Zack took off to surf for a few hours while Amanda spent the time on her phone calling the various departments she needed assistance from in order to bust Damon Sharpe.
Everyone wanted something. Their commander wanted a complete report including detailed expenses immediately, Vice wanted the praise for the collar, and SWAT wanted a different location. Like any of that was going to happen.
What she did get settled was that she and Zack would be wired, backup would be waiting outside on the street and no one would move in until after the transaction was completed.
Sometimes she hated dealing with the suits; they didn't understand what it took to cozy up to the slimeballs they arrested. The unwillingness to co-operate grated on her nerves; couldn't they put aside petty jealousy and do the job? From their perspective she could understand that it looked to someone outside that all she and Marty were doing was loafing around on the beach, eating at expensive restaurants and living a life of luxurious clothing and cars.
Sure it was that, but it was also living every second being afraid that someone would sneak up behind her and put a bullet or ten in her brain. It was that image that woke her in the middle of the night lately, kept her distracted during the day.
After this, she promised herself, she was going to take a long vacation somewhere far, far away from L.A. and sand. Maybe visit her sister who taught school in Timothy, Kansas. That was about as far as you could get from the hustle and bustle of California and the ocean.
After a light lunch, she spent the remainder of the afternoon with Zack at a car show downtown. She wasn't terribly interested but it kept him out of trouble for three hours. To make it up to her, he took her to an early dinner at Cicada on Olive Street.
Cicada is an Italian restaurant on the ground floor of the 1928 art deco Oviatt Building. The glass doors of the restaurant are Lalique, carved maple columns soaring two stories to a gold leaf ceiling, and from the mezzanine a glamorous bar overlooks the airy dining room.
Truth be told, he loved to take her there, despite the fact that he had to dress up for dinner. Amanda always drew attention whenever they dined there; she looked like a Hollywood starlet. Tonight her hair was done up in a careful spill that touched her bare shoulders. The simple black dress, high heels and pearls she wore made it easy for him to forget about the tensions of tomorrow.
"Would sir like to see the wine menu?" the waiter asked as they were seated.
"No, thank you. We'd like the Château Mouton Rothschild Pauillac '86."
The waiter nodded, "A fine choice sir." he left to retrieve the wine.
"Zack!" Amanda hissed, "What are you doing? That is a $600 bottle of wine!"
"I know but tonight is our last night together for a while, I want to make the most of it."
"If you think you are going to get me drunk so you can …"
"I'm not thinking nothing like that, you just need to relax." he ended the conversation by holding up his menu and refusing to look at her. "I can't decide between the tuna carpaccio with lemon-ginger sauce, and the lamb chops with rosemary-mirin sauce."
They compromised, she ordered the tuna and he agreed to share his lamb chops.
Amanda did enjoy the wine; she had two glasses to his three.
XxXxXx
"Relax." Zack insisted as she tossed in bed later that evening.
"I can't."
He sat up and glared at her, "Do it or I give you a deep tissue massage." he flexed his arms, aiming his elbows at her.
She lay still for a moment then flopped face down with an exaggerated sigh.
He laughed, "You are such a slut."
"Can't help it, you have magic hands." she groaned as he settled on her back, his knees on either side of her hips.
"Remember when we were doing that cover at Mar Vista?"
She buried her face in the pillow, laughing. "How could I forget, that FBI dork who was scoping us insisted we really were doing the nasty and he was going to report us to our superior."
"We are fantastic actors."
"We are fantastic partners, that's what makes it so good." she groaned as his fingers found and teased out the knot at the base of her neck.
"Damn, you are really all knotted up." He bounced a little, and then reached for a bottle of tanning oil on the bedside table.
"What was that for?"
"In case anyone is watching, just making it look like we are a happy, healthy couple."
"Do it again."
He complied, bounced a little harder this time and heard her back crack.
"Ahh," she sighed, "was it good for you too?"
"I'll give you good." he poured a little oil on his hands, started at the edge of her panties and smoothed his hands up to her bra. She didn't object when he unclasped it.
He could feel her relaxing as he rubbed circles down the length of her spine, "How's that?"
"Heavenly." she moaned, "I may have to marry you."
"And make me an honest man, I don't think so."
"As if."
He leaned over and kissed her ear.
"Marty." she warned, "we've talked about this."
"Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying. You are a sexy woman, half naked in my bed."
"It's not your bed, it belongs to the department. Keep it up and you'll be sleeping on the couch."
"We don't have a couch; we have a lumpy monstrosity masquerading as a couch." he grumbled and sat back up and went back to the massage. Ten silent minutes later and she had fallen asleep.
He pulled the sheet up over her and went to take a cold shower.
XxXxXx
The money, retrieved from a storage building near Pacific Palisades, was the best counterfeit paper seen in the last ten years. It was so close to perfect that even counterfeiters had a hard time spotting the fake. Just to make certain they didn't lose it, Zack slipped a microtransmitter between the bills in one bundle before he stacked it in one of the two steel wheeled cases. When that was done, he stored the cases in the trunk of the barracuda.
