Marked Man (10 page)

Bollier
ate, slept, and lived out of her office, venturing out into the world only once each morning for her pilgrimage to Starbucks. No place was safe for her now, she understood, but if Shirokov and his gang managed to rob her of her daily grande mocha Bollier figured that she might as well call it a life and put a bullet in her head. Besides, it was always crowded there and only a block from the station, and therefore brimming with both on and off duty police.

Sweat was dripping out of her
brow. The white towel tied around her chest was soaked through and felt like it weighed ten pounds, which was about as much as Bollier had lost in recent weeks. Whether it was the extended sessions in the steam room or the stress she couldn’t be sure, but at least it was one positive to the ongoing melodrama thriller that seemed to be her life. Perspective was what it was all about.

Bollier heard a noise out in the locker room area and perked her head up. She listened for footsteps but whatever the source of the sound was had gone.
Bollier sighed then decided to leave the steam room before she got overheated and passed out. She showered leaning against the stall, legs and arms feeling like warm jelly. Her skin was glowing red as if she’d gone through an intense cardio workout or an entire afternoon of sex. When she was through Bollier dried herself with a new towel and tracked a series of wet footprints into the locker area. She stood in front of her locker and pulled it open.

On the bottom shelf there was a tangled heap of sweatpants and headbands. A clean, pressed women’s blazer and slacks were suspended in a plastic dry cleaner’s pouch above the scrum. The smaller top shelf was empty except for a single shiny bronze bullet, standing erect in the center of the shelf.

Bollier nearly gasped but she refused to let it escape from her mouth and swallowed down her terror. It tasted foul and dead.

She stole a furtive glance around the locker room but of course she was alone. Bollier picked up the bullet and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, letting waves of cold rage wash over her. It was always foolish to leave her things unguarded. Like most of the detectives and other officers who called the 84
th
home Bollier never bothered with a lock. If your personal items weren’t safe in a police station after all, then where in the hell would they be? The equation had changed though. This violation of her inner sanctum was the most intrusive action yet. Even that slug Detective Castillo wouldn’t have had the stones to stroll into the women’s bathroom and put a bullet in her locker, which meant that the Russians had their hooks in at least one female cop working at the precinct. The circle of death was widening.

Suddenly feeling incredibly naked, Bollier dressed fast and hurried out of the locker room without drying her hair. Back
upstairs in her office she set the bullet down on the edge of her desk and got right back to working. An hour later her friend Sergeant Melanie Cole dropped by to say hello.

“Hey Les. How’s it going?”

Melanie made a face at the conspicuous bullet.

“What? Oh. It’s uh, it’s going. I’m getting a lot done.”

“Yeah I should hope so. We haven’t been seeing much of you lately. Is everything alright?”

Bollier shuffled a few forms around on her desk, trying to appear busy, trying to hide the quivering fear in her voice and failing at it.

“It’s going. I’m just dealing with some stuff at home right now. Shannon again.”

“What’s with the bullet?”

The Sergeant was eyeing the bullet like she was afraid it might leap off the desk and strike out at an innocent bystander entirely on its own will. Bollier wrung her hands and then smoothed them through her hair. Unconsciously she began rocking in her chair, a slight but perceptible bounce that made her resemble a senile grandmother in a nursing home.

“You want to know what’s with the bullet.” It wasn’t a question. Bollier studied her friend the Sergeant’s face for any creeping hostility. There was nothing there. Melanie was not a part of the plot; the ever expanding ring of fire had not found her yet. Either that or she could give Meryl Streep a run for her money at the Academy Awards. Bollier flashed an ugly smile and answered her friend’s question. “The bullet… was in my locker. Someone put it there while I was taking a shower today, just an hour ago. Here, in the precinct I’m being threatened by dirty cops.
Shirokov has bought at least two or three detectives and I don’t even know how many uniforms. I got abducted the other day while I was at the FBI field office of all places. I’ve been living out of this office. I haven’t gone home in weeks. My cat is in all likelihood dead by now, and any day now I’m probably going to join him. So, that’s it. That’s what’s up with the bullet. But how are you, Melanie? How are the kids?”

