by Brad Smith
TWENTY-FIVE
It would be several days before the charges against the bikers would be sorted out. Dunbar didn’t get to bed until nearly dawn and he slept until half past noon. When he got to the station he met with the chief briefly to go over what had gone down the night before. There were still phone records and hard drives to dissect but to this point nothing had turned up that would tie the bikers to the home invasion at River Valley Farm. The next step would be to bring Carl Burns in to have a look at the men in custody, on the chance that one of them was involved that night. Dunbar had checked before going home early that morning: none of the ten had a teardrop tattoo. But he would have Burns look them over anyway.
Until then, the main beef against Wild Lucifer was the large amount of cocaine that Dunbar had discovered in the tire. It was obvious to Dunbar now why Tommy Jakes had been trying to make it to the garage during the raid. He wanted that tire out of his vehicle. Then the drugs would have been considered simply to be on the premises. The deed for the clubhouse was under a numbered company which meant the police would have had a tough time assigning ownership of the cocaine to any one individual. It was just Tommy’s bad luck that the tire happened to be in the back of his Cadillac. It meant that he – and not one of his subordinates – would be charged with possession for the purpose of trafficking. Tommy had a record going back to when he was sixteen, everything from assault to impaired driving to gun charges. He’d been clean in recent years but that didn’t matter. Unless the suspected coke turned out to be baby powder, he’d be going to prison on the trafficking charge.
Not only that, but the gang was now also part of a bigger investigation regarding bribery and racketeering, based on what Ken Hubert had been telling the department. It seemed unlikely that Tommy Jakes even knew about that wrinkle at this point. Detective Fisher was seeking warrants against Lake City Construction’s books to back up the charges. Nothing of those accusations would be mentioned to Tommy or any of the other bikers until after those warrants were served and the hard drives seized.
After being processed early that morning, the bikers had been sent to Clark County Detention outside the city since the downtown cells couldn’t accommodate them all. The bar manager remained in a holding unit at the station. It was soon pretty evident that she wouldn’t be talking and, since there was little to be gained in charging her with possession of a few pills, she would probably be released before the day was out. She could be back at work for happy hour.
Dunbar had decided to let Tommy stew in a cell for another day or two before questioning him about the incident at the farm. He wanted the biker president to have time to think about what was in store for him. He had to know that his chances of wriggling free on the trafficking charge were pretty much nil. If he was willing to finger whoever in his gang had been involved in the home invasion there might be a chance Dunbar could convince a prosecutor to go easy on him – to drop the trafficking to mere possession, or something along those lines. Tommy Jakes would still be going to jail but for a much shorter stretch. Dunbar thought it was a good idea to let Tommy ruminate on all of that for a time. The idle mind could be an active thing.
And so he was surprised to get a call from Tommy’s lawyer that afternoon around five o’clock. Tommy was ready to talk to Dunbar now. According to the lawyer, he was being quite insistent about it.
Dunbar drove out to the detention center, where the three of them met in the visitation area. Visiting hours were over and they had the room to themselves. The lawyer’s name was Beth Sawchuck. Dunbar had seen her around the courthouse but had never spoken to her before. He knew her father; he was also a criminal lawyer, now pretty much retired, and she had taken over the practice. She was small and intense, with toned forearms and short cropped dark hair. She looked like an athlete.
‘What’s going on, Tommy?’ Dunbar said after introductions were made.
‘You shit in my cornflakes, detective. That’s what’s going on. Why the hell would you pick last night of all nights to come calling?’
Dunbar leaned back in his chair and regarded the gang leader. Tommy didn’t look much like a biker these days. His hair was styled and had blonde highlights. He favored suits over leather jackets, Escalades over Harleys. Dunbar knew all of that. What was puzzling him was Tommy’s attitude at this moment. He was acting as if he’d been pulled over for running a red light.
‘Next time I’ll call ahead,’ Dunbar said.
Tommy laughed at that. Dunbar glanced at the lawyer Sawchuck, who was sitting quietly, her legs crossed, showing taut calf muscles. She didn’t laugh.
