The Bad Shepherd Page 29

  Mitch set his drink down. This was not what he’d been expecting. When Zarcone first told him the investigation was being pulled, Mitch thought IAD somehow had figured out how he identified the Courtyard shooters. Then he got the invitation to meet this Captain Adler at a posh steakhouse downtown. Internal Affairs didn’t take you out for drinks first. Mitch steeled himself for what was coming next, but he felt like there was a cold hole in his stomach.

  “Mitch, I run the Organized Crime Intelligence Division. We’re taking over the investigation into Marlon Rolles’ criminal enterprise. To be honest, he fits the OC profile much more than a street gang, and I’m resourced for this sort of thing. CRASH and Narco aren’t.”

  Gaffney said nothing, but his stomach dropped.

  “It was some damn fine investigative work, some of the best I’ve seen, actually.”

  “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you to say.” Mitch held the glass in his hand but didn’t drink. He could smell the alcohol vapor even still.

  “So, I don’t get a say in this whatsoever?”

  “Not a one.

  “I’m sure you can understand I’m not very happy about my investigation being taken away, Captain. I’ve been chasing this son of a bitch for a long time.” That was mostly true, Mitch thought.

  He let out a short, terse laugh. “I don’t blame you, Mitchell. I really don’t.” Adler stared into the whiskey glass in his hand, swirled the ice, and listened to it crack. If there were answers in the glass, he wasn’t sharing. “I’m going to let you in on something. You’re a bloodhound, and I don’t think you’re the type to let this go. But it’s better for us all that this situation goes away quickly and quietly. An ounce of prevention, as they say.” He raised his glass in a mock cheer and brought it to his lips. “What I tell you tonight is confidential. This goes nowhere. If I find out it has, your career in law enforcement is over. I’ll see to that personally.”

  Adler had a cold look in his eye, and Mitch could see he was not a man to be challenged.

  “The Chief, I, and a handful of others know this.” He took another sip, paused, and considered his words. “We need Rolles to broker a peace with the gangs. We think he’s the only one who’s got a real chance of stopping the bloodshed. They’re getting most of their shit from him, and we think that means they’ll listen. Plus, he knows them. He came up with them. He can get through in a way we can’t.”

  “So, you approached him with the evidence I’d collected and offered him a deal. Peace during the Olympics or you prosecute? That’s the only motivation I can think of that he’d go along with.”

  “Something like that,” Adler allowed. “We had to offer a few carrots to the masses to get them to play ball, but you get the gist of it.”

  “So we’re just going to let him walk for the greater good?”

  “Not exactly. This is a speed bump, nothing more.” Adler talked into his glass. “We’ll go back after him as soon as the Olympics are over. He’s not the kind of guy who just stops what he’s doing because the police are onto him. The market is too big. That’s my problem now.

  “But, off the record, I think he’s more valuable as an asset. I mean, this shit is going to get sold regardless of what we do, but if I can co-opt someone like Rolles and get him to work for me, we can still do a hell of a lot of damage to the problem. Besides, he’s a very visible presence in that community. That has its own merits.”

  A sly smile crept up the side of Mitch’s mouth. “Well played, sir.”

  Adler regarded him with an ironic smile. “You surprise me, Detective Gaffney. That’s not the reaction I was expecting.”

  “No?” Mitch said into his scotch.

  “No, I was expecting more bluster, maybe some sanctimonious patter about ‘justice’ and your hard work.”

  Mitch laughed. “Then you don’t know me very well.”

  “Indeed. I suspect that will change.”

  They drank in silence for a time. “The Chief and I talked about whether or not to tell you. He didn’t think it was a good idea, but I wanted to bring you in if I thought you could be trusted. Better to take taht risk than have you get curious or pissed that I took your case away. I think you’re a sharper guy than that.” He set his empty glass down on the bar. “I understand you tested well on the lieutenant’s exam.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m about as far down the seniority list as you can be, though.”

  “Interesting how having the chief’s favor changes that. He is a man who appreciates integrity and discretion in equal amounts.” Adler pulled a money clip out of his coat pocket and dropped a few bills on the counter. “Few inside the department, and certainly out, really understand what it takes to police this city. People think they want to know, but they don’t.”

