Snitch by Rene Gutteridge
Laura looked up. “What?”
“In the evenings I’ve been hanging around a couple of bars, establishing myself.”
“Why?”
“Because at the end of the day, the only person I trust to do the job right is me.”
“Does your team know?”
“Not yet.”
Laura ran her hand through her hair. “Just don’t get yourself killed.”
“I don’t plan to.”
“Keep me updated.”
Ron stood and walked to the door. “There’s a lot at stake here, Laura. I hope you know what you’re doing, and that you’re willing to reap the consequences.”
“Or the benefits.”
Jesse sat on one side of a stark white table that rested on a surprisingly shiny linoleum floor. A crisp, lemony scent filled the air. The room was empty except for one female prisoner talking with a boyfriend or husband.
The door opened, and a guard escorted Brandi by the elbow into the room. He let her go as Jesse stood. Brandi stared at him. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk with you.”
Brandi looked suspicious.
“I want to help you.”
“Yeah, right.” Brandi slowly walked to the table and sat down, looking around the room, seeming to appreciate the openness of it. “What is it you really want? You need a prom date?”
Jesse sat across from her and tried to remain calm and professional. He had expected feistiness. In high school, her mouth got her into a lot of trouble. Her lips formed a stiff, embittered line across her face, causing her to look older than her thirty-four years. “Look, Brandi, I’m not sure what went down with Capps. All we know is what we found.”
“So you don’t believe that Mason set me up,” Brandi said.
“Actually, I do. Which is why I’m here.”
She leaned forward. “You’re going to get me out?”
Jesse took in a deep breath, hoping he could explain all of this and make it sound appealing. “Right now your case is in the hands of the district attorney. Since you haven’t posted bail, you have to stay in here until the trial. I will most likely be called as a witness.”
“You’ll tell them you think I was set up?”
“I’ll be asked for the facts, and that’s all I can give. If there’s an opportunity, I can state my opinion. It’ll be up to your lawyer.”
“Al Hervett. The first time I met him, he had his tie tucked into his pants, and one side of his hair was sticking straight up. He smelled like he could use another drink.” She looked at him. “So why are you here if you can’t help me?”
“You know Mason has posted bail.”
“Yeah, I know. I talked to him. He said he’s working on getting me out, but I don’t believe him. He doesn’t care about me.”
“We’ve been in contact with Mason. From what we can tell, he’s up to no good. He’s in Las Vegas, and we think he’s involved in an auto-theft ring.”
“That would’ve been handy before. It would’ve been pretty hard to stuff a car in my purse.” She shook her head. “What a jerk. He gets out of jail and then decides to steal cars. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. He was a loser, and I knew it. I don’t know why I stayed with him.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Look where it’s landed me.”
“I want to talk to you about helping us get Mason.”
“Get Mason? What do you mean?”
“We had contact with him, but we lost it, and now we don’t know where he is.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“We were hoping you might know where he is.”
“If he’s not at his apartment, I don’t know. He got fired from the pub.”
“Do you have any other way of contacting him?”
“His cell phone.”
“It’s disconnected.”
Brandi shrugged her shoulders and avoided Jesse’s eyes. “I dunno, then.”
Jesse leaned in. “Brandi, if you’re willing to cooperate on this, it could help your case. I can’t promise you anything, okay? This isn’t a ticket out of here. But it will certainly help your case at trial when I explain the lengths you went to so we could get the real bad guy.”
“What lengths? What can I do?”
“Would you be willing to be a confidential informant?”
She thrust herself back in her chair and frowned like she’d just witnessed something horrifying. But she didn’t say no.
“You locate Mason, help us figure out who he’s connected to, and it could help your case.”
Brandi’s expression did all the talking. He read her train of thought like a large-print book.
“If Mason cared about you, Brandi, you’d already be out of here. This is your chance to set things right, to make him pay for setting you up.”
“I don’t think he realized it would be this bad.”
“Who are you kidding? He wanted you to take the fall for the whole thing.”
Tears dripped down Brandi’s face, and she brushed them away. “I really thought he loved me. I know that it sounds stupid. I haven’t had the best luck picking men.” She glanced up at Jesse with an irritated scowl. “This problem dates all the way back to high school.” She folded her arms. “Why should I trust you? You are, after all, a man. All men are selfish. You used me at prom, and now you want to use me again. You’re not so different from Mason, are you?”
“Brandi, I know what I did at prom, and it was horrible. But I was seventeen years old. I was an idiot back then.”
“And you’re not now?”
“I have a healthy respect for women. And I haven’t been that lucky with love, either.”
“Jesse Lunden with no love life? That is shocking.”
“Look, as much as I would love to divulge all my secrets on how to stay single and lonely, I would rather get back to business. Here’s the deal: you help us find Mason, and I will put in a good word about you to the DA.”
She thought hard for a moment. Then suddenly she grinned.
“Okay, Jesse Lunden,” she said, “I will help you. On one condition.”
