This Is Life

by Seth Harwood

  “Okay. So what did he give you that wasn’t bullshit?”

  “He said that Akakievich wasn’t happy anymore, that out of the blue, he’d gotten pissed about the whole operation. He wanted more—types of protection O’Malley couldn’t deliver. O’Malley wasn’t sure what Akakievich would do next.”

  “So he tried to off me to clean up his balance?”

  “O’Malley had been sent a message that he wasn’t needed anymore. He knew he was expendable, but he figured he could earn some points by removing a problem: you.”

  In the front seat, Shaw coughs. He turns around to look at Jack. “O’Malley’s watching something that gets too big for him. He’s got people above him on the force who he can’t trust. He knows they’re getting squeezed and isn’t sure where he stands. So he decides to go outside. He goes federal.”

  Jack waits to hear if Gannon will support this idea. When nothing comes, he says, “O’Malley felt the squeeze starting to come down, and he wanted out. But he wasn’t running from anything he didn’t get himself into.”

  Gannon says, “We got involved here because we know he’s not the only one. Something starts to look bad enough, it’s bigger than the city level, even IA, then that’s when we get brought in. Calls get made. We were onto that even before we made contact with O’Malley.”

  “And that’s when Mills comes in. He gets my tip on O’Malley, and Akakievich gets rattled by the cops. Akakievich gets upset and wants more from his partners inside.”

  “Exactly.” Gannon nods at Shaw like Jack might actually be showing them something. “Hopkins had been watching O’Malley, trying to get Internal Affairs to close him out. But it wasn’t working. IA couldn’t get anything to stick. Who knows what the fuck goes on with those guys. O’Malley’s connection up above, the guy really calling the shots, he didn’t want this thing going down, so he shut him up. He is the one we need to find.”

  Shaw nods. “That’s it. Who sent this case to Walnut Creek, who kept IA off O’Malley, and who wanted Hopkins dead. It’s Akakievich running things, but he’s getting help from the inside.”

  “Hopkins stepped in the way of that big swinging dick, then got hit with the shaft.”

  “Nice image,” Shaw says. “You next?”

  “But this gets worse, Jack.”

  “What am I missing?”

  Gannon turns all the way around in her seat to meet his eyes directly. “In a day or less, Hopkins’s death is going to come up solved by the SFPD.”

  “I see where this is going.” Jack knows he’s not going to like what she says next.

  “They’ll be closing the case with you as the killer. The only questions then will be whether they can find you, and if they do, whether they take you into custody alive.”

  27

  Shaw smiles a row of white beneath his mustache. “This is where you thank us for protecting you.”

  “We’ll bring you to a safe house,” Gannon says, “until we can find O’Malley’s man higher up.”

  “Freeman said that it went all the way to the top, that there was more than one city official tied in with Akakievich’s house rules.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Freeman Jones. Guy was working with me but now he’s not. Matter of fact, I just shot him.”

  Gannon smiles. “Nice.”

  She makes a few phone calls, and it becomes clear that no one turned up at the scene of Jack’s hotel room. Somehow, shot up and with that much noise in the hotel, the big man managed to get away. But it doesn’t take long for Gannon to track down a tattoo-faced Samoan with NFL Players Association insurance and a couple of bullets in him. He’s at the Kaiser on Geary.

  “Tell them to keep him there,” she tells the agent on the other end of the phone. She’s already moving the car, turning it around.

  “I don’t think he’ll be going anywhere fast,” Jack says.

  At the hospital, Gannon’s man has already had Freeman moved to a private room and his drugs cut off. A fresh-faced Fed is standing outside in the hall when they arrive. Freeman’s awake and aware. All they have to do is close the door to get him alone.

  “Hello, Mr. Jones,” Shaw says as soon as they walk in. “Or should I call you Freakman?”

  The room is the standard white hospital box with windows on one side. Jack sees half a city of buildings and then a hill lined with little white houses. The big man looks whiter in the face and thinner somehow, like they hung him upside down and bled him dry. It’s probably not so far from the truth.

