The Bad Shepherd Read online

  Hunter still wasn’t speaking to him, and Bo carried the full weight of Deacon’s escape. Fochs knew another suspension was probably in the works, if not an outright bounce from the squad. Let them swing, he thought. He’d talk to his union rep as soon as they did. Bo had run into the back bedroom to look after his partner; it was the other four who were supposed to secure suspects and Deacon.

  The Rockstars had a tradition. Whenever they closed a case they met up at a particular spot on Mount Lee just above the Hollywood sign. They’d burn through a couple cases of beer in a place looking down on the Strip that was off limits to civilians. It seemed strange to meet there while they were in the thick of the investigation, but given the lieutenant’s feelings about Hollywood Division and the cops that comprised it, maybe they just needed to be in a place they knew to be their own.

  Hollywood Division in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s was notorious in the department. The best of them were lazy, disinterested cops. The worst were bent like a U-turn. Even now, IAD was investigating a rumor that a string of unsolved store burglaries was actually the work of a pair of morning watch patrolmen. Divisions had a way of reflecting the communities they policed, and Hollywood was no exception. Weird. Hollywood weird.

  When Hunter told everyone around noon to break for lunch and then meet up at the usual spot around 2:30, they figured he had news he didn’t want to share inside the walls of Hollywood Station, even in their basement-cum-squad room. The Rockstars assumed it had to do with the mounting media storm surrounding the case because it was on the verge of being an all-out circus. Or maybe they just needed to get out of that goddamn basement.

  Hunter, as usual, provided the coolers full of beer. These were now sitting on the tailgate of Mitch’s blue Chevy Custom Deluxe. They parked their cars in a semi-circle, all tuned to K-Rock, KROQ. Mitch popped the first cooler and started passing out beers.

  Hunter cleared his throat and the conversations stopped. All eyes went to him. “The department was pulling the plug on the investigation.” The lieutenant paused and let that sink in. “We’ll proceed with charges on Fremont’s crew, and the department would release a statement in a few days announcing we’ve rolled up a major narcotics distribution organization. The chief knows he needs to get in front of the story to try to minimize the damage that had already been done.” He looked at Bo. “We’ve got a big wave of bad press over this and with that will come increased scrutiny.”

  Hunter knew that there was no hope of a conviction. It wouldn’t take much to convince a jury that since Cutney, Joonbug, and the others weren’t in the room where Fremont had the drugs, they might be ignorant. Even the most inept public defender would zero in on the fact they’d also lost their informant, who should have been the linchpin in the case.

  Hunter, who just assumed that bureaucracies were genetically incapable of doing the right thing, was actually amazed at how quickly this folded. A week ago the Rockstars were sitting on a career case. Today they were watching a dead leaf burn in the wind.

  Dom Senna was the first. “It’s fuckin’ bullshit, Skipper.” This was followed by a couple of “Yeahs” from the rest of the team.

  “That it is,” Hunter said, taking a draw off the beer in his hand. “This should be a good lesson to all of you for how politics gets in the way of police work and how fast it can happen. It’s going to burn for a bit, but you should all know that you did your jobs and you did them well. I’m proud of you. We’re coming away with a million-dollar bust and five shit bags who aren’t going to get a chance to push their crap for a long time.” Only because we took it with us, he didn’t add.

  “Or ever,” Wood said, wrapping an arm around Mitch and shaking him.

  “Here’s to four behind bars and one riding a slab.” Hunter held his beer up. The rest of the team moved in and toasted each other. It was a bittersweet salute toasting a raw deal. After the toast, they broke into tentative chatter, unsure of what to say next. Hunter felt a tap on the shoulder. Bo was standing next to him.

  “LT, can I get a word?”

  Bo walked some ways away from the rest of the group. He went to the edge of the slope and looked out at the sprawling, smog-tainted grid of cityscape below him. Golden-brown grass crunched under his feet. There was a whiff of eucalyptus in the air. Bo was standing directly above the Hollywood sign. Hunter pressed a fresh beer into his hand. Bo crumpled his expended can and tossed it over the sign.