Sergeant Melanie Cole didn’t say anything. She didn’t bite back, didn’t rise to
Bollier’s bitter taunt. Melanie was always a better friend and more emotionally mature. Even when Bollier lashed out she never took it personally. As her friend came over and quietly squeezed Bollier on the shoulder she found herself resenting this superior emotional intellect, by contrast it only made Bollier feel worse about her own deficiencies.

The next morning just when she’d settled in with her mocha Bollier got a call from
Agent Clemons at the FBI. Wiping the warm chocolate and whipped cream from her mouth, she hurried to answer the phone.

“Kyle? Is that you?”

“That it is. I’ve got some good news detective.”

Hearing Kyle put Bollier at ease. At least there was one powerful friend she could still count on.

“Shoot.”

“I think I’ve found a solution to our problem. It will get your acquaintance out of hot water and it helps along our little side project. Can you swing by today to meet? I can tell you all about it.”

Bollier almost panicked at the thought of driving out to Queens by herself. “Could you come by my precinct instead? I’m kind of slammed here at the moment. It would make my schedule today a whole lot easier.” This was a violation of their protocol, every time she had gone to him, but Bollier hoped that seeing her with a federal agent would put the fear of God into whoever was trying to intimidate her. A second elapsed as Agent Clemons considered the change of plans.

“Yeah I can do that. I’ve got some Christmas shopping to do that I’ve been putting off, maybe I’ll check that off my list after we’re through.”

“Great! I’m so glad that you can make it. Thank you so much Kyle.”

“No problem. Be there around eleven.”

When Agent Clemons arrived at the precinct at 11:15 Bollier came bounding out of her office to greet him at the front desk. She practically tackled him with a hug which took him by surprise.

“AGENT Kyle Clemons, how have you been?”

“Can’t complain. How about you, champ? How you holding up?”

“OH I’m just dandy. Follow me I’ll show you around on the way to my office.”

Detective Bollier made a show of introducing her special FBI friend Kyle to almost every single person she could find around the precinct, even the cops whose names she could not readily recall when introducing them. Bollier talked loud and laughed louder at her own stupid jokes and slapped her co-workers on the back. Twice the detective accidentally got lost on the way to her office, wandering around to the remote cubicles on the southeast side of the building and showing off Special Agent Clemons to everyone she came across.

Castillo was milling around the break room waiting for a fresh pot of coffee to brew when Bollier walked in with her new friend in tow.

“Morris! You simply have got to meet my friend. This is Agent Kyle Clemons. He works at the FBI field office out in Kew Gardens.”

Awkwardly Castillo offered his hand for the fed to shake. Special Agent Clemons grinned and shook it heartily with a white knuckled grip.

“So this is the famous Detective Castillo! I’ve heard so much about you.”

Confused, Castillo pulled his hand away and looked back and forth between Bollier and the FBI man. He was at least six feet tall, wide-shouldered, fresh-faced, everything you expected an FBI agent to look like from the movies, only he didn’t have the giveaway Hollywood star handsomeness. Clemons had a grim stare and a chin that looked sharp enough to break ice. The overall effect made Castillo visibly nervous.

“You uh. You’ve heard of me before?”

“Oh heck yes, over at the FBI we know all about you.”

Bollier could have died at the face that Castillo made. She would have kissed Kyle if there weren’t so many lingered eyes about.

“Well I’ll let you get back to work. It was great meeting you finally.”

“Uh. Yeah, you too.”

As they were strutting out of the break room Bollier winked at Castillo and Agent Clemons made a two-finger gun salute. Back in her office Bollier closed the blinds and thanked Kyle for coming all the way to meet her here, it meant a lot. Slowly Agent Clemons drew it out of her why she had refused to drive out to the FBI building. Bollier told him about the bullet, about hiding out at the precinct, and finally about being abducted from the parking garage next to his building.

Agent Clemons listened to Bollier intently, asking her to go over every detail a couple of times. When she was through he shook his head.

“Sounds like you have a guardian angel. You have no idea who was on the phone with
Shirokov?”

“No. Whoever it was though I can’t imagine they only had my best interest at heart. I mean maybe he’s brought down too much heat with this whole Ross thing.”

“Yeah that’s a thought. Speaking of which, I think I have an idea that will throw the Russians off his tail.”

Detective Bollier flipped the lid off of her
grande mocha and drank the rest of it even though it had gone cold. She crossed her legs in her chair and waited for Agent Clemons to explain his brilliant plan.

