Collision Course (A Josh Williams Novel) (17 page)

Special
Agents Waters, Murray, and Slattery walked into the US Attorney's Office. They bore news that might prove helpful in the Williams case and were anxious to share.

Robert Collucci came in, closed the door, and looked to the agents, "Okay, so what have you got?"

"Hamlin is fucking Steven Harris, and Harris has a fiancé," Waters replied.

Collucci smiled, "Really? Well, isn't that convenient. Perhaps it is time we played hardball with the good Lieutenant and that pussy of a boyfriend. Go pick him up. Make it a good show for him, but no witnesses. We want to keep our claws in him, but invisible."

Two hours later a distraught Harris was standing in the US Attorney's Office.

"So, Mr. Harris, Steve if I may," the words dripping out of Collucci.

Harris nodded.

"You do know why you're here. Nasty business this. Attempted Bribery of a Court Official, Filing Fraudulent Documents, Obstruction of Justice. As I am certain you are aware, these carry significant jail time, fines, and, of course, disbarment. Such a shame. Such a waste of a talented legal career." Collucci was enjoying this.

Harris pleaded, "Mr. Collucci, I hardly think this is a criminal matter. I offered no bribe. It was a momentary lapse of judgment. No harm intended. It wasn't even a required..."

"Shut up, Harris. I do not give a shit about you or these documents. However, it all comes down to how we manage the issue. I can minimize the whole incident or," rising from his chair, "indict and charge you. It makes no difference to me. What I want from you is information. Give me something about Hamlin. Don't worry, you will find another girlfriend. Oh, wait,” smiling at Harris, “you already have one. I wonder what she would think of Sunday visitations at the Fort Dix Federal Prison."

Harris felt his knees go weak, and he collapsed in a chair. "I don't know anything about Hamlin. It was just a physical thing. I was going to end it anyway. She's, she never tells me anything. She...wait a minute, wait one minute, there is one thing. Now that I think of it, but it's not about Hamlin, it's about Williams." Harris smiled.

I cannot do this. Chris trusted me. It was pillow talk, what the fuck am I thinking?

Collucci raised his hands in a 'well?' gesture.

"I need assurances," Harris continued.

Collucci came around the desk, leaned back, folded his arms, and said, "Fine, I assure you Mr. Harris that either you give me something useful right now or you can rest assured that today will be the last day you practice law. How do those assurances sound to you?"

"Okay, okay, but if it's worth it, I walk on this right?" Harris pleaded.

"If it is valuable and accurate I assure you, there's that word again, you will walk out of here, and this little misunderstanding will be forgotten."

Harris stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the streets in Kennedy Plaza.
How many hours had he spent waiting for the bus home because his father did not want to waste gas driving to pick him up at school? He called it his 'college fantasy'. It all come to this, giving something up to help himself. Ah, well I can't be much help in prison can I?

Turning back to face Collucci, he began "Hamlin told me Williams lied in a court hearing."

Collucci rose from the desk, "Continue, where, when, which court?"

"Well, she said he colored his testimony. She thought it was funny. However, she was worried he'd go too far someday and get caught."

"Which court?” Collucci demanded.

"Sixth Division, District Court. Some sort of an alcohol violation, I don't know any specifics."

"Go," Collucci muttered, reaching for the phone.

Harris just looked at him.

"Get the fuck out of my office now, or I will indict you and that bitch of a plaything of yours for obstruction of justice," Collucci threatened.

Harris was out the door, down the stairs, and in the middle of Kennedy Plaza before Collucci dialed the first number.

Josh
walked into the office, saw Chris talking on the phone, took in the look in her eyes, and knew.

'That son-of-a-bitch indicted me didn't he?"

Chris nodded her head, motioned for him be quiet, and put the phone on the speaker...

"Anyway, we all...." the male voice paused, "...what the hell was that, Chris?"

"Nothing, I turned the volume up. They're doing work on the heating system, and I couldn't hear you." Smiling at Josh and shrugging her shoulders.

The caller continued, "The SAC told Collucci he wasn't using any of his agents for this fucking witch-hunt. He could call the fucking President of the United States for all he cared. That as far as he was concerned, every agent in the Providence office was busy for the next decade.”

The caller went silent for a moment. “Hang on; let me close my office door.” There was the muffled sound of movement, and then the caller came back on.

“Where was I? Oh yeah. Collucci started yelling he would have him sent to fucking Podunk and the SAC said that at least he would not have to put up with the political fucking cesspool here. So you tell Josh no matter what happens not one fucking moment of any local agents' time was used in this charade and that we all know this is bullshit."

