Total Immunity (21 page)

“He say what it was?”

“Something weird. About the Witness Protection Program. Guy wanted to know how he could get inside it, find someone who had changed their identity. I told Nicki he started playing around with that kind of stuff , he was going to end up in a trash bag.”

Jack felt a strange sensation in his temples, like a small electric current was whipping through his head.

“Witness Protection? The guy say why he wanted it?”

She shook her head.

“Nah. 'Least, Nicki didn't tell me. But he
did
say it was worth a lot of money to him if he could come up with it.”

“And did he get the information?” Oscar asked.

“I don't know,” she said. “Listen, boys, I'm getting all wet here and between you and me, I
hate
fucking graveyards.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jack said.

He handed her his Bureau card.

“You think of anything else, will you please call me?”

She looked down and read his name.

“Jack Harper,” she said. “Hey, listen, Jack, I'd call you even if I couldn't think of one damned thing.”

She smiled her sexiest smile and then turned and got into the drenched limo.

They watched her drive off in the rain.

“Man,” Oscar said. “What the hell was that about?”

Jack felt a buzz of confusion.

“Doesn't make sense,” he said. “Why would Steinbach or Forrester want a name out of Witness Protection?”

“I don't know. You want to hit Nicki's home again? We might have missed something.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Let's go.”

“I thought she looked great,” Oscar said as they headed to their car.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “What about the nostrils?”

“Looked like she had 'em worked on,” Oscar said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “That's what I thought, too. But she waited too long.”

“That's the problem with her career,” Oscar said. “You work in low-budget movies, you can't afford nostril work. That is, until you save up, and by that time, you're too fucking old to get eaten by the Beast anymore.”

“Tough racket,” Jack said. “But she was still cool.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “I always kind of dug the big nostrils, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Me, too.”

Oscar laughed. “Hey, you think agents in D.C. or other parts of the country have conversations like this.”

“Fuck, no,” Jack said. “Nostril work. That's a Hollywood thing.”

They smiled and got into their car.

27

CHARLIE AND KEVIN headed down Culver Boulevard toward Jack's place. They were cruising with the convertible top down in Charlie's 1968 Caddy Coupe de Ville, both dressed in their baseball uniforms. Sitting in the console between them were two double cheeseburgers from In and Out Burger.

Kevin took a bite of his Animal Burger and looked over at Charlie with an almost-worshipful gaze. Charlie smiled back at him.

“Oh, man,” Charlie said. “I wish your dad was here. I still can't believe that throw you made.”

Kevin smiled and tried not to think about the other day and what might have happened to him if Charlie hadn't appeared.

“I didn't really think I could get him,” Kevin said. “He was rounding second, and I hadn't even gotten to the ball yet. When I picked it up, I was three feet from the fence, and I saw him rounding third. I just wound up and let it go!”

Charlie nodded happily at the memory of it.

“Yeah. Amazing! Of course, you missed the cutoff man!”

Kevin's face suddenly went blank. “Cutoff man? What cutoff man?”

Charlie looked stunned. Then Kevin cracked up. And Charlie joined him. Then he threw up his right arm and made a fist.

“He's
out
!” he yelled. “The man is
out at home plate
!”

He jerked his thumb in the air as they made a left on Jack's street and a few minutes later pulled into the Harpers' driveway.

As they pulled in, Kevin suddenly felt choked up.

“Charlie,” he said. “Man, I owe you for what you did for me the other day. I don't know what I was thinking, going into that dude's house.”

Charlie shook his head.

“The important thing is you survived it. Look, kiddo, we don't have to say a word about any of this to your dad. He's had enough troubles for a while. But promise me this: If you feel the need to do something off the wall again, you come to my house first. Before you get in trouble. Okay?”

Kevin nodded his head and smiled sheepishly.

“You got it, Charlie,” he said.

“Okay, gotta get the bag,” Charlie said. “We got all the gloves in here?”

