Wild Card Read online

  “And?”

  “Arrangements have to be made.”

  “So this was all bullshit.”

  “It was if that’s what you want to believe.”

  “I want to believe I’m getting out of here.”

  “Listen to me, Vlad. It’s not only a question of getting you out of here, it’s also providing for your safety. If anyone were to find out it was you who ratted Petrov out, your life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel. Relax. It might take me a few days to make all of the necessary arrangements.”

  “What if they deport me before you do?”

  “They won’t.”

  “And I should believe you because?”

  “Let’s not do this dance again. I’m on it. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “Trust. Hah. Trust an American cop? I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched.”

  I summoned the security guard who immediately entered the sanctuary. “Be nice to him.”

  “I’m nice to everyone,” he said, a big grin spreading across his gnarled face.

  “Why do I have trouble believing that?”

  “Ye of little faith.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  “What if his information is incorrect?”

  “We can always rescind.”

  “So I’m sticking my neck out without proof positive.”

  “Look, Dad, proof positive or not, I believe the guy. Now I understand the subtext.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  We were in his office at the County Courthouse. His spirits were high. He had taken to putting time in at the office every few days or so. He didn’t do a whole lot other than sit around and swap stories with the staff. Mostly his stories.

  He made every effort to maintain the illusion that his health was improving, but occasionally he slipped up and opened the window to a crack in his armor.

  My sister, Sandra, and her six-year-old daughter, Savannah, had recently come west for a weekend with the old man. Never a big fan of children, our father nevertheless made all the right noises regarding his love for the girl. He went so far as to play cards with her. Even read to her.

  But when Savannah threw one of her legendary tantrums, it rankled him. Unable to calm her, he lost it himself. He yelled, which scared the daylights out of her. He raised his hand as if to hit her.

  She glared at him and between tears, screamed, “I hate you. You’re a mean old man. I want to go home.”

  To her mother who, along with our stepmother, Regina, had raced to her side, Savannah kept right on screaming. It took every ounce of Sandra’s patience to calm her.

  By the time she did, my father had long since fled the scene and had locked himself in his bedroom. “I don’t know what came over me, Buddy,” he exclaimed solemnly. “It’s this fucking illness. I’m not myself.”

  “It’s all right, Dad. She’ll get over it.”

  “Yes, but will I?” he lamented.

  “If Smernik is right,” I said. “We’re dealing with a federal offense.”

  “For which you’ll need to involve the FBI.”

  “Ultimately.”

  “What more do you need?”

  “Proof.”

  I stood and began pacing his oversized office with its floor-to-ceiling steel and glass windows that offered views of Freedom Township, the Santa Ynez Mountains to the north and the glistening Pacific to the west.

  “I’m uncertain,” I said.

  “About?”

  “How to verify Smernik’s claim. Which we need to do before summoning the cavalry. “

  “The choices?”

  “A flat-out raid on the mansion.”

  “In search of the so-called fentanyl lab.”

  “Yes.”

  “And choice B.”

  “We lay in wait for the arrival of the boats.”

  “And catch them dead to rights loading the shit onto them.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “Would that I knew.”

  “You in the market for a little advice?”

  “Why do you think I’m here?”

  “At first I thought you might want to hear a few of my stories.”

  “I’d sooner sit through every Matthew McConaughey movie.”

  “Do what you think is best.”

  “That’s the advice?”

  “And rendered free of charge.”

  I stared at him. “That’s what you would do?”

  He thought for several moments.”Likely, I’d prepare to do both.”

  “Both at the same time?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would be the deciding factor?”

  “Resistance.”

  “From Petrov’s troops?”

  “Yes.”

  “So where would you start?”

  “Wherever the odds were in my favor.”

  “And you’d decide that when?”

  “When I knew for certain that the boats would arrive.”

  “You mean you’d wait it out.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then decide.”

  “Yes,” the Sheriff said. “And keep in mind that however it goes down, it’s going to be a bitch.”

  “But you think it’s the right thing to do?”

  “One way or the other.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Look, it’s your deal, Buddy. You own it. But it’s dicey. This so-called Fentanyl lab might not exist at all. Or it could be dismantled in an instant. Until you actually eyeball it, it’s nothing more than the word of a snitch who’s seeking asylum. You can’t really tip your hand regarding the boats. You can’t put an armada in their way. They’d freak and be gone in an instant.

  “So there’s very little to work with here. I suppose you could share the info with the FBI, but with no proof, there’s the distinct possibility you could be standing alone with your dick in your hand. There’s nothing easy or predictable in this. You’re forced to take your chances. You make the first move and pray it’s the right one.”

