard you were in route."
"Nuts," said Matt.
"Your five minutes just got cut in half," said Dwayne.
Kathryn nodded toward the door, giving her approval for the two to proceed. She turned serious as Matt and Dwayne were about to enter the office. "Any word on Flip's wife?"
"We just came from the hospital. She's still in ICU. We didn't get to see her, but I just got off the phone with Flip. She's doing better," said Matt. "The doctors say she will fully recover from the wounds. It's just a matter of time. Fortunately none of the rounds struck a vital organ. At this point it's more emotional and psychological than physical."
Kathryn shook her head slowly, "Poor girl, I guess in our line of work we should never be shocked by man's inhumanity. We see it more than most, but how terrible to observe evil right in front of your eyes."
Both nodded in agreement.
Matt wasn't desensitized to violence and evil. He lived with it every day. It became a part of him, the part he didn't want the
outside world to see. Caitlin was his tether to a parallel universe, and their relationship was his reward for surviving another day.
SPECIAL AGENT IN CHARGE Pamela Clinton remained seated, but Jason Barnes rose as Matt and Dwayne entered his office.
"Gentlemen," said the assistant director in charge.
"You don't really mean that do you, boss?" said Matt.
"No," said Jason Barnes. "It's one of those polite tools they teach us at ADIC school. Try to make the agent feel like a gentleman, and maybe he'll act like one."
"I guess in theory it makes sense."
Pamela Clinton gave Matt one of her frequent glares which conveyed her thoughts, How dare you speak to an ADIC with such informality. Clinton possessed a huge ego and wore it well. She and Matt were like fire and ice, a battle of personalities; he had one, she didn't.
"Good afternoon, Pamela," said Matt with the hint of smirk hoping to goad her before the meeting even began.
Dwayne and Pamela exchanged pleasantries, but she ignored Matt. A slight Matt noticed causing a smile on his less than cherub face as he sat in the chair to the left of the ADIC's desk.
Dwayne provided a detailed briefing on the investigation to date and laid out the undercover scenario using Bobby Himmler as an informant who could introduce Matt into Himmler's circle of friends.
The ADIC listened intently, his eyes revealing nothing.
"You think you can pull it off?" asked Jason Barnes.
"You mean playing a racist with my wannabe neo-Nazi informant and getting paid to drop an occasional racial slur at convenient times? Not a problem," said Matt.
Pamela Clinton glared, and Matt knew he was succeeding at irritating the Queen Mother. "Maybe you should be reminded every word you utter will be recorded. We don't need a Mark Furman-OJ situation in this division."
Matt wouldn't give Clinton the satisfaction of directly responding to her comment. He looked at the ADIC, "Don't worry, I'll shut off the tape before I drop the n-word."
Dwayne just shook his head as Clinton let out a disgusted moan. She had a unique way of inserting herself into every issue until it came time to be decisive. Then her silence was deafening.
