Town & County Confidential Ch. 03

Rutherford Lyndon said "I don't know, not for sure. They use proxies."

"You were one of the good guys." I said. "How did they turn you? Did they threaten your family? Did they get something over on you?"

"I don't have much family." said Lyndon. "Just my DEA Agents. Good people, like Dwight Stevens. And some of them have families. And you should know, Commander, that Brendan Chapel can have people killed or 'disappeared' with a snap of his fingers. He can have your whole family wiped out any time he wants to."

"He's already tried." I replied levelly. "He failed. Stupid to fail. Unforgivable."

"You're right, Commander... about failure, and the price of it." said Lyndon. "And I'm about to pay that price for my failure. I'll be submitting my resignation from the DEA today. Just do me one favor. Don't take this out on Dwight Stevens. He really is one of the good guys. Help him, if you can. And protect him, if you can."

"He is to you what I am to Sheriff Griswold." I said, realizing that Lyndon had conveyed a father-son-like relationship similar to the bond between myself and the Sheriff.

"Yes." said Lyndon. "He truly is a great Agent, and he's honest, one of the good guys. Like you, he's a Guardian of Justice. It's not his fault he doesn't have a five-year-old daughter that busted a $400 billion drug ring, but he's done a lot of good work in his own right." I nodded...

Part 20 - Epilogue

8:00am, Sunday, October 11th. Cindy Ross and I were dressed in civilian clothes and driving east to The City. She was driving the 'Black Beauty', a dark-green-painted O65 Imperial Crown like the Green Hornet drove on the 1960s television show. This one had been rebuilt by her father, and had a million-dollar motor in it as well as a few 'gadgets'.

"So the DEA believed they could turn Hendricks," Cindy said, "and could get info that could bust The Eighth Street Latinos and other crime gangs at the upper levels?"

"I'm taking their word that that was their intent." I replied. "They didn't want the TCPD to know, as Stevens and probably Pitts really do believe I'd try to step in and take the glory. Of course you know better; I'd just as soon as make the bust and give them the citations on the wall, and keep my own name out of it." Cindy nodded vigorously in agreement.

I continued: "So they planted the money in the accounts of those shopkeepers, expecting us to find that and follow that fake rabbit hole. One thing I found out was that the robberies might've been for real... a black gang found out about the drug and money exchanges and tried to rob the places at the time of the transactions."

I went on: "As to the DEA turning Hendricks, he's a fat son of a bitch, but a cunning one. He was totally playing them, and giving them false information. And don't be fooled; it was not the DEA that found out he was a double-agent, and ordered his assassination. The Swamp Frogs are dirty dealers all the way around."

Cindy said "So you had Damien tell his uncle about Hendricks?"

"Yes." I said. TCPD Captain Damien Thompson was the first black person to become a full Captain in the Town Police, County Police, or the now-merged TCPD. He was currently the Public Relations Officer.

But more importantly, his father's brother was 'The Teacher', a quirky old man that had amassed an organization of petty thieves and intel-gatherers. For a price, he would provide the data and photos of every security person employed by the malls, their stores, the University and their Police, and the TCPD. He taught young perps the tradecraft of shoplifting, breaking and entering, jacking cars, fencing stolen merchandise and other such things. Trying to bust him personally for all that was Herculean at best, impossible at worst.

I had asked Damien to tell his uncle that the Iron Crowbar wanted the entire world to know that Officer Justin Hendricks was a recruited C.I. for the DEA, and was working for and with the DEA. The word spread like wildfire in the Underground.

Damien also told his uncle that the Iron Crowbar was explicitly forbidding anyone from killing Hendricks. "Leave him alive, and leave him alone." were my exact words. The Teacher knew I was not kidding, and he was afraid enough of me to make sure no one under his control tried to harm Hendricks. And that ensured that the DEA could not continue their operation to attempt to turn Hendricks. He was 'burned'.

We drove along silently for a few minutes, then Cindy said: "By the way, being your first cousin and all, I did not fail to notice that you mentioned the words 'Criminal Mastermind' when you referred to Hendricks's real boss. Does this mean we have another 'Moriarty' on our hands?"

"I'm afraid so." I said. "Someone has filled the gap left by the death of Pastor Raymond Westboro, the Consultant of Crime, and is putting together his or her own organization. I've been seeing signs of it here and there, and I realized that the putting of the money in the shopkeepers's accounts was not just a Federal Agent ruse, but the distinct touch of someone with a far more active mind."


"So any idea who your next arrest will be?" Cindy asked.

"No, and I'm not sure who the New Consultant is, either." I replied. "So let's talk about that later, shall we?"

"As you wish, mon Commandant." Cindy said. "So, where are we going?"

"The Federal Building in the City." I said. "There's something I want you to see..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I couldn't get out of my head the advice the old Sheriff had given me once: 'Dead Klingons don't wear plaid'. I have no idea what that meant, but maybe it had to do with 'luck of the Irish'. In any case, I didn't question my good luck. It's better to be a lucky Russ Ferrament than a dead Klingon.