  “Captain, there’s one more thing.” The words came out before Mitch had a chance to really think it through. This was a gamble but could go a long way to proving his loyalty to people who mattered.

  Adler’s eyes narrowed just a touch.

  “There’s a reporter, Kaitlin Everett at KNBC. I’d worked with her previously on the Lorenzo Fremont operation. I used her to run some leads and get intel on Rolles’ activities without making it look like a police investigation. Anyway, she’s aware that we’re looking at him. That will need to be contained.”

  “This reporter, she mean anything to you?”

  Mitch paused and rolled the question around in his mind. “I’d like to see her land on her feet, if possible. I think she’s been getting manipulated a bit.”

  “OK, thanks for letting me know. That’s a heads up play. Hard to defuse the bomb after it goes off. You don’t think she’d be pragmatic and let it go, do you? If I offer her something else?”

  “Possibly, but I think she’s dug in.”

  “Good to know.” Adler took a step toward the door, turned and clapped Mitch on the shoulder.

  The words “Jimmy Mack” were forming in his mouth but he called them back just as quickly. While it certainly seemed that Adler was a man who had the resources to deal with a problem like that, Mitch also didn’t want to come into this situation with too much baggage so as to be a liability. He’d have to manage any of the potential fallout form Jimmy Mack on his own.

  The bar was starting to fill in and the ambient noise rose with it. Everyone was talking about the Olympics and Mitchell could even detect a couple stray accents in the mix.

  “I like this place,” Adler said looking around. “I have meetings here a lot. Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to introduce yourself to the bartenders.” He clapped Gaffney’s shoulder and was gone.

  “Have a good night, sir,” Mitch said quietly as Adler disappeared into the restaurant.

  Chapter Forty Three

  Fochs drank.

  The aluminum skeletons of his afternoon lay at his feet in the grass.

  Kaitlin found him in his backyard, white knuckling an Anchor Steam and staring out over the horizon.

  What was left?

  The LAPD took Marlon Rolles away from him for the second time.

  He was also trying to process, trying to make sense of Mitch’s last words to him: the gun belonged to Fremont.

  The implication of that statement was a cold hand around Bo’s spine.

  It meant that Bo’s downfall and Hunter’s had been his own fault. It meant that he had been wrong.

  But it also meant that Mitchell’s engineering Bo’s ouster, that conversation with Hunter and Hilliard, was nothing more than a hedge, a calculated move for Mitch to distance himself from his partner and not be dragged down with him. Who honestly wouldn’t do that in a similar position?

  When Hunter delivered the news that afternoon at the Rainbow that Bo was going to be handed a CUBO jacket, Fochs told himself that it was the price he had to pay for forcing the department to act and for forcing them to acknowledge that they were shielding a murderer and a coward, to say nothing for letting the specter they now knew was Marlon Rolles escape.

&
nbsp; Only they weren’t.

  Later, when Hunter told Bo that he was getting sent to finish out his career running Narco at Harbor Division Fochs told himself that Hunter had believed in him and that it cost him his career as well. But that was OK, a noble sacrifice, they believed in something, and they stood up for it. They paid the price willingly because they were just.

  Except that they were wrong.

  Hunter was so much more than a friend and a mentor to him. He was everything Fochs came to believe a police officer should be. He deserved better than to be made an example of and deserved better than to be ruined by the collateral damage of Bo’s mistake.

  And Bo knew there was a way.

  If he couldn’t undo the damage he’d done, Bo could at the very least make it right. He could end this thing they’d all started together, this thing that had cost them so much more than careers.

  “Bo, you’re not a cop anymore.” That was Kaitlin’s answer when he told her his plan. “You guys can’t just go and buy drugs, even if it’s to get them on tape selling it to you. That’s illegal.”

