“You turn yourself in through me—”
“No.”
“Just shut up,” I say to a man with a gun. “You turn yourself in through me to Detective Hurley. He’s already investigating Officer Jasper, so he needs someone like you really bad. I can tell you you’ll probably get a sweet deal, maybe even just a slap on the back of your hand, ’cause you’ve got a clean record. So we arrange for you to turn yourself in, and you confess to my burglary only, but say that you were directed to commit the burglary by Jasper. Outta fear, you obeyed. You still with me?”
Nods once.
“You tell him you’ll cooperate. I’ll tell him how much danger you’re in and that you can’t go into general population.”
“Prison?!”
“You won’t be in there for more than two or three days. Max. Really. When you get to arraignment—which, if we do this now, might be later this morning—they’ll give you a lawyer pro bono.”
I wish it could be Leslie, but that’s a definite conflict of interest for her.
“What’s that really mean?”
“Means free. On the people. You make sure your lawyer knows everything, especially about Jasper, your uncle, the burglary of my home, and what you witnessed after. You’re the only one who can identify the man who killed that kid in my kitchen. You’re also the only one who can connect all this to Jasper. You tell her you already confessed and you want a debriefing with Detective Hurley. Hurley will take care of things on his end, so it’ll be quick.”
“What if doesn’t work?”
“I told you, I’ve been through this tons of times, and most of the guys I was working with had serious criminal records, and even they got out. It’ll work, Robby. Take the couple of days you’ll have alone in a cell to get your head straight, otherwise they won’t work with you. You’re not going to do time unless you fuck up. You fuck up by using again. Do it for your uncle.”
“I have to think.”
“This will give us both closure.”
He’s not sold.
“Hurley will make it clear, too. It’s the only way, Robby.”
The gun is on his lap, his hand off the grip. He’s gotten too comfortable. Maybe the good weed had a little to do with it.
I take my gun from under my thigh, point it at him. It takes him a second to notice. He straightens up when he does, but he doesn’t think to grab his gun right away.
“I’m not like you. I’m trained, and I’ll cap you right between the eyes without a thought.”
“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” he says like his heart’s been broken.
“Take the butt of the gun with your thumb and your index finger and set it on the coffee table.”
“Just shoot me.”
“I really should, but we both don’t want that. So do what I say.”
He grabs it with two fingers by the barrel. I don’t bother to tell him that’s not the butt, because the barrel is pointing up and away from me. He sets it on the coffee table.
“Slide it toward me using the tip of your finger.”
He does, then looks down, shattered.
I pick the gun up and set it closer to the edge of the coffee table, closer to me.
“Where’d you get this gun?”
“Some other house. I think it’s clean because it was in a gun box.”
“Why didn’t you give it to Jasper?”
“Fuck. Security. You won’t turn it over to the police, will you?”
Worried about his prints.
“No, but I’ll hold on to it for a bit.”
“I’m going to get fucked.”
“Look at me,” I tell him.
He does.
I set my gun on the coffee table near his and lean back on the sofa.
“We’re going to work this out now, got it? I’ll take care of this gun of yours. No one will find it unless you fuck with me. Now, let’s go over everything one more time.”
Seventy-One
I’m treating Biddy like a client who needs special handling. Hurley doesn’t need to know everything. That’ll only complicate matters or get me in trouble.
Hurley doesn’t have a life nowadays because of me. He didn’t have a life before, but probably it wasn’t as bad as it is now, with me in it. I owe him a nice dinner, at the very least.
Biddy’s hands are cuffed behind his back. I disposed of the paraphernalia he was carrying, and he gave me the keys to the motel so I could secure his property. Told me there would be nothing in the suitcase to surprise me, like further evidence of a crime. I will turn that over to Hurley if I find it, and Biddy knows it. So I’m confident the motel will be clean. I also put his stolen gun in my stash wall. It’s a weapon I think I’ll hold on to for a while, just in case.
“Take him to Three Hundred, not 3D,” Hurley tells the officer.
I walk up to Biddy before he’s escorted out.
“Can I have a second?” I ask the officer, who turns and looks at Hurley for the answer.
Hurley nods.
“I need to talk to him privately,” I say.
The officer moves out of earshot.
I get close to speak confidentially. “You give up everything to Hurley. Remember not to mention what went down in the motel room, or I’ll mention how it really went down here. I’ll have the gun with your prints on it. You got it?”
“Yes.”
“You do everything like we talked about, and you’ll come out okay. We’ll both come out okay.”
He looks at me with a crooked, awkward half smile. A trusting smile. I smile back like I mean it, because I do, then move away.
“You’ll get my belongings from the motel?”
“Yes, as long as there’s nothing illegal in there.”
“There’s not.”
The uniformed officer escorts him out. Biddy looks over his shoulder to me before stepping into the hallway toward the front door.
“It’ll be okay. Just tell Detective Hurley the truth.”
They exit, leaving the front door open.
It’s bright outside, cloudless, with a big sun.
“What did you have to say to him that you couldn’t say out loud?” Hurley asks.
“Words of comfort.”
“Give me a break.”