“Sure,” Kevin said. “I took care of 'em back at the field.”

Charlie smiled and tousled Kevin's thick black hair.

Kevin laughed and hugged Charlie. It struck Kevin that he really loved Charlie like an uncle or something. It was great having him around. But somehow loving Charlie made him wish his dad was around more, too. He hated it when his dad missed games. Of course, he couldn't help it because of his work, but still . . .

Better not to think about it. Put it out of his mind. Thank God for Charlie.

• • •

Charlie carried the canvas bag with the batting helmets, gloves, balls, and catcher's gear up the front steps.

Kevin drank another sip of his milk shake and remembered the great throw he'd made again as Charlie opened the door.

Charlie called out as they went inside.

“Jack? You back there?”

Kevin looked at Charlie quizzically.

“His car's not out there, Charlie,” he said.

“I know,” Charlie said. “But I thought I heard . . . something from the back of the . . . there! You hear that?”

This time Kevin heard it, too. A shuffling of papers, like someone was trying to clean up something . . . fast. Then a sound like someone stumbling around.

“Kevin,” Charlie said. “Get back to the car, fast.”

“What are
you
going to do?”

“I'm going inside. Don't worry about me.”

He set the canvas bag down by the overstuffed chair in the living room and took out a baseball bat.

“No, Charlie,” Kevin said, feeling panic rising in his stomach. “You can't go back there!”

Charlie turned and grabbed Kevin's shoulders.

“You get back out there to the car,” he said. “Now! I'm not letting anyone rob your house.”

Kevin saw the utter seriousness in Charlie's face and headed out the door. Maybe the guy who had come after him had somehow found out where he lived.

Charlie held the bat with both hands, swinging it back and forth like a sword in front of him.

“I'm armed,” he said. “You better come out now!”

He heard another scrambling noise. It seemed to be coming from Jack's second bedroom.

Charlie held his breath, heard the beating of his heart in his ears.

“I warned you!” he said. Then he dodged down the hall and quickly went into the back bedroom. The one Jack used as his study.

Charlie leaped inside, the bat in front of him. But the room was dark, and before he could see anything, something hard smashed him in his forehead. He fell to the floor, dropping the baseball bat, which rolled down the slightly inclined floor under the sofa.

Charlie felt his head swim and threw up his hands to protect himself from further blows.

But no more blows came. The intruder stepped over him and beat a hasty retreat to the back entrance of the house. Dazed, his head throbbing, Charlie heard him open the screen door and run out into the backyard.

Charlie made an effort to get up, but his head was killing him. Blood was dripping down his face, which put him in shock.

He tried to pull himself up again by using the couch as leverage, but when he got to his knees he felt a black pool collecting in his eyes. Seconds later, he lay unconscious on the floor.

“So far I got a big fat
nada,
” Oscar said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Me, too.”

He walked over to Sadler's bar and stared at the crystal decanters.

“There's got to be something we aren't seeing,” Jack said.

“Yeah. If
we're
the targets, then why does he need some guy's name in Witness Protection?”

Jack said, “The thing is, if Blakely and Hughes were killed because they were in bed with Steinbach, and they didn't give them the protection they said they would, maybe there's another angle here. Maybe someone in Witness Protection is involved in some other part of the case.”

“I don't get that,” Oscar said, slumping down in a dark leather chair.

“I mean, maybe Blakely and Hughes and somebody else in Witness Protection were skimming off the top. Maybe that's why they were killed. Maybe they have money put away . . . a lot of money . . . diamond money.”

Oscar nodded.

“So, according to that theory, the guy in Witness Protection had some kind of information about Steinbach. He and Blakely and Hughes were working some kind of scam. They've killed Blakely and Hughes, but they don't know how to get to the third guy 'cause he's got a new ID and a new address. So we should be looking for somebody in the program who once worked with Steinbach.”

