The Case of Financial Woe Chapter 3

Hey folks!  Sorry for the absence here.  I have really taken a liking to the audio reviews that I have forgotten to post any written work on the blog.  To tide you over, I present the next chapter of The Case of Financial Woe.  Enjoy.   I will also post the audio review on here as well.

Chapter 3

Well I was wondering how long before this happened. I turned off the ride and slid out nice and slow so my large federal officer didn't have any just cause to go for a sidearm or slam me into my car. He looked mid-thirties, clean shaved and crew cut with a tailored suit to conceal his shoulder holster rig. As taunt as the suit was I am certain he didn't have an ounce of body fat to go with it.

Seriously, this guy was solid. "How can I help you, Agent Reynolds?" Reynolds seemed taken back but then realized he just showed me his credentials less than a minute ago. "You can start by dropping this case on one Chet Baker and that will suffice." "Uh huh. Well I don't see that being a problem as I am after a con man name of Raymond Mezrich. Seems he has acquired less than legal holdings which he has laundered through real estate to make it squeaky clean."

Reynolds looked less than happy at this point. "Yes Mr. Malone you will need to leave him alone as well. You are interfering with an ongoing series of investigations and we would urge you to cease all activities in this nature." I scratched my chin noticing Agent No Name circling around my car and peering into it. Not actually taking stock of anything but I don't care for the action.

"Of course I won't be compensated nor will my client be given the satisfaction of seeing this man going to jail. That about right?" Reynolds now looking annoyed, crossed his rolled carpet thick arms and gave me a glare. "Mr. Malone. You have been ordered by a United States official to back off an ongoing investigation or we will have problems." " Agent Reynolds. Are you threatening me with physical violence and/or to my profession?" "I'm saying jackass, walk away from this or I put you in a hurt locker, slap you with fines and make sure your license gets taken away from you. Now your client's name. I need explain why this issue has to be dropped."

I fixed him with a mediocre scowl I usually reserve when the bank teller says I don't have enough funds in my account than they prefer. " My client is confidential, you have no supeona, no probable cause or for that matter any jurisdiction over me and I do not feel inclined to speak on this matter any further. Good day. I moved off my car and Reynolds pushed me back on it, getting up in my face. "Look dammit. I am a Federal officer and everything sneaky bit of peeping you do in your so-called "profession" can be exactly my business if you don't start cooperating." No Name spoke up. "Take it easy, Blake. Kid's just watching out for his client." "Blow me Clarke."

Reynolds swiped his shades off to reveal an extremely pissed off set of steely blue eyes glaring through me as it was supposed inspire either fear of God or just an involuntary need to shit my pants. "Now start talking or I will rain hell down on you, you'll beg to be thrown in jail." I took his massive hands off my jacket, smoothed out the material and shot him the glance I give when my bank's current balance is greater than my available balance. I muttered soft but audibly, "So assault, verbal abuse and threatening my livelihood is supposed to make me roll over? Man you either have no idea with whom you are speaking with or you think that you stride across water. Now back off."

Well that did it as Reynolds swung a fist at my head. I ducked at the last minute letting him punch Detroit steel, darted out of his range and moved around the front of the car. Agent Clarke came up behind Reynolds in a bear hug trying to calm him down. "Jesus Reynolds! Let it go!" Two minutes of this grappling continued and I had enough.

I opened my jacket, slid my phone out, hit stop and send directly to Tom's account.

I smiled almost Chesire like and glared at Reynolds. So stopping to fix my tie, I decided to break the news.

"Well Agent Reynolds, what we have here is a bit of a situation. I left my phone to record with this nifty attached microphone during your "polite" intentions. It is now pointed out your abuse of authority, an attempt at assault and your need to vent your spleen."

Reynolds went slack in Clarke's arms. He looked like he wanted to kick my nuts up into my throat. His mouth started to open but I continued on. "Furthermore this scuffle just got sent to a very shrewd, capable writer who digs dirt until he finds gold. How long will it take him with his various contacts to find out which department you are from, your supervisor and whether or not you have a career afterwards? My humble advice is you already warned me off and that should suffice. Anything else happens is out of your hands." I beamed at him with my smile that can only be used when encountering a hideous baby.

