Collision Course (A Josh Williams Novel)

by Joe Broadmeadow

  Josh turned to the Chief and said, "Okay. I listened. I think I have extended myself sufficiently in furtherance of, what did you call it, inter-agency cooperation," his tone sarcastic. “With your permission, I will excuse myself from any further discussion."

  Ignoring the agents, Josh continued. "You have all my reports, Chief. I am sure the agents here will be seeking copies." Turning to the agents, "Gentlemen, I have nothing else to add to the report and nothing more to discuss with you, not now, not ever."

  Josh turned and walked out of the office. Lt. Hamlin, barely concealing a smile, looking toward the agents, added, "Sergeant Williams is one of the most conscientious, honest, straightforward cops I have ever worked with. You probably do not know this, and likely do not care, but that asshole of a US Attorney we have here is trying to make political capital out of this, and he is using you to do it. I hope you're proud of yourselves," turning to the Chief "and I'll be taking my leave as well, sir."

  "Lieutenant," Agent Slattery replied, "I resent the implications. I am here to do my job, with or without this agency's assistance, if that's the attitude you are going to take then I will...."

  Chris turned abruptly around, "You'll what? You people could not solve a fucking suicide. The problem is you have never been a real cop. You know nothing of the case other than what you choose to believe, and try to intimidate people with your fancy suits and titles. You people are like seagulls, you fly in, shit all over everyone, and then you fly back out after you have done nothing but ruin a good cop's career. There is no search for the truth; you probably have not even read the reports. You just assume that because the guy turned out to be unarmed, and black, then the bigoted white guy is guilty."

  Walking to stand directly in front of Slattery, the quickness of her movement catching him off-guard, forcing him to step back, Chris continued. "You carry on with your witch-hunt, you guys always do, but I can guarantee this, and you mark my words, no matter what the fuck you guys try, we're going to win this. Do you know why? Because Sergeant Williams did nothing wrong. You'll end up looking like idiots, again!"

  Turning to the Chief, "and that's my contribution to inter-agency cooperation, sir.” Executing a perfect about-face, Chris walked out the door.

  The Chief walked back to his desk, sat down, and reached into the top drawer. Pausing a moment, enjoying the uncertainty in the agents' eyes, he withdrew a cigar.

  Propping it in his mouth, he said, "well boys, unless there are some more pressing matters we need to dispose of I am going to go smoke my cigar and head home for lunch."

  Rising and putting on his jacket to indicate the discussion was no longer open.

  Slattery looked at the Chief, shook his head, and said, "You know Chief, this isn't going to make your department, or you, look very good, given your lack of cooperation. I suggest..."

  Chief Brennan turned to the agents, coming to his full, most intimidating, height, "Gentlemen. I have extended all the courtesies to you that I am willing. I have been doing this job for 35 years, and I do not need any advice from you on how to manage this department. In light of some of the shit your agency pulled in Boston with Whitey and crew, I would not be bragging too much about reputation. You aren't the first prima donnas from the FBI to stand here, and I am woefully certain you won't be the last."

  Walking to the office door, the Chief turned, looking directly at Slattery. "I run an honest department, we don't cover up anything, if we have warts we show them, and then we cut them off. I want to reemphasize what Lieutenant Williams said, albeit in-artfully. The evidence in this matter is clear. This is a legitimate, justified, and unfortunate officer involved shooting. The fact that politics have weaseled itself in I find disgusting.”

  Forcing the agents toward the door, Brennan chastised them.

  “Don't you find it odd that the US Attorney in Rhode Island has to import a couple of agents from Washington, when he has access to any number of qualified, and quite capable, agents in the Providence field office?” Holding his arms apart, palms up.

  “We have always maintained a great working relationship with the local office. Certainly, they are capable of asking a few questions in an informal inquiry, or however you defined your presence.

  I agree with Lieutenant Williams. I wonder if your conscience bothers you when you become the instrument of a subversive, politically motivated, manipulation of the judicial process."

  Brennan herded the agents out the door.

  "This isn't over, Chief. We'll be back with Federal Grand jury subpoenas, and your investigation better be in order."