“I didn’t want the officer to hear. All I said was to trust you. You’re going to personally paper the case, right?”
“Of course. I’ll get with the AUSA I always work with and see if we can set up a debriefing in B One at the US attorney’s office within a day or two. Let’s hope it works out the way it’s supposed to. He’ll be good for a strong case against Jasper. We have to keep this quiet, get him processed at Three Hundred and papered so no one knows.”
“What about the officer who’s transporting him?”
“He’s good, Marr. He’s on the task force. Plainclothes, tactical guy, and uniform when he has to. He’ll escort him up the stairs to the third floor from the garage. No one will see. I can’t figure why the guy who burglarized your home would give himself up to you.”
“It’s complicated.”
“In a nutshell, then.”
“I told you—his uncle was my source. Biddy told you the rest. What’s so hard to understand?”
“How did you manage to find his uncle?”
“Because I’m good at what I do, Joe.”
“I’m going to need to know, but I don’t feel like writing up more than I have to right now, so I’ll wait. You will have to come in.”
“Fine.”
“This guy Biddy, or Robby. He’s smarter than your average crackhead. Looks cleaner, too. Be hard to find if he ran.”
“So you’re wondering why he didn’t run?”
“Yes.”
“Because he knows it’s a matter of time before he ends up in jail or like his uncle. He’s scared, and he doesn’t trust the police.”
“But he trusts you.”
I shrug.
“You had any sleep?” Hurley asks.
�
�Sleep? I was up all night with him.”
“You smell like weed.”
“I let him smoke what he had. Calmed his nerves.”
“Calm your nerves, too, Frank?”
“You know how that shit sticks to your clothing.”
“You mention you let him get high, it’ll screw my whole case,” he says.
“What do I look like, a moron?”
“Kinda. You should get some sleep, though, because you’re in it now.”
Unfortunately, I know that, and I’m not talking about the tired part.
Seventy-Two
Before I can sleep, I go to the shed in the backyard and grab some of the extra plywood I have left over after fixing the back door. I take a hammer and a box of nails to the guest room on the second floor, where Biddy busted out the window. After cleaning up the glass, I board up the window. Two things I’ll have to buy now—a window and a door. I’ll find the time one day.
When I turn to exit I notice a cicada clinging to the door frame. Got in through the broken window.
I gently pinch it between two fingers, look at it for a second.
“You won’t find a mate in here.”
Probably the one knocking at my window that night. I open the second window, the one closer to the guest bed.
“Go. Find the love of your life, cause you ain’t gonna live that long.”
I toss the cicada out. It falls, but then regains itself and flies away, like a clumsy drunk. I close and lock the window. Not that it matters, locking the window. Like Biddy said, he can get in anywhere. Nothing’s ever secure.
I go to my bedroom and lock the door.
My phone wakes me up. I don’t remember falling asleep.
Hurley.
Fuck, is this bad news? I notice the time. I did sleep. It’s almost 5:00 p.m.
“What’s up, Hurley?” I answer.
“Sounds like I woke you.”
“It’s all good. I woke you enough times. Please don’t tell me you got bad news.”
“That depends on what you consider bad.”
“What happened?”
“Everything went well. AUSA is on board. Had your boy Givens in the box for a while, so he won’t go before a judge until tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
“He’s going to debrief.”
“Good interview and interrogation technique, right? So what’s the so-called bad news?”
“Your connection to Jasper.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have a connection with that good-for-nothin’ SLAP.”
“Maybe not one you remember, but that drive-by shooting you got caught up in a year or so back, the one where the officer got killed?”
“The Cordell Holm case. The girl. What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“The officer who got killed. Tommy Woodrow. He was Jasper’s nephew.”
Seventy-Three
Dirty blood runs in Jasper’s family,” I tell Hurley.
“Yeah. They both snuck onto the department, which we know is not that hard to do.”
Don’t I know it.
“But again, what does this have to do with me? I wasn’t responsible for his nephew’s death,” I say, even though I’m beginning to think otherwise.
I don’t normally work missing persons, especially when it involves a teenage girl, but I got sucked into an investigation a little over a year ago, mostly by my own doing. I eventually found the girl, but the boys who had her first decided they wanted her back. She worked the brothel they were running. Hell, she even wanted to go back. Those boys backed off, though, but not for long. Enter Officer Tommy Woodrow. He rolled up to the scene at 17th and Euclid while I was holding on tightly to the struggling girl and trying to get her to my car. Couple of the boys came back, but this time in a car. The passenger opened up on us with a TEC-9 or some shit. Officer Tommy was in the line of fire. He took a couple in the chest.
Tommy supplied information to the crew who killed him, even had an ongoing affair with one of the other teen girls at the brothel. So maybe they wanted him dead. I know they wanted me dead. Nearly got me, too, but luck was on my side that day.
Can that be the reason for all this now? I can’t figure it—except, like I said, maybe my showing up to the club all that time later opened old wounds for Jasper. Maybe he wanted to take it out on me or actually does blame me, because if I hadn’t taken the case, and if I hadn’t found the girl at that moment, Officer Tommy, his nephew, might still be alive. Silly kind of vengeance, if you ask me, because most of the people truly answerable for the crime are in prison.