Reynolds, not thrilled with this outcome shrugged Clarke off his arms and walked up to me. I drew my Sig out of my opened jacket. "Don't." Reynolds and Clarke both froze. "I don't normally have to deal with anyone on this level but I won't trust a damn thing you do or say. Back up and go around the car. I don't aim this at you unless you come a step further." Reynolds went with a feral gaze. "And how will you explain gunning down two federal officers, Mr. Malone?" I replied coldly, "If all things go as I asked, I will never have tell that tale. Last warning, back off Reynolds."

Not completely able to gauge my skill versus they're being 8 feet away, the boys kept their hands down and circled the car slowly. True to my word, I didn't aim or cock the hammer back as they went down the street. "You won't get away with this," Reynold felt the need to fire at me. "Well I'm the guy that was harassed by law enforcement, my lawyer would have a field day with this batch of legal nasties. You've made your point, Reynolds. Now I invite you to leave."

Clarke put Reynolds in the passenger seat after clearly chastising him. What was said I didn't heard but the general vibe was shut up and get in the car. I point the Sig back on the hip holster, glad I didn't have to use it but damn if that wasn't close. Whatever Mezrich was into has enough people worried that a guy that probably isn't this high strung just lost his cool in a big rush. So now becomes the question: Do I stay the course or do I return my client's money and walk away?

I don't like disappointing my clients but sometimes life isn't a gritty Raymond Chandler novel. The Lincoln pulled out and they were off. Presumbly to fix this mondo clusterfuck of an event and smooth things over with their boss. I failed to mention to them both I already knew they were U.S. Marshals with Witness Protection. I thought depriving them of that particular detail might put them at ease. About an hour from now their higher up is going to invite me over for some polished ass kissing seen only from James Spader's performance in Maniquin.

Steady to course, Jake. You know you don't have to behave the way they want you to but you got to tread these waters carefully. Chances are they were tailing him and not me so they haven't any bugs or tails on me so far. Nevertheless I headed back into the office to burn Baker's greatest hits on a thumb drive and hide in my safe. I called Ms Dietrich and gave her the whole story. I told her if she wanted to give this still a go then I will and how I do such will she would not be privvy to that information. The less she knows, the less the feds can climb into her ass about. Rule #1: Protect the client.

After about two minutes pause she finally agreed that I continue on. I thanked her for the blessing and informed her I would be in touch. She decided I might need some discretion funds and will have a courier sent to deliver it personally. Smart, lovely, available and wealthy. Why can't I ever meet that unprofessionally?

Forty minutes ticked by at the office and of course I got a ring from Tom. "So this on the level?" "Hi to you too, Tom. Oh I'm fine and how are you?" "Dude you answered the phone so you are not dead, in jail or maimed. Is this on the level?" "Yes and no. The agent in question was so enraged he couldn't think or see straight. A lot is riding on Baker's testimony I think and some serious fish are looking to get netted. Baker isn't satisfied with the terms so the Marshals are probably massaging out those details or they will cut ties altogether"

Tom sighed. "So nothing beyond what we know already then?" "Bro I don't even know who he'd be ratting out in the first place. So quid pro qo?" Tom smiled with a pleasant voice of the cat that got the canary, "Okay ace detective. You remember a fellow by the name of Eduardo Montoya?" I about crapped my pants. Tom got worried. "Bro you still there?" I gulped and shakely said, "Yeah that name does ring a bell or two. Fuck. So this grease stain could bring the Montoyas down with what he knows?" "That's the skuttlebutt." Tom replied. Oh my God. That whole syndicate squashed due to a lowly employee giving testimony could mean less headaches for say, John Bishop but would also cut down on heroin import and export in L.A., New York and Paris.

"Okay so they have a lot riding on this and yet still no follow through which leads me to believe that something's hinky." Tom scoffed. "That the professional P.I. Terminology? Hinky? Seriously man welcome to 2017." I slouched in my chair, dropping my feet up on the desk. "Well only us hard boiled detectives know the ins and outs of hinky. Sorry kid, but you need your license before I can devulch such secrets." Tom sounded like he snorted sweet tea through his nose. "Dammit. On my good suit too." I chuckled. "Send me the cleaning bill."

