L.A. Confrontational Page 10

  I recalled my early days with the LAPD, fresh out of the academy, honored to be teamed with a veteran cop like Benny. He vowed to show me the ropes. He appreciated my eagerness to prove myself, a trait common to many rookie cops. However, it didn’t take me long to realize his ropes would have bound me to greed and corruption, a condition I neither accepted nor rejected. My indecision triggered Benny’s mistrust. He never confided in me. That probably saved my life.

  I checked my weapon and tested my aim perched in the driver’s seat. My shooting hand barely shook. The brick lodged in the pit of my stomach since my arrival in L.A. wouldn’t go away. I took a deep breath and considered my mission. Retrieve Sarah and get the hell out of town.

  A blue BMW eased down the side street followed by a cloud of dust as Benny drove into the junkyard through a large gap in the fence. He slowed and eventually pulled the car in front of the tower. Benny stepped gingerly out of his vehicle and wiped away dust from his navy blue suit and pants. His dark hair had thinned a bit, while his belly had widened a lot since I last saw him. He smoothed his yellow and blue Lakers tie over his white shirt and surveyed the area before walking into the deteriorating tower.

  I had slipped down on the cab’s seat behind the door. Benny had arrived a half-hour early, most likely to get a jump on me. I wanted him to think he had succeeded.

  The tower’s wood stairs creaked as Benny climbed. From the rearview mirror, I saw his head poke through the second floor window to search the surroundings. I resisted the temptation to confront him. Maybe he would think I changed my mind.

  Benny left the window and I heard him descend the tower’s steps. I slipped out the passenger door to crouch behind the Impala’s frame and front tire, directly across from Benny’s car.

  He came out of the tower and headed for his car. His black patent-leather shoes crunched on the crystalized dirt. I stood up from behind the car.

  “Hello Benny.”

  He turned and reached for his gun as I ducked back behind the vehicle. A shot whizzed over the Impala’s car hood followed by the sound of his scampering feet.

  “Benny, you asshole, it’s Arch,” I yelled as a second and third bullet careened off metal to my left and right. I was tempted to put a bullet through his shiny driver’s side door, payback for all the misery he had caused me.

  Benny’s feet were visible when I crouched to the ground from behind the Impala’s wheel and peered underneath to his car. I had always been a smarter cop than Benny and never would have left my feet exposed. I was also a much better shot. I settled into firing position bracing myself on the ground, aimed, and fired. Benny screamed as I sprinted around the Impala, slid across the hood of his car, and rolled over my left shoulder, landing in perfect firing position. My melodramatic entrance wasn’t necessary. Benny had dropped his gun and sat on the ground holding his left foot.

  “Jesus Christ, Arch, you shot me.” Benny began unlacing his left shoe.

  “You shot at me first, you dumb ass.”

  “I didn’t recognize your voice.”

  “Sure, you didn’t recognize your old partner’s voice.” I got up and walked toward his prone figure with my gun ready. I stopped about five feet away. “You should have known better than to get into a shoot-out with me. Kick your gun away from your body or I’ll put a hole in your right foot.”

  “I’m not going to shoot at you.”

  “You already did. Just do it.” Benny obliged and kicked the gun towards me with his undamaged right foot. I picked up the Beretta 9 mm. “Are you ever going to learn how to use this thing?” I tapped his left leg just above the ankle. “And the model sixty in your ankle holster, Benny. Nice and slow.”

  He pulled up his pant leg, removed the small frame Smith and Wesson, and tossed it in my direction.

  “You thought I forgot about it. It’s a good thing you didn’t make a move for it because I would have killed you.”

  “When I get up and reach my radio, I’ll have you arrested for shooting a cop.”

  “Not when you hear what I have to say.” I saw the blood ooze onto the ground through the hole in his shoe. “You’re lucky I’m accurate. I could have hit you in the ankle. That would have been really painful.”

  “Fuck you, Arch.” He removed his shoe with excruciating effort to inspect the wound.

  “We can make this real short, Benny, and then you can go get that wound attended to. Just tell the chief you shot yourself in the foot. He’ll certainly believe it.”

  “Christ, Arch. There’s a first aid kit in the trunk with some bandages and tape. I need to dress this wound.”

  “Where are the keys?”

  “They’re in the ignition. There’s a button to pop the trunk.”

  I stretched across to the steering wheel and removed the keys. I popped the trunk, retrieved the kit, and handed it to him. He cursed as he poured alcohol on the wound. After the alcohol evaporated, he bandaged the toe with gauze and tape to stop the bleeding.

  “It’s just a flesh wound. You’ll recover.”

  “What do you want from me anyway?” Benny sat upright and flipped his left shoe through the open window.

  “I’m looking for a young girl. I’m pretty sure she’s in one of Junky’s establishments.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “You’ve got a professional relationship with him and I need financial support.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t play dumb. You think I don’t know about your history with Junky?”

  Benny gave me a dismissive wave. “I can’t help you. Go back home. You don’t want to mess with Junky anymore. Haven’t you suffered enough?”

