Snitch Page 8

  “Does she have any identification with her?” Jesse asked.

  “No. I have her wallet in my purse. What am I going to do? What if she went outside? What if she’s wandering down the street?”

  Jesse turned to the lab tech. “Get your security guy to canvas the parking lot looking for an older woman, okay? And have your greeters keep an eye out for …” Jesse turned to her. “What’s her name?”

  “Marie Holmes.”

  “What is she wearing?”

  “A purple cardigan and a long off-white skirt.”

  “You got that?”

  The lab tech nodded and finished dialing the number.

  Dozer said, “I’ll take the back half of the store. You go to the front.”

  Jesse nodded as Dozer rushed off. “Where do you think she might go?” Jesse asked.

  “I’ve looked in all her favorite places … crafts, the bakery, by the sugar-coated cereals.” She drew a tissue from her purse and blotted her eyes. “Should I call the police? I think I should call the police.”

  “Not yet, ma’am,” Jesse said calmly.

  “But maybe I should fill out a report. A missing persons report.”

  “This is a big place. Your grandmother is probably testing the hand lotions.” This brought a smile from the woman.

  “I would just feel better calling the police.” She started to pull out her cell phone.

  “Ma’am,” Jesse said, “I am a police officer.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Are you just trying to make me feel better?”

  “No. I’m really a cop.” She was staring at his tattoo. “Plainclothed.”

  “Oh. Well—” She stopped for a second and looked at her cell phone. “Hold on a second.” She flipped it open. “Hello? … Gammy! Where are you? What … ? Why did you … ? Okay, fine. Just stay put. Don’t move!” She snapped her phone shut, and relief washed over her. “She’s at the car. She thought I’d headed out. Thank you.” She reached out to shake his hand.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad she’s okay. Let the Wal-Mart staff know you found her on the way out.”

  “And thank your … Is he a friend?”

  “Partner.”

  “Ah. Well, thank him too.” She rushed away and Jesse turned, glancing at his watch. Thanks to Gammy, he only had thirty-five minutes left.

  Chapter 11

  Ron looked up from the papers piled on his lap and watched Nan clear the breakfast dishes. He wanted to finish reading the profiles his agents had written before heading off to work. Nan continued back and forth between the table and the kitchen without a word.

  Last night had been a brilliant success. After the officers made their best attempts to identify the other UCs at Wal-Mart, they joined him at the house for a silent cocktail party. Ron had gotten the idea from an academy instructor. He’d thrown a similar party for his class where everyone had to read body language to figure each other out. Then they had to write profiles about what they learned from body language alone.

  Only Kyle seemed particularly fond of the exercise, but Ron learned a lot from each of them. No one had spotted all of the fellow officers at Wal-Mart. Mack had come the closest, pegging everyone but Kyle. Jesse had identified Lamar and Dozer, of course, but that was it. Apparently he didn’t like losing to a girl, especially one pretending to have lost her grandmother.

  Nan was an entirely different matter. Ron had asked her to prepare for a cocktail party, but didn’t tell her about the silent aspect until the party began.

  “You’re quiet,” Ron said as she took his plate.

  “Oh,” she said. “Is it over? I thought maybe we were still playing the quiet game.”

  “Are you still mad about that? I told you it was a training exercise.”

  “Yes, five minutes before the guests arrived. If I’d known the entire cocktail party was going to be silent, I would’ve prepared something a little crunchier.”

  Ron laughed.

  “Maybe it was a training exercise for you,” she said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “One of these years I might just stop speaking to you.”

  Ron tried to suppress his chuckle and failed. Nan’s eyes softened, and he could tell she was getting a kick out of bugging him about it. She dropped two pills in front of him. “So I have to ask, what was the point of this activity? Why not just ask them to write up profiles on themselves?”

  “I’m learning everything I need to know about each officer by what and how they wrote their profiles of the other officers.” Ron took his pills. “Plus, that was a perfect setting to study body language. They all have a lot to learn.”

  She folded her arms. “And what, exactly, was your plan for Kyle? He wandered around the room doing this weird thing with his eyes, like he was trying to spy on everyone.”

  “I just wanted to see what they would do with him.” Ron smiled. “He seemed to be enjoying himself.”

  “A little too much. I don’t think this is what they had in mind when they granted him a sabbatical.”

  “Nothing wrong with some excitement. I don’t think he’s too damaged.”

  “Just don’t do anything crazy, okay? He’s our pastor. If it came down to it, God would be on Kyle’s side, not yours, so don’t do anything stupid.”

  Ron laughed. “I’m not worried about Kyle. He had fun. I’m worried about Mackenzie Hazard.”

  Nan turned. “She looked pretty tough.”

  “She’s not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know. She’s smart and naive, all at the same time.” Ron shook his head. “I would never have picked her for undercover work.”

  “I could spot your problem child from a mile away. Something about how he kept heaving his chest and rubbing his arm muscles.”

  “He was outsmarted by Mack. By definition, all undercover officers are problem children. That’s what makes them good at what they do. That’s also why I’m worried about Mack.”

  “You just said she outsmarted the guys.”