  “What’s up, Bo?” Hunter asked.

  Bo popped the can and took a long pull. The cold beer was a brief respite from the sweltering heat. He looked and noted a trace amount of liquid on the golden top of the can. Beads of condensation glided down the sides, wetting his hand. “How can they do this?”

  “You know damn well how, Bo. The Sixth Floor needs to control the damage. They obviously believe the way to do that is to identify Fremont as head of a citywide narcotics trafficking and distribution operation and try to get whatever convictions they can out of his gang. I think we both know those prospects are slim, and I understand the DA took some convincing, but this is the situation.”

  “But we’re not done. Fremont wasn’t the head of shit, and we both know it.” Bo waved his arm for emphasis and beer splashed out of the can. “He’s a mid-level pusher and crew runner. Lorenzo Fremont isn’t trafficking anything.”

  “According to the chief’s office he is.” Hunter crushed the empty can in his hand and threw it over the side.

  “And that makes it fact?”

  “I’ll remind you, Detective, that in our takedown of Lorenzo Fremont our chief informant escaped. No,” Hunter said, holding up his hands to cut Bo off before he started. “I don’t give a good goddamn who was supposed to be watching him during the raid. The simple fact is he’s the only one who can testify to the size and scope of Fremont’s organization, whether he’s the head of it or just a spoke in the wheel, and he’s long gone. If Fremont’s people know, they aren’t talking. We have no way of proving that Fremont wasn’t calling the shots, so the chief is proceeding to salvage some of this before it gets totally out of hand. I don’t like it; I don’t expect you to like it, but I do expect you to handle it like a professional.”

  Fochs shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. His face flushed hot.

  “Damn it, what about the Delta? The car. I saw someone.”

  “You saw precisely shit,” Hunter thundered, loudly enough that he drew the attention of the others. “You saw a thug in a car cruise by rubbernecking. That’s not even a lead, let alone something to base a theory on. I don’t want to hear another word about that car, you understand me, Fochs?”

  “Lieutenant, I just—”

  “Enough. You want to investigate something, figure out how you lost your goddamn informant.” Hunter cold-shouldered and stalked away. Bo sat alone for he didn’t know how long, baking in the hot breeze and boiling inside. He watched the scrub undulate in the wind. He heard someone approach but didn’t turn. A six-pack appeared next to him and Mitch sat down. Gaffney pulled two cans out of the plastic rings and handed one over.

  “I can’t believe just giving up on all of this,” he said without preamble when Mitch sat. “We were one goddamn step away from finding out who was running the show, and the idiots downtown . . .” Bo waved his can at the cityscape, shooting a trail of beer into the air. It glittered in the sun until it dissipated. His can frothed, spilling over onto his hand, but he ignored it. “I’ve got a solid lead, and they won’t let me do anything with it.”

  “Will you listen to yourself? A guy in an Oldsmobile is throwing dirty looks? That’s the leg you’re standing on? No wonder Hunter is so pissed at you.”

  Bo turned his head and threw a warning look at his partner.

  “Explain to me how Fremont’s crew are spilling their guts to us until this guy drives by, makes eye contact, and scares them into silence. They haven’t said shit since. Who can do that?”

  “I don’t know, man.” Mitch sounded tir
ed. “Could be he was just an OG in the neighborhood, and they didn’t want to be seen talking to the cops. Maybe there is something there, but we’re not going to do anything about it, so what does it matter?”

  Bo stood. “It matters because we’re not done. The department built a mold and pushing Lorenzo Fremont into it but that doesn’t make it so. There’s no way he had those connections. There’s someone above him calling the shots, and I think it’s that guy in the Oldsmobile. If it’s not, then he’s the link to the one who is.”

  “Bo, again, what does it matter?” Mitch stood as well. “As far as everyone else knows, we’re heroes. This will be a huge case, and it’s going to lead to big things for all of us. Just play it smart. I know how hard you worked to build this case; we all do. What the lieutenant was just talking to us about, the silver lining in all this is that you know we let this one go, but the department is going to owe us a solid. We can cash that chit in and go wherever we want, but right now it means shutting up and going along.”