  Jack sees his own reflection in the room’s big dark window. He did this. He’s the one who caused it all.

  Freeman’s big head turns on the pillow to face the threesome. His mouth thins, breaks into a wry smile. “Fuck you, Jack.”

  Jack backs away from the bed. “I’m sorry, Free.”

  “Listen, Mr. Jones.” Gannon flips out a wallet and waves her ID in front of Freeman’s face. “I’m Jane Gannon with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And Mr. Palms has already told us about seeing you go into Akakievich’s establishment on Prescott Court. So, please, let’s be straightforward with each other.”

  Freeman’s voice is strained as he says, “Or what?” He holds up his good hand and the white-bandaged forearm of his left arm. “What can you do to me now?”

  “Well,” she says, “I count five fingers there that I could ask Officer Shaw here to break for you.”

  Freeman laughs out loud. “I freaking love you guys. Jack, you believe these two? This blond killed the cop in Walnut Creek, right?”

  Jack steps forward. “Guys,” he says. “Is that really necessary?”

  “I’m the bad guy for talking to Akakievich, but you hanging with corrupt cops isn’t worse? A killer Fed?”

  Shaw steps forward and takes off his jacket, revealing his tight shirt and the muscles around his neck and shoulders. “Talk to us, big man. We want to know who Akakievich is working with on the inside. What do you know about his connects to the San Francisco police?”

  Gannon rests her hand on Freeman’s shoulder. “And let me add, Mr. Jones, that it’ll be pretty clear to anyone who’s watching that we were here. Who knows? Maybe we leave and they think you didn’t tell us anything. Then again, maybe they think you did.” She smiles as sweet as you’d imagine. Gives a small feminine shrug.

  “Yeah, fuck it,” Freeman says. “Any port, right? Will you guys protect my ass and give me immunity on this all?”

  Gannon nods. “I will do everything in my power. You can be assured of that. But we need to know what you know.”

  Jack starts to say something about not trusting the big man, but he stops himself. Better to stay out of the way now.

  Freeman chuckles. Already he’s getting some of his color back, as if talking is bringing him back to life. Jack steps toward the wall, hoping to stay out of sight. “Fuck. I seen a cop in the house. Asian guy.”

  “He’s SFPD? You know his name?” Shaw asks.

  Freeman shakes his head. “Never heard anyone call his name. But I seen him hanging around North Beach with O’Malley. Those two just cruise it together. Find who his partner was. That be your start.”

  Gannon nods. “What’s he look like?”

  “A relatively big dude. Wide. Has an Asian mullet, you know what I mean? He’s one of the boys, but you know, he thinks he’s big.”

  “Matsumoto,” Gannon says.

  Freeman nods. “Maybe. Yeah.” Then he laughs. “The shit is, you fucks probably the only ones in the city who don’t know what’s up here. That, or maybe you the only ones still ain’t getting paid off.” Freeman smiles at Gannon. “Not that I know if I should believe that about you, Fed Lady. Then again, guess I don’t have much choice about whether I should believe you.” He winks. “Got to play along, right?”

  Shaw’s back muscles tense as he makes fists with both hands. “Cut this bullshit and speak your mind.”

  Freeman stops as if he’s considering whether to stop talking altogether. Then he says,
“Shit be all around North Beach, man. Word gets around about what Akakievich is running and not to fuck with it. He trying to put the squeeze on Franklin Clarence. You want to know how high this goes? How about all the way up.”

  “Shit,” Shaw says.

  Even Jack knows that Franklin Clarence is the chief of the San Francisco police.

  “Clarence been getting his joint waxed at the Top Notch for more than a year now. That’s how come Akakievich can do whatever the fuck he wants. O’Malley? He Clarence’s bitch.”

  “Will you testify—”

  “Oh, hell no. You won’t never see me again you try some shit like that. You want somebody to fix this, you going to have to catch these motherfuckers red-handed.”

  Gannon looks sideways back at Jack. She squints as though she’s not sure why he’s backed away.

