The Greatest Good Page 5

  “You’re kidding me?” I took another step, now I was a foot away.

  Gates raised the gun at my face. “Stop, Gary.”

  I was close enough to look down the Kahr’s barrel and see the grooves. I seethed. “Quit pointing that gun at me, and quit calling me Gary.”

  “Kowalski,” Gates snapped. “Pat the suspect down and cuff him. He’s exhibiting hostile behavior.”

  Kowalski didn’t move, which I appreciated.

  “Hostile?” I said.

  Gates motioned again at Kowalski, and Kowalski still didn’t move. I didn’t know the chain of command in this situation, whether Palmer and Kowalski had to listen to Gates. I still wasn’t sure why Gates was working out of the Long Beach PD. By Kowalski’s attitude, I guessed they didn’t have to listen to Gates. Maybe the officers were working with Gates and not for him. Or perhaps Kowalski was stepping up and breaking the chain of command.

  Gates sighed and motioned at Palmer. “Do this.”

  Palmer hesitated, but eventually walked over. He patted me down, then cuffed me for the second time that morning.

  “Put him in the cruiser,” Gates said. “And hold him there until I get back.”

  Gates marched down the stairwell. The three of us followed suit. At the bottom of the stairs, we turned right and stopped in front of the cruiser. I debated making a stink and walking away, since I didn’t want to deal with Gates and whatever issues he had with me.

  In the end, however, I swallowed my pride. I figured Gates was working for the governor, so I knew I had to make things better, not worse. Besides, I wanted to see the look on Gates’ face when he came back and had to release me.

  Palmer didn’t hip check me into the back seat. Kowalski didn’t push my head down. A professional courtesy, I guessed. I shuffled into the back seat on my own while Gates had a quick word with Kowalski.

  When Gates was out of sight, Kowalski came over and undid my cuffs. “Sorry, Chase, I have no idea what his problem is with you.”

  “Thanks, Kowalski. It probably didn’t help that I walked out on him at the station.”

  “Probably not. The guy has some beef with you, that’s for sure. Listen, Palmer and I are going to the shop to check-in, and to see if they’re serving coffee amidst this chaos. Want some?”

  “No, but thanks for the offer.”

  After Kowalski closed the door, I rested my head on the back of the seat. I tried not to think of the implications of Stanley being shot, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts. Frank was going to have my head. The governor would go postal, which made sense. I’d go mental if something like this happened to Simon. I couldn’t lobby the governor to help with my custody battle now. I’d definitely not get weekend visits back with Simon. Soon I’d be on permanent suspension. I bet I couldn’t even get a job on this campus as a cop or security guard.

  I glanced around the cruiser. I wanted my hands on something. I needed to squeeze something, anything. So I used both hands and gripped the seat and raged for a few moments.

  After calming down, I thought about some of the more questionable missions I’d been on with The Activity, which was the black ops organization I used to be a member of. I had a sizeable list of people and/or governments that wanted me dead or to suffer. For about ten minutes I tried to narrow down the list. At the end of ten minutes, I came up with eight solid leads. But I didn’t delve further into those leads because the driver’s door opened and Gates slithered in. He didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

  The sight of him made my blood boil.

  After close to thirty seconds of silence, he patted at his puffy hair and turned to the side. “Are you ready to start cooperating?”

  “Haven’t I?”

  “I need details. Are you ready to give details?”

  “Depends,” I said.

  “On what?”

  “On whether you start talking first.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “About what?”

  “About what you’re doing here. About what agency you work for, that sort of thing.”

  “Again, this isn’t a quid pro quo situation.” Gates pressed his finger against the Plexiglas partition. “You’re the one in the back seat in cuffs, not me.”

  I brought my hands up and locked my fingers behind my head. If Gates was shocked at my cuffs being off, he didn’t show it.