“One of the special agents on the task force did a full background on Jasper,” Hurley begins. “That’s how we found out Woodrow was his nephew. And Biddy, or Givens, said Jasper had your house targeted, so he’s definitely got it in for you. I don’t know. That’s all we got right now. Too much to be coincidental.”
That word’s coming up a lot.
“That’s ridiculous.”
But then I’ve seen a lot of ridiculousness in my time.
“You have the kid from the hospital, and now Biddy, so it’s looking good, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, but you know how an investigation like this can go. It’s not something immediate.”
“But Jasper doesn’t have a clue, right?” I ask.
“No. Unless our other source is playing both sides.”
“You know those boys on Riggs work for Jasper?”
“I’m beginning to think you got a bug on me. How do you know all this?”
“From Biddy or Robby or Graham. Whatever you want to call him. But he’s not my bug; he’s your bug now.”
“I know they work for him. But Jasper is still working the part-time at the club, so it doesn’t look like he’s worried about anything.”
“If he finds out Biddy’s been locked up, he will be,” I say.
“We don’t even have IA involved in this. That’s the benefit of working with the feds. They’ll be notified when and if we get a warrant for Jasper. It’s totally in-house.”
“If?”
“You know what I mean,” he says.
Seventy-Four
More than anything, I want to take care of this shit myself. Go sit on the club when I know he’s working, follow him home after. Bust into his home when he leaves for work and get my music and laptop back, put the hurt on him for having Jeffrey killed—and Diamond. I’m a fucking liar, but this guy’s a psychopath.
Yeah, I’m gonna fuck up a federal investigation and get myself arrested in the process. I’m not stupid. I’ve said that a thousand times before, but I mean it this time. I’m sure the task force Hurley’s on already has a car or two sitting on him.
So take it easy, and slow the fuck down.
I can dream, though, can’t I?
I park my car on the street again, a couple of blocks from the motel. Biddy only has the one suitcase, so I can manage the walk back.
Evening is setting in, the remaining light made dimmer by steam in the air. It’s like I have to cut my way through it. I walk the sidewalk on the other side of the office, an effort to lessen the possibility of prying eyes.
Looks like Biddy turned the lights off in the room before he left. I open the door, double-lock it behind me. Turn the overhead light on. I pick up his suitcase and open it on the bed to search the contents. Despite what he said, I want to make sure I won’t be transporting something I shouldn’t be. Looks good. Clean underwear, pants, shirts, and some fucking self-help book about finding peace. I zip up the suitcase after I clear it.
I see the crack stem on the nightstand and pick it up so I can flush it down the toilet.
I enter the bathroom and am startled by a very large older man in a suit standing against the bathroom wall across from the toilet. I recognize him. Wyatt from the club. I drop the stem on the bathroom floor and unholster my gun, but he’s already holding a small canister of police-grade Mace. It streams out and hits me
on the left side of my face.
“Fuck!” is all I can get out.
I tuck my gun to shoot blindly. But before I can, and out of nowhere, he slaps it from my hand so hard it feels like my hand went with it.
I hear it land somewhere with an echo.
The tub?
Feels like I swallowed hot embers. My left eye burns like shit, too, and I tear up right away. Immediately he’s on top of me. I stumble back and get knocked off my feet by the corner of the mattress. I swing blindly with my right hand, and it hits something hard. His head? He grips the wrist of my left arm like it’s going to break, then forces some wrestling move on me, and I’m flat on my back. He pins me down. Mace didn’t hit me direct, mostly in the left eye and on the side of my face, so despite the burn I can see a bit. His knees pin my arms down, and his weight on my torso keeps me in place. His left hand squeezes the right side of my neck. I see him raise a folding tactical knife with his right hand.
I can see the gun holstered on his right side, but he wants to keep things quiet.
Fuck! I’m a big guy, but I don’t have the weight on him.
“Where’s Robby Givens?” he asks too calmly.
“Who?” I return.
“Graham Biddy!”
“I don’t know who the fuck—” Realizing how bad that sounds ’cause I’m in his motel room.
He strikes down with the knife, then searing hot pain rips into my left shoulder. I kick blindly with my right foot to try to get him off balance.
“You know who I’m talking about. Where is he?”
“I’ll take you to him.”
“Do I look like an idiot?”
My right hand is pinned down hard by the wrist, so the palm is facing up. I thrust my body up one more time, trying to buck him off, and manage to slide my hand back, get my thumb under his thumb. With everything I can muster I twist, hear his thumb snap out of place. He yelps, jerks back, taking the tactical knife out of my shoulder at the same time. I hit him hard on the left chin with the butt of my right hand. Stuns him a bit, but that’s about it.
He has years on me, but he’s built like a linebacker.
A punch I didn’t see coming lands on the right side of my chin, throws me back, and he drops me down with his weight so I’m completely on my back, his left knee pinning my right arm down again. I struggle to hold his right hand back, gripping him by the wrist, fighting the searing pain in my shoulder, like the knife hit bone.
Crime Song Page 22
