Tough Customer

CHAPTER 7

THE TASK FORCE WAS A DUD.

At least in Dodge's opinion it was. Serving on it wasn't nearly as challenging as he'd been led to expect, nor as exciting as his fantasies had spun. He was glad to be out of uniform and off the night shift, but so far his task force duties had amounted largely to attending mandatory meetings conducted by egotistical windbags with nothing constructive or informative to say.

The group of elite police officers and FBI agents convened daily in what was called headquarters. Even in euphemistic terms, that lofty name hardly described the space. The unlabeled office was on the ground floor of an obscure office building on the outskirts of downtown. In an area where all the buildings were derelict, this was the worst of the lot. The only thing it had going for it was the cheap rent.

Here they met to review eyewitness accounts of the robberies, to watch the videos of the holdups from the banks' security cameras, to update one another on individual progress in tracking down leads, and to discuss strategy on how to proceed.

The premise that the group was elite was laughable. They'd reviewed the testimonies and watched the videos till they knew the contents by heart. They didn't have any leads, and, as for how to proceed with the investigation, nobody, especially the men in charge, had the least friggin' idea. These so-called high-level meetings usually evolved into swap fests of big fish stories.

Dirty jokes made the rounds. Cars were debated at length. Sporting events were argued over and gambled on. They drank gallons of high-octane coffee and snacked on empty calories. Those who smoked kept the room cloudy. They insulted one another, also one another's clothes, cars, alma maters, wives, mothers, and dogs. They held farting contests. They talked about women endlessly--who they'd laid and who they'd like to.

What they didn't do was capture the bank robber.

By the end of the second month, even the dirty jokes had turned stale, not to mention the snacks. Tempers were getting short, especially those of the higher-ranking HPD officers, who were feeling the heat of criticism from their superiors and the disdain of the feebs.

To address these issues, a meeting was called exclusively for HPD officers.

"Even the chief is catching hell from the mayor. He wants this guy caught before he comes up for reelection." The police captain presiding over this pep rally couldn't see his shoes for his overhanging gut. As he lectured on, Dodge's scorn increased. He wondered how many years it had been since this fat ass had covered a beat, tracked down a perp, made an arrest. He had his nerve to chew out subordinate officers when all Dodge had seen him do to distinguish himself was mooch coins for the cigarette vending machine and tell the stupidest jokes.

Because they had nothing else cooking, the task force members were discussing the viability of the suspects they had, based solely on their criminal profiles, not because any of them could be placed at or near one of the banks during a robbery.

One of these suspects had been arrested for drunk driving over the previous weekend. "He's in jail for parole violation. So if he's our man, he won't be holding up a bank anytime soon," the captain said.

"I don't think he's our robber anyhow," one officer remarked. "He's a punk. Cocky. Hotheaded. Hasn't got the coolness required to plan and execute these jobs."

Another cop said, "Last robbery, the guy flipped off the security camera."

"So?"

"So, if this guy is cocky, doesn't that sound like something he would do? Our robber is a smart-ass. He struts his stuff."

"From behind a disguise."

"Yeah, but you know what I'm saying."

A debate ensued. Dodge, who agreed with the first officer, had nothing to contribute, so he tuned out the argument and tried in vain to stifle his yawns.

Then, "Hanley!"

Dodge roused himself and sat up straighter. "Yes, sir?"

"How far have you got with Madison's girlfriend?"

Tommy Ray Madison, one of their suspects, was also on parole, having served his time for the armed robbery of a fast-food restaurant. He also had one botched bank holdup on his record. He fit the general height and weight description of their unidentified culprit.

Dodge replied, "In the way you mean, sir, I haven't even got to first base."

"First base?" Another officer chortled. "Admit it. You've struck out."

Dodge confirmed it with a weary nod. "I've struck out, Captain."

"How come? You're supposed to be the department's Romeo."

"The chemistry's off. The lady is knocked up."

"Aw hell. Who by? Madison?"

Dodge made a thumbs-up gesture. "She's four months along. She and Tommy Ray are in love. He's walking the straight and narrow, loves her, loves the baby to be, wants to get married."

"You said she was a sharp girl."

"That's how she strikes me."

