Betrayal

"What ya having Max?" It was Grace. She was the life of the bar for the last twenty-five years. Early 60's, wicked sense of humor. Thin and gaunt, with lines on her face that showed the miles she'd travelled. Gravelly voice from smoking Marlboro's for forty years.

I eyed the premium labels on the top shelf. It was between Maker's Mark and Wild Turkey. Maker's Mark always won, but I wanted to wrestle with the decision a bit longer because it was so pleasurable to be choosing between two fine bourbons.

"Ummm... Maker's please." I said. Then I noticed Grace had already pulled the bottle down and was pouring me a double shot.

"You know me too well..." I told her.

She looked at me carefully. I was wearing a low cut dress, and leaning forward gave her a complete view of my assets.

"Not enough apparently," she said cheekily. I never knew if Grace was straight or gay.

We exchanged looks. It would never happen between us but it was a happy moment. I took a sip of the Maker's and put it down. She could see the pleasure on my face. She reached over and topped off my glass.

"On the house."

"I'm in love with you," I told her.

She stopped wiping the counter in front of me. She looked me in the eye. "I know, everyone tells me that."

* * *

At precisely 6:59 p.m., after my third Maker's, Heather Murtaugh made her entrance, poking her head between the heavy red velvet drapes dividing the doorway between the bar and the restaurant areas.

"Max," she called out when she spotted me. She was wearing a shortish skirt with her usual four inch black pumps. Her legs looked amazing. She looked amazing. I know this was supposed to be a business meeting, but that knowledge didn't stop my heart from pumping faster.

I waved her over. She came up to me. She put her clutch purse on the bar. Grace looked at her and then winked at me.

"Where'd you want to talk?" I watched with fascination as she gave a small tug to her dress to adjust it.

"I've got a private room over there." I pointed to an unmarked door at the back end of the bar.

"Oh," she said, showing surprise. "I've been in the bar a dozen times and never noticed that door. You must be a special member..."

"I got it for my participation in sports at UC." I think my mouth ran before my brain engaged.

It was a complete fabrication, but like a dumb shit I wanted to impress her. I got access because did a big favor for Artie Marshall, the club president. His college age kid got busted for possession. He was caught with just enough substance to move up charges from a misdemeanor to a felony. I got the DA's office to back off because he was a first offender and a kid that deserved another chance. The kid had a shit lawyer.

"So what sport?" she asked me. No one had ever asked me before. They'd believe my bullshit line and we'd move on. Not so for the inquisitive Heather.

"Excuse me?" I said, trying to buy time to formulate my bullshit answer.

"What was it for?"

I said the first thing that came into my brain. "Oh... it was for track and field." In truth, the only time I was on the track was when I ran across it as one of the fans rushing the field after we'd beaten Xavier in football. That was a good day.

"What event?"

Heather wasn't just a looker. She had me pinned. I was getting in way over my head. I forgot that Ferrari's are a lot faster than F-150's.

"Uhh..." I stuttered. She revealed me for the dumbass I am when in the presence of a beautiful woman.

She started laughing. "I already know Max."

"Huh?" I asked her. I didn't know she knew beforehand.

"Artie is a close friend of the Mayor's."

Of course, if the Mayor's knows it, Alan and Heather are going to know it as well.

"Alan told you."

"Right... Alan knew about the favor you did for Artie. I was just fucking with you."

"Good one," I told her. Not too many people got the better of me. That was a good warning to for me to stay on my toes. And not to punch way above my weight class.

Grace came over. We both ordered her famous Manhattans. We carried them into the private room. I closed the door behind us.

The inside had comfortable furnishings, though a bit dated. I sat on a red velvet settee. She sat across from me on its twin. We were both cradling our drinks. I tried not staring at her legs but I don't think I was successful. She was probably used to it anyway.

"I didn't tell you the truth Max," she confessed. The playful arrogance was gone.

No shit. "I know," I told her.

"We're not going to approve the request."

I used the toothpick to spear the cherry and stir the drink. "I figured as much."

"You did?"

She was genuinely surprised.

"Take a look at this." I showed her my phone. I played her a video that showed her leaning into the window of Jumbo's SUV.

She pulled her head back when she recognized what she was watching.