"Thanks, Kenny" Josh said. Chris gave him the 'what the fuck look.'

"Cheeks, did you put me on a speaker? Josh is listening right? Dammit Chris, I said this was between you and me."

"Sorry, Ken. My partner here just never learns to keep his mouth shut," Chris replied, giving Josh the finger.

"Well listen, the SAC wanted you to know how the office felt about this, but he also does not want anything to fall back on him. He is a good guy, ladies and gentlemen, but he is also a few years short of retirement, and he would prefer to keep his pension. Don’t bag me on this."

"Kenny, I appreciate it,” Josh said, "it will stay here. Thanks."

The line went dead and Chris stood up, "You didn't hear the whole call. Collucci is planning to send the rat squad to arrest you at Bovi's. He got it in his head that he'd make you look bad in front of your friends and get a little payback for the police and fire unions voting to endorse his opponent."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'll just go down to the court and turn myself in, that'll piss him off."

"I have a better idea," Chris smiled. "They want to make a big splash in the media, let's give them a fucking tidal wave."

Josh gave her an inquisitive look.

"The indictment is under limited seal. I cannot wait to find out which fucking magistrate agreed to that order. They only have 24 hours to keep it under seal. They have to try to get you quickly or the seal is broken, then they have to notify the department, and you can turn yourself in."

Chris walked over to the window, thinking. "They'll come looking for you tonight at Bovi's. Even they can figure out you will be there on a Friday. And they will find you, but not quite right away."

Josh looked at Chris and smiled, "and what are we going to do?"

"Call Beansie. We need a few of his special girls and his camera expertise."

Beer
Blast at Bovi's
, the signs read.

Come join us for a fund-raiser for the East Providence Animal Shelter sponsored by the East Providence Fire IAFA and Police IBPO unions.

"Have a Beer, Save a Pussy," read one sign.

"Have a Beer, Dogs Like Pussy," read another.

Chris looked at the signs, looked at the shit-eating grin on the well lubricated, off-duty cop's face, and just shook her head.

"Hey, hey, Lou, ahh L ah T ah sir er ma'am," the officer tried to speak through the beer static.

Chris gave him a look and said, "Don’t go down that road son. You want to sip your beer through a straw or enjoy yourself?"

Sergeant "Angel" Armstrong came over, put his muscular bicep over the young officer's face, and said, "Not a problem, LT. It is past his bedtime anyway. I'll take care of the little man."

How many times have Sergeants saved embarrassment and lives? Chris thought.
Then, moving suddenly toward the officer, made him jump in spite of the strong grip on him.

"Thanks, Angel. How do you keep doing this?"

"When I retire, I am going to teach Kindergarten. I figure this is good practice." Lifting the officer off his barstool, hauling him over to a booth in the rear, and planting him firmly in the seat.

A few, more seasoned officers, who all benefited at one time or another from ‘Angel’s’ embrace, immediately surrounded the officer.

Chris moved through the crowd, spotting Beansie sitting at the end of the bar. He was sandwiched between two of his very special ladies, surrounded by a whole flock of off-duty night shift cops and firefighters.

"Beansie," she smiled, "how are you this fine day?"

"Not very fucking happy at the moment," glancing at the crowd around him, "I don't do discounts for anyone, not even cops and Firemen."

"Not to worry, Beansie," Chris smiled, "the firemen would ask for recipes, and the cops have already drank so much beer they're harmless." This drew a series of loud protests from the crowd.

"Okay boys, move on," Chris announced, "we have things to discuss, and you aren't invited."

Most of the crowd moved on, but not before one made a nearly fatal comment. "I told you she rolled that way..."

Chris was not even out of her seat before Angel was standing between her and the crowd. "Okay, LT, just a joke," glaring at the retreating group, "we all know you're not a rug muncher."

"Only you, Angel, only you," Chris laughed.

Angel smiled, nodded his thanks, turned around and knocked the offending officer on the back of the head so hard he went to his knees.

"Next asshole says anything about the LT, I am not going to protect your dumb ass, and you will regret it."

"Give them a beer on me," Chris said to Karen, "and make sure they know it."

A moment later, there was a cheer from the other side of the bar, "Thanks LT, thanks ma'am, thank you..." while Angel stood vigilantly behind them, nodding and smiling, like a proud parent.

Beansie looked over at the cheering cops and then back at Chris, "What am I supposed to do in here, with all this, ah, protection?"

"Well, these young ladies here are?" Looking at the girls.