  "Son," the Chief replied, "when your master sends you back here, please maintain that same cool professionalism you just demonstrated. It so reinforces my feelings about the efficacy of the federal government."

  The agents walked past the outer office desk, the Chief following behind. He looked at his aide and said, "Danny boy, make a note, new policy. Anybody coming in here from some alphabet soup agency, federal or otherwise, you will refer them to Captain Charland. He loves that shit, and I don't have time for this nonsense."

  Slattery turned to say something, but Murray pushed him out of the door. "Let it go, Jeff. We'll come back and deal with this a different way."

  Chapter 37: Pre-Trial Ballet

  Special Agents Waters, Murray, and Slattery walked into the US Attorney's Office. They bore news that might prove helpful in the Williams case and were anxious to share.

  Robert Collucci came in, closed the door, and looked to the agents, "Okay, so what have you got?"

  "Hamlin is fucking Steven Harris, and Harris has a fiancé," Waters replied.

  Collucci smiled, "Really? Well, isn't that convenient. Perhaps it is time we played hardball with the good Lieutenant and that pussy of a boyfriend. Go pick him up. Make it a good show for him, but no witnesses. We want to keep our claws in him, but invisible."

  Two hours later a distraught Harris was standing in the US Attorney's Office.

  "So, Mr. Harris, Steve if I may," the words dripping out of Collucci.

  Harris nodded.

  "You do know why you're here. Nasty business this. Attempted Bribery of a Court Official, Filing Fraudulent Documents, Obstruction of Justice. As I am certain you are aware, these carry significant jail time, fines, and, of course, disbarment. Such a shame. Such a waste of a talented legal career." Collucci was enjoying this.

  Harris pleaded, "Mr. Collucci, I hardly think this is a criminal matter. I offered no bribe. It was a momentary lapse of judgment. No harm intended. It wasn't even a required..."

  "Shut up, Harris. I do not give a shit about you or these documents. However, it all comes down to how we manage the issue. I can minimize the whole incident or," rising from his chair, "indict and charge you. It makes no difference to me. What I want from you is information. Give me something about Hamlin. Don't worry, you will find another girlfriend. Oh, wait,” smiling at Harris, “you already have one. I wonder what she would think of Sunday visitations at the Fort Dix Federal Prison."

  Harris felt his knees go weak, and he collapsed in a chair. "I don't know anything about Hamlin. It was just a physical thing. I was going to end it anyway. She's, she never tells me anything. She...wait a minute, wait one minute, there is one thing. Now that I think of it, but it's not about Hamlin, it's about Williams." Harris smiled.

  I cannot do this. Chris trusted me. It was pillow talk, what the fuck am I thinking?

  Collucci raised his hands in a 'well?' gesture.

  "I need assurances," Harris continued.

  Collucci came around the desk, leaned back, folded his arms, and said, "Fine, I assure you Mr. Harris that either you give me something useful right now or you can rest assured that today will be the last day you practice law. How do those assurances sound to you?"

  "Okay, okay, but if it's worth it, I walk on this right?" Harris pleaded.

  "If it is valuable and accurate I assure you, there's that word again, you will walk out of here, and this
little misunderstanding will be forgotten."

  Harris stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the streets in Kennedy Plaza. How many hours had he spent waiting for the bus home because his father did not want to waste gas driving to pick him up at school? He called it his 'college fantasy'. It all come to this, giving something up to help himself. Ah, well I can't be much help in prison can I?

  Turning back to face Collucci, he began "Hamlin told me Williams lied in a court hearing."

  Collucci rose from the desk, "Continue, where, when, which court?"

  "Well, she said he colored his testimony. She thought it was funny. However, she was worried he'd go too far someday and get caught."

  "Which court?” Collucci demanded.

  "Sixth Division, District Court. Some sort of an alcohol violation, I don't know any specifics."

  "Go," Collucci muttered, reaching for the phone.

  Harris just looked at him.

  "Get the fuck out of my office now, or I will indict you and that bitch of a plaything of yours for obstruction of justice," Collucci threatened.