  “Or?”

  “You take a victory lap regarding the right of access issue.”

  “And?”

  “You look the other way.”

  “Meaning I leave them alone to carry on whatever subterfuge it is they’re practicing.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “So, then, you mount your challenge, you catch them by surprise, and with luck, you take the whole operation down.”

  “So in other words, do what I think is best.”

  “Which is one fine piece of excellent advice, if I say so myself.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  “Why, if it isn’t Mr. Heavily in Demand himself,” Marsha Russo exclaimed when I arrived at the office.

  She quickly followed me inside. “Your call list is so massive I was unable to lift it.”

  “I’m in no mood, Marsha.”

  “Well, excuuuuse me. You have a great many calls.”

  “Starting with?”

  “Messrs Lytell and Wilder, of course.”

  “Of course. May I ask you a question?”

  “A question you need permission to ask?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not liking the sound of this, but go on.”

  “Is there any fresh coffee?”

  “I seriously doubt it.”

  I sat quietly.

  “Well,” Marsha said and made as if to stand. “If there’s nothing else…”

  “You wouldn’t be willing to make a pot, would you?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Even if you knew it would mean a great deal to me?”

  She stood. “
I’d have to take it under advisement.”

  “Marsha?”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  “May I take that as a yes?”

  She headed for the door. “We’ll know soon enough, won’t we?” she said and left.

  “It’s never easy,” I muttered to myself.

  “You’ll have to hold on while I find Lytell,” Skip Wilder said when he picked up my call. “I’ll be right back.” He put me on hold.

  The music was some kind of melody-free annoyance that kept on repeating itself, a headache-inducing series of improvisational instrumental riffs that made water boarding seem like a reasonable alternative.

  “I found him,” Wilder said putting an end to the music. “We’re just trying to figure out how to conference him in.”

  “You don’t know how to mastermind a conference call?”

  “The phones are new. It’ll only take a second.”

  The music resumed and after about thirty seconds of it, I hung up.

  I turned my chair so as to look out the window. I was greeted by a deep blue cloudless vista that made me think I was gazing into infinity.

  “Los dos homunculai on line three,” Wilma Hansen announced over the intercom. “One of them’s whining about a dropped call.”

  “I hung up on them.”

  “You hung up on the District Attorney?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow. Two gold stars for you. Line three.”

  “You hung up, didn’t you?” Wilder said.

  “Not at all. The call was disconnected.”

  “You hung up.”

  “Boys, boys,” District Attorney Michael Lytell interjected. “Is that you, Buddy?”

  “Sir,” I said.

  “You’ve attracted a great deal of attention around here.”

  I remained silent.

  “He hung up again,” Wilder proclaimed.

  “I didn’t hang up.”

  “He didn’t hang up,” Lytell said. “He’s still there. Listen, Buddy, I’ve already heard from the State’s Attorney and from Boris Petrov’s attorney.”

  “Good things, I hope.”

  “Don’t mouth wise with me. It seems your friend Petrov, while petitioning for some kind of diplomatic status, claims he’s being harassed by you.”

  “Diplomatic status?”

  “He’s dropping Vladimir Putin’s name. Threatening to sic him on the Governor.”

  “To what end?”

  “He’s pissed his injunction was denied. Says it was a setup. He maintains he was protecting a wildlife sanctuary when he sealed off the access points. He blames you for instigating the ICE roundup of nearly his entire security force.”

  “He’s pissed I wouldn’t take his bribe. And he’s lying about the wildlife preserve. And every one of the men we busted is working in the country illegally.”

  “Be that as it may, he’s stirring the pot and making life difficult for us.”

  “What is it you’re suggesting, Mike?”

  “Stand down, Buddy. Leave the son of a bitch alone.”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No. I’m not going to stand down.”

  “Did you hear that?” Lytell said to Wilder. “He says he’s not going to stand down.”

  “Not a good idea, Buddy,” Wilder said.

  “I thank you both for your valued opinions. They don’t hold much water for me, however.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me too clearly,” Lytell said. “I’m advising you to step away, Buddy.”

  “Thank you. I promise to seriously consider your advice.”

  Then I hung up.

  After several moments, Wilma buzzed once more. “It’s the Gold Dust Twins again.”

  “I’m not here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tell the District Attorney I was late for a meeting and ran out of the office.”

  “You want me to lie for you, is that what’s happening, Buddy?”

  “Can it, Wilma. Just do it.”

  “Roger. Wilco,” she said.

  Again I sat back in my chair. Marsha entered and placed a steaming cup of black coffee on my desk.

