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gonerunningaway) wrote2012-08-30 04:40 am
gonerunningaway) wrote2012-08-30 04:40 am
Tide-Water Dogs, Chapter Twelve
Title: Tide-Water Dogs, Chapter Twelve
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: NC-17
Word Count (this chapter): 4,089
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): Drug sales, violence against a woman, discussion of violence, discussion of child abuse, discussion of sexual abuse and assault.
Chapter Twelve
They meet with their undercovers every week. It’s not always the same ones—some of them are more stable, more independent, than others, but some are in even higher-risk positions or more nervous about what they’re doing, even if they’re still good.
Russell Cody is one of the good ones, but he’s up on the rotation.
“You know the routine,” Queenan says when Cody meets them down a little-used bike path. Cody leans his bike against a tree, turning to spread his legs and put his hands behind his head. Sean pats him down, fast and light, and he’s clean. He nods to Queenan and steps back, and Cody turns back around.
“How are you doing?” Queenan asks.
“I’m fine, Captain. I had to, absolutely had to, try a small line of coke three days ago, so if you tested me I’d come up with that in my system. That was the only trouble I’ve had recently.”
“What do you mean, had to?” Sean asks.
“Word for word, ‘If you don’t try it, you’re telling me you’re a cop,’ from Vince Ott.” To be fair, if Ott says jump, dealers instantly ask how high, and when it comes to being suspected of being a cop, so do their guys. “I wasn’t that interested in finding out how slowly he’d kill me if I didn’t. He knows there’s someone, just not who.”
“What do you have on him?” Queenan asks.
“There’s a heroin shipment coming through Canada. I know that’s a weird one, but it’s making it through the border in a semi. The semi’s going to be loaded with furniture, I think.”
“Are you shitting us?” Sean asks incredulously. “Furniture dealer? Is it used?”
Queenan barely suppresses a smirk. “When is this happening?”
“Three days. It’s going to be through Vermont. I know this is an FBI, DEA thing, but I don’t want to talk to anyone but you, in case.”
Sean privately agrees on the feds. They leak. “Got anything else?”
“There’s some chick who pissed him off badly. He was smacking her around when I got there on Tuesday. Something about what she was collecting on what she dealt and how he thought she was holding back. I wanted to stop him, but he wasn’t going to kill her or even put her in the hospital from what I saw.” Cody shrugs helplessly. “There are limits, you know? For safety.”
Queenan nods. “You keep yourself safe first,” he says quietly, “but if you ever can intervene on that kind of thing, without risking your safety, try to do it.”
Cody nods. “I know. It made me sick to watch.”
Sean counts back. Three days. “That meeting was when he had you try the coke.”
“That’s right.”
Sean gives Queenan a quick glance, and Queenan gives him a small nod. They’re checking on Anderson later. “What else is he moving?” Queenan asks.
“A lot of coke, tons of marijuana, and he’s getting further into PCP, ecstasy, LSD, that kind of stuff. He still won’t touch meth. On Wednesday, there’s a big deal happening, fifteen kilos of coke and a lot of other stuff. He’ll be at the sale. I don’t know who it’s to, but I’m supposed to be there.”
“Where is it?” Queenan asks.
“Down at the docks. I’ll get you the details when I have them.”
“Make sure no one knows,” Queenan directs, “but we’ll be there. You’re doing fine, Cody.”
“Thank you, sir.” Cody grabs his bike. “I’ll call as soon as I know.”
“No more drugs,” Sean says. “It’s bad on the stand.”
“It’s better than being dead.” Cody swings onto the bike. “See you Wednesday.” Then he’s off, and Sean turns to Queenan.
“DEA for the semi, us for the Wednesday bust?”
Queenan nods. “I’ll have it set up by Monday.” He glances at his watch. “I should be able to catch Anderson and still have time for the DEA.”
“Better not be her.” They start walking up the path. “If she’s shorting Ott on shit, it’s a miracle if she’s not dead.”
“She’s not stupid, but if she’s not judging the money properly, she might have been caught. If we get Ott, we’ll take her list and round people up. Cody’s too.” Queenan glances at him. “How fast do you think someone would take Ott’s place?”
“Costello would see us hanging the welcome sign and take over within days.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Queenan sighs. “We keep trying with him, but nothing ever seems to stick.”
“How much money do we get back?” Sean asks. They funnel cash to their undercovers to keep them from actually selling more than the bare minimum they have to, even though selling is a good way to collect names. Still, it’s not cheap, and Queenan has to regularly make reports on how their investigation is proceeding to keep their guys funded. This bust should help them for a couple of months at least.
“If Ott has as much cash as we suspect, then after he’s convicted, we’ll get an order for most of it to be returned to the state. It’s going to be mostly recouped, maybe even more than that.”
“If it is Anderson,” Sean starts after a moment.
“If it is, we’ll pull her. She can disappear from his radar into protection.”
That’s always an option with undercovers, Sean knows. He had it offered once when he managed to piss off French by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but he fixed that before things got worse.
Anderson answers her phone when Queenan calls her from his cell. Sean can’t hear her end of the conversation, but Queenan’s expression doesn’t waver, and he takes it as a good sign. Then Queenan hangs up and says, “She’s fine. She knows the woman, Caitlin Duchamps. Says she has a couple of cracked teeth and two broken ribs, not to mention the bruises, but she’ll live.”
