Scarla (7 page)

He strolled to the table, finding a fourth chair empty. “Sorry I’m late, I just got the message.”

Delmones patted him on the back. “Don’t worry about it. Good to see ya, Facil.”

Rattan interrupted. “Lieutenant, I want to introduce you to our new partner,
Mr. Ray Smith
.” The third man stood slowly, extending a limp hand. Facil shook it. Smith’s skin was cold, and while his mouth had curled into something resembling a smile, his eyes were dead.

“I didn’t know we had a new partner,” Facil said to the Chief. Then turning back, “Ray Smith?”

“Center for Disease Control,” Smith replied, still gripping Facil’s hand.

“Sit down, Lieutenant. Let’s discuss some things,” Rattan said, easing back into his chair.

Facil sat. “Such as?”

The Chief leveled a cool gaze on him. “We’ll start with 3417 Overlook Drive.”

“What about it?”

“You applied for a search warrant this morning.”

“Is there a problem?” Facil replied, eyeing everyone. Delmones watched the table. Smith stared queerly. They’d just met, but Facil wanted to smack him already.

Rattan shot a look at Delmones, who didn’t react, then continued. “Do you know who
Michael Glissberg
is?”

Facil paused. He knew the surname, everyone did. Jan Glissberg had run the
Times
for twenty seven years, and anyone in town with
that
name was in the family. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots, but Facil poker-faced it. “No.”

Delmones eyed him. The Chief was unamused. “You fucking well
should
, he owns the house. Who did you think you were getting a warrant on?”

Facil looked at Ray Smith, whose eyebrows were arched so high it looked like he might take flight.
Creepy bastard.

Rattan picked up steam. “Do you
really
intend to raid Glissberg? And what,
arrest him?
”

Silence. All eyes were on Facil. “Something like that.” More silence.

Finally, Delmones cracked a rueful smile. “I’d have a bitch of a time keeping
that
quiet.”

Facil eyed him. “Wanna give it a shot?”

The Chief blew his top, hammering the table with a fist that bounced the glasses. He composed himself before speaking. “You’re not getting a warrant.”

Facil didn’t miss a beat. “The house is a problem.”

“We have bigger problems to deal with.”

“With all due respect, Chief, I thought that’s why we’re out there.”

Rattan blinked rapidly, a sign that he was really about to explode. “To bust the
Glissbergs?
And make
headlines?
Is that what you thought?”

“There was a massacre there last night.”

“A massacre involving
whom
, Lieutenant?” “Security staff, a doctor, I don’t know the extent of it—” Rattan leapt to his feet, red-faced. “If you don’t know, who knows?!
Who knows?!!”

Smith leaned back with a wince, fingered his ear, adjusted his tie. Delmones grew fidgety, eyed the door. Facil remained composed. If the guy in charge couldn’t control himself, clear decisions wouldn’t be made, and if directive muddled, there’d be no point in continuing. Plus, he really didn’t like being yelled at.

“Scarla knows.”

Rattan paced.
“Jesus fucking H Christ.”

Delmones spoke up. “Is Michael Glissberg alive?”

Facil always appreciated Tommy’s cool head. “I think he is.”

The Chief glared. “You
think?”

Facil shot a look back. “That’s what I said.”

Delmones breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. This is good, we can handle this. Do you know, I mean, is he
injured
, or—?”

Facil shook his head. “I need to go back to find out. If we haven’t gotten a call by now, he’s either dead or covering up, because there’s at least five bodies up there and one injured that might be dead too. We need to check all hospital activity from around ten o’clock last night.”

Delmones bit his lip, thinking. The Chief and Ray Smith shared a grim, wordless look. Delmones muttered under his breath. “Five dead, one wounded. Neighbors overhear, they’d call it in.” He winced at Facil. “Witnesses?”

“Closest neighbor’s about a hundred yards. Gated estates. I didn’t see anyone.”

“Okay.” Delmones turned to Rattan, Solution 1 cocked and loaded. “Easy answer, if Mike Glissberg’s got bad shit going on at his place, why break our asses to cover
his?
It blows up in his face one way or another. We can go in on a phony disturbance call and pin any casualties on the cartels, call it a bad deal, turf war, blame the spics. Whattaya think?”

The Chief stared at Facil. “Did you at any time identify yourself as a police officer?”

Facil shook his head. “No.”

“What about Fragran? Did she tell anyone she was working for the department?”

