by Glenn Rogers
“Mr. Pipestone will see you. You can go on back. Down the hall, first door on the left.”
I smiled and said, “Thank you.”
She didn’t smile back. I went down the hallway and knocked on the first door. A strong male voice said, “Come in.”
Jasper Pipestone sat behind a faux oak desk. He looked to be in his early forties. He had light brown hair and dark eyes. From the look of his skin, he spent a lot of time in the sun. His shoulders were broad, his arms were of significant circumference, and his hands were thick. He didn't stand when I came in, so I couldn't tell how tall he was, but he looked short, five-six, maybe five seven.
His office was small. In a couple of steps I was in front of his desk. I sat in one of his two guest chairs.
“So what is it you think you know about James Falcon?” he asked, trying hard to pull off stony-faced tough guy.
“Jason Carrillo was his real name. He was DEA. He was placed here undercover because this company is engaged in illegal activity.”
“What kind of illegal activity?” he asked.
“Let's cut to the chase, Jasper. I don't like the business you're in. And I don't like federal agents being assassinated down the street from where I live. I'm going to shut you down.”
I stood, tossed one of my cards on his desk, and walked out.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I thought about Jasper's possible responses to my challenge. If he were smart, he'd just ignore me. I was betting he wasn't smart enough for that. Before going to my office, I stopped by my apartment. I took off my shirt and put on my Kevlar vest and put a slightly larger shirt over it so the vest wouldn’t be so noticeable. I slipped into my shoulder holster, stuck my .357 Magnum under my left arm, put my tan corduroy sport coat back on, and checked myself in the mirror. Not bad.
Chapter 19
It was not quite twelve thirty when I got back to my office. I had emails to read and mail to open. Being a business tycoon is a lot of work. Mildred had a couple of messages for me. A prospective client had come by. It was a divorce case, and Mildred explained that I did not do divorce work. At one, Alex called. “Got time for lunch with Lowell Griffin?” he asked when I answered.
“Sure,” I said. “Your turn to come in this direction.”
“Name a place.”
“Mexicali Cocina,” I said.
“See you at one thirty.”
Lowell Griffin was middle aged. He was a few pounds overweight and was losing his hair. He'd gone as far as he was going in the FBI, which is to say he was competent but not brilliant. He'd never been driven, so he had not excelled. But he was as steady as a rock. I'd worked with him on more than one operation and had no complaints. He was a good agent.
I was waiting at a table when Alex and Lowell arrived. We got ourselves seated and ordered lunch. They caught me up on all the agency gossip until our food came. After a few bites, Alex said, “Lowell, Jake and I have reopened the sting operation investigation.”
“Good,” Lowell said. “Because the official investigation sucked.”
Alex nodded. I was watching Lowell.
Alex said, “Jake has some new information.”
Lowell looked at me.
“I have a reliable source,” I said, “that says the syndicate had someone on the inside, someone in our office keeping them informed as to our plans.”
Lowell was so still, it looked as if he wasn't even breathing.
“Our operation went sour,” I said, “because they knew what we were doing.”
Lowell thought about that for a moment. He said, “That means that someone on the team or someone in management who had to approve the operation was the informant.”
I nodded as I took a bite of my burrito.
Alex asked, “Who do you think it was, Lowell?”
I watched Lowell as he studied Alex.
“I don't know who it was,” Lowell said, “but it wasn't me. That's what this meeting is about, isn't it?”
He looked at each of us. Neither of us responded.
“I can't blame you,” Lowell said. “Especially you, Jake. Knowing how you felt about Elaine.”
“There's more,” Alex said.
Lowell looked at him and then at me.
I said, “My source also says an informant is still in place.”
Lowell thought about that.
“We're going to find out who it is,” Alex said.
Lowell nodded. “How?” he asked.
“What they don't know,” I said, “is that we also have an informant in their organization. And our mole is going to find out who their mole is.”
“Might work,” Lowell. “Why are you telling me?”
Maybe Lowell was smarter than I thought he was. Neither of us answered his question.
“Never mind,” he said. “I know you guys. You always have an angle.” He ate some of his enchiladas. “You haven't talked to Kraft or Brandt yet, have you? I'd like to be a fly on the wall during those conversations. How do you think they're going to react?”
“I don't care how they react,” I said. “There were eight people who knew about the operation. We can rule out three of them. One of the five left is an informant. There's no other explanation. I'm gonna find out who it was.”
“When you rule me out, however it is you're gonna to do that, if you want my help, let me know.”
Pretty much the same response we'd gotten from Christine. What did that mean? Probably that neither one of them was the informant.
After Lowell left, Alex asked, “What do you think?”
“My gut says it's not him.”
“What about Christine? “
I shook my head. “It's not her, either.”
“Yeah,” Alex said. “I get the same feeling.” He paused and finished off his iced tea. “Hoffmeyer next?”
“Yeah. Let's save Kraft and Brandt for last.”
“What's on the books for this afternoon?” Alex asked.
“Going to see Hanson again.”