  “She doesn’t have a lot of real-world experience. She’ll be a good pupil, though. Jesse, on the other hand, already thinks he knows everything. Dozer, as they call him, doesn’t have enough confidence in himself for undercover work.”

  “The guy that fell asleep in the chair?”

  “Yeah. And Lamar, well, he’s as typical as they come.”

  “You got all that by reading what they wrote?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That talent would’ve come in handy when our lovely daughter went through nine years of puberty. I should’ve just stolen her diary and let you dissect it. By the way, she’s coming to dinner Saturday and bringing her fiancé.”

  “His name is Jeff.”

  “I know his name. But this is her fourth fiancé. Why waste the time remembering his name when he’ll be gone in a month or two?”

  “Anyway,” Ron sighed, “I wish I would’ve had more time to come up with a team, but I had to do this fast.”

  The doorbell rang. Nan looked at Ron, then at the clock. “Who would be here this early?”

  Ron grabbed his cane and made his way to the door while Nan rushed down the hallway to get her robe. He peered through the peephole and opened the door. “Kyle? What are you doing here?”

  Kyle smiled through bloodshot eyes cupped by dark bags. “I’ve been creating an identity.”

  “A what?”

  “An identity.” Kyle walked past Ron into the house and rolled up his sleeve. “Check this out.”

  As far as Ron knew, Kyle had never before said the words “check this out.” But that minor issue was overshadowed by the image Kyle was proudly showing off on his forearm. “You got a tattoo?”

  “It hurt like the dickens, but isn’t it awesome?”

  Ron leaned in. It was barely the size of a dime.

  “It’s Chinese,” Kyle said, and then he snickered. “Its so clever. You want to know what it says?”

  Ron glanced do
wn the hallway, praying he wouldn’t see Nan.

  “Check it out. Faster Pastor.”

  “Faster Pastor?”

  “It was my nickname in seminary. I took a speed-reading course in college, and all the other MDivs were always jealous because I could read so much faster than them.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Um, clever.” Ron felt beads of sweat popping onto his forehead.

  “I was going to get my ear pieced—”

  Ron was going to have to up his heart medication.

  “—but then I decided against it. However, I did go get some hair wax.” He pointed to his hair. “I’ve used hair gel for years, but apparently the new rage is hair wax. The lady said it will give my hair more texture.” Kyle smiled. “Makes me look like a whole new person, doesn’t it?”

  Nan came breezing down the hallway.

  Ron turned to Kyle and whispered. “Quick! Roll down your sleeve!”

  Kyle nervously obeyed.

  “Good morning, Kyle,” Nan said. “What brings you by this morning?” The words were courteous but the tone didn’t match.

  Ron spoke. “Kyle just came by to thank us for the cocktail party.”

  “Uh …” Kyle glanced at Ron, then at Nan. “It was a very nice party. Thank you.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Ron said, taking Kyle by the arm and leading him outside to the street where his car was parked.

  “What’s wrong?” Kyle asked.

  “Kyle, what are you doing? Why would you get a tattoo?”

  “You said you needed me to help you train the officers. That I was going undercover.”

  “That was just for last night. At the cocktail party.”

  “But my sabbatical is three weeks long. What am I supposed to do for three weeks?”

  “Kyle, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I can’t really use you beyond what you did last night.”

  “Have I been compromised?”

  Besides the fact that Kyle had watched too many episodes of Alias, he was also a bad liar. Nan, who had a talent for spotting lies, was peering out the window at them.

  They noticed her gaze and instantly took on more casual demeanors. At least the kid could adapt. “Maybe I could be an informant,” he said. “A good citizen informant. I’ve read about people doing that.”

  Ron had used a good citizen informant once—an elderly widower named Howard who passed the time watching cars come and go from the house across the street.

  Ron paid Howard a visit one evening when he was bored. Howard told him the neighbors across the street seemed suspiciously unfriendly, but thought a story about how he was dying from cancer might work to get some drugs. At around midnight, two men entered the house and Howard made his way across the street with his walker. He knocked on the front door, gestured to his kidneys, handed over some money, and within a few minutes, Howard was rolling his walker back across the street holding a baggie full of drugs. Unfortunately, after the bust, Howard grew paranoid and called Ron every day for months claiming the mob was after him, until he died of natural causes at the age of eighty-nine.

  “Well?” Kyle asked. “What do you think?”

  “Kyle, informants are people who have connections to criminals. Do you know any criminals?”

  Kyle seemed to be giving it serious thought. “No, I don’t think so. Except maybe Mildred at church. Some of the elders think she’s stealing money and aspirin out of purses.”

  “Listen, I thank you for your help, but—”

  “I could keep helping you train your officers. I had so much fun last night at Wal-Mart, and then at that freaky silent party thing.”

  Ron imagined the “freaky silent party thing” only worked because Kyle didn’t get to say anything.

  “Please, Ron,” Kyle said. “I’m not married, so I don’t have any family to spend time with. I’m done with school, so I don’t have any studying—”

  “A sabbatical is a time for rest and reflection.”

  Kyle sighed. “I guess.”