  Harris was out the door, down the stairs, and in the middle of Kennedy Plaza before Collucci dialed the first number.

  Chapter 38: Justice for None

  Josh walked into the office, saw Chris talking on the phone, took in the look in her eyes, and knew.

  'That son-of-a-bitch indicted me didn't he?"

  Chris nodded her head, motioned for him be quiet, and put the phone on the speaker...

  "Anyway, we all...." the male voice paused, "...what the hell was that, Chris?"

  "Nothing, I turned the volume up. They're doing work on the heating system, and I couldn't hear you." Smiling at Josh and shrugging her shoulders.

  The caller continued, "The SAC told Collucci he wasn't using any of his agents for this fucking witch-hunt. He could call the fucking President of the United States for all he cared. That as far as he was concerned, every agent in the Providence office was busy for the next decade.”

  The caller went silent for a moment. “Hang on; let me close my office door.” There was the muffled sound of movement, and then the caller came back on.

  “Where was I? Oh yeah. Collucci started yelling he would have him sent to fucking Podunk and the SAC said that at least he would not have to put up with the political fucking cesspool here. So you tell Josh no matter what happens not one fucking moment of any local agents' time was used in this charade and that we all know this is bullshit."

  "Thanks, Kenny" Josh said. Chris gave him the 'what the fuck look.'

  "Cheeks, did you put me on a speaker? Josh is listening right? Dammit Chris, I said this was between you and me."

  "Sorry, Ken. My partner here just never learns to keep his mouth shut," Chris replied, giving Josh the finger.

  "Well listen, the SAC wanted you to know how the office felt about this, but he also does not want anything to fall back on him. He is a good guy, ladies and gentlemen, but he is also a few years short of retirement, and he would prefer to keep his pension. Don’t bag me on this."

  "Kenny, I appreciate it,” Josh said, "it will stay here. Thanks."

  The line went dead and Chris stood up, "You didn't hear the whole call. Collucci is planning to send the rat squad to arrest you at Bovi's. He got it in his head that he'd make you look bad in front of your friends and get a little payback for the police and fire unions voting to endorse his opponent."

  "Are you fucking kidding me? I'll just go down to the court and turn myself in, that'll piss him off."

  "I have a better idea," Chris smiled. "They want to make a big splash in the media, let's give them a fucking tidal wave."

  Josh gave her an inquisitive look.

  "The indictment is under limited seal. I cannot wait to find out which fucking magistrate agreed to that order. They only have 24 hours to keep it under seal. They have to try to get you quickly or the seal is broken, then they have to notify the department, and you can turn yourself in."

  Chris walked over to the window, thinking. "They'll come looking for you tonight at Bovi's. Even they can figure out you will be there on a Friday. And they will find you, but not quite right away."

  Josh looked at Chris and smiled, "and what are we going to do?"

  "Call Beansie. We need a few of his special girls and his camera expertise."

  Chapter 39: I am Right Here…

  Beer Blast at Bovi's, the signs read.

  Come join us for a fund-raiser for the East Providence Animal Shelter sponsored by the East Providence Fire IAFA and Police IBPO unions.

  "Have a Beer, Save a Pussy," read one sign.

  "Have a Beer, Dogs Like Pussy," read another.

  Chris looked at the signs, looked at the shit-eating grin on the well lubricated, off-duty cop's face, and just shook her head.

  "Hey, hey, Lou, ahh L ah T ah sir er ma'am," the officer tried to speak through the beer static.

  Chris gave him a look and said, "Don’t go down that road son. You want to sip your beer through a straw or enjoy yourself?"

  Sergeant "Angel" Armstrong came over, put his muscular bicep over the young officer's face, and said, "Not a problem, LT. It is past his bedtime anyway. I'll take care of the little man."

  How many times have Sergeants saved embarrassment and lives? Chris thought. Then, moving suddenly toward the officer, made him jump in spite of the strong grip on him.

  "Thanks, Angel. How do you keep doing this?"

