Reparations

John examines the floor in Lucy's new apartment. "I know you got a great deal because of the murder, but you should have had me look at this place before you signed a lease. You did a pretty good job getting up the blood, although there's probably still some trapped in the wood, but this floor is in pretty bad shape. It looks like it was never sealed properly." John grunts as he gets up and surveys the flat. "There are gaps around the windows. That's going to play hell with your air conditioning bill. How's your water pressure?"

"Not great," Lucy admits. "And the kitchen sink and the bathtub drip."

"I can fix the drips, but you probably have galvanized pipes full of scale. That's not going to get any better unless the owners re-pipe. How long is your lease?"

"I went for two years. I wanted to keep a low rent for as long as I could."

John grimaces. "Then I guess you're stuck. Look, I can seal around the windows and see what I can do about the floor, but you might be better off getting an area rug or two. At least it would feel better under your feet - if the job beats yours up as much as it does mine."

"John, you don't have to fix anything. We're not - I mean…"

"Lucy, I'm acutely aware that we're not sleeping together anymore, but we are friends, and friends help each other. I'm still doing Ben's maintenance, even if I am paying rent now. I can do yours too - whatever is possible anyway."

Lucy pecks him quickly on the cheek. "John, you really need someone who can appreciate you."

"I think Denise gave me more appreciation than I could handle, but I'm grateful for the thought, Lucy. We can hit up the nearest home center, and I can get started."

Ben pops the cap off a bottle of imported beer. "Are you finished doing what you could for Lucy?"

"For now. An old building like that; something is always going to go wrong."

"I wouldn't know," Ben admits. "I have a management company that takes care of the buildings I own. My parents bought them before the boom when Southern California was mostly dessert and orange groves. They collect the rents, handle the upkeep and send me statements once a year."

John's eyebrows shoot up. "You own properties in L.A.? Besides the house here, I mean."

"L.A., Long Beach - some of those have oil wells- Orange County."

"I don't suppose you have a list. As a builder, I'm curious as to how much of a real estate mogul my best friend is."

Ben shrugs. "I have one on my computer. I can copy it onto a flash drive for you if you're that interested."

"Yeah, that would be great!"

John stares at the screen of his laptop as he scans through the list Ben gave him. "Sonofa…!" Ben owns Lucy's new building. She must have obtained her great "deal" from his agent. John's stomach turns as he wonders how many other people are living in crappy digs to fund Ben's lifestyle. No wonder Ben didn't need any money from him. He's raking it in hand over fist - possibly at the expense of Lucy and other renters just trying to find a place they can afford amid soaring rents and condo developments. He and Ben are going to have to have a little talk. There must be something Ben can do if John makes the trust fund baby aware of the actual situation.

Ben looks at John incredulously. "So you're saying my management company is doing a lousy job keeping up my buildings?"

"At least one of them."

"But you said things are going to go after a while in an old building."

"They will. That's what keeps maintenance people in business. But Ben, there's more to it than that. People in L.A. are desperate for places they can afford to live. Lucy got evicted because her building was going condo and there was no way she could buy one on a cop's salary. I couldn't live here if you weren't giving me a break. My 20 years as a contractor didn't hurt either, as far as my ability to take care of the big house and the grounds are concerned. But the thing is that working stiffs, a lot of whom earn a lot less than Lucy and I do, are so desperate that they'll put up with almost anything just to have a roof over their heads. I see it every day, peeling paint, armies of roaches, broken elevators, and overflowing dumpsters. It's not right, Ben."

"John, I hope you believe me. I had no idea that my management company wasn't doing its job. They include maintenance costs in the statements they send me. I assumed they were keeping everything in decent shape."

"If you'll let me, I'd like to look at those. If they're charging you for work they're not doing, then the tenants may not be the only ones getting ripped off."

"Yeah, Buddy, I can download them from the cloud. You can look at anything you want."

Ben slides open the glass door to the guest house, where John has his laptop open on a table near the kitchen. He can tell from the expression on the cop's face that he doesn't like what he sees. "What's the verdict?"

"I've been going over the costs chalked up to Lucy's building, going back years. Your management company has been charging you for things that were never done - caulking, sealing, floor refinishing, pipe replacements. From what I saw, they slapped a little paint on occasionally and called it a day. They committed fraud Ben, and if they have other clients, they may not just have been stealing from you. No telling how far it goes."

"So what now; get my lawyers to sue them?"

"You can do that, and it's not a bad idea to bring a civil case to recover your money, but this is criminal, Ben. Those people ought to be going to jail, but how to make that happen is way above my pay grade. I need to talk to someone, maybe my captain, and see where it goes from there."

"I'll get the ball rolling with my legal eagles, and you do what you have to do. And John, I'm behind you all the way on this, whatever happens."

"Same here, Buddy."

Flipping through the file John handed her, Zoe Andersen glances up at the rookie officer.

"It looks like you really stumbled onto something here, Nolan. It's worth following up. I can pass this on to the commander of the fraud division."

I'd appreciate that, Captain."

"No, I appreciate your efforts. You have enough to do on the streets without pursuing an investigation off the clock. This is good work."

"Thank you, Captain."

"But now you better get your butt back to your shop before Bishop charges up here to haul it back for you."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Bishop buckles her seatbelt as John slides behind the wheel. "From that stupid-ass grin on your face, you must have made a good impression with the captain."

"She's going to do what needs to be done if that's what you mean."

"Sure, uh huh. If I didn't know better, Boot, I'd think you were bucking for detective."

"Really? So far I haven't thought further ahead than getting through this year, especially the way Grey comes down on me all the time."

"Could have fooled me, chalking up extra points the way you did."

"That's not what I was after, Talia. I saw something wrong. I wanted to fix it."

"That may be true, Boot, but you have ambition. I can see it. Where do you want to be five years from now? You sure as hell won't be riding with me. I have my own plans. You could always go for public relations. You talk enough."

John grimaces. "Not exactly what I had in mind. I joined the force to help people not to con them. Detective does sound exciting. How long do you think it would take?"

"You have to serve as an officer for at least three years, but nobody gets the tap that fast."

"You think I could make it in five?"

"Boot, I'm not sure you're going make it to the end of the week. But if I can finish training you without you getting yourself or both of killed, there might be some hope for you."

"Something to strive for. I'll think about it."

"Right now you'd better think about getting our shop out on the street where it belongs."

John starts the car. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Did you talk to Captain Andersen?" Ben asks as John reaches for the beer he's holding out."

"I did, but I don't know if anything will come of it. Bureaucracy, you know?"

"In any case, I called my lawyers. You did good work, John."

"That's what Captain Andersen said. Do you think I could be a detective?"

Ben claps his friend on the shoulder. "I never even pictured you as a cop, so I suppose anything's possible."

John takes a swig of his beer. "Yeah, it might just be."