“We’re arresting her next week anyway,” Sean points out. “She’ll get medical care.”
“Anderson’s keeping an eye on her. She’s going to let me know if Duchamps disappears, and we’ll look harder at Ott for some of the nastier things we suspect. There are a couple of homicides that have his metaphorical fingerprints on them.”
And it’s going to take a bust to bring the fucker in. Fuck, but the job is shit sometimes.
Three days later, when they’re waiting on a call from the DEA about any Capone-esque semis, Ava Brown takes a half shift off patrolling the highway to come into Queenan’s office.
“Have a seat,” Queenan says, gesturing to the chair. Sean’s leaning against the filing cabinets, and he studies her. She has muscle to her, a good amount of solid bulk going by her arms. That impression that she could pass for Italian was a good one; her coloring fits. Her makeup is careful, subtle. She looks firm.
She sits stiffly, her eyes darting like she’s expecting a reprimand. “Yes sir.” Her voice is strong, on the high side but as solid as the rest of her.
“Do you know what this unit is?”
She shrugs. “Vaguely, sir. Undercover, isn’t it?”
“Vaguely,” Sean repeats. “You have no fucking clue, Trooper.”
She gives him a look, but keeps her mouth shut. Good.
“Do you enjoy being a Statie?” Queenan asks her.
She hesitates and seems to choose her words. “I would prefer a position where I feel I’m doing more good than stopping traffic violations.”
“You want to be a cop.”
She frowns. “I am a cop.” The words are have a bone-deep conviction behind them, so solid Sean almost feels it.
“You want to do good?” Sean asks. “How much good?”
“As much as I can,” she answers without hesitation. “Whatever it takes.”
“Do you know who Peter Nicastro is?” Queenan asks, and her lips thin.
“Boston Mafia, big in prostitution, drugs, theft, extortion,” she says.
“Someone’s done her homework,” Sean comments.
“You said you want to do good,” Queenan says again. “Did you mean it?”
“I don’t know, Captain. She has that assault arrest.” He gets a pissed-off look and no comment for that. “Seems like a loose cannon to me. We can’t trust her.” He pushes off the cabinets. “Spotty education record even though she tested at a hundred and forty IQ. With that, you should be prosecuting these scumbags, not writing tickets, Trooper.”
She doesn’t take the bait, to his surprise. “You’re probably right, sir.”
“What happened there?” Queenan asks, all interested father figure, and her eyes flick to him.
“My father died when I was in middle school. My mom had terrible taste in boyfriends after. Two of them were dealers, and they had interesting predilections when they were coked up. My grades in high school tanked because I wasn’t getting any sleep and had a job that ate up most of my homework time, so I wound up struggling through community college while I worked two jobs. I joined the force with my AS, but you know that, don’t you?” That’s aimed at Sean, and he grins, all teeth.
“This assault arrest,” Queenan begins.
To Sean’s surprise, she bluntly says, “One of the boyfriends was going after my little sister. I hit him in the face with a baseball bat. City cops determined it was in defense of a child and the ADA didn’t file charges.”
“You want to be a cop?” Sean asks. “You really want to be a cop, not just flash your gun and badge and make the news after you shoot some maybe guilty asshole running because you’re armed and he just thinks you’re a dyke.”
“Detective Dignam has an interesting sense of humor,” Queenan interjects.
“I prefer gay,” she says to him flatly, and his grin is real this time. She must get such shit, a lesbian trooper, and she owns it.
“Good for you.”
“What do you need me to do?” she asks Queenan.
“We need someone in with Nicastro. You haven’t distinguished yourself, he won’t know who you are. You’ll have a record of being terminated from the force for a questionable arrest to cover your history with us. Your real record will be sealed, and only you, Detective Dignam, and myself will have the password.”
“Is it something I’ll remember?”
“It is.” It’s her fucking name. Of course it’s memorable. “For obvious reasons, you won’t be paid directly, but you’ll receive a bonus. That pays well. There is risk involved in going undercover, I need that to be clear. You’ll work your way in the best way you can without being obvious. If you can get close to Nicastro, so much the better.”
She nods. “As long as I don’t have to fuck him.”
“You know we can’t ask you to do that,” Sean says.
She looks back at him, eyes steady. “I’m not sure I’d put it past you, Detective.”
“The fuck was that?” but he’s inwardly gleeful. She’ll be fucking ace.
“Where do I sign?” she asks them both, and Queenan produces the paperwork.
Once she’s gone, Queenan looks at him. “I’m not sure if I should give you points for that technique or berate you for it.”
Sean shrugs. “It worked.”
“It did,” Queenan agrees, “and she will have to deal with you while she’s in.”
“See, it was a good idea.”
“I’ll adjust to it. I’m not sure they will.”
Sean shrugs again. “If they don’t, they’re not right for the job. She’ll be solid.”
“As long as she doesn’t push back against Nicastro too much,” Queenan says. “I’m impressed she didn’t do more than make that remark.”
“I like that remark,” Sean says. “She has bite. She’ll need it.”
“He’s not as bad as Costello, but he can be tough,” Queenan points out. “If she uses too much bite…”
“She survived those boyfriends of her mother’s, she can deal with Nicastro’s bullshit.” Sean glances at Queenan. “How fast can you push that paperwork through?”