"Madison is a goddamn felon!" the captain shouted. "She's falling for that hearts and flowers crap?"

Dodge shrugged. "That's love for ya. Besides, she says Tommy Ray found Jesus in prison."

"Jesus was in Huntsville?" another officer quipped.

"Always the last place you look," said another.

The captain squelched the responding laughter. He asked Dodge, "Who does she think you are?"

"Nobody except a regular customer who always orders the fajita combo. She brings me my Corona before I order it. Two limes. I tip her well, and I'm a good listener."

"You two talk a lot?"

"As much as I can swing without making her suspicious. I hang around till near closing. When the dinner crowd thins out, she dawdles at my table. I think I've won her confidence."

"What story did you give her?"

"I have nowhere else to go, and I hate spending my evenings in my empty apartment, where I live alone on account of my wife taking up with another guy and moving him into our house."

"I'm getting all choked up here." A cop pretended to be crying.

"Sounds like a sad country song."

The captain frowned over the interruptions and turned back to Dodge. "What's your take?"

Dodge had been giving Tommy Ray Madison and his girlfriend a lot of thought. Although his honest assessment wasn't what anyone in the room wanted to hear, he gave it to them straight.

"She's a nice girl. Too nice for Madison, but who can explain love? And maybe he did find Jesus and is now a changed man. On the other hand, if Tommy Ray was robbing banks, or even if she suspected him of parole violation, I think she'd dump him, baby or no baby. I think she'd turn him in for his own good. She's got this integrity thing going on, so I don't believe she'd harbor him if he was our perp."

"He's not our guy. That's what you're saying."

"I'm not positive of that, Captain, but he's not at the top of my list, no."

The other members of the task force, none joking now, took a moment to assimilate that, and it flattered Dodge that they gave such weight to his opinion. The captain ran his hand down his face, rearranging the fat folds. "Keep doing what you're doing. Watch for signs of a change in their relationship."

Dodge didn't need to be told that, but he nodded as though to say,

What a good idea, Captain. I certainly will.

"What about the other one, Albright's squeeze?"

Franklin Albright was another parolee, but, beyond that, he and Tommy Ray Madison had little in common. Albright was scarier, meaner, and Dodge was almost positive he had never even looked for Jesus, much less found him and signed on.

Frowning, he replied to his captain's question. "The girl's name is Crystal, and this one's more difficult."

"How come?"

"Access. Albright is the jealous type. Watches her like a hawk. Drops her off at work every morning, picks her up at quitting time. She doesn't go out unless he's with her, not even on mundane errands. Supermarkets are usually good for accidentally-on-purpose bumping into someone and striking up a conversation, but Albright is always right there with her. He's alienated her from her friends and family. You see the problem? I haven't had an opportunity to get near the lady, much less become her confidant."

The captain stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Where does she work?"

"So now this fat jerk-off has got me working at her place of employment."

Gonzales laughed so abruptly he choked on his orange juice. After recovering his breath, he wheezed, "You're kidding."

"Swear to God. He adjourned the meeting, made some calls. Twelve hours later I reported for my first shift in the janitorial department."

"Oh, man."

"I've got a mop bucket, a push broom, a shirt with my name embroidered on the pocket. Can you believe it? But I have access to the whole place. I get to wander around, go everywhere, and nobody thinks anything about it. At least I'm not stuck in one spot all day."

He could be working on the assembly line of the tire manufacturing plant, making steel-belted radials instead of replacing burned-out fluorescent tubes and emptying trash cans. All in all, though, it sucked.

"A janitor, huh?" Gonzales could barely control his laughter. "Who knows? You may decide on a career change."

"Screw that, and screw you." Dodge doused his eggs liberally with Tabasco. The two had made a date for breakfast between the time Gonzales's night shift ended and when Dodge had to clock in at his new day job.

"You met your target yet?" Gonzales asked.

"We've made eye contact. She's a clerk in the payroll office."

"What's she look like?"

Dodge grinned. "Put it this way, it won't be hardship duty."

"Tits?"

"Two," Dodge said, then laughed at Gonzales's expression. "C cup at least. Good legs, too."

Gonzales gazed at him with a mix of admiration and envy. "And you're getting paid to put the moves on her."