“Right,” Jack said. “So think about it. Who would be looking for this guy? None other than Timmy Andreen. Still another reason I have to get into his computer.”

“I guess,” Oscar said.

“What's the matter? You don't like the theory?”

“No, no . . . I mean, as a theory it's all right, but, well, . . . you know how sometimes a case seems too easy. So you gotta look at it in a more complicated way?”

“This case seems too easy?” Jack laughed.

“No,
compadre,
this case is the exact opposite. It seems too damned complicated. I mean, we are breaking our asses trying to make this add up, finding connections here and there . . . but what if it was just a lot more simple?”

“Simple how?” Jack said. Oscar was starting to annoy the hell out of him. On the other hand, his partner had great instincts . . . and when he differed from Jack, there was usually a good reason for it.

“Come on, Osc, tell me a simple story. I'm all ears.”

Oscar sighed and shook his head.

“That's the problem. I don't have a goddamned story. But I do know what we need to find out. And that is who these sons of bitches are looking for. If we know that, we understand the whole case. I'm sure of it.”

“That makes sense,” Jack said.

“Okay,” Oscar said. “Let's say the whole case was about that. Let's say that everything that has happened from . . . from the day we arrested Karl-baby to Blakely and Hughes getting hit, to Sadler's death . . . Let's say all of it was really about that one thing. Some guy in Witness Protection. That somehow all of it added up to him.”

Jack felt a vague stirring inside of him. The idea sounded crazy, but what if it were true? The thing was, no matter how complicated a case was, it usually was about something simple. Something like money, or revenge, or power.

If you could find the one thing it was
really
about, then all the disparate parts might fall into place.

Maybe Oscar was right. Maybe they did have to think of it that way . . . as far-out as it seemed. Because the way they were going was getting them nowhere.

“You know, Osc, I think you might be on to something,” Jack said.

Just then his cell phone rang.

“Harper,” he said.

It was Kevin, and he sounded panicked.

“Dad,” he said. “Come quick. It's Charlie. He was attacked, right in our home.”

“Jesus!” Jack said. “How bad?”

“I don't know. He's unconscious, at Cedars. I called 911.”

“Good boy. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure. I rode over here with the ambulance drivers.”

“You see who did it?”

“No, Dad. Charlie heard something from the back of the house, like in your bedroom. Looks like they took your computer.”

“I'll be right there, Kev.”

Jack hung up and looked at his partner.

“Whoever wants this information wants it bad. They broke into my place and attacked Charlie.”

“Jesus!” Oscar said.

The two men turned and ran for the door.

28

JACK AND OSCAR PARKED in police parking at Cedars and ran into the emergency room.

Standing in the lobby with his baseball uniform still on, Kevin rushed to his father, hugging him in a way Jack hadn't felt since he was only an infant.

“How's Charlie doing?”

“He had to have twenty-four stitches in his forehead, but he's going to be okay,” Kevin said.

Jacked turned to Oscar, who crossed himself.

“In my own home,” Jack said. “The son of a bitch.”

But even as he said it, he realized that he didn't know which “son of a bitch.”

Oscar was already dialing his cell phone.

“I'm getting Tommy Wilson right now.”

Jack hugged Kevin tighter and felt the rage well up inside of him.

• • •

A few minutes later, Jack and Oscar stood by Charlie's bedside. The nurse, a middle-aged woman named Ruth Anne with bleached blond hair, smiled at them.

“Five minutes,” she said. “That's it.”

Jack smiled back at her.

“You in the business?” she said.

“The cop business,” Jack said.

“Oh,” she said. “I thought you were a producer. I've been doing a little extra work.”

Jack said nothing and she opened her palms, faceup.

“Hey,” she said. “A girl's gotta try, huh?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jack said. “You mind if I talk to my friend?”

“No problem,” she said.

She walked out of the room, giving Jack a sexy parting smile, just in case he was lying about not being a producer. It never hurt to leave a good impression.