  He was right about the last part. “I don’t have a choice. I’m here to find this girl and I’m certain he has her.”

  Benny shifted uncomfortably and not just because of the toe wound. “Why would he even agree to talk to you?”

  I played with him, not quite ready to set the hook. “He’s a businessman, right? So I was planning to offer him cash for the girl.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “I don’t need luck because you’re going to put up the cash.”

  Benny laughed until he reached for his foot and groaned. “You’re crazy Arch. Why should I give Junky money? So you can have some whore?”

  “Because if you don’t, you’re going to jail.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “How do you think I knew about this place, Benny?”

  “It’s just a fucking junkyard.”

  “It’s not just an abandoned junkyard. You know as well as anybody. I’m familiar with everything about your operation including what happened here.”

  “You don’t know shit.”

  “You still have the pocket organizer you carried everywhere with you? The one with all those compartments for credit cards and receipts?”

  “No, I got a new one. But I kept the old one as a back-up. Why?”

  “You remember the hidden compartment where you kept a spare fifty for an emergency?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “Check it when you get home. I put a bug in there when we were working together.”

  “You what? I don’t believe you. You’re bluffing.”

  I laughed. “I counted on the fact you carried that leather organizer everywhere you went. You cared more about that oversized wallet than you did your wife. I figured one day you’d get shot because you were busy organizing your receipts or business cards. You remember those fiber optic listening devices I ordered so we could wire a couple of Junky’s girls?

  “What about them?”

  “They were small enough to stay hidden. I glued one of them into the zipped compartment below your spare fifty. Take a look when you get home.”

  “Bullshit, Arch. When did you do that?”

  “We were sitting at a gas station over on Sepulveda, and I slipped it in when you left it in the car to go take
a shit. You were terrified of dropping it in the toilet. It was too large to fit into your jacket pocket so you left it on your car seat while you went to the bathroom.”

  “No way.” He shook his head as if refusing to believe my betrayal, or perhaps remembering his paranoia of flushing his beloved organizer down the toilet.

  “Check when you get home. If you never found the device, it must still be in there. It only lasted a few months, but long enough to collect enough details to put you away for a long time. I’ve got conversations of payoff negotiations and you’re one of the stars. I sat in my car a few hundred feet away and recorded everything. I didn’t give it to Internal Affairs in case I needed your cooperation someday. That day has arrived.”

  The amount of information collected from the bug probably couldn’t convict anyone, but as Andy always told me, “It isn’t what you know, it’s what your enemies think you know.” Thanks to Andy, I could add even more details to my blackmail tactics since I had several envelopes of incriminating documents.

  Benny still didn’t seem convinced—I needed to play my trump card. “I know about your meetings with Shockey.”

  At the mention of the name, a guilty shadow rolled across Benny’s face. His eyes widened and his upper lip trembled.

  I went for the kill. “I know about the cash payments, how much you were getting and the frequency. Shockey was your banker.”

  Shockey wasn’t the man’s real name, but those of us who followed pro football had seen a close resemblance between him and a tight end who played for the New York Giants and New Orleans Saints. Our guy was a mean bastard who used the fear of violence to shake down local L.A. businesses for kickbacks and then paid off the cops to ignore him. He had been a close associate of Junky’s in prostitution and drug dealerships. Shockey had paid the price, sacrificed by Junky and the cops, and now served 15 years for attempted bribery and corruption. He never squealed to the authorities about what he knew, perhaps fearing the long reach his former business partners had inside the pen. I looked forward to the fireworks when he got out.

  “You son of a bitch, Arch. I protected you when the other cops wanted to kill you.”

  “You took your sweet time about it. Don’t think I’m not appreciative. It’s why I haven’t divulged the existence of the CD to anyone.”

  “What CD?”

  I continued with my bluff. “I made a greatest hits recording of you and your pals’ transactions. It’s quite a collection and I’m sure it would be a best seller with the FBI.” I could have made a CD, but the barely audible taped conversations would never have held up in court.

  “Yeah right. I still don’t believe you.” He said with little conviction.

  “You will when you get home. I needed an insurance policy because there was no way I could trust any of you.”

  Benny fell silent. If he got home and didn’t find any device in his organizer, he could send someone to kill me. Finally, he squinted up at me. “So let’s say I believe your story about the CD. What do you want from me?”

  “You’re going to pay Junky cash for the girl. I was planning to offer him fifteen thousand. Think he’ll take it?”

  “He might just have you shot.”

  “That’s where you come in.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You always underestimated my intelligence, Benny. I made a copy of the CD and left it with my attorney in Albuquerque. If I should die for any reason, even natural causes, the CD gets sent to the FBI. You better hope I live a long life and you better convince Junky not to kill me. If he wants more you’ll just have to pay him.”

  “You think I have that kind of money lying around?’

  “I know you’ve got some stashed away where your wife won’t find it. You better find the cash.” Andy’s files had listed numerous bank accounts, but I didn’t know which accounts belonged to Benny. If pressed I could rattle off some names and locations, an option I hoped to avoid because if they didn’t pertain to Benny, he would suspect a bluff.

