Deception

I whipped out my identification and shoved it under his nose.

"I am the fucking police you piece of shit."

The driver in the other car had already started its engine.

"Get," I told them. "Now."

The guy who was bleeding stayed in the back seat. His buddy went around to the driver's seat and started the car. They made no fuss leaving, and even used their turn signals when heading out.

I checked my knuckles. No blood. I went back into my glove compartment and used a wet wipe to clean my hands. I was even more pissed. I just wanted a quiet evening in my room and I had to put up with this bullshit.

I went inside the store, now more determined than ever to salve my wounds with a drink. There was a tall, thin man behind the counter, someone new, who was engrossed in a book. The other guy didn't last long. He was young and handsome, with dark wavy hair and a crooked smile.

"Nasty business out there," he said. His accent said English. He'd apparently seen everything through the large plate glass window in the front of the store.

"Some punks from out of the area."

"They were making a lot of noise and scaring the customers. I didn't even bother to call the police. They wouldn't come for that type of complaint," he lamented. "So thank you for getting rid of them."

"You're welcome."

"You have a wicked right jab." He laughed. "That guy literally didn't know what hit him."

I laughed with him. "I think he had it coming."

"No doubt. Now what can I do for you, my friend'?"

"What do you have for 'my girlfriend told me she's still married and I want to forget?'"

He put his book on the counter, face down.

"That bad huh?"

"The worst."

"Cost?"

I really hurt. I wanted something good. Not the cheap shit for once.

"Cost is no object," I told him.

He turned around and put his finger to his chin as he scanned the rows of white and brown liquor in front of him. He pulled off a brown box embossed with fancy gold lettering.

"You want this," he said with certainty.

"Abelour . . . 15," I read off the box. It was a 15 year old single malt Scotch. I'd never had it, let alone heard of it, before.

"Smooth?" I asked him.

"Smooth and round as a woman's breast," he said poetically.

"You have a gift for this . . ."

"Nigel."

"You have a gift for this Nigel."

"You haven't tried it yet."

"I mean with words. And I'm Max."

"Max," he repeated back, but in a British accent that he laid on thick. "I want to thank you again for getting rid of those toughies. They've been harassing our loyal customers like you."

"Why thank you," I told him, appreciative of the compliment.

"You're welcome here any time."

"You're new here, what happened to the last guy?"

"Quit after one day. Apparently someone pulled a knife on him and that was that."

"I figured that might happen."

He was perched on a stool, looking like he'd been working there for years.

"You new in town?" I asked. Not too many guys with British accents floating around Cincinnati.

"Yeah, I'm going to the University of Cincinnati as soon as I can get my credits to transfer over."

"Where are you coming from?"

"London School of Economics."

"Impressive," I said.

"Not when you're peddling booze in the West End," he immediately retorted.

"OK, you've got me there."

He rang up my purchase and handed me the box.

"Good meeting you Max."

"I'm sure I'll see you again soon."

I hoped he'd last longer than the last one. I went outside into a blissfully empty parking lot. Time to grab some food and then head home for some quiet time.

* * *

I got to my room and drew the curtains shut. I had a fast food hamburger, cold French fries, a diet soda, and one fifth of very expensive scotch. I turned on the Reds game and wolfed down the burger and fries, washing it down with the soda.

Next was to sample the scotch. I poured two fingers into a plastic cup. A seductive sweetness to the nose, smooth on the tongue followed by a pleasant and subtle burn. I was used to drinking cat piss. This was the real deal. Hats off to Nigel. The cup was empty before I knew it.

I decided to check my phone before refilling my cup. There were three missed calls and a dozen text messages from Leah. I erased the text messages without reading them and tossed the phone into my nightstand drawer.

Our break-up was still weighing on my mind, but the scotch was helping dull the pain. I fell facedown onto the bed and was soon into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

I woke up the next morning with a nasty hangover and a renewed resolve to get the DaVanna thing behind me. It's difficult to carry around a live hand grenade for too long, and I agonized over how to bring the matter to a head. DaVanna wouldn't go down without a fight, and a low level detective such as myself didn't have the political capital to suppress her propaganda machine. No doubt she'd find some way to deny the charges and then ruin my career.

