The Bad Shepherd Page 28

  “Mitch, that doesn’t even make any sense? Why would I do that? What would I possibly have to gain?”

  “It’s a backup plan if the department pulled out,” Mitchell’s voice dropped to a low, sullen register. “Just like the last time. If you don’t get your way you take it public to force the outcome you want. Did you ever actually mean any of that shit you said to me or were you really just playing me off Maclaughlin and the family.”

  “There was no family, Mitch. It was just Fremont’s father who hired Maclaughlin, thought he could get the department to settle out of court for a big payout. I was never going to let it come to that.”

  “No, you were playing both sides against the middle and were going to run with the winner.”

  “You’re wrong on that,” he said, though even then he wondered how much truth was behind them. “We started this thing together three years ago, and I lost my way. I know the role you played in my leaving the department. In a way, you saved us both because I wouldn’t have gone quietly, and I think we both know that. But it hurt, knowing that came from you.”

  That got a reaction, a slight twitch on Mitchell’s face, but he said nothing.

  “It took a lot for me to call you and bring you in on this. But I did, and I’m glad I did. I was never going to sell you out so Jimmy could cashier you.” Bo studied Mitch’s face for a reaction, but his former partner was implacable. “Jimmy’s right that I did tell him not to file his suit and that he should make an issue of Lorenzo Freemont in the press but not over you. What I told him and what I’ve said—to all of you, all along—was that Marlon Rolles was pulling those strings and he needs to be exposed for what he is, what he’s doing that community. His beef isn’t with you and isn’t with the department. It’s with Rolles.”

  The final straw snapped like a dry branch beneath a Santa Ana. Bo could almost hear the sharp crack in the air between them. Mitch let out a sarcastic, fake laugh.

  “If I hadn’t panned out the way you wanted, you’d have sold me right out without a second thought.”

  Jimmy was a hell of a lot savvier than even Bo gave him credit for. He knew exactly where to aim to shatter Bo’s plan. What Bo didn’t count on, had never conceived of was that the lawyer would be so angry, so spiteful that he would lash out like this. He must be losing tremendous face over this.

  Mitch was scared, Bo could see that in his eyes, hear it in his voice. He was afraid that Maclaughlin would make good on his threat, take this public and the ensuing scandal, the blowback on the department would jeopardize Mitchell’s career. The thin fabric that held their relationship together split, the mistrust and the animosity had never gone away, the pain that had never fully healed had just scabbed over.

  That Mitchell wouldn’t believe him, would so easily be convinced that Bo would double deal him, that he would take the word of a man—James Maclaughlin —that actually was trying to malign him over Bo’s.

  He felt betrayed again.

  He saw the pattern play out exactly as it had three years before. There was a beautiful, horrible symmetry to it and it was finally too much for Bo to bear.

  “Fuck you, Mitch! That is exactly what you did to me. You sold me out to the department so that there wouldn’t be any blowback on you and now you have the gall to stand here and lecture me on morality, you sanctimonious son of a bitch? Everything Maclaughlin said about you was true, and you know that. You killed that boy. You shot him cold, and you dropped a plant. And you can tell me cops have been doing that since they invented badges, but that doesn’t make it right. You panicked. You panicked, and you shot him. Then you covered it up because you are every bit the coward your father thinks you are.”

  Fochs shook his head, slowly, sadly. “And then you fucking sold me out, man. Hunter told me about how you teed me up in front of Hilliard. You told them you thought I was using coke?” Fochs was incredulous. Three years of pent-up anger, mistrust, and betrayal came flooding out. “Coke? I was a fucking narcotics officer, and you told our captain that I was using cocaine? Because, what, I never slept? Because you thought I was anxious or nervous or tense? That’s life undercover, pal. ‘Patterns consistent with cocaine usage,’ I think is what you told him.”