  He turned forward in the seat and looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Here’s what I know so far, the assumptions I’m working from. A federal agent’s house is supposed to blow up one morning, and the kid he’s supposed to be protecting gets shot a few hours later. Perhaps the person hired to kill the kid tries to get rid of the protector first. A decent theory, but if that’s true, why is the agent being hostile and uncooperative and lying to the police? It doesn’t add up in my mind. It suggests the agent may be in on something. Maybe the agent knows more than he’s letting on.” He raised his eyebrows. “How’s that for a quick theory, Gary?”

  “Let me remind you,” I said, “of your entrance to the holding room. Your lack of formal address right from the start. Your lack of professional courtesy when it comes to firearms. And your constant use of a name I told you I don’t prefer. I’m not going to give you an inch until you tell me what your real problem is with me. Not to mention how you came into possession of a classified file on me. And how you arrived so quickly at the Long Beach police station.”

  Gates spun in his seat. “Maybe the theory goes like this. Everything that’s happened today is about you, not the governor’s son. Like I said in the holding room, this all has to do with your past, with your long list of idiotic vigilante outrages. I know about the Motel 7 operation. And, of course, everybody knows about your infamous TV appearance. So someone’s out to make you pay, but they screwed up this morning and had to come back to take you out at the coffee shop. They botched that job, too. Maybe they’re not that experienced, a bad shot, who knows? The bottom line, you’re now endangering the kid you’ve been assigned to protect. The governor’s son, mind you. I’m sure the governor would be pretty upset to hear that theory, wouldn’t he?”

  “So you do work for the governor, is that it? And you lied to me about it earlier.”

  He stabbed his finger at me. “I told you I don’t work for him.”

  I leaned forward until my face was a few inches from the Plexiglas barrier. “Well, then, tell me what’s going on. You’re obviously obsessed with me for some reason. It’s clear you were already investigating me before you got to the police station this morning.”

  “I don’t have to tell you a thing,” he snapped. “I’m under no obligation.” He wiped at his mouth since a little spit had landed on his lip.

  I glanced at the sliding window in the partition. I wondered if I could grab Gates’ puffy hair and pull his head through the window, but I blinked away the thought and looked out of the car. Kowalski and Palmer stood a few feet from the cruiser enjoying their coffee.

  “Fine then,” I said, turning back to Gates. “You talked to the officers at the scene I take it.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Everything. Now you know I was on the roof after Stanley was shot. My story checks out, doesn’t it?” I tapped on the window and got Kowalski’s attention, waved him over. He waddled over and opened the door.

  Before I got out, Gates said, “Just tell me what’s going on. Is this about you or Stanley?”

  I didn’t trust Gates, so I didn’t say another word. I left the cruiser and walked over to Palmer.

  “Can I have my piece back?”

  Palmer handed me the Sig.

  I turned to Kowalski. “Where’s Stanley?”

  “Long Beach Memorial. He just arrived there. Before he got into the ambulance, he told a young woman who was helping him to give you this.” Kowalski handed me some car keys. “Stanley wants you to drive his SUV to the hospital. It’s a white Lexus in the coffee shop parking lot. And he also wanted you to bring this, said it was
extremely important.” Kowalski passed me Stanley’s laptop.

  “Thanks, Kowalski.”

  He winked and gave me the finger gun.

  I walked a wide perimeter around the coffee shop. The place was a circus. Four news trucks were already parked at the scene. Each had a satellite aerial stretching high in the air, transmitting the breaking news to the Golden State.

  Great. I was in for it.

  Wanting to stay as far away from the cameras as I could, I walked an even wider berth around the coffee shop parking lot. There was a bigger circus there. As students strolled by, I had a sudden idea, so I sat on a bench and waited until I saw a male student about my size. I flagged him over. I offered him twenty-five bucks for his green flip-flops and black and gold Long Beach State hooded sweatshirt. I didn’t want to go back and grab my flip-flops and risk being caught on camera.

  The student must’ve been a business major because he negotiated hard. In the end, we settled on fifty bucks. I told him where he could get a free pair of black flip-flops if he wanted.

