Don Winslow - California Fire And Life

"Starting now," Banner says. "Who brings you the forms to sign?"

"It's changed," Howard says. "Two new guys."

"Names," Banner says.

Howard shrugs.

"You don't know?" Banner asks.

"Sorry."

Banner looks at Jimenez and says, "What are we doing here? Read him his rights."

"I don't know."

"Come on," Hansen says. "When they'd call you, they'd say, 'This is…'"

"Ivan," Howard says.

"You're shitting me," Banner says.

"Ivan and Boris," Howard says. "It was like, you know, a joke."

"No kidding," Hansen says.

Young says, "Describe them."

Howard describes them. When he's done, Banner takes some pictures out of a file and tosses them on the table.

"Those two," Howard says.

"Who'd they work for?"

"I dunno. I thought they worked for themselves."

"Don't be jerking us, Howard," Banner says. "You're not a moron. You know you're hooked up with the Russian Mafia, not Two Guys from Kiev."

"But they don't tell you," Howard says. "These two, they just came in and said 'Now you report to us.'"

"Did you ever hear anyone mention the name Tratchev?" Hansen asks.

"No."

"Rubinsky?"

"No."

"Schaller?"

"No."

Jimenez turns to Hansen. "You want to press charges?"

"Absolutely."

"No," Howard whines.

Hansen leans forward so her face is real close to his. Says, "Here's the deal, you drunken quack. Listen to me very carefully — I don't care if they kill you. I think that you're bottom-feeding scum and you deserve everything you have coming to you. Now I will keep my finger in the shit dike for just as long as you're useful to me. The second you stop, the second you balk, the second you don't do exactly what we tell you, I'll pull my finger out. I'll have you arrested, and just to make sure, I'll call up Mr. Tratchev and tell him that you met with us and gave up two of his boys. I'll send him an edited version of the videotape. By the way, smile for the camera, Dr. Howard."

"You are a terrible person."

"You bet," Hansen says.

"I want to go into protective custody," Howard says to Banner.

"You don't know enough," Banner says. "There's a price tag for protective custody and you don't even have the ante. You have to go up at least another level to get protection."

"I'll relocate," Howard says.

Young says, "Doctor, what do you think I'm doing here? Federal agent? Federal Bureau blah-blah-blah? What are you thinking about? That you can set up in Arizona and your former playmates are going to come to a screeching halt at the border? They're nationwide, stupid. They're set up in Arizona, Texas, West Virginia, Ohio, New York… Look at me when I'm talking to you. These Russian SOBs take $5 million a week out of my country and you help them do it. You can't run far enough to get away from them or me."

"What's he going to do?" Jimenez asks.

"Next time you meet with them," Banner says, "you're going to wear a wire."

Howard shakes his head. "They'll kill me."

"I don't care," Banner says. "You're going to sit with them and demand a meeting with their boss."

"I'm not doing this."

Jimenez says, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything that you say can and will-"

"Okay, okay."

Howard puts his face in his hands and sobs. This goes on for about two minutes until Hansen says, "I can't take this anymore. Get out."

Jimenez says, "We'll let you know when and where our next rendezvous is. You bring records, we'll bring recording equipment."

"It'll be fun," Hansen says.

She takes Howard's arm and helps him out of the chair. Walks him to the door and says, "Thank you for coming."

She sits back down and Young says, "He'll do."

"That doctor's a corpse," Banner says.

"Tough shit," Sandra Hansen says.

In an operation of this magnitude, you have to expect some casualties.

Ding-dong.

Nicky comes to the door; he's holding a glass of champagne.

"Grieving?" Jack asks him.

"To each his own."

"I know you're anxious about the resolution of your claim," Jack says. "So as part of California Fire and Life's continuing commitment to excellent service, I thought I'd come personally to inform you."

"Of what, precisely?"

Jack can see Mother Russia standing a few feet behind Nicky.

"You'll be getting a certified letter tomorrow," Jack says. "Informing you that we're denying both the life insurance and the fire claim on the grounds that you've violated the terms of the policies by intentional acts. To wit, we believe there's sufficient evidence to indicate that you were involved in the death of your wife and in the fire at your home."

Jack watches Nicky's eyes go narrow and hard.

"You're making a very serious mistake," Nicky says.

"Yeah, well, I've made them before."

"And you didn't learn?"

"I guess not."

Cool Nicky shrugs and sips his champagne.

Jack looks over his shoulder and asks, "Aren't you going to ask me in for tea?"

The door shuts in his face.

"I guess that's a nyet" Jack says.

He feels better than he's felt in twelve years.

Like a long night's finally ending.

The sun comes up like it's been waiting all night to burn somebody.

Jack's out on the water, watching the dawn.

When the sun hits his face it's personal. Like, good morning, wake up, dream time is over.

Right behind the sun is the wind.

Blowing wild as a Miles Davis break.

Jack knows it's going to be a hot day in Southern California.

Doesn't take long.

Three hours later, Paul Gordon's standing in Tom Casey's conference room, pointing down at Jack, shouting and red in the face. Jack thinks that Paul Gordon is maybe going to be the first-ever witnessed event of self-combustion.

Which would be okay.

There's not a claims dog in California who wouldn't like to see Paul Gordon go up in a ball of flame. Paul Gordon ignites, your basic claims guy is going to spring up and write a letter to the Fire Department to get over there right away.

They used to say that Paul Gordon sits at the right hand of God. Then the lawyer hit Fidelity Mutual Insurance for $40 million in punitive damages on a bad faith suit. Now they say that God sits at the right hand of Paul Gordon.

Gordon has the looks for it, too. Tall, silver hair, ice-blue eyes, craggy features. He's standing by the window in Casey's office, he's got Newport Beach Harbor as a dramatic backdrop and he's telling Jack, Tom, and Goddamn Billy that he's going to take Cal Fire and Life down for the biggest punitive damages award in the entire history of bad faith litigation.

Man's gonna break his own record.

"… make the Fidelity Mutual verdict look like a church bingo pot!" is part of what he's screaming.

"What he did… what he did…," Gordon's saying, pointing at Jack, "he told my client — one day after his wife's funeral — that he thought my client killed his wife and burned the house down around her! Then he came to my client's home to hand deliver a denial letter!"

"Did you do that, Jack?" asks Goddamn Billy.

"Yup."

"Why?"

Billy instantly regrets asking this because Jack turns to Nicky, who's sitting there with this little smile on his face, and says, "Because he killed his wife and then burned the house down around her."

"SEE?! SEE?!!!??" Gordon yells. "He's doing it again!"

"Jack, keep your mouth shut, please," Casey says. He's sitting in his chair sipping coffee and acting like they're all just hanging out discussing the Dodgers' chances of winning the division.

Here's a story about Tom Casey.

Casey goes to a settlement conference with Goddamn Billy, and he has draft authority for $100,000 in his pocket. Plaintiff's attorney comes in and asks for five grand. Casey stands up, slams his fist on the table and yells, "What do I look like, Santa Claus?!" The plaintiff settles for two thousand.