“That’s a question for you.” Queenan hands him the folder.
“I should have known that,” Sean grumbles. He holds it up. “I’ll get everything done in an hour. Ava Brown won’t be a cop by lunch.”
“The rest of that goes in locked files I’ll keep at home,” Queenan says.
“You do that?”
“It’s safest from prying eyes,” Queenan says. “The brass knows. I’ll give you the code to the safe the next time you’re over. Do you have plans for the fourth?”
“I’m meeting the family.” Sean can’t help the twist to his mouth.
“Try not to frighten them all away,” Queenan says dryly.
“Yeah, that’d probably piss Robert off. He loves them.”
Queenan takes out his glasses and his small notebook with his coded schedule. “When is the trial supposed to conclude?”
“Hell if I know. The judge’s got something like eight separate motions, so it’s in limbo. Soares says it might be a few weeks before he makes rulings on all of them, meantime the jury’s sequestered, poor bastards, and it might end in a mistrial so I get the fun of testifying again. Mostly it’s the admissibility of evidence and testimony, but there’s something about Middlebrook’s competence.”
“What do you think?”
“Not that it matters, but he’s smarter and saner than Williams. If either of them is going to make a deal, it’s him. He’s totally competent. He’s also fucking evil.”
“We’ll pick up lunch on the way to meet with Parker.” Queenan puts his notebook back in his pocket.
Sean holds up the folder again. “I’ll handle this.”
Queenan nods, his attention already on something else.
By the time they have to meet with Parker, Brown is, in the system and outside their protected files, a fired cop. Sean calls and lets her know, and she turns in her patrol car before effectively disappearing with Queenan’s cell number tucked into her wallet. She’ll call in four days from a pay phone if she does what she’s supposed to, and they’re working on supplying her with money for a cell of her own, same as their other undercovers.
Silverman and Olson are up on the schedule to get pulled in, but Cody’s news has derailed the schedule some, and Monday afternoon, after their meeting with Parker, Queenan pulls together a bunch of troopers, mostly from narcotics.
Sean’s there in the conference room, just behind Queenan as usual for these, and he listens to his captain.
“On Wednesday night, Vince Ott is meeting with a group of buyers to sell fifteen kilos of coke, not to mention his interests in heroin, pot, and acid, enough to put them all away for life.” He lets the murmurs die down. “This is our task force to interrupt that meeting and take everyone into custody. You’ll have your vests and SWAT will be on the scene. Our primary goal is to take Ott out of the picture. Weapons will be drawn, not fired unless we see weapons on their end. This is happening at the docks. We’ll be in another warehouse. I’m going to station three uniforms, with vests, dressed as security to help alert us. We know which building they’ll be in, and we have an idea of how many people there will be. We outnumber them, which is important for our safety. I do not want a single trooper injured. Keep yourselves and each other safe. When I have the exact time of the buy, you’ll know.”
“Will an undercover be in there?” some wiseass asks, and Sean memorizes him: redhead, blue eyes, medium build. He might be a problem.
“That does not matter to the case,” Queenan says, his voice hard. “What matters is getting Ott and his people off the streets as permanently as possible. Any further questions?”
“What kind of drugs are we talking about?” That’s Figueroa.
“Cocaine is the largest part. There’s also marijuana, and there will probably be things like PCP and LSD in the mix.”
Figueroa nods, and no one else opens their mouth.
“Come to me or Detective Dignam with any further questions. We don’t answer anything about our undercovers, so don’t ask that, but anything else should be fine. That’s all I have for the day.” Queenan turns and leaves, and Sean follows after a moment of glancing around the room. No one looks like an issue, but he’s watching that narcotics detective at the bust.
Two days later, they still haven’t pulled Silverman or Olson in because of a distinct lack of time. They have this bust as planned as it’s going to get. The cops have been briefed a second time with all the information Cody could get them. They stick three patrol cops in security uniforms and make sure they have radios. The rest of them get into one of the other warehouses. Queenan has his radio on and turned up while the others are softer, and Sean’s near the door, watching everyone he can see.
After fifteen minutes of quiet conversations and Queenan pacing among the cops, checking to make sure they’re ready, Sean hears the radios crackle to life.
“Ott and seven others have gone in.”
Queenan asks into his, “Are the buyers present?”
“No sign, sir.”
“Hold your position.” He looks at everyone present. “That goes for you, too.”
A few cops nod, but most of them just look ready to move, adrenaline already pumping. Sean feels it himself. He checks his watch. Cody better be right on timing.
It takes another three minutes before a different voice says, “Five others have entered the building.”
“Let’s move,” Queenan says, and Sean bursts out the door, barely ahead of the crush of bodies.
He and someone he doesn’t know are the first in the other building, bellowing, “Freeze! Massachusetts State Police!”
Vince Ott looks like he’s been hit between the eyes with a sledgehammer. He drops the wrapped package in his hands and lifts them over his head, and most of the rest follow his example. But one guy reaches back under his waistband, and Sean’s not the only one ordering, “Drop it. Drop it now. I will shoot.”
The guy, a skinny, sour-looking bastard, stares back, like he’s considering his options—suicide by cop when maybe he’d hit one of them or drop the weapon and have that charge added—and then a gun clatters to the floor.