"They are mine," Beansie said, drawing her look back, "and I don't think we are staying," rising from the stool.

"Sit down, you little fucking weenie. These girls do not belong to anyone, let alone a piece of shit like you. I have a mind to lock you up for being an A I N. I just need the girls. I can get anybody to take pictures."

"A I N?" one of the girls said, "what's that?

"Asshole in the nighttime," Chris said, “and Beansie here is a repeat offender."

"Now, Beansie, be a gentleman for once in your life and introduce me to your friends."

Beansie looked around. There was no escape. "This is Apple," pointing to the blonde, "and this is Cherry." Looking uncomfortably at the crowd surrounding them.

"Ah, a fruit theme, rather healthy Beansie, my compliments." Looking at the girls, "you aren't going to make a lot of money tonight in the usual way, but Beansie here," motioning to Angel to come over, "is giving you a paid holiday."

The girls looked at each other and then to Beansie. Angel moved to block the view.

One of the fruit sisters asked, "What's a paid holiday?"

"You do what I tell you, when I tell you, and Beansie will pay you twice what you've ever made in the past."

"No fucking way," Beansie yelled, rising from the seat, "those bitches work, or they don't get paid."

The bar went silent, sort of.

Angel leaned forward.

Chris smiled.

Beansie sat down, negotiations concluded.

By eight o'clock, the bartenders at Bovi's already served more beer and drinks than St. Patrick's Day.

Beansie took a seat in the corner near the door, armed with his camera, and tasked with very specific instructions.

An old panel van, belonging to Vinnie the plumber, covertly delivered people from the Shaw's parking lot to the rear entrance of Bovi's in order to conceal the actual number of people inside the bar.

A small area set aside just inside the door kept free of obstructions, a designated 'smoker' positioned outside, supplied with drinks, to serve as the 'closer', Josh sitting at the one stool visible from the outside. Everyone in position.

The lookouts, sitting on the picnic table across the street, spotted the dark-blue Crown Vic, as it drove by in a pathetic attempt at covert reconnaissance. They gave the signal as the car came back around and parked.

The two agents got out of the car, walked to the door, yanking it open, strode in announcing, "FBI."

The door closed behind them and the dumpster pulled to the curb, blocking the door, awaiting the trash service truck that pulled up at that moment.

The agents, oblivious to the machinations they triggered, started toward Josh and their world went insane.

Two very well endowed young women, wearing thong bikinis, appeared at their side, held their arms, and smiled for the flashes of cameras and video.

Frank O'Malley, coming from behind the agents, put his arms around them just after the girls moved away, yelling "God bless the USA," and spilling the two Guinness beers he held in each hand on the agents' suits, while still managing to smile for the cameras.

The agents pushed O'Malley away, and began scanning the room for Josh.

Every face in the crowd was now wearing a Josh Williams mask.

Chris came over, smiled, and said, "Is there anything the East Providence Police can do to assist you?"

Behind the agents, the various signs were paraded; cameras continued to flash, and the crowd began cheering "Na, na, na, na.... Na, na na na, hey hey hey, FBI."

"You think this is funny? You fucking local yokel asshole," the agent yelled, "this is obstruction of justice."

"My, my, what an attitude toward a sister in the thin blue line. If you think this is funny, wait until you see the pictures. My bet is they are on Facebook and YouTube as we speak. Might I buy you a drink, in the interest of cooperation?"

"I am going to indict your ass for this Hamlin, and lock up that fucking partner of yours."

"You go right ahead and try asshole," Chris smiled, “my guess is the prima donna political cocksuckers in FBI Headquarters will be sending your ass to some fucking outpost on Diego Garcia, when they hear this story." Chris joined the chorus dancing to "hey hey hey, FBI"

The other agent grabbed his partner's arm, turned, and tried to open the door. It opened just a few inches at first and then a bit wider, allowing Vinnie the plumber to look in and say, "Hold on boys, still taking a dump."

Forcing the door, the agents made their way to the car. Vinnie's van was inches from the rear bumper, and the trash truck blocked the front.

The lead agent then made another error in judgment, turning the siren on and off; he yelled out the window at the trash truck operator, "Move the truck immediately this is the FBI."

"Yes Sir. Mr. FBI agent," said the driver, snapping a perfect, if wrong handed, salute.

As the truck pulled away, a huge wave of fluid from inside the still exposed compaction area splashed out, covering the hood and pouring all sorts of fermenting items in the open driver's window.

Josh, who left his seat as the performance began, watched it all unfold from across the street.

It is good to have friends.