“She knows better.”

“A lot of people know better.
Did
she?”

“No, she didn’t.” Facil wasn’t exactly sure she didn’t—
she’d been drugged, after all
—but even if she did, he wouldn’t tell them. And they knew he wouldn’t, which rendered the whole line of questioning moot and only served to further piss him off. A lot of secrets were coming to light.

The Chief sat down. “We’re not touching it.”

Delmones looked at him. “Whattaya mean?”

Rattan carefully unrolled silverware from a napkin, laid the cloth across his lap. “Let’s get some appetizers while we’re here, I’m starving.” Silence. All eyes were still on him. He directed his words at Delmones. “I mean we leave it alone. Disregard anything that’s discussed here.”

Smith casually eyed the AGPS screen on his phone, saw a red blip blinking on the corner of 2nd and Allums. He tapped it with his index finger to zoom in. Big H’s Fighting Gym, 6602 2nd Street. A sneaky smile crept across his face, morphing into a clamp-lipped stare when Facil addressed him.

“What’re you doing here and how do you know about this?”

Smith’s eyes seemed to bulge at the challenge. The smile remained as he spoke. “Chief Rattan briefed me on your situation some weeks ago, and my office received the first tissue samples from Dr. Harris yesterday. Moving forward, we find it preferable to take a more hands-on approach to this problem.”

Facil didn’t miss a beat. “We’ve been about as hands-on as you can get up to now. What exactly do you plan to do?” Then, to the Chief, “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

Rattan shot back even faster. “I’ll save you the time, Lieutenant, you’re relieved of duty.”

Facil glared at him. “What?”

“You heard me. Your involvement in this operation is over, effective immediately.”

“You’re pulling the plug?”

“No, I’m reassigning you. Scarla has a psychological evaluation scheduled tomorrow morning with Dr. Crane. Pending favorable results, she’ll report to Mr. Smith.”

Smith smiled. The Chief was stone-faced.

Facil kept cool. “No, she won’t. If I come out, she comes out.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Does
she
know that?”

“She will.”

“Then she’ll walk, it’s not what we agreed to.”

Rattan got down to brass tacks. “Let me spell it out for you, Lieutenant. You don’t have to accept reassignment, but if you choose not to, this department certainly appreciates your years of service and accepts your resignation. You can leave your badge and weapon on the table before you go. It’s your call.”

Silence. Delmones watched the table. Facil processed the news. He didn’t look at Smith, knowing he’d see an expression that would drive him over the edge. The Chief waited for a response. Facil cleared his throat. “She won’t work with anyone else, not at this point.”

Smith unwisely interjected. “If that’s the case, there will be consequences.”

Facil glared.
“Such as?”

Smith smugly addressed Rattan. “Well, it’s not as if the woman’s been yielding stellar results. I’m sure the department could employ other whores who’d perform better.” If the conversation had been captioned, it would’ve read,
some guys just need to learn the hard way.
But it wasn’t, so Smith had no forewarning of the line he’d crossed.

Facil laughed. He always had a tendency to smile before unleashing a shit storm. Delmones knew it, and was already wincing when Facil vaulted across the table and grabbed Smith by the lapels, hurling him to the floor. The Chief and Delmones sprang to their feet.

“LeTour!”
Rattan shouted.

Facil grabbed Smith by his necktie, growling in his face. “Is that how you talk in Washington?” He stunned Smith with a hard right, dragged him across the room by his tie. Delmones eyed Rattan, who calmly speed-dialed headquarters.

Smith gagged and kicked his legs, as Facil dragged him down the hallway and threw him through a table in the front room. The hostess stood frozen at her podium. Bar patrons watched, drunkenly amused. Facil eyed them. “Sorry everyone, I just found this piece of
shit
in my food.” One guy laughed. Smith tried to crawl away, but Facil kicked him in the ass, then kicked him through the room, upending tables and chairs. Rattan and Delmones hooked his arms, but he threw them off. The hostess fled and Facil bombed Smith through the podium into the front door, then stood over him. “Like your new job,
asshole?
” He unleashed a flurry of punches that bounced Smith’s head off the floor, opening up both sides of the man’s skull. Blood splattered. Rattan and Delmones wrestled Facil outside.

They hit the sidewalk as a squad car roared to the curb. A jogger swerved to avoid them, never breaking stride. They let Facil go. The cops looked familiar.
Carmichael and DiCenzo.