“Everybody up against the wall,” Queenan orders. “Hands against the wall, legs spread.”
Troopers separate the dealers, pushing them toward the wall if they seem to lag, and it takes less than ten minutes to get all the patdowns done, switchblades and semi-auto pistols collected, and cuffs slapped on. Cody is among them, and Sean just lets his eyes slide over him; they’ll pull him out before interrogations start, when the others won’t suspect him of a thing.
“You’re all under arrest,” Queenan informs them, voice raised, and reads their rights before they’re led out, one trooper for each of them, and the rest of the troopers stay behind, inventorying what was left while Queenan calls for forensics. This is probably the most boring part of the job, waiting on techs to arrive and take over so they can leave a couple uniforms behind and get back to the department. Sure, Sean doesn’t generally do interrogations, but even writing up events in a report is better than this idleness.
All that paperwork turns Wednesday into a late night, and Thursday starts the same time as always, if with a couple of extra cups of bad coffee taken black. They’ll do Cody’s debriefing on Friday, give him a day off with a uniform to keep him company.
Thursday gets interesting around ten, when Darlene calls in that Ben Olson has arrived for his appointment to have his life disrupted.
“Why’d you move from Brooklyn?” he asks Olson after Queenan’s done the very basics of sucking in an undercover.
Olson shrugs. “My family used to come up to Massachusetts during the summer. I always liked it better than New York, but it turns out there’s almost as much scum in Boston as New York.”
“That doesn’t answer the question. Your family’s in Brooklyn. You went to City College. Why leave all that? All those memories? Or are they not as good as your wholesome family, one boy and one girl, a mom and a dad, would make us believe? You running from something?” Sean knows damn well how hard he’s pushing with that, and Olson shoots him a sick glare.
“What does that matter, Detective? What could it possibly matter to whatever you pulled me in for?”
“It matters to us,” Queenan says, and Sean actually hates him a little for a split second for making it sound caring, almost concerned.
Olson pulls his shoulders back. “Do your records say I moved out into a friend’s house when I was sixteen? Or that I had to scrape through college because my old man wouldn’t give me a dime, no matter how I asked, because I got a B in my sophomore English class and that wasn’t good enough?” He glowers at Sean. “Real wholesome family, right?”
Sometimes it sucks to be the one pushing and digging, but Queenan can’t do it with his undercovers. They have to like him, trust him. They have to trust Sean too, but they don’t have to like him. “Nice sob story, kid. You done feeling sorry for yourself?”
Something flares in Olson’s eyes, anger tinged with something unreadable. “Did you call me in here just to ask about that, Captain?”
Queenan sets his hands on his desk, threading his fingers together. “Do you want to be a cop?”
From there, it’s about the same as with Brown, except Olson agrees to a jail term and Costello’s crew. Sean pities him, even if it’s willing.
Silverman is up for a transfer into sex crimes. He’d be good for it, but in a different capacity if he agrees.
“You’re sure we need someone investigating porn?” Sean asks again.
“We have suspicions about employing underage actors,” Queenan reminds him. “It’s not particularly risky, and if Silverman is moving to sex crimes anyway, he should welcome the chance to be more hands-on.”
“He might not.”
“Then we’ll find someone else.”
Sean doesn’t have a chance to answer, because there’s a knock on Queenan’s half-open door.
“Come in,” Queenan calls, and Sean turns to lean against Queenan’s desk.
Tobias Silverman is a detective with a good record. He doesn’t look it, though. He looks nervous, his hands twitching as he adjusts his glasses over his thin nose. Everything about his face is thin, eyes to lips, his cheeks almost sunken, and it fits his body. “Captain Queenan.”
“Have a seat, Detective.”
Silverman does. “Why did you want to see me, sir?”
Queenan leans forward. “You’re transferring to sex crimes, is that right?”
“Yes sir.” Silverman tugs on his left cuff.
“And you requested that.”
Silverman nods.
“Why?”
Silverman’s quiet a moment before blurting out, “They’re as bad as murderers.”
“What?” Sean asks. That’s not what he expected.
“They’re as bad as murderers,” Silverman says again. “Rapists and molesters ruin their victims’ abilities to trust anyone, to function, to not live in terror. And they ruin families, too, especially when they’re part of the family. There’s just as much pain and misery over somebody being sexually assaulted as there is over them dying.” He adjusts his glasses again, his eyes flitting away.
“You don’t have any family, do you?” Sean asks. “You wouldn’t know about this firsthand.”
“I don’t have to have firsthand experience to understand how people are affected,” Silverman says. “I want to do what I can to stop it from happening to more people.”
“We have a question,” Queenan says. “How badly do you want to be a cop?”
Silverman looks at him a long minute.
“It’s an honest question. I’m not going to judge you, whatever you say.”
“I’ve wanted to be a cop since I was four years old and understood that cops stop bad people.”
“Yeah, that’s why you studied biology, right?” Sean asks. “Because it’s so applicable.”
“It interests me, and I just needed a degree before I attended the academy.” Silverman meets his eyes for just a second. “I’m a cop.”
Sean doesn’t know which of them he’s telling, but he means it. Queenan must see it, too, because he moves in to rope Silverman into their ring. And, like so many others, Silverman agrees, and he signs himself out of that transfer.