“Well. This is going to sound crazy, but… have you ever seen
Sleeping with the Enemy
?”

In the back of her head Bollier remembered renting the Julia Roberts flick with some early girlfriend
from the video store a long time ago. After
Pretty Woman
it was the actress’ second big breakthrough role. Through most of the movie Bollier hadn’t really paying attention as she was too preoccupied with the goings-on beneath the blanket she was sharing with her date. While she could not remember the finer points of the plot, Agent Clemons’ intent quickly became apparent to her.

“You have got to be kidding.”

…

Jordan Ross asked the FBI agent and Detective Bollier go over it one more time. Faking a death, as it turned out was a relatively simple affair if one had the resources to pull it off. Whereas most people in Jordan Ross’ situation would be put into witness protection, shipped off to the other side of the continental United States and given a new identity, that wouldn’t work in his case. For one
Bollier’s FBI friend did not have the authority to grant asylum to a wanted fugitive, and secondly neither Ross nor his conspirators had any interest in making him actually disappear.

The plan then was to convince the Russians that Jordan Ross was dead. To do this effectively, one would have to utilize some considerable resources. Luckily Agent Clemons had a discretionary budget at his disposal to fight organized crime and use as he saw fit. The first step would be releasing the news. FBI sources would arrange for a news story to be released in several major media outlets about a former green beret who committed suicide after losing his wife and daughter in a tragic accident several
months earlier. His family would be notified and a service held, closed casket of course. A tombstone would be carved and a grave dug. It was really only a matter of resources.

The problem, as Special Agent Clemons explained, was the little details. Like in the absurd battered wife movie with Julia Roberts, it was always the tiniest coincidence, the most unthinkable circumstance that tripped people up and blew the
ir cover when they tried to pull it off. In the film the abusive husband first begins to suspect something is amiss when he steps on a piece of broken glass on the beach which had been instrumental to his wife’s escape. Agent Clemons admitted this was a silly example, but the point was essentially true. One object was all it took. One loose string could untie the entire knot.

For two hours Jordan listened to Bollier and Agent Clemons go over the plan. Once he was officially deceased, he would have to radically change his appearance. Growing a long beard and shaving his head bald would be just the start.

Meeting in the sun room of Shannon’s family cottage home, Agent Clemons, detective Bollier and Jordan Ross reviewed the first stage of the plan. After giving him a quick once over Clemons declared that Ross was going to have to get in shape.

“What do you mean? I’m in shape.”

“Don’t mistake my meaning please. For an average, healthy male of your age, yes you are in shape. But for what we’re planning you might as well be the Pillsbury dough boy.”

Jordan looked to Bollier for support.

“What you’re planning?”

“Well. See Kyle and I have had this idea for several years now. The Russians have done an extraordinary job of evading prosecution, whether through bribes, extortion, or killing witnesses. Of course we can’t go into too many
specifics but they’ve infiltrated the department to a disturbing level. In order to bring them down somebody’s going to have to meet them down on their level.”

The sun was warming Jordan’s back as he warmed to the idea. He teased for more detail.

“Meaning what exactly?”

Agent Clemons cleared his throat and measured his words. He had been trying to articulate the broad strokes for five years. In truth, avoiding the inevitable conclusion that only by going outside of the law could
Shirokov’s organization be fully destroyed.

“I’m not going to mince words with you, Mr. Ross. What Leslie and I have in mind is exceedingly dangerous, ethically dubious, and illegal in the fucking extreme. Ever since
Bollier’s partner…”

Bollier waved her hand to warn him off the subject which she felt too raw to share with strangers.

“Let’s just say, certain events have colored our understanding a decidedly dark shade of gray, if not black.”

What they were asking for was readily apparent to Jordan Ross, and in principle he was fully on board, but he was not about to go out on a limb
if the FBI man and the detective couldn’t even bring themselves to say it.

“Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you want from me? What am I to you?”

For a moment Bollier and Agent Clemons hesitated on the precipice. Not surprisingly, Bollier found the courage to put the conceit into words first. Once the snowball was rolling down the hill though Agent Clemons joined in exuberantly.

“We want you to be Batman.”

“Only with guns.”

“Lots of guns.”