Tom distracted from probably dabbling his tie, "Okay so two marshals warned you off and you are on the QT about it. You promise to throw me an exclusive if this gets hot?" I mulled it over. I can't go blurting out my client's name and have it dragged through the mud but I know Tom. He knows how to keep the facts compartmentalized so why the hell not.

"Yeah but again the names will be changed to protect the innocent." I could almost hear his eye rolled as he spoke, "Dude you really need to update your DVD collection. Well I have a deadline. I will talk later. Watch your ass, man." "I always try but I don't bend that way. Later skater."

Putting the phone down I have to wonder what god I annoyed to drop me into this potential meat grinder again. I swear there is this vindictive writer scrolling my life and doesn't throw enough sex with my violence. Didn't see the Montoya angle and frankly that scared the shit out of me. I am already in enough hot water with these people the last time. Apparently selfies with a lieutenant of a crime outfit as he is getting hauled off is not good business. There have been no bomb shaped parcels at my doorstep and I haven't had a visit from a burly dude with a ballbat fixing to bash my skull and/or kneecaps. Still it is food for thought.

Speaking of food, I think it's time for some. I stop wallowing in my office waiting for the aforementioned ass kissing call. I had a craving for red meat and at this hour only one chain will do. Say whatever you will about the dangers and health risks of fast food. Americans love it like any other vice. Smoking, drinking, unprotected sex, Hell even drugs. We can't get enough of it. I mean it's not as though we are all self-destructive but every so often you have to say the hell with the rules and good intentions, have some greasy food dammit. I have friends that simply don't get my next destination. You have the lovers of the golden arches or the cats that swear and worship the king but for my money and more importantly my palette, I'm hitting Jack-in-the-Box. A couple of cheeseburgers, curly fries and a chocolate milk shake will take me right out of my funk.

No sooner I got back to my office, arms full of my ill-gotten greasy heaven the phone rings. I check caller ID and it's a protected number. Screw it then. I am having lunch. Let messenger service pick it up. The aroma of the burgers are making my mouth water. I plunk down on my chair and start opening a container. And they left off the tomato. Maybe the day is perking up.

A half hour later from my veritable feast of doom I am sipping my milkshake and taking my time through the curly fries. My God, even the seasoning on them are just so. I check my service to find at least three messages. Apparently the call I let go straight to it wasn't the only one. I'm a detective. I notice these little details. All three calls hail from a gentleman slowly getting annoyed calling himself director in charge Special Agent Charles Gruber. I'm picturing him in my head and I keep coming back to the principal from Back to the Future, waiting for him to call me slacker.

Dusting my hands off on one of the far too many napkins, I take down that he is concerned for his agents and wants to have a sit down with me. How nice. Meanwhile couldn't these same people give me a fake ID and shuffle me off to Buffalo? I start scratching my beard I forgot to shave again for the third day. Hey I've been busy. I grab the reciever and stab at the numbers letting a belch out I didn't even know was building up. Thank God no one has answered the phone yet.

On the third ring the same pinched nasal voice that left me my delightful messags answers. "Special Agent Gruber. Is that you Mister Malone?" I stiffled a snicker. "Yes it is, Special Agent Gruber and what can I do for you? Wife sneaking out at odd hours?" You could almost hear his eyes narrowing as he spoke. "I am in no mood for leviety, Mr. Malone. Now then I wish to discuss a very sensitive manner but I would rather not do this over the phone." "Uh-huh. And would the nature of this discussion bare anything on the future of an agent and your very department recieving a rather huge black eye?" Gruber sounded like he swallowed a small bug. "Now hold on young man, there's no need for threats." "First off, I'm not that young. Second, I don't like my person, my job or my clients threatened by anyone, badge or no badge."

Gruber sounded antsy. "Well I understand there was a bit of a situation that was not handled the best and on behalf of the..." I cut in. "Save it. I am in no mood for half-assed apologies or some pandering to my better nature speech. Your agent was out of control so much his own damn partner had to restrain him."