  "When I retire, I am going to teach Kindergarten. I figure this is good practice." Lifting the officer off his barstool, hauling him over to a booth in the rear, and planting him firmly in the seat.

  A few, more seasoned officers, who all benefited at one time or another from ‘Angel’s’ embrace, immediately surrounded the officer.

  Chris moved through the crowd, spotting Beansie sitting at the end of the bar. He was sandwiched between two of his very special ladies, surrounded by a whole flock of off-duty night shift cops and firefighters.

  "Beansie," she smiled, "how are you this fine day?"

  "Not very fucking happy at the moment," glancing at the crowd around him, "I don't do discounts for anyone, not even cops and Firemen."

  "Not to worry, Beansie," Chris smiled, "the firemen would ask for recipes, and the cops have already drank so much beer they're harmless." This drew a series of loud protests from the crowd.

  "Okay boys, move on," Chris announced, "we have things to discuss, and you aren't invited."

  Most of the crowd moved on, but not before one made a nearly fatal comment. "I told you she rolled that way..."

  Chris was not even out of her seat before Angel was standing between her and the crowd. "Okay, LT, just a joke," glaring at the retreating group, "we all know you're not a rug muncher."

  "Only you, Angel, only you," Chris laughed.

  Angel smiled, nodded his thanks, turned around and knocked the offending officer on the back of the head so hard he went to his knees.

  "Next asshole says anything about the LT, I am not going to protect your dumb ass, and you will regret it."

  "Give them a beer on me," Chris said to Karen, "and make sure they know it."

  A moment later, there was a cheer from the other side of the bar, "Thanks LT, thanks ma'am, thank you..." while Angel stood vigilantly behind them, nodding and smiling, like a proud parent.

  Beansie looked over at the cheering cops and then back at Chris, "What am I supposed to do in here, with all this, ah, protection?"

  "Well, these young ladies here are?" Looking at the girls.

  "They are mine," Beansie said, drawing her look back, "and I don't think we are staying," rising from the stool.

  "Sit down, you little fucking weenie. These girls do not belong to anyone, let alone a piece of shit like you. I have a mind to lock you up for being an A I N. I just need the girls. I can get anybody to take pictures."

  "A I N?" one of the girls said, "what's that?

  "Asshole in the nighttime," C
hris said, “and Beansie here is a repeat offender."

  "Now, Beansie, be a gentleman for once in your life and introduce me to your friends."

  Beansie looked around. There was no escape. "This is Apple," pointing to the blonde, "and this is Cherry." Looking uncomfortably at the crowd surrounding them.

  "Ah, a fruit theme, rather healthy Beansie, my compliments." Looking at the girls, "you aren't going to make a lot of money tonight in the usual way, but Beansie here," motioning to Angel to come over, "is giving you a paid holiday."

  The girls looked at each other and then to Beansie. Angel moved to block the view.

  One of the fruit sisters asked, "What's a paid holiday?"

  "You do what I tell you, when I tell you, and Beansie will pay you twice what you've ever made in the past."

  "No fucking way," Beansie yelled, rising from the seat, "those bitches work, or they don't get paid."

  The bar went silent, sort of.

  Angel leaned forward.

  Chris smiled.

  Beansie sat down, negotiations concluded.

  By eight o'clock, the bartenders at Bovi's already served more beer and drinks than St. Patrick's Day.

  Beansie took a seat in the corner near the door, armed with his camera, and tasked with very specific instructions.

  An old panel van, belonging to Vinnie the plumber, covertly delivered people from the Shaw's parking lot to the rear entrance of Bovi's in order to conceal the actual number of people inside the bar.

  A small area set aside just inside the door kept free of obstructions, a designated 'smoker' positioned outside, supplied with drinks, to serve as the 'closer', Josh sitting at the one stool visible from the outside. Everyone in position.

  The lookouts, sitting on the picnic table across the street, spotted the dark-blue Crown Vic, as it drove by in a pathetic attempt at covert reconnaissance. They gave the signal as the car came back around and parked.

  The two agents got out of the car, walked to the door, yanking it open, strode in announcing, "FBI."