Hard Case V: Blood and Fear (A John Harding Novel Book 5) (37 page)

Gus passed out folders Laredo and Jafar had put together from our new recruits. “Our informants have names, money transfers, and video linking some very influential people in Oakland politics with a Section Eight housing scam to put drug operations into place in strategic neighborhood areas. We know who started buying their way into this, and we know she’s not interested in running drugs. She’s trying to create a shipping network utilizing our own neighborhoods instead of warehouses for acting as intermediate safe houses for weapons of a sophisticated nature: electromagnet pulse weapons which could put our entire nation in jeopardy. Her name is Phoebe Christova. We’re working with Alexi Fiialkov to stop her cold.”

Earl and ‘Rique were staring at each other in open mouthed shock, having perused the folders Gus provided, and the names in them. We needed Earl and ‘Rique with us on this. “Any Oakland political figure trying to mess with you two will find out how extensive our researching capabilities really are. It won’t be necessary after you hand over these folders in person to do any preaching or threatening. Our ploy will be more impressive when carried out by two rank and file police officers.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” ‘Rique mumbled. “It’s no damn wonder this city is always under siege.”

“It explains why we’re not getting any backing no matter what we do,” Earl added. “If your guys can get this info, then it means the names in these folders are already in the hands of the wrong people. What happens when these jerks in office can’t control anything, and the gangsters owning them start squeezing, John?”

“Any one of a few things,” I answered. “They can resign, go into rehab with cries of ‘I’m so sorry’, or they can do what the hell they’re supposed to be doing in office. We’re not backing away. We’ll expose them, one after another. They’ll have to make their own decisions on their next moves. Denny agreed with me on this. The police officers risking their lives every day needed to know what they’re up against, so they can take precautions.”

“So we’re not supposed to keep this secret then?”

I grinned, because I loved this part. “We don’t care what you guys do with the info, ‘Rique. We’re as sick of listening to your bosses talk about crime prevention, taking back the neighborhoods, and how they’re behind law enforcement a hundred percent as you guys are. Then the first outcry from gangbanger love puppies, and they throw Blue under the bus. I think it’s time to try something new. As you say, we have three experts on the interior workings in the thug world.”

Earl held up his stack of folders. “We’ll get on this right away. Where’s Denny at?”

“He’s in Washington by now, gathering a band of our backers together to end our own internal affairs problem. Don’t worry, Laredo flew him there, and is monitoring everything going on here. If we hit a snag, both Laredo and Denny will fix it. In the meantime, we will be coaching girls’ softball, and checking on Lynn, and the newest addition to our monster squad.”

“One other ah… situation, John,” Earl said. “There have been a lot of bodies, the latest in an old warehouse shed, we figured was connected to the price of doing business getting gangbangers in line. We’ve also received complaints about a number of missing men, phoned in by the people working for that Christova you mentioned. Are they all dead?”

I hesitated for a moment, because we hadn’t read in Earl and ‘Rique on our prior collections. What the hell, I’m not keeping two guys I trust implicitly in the dark. “They’re not dead. The Bulgarians we were holding, Denny traded to Russia, because they were linked with two bombings there. In return, Russia will provide logistical help on another deal we’re finalizing to get Christova. We only have one man in holding: an assassin I call Doc Ock, because he’s the one who led the attack on the hospital, seeking to kill Clint and Lynn’s baby. We’re not trading him, and you won’t ever see his face except on the side of a milk carton, so it would be best to forget any rumors moving in police circles about a fifth guy at the hospital.”

“Understood, John,” ‘Rique acknowledged. “When are you all coming over to The Warehouse? The guys ask about you bunch all the time.”

I glanced around at my monsters. “I think when we get Lynn, Clint, and Clint Jr out of the NICU, we’ll sponsor a night for the Blue with all of us in attendance. The Clint Jr. baby wing has been completed at their house, so we’re hoping for Lynn and Clint Jr’s release in the next couple of days. Clint Jr’s already gained a couple of pounds, so he may be really close to release.

“Damn! That’s outstanding news,” ‘Rique said. “Lynn makes my blood run cold, but she believes in everything I do, and she’s not hampered by guidelines. She’s like watching my evil side make everything happen the way I want it to.”