  “And that’ll never happen,” she says. “Because Akakievich is starting to clean out that inventory as we speak. Is that right?”

  Freeman pushes his lips out, then says, “Don’t ask me.” He holds up his arm. “Fuck with my bullet holes if you want to, I don’t know shit about that.”

  Shaw catches Freeman by the elbow and the hand, cradles his arm as if inspecting the bandages. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  Freeman yanks his arm away. “Akakievich pissed,” he says. “First this motherfucker”—he points at Jack with his chin—“and don’t think I forgotten you over there.”

  Jack wishes Freeman weren’t talking to him, but there’s not much choice but to meet the big man’s stare head on. “I’m here.”

  “Yeah. This motherfucker fuck shit up at the Coast, and then Mills Hopkins be snooping around.” Now Freeman raises his good hand. “But don’t think he don’t know about you all too.” He points at Gannon. “Soon as the Feds came in, that’s when he got pissed with the situation. That’s why he pissed at Clarence. Plus he trying to get new ground at Mission Bay. Wants to start a whole new red-light district over there.”

  “How—”

  “Don’t fool yourself. He just know. You Feds come in, that’s when Akakievich start cleaning out girls. Right now, he getting ready to move his location. Making Clarence grease some paperwork. That’s what I saw when I went in there; Prescott Court fit to shut the doors.”

  Shaw folds his arms. He looks toward Jack, then back to Freeman. “Are you saying—”

  “Yeah. This whole shit about to come down.”

  28

  They sit in Gannon’s car again, the heat on and Jack in the front seat this time.

  Gannon has her BlackBerry out, typing into it or scrolling through e-mails, Jack’s not quite sure. She’s either trying to decide whom to contact or she already has and is telling them what she knows.

  Finally Gannon looks up from the screen and turns to Shaw. “I want to know how Akakievich found out about the Bureau’s involvement. Who could’ve clued him in on that?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  “I don’t like the talk about this thing escalating,” she says, “not for what it might do to the city or these girls. We have to make our move.”

  “I’m in,” Jack says.

  They both laugh, and Shaw pats Jack’s shoulder from behind. “It’s okay, man. No need for acting now.”

  “I—”

  Gannon cuts him off. “This is what we do: Shaw goes to check out Prescott Court in North Beach, see if the big guy was right about Akakievich making his move. I’ll do my best to get some manpower to make a raid. I want to get in fast and get out as many girls as we can.”

  “You don’t want to go in together now?”

  “If I could get thirty men I can trust? Sure. I’d take it. But there’s no point in going after Prescott if Akakievich already knows we’re coming.”

  Shaw nods as he zips up his leather jacket. “Ain’t that a motherfuck of a feeling?” He shakes his head.

  “I’ll take Palms back to our safe house. Then we see what we can do about getting some help.”

  Shaw nods at Jack. “You call me if this guy gives you any trouble.” He shoots Jack a last look and then gets out of the car.

  Gannon takes a compact out of her purse and checks herself in the mirror, brings out a lipstick in a silver case and traces the lines of her lips. She looks good, and she knows it. Jack takes his time getting an eyeful.

  “So, Jack Palms,” she says, still checking her mirror. “You come out of hiding a couple of months back and help some Czech freewheelers secure a major coke buy.” She tucks the compact into her purse and levels her glare at Jack. “Why is that?”

  Jack starts to answer, and she holds up her hand. “Wait, I want to make sure I get the whole picture laid out here.”

  “Okay by me.”

  “Good. So you do your movie, drugs, tabloid routine and then disappear for close to three years. You come back and broker a drug buy that winds up in one of San Francisco’s biggest bloodbaths in recent history. About half of the players involved get shot to bits, including Junius Ponds and Tony Vitelli. But you walk out clean as white sugar.”

  Jack bites his lips, both unsure and uncomfortable about where this is going.

  “At one point, you even convince Sergeant Hopkins to spring Mr. Ponds to help you with this?” Her eyes go tight, like she really wants Jack to confirm this detail. Jack nods.