She wasn’t exactly in the position to set conditions, but he played along. “Yes?”
“When I get out of this place, you take me on a prom date.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I want a corsage, you in a tux, me in a gown, us at a fancy restaurant you can’t afford. And a limo would be nice.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
The grin faded. “Do I look like I’m joking? Do you have any idea how horrible it is to be dumped by your prom date the night of the prom? Can you imagine how humiliating that is?”
No imagination needed. She kept talking.
“I really had a crush on you, you know? I know I said differently. But I was so excited to be asked to the prom by Jesse Lunden, king of the jocks. I didn’t feel worthy of going with you, but you asked. How could I turn you down? It was supposed to be the happiest night of my life. I drank because I was nervous. Then you dumped me five minutes into the prom.”
Jesse wanted to explain that he had been scared off by all the hint dropping she did on the way to the prom about how much she wanted to find the perfect man to settle down with. That’s terribly frightening to any man, but at seventeen, it’s like telling a guy he’s got three weeks to live.
“So that’s it? That’s how I can make this up to you?”
She nodded.
Jesse squeezed his eyes shut. Somehow this seemed like a really bad idea, yet if it would get him Mason, it might be worth it. But a tux? Maybe he could negotiate her down to a suit and tie. He’d have to buy one for church anyway.
“All right,” he finally said.
“Good.” She smiled. “It’s going to feel good to get Mason back for what he did to me.”
Mason wasn’t the only one she was getting back.
Chapter 32
Ron downed his third cup of coffee as he passively studied the me
“You want another?” he asked.
Ron turned on his barstool to face Tim. “Why not.”
“Well, if you were drinking alcohol, I’d tell you it’s because you have to drive home. But in your case, I’d say it’s because all that caffeine is bad for your heart. At least that’s what my doctor told me.”
Ron laughed as Tim reached for the coffeepot. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I don’t usually see many coffee drinkers in here. I keep it around for my wife. She likes to hang around here after she gets off work, but needs the caffeine to stay awake.”
Tim poured Ron another cup. “You’re new around here. Where are you from?”
“Chicago. My wife took off and left me with nothing. I’m starting over.”
“Maybe you could use something stronger than coffee.”
“Can’t do liquor anymore. That’s why she left me.”
Tim smiled a little. “Well, you’re a brave soul sitting in the middle of a bar.”
“I’m not ready to start playing dominos with old people at McDonald’s.”
Tim laughed. “All right. I’ll keep the coffee hot for you.”
“Thanks.”
Ron turned to watch the activity in the room. He was an expert at spotting dealers and users. He couldn’t explain to Nan how he knew. He just knew. Big-time dealers were almost always clean-cut. They were in it only for the money. Users weren’t hard to spot, for various reasons. He could also identify a con man in a crowd of twenty people. Something in his gut made the distinction. It was how he knew, all those years ago, that his partner had turned on him. Ron saw the change in his eyes. That’s what Ron always studied: the eyes, the body language.
And right now, the body language of the guy sitting next to him was screaming, “Notice me!” He’d plopped down next to Ron with a mug of beer. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw the man staring at him. A clinger—a guy who didn’t have any friends but came to bars hoping to make some. Sometimes clingers were useful. They often were familiar with other bar regulars. They liked to know other people’s business. They also could be a detriment, because they couldn’t read body language to save their lives, which meant they never got the hint to go away.
However, desperation could be useful in the hands of a cop. Ron took a sip of coffee and glanced at the man, who immediately offered a friendly smile. “How’re you doing?” the man asked.
“Good. You hang out here a lot?”
“Yeah. Before I go to work. Night shift.”
“Where do you work?”
“Caesars. In the kitchen.”
Ron turned and put his arms on the bar, giving the man his full attention.
The man continued talking. “I heard you say you’re not from around here.”
“Chicago.”
“What brought you to the desert?”
“My wife. She would have preferred I move to another continent, but she’ll have to settle for a parched and dry land.”
The man offered an understanding smile. “Divorced?”
“In the truest sense of the word. I always liked Las Vegas. So I took what little money I had, and I’m trying to start up a business.”
“What kind of business are you in?”
“My dad owned a body shop, and I worked for him when I was younger. That’s what I’m starting up. I’m still getting equipment, but I can do small repairs. And I’m always looking for parts.”
The man stared into the crowd for a moment, then looked at Ron. Ron stuck out his hand. “I’m Ron, by the way.”
“Doug.”
“Well, Doug, it’s time for an old fogy like me to get home.” Ron chuckled. “Actually, I wouldn’t call it home. Just a place to stay. I used to go nuts every time my wife would come home with some stupid new decoration for the house. Now I kind of miss those.”
“Well, you’re starting over,” Doug said, raising his mug of beer. “Maybe you’ll have better luck on this side of the world.”
Ron nodded, then slipped his hand into his back pocket. “Here’s my card. If you ever need any body work, give me a call.”
“Thanks. See you around,” Doug said.