“Tell ‘em, John,” Casey said. “They’ll get a charge out of it, and they couldn’t do anything about it anyway.”

I did as Casey directed, including Lynn’s line she told Denny after she gutted and shot the two men thinking to attack their residence. By the time I finished the story, everyone was enjoying my Cruella Deville dangerous moments before birth tale.

“Holy mother of God,” Earl said, covering his face with his hands. “I’m glad she’s on our side. Please tell her hello for me, and I’m praying every day for her recovery, and the wellbeing of Clint Jr.”

“Ditto!” ‘Rique said with feeling. “We do not wish Diabla to take anything we say or do the wrong way. I have less fear of the Cartels.”

It was entertaining to hear verbal mumbling in the same vein from the rest of my crew. I understood Crue as Clint I’m sure did, and as the rest of my companions did on an elemental basis. When you piss her off, you’d better have a safe-house somewhere, much like a 1950’s bomb shelter, where your breathing, food, and waste production cannot be detected. Otherwise, Crue would hunt your ass down, adding on hours of unspeakable torture according to the time it took her to locate you. And yes, we minions of the ‘Mistress of the Unimaginable’ would be helping. It’s best to stay in touch with the darkest side of any enterprise. To do otherwise provokes consequences unimaginable to normal folk.

“I think we all see eye to eye on the main item on our agenda. Let’s go work our angles in preparation for the coming of the Oaktown Cartel. We want everything in place when we put the now extinct ‘Coolidge Avenue Section Eight Fraud’s’ con-artists back on the street under new management. We’ll see over the next few weeks what kind of rats they draw into the light. It will be the Oaktown Cartel’s enforcement arm to smooth the rough spots.”

“For their sakes, they better leave town before the Oaktown Cartel gets its gun moll back from the hospital,” Gus said.

“Amen to that,” Earl added, with reverent agreements from the rest of our conference members.

* * *

Cloudy and humid, our first week of May felt in the comfortable mid-seventies at noontime first pitch. Al’s team made the playoffs. We were getting our butts kicked. The girls played hard, and nearly error free ball, but the Cardinals had a team mostly on the upper age limit for our league. Their pitcher threw high heat, and their batters blasted our pitching into the furthest reaches of the park. They batted to the six run limit two innings in a row. Here we were, leading off the third behind twelve to two. Our girls stared off into space as Samira and I tried to ease the agony of defeat, but they weren’t having any.

“It’s okay, Dad.” Al became the spokesperson for the team somewhere in midseason. “We’ll play as well as they are when we’re in our twenties too. I think their pitcher has two kids, and drove a Buick to the park today.”

That comment loosened them a bit. It was a free-for-all afterward for best one liner describing the ages of our opponents. Casey and Jafar enjoyed the insult-a-thon far too inappropriately for coaches, but sometimes these kids’ sporting events can only be enjoyed in a humorous vein, and Al had found it.

“You’re up first, Kelly,” Samira called out, as the umpire was giving us the evil eye.

Twelve year old Kelly with an auburn hair ponytail sticking out the back of her cap paused near Samira. “I think you should get the ump to check the pitcher. She has a beard stubble, and her Mom in the stands called her Tommy.”

“Kelly!” Samira gasped, turning away with clipboard and free hand over her face, as Kelly’s teammates and coaches inappropriately enjoyed the moment once again. I gestured the unrepentant Casey and Jafar to their coaching positions.

I put a hand on Kelly’s shoulders. “Go get something started, Kel.”

“I would, but the Cardinals are so big, I can’t see an open spot to hit the ball.”

“Good idea. Bunt the sucker.”

Kelly giggled and nodded. What the hell? We worked on our bunting every practice. Nothing else seemed to be working. Kelly’s fast, so this could be interesting. I signaled Casey on third base what we were doing. He acknowledged, and it was game on. Kelly didn’t show bunt until the last second. She dribbled it perfectly up the first base line. The pitcher beat the catcher to the ball, scooped it, and threw it into the right field corner. By the time the right fielder relayed the throw in, Kelly was ambling across home plate with a bunt homerun. While we celebrated a bright spot in the day, the Cardinal’s coach went ballistic. She went right into the face of her pitcher, arms waving. Such is life in girls’ softball land. I’d go to killing bad guys full time before I ever pulled a stunt like that. Luckily, the pitcher’s Mom rushed out onto the field with fists clenched, and fire in her eyes. That ended the coaching diatribe, but almost in a fist fight. We kept our mouths shut on our side. The umpire finally stopped hiding, and came out in front of the plate to yell ‘play ball’. I turned to the girls.

