Opening the back door of the cab she tossed her duffle bag in.
“The Wet Spot on 78th,” she said.
The driver looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows.
“You sure, Lady? I’ve been to that place. It’s not somewhere someone like you wants to hang out.”
“I’m sure.”
As they drove through town, she considered the fact that the city where she’d lived for the last decade no longer felt homey. It felt crowded, yet empty; kind of how she usually felt no matter where she was at.
Her cell phone buzzed as a text came in. It was Carmen reminding her about dinner on Friday. She smiled. The girl was driving her nuts. How in the hell would she forget about something when Carmen was bringing it up every single day?
They pulled into the bar’s large parking lot. On a Wednesday at noon, there were only a few cars our front; probably a few people laying down bets for the fights later that
night. Gambling wasn’t legal, but everyone knew that The Wet Spot had a large clientele who participated in their back room bets.
On the surface it was just a grungy titty bar. The dancers started their shift at lunchtime so business would likely start picking up soon. She tipped the driver and slid out of car with her duffle bag over her shoulder.
“You want me to wait, Lady? I can run the meter.”
She shook her head.
“No thanks. I’ll be here a while.”
“If you say so,” he answered, but looked hesitant to drive away.
Shyla turned and walked into the bar. It was a cliché; dark and reeking of smoke despite the ban on smoking in public facilities. It was an open space with a long bar on the far right wall and a t-shaped stage which divided the room in half. Only one dancer was on stage. Her shape looked unbalanced with an Auschwitz-thin build and enormous fake breasts bulging out of her chest, looking like they would burst. Shyla wondered how the girl could stay upright rather than toppling over.
She scanned the room. Ricardo was sitting in a small booth with two other men. This establishment was where he did most of his dealing as well as satiated his appetite for girls and gambling.
As she approached, Ricardo spotted her first. His eyes widened in alarm then darted around the room like a scared animal pondering its chances at escape.
“Morning gentlemen, mind if I have a few words with Ricardo?”
“Well, hello, pretty girl, what can we do for you?” the man opposite Ricardo said. His face had two days worth of stubble and when he smiled she could see a gaping hole where his left incisor should have been.
She gave them a friendly smile.
“I just have a little business to shore up with Ricardo. It won’t take long. Sorry to break up your conversation.”
They stood up.
“No problem at all,” the man said, “we’ll be over at the bar if you decide you want to hang out for a bit. We’ll buy you a beer or whatever it is that you like to drink.”
“Long time no see,” she said, sliding into the booth with a small grin,
“What are you doing here? If anyone here catches wind that you’re a cop, they won’t be so friendly about it. All I gotta do is squeal. You pigs oughta recognize that.”
“Don’t piss me off, Ricardo. I’ve had a shitty week and I’m in no mood to deal with your bullshit. If you were gonna call me out, you would’ve done it already. But you didn’t and you won’t because you wanna hear what I’ve got to say and you know you’re walking a thin line with the law already.”
He adjusted his ball cap and leaned back in the seat as if resigned to the idea that he was going to do as she said.
“Fine,” he sighed, “what do you want? The cops already asked a shit-ton of questions. I didn’t tell them what they wanted to hear. What makes you think I’m going to tell you anything?”
“You don’t have much of a choice right now. Victor’s in jail at this very moment, which is why you aren’t already dead. But he won’t be in there long and, as soon as he’s out, you can bet your ass that he’s going to be looking you up.”
Ricardo squirmed in his seat and looked down at the table.
“Don’t know why he’d have a beef with me. I ain’t done nothin’ to piss him off.”
“Oh, see, that’s where you’re fooling yourself, Ricardo. Just because you didn’t talk to the authorities in hopes of demonstrating your loyalty to Victor, it doesn’t mean he’s going to forget that you stole his goods, and abused his trust to begin with. You should know by now that Victor is a ruthless business man. You violate his code once and you’re out. And by out, I mean dead.”
Ricardo’s gaze shot up and searched hers.
“I know you’re just trying to get me to admit that I worked with him,” he said, “but I didn’t. So fuck off.”
He started to slide out of the booth but Shyla wasn’t done.
“I have a tape recording of a man down in San Francisco,” she said, “named Cougar, telling Victor all about your betrayal. You want to hear it.”
That stopped him in mid-motion. With a sideways glance he slowly sat back down.
“Cougar, huh? That rat bastard. How in the hell did you get…never mind…I don’t wanna know.”
“Okay, so what? Victor wants to kill my ass. What’s it to you?”
“It seems that you might be more inclined to talk to me now that you know your predicament. It’s your ass or his, Ricardo. What’s it going to be?”
Ricardo’s voice rose in exasperation and his eyes revealed his panic.
“You gotta be frickin’ kidding me. You want me to help you just to save my own hide?”
Shyla knew he was trying hard to put on a brave front but his fear was glaring. He knew he had no other options. She watched him squirm and let him come to the conclusion all on his own. He sighed and took his cap off, running his hands over his cropped hair.