I wished I had Leah to talk to. She was a smart woman, self-made, and might have some ideas for me. As it was, I had no plan to expose the information that was in my hot little hands.

There was one ace in the hole, Lesley's father Saul. He was a former Chief of Police and no doubt still had valuable connections and insight. I went to the station to start my shift, and found Lesley in the break room joking with some of the new cadets. She had already earned her chops with me, and a group of two men and one women were huddled around her as she regaled them with her story about our bust of Sonny Greenwood, recounting that he was half-naked and having sex with two prostitutes on a pool table in the back room of a biker bar. She was finishing the story when I came in.

"His dick was hanging out of his unzipped pants. Max told him to put his gun back in its holster and I had to do everything in my power not to bust out laughing . . . "

She spotted me mid-sentence. "And speaking of the devil, here's Max."

The cadets looked at me reverently.

"So it's true?" one of the male cadets asked me.

"I'm afraid so," I acknowledged.

"You get to have all the fun Lesley," said the female cadet.

"Yeah right. It's all fun and games with Max," said Lesley, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Look Lesley, sorry to break up the party, but I have something I need to ask you."

The cadets took it as their cue to vamoose. We were alone.

"Lesley, I need to talk to your father."

"Saul?"

"Uh huh. You know this DaVanna thing? I need a way forward and I think your dad might be able to help me. Is he around?"

"He is. Just got back from Idaho on a fly fishing trip last week. Why did you want to see him?"

"Business," I said.

"DaVanna business," she surmised.

"You might be right."

I couldn't hide anything from her.

"When did you want to see him?" she asked.

"Later today, if possible?"

"Sure. Let me give him a call." She picked up her phone and hit his number on speed dial. They talked for a few minutes and arranged for me to meet him at the Landing Point at 4 p.m.

* * *

The Landing Point was a dive bar on the Ohio river that was the favored watering hole for our station. At 4 p.m. it was empty. Kris, my favorite waitress, was working that day. She'd been there long before I arrived and would no doubt be there after I left the force. She was a heavyset woman, probably in her early fifties, and divorced. She knew everyone and everything that happened at the station. Saul was waiting at a table with a whiskey in front of him when I walked in.

He stood up. Tall and thin with distinguished gray hair. Time had been kind to him. He was still handsome, with a disarming smile.

"You must be Max."

"Nice to meet you Saul," I said.

"Lesley's told me a lot about you."

"I hope it was good."

"Not really," he said with a deadpan face.

I wasn't sure what to say.

He broke into a big smile.

"Lesley loves you. She's singing your praises every time I see her."

"That's what I like to hear. High praise, coming from the former Chief of Police's daughter."

"I knew she would do well with someone like you -- experienced and street-wise."

"She's a gem."

"Don't forget she's still my little princess."

Kris came up to take my drink order.

"Hold that thought," I told him.

"So Max, good seeing you and Saul. I understand you have someone in common."

"Apparently his daughter's my partner and his little princess," I quipped.

"She's a lovely girl. You treat her right Max," mother hen Kris told me.

"What are you having?" I asked Saul, who now had an empty glass in front of him.

"Jameson's. I can't kick the habit from my working days."

"Make that two," I told Kris.

Kris ambled away. Saul was quick on the draw.

"So tell me what thought I'm holding," he said.

"Lesley a tough cookie, but there's only so much you can do to make up for the considerable size advantage some bad guys have over her."

"She told me about how you saved her from some serious harm," said Saul, the mood turning somber.

"I'm worried about her."

"I am too, but it's her decision. I've told her to get some experience in the field and go into administration. She isn't too keen on that idea. Apparently you've done too good of a job showing her real police work."

"I don't know any other way."

"And I wouldn't ask you to change anything."

Kris came back with our drinks. We both took a sip before we continued. I liked Saul. He was a straight shooter.

"So Max. What can I do for you? Lesley said you're working on a very sensitive case."

It took that drink and then another one for me to recount the entire story -- the hit and run; the disappearance of the traffic cam video; the cover-up by Maureen McDowell and DaVanna, and the threat I'd already gotten in the form of physical violence from one of Trong's men.

"Sounds like you have a tiger by the tail," Saul said after patiently listening to the entire story.