  Bo took a step forward, dangerously close and equally unconcerned, and stabbed his chest with his index finger. “Think what you will, but I was happy to bury our past to see this thing through. It’s tragic that you can’t. But it was never about Rolles for you, was it? You were chasing a headline, and you got it. Now you’re afraid that could all go away.” Bo saw Mitch ball his fist, but he held his ground and continued. “You’re a coward, Mitch, and you’re a murderer. And I honestly don’t know which is worse.”

  His ex-partner said nothing and shook with rage, and then Mitch swung.

  Fochs stepped back out of the punch’s arc and brought his right hand up, deflecting it. Then he struck with his left, grabbing Mitch’s now over-extended arm. He brought his right around and head locked Gaffney. Bo pulled his arms tight, sending a sharp shock of pain into Mitch’s upper body. He leaned in and spoke in a harsh drawl into Mitch’s ear.

  “Man, there is nothing more I want than to beat you into the dirt right now. The only reason I don’t is that I know you’d arrest me for assaulting an officer. Though it’d almost be worth it to hear how you’d explain why you were here in the first place.” Bo squeezed and sent a shock of pain through Mitch’s arms and shoulders. “So, instead, I’d like you to get the fuck out of my house. Now.” Bo released his grapple and pushed.

  Mitch stared raw hate at his former partner.

  “Something you ought to know,” he said with a snide, superior look on his face. “That was Fremont’s gun we found on the floor that night. I didn’t plant anything. He was trying to shake me down for the flash money. And I did care about Rolles, then and now.” Mitchell’s eyes were practically vibrating with fury but Bo noticed them rimming with wetness. “But the difference between you and me is I can recognize a lost cause for what it is.”

  Chapter Forty One

  “This is Rolles,” he said into the receiver.

  “Mr. Rolles, my name is Captain Edward Adler with the LAPD. I’d like a few minutes of your time.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain. I wish I could help, but my schedule is set pretty far in advance. Perhaps we can put something on the books in a few weeks.”

  “Mr. Rolles, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist. I thought I’d do you the courtesy of allowing you to choose the location so it didn’t have to be in your office.” Adler paused. “Or mine.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Is this a conversation we should be having with my lawyer?”

  “No, not unless you think you’ve broken the law. I know a man like you appreciates discretion.”

  “OK, look, there’s a restaurant on Crenshaw called Dee’s. Quiet place. I know the owner, and he can give us some privacy.”

  “I’ll see you in ten minutes.” Adler hung up the phone.

  Rolles knew the brass at all of the stations in South LA, and he’d never heard of a Captain Adler before. There was no way he’d be able to make it from Police Headquarters to South Central in ten minutes. Adler was nearby.

  And he knew Rolles was here.

  It was early afternoon, and the lunch crowd had cleared out of Dee’s. Rolles told Halliday that he had a meeting with a high-ranking police officer about a new initiative they wanted to pitch to him and that they’d need a little privacy. Halliday brought a carafe of coffee, two cups, and two waters to Rolles’ usual table and went back to busying himself behind the counter. Rolles sat in the booth, facing the door, and watched out the window that ran the length of Dee’s front wall. From out of a tinny boom box behind the counter, James Brown was singing “Funky President.”

  Rolles checked his watch for the third time since he’d entered Dee’s. He didn’t like having his time wasted, and that was exactly what this was. Marlon prided himself on achieving this position without
ever having bribed a policeman or city official. Instead, he brought them inside the tent. He showed them his organization, showed them the value, and encouraged them to participate. And he was trying to clean up the streets. Whatever anyone could say about him, about what he’d done or how he was making his money, Marlon was committed to eliminating gang violence. He actively worked with the police to identify kids in trouble and bring them into his program. Sure, he sold out the competition in the same breath, but that was capitalism. Market forces.

  People were going to do drugs. You’d never stop someone from trying to get high, but they didn’t need to commit genocide to do it. Rolles would rather a city full of zombies than a city full of corpses. Doing drugs was a choice. Some gangbanger decided to open up a Tec-9 at a bus stop like some fool two days before, you didn’t have a say in that.