“What exactly are we talking about here?” he asked, “you want names? What do I get in return?”
She wasn’t about to tell him he was striking a deal with an unemployed cop. She figured she could still pull a few strings.
“You work with me, and I’ll make sure you stay out of jail and are safe from Victor until he is behind bars for good.”
Ricardo shook his head in frustration. Shyla knew that making a deal with a cop was one of the last things he would want to do, but she was taking advantage of the fact that he had no other choice, if he wanted to stay alive.
When he looked up the resignation was in his eyes. She had him.
“I’m not as concerned with names as I am with anything you might know about any upcoming transactions,” she said, “is there anything that can be intercepted?”
Ricardo looked around nervously.
“Let’s get the hell out of this joint first,” he said. He stood up and threw a five dollar bill on the table to tip the waitress, who Shyla had yet to see.
“You comin’ or what?”
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a small eatery half-way across town. As passenger in his purple, lowered S-10 pickup, she’d felt oddly out of place and, for the millionth time since she’d turned in her badge, questioned her sanity.
The little shop he brought her to was fairly quiet, clean, and run by an Italian family.
“Why’d you bring me to your family’s place?”
“That’s right,” he winced, “you know pretty much everything about me. It’s safe here. We can talk without eyes watching and ears listening.”
A short, stout woman bustled out of the back room,
“Ricky, my boy, you come to see me. It’s been weeks. Where you been, how come you no come see your momma? You get into trouble again? Who’s this pretty lady?”
Ricardo rolled his eyes at the woman’s barrage of questions. He gave the woman a kiss and big hug then made introductions and ordered food. Shyla couldn’t get over the fact that she was sitting in a diner, having lunch with a criminal she’d been tracking for over a year.<
br />
“I’m not hungry,” Shyla said, as the woman walked off.
“Well, you better man up lady,” Ricardo scoffed, “’cause momma ain’t gonna let you walk outta here without a full belly. If I’m going to make a deal with the devil, I might as well enjoy a good meal while I do.”
He wasn’t kidding. Within ten minutes the small table they sat at in the corner was filled with multiple dishes of pastas, bread, meatballs, and her favorite, lasagna. Feeling as if she were the one who was making a deal with the devil she threw caution to the wind and dug in to the aromatic goods.
“Two months ago I was tailing you all over hell and back and now I’m eating marinara and angel hair pasta with you. Life’s weird, eh?”
“You can say that again,” he said around a mouth-full of food. He paused as if the food was stuck in his throat and he couldn’t swallow, “I knew things were going south when my girlfriend’s body was found in that slaughter shop across town.”
Shyla recognized the beat change and was empathetic as she realized that Ricardo must have really cared for the girl, but she didn’t want to give him an edge by acknowledging his loss. He’d made that bed for himself. He had to live with it and now he had to start talking.
“When’s the next shipment due?” she asked.
Ricardo set his fork down and wiped his mouth carefully with his napkin. Obviously his momma had taught him a few manners.
“There’s supposed to be a big one coming in to Los Angeles Harbor at the end of the month, the day before Halloween. It comes in from the Philippines on a cargo ship that’s meant for transporting recycled metal out of the country. Victor secured transport with the company years ago. One of his connections with the mafia helped him make the deal.
“Anyway, Victor usually doesn’t show his face to most transactions but when it comes to this one, he is always there. It’s a big one and he makes sure to keep his contact happy. I’ve never been to this show, but I’ve heard about it. It’s always at night and Victor usually goes with only a few of his men to preserve the contact’s anonymity. Then, when hands have been shook and money transferred, Victor makes the call and his other men show up to handle the wares.”
Shyla was mentally rubbing her hands together. This was it. This was what she’d been waiting for.
“You’re telling me that Victor will personally be at one of the biggest shipments of the year? How has this been going on for so long right under our noses and no one has popped him? I mean, it’s too damn easy.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ricardo snorted, “That guy has more cops, judges, and corporate business men on his payroll than his mentor, the mafia boss himself. And whatever contacts he doesn’t have, he figures out someone who does and will. He feels safe, invincible. Shit, the guy could sell a crate of coke in pure daylight and wouldn’t bat an eyelash. Everyone around him is either an employee or owes him a lifelong debt. Who in the hell is going to mess with him?”
Shyla twisted her fork gathering a huge bite-full of pasta.
“Someone he pissed off and has nothing better to do than make his life a living hell,” she said.
“Damn, lady,” Ricardo said, raising an eyebrow, “I always thought you were half crazy. Now I know it.”
*
Shyla sauntered into the building of the F.A.N.C. like she owned the joint. There was something about working on her terms that was liberating. When she first turned in her badge she had imagined that, eventually, she would find her way back on the force, once she met a few short term goals. But after only a few days, she was already considering working in the private sector permanently.
A few heads turned as she made her way toward Captain Eli Straton’s office. Knowing that word spread like wildfire and most of it outlandishly inaccurate, she was probably the hot topic around the water cooler. With her head held high, she refused to give them even a passing glance.