  “Lieutenant gave me basically the same speech already, so he’s wasting your time having you come over here and deliver it again.”

  “The fuck is with you, dude? We got ten uncut bricks, which is a major score, and fifty thousand in cash. Plus the CRASH guys are running his guns down, and they’ve got some leads.”

  “But he wasn’t the source. You’re missing the point. Lorenzo Fremont was just a pusher. He wasn’t the head of anything. Calling him that in the papers doesn’t make it so. He was some mid-level banger running a crew. Above him, there is the guy, the one with the connections into Columbia.”

  “No, you’re missing the point, Bo. We made our play and sometimes this is as far as it goes. Hunter went to the mat for us, for you. And he went again after you popped Rik like a fucking child.” Mitch’s tone was almost pleading, begging his partner to knock this off and take what was offered them.

  “We wouldn’t even be in this situation if you hadn’t fucked up my takedown and shot our suspect. Tell me, did Hunter give you that speech?”

  Mitch stood and pressed into Bo’s space aggressively close.

  Bo knew immediately he’d gone too far and somewhere, deep in his psyche he was probably registering something that resembled guilt but he was also in a place that made that knowledge simply academic.

  “Fucking watch yourself, Bo. You weren’t in that room. You don’t know what happened.” Mitch started to walk away.

  “Tell me something,” Bo said, still looking out over the city. There had been a feeling the night of Fremont’s shooting, something scratching at the back door of his mind ever since, something that never quite went away. Bo pretended it wasn’t there, tried to push it away, but it lingered like a rat, clawing and scratching at his subconscious.

  “What?”

  “Were you carrying a backup gun that night?”

  KNBC TRANSCRIPT

  Aired June 29, 1981—10:15 PT

  (COMMERCIAL BREAK)

  JACK HAMMOND, KNBC ANCHOR: Last week KNBC broke the story of a sting operation on a suspected drug dealer in South Los Angeles. Tonight, KNBC’s Kaitlin Everett has shocking new information on the investigation. Kaitlin?

  KAITLIN EVERETT, KNBC REPORTER: Thank you, Jack. New details have emerged providing a stunning turn of events to this story. Authorities have now confirmed that they recovered over ten kilograms of uncut cocaine in Lorenzo Fremont’s house that was being prepared for distribution across the city. Police estimate the street value of the bust was well over $1.5 million. LAPD officials have also provided new details into what occurred last Thursday on the 4000 block of Second Avenue. On June 26, Los Angeles Police Detective Mitchell Gaffney was attempting to purchase a large quantity of cocaine from Lorenzo Fremont as part of an undercover operation to catch the suspected drug dealer. Fremont was the subject of a month-long investigation that began in a Hollywood nightclub and was believed by police to run a network that stretched throughout the city. According to police, Fremont tried to ambush Gaffney, and the detective was forced to open fire, killing Fremont.

  (BEGIN VIDEO CLIP)

  EVERETT, VOICEOVER: In total, the police seized ten kilograms of cocaine and $50,000 in cash and apprehended four men alleged to be members of Fremont’s organization. They’re calling this the rollup of a major drug trafficking organization.

  (END VIDEO CLIP)

  (BEGIN VIDEO CLIP)

  EVERETT, VOICEOVER: LAPD Captain Burton Hilliard, commander of the Department’s Narcotics Division, gave a brief statement earlier today.

  CAPTAIN BURTON HILLIARD, LAPD: Last week, a crack team of our finest narcotics detectives, operating undercover, launched a sting operation to capture Lorenzo Fremont, who we believed was the head of a city-wide drug dealing network. During the buy-phase of the operation, Fremont attempted to ambush Detective Mitchell Gaffney who was undercover posing as a possible buyer. Fremont’s motive is unknown, but we believe our informant in the gang tipped him off. Detective Gaffney identified himself as a police officer, and when Fremont appeared he was about to fire, Detective Gaffney fired three times, killing the suspect. As with any officer-involved shooting, there will be an investigation into the incident, but I am confident the review will find that Detective Gaffney’s shoot was consistent with departmental policy and, no doubt, saved his life. Detective Gaffney and his team took a major drug dealer and his cronies off the streets and smashed their network. For that, I think the people of this city owe them their gratitude.