Fandom: The Departed
Rating: NC-17
Word Count (this chapter): 4,089
Warnings this chapter (highlight to view): Drug sales, violence against a woman, discussion of violence, discussion of child abuse, discussion of sexual abuse and assault.
They meet with their undercovers every week. It’s not always the same ones—some of them are more stable, more independent, than others, but some are in even higher-risk positions or more nervous about what they’re doing, even if they’re still good.
Russell Cody is one of the good ones, but he’s up on the rotation.
“You know the routine,” Queenan says when Cody meets them down a little-used bike path. Cody leans his bike against a tree, turning to spread his legs and put his hands behind his head. Sean pats him down, fast and light, and he’s clean. He nods to Queenan and steps back, and Cody turns back around.
“How are you doing?” Queenan asks.
“I’m fine, Captain. I had to, absolutely had to, try a small line of coke three days ago, so if you tested me I’d come up with that in my system. That was the only trouble I’ve had recently.”
“What do you mean, had to?” Sean asks.
“Word for word, ‘If you don’t try it, you’re telling me you’re a cop,’ from Vince Ott.” To be fair, if Ott says jump, dealers instantly ask how high, and when it comes to being suspected of being a cop, so do their guys. “I wasn’t that interested in finding out how slowly he’d kill me if I didn’t. He knows there’s someone, just not who.”
“What do you have on him?” Queenan asks.
“There’s a heroin shipment coming through Canada. I know that’s a weird one, but it’s making it through the border in a semi. The semi’s going to be loaded with furniture, I think.”
“Are you shitting us?” Sean asks incredulously. “Furniture dealer? Is it used?”
Queenan barely suppresses a smirk. “When is this happening?”
“Three days. It’s going to be through Vermont. I know this is an FBI, DEA thing, but I don’t want to talk to anyone but you, in case.”
Sean privately agrees on the feds. They leak. “Got anything else?”
“There’s some chick who pissed him off badly. He was smacking her around when I got there on Tuesday. Something about what she was collecting on what she dealt and how he thought she was holding back. I wanted to stop him, but he wasn’t going to kill her or even put her in the hospital from what I saw.” Cody shrugs helplessly. “There are limits, you know? For safety.”
Queenan nods. “You keep yourself safe first,” he says quietly, “but if you ever can intervene on that kind of thing, without risking your safety, try to do it.”
Cody nods. “I know. It made me sick to watch.”
Sean counts back. Three days. “That meeting was when he had you try the coke.”
“That’s right.”
Sean gives Queenan a quick glance, and Queenan gives him a small nod. They’re checking on Anderson later. “What else is he moving?” Queenan asks.
“A lot of coke, tons of marijuana, and he’s getting further into PCP, ecstasy, LSD, that kind of stuff. He still won’t touch meth. On Wednesday, there’s a big deal happening, fifteen kilos of coke and a lot of other stuff. He’ll be at the sale. I don’t know who it’s to, but I’m supposed to be there.”
“Where is it?” Queenan asks.
“Down at the docks. I’ll get you the details when I have them.”
“Make sure no one knows,” Queenan directs, “but we’ll be there. You’re doing fine, Cody.”
“Thank you, sir.” Cody grabs his bike. “I’ll call as soon as I know.”
“No more drugs,” Sean says. “It’s bad on the stand.”
“It’s better than being dead.” Cody swings onto the bike. “See you Wednesday.” Then he’s off, and Sean turns to Queenan.
“DEA for the semi, us for the Wednesday bust?”
Queenan nods. “I’ll have it set up by Monday.” He glances at his watch. “I should be able to catch Anderson and still have time for the DEA.”
“Better not be her.” They start walking up the path. “If she’s shorting Ott on shit, it’s a miracle if she’s not dead.”
“She’s not stupid, but if she’s not judging the money properly, she might have been caught. If we get Ott, we’ll take her list and round people up. Cody’s too.” Queenan glances at him. “How fast do you think someone would take Ott’s place?”
“Costello would see us hanging the welcome sign and take over within days.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Queenan sighs. “We keep trying with him, but nothing ever seems to stick.”
“How much money do we get back?” Sean asks. They funnel cash to their undercovers to keep them from actually selling more than the bare minimum they have to, even though selling is a good way to collect names. Still, it’s not cheap, and Queenan has to regularly make reports on how their investigation is proceeding to keep their guys funded. This bust should help them for a couple of months at least.
“If Ott has as much cash as we suspect, then after he’s convicted, we’ll get an order for most of it to be returned to the state. It’s going to be mostly recouped, maybe even more than that.”
“If it is Anderson,” Sean starts after a moment.
“If it is, we’ll pull her. She can disappear from his radar into protection.”
That’s always an option with undercovers, Sean knows. He had it offered once when he managed to piss off French by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but he fixed that before things got worse.
Anderson answers her phone when Queenan calls her from his cell. Sean can’t hear her end of the conversation, but Queenan’s expression doesn’t waver, and he takes it as a good sign. Then Queenan hangs up and says, “She’s fine. She knows the woman, Caitlin Duchamps. Says she has a couple of cracked teeth and two broken ribs, not to mention the bruises, but she’ll live.”