“You think he'll help with the syndicate?”
I shook my head again. “I wouldn't ask him to take sides. I'll let him know what I need. If he can help, he will; if he can't, he won't.”
I stopped by the office before heading to the Eros club to tell Margaret I didn't know when I'd be back. She said if I wasn't back by three, she'd take Wilson home with her.
I thanked her, told Wilson I’d see him later, and headed out the door.
Chapter 20
When I pulled into the parking lot of the Eros club, workmen were putting up a new neon sign. It read Live Nudes. Live Nudes? I supposed that was preferable to the alternative. I went in, and Eric, the large and articulate man behind the thick glass window, buzzed me through. One of the waitresses/dancers escorted me across the dark seating area to the door leading up to Hanson's office. I thanked her, having to raise my voice considerably to be heard over the loud music. She smiled seductively and shouted back, “Any time.”
“Jake Badger,” Hanson said, when I walked into his office. Melvin, who had opened the door for me closed it behind me and resumed his normal position in front of it. I wondered how often he got a break.
“Hello, Norman,” I said. Revel's Bolero played softly on the stereo. His office was soundproofed so effectively that the blaring music from the club below could not be heard.
Norman put down the book he'd been reading, Aristotle's Metaphysics, and gestured toward one of the chairs in front of his desk.
I sat.
“And how may I help you today, Jake Badger?” I didn't know why he called me by my full name. I figured it was an affectation. I think I remembered a bad guy in a made for TV movie that did that.
“I don't know if there is anything you can help me with,” I said. “I just stopped by to visit. Maybe chat a bit.”
Norman's eyebrows went up. “Did you, now? Well, I'm delighted. What shall we talk about?”
“How about the name of someone who exists on the edges of o
rganized crime who enjoys the exchange of information. Someone who might see an advantage in passing along significant information to an interested party.”
Norman considered that for a moment. “Well, first I’d have to say that I know nothing about people involved in organized crime, on the periphery or otherwise.”
“Of course not,” I said.
“However,” Norman said, “I do know of an individual who enjoys the exchange of information.”
“I was hoping you would.”
“Theodor Milton.”
“Any idea where I might be able to find Theodor Milton?”
“I’m given to understand that he frequents a place called Haywire, a disreputable establishment in the valley that caters to individuals who enjoy country music.”
“Haywire.”
Norman nodded and said, “I hope you and he enjoy a mutually beneficial exchange of information.”
“Me, too.”
“I was just getting ready to order lunch, Jake Badger. Would you care to join me?”
“As tempting as that is, Norman, I've already eaten.”
“Maybe another time,” he said.
I didn't reply.
“If you'd like to sit for a while downstairs and enjoy a soft drink in the club,” Norman said, “you may do so as my guest. We have some very attractive young ladies dancing for us.”
“I've noticed,” I said. “But not today. Got a tight schedule. Thanks, though, for the offer.”
I had exited the club, speaking again with Eric as I left. I was crossing the parking lot toward my Wrangler. As I reached for the door handle, I was hit hard in the back and knocked to the ground. I'd heard the crack of the rifle shot at the same time I felt the slug slam into my Kevlar vest. The impact was to the left of my spine. It hurt, but in a second I was able to roll over and scramble to my knees.
“That didn't take long,” I said out loud to myself.
I tried to see where the shot had come from. There were a couple of spots that would have served a shooter's purpose.
As I tried to spot the shooter, the parking lot security guy hurried over to me. A moment later Melvin bolted from the club, followed by Norman, who was followed by Eric.
“Well,” I said, getting to my feet slowly, “the gang's all here.”
“Are you injured, Jake?” I noticed he had dropped the Badger part.
“I'm okay.” I poked myself in the chest a couple of times. “Kevlar.”
“What happened?” Norman asked.
I turned around briefly so he could see the hole in my sport coat. “Shot in the back,” I said.
“Melvin,” Norman said, “call the police and report a shooting and then do a perimeter check. Take Eric with you.”
Melvin nodded, and he and Eric, each with a very large gun in hand, left to check the perimeter.
“Who shot you, Jake?”
“Why would you assume I know who shot me?”
“Because you are far too smart and too self-aware to be ignorant of such a thing.”
“Well,” I said, “when you put it that way.”
I smiled. Norman did not.
“I suspect,” I said, “that it was someone from, or someone employed by, a company called Security Specialists.”
Norman breathed in deeply and said, “Perhaps we should go back to my office.”
It was obvious that Norman knew something, so I said, “Okay,” and followed him back to into the club.
Chapter 21
I followed Norman through the club and up to his office. As we crossed the club floor, making our way around tables and chairs, it was obvious that customers and dancers alike were oblivious to what had happened in the parking lot.
We went up the stairs. Norman opened the door to his office and gestured me in ahead of him. He closed and locked the door and went to his desk.
“Please, have a seat,” he said.
I slipped out of my sport jacket to examine the hole in the back of it before I sat.
“I'll replace that for you,” Norman said as he settled himself into his large executive chair.