‘What did you want to talk to me about?’ Dunbar asked.
‘About me getting out of here,’ Tommy said. ‘I can’t handle the food.’
‘You’re going to have to put up with it for a while. We’re still figuring out what all we’re going to charge you with. But I’d advise you to get comfortable.’
‘Maybe not, detective. Maybe I can lighten your load a little. You know – so you don’t have to do all that paperwork.’
‘How can you lighten my load?’ Dunbar asked. ‘Are you thinking you’ll just plead guilty to everything and expedite the proceedings?’
‘I’m thinking I’d like to avoid the courtroom altogether.’
‘How would you do that?’
‘Like this,’ Tommy said, leaning forward. ‘I read something in the newspaper a week or so ago. About a home invasion out near Talbotville. There was a fire and a robbery and a woman was killed. Your name was mentioned in the article. Said you were looking for three people. Now I see a couple of days ago you busted some guy named Murdock. I kept watching the news, thinking you were about to nail the other two. But I don’t think you have nailed the other two. Have you?’
‘I can’t discuss that with you, Tommy.’
Tommy smiled. ‘Well, either you have them or you don’t. From what I’ve heard, that was a real shit show out there. A much bigger deal than a couple of ounces of cocaine in a spare tire.’
‘A couple of ounces?’ Dunbar repeated. He fell quiet for a time. He glanced at the lawyer Sawchuck, who was watching her client intently. He looked back at Tommy.
‘Are you telling me you have the names, Tommy?’
‘I do.’
‘And these guys are patched?’ Dunbar asked.
For the first time, Tommy was taken aback. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘No. They’ve got nothing to do with the Wild. Why would you think that?’
‘What about Murdock? He’s not connected to the Wild?’
‘I’ve seen him around,’ Tommy said. ‘But he’s got fucking zilch to do with the organization. You think we’d let a mutt like that in?’
In truth, Dunbar didn’t think that. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘Come on, you know what I’m looking for.’
‘All right,’ Sawchuck interrupted. ‘This is where I need to get involved. We need to set some ground rules before we go any further. My client is willing to give you the names. But there are conditions here.’
‘I figured that much,’ Dunbar said.
‘First of all,’ Sawchuck said, ‘there will be no drug-related charges filed against my client as a result of the raid last night.’
Dunbar showed no reaction. ‘What else?’
‘This remains quiet. My client doesn’t want it known that he’s the one who identified these men.’
‘He should be proud of it,’ Dunbar said.
‘It doesn’t work that way in his world,’ the lawyer said.
‘It doesn’t work that way in my world,’ Tommy repeated. He was smiling at Dunbar, obviously enjoying the exchange. He was like a poker player with a pat hand.
‘I hope you’re not thinking of just pulling a couple of names out of a hat, Tommy,’ Dunbar said. ‘That’s not going to fly.’
‘Now why would I do that?’ Tommy asked.
‘You know why,’ Dunbar said. ‘But I have an eyewitness who can positively identify at least one of
these men.’
‘We make the deal and I’ll give you the guys who were there,’ Tommy said. ‘Absolutely. Hell, I’m doing your work for you. You should put me on the payroll. You guys got good benefits, right?’
Dunbar glanced at the lawyer again. She was still watching her client. In fact, she hadn’t looked at Dunbar once since being introduced at the start.
‘How do you happen to know this, Tommy?’ Dunbar asked.
‘I can tell you that once you tell me we have a deal,’ Tommy said. ‘If I tell you now, you might figure things out for yourself. Where would that leave old Tommy?’
Dunbar got to his feet. ‘I’ll get back to you on this.’
‘Hold on,’ Tommy said. ‘You going to leave me dangling here? I want an answer. You think this offer’s going to be good tomorrow or the next day?’
‘Yeah, I do,’ Dunbar said.
Later that afternoon Dunbar and Pulford met at the courthouse with the chief and the prosecutor Diane Mathews. They gathered in Mathews’ office on the second floor.