“We’re arresting her next week anyway,” Sean points out. “She’ll get medical care.”
“Anderson’s keeping an eye on her. She’s going to let me know if Duchamps disappears, and we’ll look harder at Ott for some of the nastier things we suspect. There are a couple of homicides that have his metaphorical fingerprints on them.”
And it’s going to take a bust to bring the fucker in. Fuck, but the job is shit sometimes.
Three days later, when they’re waiting on a call from the DEA about any Capone-esque semis, Ava Brown takes a half shift off patrolling the highway to come into Queenan’s office.
“Have a seat,” Queenan says, gesturing to the chair. Sean’s leaning against the filing cabinets, and he studies her. She has muscle to her, a good amount of solid bulk going by her arms. That impression that she could pass for Italian was a good one; her coloring fits. Her makeup is careful, subtle. She looks firm.
She sits stiffly, her eyes darting like she’s expecting a reprimand. “Yes sir.” Her voice is strong, on the high side but as solid as the rest of her.
“Do you know what this unit is?”
She shrugs. “Vaguely, sir. Undercover, isn’t it?”
“Vaguely,” Sean repeats. “You have no fucking clue, Trooper.”
She gives him a look, but keeps her mouth shut. Good.
“Do you enjoy being a Statie?” Queenan asks her.
She hesitates and seems to choose her words. “I would prefer a position where I feel I’m doing more good than stopping traffic violations.”
“You want to be a cop.”
She frowns. “I am a cop.” The words are have a bone-deep conviction behind them, so solid Sean almost feels it.
“You want to do good?” Sean asks. “How much good?”
“As much as I can,” she answers without hesitation. “Whatever it takes.”
“Do you know who Peter Nicastro is?” Queenan asks, and her lips thin.
“Boston Mafia, big in prostitution, drugs, theft, extortion,” she says.
“Someone’s done her homework,” Sean comments.
“You said you want to do good,” Queenan says again. “Did you mean it?”
“I don’t know, Captain. She has that assault arrest.” He gets a pissed-off look and no comment for that. “Seems like a loose cannon to me. We can’t trust her.” He pushes off the cabinets. “Spotty education record even though she tested at a hundred and forty IQ. With that, you should be prosecuting these scumbags, not writing tickets, Trooper.”
She doesn’t take the bait, to his surprise. “You’re probably right, sir.”
“What happened there?” Queenan asks, all interested father figure, and her eyes flick to him.
“My father died when I was in middle school. My mom had terrible taste in boyfriends after. Two of them were dealers, and they had interesting predilections when they were coked up. My grades in high school tanked because I wasn’t getting any sleep and had a job that ate up most of my homework time, so I wound up struggling through community college while I worked two jobs. I joined the force with my AS, but you know that, don’t you?” That’s aimed at Sean, and he grins, all teeth.
“This assault arrest,” Queenan begins.
To Sean’s surprise, she bluntly says, “One of the boyfriends was going after my little sister. I hit him in the face with a baseball bat. City cops determined it was in defense of a child and the ADA didn’t file charges.”
“You want to be a cop?” Sean asks. “You really want to be a cop, not just flash your gun and badge and make the news after you shoot some maybe guilty asshole running because you’re armed and he just thinks you’re a dyke.”
“Detective Dignam has an interesting sense of humor,” Queenan interjects.
“I prefer gay,” she says to him flatly, and his grin is real this time. She must get such shit, a lesbian trooper, and she owns it.
“Good for you.”
“What do you need me to do?” she asks Queenan.
“We need someone in with Nicastro. You haven’t distinguished yourself, he won’t know who you are. You’ll have a record of being terminated from the force for a questionable arrest to cover your history with us. Your real record will be sealed, and only you, Detective Dignam, and myself will have the password.”
“Is it something I’ll remember?”
“It is.” It’s her fucking name. Of course it’s memorable. “For obvious reasons, you won’t be paid directly, but you’ll receive a bonus. That pays well. There is risk involved in going undercover, I need that to be clear. You’ll work your way in the best way you can without being obvious. If you can get close to Nicastro, so much the better.”
She nods. “As long as I don’t have to fuck him.”
“You know we can’t ask you to do that,” Sean says.
She looks back at him, eyes steady. “I’m not sure I’d put it past you, Detective.”
“The fuck was that?” but he’s inwardly gleeful. She’ll be fucking ace.
“Where do I sign?” she asks them both, and Queenan produces the paperwork.
Once she’s gone, Queenan looks at him. “I’m not sure if I should give you points for that technique or berate you for it.”
Sean shrugs. “It worked.”
“It did,” Queenan agrees, “and she will have to deal with you while she’s in.”
“See, it was a good idea.”
“I’ll adjust to it. I’m not sure they will.”
Sean shrugs again. “If they don’t, they’re not right for the job. She’ll be solid.”
“As long as she doesn’t push back against Nicastro too much,” Queenan says. “I’m impressed she didn’t do more than make that remark.”
“I like that remark,” Sean says. “She has bite. She’ll need it.”
“He’s not as bad as Costello, but he can be tough,” Queenan points out. “If she uses too much bite…”
“She survived those boyfriends of her mother’s, she can deal with Nicastro’s bullshit.” Sean glances at Queenan. “How fast can you push that paperwork through?”