"Where did you get this?" she demanded. Her face turned ugly, and in her case that was hard to do.

"I took it myself," I said proudly. She fucked with me, so I fucked with her.

"Who else has it?"

I wondered how it felt for her to have the shoe on the other foot. Advantage Max.

"That's confidential," I told her. My answer really bugged the shit out of her.

"What do you want?" The meeting didn't go according to her plan, whatever that was. She knew I had her and was admitting defeat.

"I need information."

"About what?" she said in resignation.

"You know," I told her.

"I can't do that," she insisted.

I knew she was wavering inside. She wouldn't have taken this meeting if she wasn't.

"He's helping a known criminal."

"I wouldn't... uh... know that," she lied.

"Maybe he hasn't told you outright, but you know."

She sat there, silent. It was hard enough for her to lie to me the first time.

"You do."

"Let me see what I can do."

I gave her a burner phone I happened to have in my purse. "Call me on this. My number's already programmed in."

I had a burner as well. I knew she'd call. The comely Heather Murtaugh was going to be a source.

* * *

The next day was shaping up to be an uneventful day. I spent the morning break listening with feigned interest about Lanny's latest conquest. I completed tons of bullshit reports and then returned tons of bullshit e-mails. My radio squawked at the end of the day.

"Officer down... 458 Willow..."

Shit. That was in the West End.

I grabbed my coffee thermos and dashed into the ready room.

"Lanny, let's go."

Lanny took one look at me and knew it was serious.

"Gotta go," he said to some cute fresh faced cadet he was working on. He threw his half-finished coffee into the trash can and hurried out the door after me.

"What's up?" he asked from behind.

"Officer down."

"Shit."

We jumped into our squad car. He fired up the engine.

"Where to?"

"458 Willow."

"That's West End."

"Yeah, I know. Hit it."

* * *

The scene was already crawling with cops. Yellow caution tape around the perimeter was fluttering in the breeze. Neighbors lined up at the tape, gawking. It was a non-descript ranch three bedroom house. Tall weeds were growing in the front yard. The front screen door was hanging on just one hinge. There was a pit bull staked in the front yard on a chain, barking his head off.

"What's going on?" I asked the officer manning the yellow tape.

"Drug bust gone bad. Paramedics are inside right now. It doesn't look good."

"Do you know who the officer is?"

"Someone from Narcotics, Tompkins I think I heard."

Fuck... it was Rachel. What the fuck was she doing in my territory? I had no idea they were running an operation here. I ducked under the tape.

"Hey... you can't go in there now..." I heard the officer say to my back.

Then I heard Lanny explain. "Rachel Tompkins was her partner."

I went to the front door and the paramedics were wheeling her out. She was secured on a rolling stretcher. Her uniform was soaked in blood. I ran alongside as they were taking her to a waiting ambulance. There was chaos all around us.

"Rachel!" I shouted to her face, keeping pace with the stretcher.

Her eyes fluttered open for a moment.

"Max..."

"Rachel... what happened?"

"Max..." she said in a reed thin voice. Then her eyes closed.

Fuck.

* * *

"Who's in charge here?" I asked the same officer who was manning the tape. "Over there." He pointed to a woman I didn't recognize who was having a heated discussion with two other officers. "Captain Sanchez," he said.

I went over to Sanchez. She was still in the middle of a screaming match.

"... fucking intel was shit... " She stopped mid-sentence and whirled around to face me. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Rachel was my partner."

She settled from the boiling point to a simmer. "I'm sorry."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Op went FUBAR."

"I can see that. This is my territory. How come I wasn't made aware of this op?"

Maybe it wasn't the best thing to say at that moment. I could see I was bringing her back up to a boil.

"Above your pay grade. Now if you'll excuse me..." She turned away from me to address her two compadres. I slinked away with a huge pit in my stomach. Rachel broke up with me. I was still in love with her. She was the reason I ended up back living in a cheap motel in the shit part of town drowning in cheap vodka. Now this.

I ducked under the yellow tape to a waiting Lanny.

"Rachel going to make it?" he asked.

"Don't know... she lost consciousness." I started walking back to our squad car. "Not much more we can do here. Let's go back to the station and find out where they took her."

"Roger that," he said.