"Amen to that."

"So you probably want to know what to do next."

"That's exactly what I want to know."

"Ordinarily, your first move is to the Prosecuting Attorney, but since that's DaVanna that's not an option," he started, stating the obvious. "You need to be thinking about whether they've violated any federal statutes. When I was Chief, we had a joint task force with the FBI on computer crimes targeted at hacking. Sounds like the removal of the traffic cam footage might constitute a federal crime. If you can get the FBI involved, you can circumvent the Prosecuting Attorney's office. Federal crimes are handled by someone I know, Special Agent Carl Banks. I can call him and tell him to expect a call from you."

That was an angle I hadn't considered. Bringing in the feds. I bet they would love to bust DaVanna's smug ass, and the deletion of the video and her involvement in it might be enough to prosecute her. But the feds only wanted to take on cases they could win, and that meant I had to find out whether she committed an offense that was prosecutable under a federal statute. I had no idea what the demarcation line was between a state and federal cyber offense.

"I'm interested, but doing that would aggravate all of my bosses, all the way up to the Chief."

Everyone I work with and for would reflexively fight against anyone trying to take away one of our cases, especially the Feds.

Saul chuckled. "I don't make that recommendation lightly. I know what kind of heat you'll face for doing this. It'll be viewed as an act of treason by your superiors. But it's the only way I can think of to get you out of this box. You'll have to decide if ruining your career is worth it, because if this doesn't work, you'll be driving a police scooter and handing out parking tickets."

Fuck. Go big or go home.

"That's what I was afraid you were going to say. Let's assume I want to run into a firing squad. What do I have to prove to get the Feds interested?"

Saul tapped his empty glass and signaled Kris for another drink. He was matching me drink for drink (or maybe it was the other way around). In any event we'd finished two double shots and he just ordered another. I was fighting to keep a clear head.

"It all comes down to the definition of a protected computer." He held up his hands to create quotation marks around "protected computer."

"Great, so now I have to become a fucking lawyer?"

"You do if you want to get the Feds involved."

"I would rather clean septic tanks than become a lawyer," I declared. The liquor had loosened my already loose tongue and I hated fucking lawyers.

Saul laughed. "Max, tell me what you really think."

He looked at me at the way men look at women.

"You know Max, Lesley told me you were her shining beacon of light. She worships you, you know. Anyway, Lesley didn't tell me how attractive you are."

The drinks had definitely freed him of any inhibitions. I was flattered and he knew I was gay.

"But Max, I'm trying to just pay you a compliment because I know there are two things that would keep me from ever really trying -- you're gay, and my wife would cut my balls off if I ever tried."

"Saul, if I was straight I'd fuck you," I confessed. He was a very handsome man.

We both laughed, but there was a grain of truth in what we said to each other.

Kris arrived with the next round.

"You guys are laughing like you're old friends. What was that all about?" she asked me.

I looked up at her. She could probably see my eyes were getting a bit hazy.

"We were talking about fucking each other," I told her.

Kris had a belly laugh at our expense. Her twenty years of smoking cigarettes gave her a raspy cough that came on after she stopped.

"A gay broad and an old man. That'll be the day." She walked away from us laughing to herself.

"I'm glad Kris blessed our union," I said.

"Max, I'm glad we bared our souls to each other. So on the more serious issue, it'll help if you find these servers have some federal government use and are connected to the internet."

"I can talk to my contact who maintains the servers."

"I'll text you the statute."

We ended up there for another fifteen minutes talking about my issue and gravitating back to Lesley. Saul finished his drink. His eyes looked as glazed as I'm sure mine did.

"You're not driving back, are you?" he asked me. We were both clearly over the legal limit.

"No, someone's going to take me home," I answered. "Someone's coming for you as well?"

"Uh huh," he said, and then rose from his chair. "About time to call it a night?"

I tipped my glass to finish it. "Let's go."

We went outside the bar into the cool night air. It felt good to get outside after being in the bar for over an hour. We both waved to a blue Subaru Legacy sedan that rolled up to the curb.

Lesley leaned over and stuck her head out the passenger window.

"You drunken fools need a ride home?"

We both nodded, then looked at each other and laughed. We'd both asked Lesley to give us a ride home.

