Page 16 of Gypsy's Lady
One of the IPD reached to the board and spun it around and an instant later,Doug was struggling not toreact,because it felt like someone had sucker punched him right in the gut. Pictures were affixed across the top of the board, black and white surveillance images blown up so much the detail was grainy. But he could easily discern the identities of the men captured in those photos. Mason, Winger, and Bingo, along with four more RWMC members he knew casually.
He kepthis gaze on Winger’s face as the men in the room laid down their case for the planned operation. RWMC were implicated in serious efforts to shut down a drug dealer’s network, using whatever means necessary short of murder. Arson, physical confrontation, intimidation, threats—the litany went on and on until Doug wondered who the cops were trying to convince of their justification. IPD would be workinga joint op with Fort Wayne, hitting clubhouses in both towns to put the Rebels off-balance, hoping to scoop up incriminating evidence from their searches.
There was some question about whether they’d get a judge to sign the warrants, but the captain seemed to believe he had that in the bag, so they were down to the timing of everything. Doug still wasn’t certain why he was in the room at thispoint in the game. Earlier would have made sense with his involvement in the gang and organized crime task force. But, not involving him at all would have made sense, too, and given the odd timing, he had to wonder if any one of these men knew where he spent most evenings and every weekend. Or if all of them did.
They’re trying to set me up. It was the only thing that made real sense. As acop,it would be acceptable to leverage whatthey’dconsider misplaced loyalties to expose personal associations with the RWMC. Then the department would no doubt take what they learned and force-quit him from the PD.Fuck.
“Tell us about California.” The captain had his arms folded across his chest, fingers tucked into opposing pits to hold them in place. “You and the task force out there were highlyeffective, and you learned a lot. Tell us what to expect when we go inside.”
Doug had to make a snap decision. Downplay his knowledge and imply all the glowing reports of his work in Cali were lies and puffery, or risk giving these toads one single slice of real information they might bend and use against his brothers.No real decisionthere. “Oh, man. Midwest clubhouses are no big deal. They’remore like a college fraternity than anything else. Cali would be a different story, but from what I’ve seen around here it’s just beer, booze, and broads. Probably the most you’ll find is some weed so you might catch a with-intent charge for some poor idiot who didn’t know to keep it home.”
The bulging eyes of an IPD told him he had made the right decision. If he’d tried to play it closer tothe truth, they’d have known in an instant where he was holding back. By making it seem he’d never seen the inside of a CH, he gained some believability for innocence in what he knew he would have to do.
“You sure about that, Tatum?”
He nodded, lips twisted to the side. “Yeah, think neighborhood treehouse for big boys. I don’t know what line of shit you’ve been fed, but they’re no big deal.The onlything we’ll have to worry about is if they’ve lost the key to the liquor cabinet. It’s not like they’re bangers or anything. You know how those weekend warriors are. They want to pretend to be big dogs, but they’ll all be lyin’ behind the bushes under the front porch when shit comes to town. Nothing to worry about.”
Ten minutes later he was in the bathroom splashing water on his faceand trying to bring his racing breaths under control.I’ve got to let them know. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the RWMC was an outlaw motorcycle club, with all that implied. But the men who rode under their patch were people who mattered, and if they wanted to clean up a drug dealer’s trash, why would anyone else want to punish them for taking care of shit the cops didn’t?Because it makes themlook bad.
That’s what it came down to in the end. Saving face for the detectives who couldn’t manage to squeeze out the drug trade in the city’s inner circle, while the Rebels accomplished the feat in less than six months. They’d built a steadily increasing buffer of real estate where the streets were safe and clean, where citizens could go about their lives without worrying about a car crawlingup the street, or without answering their door with agunin hand. They’d taken a neighborhood from a state of fear and desperation to growing prosperity—and the politicians who supported the cops couldn’t stand it. Made them question the money they’d poured into the fraternity, and the higher ups refused to see that faucet close.Keep it flowin’, boys.
That night he bypassed the front parkinglot of the bar where he’d spent so many hours drinking. Doug eased his bike around to the rear and backed into a shadowed spot near the dumpsters. Inside thedoor,he stepped to the side, out of sight of the bar’s security cameras and a moment later found the man he needed. With a lift of hischin,he gained Bingo’s attention. A quick tip of his head towards the door had the older man on his feetin a moment. They met in the back lot, where fifteen minutes later it was done, and Doug took a deep breath for the first time in hours.
A month later when the warrants were finally signed and served, searches of the two clubhouses turned up nothing more incriminating than a printout of a map showing the reclaimed territory drawn in bold marker, with an additional twelve-block outline statingthe club’s intent to expand. The note on the map reportedly said by whatever means necessary. Doug didn’t know for certain; he never saw it.
***
“Heard about the busted bust, man. That sucks.” Doug turned to see Kirk Schwartz, a detective he’d been paired with last year, standing behind him, hand on the stack of paper cups.
Doug stepped to the side, carefully blowing across the top of the coffeein his hand. He nodded, trying to mask his lack of heartbreak at the botched investigation and raids led by the IPD.
Schwartz followed him. “Bunch of fuckin’ criminals, they should all rot.”
Hot liquid slopped over the top edge of the cup and Doug hissed. “What?” He reached and gathered up a handful of napkins, wiping down his fingers and the cup, squatting to swipe at the dark spots on thefloor. He shook his head, muttering, “If there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there.”
Shoes approached from the side,andhe glanced up to see another of the many past partners standing next to the coffeepot, DominicVogel, a good cop he’d enjoyed working with. Before he could greet him, Schwartz continued to run at the mouth. “I see ‘em on the highway? I run the bastards off the road. Let‘em sail the ditch, man.” He made a noise probably intended to sound like a motorcycle in freefall, engine revving. With a laugh, he clipped out, “Ridethat, bitch.” Doug’s eyes met the startled gaze ofVogel, and he struggled to school his expression. Tone abrasive, Schwartz said, “World’dbe better without that trash.”
Pushing to his feet, he carefully set down his cup and tossed the damp papernapkins into the nearby trash can. Pain bloomed in his jawandhe forced his muscles to unclench the tiniest bit. Just enough to get his words out, because nothing in him would let a statement like that stand. It wouldn’t have mattered if he were friends with the Rebels or not, but him becoming brothers to those men—it couldn’t stand.
“I know you didn’t just stand here and freely admit to committingattempted vehicular manslaughter.” Schwartz’s face blanched, and Doug shook his head. “‘You have the right to remain silent.’ Is that what you want tohear?Because that’s where I’ll take this if you open your goddamned fucking mouth around me again. You want to go there, buddy…make no fucking mistake, I’ll go there with you.” The man’s face whitened even more, and his mouth gaped open like afish in a dry bucket. “If anyone’s a lowlife piece of trash in this scenario, from where I’m standing, it’s you.”
Turning on his heel, he stalked away, hearing the rising buzz of noise in his wake, only now aware of how silent it had been in the room while he’d shouted at his fellow detective.
This is the kind of bullshit these men who had taken oaths to serve and protect brought to the table?These are the kind of men I want to work alongside?
If he quit the force, he’d have nothing. He hadn’t been on the job long enough to qualify for any kind ofretirement,and knew he didn’t have any other marketable skills.Security guard?He bit the inside of his cheek and shuddered. Maybe there was a security firm who needed an investigator.
Fuck.