  (END VIDEO CLIP)

  EVERETT: The four men apprehended that night remain in police custody and I’m told have been charged with ten counts each of felony drug trafficking and felony possession with intent to sell. There were also numerous weapons confiscated during the raid, and police are running them now against crimes committed in the area with the hopes of getting a match, which would bring additional charges. Jack?

  HAMMOND: Thank you, Kaitlin. That’s an incredible turn of events and a major win for police.

  EVERETT: It’s a major win for all Angelinos, Jack, and a big victory in the war to keep drugs off our streets. A source close to the investigation told me the quantity of cocaine they found in Fremont’s house was what they believed he was selling every week.

  HAMMOND: Incredible. What about the rumors of suspected gang ties?

  EVERETT: Police have linked Fremont with a local Crip gang, but they believe he was the mastermind behind the cocaine trafficking and targeted mostly a White, middle-class clientele.

  Back to you, Jack.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bo had learned helplessness in Vietnam.

  All his years surfing, battling the uncontrollable tides, unpredictable waves, the weather, and sometimes seemingly the ocean itself, Bo never felt truly afraid or powerless. He recognized the ocean’s might, respected it. He’d always believed no matter how rough the seas, how far underwater he was, how many times he’d rolled he’d find the shore. He could always see it, and that reaffirmed him, gave him direction.

  He could not see the shore in Vietnam.

  January ‘73 it’d been raining hard. Units had been in contact with the enemy for days, but the weather prevented the helicopters from flying in. The rain broke for a few hours, and the word from Division was they didn’t have enough time to ferry the entire company out, but they could drop the reserve platoon in with some fresh supplies. Battalion XO came down and said it was up to the pilots. How long the weather would hold was anyone’s guess, and if the rain hit, the helos might not make it back over the mountains. When the air was saturated like that, it was difficult to get lift. It was hard enough when flying at sea level and damned near impossible to fly a Huey over a mountain range, particularly when that mountain range was full of people who were trying to kill you.

  Chief Warrant Officer Plummer made the call. If their brothers were in the shit, it was their job to get them out. If they couldn’t do that, they’d at least bring in backup. That’s what you did. He didn’t use
those exact words, however. When the major asked him what he wanted to do, Plummer just calmly said, “Air Mobile,” and walked out of the tent.

  Plummer recounted the story when they were safely in the air.

  Plummer rounded up his favorites including Private Bo Fochs because he knew Bo was “just ‘bout as crazy as this here shit,” and off they went. The weather held until just before landing. A front moved in off the coast that the Navy observers offshore failed to call in time, and the weather turned south fast. The birds would rise and drop, rise and drop, rise and drop, like bobbers in the water. Nothing the pilots did could get those Hueys back up and over the mountain. Then the small arms fire started, VC with AK-47s with some larger calibers mixed in.

  Even now, Bo could hear Plummer’s voice in his mind, “Boys, I think we’re in trouble,” after the metallic clang of the first round’s striking the paper-thin hull of the aircraft. After the next burst and the staccato ringing of bullets hitting aluminum, the helicopter started to lose altitude. That was when Bo learned what helplessness truly was. The bird moved like it was in a wrestling pin and just could not get up, no matter how much Chief Plummer fought the controls. The chopper bucked hard with a downdraft; they lost thirty feet of altitude in an instant. Worse, Charlie was on the ground, knew their situation, and was just biding his time.

  The alarms started and everyone on board knew that only meant one thing, they were going. One of the rounds struck the engine, and now the rotor was failing. The rate of descent increased, and the ground rushed up to meet them. Chief, ever calm, told the boys to brace for impact. They were going down. Their fate was no longer in their hands. If they were praying men, now would be the time.

  Bo felt the same way leaving Hollywood Station. He did not think he could find the shore.