* * *

Chapter Three

Into the Abyss

Beep... beep... beep... beep...

The monitor assured me she was alive. I couldn't tell otherwise.

Rachel.

Even though she got over me, I never got over her. It broke my heart to see her laying there, fighting for her life.

Her face was swollen and badly bruised. There was a tube down her throat. She was in surgery for fourteen hours. Stab wound. She was unconscious, hooked up to two drips and a monitor. It was too soon for the doctor to give me a prognosis.

I leaned over and kissed her forehead. Then I whispered "I love you" in her ear. I doubt she heard me, but it did my soul good to tell her.

I thanked God she was alive.

* * *

I left her room and leaned against the wall in the hallway, next to two uniformed officers guarding her door. I was filled with rage. I wanted to get the motherfucker who stabbed my baby. What was my next move? I had a good friend in Narcotics. She'd give me the skinny on what was going on. Sounded to me from the little that I heard that the raid was based on bad intel and they went into a bad situation. I was determined to find out who fucked up and who shanked her.

I punched the wall. The two police officers who were guarding the door went on alert at the loud noise.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. I was concerned that I wasn't able to control my emotions.

"You know Rachel?" the officer closest to me asked. He was young, Hispanic. His uniform was crisp.

"She was my partner before she went into Narcotics." He nodded his head.

"Do you know what happened to her?" I asked him.

"I heard she was stabbed or something. Maybe it was a screwdriver."

I wanted to punch the wall again. What kind of animal would do that? I immediately thought of Steph. She hated Rachel and it was clear that my having put her away also made me a mortal enemy. She also was familiar with the vests we wore and their soft spots. My mind was running in a thousand directions after seeing Rachel in a hospital bed and then concocting a story in my mind of how it happened.

The rest of the day was a blur. I couldn't help thinking about Rachel, and the mass of tubes, blinking lights, and beeping noises in her room. I was going to lose her. I admitted to myself that I was never over her, and not being able to say goodbye would devastate me.

Lanny tried to engage me, but he gave me a lot of space because he knew I was going through a lot. He took the lead on all the calls and let me tag along. Good kid, Lanny.

It was mid-afternoon, and a particularly hot and muggy summer day. We were nearing the end of our shift after a half dozen traffic stops and two calls on domestic violence. Usual bullshit that Lanny could handle in his sleep. We were driving back to the station when Lanny finally got my attention.

"So Sarge. I heard that they barely made it inside the front door.

"Where did you hear that?"

"You know those two guys that were guarding Rachel's room? I think you talked to Mercado. I was chatting up his partner, Tanaka, while you were in there talking to Rachel."

Like I said, Lanny was a good kid. "So what did he tell you?"

Lanny paused for a moment before answering. "It's not what he said, but what they didn't say."

"What didn't they say?"

"He didn't say that the leader of the op confirmed the accuracy of their intel. My guess is that the CI gave them some bad information and Rachel went into a shit show. They told me that Rachel was dropped right after she went in the door. They were waiting for her, and I think the person who did it got away."

I could feel my blood pressure rising.

"Lanny... why didn't you tell me this morning?"

"Because Max, it's not your case to solve, and I wanted to give it a bit of time so you'd calm down a bit. I know you're freaked out about Rachel, and I didn't think giving you that information when you were in that state of mind was a good idea. It's the end of the day, and you can sleep on this. Max, you're on thin ice with the drinking thing, and doing something stupid is just going to get you kicked off the force. I don't want to see that and I don't think you want to see that either."

I had to admit to myself that Lanny was right. I was getting worked up, and good decisions aren't made with that frame of mind. So I had two angles to work. Who was the CI and what was said? Who was the person with the weapon and who was he or she working for? The Robbery and Homicide guys were good, but this was my backyard, and I knew the dark alleys and back streets of this rough and tumble area. I was working these streets every day and they weren't.

Attacks on cops are never good, and Rachel being gregarious and insanely attractive made the buzz at the station that much louder. We pulled into the parking lot, and even out there I could hear conversations about how Rachel was ambushed at yesterday's raid. I saw Emilio Rodriguez, who also patrolled the West End area.

"Hey Rodriguez. Wait a second."