"All right, get in. Lesley's babysitting service has arrived."

Lesley helped each of us into the car, smelling the whiskey on our breath.

She started on her way to her parent's house first, with Saul in the front seat and me in the back. She adjusted her rear view mirror so she could see me.

"You guys should be ashamed of yourselves," she began, scolding us. "It's a week night and you're both drunk as skunks."

"We have to be to talk about you," I joked.

"Very funny. I'm sure you weren't talking about me."

"But we were. Your father was telling you how much you love me," I boasted.

"Dad's been known to shade the truth. I guess he figured you can't handle it."

"Ha ha. You love me Lesley, admit it."

"I do, but not in that way. I'm only going to say this once because it hurts me. You've taught me pretty much everything I know on the street. I admire the way you treat people with respect and stand up for what you think is right. So there, I've said it."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" I asked her.

"It actually was. Now you're going to be insufferable."

"Cut Max a break Lesley," Saul chimed in. "She's got your best interests at heart."

"I know," she sighed. "But I have to sit in a car with her for hours every day."

We travelled in silence until Lesley dropped her father off at his house. I got out of the back seat and got into the front passenger seat. We pulled away from the curb.

"So what were you really talking about?" Lesley asked me.

I told her about my conversation with her father, about the evidence I'd accumulated against Maureen and DaVanna, about his advice to contact the FBI, and about the political fallout in the department from having them take the case away from us.

"Calling in the Feds? Max, you know management's going to have a hissy fit if that happens."

I sighed. "I know. It might be my only option."

"It's a nuclear option. You better hope it works."

She and I assessed the risk the same. It was all or nothing.

Her little sedan leaned as she turned right into the parking lot of my motel, the colorful neon lights from the "Royal Palms" reflected off the windshield of her car.

"For fuck's sake Max, that sign is practically saying 'whore house'."

"Truth in advertising," I replied.

Lesley pulled into a parking space, her headlights shining against the window of a ground floor room. She overrode the time delay on the headlights and turned them off. She shut off her engine and looked at me, raising her eyebrows. She was asking the question without asking it. Ball was in my court and I couldn't bullshit her. And maybe it would help to vocalize it.

"I like living here," I admitted out loud. The main reason I hadn't moved wasn't because an apartment would be better. The Royal Palms suited me in some fucked up way. I could do pretty much what I wanted without fear of getting kicked out. The motel manager had cut me a good deal on the monthly rent because she liked the idea of a cop living there. A marriage of convenience if there ever was one.

I'm not sure Lesley accepted my explanation. She shook her head. "Max, I won't ever understand you."

I didn't understand myself, so why would I expect her to?

* * *

We went to visit with Manny at the server farm bright and early the next morning. Both Lesley and I had our second cups of coffee in the cupholders of our cruiser and we had to make a stop at the donut shop because that's what cops do.

Happy Donut was humming. There was a line at the counter and its three tables were occupied. Bea was there scolding a customer who had just paid her with crumpled dollar bills. The scowl on her face turned to a smile when we came in.

"You bring partner this time," she said, beaming.

"This is Lesley."

Bea came around the counter to see us, ignoring the handful of customers waiting to order.

"She too cute and too small to be police officer," she said categorically to me. Then she turned to Lesley. "Do you want jelly donut?"

Lesley nodded her head.

Bea smiled. "I figure you for jelly donut. Pretty girls like them."

I laughed at Lesley. "Bea's got you pegged, doesn't she?"

"I'm small but I fight like a motherfucker," my partner whispered to me, stinging from Bea's frank assessment.

"I heard that," said Bea as she slipped one of the jelly donuts into a separate bag from mine.

She handed the two bags to Lesley. "I put them separate because Officer Max doesn't like jelly getting on chocolate old fashioned. Am I right Officer Max?"

"You're right Bea."

She always seemed to be right. Maybe she and the Mayor should swap jobs.

I touched Lesley's arm, whose eyes were still admiring the trays of donuts inside the display case.

"C'mon. Gotta go catch the bad guys," I told her.

* * *

Manny was waiting for us in the reception area when I knocked. We were five minutes early so she was earlier. She let us in and closed the door behind us.