At Their Own Game (20 page)

“What could be more important than this?”
 

“Getting our merchandise from Ozzy.”
 

Brent raised an eyebrow. “I thought that was a done deal.”
 

“It was. I convinced him otherwise.”
 

“How?” He pointed at my face. “I mean, no offense, Boss but he made a pretty good statement that the conversation was over.”
 

“I convinced him his professional reputation would suffer if people thought he’d welshed,” I said. “He saw the wisdom in that. Eventually.”
 

Brent shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”
 

“Me, either. But then he hit me with a ten percent aggravation fee, and I knew it was on the square.”
 

“So we’re going with the merchandise, then?”
 

“No choice, really.”
 

“It’s the right thing to do,” Brent said. “Even if it is just this once.”
 

“It’s the only thing to do. And it is definitely just this once.”
 

“All right,” Brent said. “But you’ll want me with you when this goes down, right?”
 

“No. I’m meeting him at twelve-thirty at Niko’s Diner downtown. It’ll be busy with the lunch crowd so it’ll be safe. Plus, I’ve got a corner booth in the back reserved. I’ll see him coming the whole time.”
 

Brent chewed his lip thoughtfully. “So you don’t want me there?”
 

“No. I want you to go somewhere quiet, put on your thinking cap, and figure out what we’re going to do about Matt.”
 

“And clipping him isn’t an option?”
 

I gave Brent a long, careful look. He stared back at me flatly. Finally, I said, “No. We’re not bad guys. We’re businessmen.”
 

“So’s the mob. And they clip guys for this.”
 

“We’re not the mob,” I said firmly. “Figure out something else.
 

Brent shrugged. “All right. You got it. But you be careful.”
 

“Always,” I said.
 

I stopped back at the house. Helen was back from the store, drinking coffee and reading a magazine in the kitchen. When I walked in, she stood quickly.
 

“Everything all right?”
 

“It’s going to be,” I said. I poured myself a cup and leaned against the counter. Then I told her what I’d done and the rest of my plan.
 

As she listened, a small smile curled up at the corner of her mouth. When I’d finished, she nodded. “Yeah, it might just work.”
 

“It’ll work,” I said with more confidence than I felt. The fact was, if it didn’t or if I was wrong about any of it, I ran the risk of a jail cell or a shallow grave. I tried not to dwell on that.
 

“What’s my part?” she asked.
 

“Your part?”
 

She nodded. “Yeah, my part. I listened to your whole plan and there doesn’t seem to be a job for me.”
 

“There isn’t. It isn’t safe.”
 

She stared at me in wonder. “Safe? This isn’t about safe, Jake. It’s about you and me winning out here. You can’t expect me to sit on the sidelines like some maiden waiting for you to slay the dragon. I won’t do that.”
 

Slaying her dragons had pretty much become my job description since she appeared on my couch, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I told her, “Your part comes after. With Arturo and that whole angle. You should work on that while I’m solving these issues.”
 

“No.”
 

“Helen—”
 

“No!”
 

I put my coffee cup down and approached her. When I was close enough, she threw her arms around me and pulled me into a fierce embrace.
 

“I lost you once,” she whispered in my ear as she clung to me. “I am not going to lose you again.”
 

I wrapped my arms around her. “That’s not going to happen. But I need to focus on this to get it right. If I’m worried about you, I might blow it.”
 

She was quiet for a while. Her hold on me didn’t diminish. She pressed her body tight to mine. “I can’t lose you,” she said.
 

“Then I need you to do this for me. Step aside. Make some calls. Wait for me.”
 

She didn’t reply right away, but eventually I felt her nod her head against my chest. “All right, Jake. I trust your judgment. I’ll get started on our business with Arturo.”
 

“And not here,” I said.
 

She pulled back and stared up at me in surprise. “What?”
 

“Not here,” I repeated. “Like I said, it isn’t safe. We’ll put you up in a hotel for a day or two, until it’s finished.”
 

“Where?”
 

Anywhere but the Davenport, I thought darkly.
 

“Wherever you want,” was what I said.
 

After a teary farewell, I got Helen off in her rental car to the Red Lion on the River. Then I spent some time on the Internet, researching some addresses and telephone numbers.
 

Around ten o’clock, I finished off my last cup of coffee, took a long hot shower and shaved. Then I dressed in clean clothes and headed downtown.
 

I drove past Marconi’s and then Niko’s, just to be seen if anyone was looking. Then I hopped onto Interstate 90 and headed west.
 

The office of the Washington State Patrol’s Spokane detachment was only a few exits west of the city. I found some visitor parking and went into the building. The small waiting room was empty except for a receptionist who sat behind safety glass.
 

“Can I help you?” she said, her tinny voice echoed through the microphone.
 

“I’d like to talk to the narcotics supervisor,” I said. “I have some important information but there’s not a lot of time.”
 

She gestured me toward the chairs in the lobby while she made a call. I ignored the direction and remained at the glass while she dialed and talked to someone. I couldn’t hear what she said but it didn’t matter. Me standing there would accelerate things. Despite the glass between us, her body language made it clear that she was uncomfortable with it. It’s amazing what an impact there is when you violate even the smallest of social expectations.
 

She hung up. “Detective Manning will be right out.”
 

“Thanks.” I smiled and nodded to her, then dutifully took a seat.
 

Less than five minutes later, a thirty-something detective in an off-the-rack suit entered the lobby through the locked door next to the reception desk. I stood as he approached.
 