  Ron worried that Kyle was bored this early in his career, but he could feel Kyle’s pain. He’d been feeling a similar boredom for years. He’d spent so many years in the adrenaline rush of undercover work that when he moved to a desk job, he had to do something to feed the need for that rush. So he’d started racing cars. Three years later, an accident ended any hope of more excitement. He’d shattered his leg and gained a cane.

  What was the harm in letting Kyle pose as a task force recruit for a few more days? It would be interesting to see how the other officers handled him. The profiles they’d written on him were hilarious. All of them suspected Kyle wasn’t really undercover material. Mack Hazard noted that Kyle seemed like “the kind of person who liked to serve others and had a kindness and gentleness about him.”

  Throwing Kyle into the mix could train them to cope with the unexpected.

  Ron glanced at the window and saw that Nan was gone. He looked back at Kyle. “All right.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but”—Ron held up a stern finger—“this is temporary. A week at the most.”

  “I understand.” Kyle grinned and shook Ron’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “Just remember your calling is as a pastor. Don’t lose yourself in this. And let’s just keep it between us.”

  “Got it.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Ron said.

  Kyle sprinted back to his car. He drove off waving. Ron waved back. He would use Kyle to play head games with his team and learn how well they could handle out-of-the-ordinary circumstances.

  Turning to head back into his house, Ron yelped as he nearly ran into Nan, who had snuck up behind him. She seemed pleased to startle him.

  “Just remember, if something happens to Kyle in this stunt of yours, you’re the one who’s going in front of the ministry board to explain the whole thing.”

  Chapter 12

  Ron sat at the end of a small conference table waiting for his new protégés. He had scheduled the meeting for 7:30 a.m. just to see the condition they all arrived in. Mackenzie Hazard was ten minutes early, bright-eyed and eager. It didn’t bode well that she was clearly a morning person. She had some long nights ahead of her.

  Dozer walked in, sat down, and slumped in his chair. True to his nickname, he looked like he could fall asleep at any moment.

  Lamar looked tired, but not exhausted. He worked the graveyard shift in Boulder City as a patrol officer.

  Kyle walked in at precisely 7:30 a.m., trying to look tough but only appearing nervous and studious, thanks to the black leather planner he carried under his arm. He greeted Ron and then went around the table introducing himself again to the other team members. Mackenzie was polite, but Lamar and Dozer looked at Kyle like he was an alien who’d just beamed down from his UFO. Indeed, he had.

  Jesse Lunden straggled in late and plopped down at the end of the table, not bothering to make eye contact. Kyle half stood to offer his alien handshake to Jesse when Ron called the meeting to order.

  “All right, everyone. Welcome to Task Force Viper.” Ron handed Mackenzie a stack of stapled handouts to pass out. “As you know, this task force was created to break up the auto-theft ring that’s growing in the metro area.”

  “This is why I tell homeowners that their garages aren’t storage facilities for all the things they buy and don’t use,” Mack said. “Once upon a time they were for cars. I say donate all that stuff to Goodwill and park the car in there.”

  “We’ll try that campaign next year,” Jesse said.

  “You’ll find the basic summary and stats on page two, as well as the demographic information,” Ron continued. “You’ll want to study these case files.” Ron passed out folders with each of their names. “Lamar, Kyle, Mackenzie, here are your new identities. Jesse, Dozer, there’s some stuff in there for you too. You’ve all been assigned new last names.”

  Kyle raised his hand. Jesse sighed and said, “This isn’t grade school.”

  “Yes, Kyle?” Ron tried
his best to stay serious. Kyle might put Jesse into an early grave.

  “Why not change our first name too?”

  “If you run into someone you know while working and they use your first name, you still have a chance to maintain your cover.”

  “I don’t use my first name,” Jesse said. “I go by Tony Ramone.” Jesse folded his arms, expecting a challenge.

  Ron ignored him. “There are two schools of thought on this. I happen to believe in using your real first name. I realize that there are those who think—”

  “I was in a situation once,” Jesse interrupted, “where, had my first name been used, I probably would’ve been shot. An old academy buddy saw me at a bar. He came up and said, ‘Jesse, is that you?’ I was going by the name of Tony, and I told the guy off, that I wasn’t Jesse, and to stop drinking so much. If I’d have been using my real first name and he’d gone on about how we knew each other from the academy, I would’ve been toast, or at the very least, six months’ worth of work would’ve been down the drain.”

  Ron didn’t flinch. “Back in Chicago, we were all using different first and last names. We were inside a crack house, getting ready to cut a deal, when one of the new UC guys accidentally called me by my real name. Needless to say, the deal was called off, and we were lucky to get out of there alive.” Ron intentionally glanced at the three newbies in the room. “This way nobody slips up.”

  Jesse sighed again and looked back down at his folder. “Yeah, well, we’ll be lucky if names are all we have to worry about.”

  Kyle intently studied his folder. “This is no good.”

  “What isn’t?” asked Ron.

  Kyle gestured to his folder. “I mean … I’m kind of boring.”

  “This isn’t Mission: Impossible. All they need to believe is that you’re willing to do dirty deals,” Jesse said.