“That’s a question for you.” Queenan hands him the folder.
“I should have known that,” Sean grumbles. He holds it up. “I’ll get everything done in an hour. Ava Brown won’t be a cop by lunch.”
“The rest of that goes in locked files I’ll keep at home,” Queenan says.
“You do that?”
“It’s safest from prying eyes,” Queenan says. “The brass knows. I’ll give you the code to the safe the next time you’re over. Do you have plans for the fourth?”
“I’m meeting the family.” Sean can’t help the twist to his mouth.
“Try not to frighten them all away,” Queenan says dryly.
“Yeah, that’d probably piss Robert off. He loves them.”
Queenan takes out his glasses and his small notebook with his coded schedule. “When is the trial supposed to conclude?”
“Hell if I know. The judge’s got something like eight separate motions, so it’s in limbo. Soares says it might be a few weeks before he makes rulings on all of them, meantime the jury’s sequestered, poor bastards, and it might end in a mistrial so I get the fun of testifying again. Mostly it’s the admissibility of evidence and testimony, but there’s something about Middlebrook’s competence.”
“What do you think?”
“Not that it matters, but he’s smarter and saner than Williams. If either of them is going to make a deal, it’s him. He’s totally competent. He’s also fucking evil.”
“We’ll pick up lunch on the way to meet with Parker.” Queenan puts his notebook back in his pocket.
Sean holds up the folder again. “I’ll handle this.”
Queenan nods, his attention already on something else.
By the time they have to meet with Parker, Brown is, in the system and outside their protected files, a fired cop. Sean calls and lets her know, and she turns in her patrol car before effectively disappearing with Queenan’s cell number tucked into her wallet. She’ll call in four days from a pay phone if she does what she’s supposed to, and they’re working on supplying her with money for a cell of her own, same as their other undercovers.
Silverman and Olson are up on the schedule to get pulled in, but Cody’s news has derailed the schedule some, and Monday afternoon, after their meeting with Parker, Queenan pulls together a bunch of troopers, mostly from narcotics.
Sean’s there in the conference room, just behind Queenan as usual for these, and he listens to his captain.
“On Wednesday night, Vince Ott is meeting with a group of buyers to sell fifteen kilos of coke, not to mention his interests in heroin, pot, and acid, enough to put them all away for life.” He lets the murmurs die down. “This is our task force to interrupt that meeting and take everyone into custody. You’ll have your vests and SWAT will be on the scene. Our primary goal is to take Ott out of the picture. Weapons will be drawn, not fired unless we see weapons on their end. This is happening at the docks. We’ll be in another warehouse. I’m going to station three uniforms, with vests, dressed as security to help alert us. We know which building they’ll be in, and we have an idea of how many people there will be. We outnumber them, which is important for our safety. I do not want a single trooper injured. Keep yourselves and each other safe. When I have the exact time of the buy, you’ll know.”
“Will an undercover be in there?” some wiseass asks, and Sean memorizes him: redhead, blue eyes, medium build. He might be a problem.
“That does not matter to the case,” Queenan says, his voice hard. “What matters is getting Ott and his people off the streets as permanently as possible. Any further questions?”
“What kind of drugs are we talking about?” That’s Figueroa.
“Cocaine is the largest part. There’s also marijuana, and there will probably be things like PCP and LSD in the mix.”
Figueroa nods, and no one else opens their mouth.
“Come to me or Detective Dignam with any further questions. We don’t answer anything about our undercovers, so don’t ask that, but anything else should be fine. That’s all I have for the day.” Queenan turns and leaves, and Sean follows after a moment of glancing around the room. No one looks like an issue, but he’s watching that narcotics detective at the bust.
Two days later, they still haven’t pulled Silverman or Olson in because of a distinct lack of time. They have this bust as planned as it’s going to get. The cops have been briefed a second time with all the information Cody could get them. They stick three patrol cops in security uniforms and make sure they have radios. The rest of them get into one of the other warehouses. Queenan has his radio on and turned up while the others are softer, and Sean’s near the door, watching everyone he can see.
After fifteen minutes of quiet conversations and Queenan pacing among the cops, checking to make sure they’re ready, Sean hears the radios crackle to life.
“Ott and seven others have gone in.”
Queenan asks into his, “Are the buyers present?”
“No sign, sir.”
“Hold your position.” He looks at everyone present. “That goes for you, too.”
A few cops nod, but most of them just look ready to move, adrenaline already pumping. Sean feels it himself. He checks his watch. Cody better be right on timing.
It takes another three minutes before a different voice says, “Five others have entered the building.”
“Let’s move,” Queenan says, and Sean bursts out the door, barely ahead of the crush of bodies.
He and someone he doesn’t know are the first in the other building, bellowing, “Freeze! Massachusetts State Police!”
Vince Ott looks like he’s been hit between the eyes with a sledgehammer. He drops the wrapped package in his hands and lifts them over his head, and most of the rest follow his example. But one guy reaches back under his waistband, and Sean’s not the only one ordering, “Drop it. Drop it now. I will shoot.”
The guy, a skinny, sour-looking bastard, stares back, like he’s considering his options—suicide by cop when maybe he’d hit one of them or drop the weapon and have that charge added—and then a gun clatters to the floor.