  To blend in as a student, I took off my blue hoodie, threw it in the garbage since it had blood on it, and put on the Long Beach State sweatshirt. Pulling up the hood, I walked to the parking lot and found the white Lexus. Fortunately, nobody paid attention to me. Unfortunately, because of the traffic, it took me twice as long as it should have to get off campus and onto the 405 freeway.

  While driving up the 405 toward the hospital, I realized I was gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles had turned white. I balled my fists and released them, trying to get rid of the tension in my body. What helped me calm down, however, was not thinking about Gates. The man infuriated me.

  So I thought about Stanley instead. I prayed the kid was okay and didn’t have any long-term damage to his arm. I also hoped he was awake so I could explain to him why I dove away from him before the shot. He had to know I thought the shot was aimed at me. He had to relay that information to his father. I couldn’t have Stanley or the governor thinking I was trying to protect myself. I was in enough trouble for Stanley being shot on my watch.

  The trip up the 405 was short. After parking, I walked into the receiving area of the hospital and checked in with a lady volunteer at the front desk. I needed to find out the location of Stanley’s room. The lady volunteer, of course, was forbidden to give me information for a VIP patient like Stanley, and since I didn’t have my badge with me, I couldn’t flash it and demand to know his whereabouts.

  I sat in the waiting area and debated contacting Frank for the information. But I didn’t have to call Frank because at that moment George Pepperstein, one of the agents assigned to Stanley’s investigation, bellied up to the volunteer desk asking for a free coffee.

  Pepper, as I called him, was a piece of work. He was that guy who lifted a ton of weights in high school so he could push people around, but since then he hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a Budweiser King can. Now he was round like a wine barrel, undefined and soft, no tone. He reminded me of John Candy, minus the jovial attitude.

  After Pepper got his coffee, I followed him from a distance. I wasn’t worried about him turning and spotting me. I was worried the flip-flops would give me away. They made a sharp snapping sound against the hard, polished floor.

  Pepper shuffled through a maze of hallways, sipping on his coffee, finally making it to a private room about six minutes later. I stayed back thirty feet, watching the door from an intersecting hallway. Johnny Labonte, the other agent assigned to Stanley’s case, sat in a blue plastic chair to the left of the private door. Pepper took a seat on the other side of it.

  Twenty seconds later, I approached the private room and addressed them. “How’s Stanley, gentlemen?”

  Labonte sprung up. “Mag? What the hell happened? You were on protection this morning, weren’t you?” He pointed at my clothes. “And what’s with the outfit? You going back to school?”

  Johnny Labonte was skinny and tall, and his facial features were too pronounced for his thin face. He had wavy, blond hair that he constantly ran his fingers through – a clear sign that he was quite proud of it. I didn’t particularly like Labonte, but if I was being honest, I was slightly jealous of his hair.

  “Seriously, Mag, what happened at the coffee shop?”

  A few guys in the office started calling me ‘Mag’ two years ago, because of a certain incident involving a Maglite flashlight and a Motel 7. The nickname irritated me, but I never reacted to it because I didn’t want to give the guys the satisfaction of it bothering me.

  “The kid got shot,” I said.

  “Heard it was a sniper,” Labonte said. “And from quite a distance. Crazy.”

  “I’m going in, fellas.”

  “Can’t let you, Mag.” Pepper stood. His knees cracked from the weight.

  “Sure you can.”

  “Nope, Frank’s orders. Sorry.” Pepper shuffled to the left and blocked the door. Inflated his chest a bit. “He doesn’t want anybody in there.”

  “And where’s Frank?” I asked.

  Pepper nodded. “In there with the doc.” He pushed out a breath and deflated, as if it had been hard work holding his chest out.

  “Also heard you went after the shooter,” Labonte said. “Did you catch him?”

  I shook my head.

  “What kind of protection detail are you running?” Pepper said.