  “We’re not going to buy anything,” he said shaking his head slowly. He tipped his head back and took a sip of his beer. “We’ll walk away before we actually make the sale. We just need to get Rolles to acknowledge being there and admit to having a quantity of narcotics with the intent to sell them. Then we’ll come up with some reason not to go through with it and back out. I’m going to mail the tapes to the LAPD, LA Sheriffs, FBI, and the Times. I won’t send them to KNBC unless you tell me to. I just need your word that you’re going to protect me and Deacon.”

  “You mean like protecting you as sources?”

  Bo turned his head to look at her. “Yeah.”

  She paused. “This is sketchy ground, legally. I mean, we’ve used private investigators for reporting before but not like this. If you get caught, you could very well go to jail. Even if you get it, Mitchell will know this is you as soon as that tape hits. Your identity won’t be hidden for long. You could have Rolles’ people coming after you.”

  “I know.” Bo walked over to her and kissed her gently on her forehead. “But if we get him on tape, we’ll be able to prove what Marlon Rolles is doing. People will be forced to act. Finally.”

  It could also be enormous for her career—a drug lord with ties to the community and the police department, manipulating both for his ends. If it broke big, this could put Kaitlin Everett’s name in the same conversations as Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein.

  Kaitlin knelt down and took Bo’s hands in hers. The sun had dipped below the trees and the air had cooled. On any other night, this would be wonderful.

  “Can you trust Deacon?”

  “I do. Look, I don’t condone the things he’s done but I think I understand why he’s done them. He’s also the reason I have what I have. And he sees this as a chance to atone for some of those things he’s done. I can appreciate that more than anyone. I can’t explain it, but Deacon and I just have a kind of bond.”

  Kaitlin raised an eyebrow. “The kind of bond you form with someone who won’t even tell you his name?”

  Bo spread his hands in an exasperated expression. “What do you want from me? He uses an alias; it’s as much for his protection as it is for mine. I trust him, and you should trust me.”

  “But why, Bo. You still haven’t answered that for me. Why is this worth risking your life for this?”

  “Because we have to get Marlon Rolles and goddamn it, if the police aren’t going to do it, I will. He’s taking kids, Kat, little kids and instead of turning their lives around he’s putting them back on the street to deal. He is the worst predator I’ve ever seen because he knows, even better than they do, what motivates each one of those kids he manipulates into his scheme. What’s worse, everyone is buying it. I can’t let it continue,” Bo said, with a face of raw anguish. “I just can’t.”

  But there was also the fact that he simply could not quit. Not now. He’d sacrificed too much, cost others too much. If he accepted defeat now, all if those sacrifices would be wasted. Bo acknowledged that he was the gambler who was so deep into the house that all he had left was to bet everything he had.

  He thought of his father also. His father gave everything he had to put food on the table, to give Bo a life that wasn’t hallowed out by the absence of his mother. Worked himself into an early grave and made Bo an orphan. Would he have done any less in this situation?

  Kaitlin gave him a considered look and said nothing for several long moments. She smiled and rested her head on his chest. “When do you go?”

  “Tomorrow night. We won’t know the location until an hour before, though I suspect it’ll be at one of his businesses. I’m pretty sure he’s got a few that he’s using to launder money.”

  Kaitlin ran her hand up and down Bo’s back; she could feel the tension in his muscles.

  “The station is behind this,” she said. “I gave my news director the background on Rolles, and he about went through the roof when he found out the police are walking away from it. He thinks it’s a cover-up and wants to blow the doors off the thing.” She cracked a sad half-smile. “He’s a crusader like you. He wants to run the story the Monday that the games start. Half of LA is going to see this report.”

  Chapter Forty Four

  Rolles brooded over tented fingers. Backlit by afternoon sunlight drifting in through his office window, his big, bald head was wrapped in a crown of fire. Shabazz sat opposite him on the other side of the desk.

  “You were against this from the beginning, Jamaal.”

  “I was.”

  “So speak your piece.”

  “I already done that.” Frustration hung heavy in his voice, but it was checked. “You made your play, and I’m gonna back it. That’s how we’ve always done it.”

  “But that ain’t what you feel,” Marlon rumbled like a sledgehammer dragged through gravel.