“Everybody up against the wall,” Queenan orders. “Hands against the wall, legs spread.”
Troopers separate the dealers, pushing them toward the wall if they seem to lag, and it takes less than ten minutes to get all the patdowns done, switchblades and semi-auto pistols collected, and cuffs slapped on. Cody is among them, and Sean just lets his eyes slide over him; they’ll pull him out before interrogations start, when the others won’t suspect him of a thing.
“You’re all under arrest,” Queenan informs them, voice raised, and reads their rights before they’re led out, one trooper for each of them, and the rest of the troopers stay behind, inventorying what was left while Queenan calls for forensics. This is probably the most boring part of the job, waiting on techs to arrive and take over so they can leave a couple uniforms behind and get back to the department. Sure, Sean doesn’t generally do interrogations, but even writing up events in a report is better than this idleness.
All that paperwork turns Wednesday into a late night, and Thursday starts the same time as always, if with a couple of extra cups of bad coffee taken black. They’ll do Cody’s debriefing on Friday, give him a day off with a uniform to keep him company.
Thursday gets interesting around ten, when Darlene calls in that Ben Olson has arrived for his appointment to have his life disrupted.
“Why’d you move from Brooklyn?” he asks Olson after Queenan’s done the very basics of sucking in an undercover.
Olson shrugs. “My family used to come up to Massachusetts during the summer. I always liked it better than New York, but it turns out there’s almost as much scum in Boston as New York.”
“That doesn’t answer the question. Your family’s in Brooklyn. You went to City College. Why leave all that? All those memories? Or are they not as good as your wholesome family, one boy and one girl, a mom and a dad, would make us believe? You running from something?” Sean knows damn well how hard he’s pushing with that, and Olson shoots him a sick glare.
“What does that matter, Detective? What could it possibly matter to whatever you pulled me in for?”
“It matters to us,” Queenan says, and Sean actually hates him a little for a split second for making it sound caring, almost concerned.
Olson pulls his shoulders back. “Do your records say I moved out into a friend’s house when I was sixteen? Or that I had to scrape through college because my old man wouldn’t give me a dime, no matter how I asked, because I got a B in my sophomore English class and that wasn’t good enough?” He glowers at Sean. “Real wholesome family, right?”
Sometimes it sucks to be the one pushing and digging, but Queenan can’t do it with his undercovers. They have to like him, trust him. They have to trust Sean too, but they don’t have to like him. “Nice sob story, kid. You done feeling sorry for yourself?”
Something flares in Olson’s eyes, anger tinged with something unreadable. “Did you call me in here just to ask about that, Captain?”
Queenan sets his hands on his desk, threading his fingers together. “Do you want to be a cop?”
From there, it’s about the same as with Brown, except Olson agrees to a jail term and Costello’s crew. Sean pities him, even if it’s willing.
Silverman is up for a transfer into sex crimes. He’d be good for it, but in a different capacity if he agrees.
“You’re sure we need someone investigating porn?” Sean asks again.
“We have suspicions about employing underage actors,” Queenan reminds him. “It’s not particularly risky, and if Silverman is moving to sex crimes anyway, he should welcome the chance to be more hands-on.”
“He might not.”
“Then we’ll find someone else.”
Sean doesn’t have a chance to answer, because there’s a knock on Queenan’s half-open door.
“Come in,” Queenan calls, and Sean turns to lean against Queenan’s desk.
Tobias Silverman is a detective with a good record. He doesn’t look it, though. He looks nervous, his hands twitching as he adjusts his glasses over his thin nose. Everything about his face is thin, eyes to lips, his cheeks almost sunken, and it fits his body. “Captain Queenan.”
“Have a seat, Detective.”
Silverman does. “Why did you want to see me, sir?”
Queenan leans forward. “You’re transferring to sex crimes, is that right?”
“Yes sir.” Silverman tugs on his left cuff.
“And you requested that.”
Silverman nods.
“Why?”
Silverman’s quiet a moment before blurting out, “They’re as bad as murderers.”
“What?” Sean asks. That’s not what he expected.
“They’re as bad as murderers,” Silverman says again. “Rapists and molesters ruin their victims’ abilities to trust anyone, to function, to not live in terror. And they ruin families, too, especially when they’re part of the family. There’s just as much pain and misery over somebody being sexually assaulted as there is over them dying.” He adjusts his glasses again, his eyes flitting away.
“You don’t have any family, do you?” Sean asks. “You wouldn’t know about this firsthand.”
“I don’t have to have firsthand experience to understand how people are affected,” Silverman says. “I want to do what I can to stop it from happening to more people.”
“We have a question,” Queenan says. “How badly do you want to be a cop?”
Silverman looks at him a long minute.
“It’s an honest question. I’m not going to judge you, whatever you say.”
“I’ve wanted to be a cop since I was four years old and understood that cops stop bad people.”
“Yeah, that’s why you studied biology, right?” Sean asks. “Because it’s so applicable.”
“It interests me, and I just needed a degree before I attended the academy.” Silverman meets his eyes for just a second. “I’m a cop.”
Sean doesn’t know which of them he’s telling, but he means it. Queenan must see it, too, because he moves in to rope Silverman into their ring. And, like so many others, Silverman agrees, and he signs himself out of that transfer.