Dodge glanced around. "That's not my official assignment, you understand." He pulled a somber expression. "HPD wouldn't condone an officer using--"

"Save it," Gonzales said. Then, leaning across the table, he whispered, "But we both know that's what they want you to do." He stuffed a three-ply wedge of syrupy pancakes into his mouth. "You live a charmed life, my friend."

"Don't forget that she's got a hard-case felon for a boyfriend. What I've heard of him, he'd probably slit my throat for taking a gander at her tits. Just for thinking about taking a gander at her tits."

"Bad one, huh?"

"Real bad. Series of armed robberies. Two assaults. One rape charge fell apart in pretrial, so he squeaked by there. He was suspected of a fatal stabbing in the prison shower, but the weapon didn't turn up, and, if there were any witnesses, they were too scared to come forward." Nodding somberly, Dodge said, "He's bad."

Gonzales frowned with concern. "Get the information from his old lady. Get the robber, get a medal, get detective. But don't get killed in the process, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

More than that Dodge couldn't say about his undercover work, not even to his trusted former partner. Gonzales understood that, of course, so when Dodge asked him about his new partner, he shifted subjects gracefully.

"He and I get along okay. Goes without saying, he's not you."

"Miss me?" Dodge teased.

"No. Hell no. When I said he wasn't you, I meant that he's better than you. But Doris at the 7-Eleven is pining. She's gone stingy with free doughnuts and ice cream bars."

They finished their meal and paid their tab. When they reached the parking lot, Gonzales paused and looked toward the freeway, where the rush-hour traffic was moving at a blistering five miles an hour. Then he studied the clouds scuttling in off the Gulf. He looked at just about everything except Dodge, who sensed Gonzales was struggling with indecision.

"What's on your mind, partner?"

"Nothing much." He glanced at Dodge, looked away again. "I just ... Look, this is none of my business, okay? And it probably doesn't matter to you anyway."

"But?"

Finally he looked at Dodge directly. "Night before last, my partner and me responded to another call for help on Shadydale." He watched Dodge warily, to see if the street name rang any bells.

It did, of course. A couple of months had gone by since he'd come to Caroline King's rescue, but it seemed like yesterday. Dodge's whole system started humming with wrath, with dread. "Did he hurt her?"

"No. Didn't amount to anything, really. In fact it was the neighbor next door who called. Said she heard loud noises, shouting, abusive language. Campton had split by the time we got there. I talked to Ms. King. She was embarrassed. Hated that her neighbor had been disturbed. But Campton hadn't hit her this time."

Gonzales hesitated before continuing. "I didn't know if you still ... you know." He bobbed his shoulders in a quick shrug. "The only reason I mentioned it is because ... That night you and I were there? Seemed to me you were especially interested in this lady's welfare."

Dodge clenched his jaw and didn't say anything.

"They're still engaged," Gonzales continued. "I asked. And anyway, it was hard to miss the diamond on her hand."

Dodge nodded.

Gonzales made a sound of regret. "Hell, I'm out of line here. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, I'm glad you did, Jimmy. Thanks for telling me."

Then, worried for a different reason, Gonzales asked, "You're not gonna do something stupid, are you?"

Dodge forced himself to smile. "Me? Hell no. I gotta make detective. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my shot at that."

Half an hour later, he reported for work at the tire plant. During his lunch break, he saw Crystal in the commissary and made a point of smiling at her. She smiled back, then shyly averted her head and didn't look at him again.

When his shift ended, he clocked out, then went looking for Roger Campton, and, when he found him, he beat the shit out of him. At least he tried his best.

It was after dark, but Dodge would have done the same thing in broad daylight. He caught up with Campton in the parking lot of the exclusive health club where he was a member. His hair was damp from his recent shower, and he smelled of Irish Spring. Dodge came up behind him, caught him in a headlock, and punched him in the right kidney.

Campton dropped his gym bag. Because of the pressure Dodge's forearm was applying to his larynx, the only sounds he made were guttural and unintelligible. After Dodge delivered several more hard blows, Campton's knees gave out beneath him. Dodge spun him around, hit him in the face with the heel of his hand, and felt his nose collapse with a crunching noise and a gush of blood and mucus.

