March Ain't So Bad

Detective Lanniker was a mostly-honest man. The concern was that when he colored outside the lines, he had no inhibitions. With a near eidetic memory, he knew at least something about most of the serious criminals in the city. Much of that information he stored away and held until it became useful. Like that fateful night that the famous football player walked into the restaurant.

The detective was wearing his best suit and had a beautiful woman sitting across from him. One of the cooks was selling coke out of the back of the kitchen. He'd stepped up his weight lately and that was the excuse Lanniker needed to have the department expense his dinner and companion, who was a discreet CI.

The athlete showing up was inevitable. He'd been there five of the previous six Wednesdays. He was predictable. For a professional team, that was a bonus. He put up the same excellent stats year in and year out. For a detective, it was even more of a bonus. The behavior of the athlete in his previous city was repeated here.

Smiling at his beautiful companion, he watched the athlete approach. Ignoring the detective, the large man asked the CI to dance. She appeared to blush, stood and moved onto the dance floor. Three dances in, the detective approached them and tried to cut in.

"Go finish your dinner. I'll bring her back when we're done."

The detective tried not to grin. "Will you, you stupid fuck? What if she moves to the right, like she's rushing the passer? She'll slip right past you. You know that's your weak side, not that you have a strong side. She's going back to the table with me, you--"

That's when the man who had ruined his nephew's life punched him with a sledgehammer of a cross. The detective went down and the handsome athlete left with the woman. Two diners and a waiter helped the detective to his feet. Walking over to the bar, he ordered a whiskey and pulled out his phone.

"This is Lanniker, badge number 4506. I need a bolo on Marc LaValliere. He drives an Escalade, black or an Audi R8, maroon. Possible drug possession and assault on an officer. I want to be called as soon as he's seen or stopped."

"The football player?"

"Yup."

"How's the officer?"

"My jaw hurts like hell, but we'll see by tomorrow."

"It was you? Sheesh, that guy is huge. I'll keep you in the loop."

"Appreciate it."

He paid for the meal and drinks and started driving to LaValliere's home. That would be where the athlete was headed and would be stopped along the way. The detective got the call within five minutes. The athlete and a companion were stopped on the highway doing 97 in a 65.

"On my way. Hold them for me."

It was the Escalade. The detective spoke to the cops and told them how LaValliere had been acting twitchy and kept rubbing his nose at the restaurant. Lanniker walked to the driver's side door.

"Mr. LaValliere I'm going to ask you to open the door with your left hand then place both hands on your head and step out of the vehicle. Please move slowly at all times."

"You gotta be... What the fuck? You're the... Fuck my life. You're a cop?"

"Detective Lanniker, badge 4506. Mr. LaValliere, please step out of the car. We don't want this going bad."

Not yet, anyway.

When the detective had the athlete in cuffs and against the vehicle ready for a pat-down, he loudly asked for permission to search the vehicle.

"Fuck no, you can't search my car."

A female voice spoke loudly. "Officers? Officers?"

Lanniker called out. "Ma'am, please remain in the car. One of the officers will come to you."

"Alright, but I haven't had any of the drugs. I told him that wasn't how I partied and even he didn't have enough money to pay for that."

The detective leaned up close to the large man. "Is she a pro, LaValliere? That's not good. And what drugs is she talking about?"

He began to push back and in handcuff or not, he was a large man and a professional athlete. "You setting me up? You piece of shit, do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, you're the guy who's this close to resisting arrest. That what you want? What's happening, you trying to go for my gun? That's not going to end well."

"Fuck you. My lawyer'll have me out in a couple of hours."

"Drug possession, speeding, solicitation and assaulting a cop? No, I'm thinking he won't have you out until you go before a judge tomorrow. You remember another Lanniker? Probably not. You go for lots of men's wives. On the other hand, he's a tall, lanky guy with red hair. Ring a bell? No? Okay. He's my nephew. You took his wife. She killed herself four months later when he wouldn't take her back. Now he's a single dad to three kids under ten and his life is hell. Let's find out how bad I can fuck up yours."

Marc LaValliere was fast, strong and used to performing in pain. It didn't help much against a pimp and three men on his payroll. Did the pimp owe the mostly-honest detective a debt or had the athlete just mouthed off to the wrong man? Only the pimp and the detective knew for sure, but now that he could no longer play professional ball, the former athlete has plenty of time to wonder.