  “We got this cop snooping around, following us. Your man says there’s no investigation, but we don’t know that for certain. It ain’t like he’s bought an’ paid for.”

  “Truth,” said Rolles. “Continue.” He rolled his hand slowly in the stagnant air over his desk.

  “So we got this cop. Then out the blue, this Deacon Blues guy comes to us and says he’s got a huge buy. He says he worked for Lorenzo. I had him checked out, and people who know said this is the guy Renzo dealt with. I don’t know, Marlon. I don’t like it.”

  Rolles nodded his huge head. “Truth,” he said again. His voice was slow and sonorous. “But we both know the PD won’t stake half a million on a buy. Feds?”

  Shabazz shrugged. “If the PD ain’t onto us, I can’t figure the Feds would be.” Shabazz considered his thoughts for a time. “Guess I wouldn’t rule it out though. Whatever it is, it don’t feel right to me.”

  Rolles nodded again. “I agree. Don’t feel right to me either. We got a rule about not dealing with people we don’t know for a reason. But it is a half-million, and it’s going to be dry for a few weeks with the Olympics going on.” Marlon hadn’t told Jamaal about the meeting he’d had with Ed Adler yet or decided if he were going to. All he said was that he was going to curtail operations during the games because of the increased police presence. The fewer people knew about that deal, the better.

  “So what do we do?”

  Rolles made a steeple with his fingers again, resting his elbows on the desk and pushing his fingertips into the cleft under his lower lip. “We meet. This needs to be dealt with.” He dropped his hands. “Get people all over the surrounding blocks two hours before so they can sniff out any undercover. I want people in cars, people on foot. Everything. If they see anything out of the ordinary, the deal is off, and we walk away. Get our six best soldiers, and they’ll roll with us. At least two guys have automatics, and I want a sawed off behind the counter.”

  “OK,” Shabazz said.

  “One more thing. This Deacon. Guy making a score like this is looking to be
come a player. We got enough competition with Freeway. We don’t want to have to be looking at our other flank too. He ain’t a threat today, but today ain’t tomorrow. As soon as the deal is done, clip him. We’ll take the money and the coke, put the word out that he tried to double-cross us. If it is the same cat, for all we know, he’s the one dimed Renzo to the police in the first place.”

  Shabazz smiled.

  Chapter Forty Five

  Deacon took the call at 6:13 p.m., and the meet was set.

  Rolles instructed them to meet at Inglewood Hauling and Removal, a small company on the corner of Centinela and Hyde Park. Bo wasn’t aware of Rolles’ being this far west, but with him, nothing would be surprising. The junk removal was an odd front. Still, it was a tactically smart move. If he suspected this of being an undercover operation, LAPD would only have an hour to get authorization to conduct the raid in Inglewood PD’s jurisdiction.

  Rolles instructed Deacon to approach from the Hyde Park entrance through a gate and pull into one of the loading garages, which would give Rolles a perfect vantage point to see if anything funny were going on.

  Like Deacon rolling in with a partner.

  Fochs pulled onto Hyde Park about two blocks before Centinela.

  Deacon looked over at him from the passenger seat. “Everything OK, hoss?”

  Bo tapped the steering wheel with the palm of his hand slowly. “Yeah, I just want to make sure you’re ready to go through with this.”

  “Of course.”

  “Look, if you want to back out, I’ll understand.”

  “I’m not backing out, man.”

  “It’s just that we’re putting your money up now. There’s no one to bail us out if this goes south.”

  “That’s kind of the world I live in, pal,” Deacon said. “Bo, listen, I owe you. When you busted me at Rik’s you could’ve thrown the book at me and used that as leverage to get me to deal. I think we both knew the lengths I’d have gone through to stay out of jail, and you didn’t put me in that position. If you came after me when I slipped out of Fremont’s house, you didn’t try very hard. Rolles is a cancer. He has no rules. The fact that he’s recruiting kids that are coming to him to get out of that situation means he needs a special place in Hell.” Deacon broke Bo’s gaze. He reached for the radio knob and turned it up so that the only thing anyone walking by would hear is Ozzy Osbourne.