He backed Campton into his Mercedes and bent him backward over the shiny hood. Shoving his hand beneath Campton's chin in order to keep him upright, he repeatedly drove his fist into the millionaire's belly and ribs with the impetus of a pile driver.

When he finally let him go and stepped back, Campton slid down the side of his sleek car and crumpled like a pile of dirty laundry onto the pavement. Dodge kicked him in the ribs and, out of sheer spite, in the testicles. The man screamed, then passed out.

Dodge went down on one knee and grabbed a handful of his hair. He slapped his bloody face until he came to. "Can you hear me?"

"Don't kill me," Campton whimpered. Because of his smashed nose, his mewling sounded almost comical.

"Not tonight. But I want you to listen to me, you motherfucking turd. Because of your daddy's money, you might think you can do anything you damn well please and get away with it. So far you have. But I'm telling you now that if you hurt Caroline King again, even a little, you die. Do you understand me?"

He relaxed his grip on Campton's hair to allow his head to wobble a nod of comprehension.

"You're not gonna forget what I'm telling you, are you, Roger?"

Campton shook his head.

"Because if you do, if you raise a hand to her tomorrow, or next week, or ten years from now, I'll kill you. You got it?"

Roger Campton had passed out again, and this time when Dodge released him, he left him where he lay, deeply regretting that he couldn't quite justify killing the son of a bitch right then and there.

It was twilight, and the air was muggy. Sunset had done little to relieve Houston of the steamy heat. Dodge was seated on a shaded concrete bench in the outdoor courtyard of an office park formed by four square, glass buildings, each six stories tall. He was waiting as requested, nervous as a whore in church, wondering why she'd asked for this meeting, hoping like hell it meant something good for him.

She came through the revolving door of Building Two five minutes after the appointed time. By then the back of his shirt was stuck to his skin, and streams of sweat were trickling down his ribs. As she approached, he stood up, praying his deodorant wouldn't fail him and wishing he'd chewed one extra breath mint.

She was dressed in black slacks and a sleeveless top the color of cream. The rosy hues of dusk made her hair look like molten copper. Her arms were impossibly slender, and her flat-heeled sandals added no height.

But her petiteness was incongruous with her combatant stride, and when she got close enough for him to read her expression, his hopes for this meeting turning out to be good for him were instantly dashed.

Every red hair on her head was bristling when, without preamble, she demanded to know, "Did you do it?"

Dodge didn't even pretend ignorance of what she was talking about, but he wasn't about to admit to an assault and battery, either. He motioned her toward the bench.

"No, thank you," she said stiffly. "I prefer to stand. And I insist on knowing if it was you who beat Roger to within an inch of his life. He'll be in the hospital for at least a week. He could have died."

"So I heard from Jimmy Gonzales."

His former partner had called his pager number the evening before, but Dodge hadn't been able to call him back until this morning. Gonzales had told him that Roger Campton had been hospitalized with serious injuries suffered in an attack by an unidentified assailant.

A long silence had followed.

Finally Dodge had asked if it had been a mugging, and Gonzales had told him that Campton's wallet was still on him when he was found, credit cards and several hundred dollars intact.

Gonzales hadn't asked if Dodge was responsible, because he didn't want his suspicion confirmed. Gonzales was as honest a cop as they came. Dodge could tell the guy was anguishing over his own complicity, which amounted only to his informing Dodge of the latest police summons to an address on Shadydale. But that would have been enough to eat at a man with Gonzales's integrity.

Dodge hated having put his partner and friend in such a compromising position, because he was also certain that Gonzales would never rat him out for anything short of cold-blooded murder.

Then Gonzales had dropped a bombshell. "She wants to see you." He'd told Dodge where to be and what time to be there.

So here he was, and here Caroline King was, glaring up at him with accusation. "You didn't need Officer Gonzales to tell you about Roger, though, did you? You knew because you were Roger's attacker."

"Why don't we sit down?" Dodge indicated the bench again, and this time she walked to it and sat down. He sat beside her, but kept as much distance as possible between them. He couldn't help but notice the diamond ring on her left hand. The stone was the size of a headlight. He supposed there were thousands of women who would put up with an occasional beating in exchange for a diamond like that.

