David Putnam - The Disposables

Mack yanked on the wheel, steered the car over to the curb by a vacant manufacturing building, the street dark, the streetlights all shot out. Fong reached over the seat and snatched the paper from my hand.

Every second I stayed in custody, I found it harder to breathe. Every second that passed brought us that much closer to being found out, the kids discovered, and put back in a system that let them down the first time and would do worse the second. Only because they now knew the way life was really supposed to be. It made my heart ache at the thought.

As the car slowed, I again thought about jamming out the door. I knew the area and could lose them, no problem. That left Marie holding the bag, something I could never do. At the same time, I wished for a couple of hours of freedom to pay Jumbo a little visit, make him rue the day he ever heard my name, talk to him old BMF-style.

Fong said, “What? It can’t be.” He checked the wrinkled booking slip, flipped it over, not believing it genuine. “Okay then, what? What’s it mean?”

Mack took it from him. “It means we got a copycat, that’s what it means.”

Mack possessed that innate sense needed to vault the gigantic chasm from mediocre detective to outstanding. He sprung from a family of law enforcement and probably came by it genetically. He handed it back to me, his eyes asking my opinion.

I said, “There are only two reasons for a copycat.”

Mack nodded. Fong didn’t catch on, he asked, “What?”

Mack said, “One is a psycho who liked the idea and wished he’d thought of it first.”

“And the other?” Fong asked.

I said, “The other is someone borrowing the MO to dispose of a problem.”

“Okay, so we still got this puke for the others, right?” Fong asked, missing the full ramifications of the words.

Mack said nothing and held my gaze. He put it together in his mind and didn’t like the end result.

Fong leaned forward. “What? What are you guys thinking?”

I said, “I really don’t like the way this is playing out.”

Mack looked out the window into the dark night. “He’s an asshole and I wanted to rub his face in it, but not this. The team’s reputation’s on the line, the entire department.”

“Who?”

I turned in the seat to talk to Fong. “My car in the Taco Quickie parking lot.”

Fong wasn’t chosen for the Violent Crimes Team out of ineptness. He cut me off. “What about your car? What are you trying to say? ” It came together for him, only he fought it more than we did. We knew the “who,” we just couldn’t rectify in our minds the why.

“What did you recover out of my car?”

Fong didn’t hesitate. “Dope and a gun. Rock coke, about three grams.”

I didn’t smile. His reply confirmed it.

Mack came out of his reverie, “What was in your car?”

Mack made the leap. I now stood as a full partner to be trusted with covering his back and more, the reputation of the Violent Crimes Team. “I had forty-five thousand cash, taken from Q-Ball Bridges, and a Smith & Wesson model 645.”

Mack hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

No question. He believed me.

Fong sat back. “Son of a bitch.”

Ruben sputtered, “I didn’t do it. I’m innocent.”

“Shut up.” Fong elbowed him in the chest.

“What kind of gun did you find in my trunk?”

Once I accepted the “who,” truly believed it, the beauty of the flawless, perfectly executed plan, awed me.

Mack read my mind. “Something’s missing. He wouldn’t do it for forty-five K. No chance. If he went off the reservation, he’s smarter than that. He could take down a hundred times more.”

As each move fell into place, more questions popped up. I had been made a patsy to the point of comedy. It was almost funny all the crap he’d laid at my door. “Tell me about the gun. Who is Kendrick?”

Mack’s head whipped back. “The last guy torched.”

I stayed ahead of Mack in my thinking, not by much though. “Who found the gun in the trunk of my car?”

Fong cut in, “He did. Hey, should we be talking in front of this shitbag?” Referring to Ruben.

Mack said, “The last guy torched is the key.”

When he said it, I’d already gone by that part. I’d played back all of our conversations from the very beginning. “It’s not just forty-five K.”

No one said anything.

I said, “How much money did you guys get from my crash pad on 117th?”

Fong said, “We haven’t found any money yet.”

Mack said, “How much?”

“Total? Close to two fifty.”

Fong said, “Where the hell you get that kind of money?”

I didn’t answer and went on. “The ballistics of the gun in my trunk matched the Bressler kill, didn’t it?”

Mack nodded. “It all comes back to Ahern, doesn’t it?”

“Who contacted Jumbo to set up the take-down at his house?”

Mack said nothing.

I looked at Fong. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, said, “What are we going to do?”

“It’s a double-blind, me and Jumbo. We need to give Jumbo a visit.”

“No chance.” Mack shook his head. “No way. What good will that do? He’s too smart. Jumbo’ll just lawyer up. And besides, who’s he going to be more afraid of? Us or him?”

“I could talk to Jumbo. Guaranteed he won’t want to see me.”

Fong smirked. “You’re on your way back to the can.”

“Stop and think about what you just said.”

“All right, I’ll say it again, you’re going back to the can. I’m not putting my ass on the line for you.”

I didn’t look at Mack and take an unfair advantage. He owed me. I let it hang in the air. When Mack didn’t offer up, I spelled it out for Fong. “What did you book me on?”

“Murder, multiple counts, ex-con with a gun, possession of cocaine.”

“And you base all of this on what?”

He didn’t answer. He knew.

“I’ll tell you what you based it on,” I said. “Planted evidence in the trunk of my car. And to make matters worse, your whole team was on me during these purported murders, most of them anyway, following my every move. It would only take one instance where you had the eye on me the same time a murder went down. Just one. You’ll have detailed records of your surveillance. How are you going to explain that in court? I didn’t do it. You know I didn’t do it.”

“You admitted you had forty-five thousand and a gun in the trunk of that car, and you’re on parole, that’s two to five on top of the parole violation.”

“Sure, you’re right. Produce the gun and the money. What you got is pie in the sky.”

“We booked you and took you out. We have to take you back in or it’s our asses. The court’ll let you out when the DA scraps the case.”

“You can blue sheet me, an 849.b2.”

Fong waited for Mack to ring in on the subject. When he didn’t, Fong shook his head. “No, Homicide’ll have our asses, making a unilateral decision like that. It’s their case now, not ours.”

Correct, if you wanted to follow procedure. Didn’t matter if we could prove I hadn’t done it. Protocol dictated Homicide handles the disposition or gets their nose bent out of shape. I had interrogated too many suspects and interviewed too many victims. Fong held something back. I opened the door.

Fong broke leather, pulled his gun. “Don’t.”

I put my foot out on the curb.

Fong pointed the large handgun at me.

I looked at Mack and slid out. Mack put his hand on the gun, lowered it.

Fong said nothing.

I closed the door, got down on one knee, leaned in. “What do you have my girl for?”

“Aiding and abetting a felon.” Mack said in a lowered voice.