‘So you’re waiting to grill this Jakes about whether or not he knows anything about the home invasion and all of a sudden he just hands it to you on a platter?’ Mathews said when she’d heard the proposition.
‘That’s about it,’ Dunbar said.
‘I don’t understand,’ Mathews said. ‘How does he happen to know this?’
‘It’s beginning to make sense now,’ Pulford said. ‘The night of the robbery, one of the thieves said that maybe the forty-seven grand was enough. We kept asking ourselves – enough for what? We know now the money ended up with the Wild, which means these guys were buying something from the bikers, probably drugs. And in large quantities.’
‘Or maybe they already owed the money,’ Dunbar suggested. ‘Either way, Tommy Jakes got to reading the newspaper and figured things out. Ordinarily Tommy wouldn’t be offering this information but we got lucky. We just happened to hit the clubhouse when there was a shitload of coke in the trunk of Tommy’s Cadillac. Otherwise, I have a feeling this wouldn’t be happening. But Tommy Jakes is in high cotton these days. He has no interest in a prison stretch.’
‘How close are you to finding these individuals on your own?’ Mathews asked.
‘Not close,’ Dunbar admitted. ‘After the cash showed up in Ken Hubert’s closet, we thought we had something. The money came from the Wild so we assumed that somebody from the club was involved at the farm. But it doesn’t appear that way, not after what Tommy Jakes told me today.’
‘Maybe they were involved and he’s planning on handing you a couple of ringers,’ Mathews said.
‘I already told him that wouldn’t work,’ Dunbar said. ‘Tommy’s been around the block. He knows he couldn’t get away with that.’
Mathews turned to the chief, her eyebrows raised to ask the question.
‘We need those names,’ he said. ‘If we let him skate on the drug charges, at least we got the coke off the streets. Question is – do we want to see Tommy Jakes walk?’
‘I hate to see that,’ Mathews said.
‘Keep in mind, this has nothing to do with his other problems,’ Pulford interjected. ‘We’re assuming he doesn’t know that Ken Hubert’s been singing about the Wild’s involvement with the bribery case. We can let him walk on the drug charges but he’s still got bigger problems down the road. This deal doesn’t give him immunity on that.’
Mathews nodded. ‘Something ironic about this. Everybody’s ratting everybody out.’
‘That’s what happens when you get a bunch of rats together,’ Pulford said.
Mathews looked at Dunbar. ‘I think I know what you want to do here.’
Dunbar merely nodded.
‘Do it,’ she said.
TWENTY-SIX
Chino sat on the back step drinking a beer and looking at Vanhizen, who was standing a few feet away. It was the farmer’s third visit to Chino’s place that day. He knew he had a chance at the property and he would be a dog with a bone until he got it. There were a couple of sticking points, though. One, it was Vanhizen’s nature that he didn’t want to pay what the place was worth. Two, Chino wanted the deal done immediately. That meant the title search and survey and anything else involved would have to come after the fact.
‘Farmland’s going for six grand an acre right now,’ Vanhizen had said that morning, the first time he’d stopped by.
‘It’s more like ten grand,’ Chino said. ‘I can read the fucking real estate section. Doesn’t matter anyway cuz this isn’t farmland. It’s a commercial business.’
‘You saying you have a license to deal scrap?’ the farmer had asked.
Chino ignored the question. ‘If you think you’re going to get this place for farm prices you better be on your way, you fucking hick.’
Vanhizen chafed at the profanity but he didn’t complain about it. He was focused on the transaction. Chino could tell he was anxious, probably worried that Chino might change his mind. They went back and forth over the course of three conversations and eventually settled on a price of one hundred and ten thousand. Chino knew he was selling on the cheap but time was a factor. The closing was in thirty days. Chino would have until then to remove all he wanted from the property. What he wanted wasn’t much.
‘My lawyer’s concerned about how we’re doing this,’ Vanhizen said now.
Chino tilted his bottle up and drank. He hadn’t offered Vanhizen a bottle. Why would he? ‘What’s his problem?’
‘The title search, for one thing.’
‘I own the fucking place,’ Chino said. ‘Tell him to quit pissing his pants.’