He was shutting his trunk and about to get into the passenger seat. His car was idling, ready to pull out as soon as he got in. He looked at me over the roof of his car.

"Max... sorry about Rachel."

Everyone at the station knew that Rachel and I were an item.

"Thanks Emil."

"So how's she doing?"

"Just saw her this morning. Too early to tell. She was still unconscious."

"That's good. We're going to nail the fucker who did this."

"Amen to that."

"Hear anything on the street?" I asked hopefully.

"Nada Max. Quiet as a church. Whoever did it has put the clamps down on loose talk."

"Be well Max," he said as he ducked his head into the car.

I realized I'd have to be careful how I reacted. The station was already on edge, and every officer in it wanted a piece of whoever stabbed Officer Tompkins.

* * *

I had an idea who the CI was. There were two scumbags who I'd seen cozying up with some of our undercover police. One was Pete Hester. I busted Pete about a month ago so it probably wasn't him. The other was Lester Downey, a down and outer who made his living, as far as I could tell, from stealing Social Security checks from mailboxes. He put most of his money into his arm, and a thieving junkie was not the most reliable source of information. I could usually find him at a local coffee shop and went there in hopes someone might have seen him. Lanny pulled in front of Grand Lake Donuts, a local institution that had great chocolate old fashioned donuts and strong coffee. I knew Margie, the manager of the shop.

It was early morning and the place was crowded, with four men sitting at the counter eating their donuts and reading their phones. There were five people lined up at the register to order. Marge was behind the counter, filling the orders. She was leaning down to retrieve two glazed donuts off a tray when she spotted me. She put the donuts in a cardboard box and put the box on the counter.

"Max... how can I help you?"

I loved Marge. I treated her right and she always put me in the front of the line. One time I was able to help get one of her workers away from an ICE agent who was going to deport her. Marge was forever grateful.

"Looking for Lester."

Marge interrupted the woman manning the register.

"Know where Lester is?"

"I heard he's in jail," replied the clerk, who then counted change into the palm of a customer. She shut the register drawer. "Taken away by a couple plain clothes cops."

Lanny was already on his radio, calling the station to find out where Lester was booked.

* * *

"Nothing boss," Lanny said to me as we were driving back to the station. "There's no record of Lester being booked anywhere in our precinct.

"Whoever is using him wants him not to be found," I told my partner. "My guess is that they have him squirreled away in a secure location."

"One of ours?"

"Not necessarily. He may have been used to plant false information. Now whoever had him do it has made him disappear until this blows over."

Lanny's question did make me wonder. Was this someone on the inside who was working with a drug lord? I had to keep my antenna up. Bad information was one thing. A mole in the department was another.

We spent the rest of the day checking Lester's haunts, coming up dry. He was an addict, and addicts have to surface to raise money and buy drugs. Lester was nowhere to be found, and by the end of the day I was starting to believe that he was either fled or met his maker. Either would do me no good.

At the end of the day we were going through a crack house, an abandoned house not far from Lester's last known address. Lanny led the way with a flashlight through a garbage strewn living room, kicking aside debris as he advanced towards the bedrooms. A junkie was passed out on a dirty mattress in the first room. There was a dilapidated staircase leading to the second floor. I signaled for Lanny to check out the rest of the downstairs. I was going up the stairs.

I got to the top of the stairs, and was about to say "Lester" when I heard noises in one of the bedrooms. I drew my service revolver and creeped forward. There were three doors, all fully or partially closed. I went to the first door on the left and pushed it open. It creaked slightly and revealed a slept in but empty room. Somebody's belongings were piled in a corner and there was a used hypodermic on the floor. I went to the second doorway. The door was open slightly and I pushed it further with my finger so I could peek inside. The room was dark -- the windows were covered with yellowed newspapers that allowed only a filtered sunlight.

I could see black skin, glistening with sweat, and hear the soft moans of a woman as the man's hips made an undulating fucking motion. I didn't move and I didn't say anything as I made out the blonde hair of the woman splayed out on the bare mattress and watched their performance of a time honored erotic dance. The woman had her legs wrapped around the much larger man's back, them both oblivious to my presence.

"Oh... oh God," the woman said between panting breaths as the man thrust hard inside her. I could hear myself breathing as I watched.