Ron took his cane and headed toward the door, limping noticeably just for the effect. He could almost bet Doug would spread the news around. Soon enough, he’d be shaking hands with the real deal.
The house was unusually quiet. Nan was up later than usual, and her joints ached for her to get back to bed. But the pain was overshadowed by a quivering fear.
She hadn’t cried about it yet, but with every passing day, her suspicions grew. It was nearly eleven thirty. Normally the sounds of Ron’s harmonious snoring would drown out the hum of the air conditioner. Tonight, though, that’s all she heard, until she opened the hall closet door, which let out its faithful squeak.
A musty odor floated out, reminding her she should clean it soon. She put boxes and sacks aside, mostly Christmas decorations and other rarely used items. She crouched, then against her better judgment, kneeled as if she were going to pray. She might have to petition for intervention in order to stand back up.
She’d seen the signs, but didn’t want to believe them. Ron said he wasn’t doing undercover work, and she wanted to trust him. But her gut told her something different. Ron often said undercover work was a young man’s game. Even when he was in his late thirties, it seemed as if he’d outgrown it, but he stayed for a while longer.
There was no way to know if that had anything to do with Ron’s partner losing his mind. But Nan couldn’t help thinking that if Ron had gotten out sooner, Terry Bingham would’ve followed, and nothing would’ve happened to him.
Terry and Ron had been partners for many years, doing undercover work separately and together. Terry’s wife, Melissa, was Nan’s closest friend. Melissa was with Nan the night things fell apart.
The boys had been working a drug case for nearly eleven months. Terry had gone deep cover for weeks, and it looked as though they were going to bring down a huge operation that included corrupt politicians and government officials. They’d been using an informant, Jana, who had gone to jail on unrelated drug charges, but swore she could get them names and numbers of the big guns. It almost worked.
They didn’t count on Terry falling for Jana. And they didn’t know Jana was romantically involved with one of the bad guys. It became a complicated, emotional mess. Ron confronted Terry, and to Ron’s shock, Terry pulled a gun on him. Ron shot first. The bullet hit Terry’s spine, and in an instant, Ron’s partner was a quadriplegic.
Nan broke the news to Melissa. Ron was never the same. He retired from undercover work and started racing cars. It took years for Nan to feel like a part of Ron was back. Although a different man than she married, he had found his way back to her side. Eventually, his sense of humor returned. Life would never be normal again, she knew, but at least it had quality and purpose. She could live with that.
Last week, while he sat on the back porch waiting for Nan to bring out their dinner, she saw certain expressions, glimpses of his game face. Hints of the man who would take Ron’s place when he used to transition into a case. She passed it off as coincidence.
But she couldn’t pass off the half-dozen additional times she had seen it since.
Then, two nights ago Ron said, “I can’t sleep. I’m going to go watch some TV.” Normally after Nan mumbled for him to keep the volume down, she would roll back over and fall asleep. Not that night. She lay in bed, her mind whispering with paranoia. She got up to go talk with him. As she shuffled down the hallway, she laughed to herself because she could tell by the sound he was watching a cooking show.
But then she heard a click. And another click. And another. She stopped and listened.
He was dry-firing his gun. Over and over and over. She turned and went back to bed, burrowing in the covers, refusing to admit that her fears had co
Kneeling at the closet now, Nan knew how to confirm it. Back when their kids lived at home, Ron kept his personal guns in a safe. But now they were in a padded carrying case.
Nan tugged at the zipper and opened the case. She covered her mouth, fought the coming tears. Even in the shadowy closet, she could see three guns where four should be. The three remaining had been recently cleaned and oiled.
The sound of Ron’s truck turning into the driveway broke the heavy silence. She quickly zipped the case and put it back in the corner of the closet. Then she shoved all the boxes and sacks back in, closing the door just as his keys rattled against the front door. She hurried down the hallway, her knees cracking, trying to keep her footsteps quiet. She crawled back into bed, rolled over to face the wall, and threw the covers over her shoulder.
His footsteps stopped in the hallway. She heard the creak of the closet door and some rummaging. After a moment, the door closed again, and he walked toward the bedroom.
Nan shut her eyes and slowed her breathing, as if she were asleep. Soon enough, Ron was in bed with her, carefully lifting up the covers, trying not to wake her. And within minutes, he was asleep.
“You did what?” Dozer suddenly didn’t look the least bit sleepy. He sat up in the deck chair. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“Why would I be kidding?”
“Because that’s something you would kid about.” Dozer blinked. “You really did that?”
“You’re being a little melodramatic about it, don’t you think?”
“You just broke the golden rule.”
“That I should love people as much as I love myself?” Jesse smiled. “That’s going to be difficult.”
Dozer scowled. “The golden rule of using informants.”
“Which is?”
“Don’t play stupid.”
“That’s a good rule.”
“Stop joking around. You never, ever use an informant you have a personal relationship with. You know that.”
Jesse leaned back and crossed his ankles. “You’re overreacting. It’s not like I’m using my ex-wife.”