But he couldn't believe this one would. She seemed way too strong, way too smart. He wondered what hidden quality Roger Campton possessed that made him worth the carats. Was his dick that magic? Or was it his trust fund that enticed Caroline King?

Quelling his resentment of both, Dodge said, "Gonzales told me that you were very upset when you called him."

"Wouldn't you be upset if someone you cared for was beaten like that?"

"Yeah," he returned quietly. "I would."

She turned her head, and their eyes connected, and he could tell that his underlying message hadn't escaped her. Eventually she turned away and stared sightlessly at the building from which she'd exited.

"You work in there?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I work in the county tax assessor's office downtown. I attend classes here three nights a week."

"What kind of classes?"

"Real estate. I'm studying to get my license. We take a break at seven o'clock. That's why I asked Officer Gonzales if he could get a message to you to meet me here. He said he would try."

"Why didn't you call me directly?"

"I didn't know how to reach you. Officer Gonzales had given me his number the other night when..."

Her voice trailed off; Dodge picked up her sentence. "The other night when Gonzales responded to another domestic disturbance at your house."

"Nothing happened. My neighbor overreacted. It was a shouting match. That's all."

"This time."

His right hand was resting on his right thigh. She looked down at it, at the incriminating swollen knuckles, the bruises. Then her gaze moved across his body to his left hand, where scratch marks were still visible. Before Campton had collapsed, he'd made futile attempts to dislodge Dodge's arm from around his neck. His scratches had broken the skin on Dodge's forearm and the back of his hand. He made no attempt to hide this evidence from her. He wanted her to know how vicious the fight had been.

"You shouldn't have done it," she admonished softly. "You don't even know him. Or me. You're a police officer." She raised her head, her eyes now searching his. "Why did you?"

He said nothing for several moments, then turned the tables and asked a question of his own. "Why do you assume it was me?"

"I don't assume, I know. From the moment I heard about the attack, I knew it was you."

"Why would it even occur to you that it was me?"

He asked because he knew she would find the answer to her question in the answer to his. She'd known immediately that he was the culprit because she'd seen the way he'd looked at her. Bad taste in fiances notwithstanding, she wasn't stupid. Or blind. Or deaf.

The night of the first incident, when they were alone together in her kitchen, she'd probably sensed that his care and concern went beyond those of a police officer. Any lingering doubts about the nature of his interest would have been dispelled the morning he showed up at her house again to check on her.

And right now she probably knew that he was aching to touch her hair, kiss her mouth, enfold her tiny body in his arms and hold her so close against him that he could feel her heartbeat. He willed her to comprehend the intensity of his feelings, but he must have gone too far, because she stood up quickly.

"You've overstepped your bounds, Mr. Hanley. You have nothing to do with my life. Your responsibility toward me ended when you performed your duties as a police officer that one night. I'm going to marry Roger."

Dodge stood up with her. "You'll regret it."

"If you insinuate yourself into our lives again, I'll have to report you. As for this violent attack, promise me that you'll never do anything like it again."

Dodge said nothing. He for sure as hell didn't make her a promise that would contradict the one he'd already made to Campton to kill him if he harmed her.

"All right. You've been warned." She gave him one last fulminating look, then turned away and started walking toward the building. But after covering only a short distance, she stopped and came back around. "Officer Gonzales told me you had been appointed to a special task force."

"That's right."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Not as dangerous as what you're getting yourself into."

She seemed on the verge of taking issue with that but must have thought better of it. "Take care of yourself."

Then she walked away from him.

When he got back to his car, he checked his pager, drove to the nearest pay phone, and placed a call to the task force hotline. It was answered brusquely. "This is Hanley. Somebody there page me?"

"Where the hell have you been? Captain's about to stroke out. He's paged you at least ten times."

"I've got a stomach bug. Came on this afternoon. Been in the crapper ever since I knocked off at the tire plant."

"Too bad. Get here. I'm talking sprout wings and fly."

"What's up?"

"Our guy waltzed into a bank just before closing, hit it for about thirty grand, and took out a guard."

"Took out as in a hostage?"

"No. Took out as in killed."