  “This must be a special girl to make you take such a risk, Arch. Who is she?”

  “It’s none of your business. You just need to make sure I get out of L.A. alive with her.”

  “Shit Arch, Junky might just have both of us killed.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. But if you hang me out to dry and I get knocked off, you’re going to spend the rest of your life in jail.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “First, I find her. Then confront Junky. If he calls you, it means he hasn’t killed me yet. It’s up to you to convince him to accept my offer.”

  “And then what?” The resignation registered on his face.

  “Once I leave town with the girl, I’ll be out of your life. Hopefully forever, unless my health suddenly fails. In which case, you’ll be hearing from the FBI.”

  Benny pulled himself up using the hood of this car and checked his foot. The bandages had stopped the bleeding. “You’re going to get us both shot in the head for sure.”

  “Then you won’t have to worry about going to jail.” I scattered the bullets from Benny’s guns among the junkyard dust, then tossed the weapons out into the sea of cars.

  “Don’t let me down, Benny.” I hurried out of the junkyard and down the side street, relieved to see the rental car still there. I drove straight to the airport, with a close eye on my rearview mirror. I dropped off the rental and retrieved my car.

  I drove over to a Best Western on Manchester near the airport, pulled around to the rear parking area, and backed into a parking space along the row of first floor hotel rooms. My plate was now hidden from view just in case Benny tried to pull a double-cross, and the police got lucky locating my car. I doubted he would want to announce my presence, considering my possession of such damaging information. I thought about renting another car, but I might need to make a quick exit out of town. It wouldn’t be safe to take another trip to the airport.

  I collapsed in the room and reviewed my confrontation with Benny. His discovery of the dead listening device would secure his cooperation, but wouldn’t guarantee his dependability. He was a coward. I hoped his fear of going to jail would secure his focus on the task. On the other hand, Benny was a lucky son of a bitch, and his run of good fortune might continue if he ratted me out and Junky killed me before I turned over the evidence.

  Chapter 16

  A long, welcome shower cleansed me of the dirt and smell of the junkyard. I dressed in a nice suit and headed south on the 405, then east to the coast in Redondo Beach. I pulled into the parking garage at the Redondo pier just as a thick layer of cool fog covered the city in an ethereal blanket. I slipped on my clear glasses, climbed the steps to the pier, and searched for the Seafood House neon sign.

  The main door spilled into a small reception corridor, but veered right through another door into the crowded bar. I found an empty seat in a ring of chairs circling a burning fire. The warmth brought a satisfying comfort after walking through the cold Pacific mist. The restaurant smelled of freshly baked bread and grilled fish.

  I sipped a rum and coke, and shifted my chair to observe the scurrying staff. There was only one male staff member waiting on tables, so identifying the Hispanic Emilio proved to be easy. I tracked which tables he served, ordered another drink, and waited for the dinner crowd to thin.

  The bar seemed like a good place to hang out. It overflowed with raucous drinking customers. I got caught up in the mood and consumed several more drinks for courage. I paid the bar tab and approached the hostess, who seated me at one of Emilio’s tables by the window. He came by a minute later and introduced himself. I ordered a glass of ice water and the halibut.

  Through the window, I could see the waves crashing on the shore illuminated by the floodlights from the roof. Like a silent movie, no sound penetrated the sealed window. The halibut, delivered fresh from the ice-cold waters of Alaska, was delicious. My last meal at this restaurant had been with Joanne at the beginning of our initial case a
gainst Junky. Josie had been born, the job still full of excitement before the stress of the case began to wear me down.

  We had initiated a series of sting operations to bust prostitutes hoping they would provide testimony against Junky and put him out of business. We turned several hookers who complained about abuse, and threats of violence.

  The case took several years before the District Attorney felt confident of a successful prosecution. Despite police protection, the first of our star witnesses turned up murdered a few days before the court hearing. This prompted a second witness to slip past the cops and disappear. The body of a third witness turned up in the junkyard. Of course, at the time I didn’t realize the significance of the location as a meeting place and Junky’s selection of it as a warning shot to those cops he had corrupted. With so much gullible emphasis on making a name for myself in the law enforcement community, I was blind to the corruption surrounding me. But, after the murders of those women, my suspicions began to mount.

  Without a breathing witness and despite our best efforts to develop the case, it fell apart for lack of sufficient evidence. I spent months in a frenzy trying to track down the one remaining witness who had disappeared before Junky’s deadly tentacles reached out to snag her. When pieces of crucial evidence disappeared from a locked room at police headquarters, the depth of corruption became obvious. Not knowing which cops could be trusted, I began conducting my investigations in secrecy.

  Linking Junky to the killings proved difficult since he delegated his dirty work. His hands were clean, but plenty of dirt had accumulated under his fingernails. Despite my diligence and strong leads, he would slither through my fingers and escape like a live eel just as my hands tightened around him.

  As the difficulties in the prosecution mounted, the decision-makers distanced themselves, focusing on solving easier cases to support their promotions to a comfortable job in the mayor’s office. No one cared about murdered prostitutes. The murders cleaned up the streets.