  Now, he knew that there would be wars over territory. But, this was just the first phase in his plan. Once he eliminated the competition and drove them out of business, became the single supplier in South LA, he’d be in a position to do something about the violence and the turf battles. It was simple economics, if someone wanted to gun down their competition, they paid a higher price and if they hurt civilians, well, maybe they’d get no product at all. Capitalism would take care of the rest.

  Marlon was still searching for answers to what this meeting could possibly be about. That cop who was snooping around, Ellison’s partner, was the first thing that came to mind. Marlon thought he’d taken care of that. Jamaal had wanted to take some more extreme measures, but Marlon cautioned him that would attract unnecessary attention. More than a cop getting nosy, Jamaal had asked. He was right, but Rolles told him he’d take care of it. That’s what he had that stupid Viking for. It was handled with a phone call and a judicious tip.

  If this Captain Adler were asking around about Rolles’ operation, then perhaps that meant Detective Gaffney might have to be dealt with a little more directly. Marlon had been thinking along those lines already. Gaffney knew something, and they’d had him followed. Their man, Trenton, tailed him to their meeting with the Nicaraguans. Though Marlon believed Gaffney’s little sortie was cut off at the knees, the man was still out there, and he still owed for the trouble he’d caused over Lorenzo Fremont.

  Yeah, Rolles told himself, it was time to tie up that loose end. South Central was a dangerous place, especially for a CRASH officer. A cop dying would bring some attention, but there were ways to handle that. That out-of-the-blue offer from this Deacon Blues cat to do business didn’t seem so coincidental now. Rolles wasn’t a man who believed in coincidence. That loose end would need to be tied as well.

  Adler entered at fifteen minutes after two, exactly ten minutes from when he’d called Rolles. Adler wasn’t in uniform, but Marlon could have picked him up on the street. He just had that air of authority about him. Funny, Rolles thought, people said the same thing about him.

  Adler spotted him immediately and made for the table. He was dressed in a gray suit, robin’s egg blue shirt, and navy tie. Adler was tall and well-muscled beneath the suit. He had thick blond hair and piercing gray-blue eyes, ones that locked onto Marlon the second he’d stepped through the door and didn’t break.

  Adler unbuttoned his suit and sat without preamble or hesitation. “Good afternoon, Marlon.”

  Rolles coolly sipped his coffee. He was not a man accustomed to being summoned and sure as hell not by some cop. “Good afternoon, Captain. How can I help you?”

  “I’ll try to be brief because I know you’re a busy man.”

  Rolles shifted in his seat and his eyebrow lifted. He actually had to stop himself from asking the captain to repeat himself. There was something in the way he emphasized ‘I know you’re a busy man’ that put a cold tingle at the base of Rolles’ neck.

  “I run the LAPD’s Organized Crime Intelligence Division. You have been on my radar for some time now.” Adler let that hang in the air. Rolles said nothing. “The department has built up quite a file on you. For example, we know that you’re using the Next Chapter Foundation to recruit, train, and employ a network of narcotics distributors.”

  Rolles made to leave. “I do a lot for this community. I paid my debt. I am not going to sit here and have you accuse me of being a criminal.”

  “Sit down, Marlon,” Adler said in a tone that brooked no disagreement, “and let me finish. I’m not here to arrest you. I’m here to talk. I’m here to offer you an opportunity.”

  Rolles said nothing and calmly eased back into his seat.

  “As I was saying, we have enough to secure a grand jury indictment on you right now and shut down your foundation. That will give us every name in your network. We also have someone in your organization who will testify that you are, in fact, the head of a criminal conspiracy responsible for distributing a sizable amount of the narcotics.”

  What? That couldn’t be. Everyone, everyone in Rolles’ organization was loyal. They were paid to be and paid well. How the fuck could he have a rat?

  “Now, we have a problem, Marlon, and I think you’re in a position to help. The Olympics start in a little over two weeks, and the attention of the entire world is already on our town. South LA is getting ready to tear itself in half over this Courtyard Massacre thing. It should go without saying that we can’t have that.”

  “You still haven’t told me why I’m sitting here, Captain.”