  “What about your investigation?” I responded. “You think this is just my responsibility? Tell me about your leads, boys. Obviously we all underestimated the threat on Stanley. What have your keen investigative skills uncovered so far about Stanley’s death threats? Sure, I’m in for it. But so are you two.”

  They both blinked. Pepper took a sip of coffee. Since neither was quick on their feet, they just stood and glared. A moment later the door to the private room sucked off its rubber seal and opened. Pepper and I stepped out of the way. A doctor strolled out with a chart in hand. He didn’t look up. I slipped through the door just before it closed.

  Frank sighed when he saw me. He held up his finger and motioned me away from Stanley’s bed. Frank had grey, thinning hair that was matted to his forehead with sweat, so I knew he was beyond stressed.

  “Is he okay?” I asked.

  A bunch of machines pumped and hissed away. The cloying smell of cleaners, bleach, and antiseptics filled the room. I hated the smell of hospitals, so I breathed through my mouth.

  “He’s weak right now from the blood loss, but he’ll pull through. He was in pain, so the doc gave him some heavy narcotics. He conked out a few minutes ago; he’ll be in and out for a bit. What the hell happened, anyway? How did I arrive here before you?”

  “I went after the shooter, then I had a little altercation with the police, which was mainly a miscommunication.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “Altercation? Miscommunication? I’m not even going to ask. Tell me you got the shooter, please tell me that.”

  “I wish I could.”

  Frank pushed up his sleeves and spun around, like he had to or else he’d explode. My boss was average height and weight, but had a thick, goiter-like neck and disproportionally short arms. He had to buy huge dress shirts to fit around his neck, which meant he always had to roll up his sleeves.

  He spun back. “Before we talk about Stanley getting shot, what the hell happened this morning at your house and the cop shop?”

  I hesitated to answer.

  Frank continued. “You’re late for this important assignment. You lie to the police. You were supposed to bring in those weapons a month ago. I can’t believe I stuck my neck out for you again, especially after your infamous video, and let’s not forget the Motel 7 incident before that. What the hell, Chase?”

  “So there was this intruder, Frank.” I paused.

  “I know,” he said, sighing. “The cops told me that.”

  “How much did they tell you?”

  Frank cleared his throat. “I know that someone broke into your house and y
ou lied about it. And then the cops found all those weapons at your house. Why lie, Chase? Why would you do that?”

  “I didn’t want to deal with the police and be late for picking up Stanley. I figured it was just some local kid breaking in. No big deal.”

  “That worked out, didn’t it?” Frank motioned toward Stanley, then continued. “It’s not a good enough reason to lie, you know that. You’re smarter than that.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t want Gina to find out, okay? Remember we have that custody hearing in a few days. In fact, I may need your help with that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gina already found out I was arrested.”

  “And you want me to vouch for you? Right? Just like I did with the police?”

  “I’d be grateful, Frank.”

  He pointed at me. “You’re infuriating.” He turned away again to calm down.

  I used the opportunity to think about my strategy with him. I knew for sure I’d be pulled off protection, but I really needed to work the case and find out what was going on. Since somebody wanted me to suffer for some past deed, I needed to find out who and clear the threat. I needed to provide a safe environment for my son, and prove that to a judge. Somehow I needed to get on the investigation so I could use all the resources the FBI had to offer. It was a long shot—beyond a long shot actually—but I went for it anyway.

  “Something really interesting came up, Frank.”

  “This better be good,” he said, turning.

  I went straight to the truth. “The intruder at my house this morning and Stanley’s shooter are the same person.”

  Frank squinted. “How do you know?”

  “Same getaway car both times. And I think this all may have to do with my past.”

  “Great. You mean from your black ops days?”

  Frank knew I’d worked black ops, but he didn’t know any more details than that.

  I reluctantly nodded. “Possibly. I’m not sure exactly, but what’s important—”

  “No, your involvement is important, Chase.” He sighed. “It’s absolutely the most important part.”