We parked in the garage of the Federal Building and went inside, my FBI Consultant ID and Cindy's SBI Reserve ID getting us in. We were met in the hallway by U.S. Attorney John Jones. He was black, handsome with a good physique and a bald head, and was one of the few people I knew that was as tall as me.

"Glad you guys could come over." Jones said. "There's something I'd like you both to see."

He led us to the areas where suspects were interrogated. We went into a darkened anteroom, "Just watch through the window." Jones said.

Looking through the one-way glass, we saw Maritza, the young woman we'd saved from certain death just days before. She was sitting at the table. John Jones came into that room with an interpreter, and said "You'll be going into Witness Protection within the hour. We've arranged for someone to go with you."

He then opened the door to the room. A young Hispanic man was standing there.

"Mateo!" Maritza cried out, flying out of her chair.

"Maritza!" Mateo exclaimed. They rushed into each other's arms, crying as they held each other. After a long moment, Maritza said in Spanish, which the interpreter translated: "How did you find my brother?"

John Jones said "If you ever see him again, you can thank the Iron Crowbar for that. He's the one that found your brother and had him brought here. The judge has approved him going into Witness Protection with you."

I felt a pair of very strong arms encircle my waist in a crushing hug. It was Cindy favoring me with those attentions. She said, her voice near breaking, "I knew you could do it. But how?"

"A magician never reveals his tricks." I said. The Green Crowbar was not amused and was about to let me know it, so I said "It was a team effort. And I admit I had some help and some very good luck."

"Your 'lucky' is better than everyone else's 'good'." Cindy said, tears running down her face as she saw the joy on the young faces of the reunited brother and sister in the other room.

Yes, it was a team effort. Almost on a whim, I asked Claire Michaels if Mateo was in the LAPD's database. She checked with her Major Crimes unit, who checked around and found that Mateo had been rescued from some bad people, also. Mateo was flown to The City from LA, and now was reunited with his sister Maritza.

Lucky. Lucky Iron Crowbar. But I'll take it.

*BRING!* *BRING!* *BRING!* *BRING!*

It was my Police iPhone, and the caller was FBI Special Agent In Charge Jack Muscone. "Hi Don." he said after I answered. "Are you still in the City?"

"Yes... in your Federal Building. We were just about to leave. Whassup?"

"Can y'all come over to the Marriott Grande Hotel?" Jack asked...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

'Crime never pays.' I was told all my life growing up. But I grew up to find that crime pays, and pays very well. Only the good die young, as the song says. But in truth, only those who think they can play the game 'fair', or try to play both ends and get in over their heads, are the ones that end up getting hurt first, and the most. I know that the bad guys and the Swamp Frogs play for keeps, but so does Russ Ferrament. But others... not so much. And they pay the price.

Cindy and I came up to Room 1822 of the Marriott Grande Hotel, the room once used by the magnate-turned-arms-dealer Henry Wargrave, as well as other unsavory characters. We found a room full of Federal Agents and CSIs. Two forensics experts were examining a body on the floor, and I could see by the distinct beard who it was.

It was DEA Special Agent In Charge Rutherford Lyndon.

Jack Muscone came up to us and said "It looks like he ate his gun. Held it upside down in his mouth and pulled the trigger." Then he quietened his voice and said "I've told everyone to treat this as a homicide first, and consider that someone forced him to kill himself if someone else didn't actually pull the trigger."

I nodded, feeling numb. "Good idea." I said. "Did he leave a note?"

"Yeah." said Muscone. Then he said loudly "Bill, do you have that envelope?"

"Yes sir." said a youngish man in a windbreaker that said 'FORENSICS' on the back. He looked at me and said "Are you Commander Troy?"

"Yes." I said. He held out an envelope that had my name scrawled on it. I put on latex gloves and took it.

"We opened it and read it already." said Bill the Forensics CSI. I took the letter out and read it:

"Commander Troy,
You were half right. Yes, the Swamp Frogs were involved, but even they did not know the whole story. There was someone else involved, the person Hendricks is working for. I don't know who it is, but I think he's based in your County, which is damned stupid, but he may be working all over your State.
They're coming for me now. You'll think I'm a coward, but it'll be bad if they take me alive, so I will take the only way out left to me. Farewell, Iron Crowbar, and good luck.
Rutherford Lyndon.

I handed Cindy the note to read, then said to Jack "Cindy will tell you that we were talking about the possibility of a new Moriarty while driving to the City."

"Yes, we were." Cindy said. "My God, it's starting up again, isn't it?"

"Yes." I said. "The party never stops in our Town & County. There's another east wind blowing... and this time, we'd better be ready. May God have mercy on us..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I looked through the slats of the window of my office, seeing the driving rain falling onto the streets, illuminated by the warm glow of the street lamps. Tomorrow would be another day. My office on Riverside would still be here, and so would my flask of bourbon. I'd need those slugs of whiskey. The dangers never went away, and I'm the guy chosen by Someone at a much higher pay grade to face them. That's the life of Russ Ferrament. That's who I am...

Finis.

Dedicated to Mickey Spillane.