“That's not necessary, Norman. You didn't make the hole in it.”
“Nevertheless, it happened in my establishment. I shall replace it. You appear to be, what, a size fifty long?”
I saw no point in arguing with him. I nodded. “Fifty long.”
Once we were both sitting and the issue of my coat was settled, Norman said, “Security Specialists?”
How much should I tell him? In the brief moment I had to consider my options I couldn't see any reason why he shouldn't know what had happened. So I started from the beginning, explaining about Heidi and her stalker, the club security—Jimmy, the professional-looking hit in the parking lot. I explained that Jimmy was actually an undercover DEA agent placed inside Security Specialists to gather evidence against them. I told him about my exchange with Jasper Pipestone earlier in the day.
Calmly, Norman said, “And you thought that throwing down a gauntlet that included not only a challenge but a threat was the best way to deal with him?”
“I was trying to draw him out.”
Norman shook his head. “Jake Badger. You are audacious.”
“I'm a marine.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, from what I know of Mr. Pipestone and his organization, you are in more danger than you may realize.”
I shrugged and said, “Tell me what you know about Security Specialists.”
Before he could respond, the door opened and Melvin came in. He closed the door and took up his position in front of it.
Norman looked at him.
“The perimeter is secure, Mr. Hanson. No sign of the shooter. The police are in route.”
“Thank you, Melvin,” Norman said, and then turned his attention back to me.
“Security Specialists,” Norman said, “distributes drugs supplied by the Mexican cartels. One of Mr. Pipestone's representatives attempted to introduce their product into this establishment.”
Norman paused and searched my eyes with his own.
“I abhor drugs, Jake Badger. In every form, including alcohol. I will not have drugs in my establishments.”
Odd, I thought. He'd broker shooters for assassinations, but he wouldn't serve alcohol at a party.
“But I digress,” Norman said. “We were discussing Security Specialists. One of Mr. Pipestone's people attempted to introduce drugs into this establishment. I would not allow it.”
“How did you stop it?” I asked.
Norman's blue eyes were cold and distant. “Let's just say that Mr. Pipestone had to find a replacement for his associate.”
“And how did Jasper react to the loss of personnel?”
“He sent three of his associates to explain things to me.”
“And?” I said.
“I, in turn, that same afternoon, went to his office and sat down and talked with him. He was surprised to see me. I explained to him my abhorrence for psychodynamic substances. While I was explaining this, a number of my associates returned his three associates to him plus a couple of additional on-site security people we encountered. The mess on his carpet was very disconcerting to him, I think. After that, I had no more difficulties with Mr. Pipestone or his people.”
“So you just out muscled him,” I said.
Norman smiled. “You have a gift for understatement. The simple fact is this: Jasper Pipestone is a powerful and ruthless man.” Norman tilted his head to the right and shrugged his right shoulder. “I just happen to be more powerful and more ruthless,” he said humbly.
His eyes held mine. I nodded. I was beginning to develop some deeper insights into Norman Hanson. What I saw was not entirely admirable, but there was a strength and a dignity about him that put him in a different class than the Jasper Pipestones of this world. I would never be friends with Norman Hanson. He was, after all, a criminal. But I was beginning to develop a sense of respect for him that I had not previously felt. There was a
restrained and judicious strength about Norman Hanson. A dignity. And for some reason, he liked me. I didn't understand it, but I could accept it.
“Be careful of Pipestone, Jake. Don't underestimate him.”
“Thank you, Norman. I appreciate your concern and the insights you've given me.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked.
“I don't think so,” I said, as I stood to leave. “I’ll see you again, Norman.” At the door I turned back. “Not going to bother me if I’m not included in the police report.”
Norman smiled and nodded.
Chapter 22
I left the Eros club with a heightened sense of awareness. I'd known something would be coming, I just hadn't known when or in what form. Having been a marine sniper, I knew how vulnerable anyone was to a sniper. Eventually, given adequate time and opportunity, he'd get me ... unless I made it clear to Jasper that coming after me was a mistake. I’d have to make it clear that it was in his best interest to call off his sniper. The question was, how to do that?
It was nearly five when I stopped by Mildred's to pick up Wilson. I decided not to tell her about the sniper. No point in worrying her.
I stopped by Papa's Pizza and picked up a large pepperoni pizza. I'd just put it down on the counter when there was a knock on the door. I told Wilson to go to the bedroom. I pulled my .357 from under my arm and approached the door from an angle so that if someone shot through it I wouldn't be in the line of fire. Once in place against the wall to the right of the door, I said, “Who is it?”
“Jake, it's me, Heidi.”
I felt myself relax. I slipped my gun back into place before I opened the door. I didn’t want to alarm Heidi by greeting her with a gun in my hand.
She looked a little uncertain when I opened the door. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Come in. Just practicing home security. Same as you should. How are you? Everything okay at work?”
She looked at me kind of funny and I realized I had uttered something of a verbal barrage.
“Yeah,” she said. “I'm okay. I had the day shift today. I just got off a while ago.”