“I have access to information through my office that can rip up Shirokov’s gang. I know the key players, I know where they hang out, and I know what their excesses are. The detective here has an extensive network of criminal informants. Between the two of us we would function basically as your very own personal intelligence agency. We supply the targets…”

The door to the sunroom creaked open just as Agent Clemons was hitting full stride. Shannon shyly poked her head in carrying a pitcher of apple cider.

“Is anyone thirsty? I just made a batch of this…”

Together the three of them said no thanks, practically all at once. Already they were in sync.

“How about something from the pantry, I’ve got crackers, plus some…”

“Shannon.”

Bollier spoke her name like she was a beloved but infantile family pet that had made a mess on the rug after she’d been warned repeatedly to do her business outside. Slowly, Shannon shrunk away and closed the door behind her. When they were sure she was no longer lingering by the sunroom door Agent Clemons resumed his briefing for Jordan.

“We supply the targets and you hunt them down one at a time. But not all of them. Some of them will have vital information, and they’ll have to be… persuaded to help you. If you catch our meaning.”

“It’s not hard to pick up on.”

“Good. So, if we’re all agreed that this is the path we’re going to go down, then as soon as I get back to my office I’ll get to work with killing you off. In the meantime Bollier
is going to expend some saved up vacation time and will stay here with you help with your training regimen.”

“Training regimen?”

The workout and diet plan that Agent Clemons outlined for Jordan Ross was a brutal ten week course designed to blast every fat cell in his body into oblivion. For breakfast Jordan would drink a green smoothie consisting of kale, lemon rind, and banana, along with two boiled eggs. After breakfast Jordan would jog four miles uphill on the treadmill. For lunch Jordan would get another green smoothie, consisting of spinach, blueberries, and lemon rind, plus a slice of two grams of lean turkey deli meat. In the afternoon Jordan would undergo strength resistance exercises, followed by sprinting an even footed six miles on the treadmill. Dinner would be a feast of asparagus, cauliflower, and two grams of halibut. Forbidden items included sugar, red meat, grains, dairy, and starch. Every seventh day Jordan could rest his body and be afforded one baked potato as a treat. Provided that he followed the training regimen’s instructions to a tee, at the end of the ten week period Jordan Ross would be as physically fit as any human being could be expected to be. In the army Jordan had gone through similar diets but nothing quite this intense. He agreed that he could pull it off and would stick to the program.

“Great. Oh, and there’s just one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“No drinking. The only liquid that you’re allowed on this program will be water.”

That last caveat proved too much for Jordan.

“Well fuck it then. No deal.”

Detective Bollier tried to be sympathetic, because the thought of going without booze for ten weeks was as alien and cold to her as anything she could imagine.

“Look. God knows I couldn’t handle going that long without a taste, but you know what alcohol does to your body. Even as little as two drinks a night would set back your progress several weeks. We don’t have the time.”

“I’m well aware of the effects and I don’t care. If you want me to be your Batman guinea pig crusader then there’s going to have to be some compromise on this. Neither of you are taking the risk. You get to sit in your offices in the air conditioning and go through files. I’m going to be out in the field. If something goes wrong I’m going to be the one who gets dead. Not you.”

The two of them tried for the better part of an hour to sway Jordan’s mind. In the end, they had to settle for a vague promise that Jordan would do his best to drink as little as possible, and if he did he would stick exclusively to the
clear stuff; gin and vodka and white tequila. Arguing with Jordan proved to be a drain on Agent Clemons’ will.

“Alright. I guess that’s as good as we’re going to get for today. Anything else Les?”

Detective Bollier pursed her lips and let out a huff of air.

“Nothing that I can think of. What about you Mr. Ross? Any doubts? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Sounds good to me. I feel like we should formally seal the deal.”

Special Agent Kyle Clemons nodded and reached out to shake Jordan’s hand, but he didn’t move.

“I was thinking something more along the lines of a toast.”

For a moment the fresh-faced federal agent looked like a vein in his head was going to explode at the speed of sound, but Bollier smirked and put him at ease.

“He’s just fucking with you Kyle. Take it easy.”

“Yeah. Just kidding. You FBI folks sure like to take things literally.”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose we do.”

Shannon burst in with a flacon of
finely aged scotch and a set of four glasses on a tray. Her face was a deep shape of red, like a passion fruit and she smelled like the inside of a whiskey distillery.

“
Nooo! Come on now I say we all have a toast anyway!”