‘And he wants to know why you have to have cash for the down payment.’
‘That’s the way I roll,’ Chino said. ‘You can like it or lump it. I been dealing strictly in cash my whole life and I’m not going to change now because you and your lawyer are a couple of pussies. You’ll get a receipt.’
Vanhizen hesitated. He was like a man trying to decide whether or not to buy a new convertible he really didn’t need. Chino’s three acres didn’t mean a thing to him as far as his farm operation was concerned. But Chino could see he wanted it anyway, and wanted it badly. He wanted it because it was adjacent to his farm, but more than that he wanted it so he could at long last get rid of the buildings and all the surrounding junk. And in the process, be rid of Chino too.
‘I get it,’ Chino said then. ‘You’re one of those guys, always got to play by the rules. Then let’s do it your way. I’ll call a real estate agent in the morning and put it on the market. Then you can put in an offer, along with anybody else who wants it, and if I like your offer, then you’re good to go. The asking price is going to be closer to a hundred and fifty, but hey – at least your lawyer will be a happy little girl.’
Vanhizen looked away, a stubborn set to his eyes. That scenario would solve all of his concerns and yet he wasn’t remotely interested in it. He glanced across the fields to his home farm. The two story house, the painted barns and the landscaped grounds. He had married into the place but the upkeep had always been a source of pride to him.
‘Make up the receipt,’ he said without looking at Chino. ‘I’ll have your money here within an hour. But I’ll be bringing my lawyer with me. I want this whole transaction witnessed.’
‘You can bring your mommy with you if you want,’ Chino said. ‘So long as you have my twenty-five grand.’
Vanhizen wasn’t gone ten minutes when Digger Bagley pulled into the yard. He stopped by the shop and got out, unsteady on his feet as usual. When he saw Chino up by the house he got back in his truck and drove over, even though the distance was no more than a couple hundred feet. Digger wasn’t much on walking.
‘Got a couple more rolls of that copper,’ he said as he got out. He had a full can of beer in his hand and he opened it as he approached.
‘Can’t help you with that,’ Chino said.
‘Why not?’
Chino looked at the fat man a moment. Dig
ger’s shirt front was covered with bits of pretty much whatever he’d eaten in the past three days or so and his jeans were torn open at the crotch.
‘Taking some down time,’ Chino said.
Digger sat heavily in the grass, wheezing, as if he couldn’t go any further. ‘Well, shit,’ he said.
Chino watched as he slurped from the beer. He considered for a moment lighting a fire out back and burning the coils, then dropping them off at the depot on his way out of town in the morning. It would mean a few extra bucks in his pocket. But then he decided, fuck it, he’d have the twenty-five grand from Vanhizen. He needed to get the hell out. Who knew what Bug was telling the cops at this point?
‘What will you give me on it?’ Digger asked. ‘You can burn it later.’
‘You hit that same place, Digger? You’re gonna piss in that pot once too often. You think they don’t know they’re losing copper?’
‘Aw, fuck ’em.’ Digger drank more beer and it ran down his chin. ‘How about I burn it here? I’ll give you a cut.’
Chino started to refuse, but stopped. He thought about it a moment.
‘I got a better idea, Digger. I’m taking off for a bit. Why don’t you stay here for a month or so? You can use the yard for whatever you want. Clean up what you can and I’ll split the money with you down the middle.’
He could see that Digger was all in favor of the idea. Chino didn’t know where the man lived these days, but it was usually with one of his relatives and they were always giving him the boot after a few weeks. Chino’s place probably looked like a mansion to Digger.
‘I can look after the place if you want,’ Digger said. ‘Where you going anyway?’
‘Just heading out.’ Chino was warming to the idea himself. If the cops came looking for Chino, at least this way he would know about it. ‘Yeah, you can look after the place. Collect my disability check and hang on to it. And you know – let me know if anybody comes snooping around.’
‘Who’s gonna come snooping?’
‘You never know,’ Chino said. ‘Bill collectors, Jehovah Witness. Cops.’