  “And that doesn’t raise any suspicions about anything that had or has gone on?”

  Jack pushes himself deep into the leather seat. “Mills was…Mills took a risk for me.”

  “And how’d that pay off?” Jack can see the muscles in Gannon’s neck move as she speaks.

  “I thought at the time it went right. We left the scene with Akakievich in police custody, and I was able to turn over O’Malley’s name. Plus Tony Vitelli was a son of a bitch who deserved to die.”

  Gannon leans closer. “And then you took a little motorcycle joy ride for more than a month with these drug buyers you brokered the deal for. Who, as far as I know, killed Mr. Vitelli themselves. Is that true?”

  Jack feels like he’s in the principal’s office and he’s about to get something way worse than detention.

  “You’re lucky,” Gannon says, “that those Czechs have some of the right sort of friends.”

  “What?”

  “These friends of yours, especially Vlade Kladivo and Niki Vojacek, talk to us.” She raises her eyebrows. “Let’s just say they are the primary reason we are here in San Francisco looking at Mr. Akakievich and his role in this city.”

  Now Jack sits forward, closer to Gannon. “Really?”

  He wonders what the hell Vlade, Niki, and Al are doing talking to the Feds.

  “Yes. And what you might find even more unbelievable: They have been telling us some very good things about you.”

  29

  Gannon turns the radio to a jazz station as she pulls out of the hospital parking lot in the direction of downtown.

  “So what becomes of me at this safe house?”

  She tilts her head away from Jack, takes one hand off the wheel. “Well, that remains to be seen, I suppose.”

  Jack watches the road for a little while, thinks about his trust issues and his record with women. He lowers the window. “Mind if I smoke?”

  She removes her own pack from a purse in the center console. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  With the windows down, they smoke in silence, working through their own thoughts as they make their way through San Francisco one red light at a time. After a while, Gannon asks, “So, was Hollywood life all that people make it out to be?”

  “No,” Jack says. “It was more.”

  She laughs, takes a long drag of her cigarette, and speaks before she’s exhaled. “So what was it then?” she asks in a strained voice.

  “It was too much: too many parties, too much excess, too much of the good, you know? It burned me out.”

  “No. Tell me about too much.”

  “The tabloids blew it all out of proportion. I got strun
g out, drugged out way too many days of the week, weeks to months, too much to do and too many places to go.” He shrugs. “I lost track of it all. Then for three years I had to pay the price.”

  “You and your wife?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “She’s long gone.” He looks at Gannon as she drives. She carefully angles the cigarette tip out into the wind, ashing it without tapping. “You telling me that you don’t know this? That you didn’t read about her charging me with assault?”

  “Oh, I read it,” she says. “Now I want to hear your version, give you a chance to clear your name.”

  “It is what it is. She drank too much, and I did whatever I could get my hands on. We fucked things up. But I never hit her, and now that part of my life is over.” He goes back to looking out the window.

  “Same with Ralph Anderino and the Czechs?” Jack waits to hear the rest, watches two blocks go by before she says, “You never did anything with them?”

  “It was more like a job,” he tells her. “Same as when I started on this O’Malley thing. Just me trying to play a role.”

  “Funny,” she says, a serious look on her face. “I’d have thought you could find an easier way to make money.”

  “Yeah,” Jack says, “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  Jack sucks a long drag off his cigarette and flips the butt out the window. The sooner they get to the safe house, the better. He’s had enough of women, especially when he’s not sure where he stands.

  This is work, he tells himself. Just go along, get through, and keep yourself alive. That’s all you have to do.

  ***

  When they’re almost to the Bay, Gannon turns into an underground garage beneath one of the condo skyscrapers off the Embarcadero. They’re probably only a few blocks from where Jack met Sergeant Hopkins so much earlier in the day.

  One level down, she slides the car into a reserved spot and takes a Nextel phone out of her purse as she’s shutting off the engine. The yellow phone beeps. “I’m here,” she says into it. “Coming upstairs now with Palms.”