“Bunting practice, anyone?” Oh boy, did the girls ever get into that one. The inning ended on us being held to the six run rule. Our pitcher, Wendy, who had been pitching a terrific game, firing it right over the strike zone, pulled me aside.

“I…I don’t want to screw us again, John. Maybe you should substitute for me.”

I shook my head, as Samira put an arm around Wendy’s shoulders. “You pitched great. They’re hitting your fastball. Remember when we worked on throwing a change-up? It’s the same arm motion until you let go of the pitch. Mix them up at your discretion. It doesn’t matter if we have another bat around by the Cardinals. We’re competing, kid. That’s what it’s all about. Another thing I need you to keep in mind. They may go the bunt route against you. Keep your calm. Turn, check the runner’s progress, and throw a strike to first base. I already went through that with our catcher Karen. Call off Karen, if you think you have it. Otherwise, let Karen handle the play.”

“Got it. Thanks, John.” She ran to the pitcher’s mound without hesitation.

“You are very good at this, John,” Samira complimented me. “I love this. It takes my mind off of my soon to arrive daughter.”

“I won’t hint at knowing that feeling, but your being here to sub for Lynn has been terrific. I’m hoping the girls can learn to compete without malice. That last inning was hell-of-fun. I’m glad the pitcher’s Mom made the Cardinal’s coach scurry away. The Mom showed restraint in handling it, with a message to that airhead, reading her players out like they’re getting paid for being here.”

“I have video clipped many moments to Lynn. She is enjoying every moment, but she’s a little demanding. Lynn has made remarks such as ‘grow a pair you imbecile’, and many more like that in regard to your coaching. She is engaged at every level of this game.” Samira hesitated with her head lowered. “I am in fear of her, John.”

“Relax, kid. You grew up in an Afghan cave. What the hell are you afraid of?”

“Lynn is an elemental force,” Samira conceded. “She commands fear as if it were the natural state of things. I will remember what you have said though.”

“Remember this then. Lynn loves you like her own little sister. I doubt there’s anything you could do to piss her off.”

Startled, Samira is staring at her tablet fearfully, “And yet she sends me this.”

Samira held her iPad for my viewing of Lynn, staring close-up with her face in a Cruella Deville interrogation moment face. The text was ‘are you ignoring me, baby Sis? That will not go well for you’.

“What do I do, John? She owns me.”

“Tell her to… oh hell… give me your pad.” I texted ‘screw you, harpy. I won’t send you shit from now on… bitch!’, and sent it. In seconds we had a reply - ‘heh… heh… I know you’re texting for Sam, Cheeseburger… you pussy! There will be blood’! I handed the pad to Samira once again. “Sorry, I should have seen that coming. You would think Clint Jr would be filling every Cruella Deville moment.”

“She probably has him doing the dishes and laundry already,” Samira replied.

We enjoyed that ace a few seconds too long, because instantly, on the iPad came this text: ‘you two are not doing one liners about me behind my back, are you? Send me more clips… damn it’!

Sighing, I gave Sam a break, and did a clip for Crue of the inning starting. It seems although my coaching sucked, my precognitive powers were right on the money. The first Cardinal batter bunted down the first base line. Wendy streaked off the mound, picked it clean barehanded, and fired a strike by the head of the runner to Al on first base. Oh yeah! I sent the clip, and got an instant clip back with Crue dancing with the tiny Clint Jr. He gained weight steadily. Lynn and Clint spent every second doing the skin on skin preemie thing, nursing him along. We outsiders were not allowed in yet because of possible contamination. Maria’s pediatrician specialists told Lynn if Clint Jr kept making the same startling improvements over the next couple weeks, they could have visitors.