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.