Rattan jammed a finger at Facil. “Cuff him!” They hesitated.

Delmones lowered his voice. “Don’t make it a show, Darrin.”

Rattan exploded. “Don’t make it a
show? Too late, it’s
fucking Broadway! Did you see that performance in there?!”

Then, to the rookies. “What the fuck are you waiting for, I said
cuff him!”
Carmichael slapped them on. Rattan took the gun from Facil’s shoulder holster. “They’ll collect your badge at the station, LeTour.”

The rookies eased Facil into the squad car as an ambulance pulled up behind them, siren blasting until the Chief made a slashing motion across his throat. “We have an agent down inside, possible head injury,” he barked.

The medics rushed past the hostess, who’d come out to smoke and eavesdrop. She held the door as they hustled in and huddled over Smith, who lay motionless.

Delmones approached her with his card. “If anyone from the press tries to talk to you, I’d like you to call me first, okay?”

She took a drag, then the card. “Mm-kay.”

He smiled. “What’s your name?”

* * * *

DiCenzo got behind the wheel, eyeing Facil in the rearview. “So, the legend’s true.”

Carmichael settled into the passenger seat, making sure the Chief wasn’t watching. “You gotta tell us what went down, sir. If you
can
, I mean.”

Facil leaned close to the cage separating them. “Can we make a quick stop before processing?”

“Name it,” Carmichael shot back.

“Take me in, and make sure no one gets in the elevator with us.”

The rookies exchanged a look. DiCenzo hit the gas.

Welcome to the Big Time.

A Hazmat-suited duo aimed paint spray guns at the Overlook den’s bloodied walls, squeezing the triggers and hosing the room in white. The bar, furniture, curtains, and chandelier had all been removed. The floor and windows were covered with precision-taped clear plastic. The men wore safety goggles and surgical masks, working in silence on opposite sides of the room, their backs to each other. Shortly, there’d be no evidence of the previous night’s mayhem. Upstairs, in one of several guest bedrooms, a very different scene was playing out.

Tall, dark, dangerous Robert sat at the edge of a king-sized bed. The walls, floor, and furniture were covered in the same clear plastic being used downstairs, but the bed was made up in ornate red down and plush pillows. Robert was in bad shape. Naked, save for a band-aid on the bridge of his nose, both eyes blackened and nearly swollen shut. He was toothless, bloody gums still throbbing behind split lips. A teenaged girl sat beside him, her small pale hand in his lap, stroking his flaccid cock dutifully. She chewed gum absently, wore pewter mallrat rings on every finger and equally cheap bracelets on both wrists. She was a boulevard punk, tousled hair bottled five different colors with dirty blonde truth showing at the scalp. She wore no lipstick, and too much sparkly eye shadow on two big blue pools. With a shower, delousing, and rehab, she’d still pass for the girl next door. But that was in a what-if lifetime, not her current one, so there she was—staring blankly into a security camera, while masturbating a battered middle-aged creeper for twenty bucks. She had no way of knowing it would cost her much more than her pride, or what was left of it. It was
twenty bucks
, after all.

The man’s voice came over the intercom.
I’m afraid this isn’t working, shall we try a different approach?
Robert hung his head, defeated.

The girl let go of his cock, addressing the camera. “I’ll suck him off for fifty,” she offered. Silence. Robert just stared.
Very well, proceed.
The girl spit a bright green wad of bubblegum on the plastic, sweeping her hair back and lowering her head. She bobbed steadily, breathing loud through a stuffy nose. Robert closed his eyes.
Mmmm, much better,
cooed the voice. The girl gave a thumbs-up to the camera, kept sucking.
Lovely, darling, lovely.
Robert grunted approval, his body tensing. He palmed her head, forcing her lower until she gagged. She looked up, teary eyed. “I can’t go that deep.”
It’s quite alright. Please continue.
She hesitated, catching her breath, then resumed.

Robert white-knuckled the bedding, fully erect. “It’s coming,” he groaned. The intercom was happy with the news.
Wonderful!

The girl wrapped her fingers around the base of Robert’s cock, readying for a hasty retreat before the big bang. She wrinkled her nose and pulled back fast, yelping as she skinned her lips on his frozen shaft. “Ow,” she whimpered, surprised and confused, raising a hand to her mouth as blood trickled down her chin. She’d never know what hit her, and that was somehow merciful.