Gruber shoots back with I guess he thought was a commanding authority. "And I understand you pulled a firearm on two federal officers in the line of duty. Have you any idea of the trouble you are in, young man?" Oh enough of this shit. "Again, not a young man. If I were, I would have been piss scared, discharged my firearm and would be in custody trying to explain I was afraid for my life. Furthermore I am sure that Agents Reynolds and Clarke both failed to mention that at no point in time was the gun chambered or even aimed at them. It was dicey and eerie as Hell but we all got through it." I let that sit in the ether for a minute noting that Gruber clearly did not know that little tidbit.

Gruber started burbling and I cut him off again. "I would also point out I have a crisp audio recording of Agent Reynolds' misdeeds and as many digital copies I could copy in 2 hours and you would be amazed how many of those are handed to trusted friends in local law enforcement as well as federal so do try this prick waving contest with me. I'm sure your superiors, Hell your deputy director alone will love how this pans out." "Are you threatening a federal officer, son?" I sighed. "Nope I am just going to hang up and place a call to Washington to the US Marshals Service under WitSec. So I guess we are done here."

Gruber jumped in immediately, "Wait a goddamn minute! How the hell do you know those agents are even connected to Witness Security? Did they publicly announce this to you?" "You really want to quibble over details, Agent Gruber? Fine. No they did not identify themselves as Witness Security nor did they identify themselves as US Marshals so their metaphoric balls are in a sling one way or the other. Now unless you want to hash this out at the big boys table, this conversation is over. Ball's in your court, old man."

Yeah I shouldn't have added that last bit but dammit the young man comments were pissing me off. I felt the need to vent my spleen a little. 30 seconds have gone by and I feel the need to hang up when Gruber finally came back to the line. "Alright, you will have to come in so we can go over this with a fine-tooth comb. Now I can send you a car and.." Again he must think I am slow.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen. I am going nowhere an disgruntled former Marine is going to be. So I tell you what, Gruber. You're more than welcome to toodle on down to my office where I don't have to sit in an interrogation room for undisclosed hours on it getting grilled by people that should be just doing their jobs and not busting my hump." Gruber came back pissed. "Look here. This is not a negotiation, Malone." "Good" I piped back. "Because you have no leverage, anything to offer me or any wiggle room. Your boy screwed up and as his supervisor it is on your head."

I was getting annoyed. I'm tired and I haven't slept well this week and clearly it is making me punchy. Of course it could also be that I am tired of people trying to cover their asses regardless of the noble intentions behind that. "Okay you want to meet. It will be public and no black sedans and SVUs waiting for me. I am in no mood for your cloak and dagger bullshit." "You just said your office!" Gruber shot back. "I did." I said. "Then I came to my senses. You can meet me at Broadway Mall by the Fuddruckers. 4 o' clock. No bullshit or this goes viral."

Gruber gets huffy again. "You don't think I can't have your office and apartment tossed?" I rolled my eyes. "With a warrant of probable cause and it's lunch hour, yeah you could get a judge but it will take some time. I have contacts in the press that can make this print in less than 12 hours. Hell if I feel particularly cranky it goes up on the net, off to folks with anti-government standings. I bet I can find a few bloggers to make it circulate in a matter of minutes. Understand me when I say I won't be happy if I get messed with any further, Gruber. 4 o'clock and don't be late."

I slammed down the phone. See, you don't get that same effect from your smartphone unless you aren't worried about cracking the screen. Did I push him too far? How much is riding on this Montoya case? Could this be the final nail in that prick's coffin, let alone his whole organization? How much dirt could a punk like Baker actually have on Montoya?

I rocked back in my chair mulling it over. It just don't add up. Look, I am a fairly bright guy and I can't piece this together. I'm not saying only I could do that but I should be able to get my head around this.

A knock at my outer office door. I went for the Sig in hand and asked whoever to come in. Through the peep hole I can make out three figures in dapper suits and one Eduardo Montoya.

Yeah this day can officially kiss my ass.