“I’m Detective Manning,” he said, his tone as formal as his military haircut. “Misty said you had some information for us?”
 

“Not here,” I said. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
 

He hesitated. I knew what he was thinking. Was this just some worthless bullshit that was going to eat up an hour or two of his day when he could be doing casework? Or did the guy in front of him really have the goods?
 

My mostly clean look might have worked against me when it came to him weighing the odds on whether I knew some real criminals or not. The bruising on my face aside, I looked like someone who might be intent on putting him on to a ring of lunch money bullies or mailbox smashers. But the clean look also made me a normal citizen and the State Patrol would take a dim view of him blowing off my concerns.
 

“Sure,” he said after a moment. “Come on back.”
 

He led me through the secure door, down a short hall and to an interview room. Once inside, he offered me a seat at the square table.
 

I sat down. He sat in the chair to my left, not the one straight across from me. He probably did it out of habit. It broke down a physical barrier right away, which was a useful tactic whether this was an interview or an interrogation.
 

“Now, what about that information?” he asked me, folding his hands.
 

“Do you have a sergeant here?” I asked.
 

“Huh?”
 

“Do you have a sergeant here?” I repeated, a little slower. “Your boss?”
 

“Of course. What’s that got to do with—?”
 

“Get him.”
 

Detective Manning scowled. “Why?”
 

“In fact,” I said, “if you’ve got a lieutenant working today, you might as well bring him in, too.”
 

Manning leaned back slightly and crossed his arms. “Why would I do that?” he asked, his tone noticeably cooler.
 

“Because,
detective
, what I’ve got for you guys is way too high profile for just a detective.”
 

He didn’t like that but his professionalism kept him from getting pissy.  “Maybe you could give me an idea what it is you’re talking about, sir. Then I can decide if we need a sergeant in here or not.”
 

I leaned forward. “I think I said a lieutenant,” I said. “And if you don’t go get one right now, then what I’ll be talking about is filing a complaint against you.”
 

He didn’t budge right away, I’ll give him that. He must have been weighing in his mind how much of a beef I could really make over him not getting a supervisor. The truth was, not much. But people lied to
Internal Affairs all the time in their complaints and answering to those lies was just as stressful.
 

In the end, he took the easy route. “Wait here,” he said gruffly. Then he stood and exited the room.
 

I sat and waited, drumming my fingers. I avoided looking at the one way mirror to my left, even though I knew that at some point, Manning and his bosses would be in there looking at me.
 

I imagined the conversation in the other room.
 

What’d he want?
 

He wouldn’t say. He just asked for sergeant, then changed it to a lieutenant.
 

Who is he?
 

I hadn’t got that far yet. He sprung the supervisor thing on me right away.
 

And no idea what he wants?
 

None.
 

Huh.
 

And they’d think about it for a few minutes and then decide the only option was to come and see what the fuck I wanted.
 

It took almost ten minutes before the door opened again. Manning entered, trailed by a woman in her forties. She wore a nicer suit than Manning did but wasn’t as physically fit. She also looked tougher.
 

“My detective tells me you are demanding a supervisor.”
 

“He is correct.”
 

“I’m Lieutenant Lauridsen.” She held out her hand. “Who are you?”
 

I took her hand and shook it. “Jake Stankovic.”
 

She didn’t react to my name but I saw a spark of recognition in Manning’s eyes.
 

“And what can we do for you today, Mr. Stankovic?” Lauridsen asked. “Can we get straight to that? Because we’re a busy detachment here.”
 

“Of course,” I said. “Do you know a drug dealer here in town named Ozzy?”
 

The two of them exchanged a glance.
 

“Obviously you do,” I said. “Well, how’d you like to get him on tape delivering a pound of meth?”
 

And believe it or not, they were interested.
 

With the nugget I was giving them, you’d think Manning wouldn’t have held a grudge. But even after he walked me through my story and back again, he remained cool. He signed me up as a confidential informant in brisk businesslike fashion, and proceeded to give me directions on how to turn on the wire that he taped to my chest.
 

“Don’t be mad,” I said. “You would’ve had to get a supervisor to approve the wire anyway. I was just speeding things up.”
 

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Manning said. “You just worry about doing your part.”
 

“I will,” I said.
 

“We won’t talk again until after your meeting. If he delivers the methamphetamine, then he’ll be arrested immediately. You’re sure you’re okay with that?”
 

“Positive.”
 

“Because usually we wait a while so he won’t know right away that you were part of the controlled buy.”
 

“I know. But he’ll find out eventually when it goes to trial.”
 

“We try to keep the identity of our confidential informants sealed,” Manning said.
 

“Yeah, and how successful has that been for you?”
 

He shrugged. “Win some, lose some.”
 

“What you mean is that you win the ones the defendant doesn’t challenge and lose the ones he does.”
 

Manning gave me a curious look but said nothing.
 

“Besides,” I said, “he’s more of a threat to me now, so him going to jail takes the heat off of me.”
 

“Why is there heat on you from him?”
 

“I slept with his girlfriend.”
 

“Oh.” He still had that curious expression on his face.
 

I didn’t give him any more. I thought he might come right out and ask me about when I used to be a cop but he didn’t. Instead, he continued with the briefing.
 

“We’ll have you on GPS,” he said, motioning toward the small receiver taped to my belly. It was about the size of a mini iPod. “The GPS isn’t constant, though. It will come on when you activate the microphone.”