She gave a solid knock on the closed door, although everyone knew it meant that the Chief wanted to be left alone. Otherwise, he kept it slightly ajar. Most thought it was so he could keep tabs on the low-level hum of the daily conversations of his team. The man had ears like a cat.
“Come in,” he answered in a gruff tone.
When she stepped inside and shut the door behind her, he was standing behind his desk with the phone pressed to his ear. His eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise.
“I understand,” he said into the receiver, “I’ll make a statement to the press first thing tomorrow morning.”
He hung up and stared her down.
“Hello, Sir.”
“Well, hello, Shyla. I’ve got my hands full with a missing child case that’s linked to a drug ring, but I’m glad you’re here. I hope this means you’ve reconsidered your resignation.”
“No, Sir. I mean, I haven’t changed my mind, that is.”
He sat down and leaned back in his chair. His expression was solemn.
“Well then, what are you doing here? I’m assuming you aren’t paying a social call, because I’ve got a lot to do and I don’t have anything to say that you haven’t already heard.”
It hurt that he was giving her the brush, but she’d pressed him into a corner with her behavior over the last few weeks and didn’t blame him.
“I’m here because I have an insider tip on the Victor case, something that could finally bring him down for good.”
“Insider tip, huh? I guess it would be a waste of my breath to ask who this insider is?”
“Yes, Sir,” she nodded, “at least right now, that is. But what is important is the information. This informant suggests that there will be a major shipment coming in over the next few weeks and that Victor will personally be there.”
“Why are you being so vague?”
“Because this is fresh information and I want to do some more homework before I proceed. I wanted you to know because, when the time comes, I will give you a call with specifics: date, time, and place, so that this will go down without a hitch and to the letter of the law.”
Eli leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk.
“Now listen to me, Shyla. You know that whatever information you have, you have to tell me. I could arrest you for obstruction.”
The threat hung between them.
Shyla gave a single nod.
“I understand. I’m not one hundred percent confident in my informant yet. I promise as soon as I know more and have confirmed the facts I will notify you and turn it over to the authorities, Sir.”
“You can come back, you know.”
“Thank you. I’ll consider it.”
He cocked his head to the side and looked perplexed.
“Why are you doing this, Shyla? Just because I put you on suspension doesn’t mean you get your knickers in a twist and toss your career away. I know that what you went through down there with Victor must have been horrible, especially after what happened when you were a kid, but that’s no reason to turn your back on the system. The system is what keeps the chaos of society from complete anarchy.”
Here was the lecture she’d known was coming.
“Yeah, well,” she said, “it’s also run by a lot of red tape and bureaucracy, which makes situations like these, where a man has incredible means and tight connections to the inside, impossible. Sometimes you have to play by their rules, not ours. And this is one of those times.”
Eli slammed his hand down on his desk in frustration.
“Jesus, Shyla, you can’t just make statements like that and expect me to look the other way. I’m goddamn Chief of Police. I’m supposed to take action when there’s one of our own threatening to go against the grain. What do you expect me to do here?”
There was a spot in her left temple that began to throb. She felt like a recalcitrant child who was being lectured by her disappointed father. She really didn’t want to disappoint this father-figure.
“I may not carry the badge anymore,” she sighed, “but I take my oath seriously. I have every inten
tion of maintaining my integrity and duty. I swear to you, that as soon as I know more information, I will let you know and you can seal this case up nice and tight, on your terms, your arrest.”
There was a pregnant pause.
“I’ll hold you to that promise, Ericson.”
Eli began to shuffle through the paperwork on his desk, his head down, avoiding her gaze, dismissing her.
“Oh,” he added, “we never had this conversation.”
FORTY-TWO
Brennan had never been camping before, at least not that he could remember. It was one of the many things on his long list of things to do from when he’d been at the institute.
Now, he was way up the mountain, about an hour past a small place called Whiskey Town, far off the road in a makeshift camp site, staring up at the stars. He’d been gazing at them for hours and had no plans to do anything else for as long as he could help it. There were so many, and the sky was so vast. There was something about the way it felt like the canvas above him was swallowing him up and consuming his whole being that calmed him. For once, he felt like he belonged there in the universe. The idea of dying in six months seemed far less terrifying as he sat under the stars.
He was glad he’d decided to get away for a night. With Victor in jail, he had a little time to himself to think. He couldn’t stay long. Victor’s arraignment would be first thing Friday morning and there were things to take care of before he got out, but he could take this one night of reprieve.
After hearing the latest news from the anonymous investor, he figured he’d better clear his head and make some serious decisions about where he was at and where he was going.
He pondered Shyla and Victor. One he considered a friend, albeit one with questionable integrity, and the other…well, he wasn’t sure what to think of her. She was trustworthy, intriguing, strong, beautiful, and even vulnerable. Her face haunted him.
Staring into the fire, which had taken him many frustrating attempts to start, he realized he needed more wood. He stood and crossed to the small pile he’d gathered.