  “You can’t hardly know how important this is to me,” I said taking a sip. “Thank you.”

  “You owe me big-time,” she said and left.

  The intercom rang again. “I said I wasn’t here.”

  “Jordyn Yates on one,” Wilma said. “Should I kiss her off, too?”

  “No. No. I’ll take it.”

  “Line one. The line with the flashing red light.”

  “Jordy?”

  “One moment for Ms. Yates,” a female voice said.

  “Buddy?” Jordyn said when she picked up the call.

  “Hi.”

  “It’s amazing how you manage to wind up in the middle of as many shit storms as you do.”

  “What now?”

  “Lieutenant Governor Lincoln Brady. United States Attorney Michael Kurtz. Craig Leonard of the illustrious law firm, Leonard, Howard and Arthur. Let’s see, am I forgetting anyone?”

  “What is it you’re saying, Jordy?”

  “They’re gunning for you.”

  “So?”

  “It’s going to get hotter, too. Brady and Kurtz have petitioned the County regarding your status in the Sheriff’s Department. They want you removed from office and they want to meet with your father to determine his ability to serve.”

  “This is all Boris Petrov, you know.”

  “Politics is a rich man’s game.”

  “Can they be stopped? Or better, stalled?”

  “I knew you were going to ask that. It’s your favorite tactic.”

  “So?”

  “For how long?”

  “How long do I want them stalled?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe a month.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “You know what grounds. I’m in the middle of an investigation.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “No.”

  “Could you be more specific if we weren’t yapping on the state’s phone lines?”

  “Lawyer-client privilege?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tonight?”

  “My turf,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “Eight?”

  “Perfecto.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  She didn’t turn up until eight-thirty. I had been dozing in my Wrangler when she tapped forcefully on my window. I got out and stared at her. “You were at a meeting looking like that?”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Yoga pants?”

  “Everyone wears yoga pants these days.”

  “That tight?”

  “You’re not going to go all prudish on me, are you Buddy? I remember a time when I wore tight pants and you couldn’t formulate words because you were so interested.”

  “Point made. Was it your plan for us to converse in front of my car or was going inside a possibility?”

  “I knew there was a reason I love you as much as I do.”

  She escorted me into her building. Her apartment was on the top floor of a ten-story complex in the Silver Lake area of Los Angeles, not terribly far from her downtown offices.

  It was a three-bedroom, three-bath luxury dwelling, offering wraparound views that included one of Dodger Stadium. It was designed minimally with little by way of furniture, all of it utilitarian and spare. We sat at a blue Formica table in her kitchen, each of us nursing a snifter of Courvoisier.

  She had on an eggshell-blue tunic that hung loosely above her navy yoga pants. Her shoulder-length blond hair fell haphazardly over one eye and she frequently
pushed it aside. She emitted a hint of patchouli which, I suddenly remembered, never failed to turn me on. “Were you planning to listen to me or is it your intention to just sit there with that foolish grin plastered on your face?”

  “You didn’t forget, did you?”

  “You mean forget how to ring your chimes?”

  “That’s right.”

  “No.”

  We sat quietly.

  “Would you prefer we skip the conversation and make tracks for the bedroom?”

  “No. Not at all. You were saying?”

  “Could you please explain all that’s going on in Buddy World just now?”

  “With regards to?”

  “Don’t be a bore, Buddy. Why is everyone suddenly so interested in you?”

  “Boris Petrov is seeking revenge.”

  “For?”

  “Payback for my aggressive behavior regarding the beach access issue. And, more importantly, for not accepting his bribe.”

  “Why am I guessing there’s more?”

  “There’s every chance he’s operating a narcotics laboratory on his property and overseeing its distribution.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “One of his many private soldiers snitched him out.”

  One who’s under an ICE watch?”

  “In the the L.A. Metropolitan Detention Center.”

  “I assume your father knows about this.”

  “He does.”

  “And your game plan?”

  “I’m going to roust the son of a bitch.”

  “How?”

  “Every couple of weeks an armada of speedboats turns up at the Petrov mansion dock. Usually late at night. That’s when he transfers the drugs from his lab to the boats, which then distributes them to wherever they’re going. According to my source, Petrov personally supervises the operation.”

  “And you’re going to surprise them.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “And if you’re right?”

  “Mr. Petrov will have a great deal to answer for.”

  “And if you fail?”

  “Failure isn’t an option.”

  “When are you planning to do this?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Because?”

  “There’s no telling when the drop will actually take place. I need enough time to stake it out and be ready to strike when the boats arrive.”

  “Should I know more?”