  “We want you to broker a peace. End the violence. Your organization, both the legitimate side and the—other side, puts you in a unique position to talk to all the parties here on even terms. They’ll listen to you. I don’t care how it’s done. I don’t care what you offer them, just so it happens. If you can stop this, I’ll make the investigation into your activities go away. This is the real thing, Marlon. We can’t have open gang war during the Olympics. If there is even the hint of violence we’re going to occupy South LA like Europe after World War II. You can stop that. You can be the spokesman we never can.”

  “People aren’t just going to stop beefing because I asked them to. It was that simple, I’d have done it already.”

  “So you want the carrot, huh? Amnesty. Gangs’ stop beefing over the Courtyard and stay out of the Olympic Area from now until the end of the games. That means we don’t care what goes on outside the Olympic Area as long as it’s kept quiet.” The expression on Adler’s face was unreadable. “The gang suppression sweeps inside the area will continue throughout the Games. Anyone caught inside the area who even looks like they’re claiming colors will be dealt with harshly.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I will bring the full weight of the LAPD down on your head. I’ve got enough for an arrest warrant right now for you and Shabazz, and that’s before I go digging into your assets. I’ll bring in every one of your kids, publicly. Even the good ones. What do you think the odds are that someone flips? We will invade and occupy South Central and use whatever means necessary to ensure there are no acts of violence during the games. We’ve already got our hands full trying to find subversives, Russian spies, and goddamn terrorists. I’m not going to add squabbling street gangs to that mix.”

  “Nice threat, but you don’t have shit on me.”

  “Think so? How far do you want to push that bet? Your thing in Long Beach is a smart play, but you should know we’ve got agreements with their police department.”

  “If I go along with this, what assurance do I have that you’re not just going to harass me as soon as the games are done?”

  Adler shook his head. “None, whatsoever. This is a get out of jail free card that you only get to play once. But I’m a man of my word. You stop the violence and keep gang activity out of the Olympic Area, and I’ll make the current investigation go away. Anything that happens after the Olympics . . .” Adler spread his hands palms up then stood. “This deal expires when I walk out that door,” Adler pointed at the glass front of Dee’s. “What’s it going to be?”

  Chapter Forty Two

&nbs
p; Mitch walked into Franklin’s on Seventh just before nine p.m. He’d been here for a few uncomfortable dinners with his father, but this was not a place he could afford to eat on his own. Mitch had just enough time to get home, shower, and change into chinos and a jacket. He was due to meet Captain Adler at fifteen after but wanted to be early. He had no idea who this guy was, and none of the guys at Southwest seemed to know either. Finally, he’d called Lindsay at Narcotics, who’d just said the meeting was on the level and Mitch needed to listen very carefully to what the captain had to say.

  Mitch approached the bar and ordered a scotch rocks. He still preferred wine but had come to find scotch was better for business.

  “Detective Gaffney,” a voice behind him said.

  Mitch turned and found a large man in a gray suit with a hand extended. “Ed Adler. Thanks for meeting me tonight. My unit keeps strange hours, and I understand you’ve been also working double-time in CRASH.” Adler turned to the bartender. “Jack Daniels, rocks with a splash.” His gaze turned back to Mitch.

  “That’s right. We’re trying to keep the lid on the pot. It’s full-time work.” Was that what he meant by “double-time”? Mitch wondered.

  “I’ll bet. Are you working the suppression sweeps?”

  CRASH was arresting people in droves. Mitch’s deployments were split between the gang suppression sweeps and the peacekeeping in the Rollin’ 30s territory. He was haggard and knew he looked it.

  “I am,” he said, nodding, and took a sip of scotch. “We’re all pulling double duty in the Olympic Area, and the division is trying to keep the gangs from tearing each other apart over the Courtyard thing.”

  Adler took a long, deep drink of his whiskey. When he set the glass down, it was about half finished. “Ah, yes. I understand we have you to thank for that as well.” Adler iced his tone with more than a little irony. “But that’s not what I called about. I wanted to talk to you about Marlon Rolles.” He turned to the bartender. “We’re going to need two more.”