One of the perks about still remaining friends with a guy she dated that worked for a tech firm was that he didn't mind 'loaning' her equipment for their covers.
The black pearl earrings that she wore this morning contained a mini camera that wirelessly sent a live video feed to a recorder stashed under the dash of the car. The audio could be difficult if there were too much ambient sound but Alex said they hope to fix that soon.
Zack whistled as she came out of the bathroom. Amanda had chosen a dark blue suit with a butter colored silk shirt. Low heeled calf skin sandals completed the outfit.
She spun, and then stopped, peering back over her shoulder at him. "Pretty?"
"Gorgeous, how can I compete?"
She appraised him, "This morning, you look pretty good."
Zack was wearing pressed tan slacks with a navy button down shirt, open just enough to show off his lucky jade turtle that hung on a black silk thong. The only thing ruining the look were his lime green flip flops.
Amanda shook her head and laughed, "You are NOT wearing those."
"These are my favorite pair of shoes." he said wiggling his toes.
"Those are not shoes; those are an accident waiting to happen."
He kicked the thongs off and they flew across the room. "How about these?" he brought out the low topped, cream colored leather boots he'd been hiding behind his back.
"Where did you get those?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
He aimed for an innocent look but she wasn't buying it. "Nichols on 181st."
"Do they have anything like that style in ladies?"
"Forget it Imelda. This is our last day on this gig, besides your half of the closet won't hold any more shoes."
XxXxXx
She could tell he was nervous about the deal; he was tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel as he drove.
She didn't like to discuss the details of a bust right before, always thinking that it would somehow jinx them and all the things she imagined could go wrong would.
She reached over and turned on the radio, flipping through the stations until she found a blues song.
He started to relax, moving slightly to the beat of the song and she smiled.
XxXxXx
A black Cadillac escalade with dark tinted windows was already parked in the garage when they arrived. Zack pulled the barracuda past the SUV, leaving a gap of about 50 feet between the rears of the vehicles.
He and Amanda got out, walked back to the trunk where he settled one hip on the trunk.
After a few minutes, the doors of the escalade opened, Sharpe's bodyguards got out. They did a thorough visual sweep of the garage before the balding one opened the passenger door.
Damon Sharpe looked like a lawyer, ready for court. He wore a grey pinstriped suit, white shirt and a maroon tie. His black half boots were polished to a high gloss.
He moved to the rear of the SUV and nodded to his bodyguards to open the hatch.
Black canvas duffle bags lined the deck; the younger bodyguard reached over, unzipped one of the bags and lifted out a plastic package of white powder.
Zack popped the trunk and pulled out one of the cases, set it on the concrete and nudged it toward the Cadillac. He was just lifting out the other case when the elevator to his right dinged as the car came to a halt.
The clicking of guns sounded as the door opened to reveal a very startled kid in a mall security guard uniform.
Zack spun and launched the case at the bodyguards who were opening fire on the unfortunate kid and the elevator. He didn't have time to see if his diversion had made any difference in the health of the surprise guest, he was too busy shouting at Amanda to take cover as he tumbled toward the cars parked on the other side of the escalade.
"ShitshitshitshitSHIT!" he shouted as he popped up to fire at Sharpe's guards. Seeing the SWAT unit and some of the Vice cops running down the ramp into the garage unleashed more curses from him. "FUCKING IDIOTS!"
Gunfire erupted seemingly from every direction and he ducked back down, wondering if their backup had any idea who they were supposed to be shooting at.
Bullets punching through the solid metal of the barracuda's sides made a unique sound.
"GOD DAMMIT! NOT MY FUCKING CAR YOU ASSHOLES!"
Flames started licking from the hood of the car and Zack screamed.
"YOU GOATFUCKING BASTARDS!"
A blow to the back of his head knocked him to his knees; then a kick that fractured his right cheekbone knocked him unconscious.
The car exploded with a rush of searing heat and crushing sound. In the chaos of the fire, the Cadillac tore out of the garage, tires screeching.
"ZACK! Amanda screamed,
It was suddenly quiet; all she could hear were the police officers swift, hard breaths as they quickly moved forward to search.
"MARTY?"
The kid in the elevator was unscathed except for a dark wet stain on the front of his pants. They found him crouched in the corner by the panel, jabbing repeatedly at the only intact button the 'close door' button. They had to pull him out by force; he whimpered continually as they led him to the exit and a waiting ambulance.
The younger of Sharpe's bodyguards was found facedown about forty feet from the still smoldering barracuda. He had been shot multiple times, including one that had taken off the back of his head.
Laura searched everywhere, under cars, peering into the burning wreckage of the barracuda, even walking up the ramp to the next level and still found no sign of Marty.
One of the patrol officers brought her Marty's necklace. The silk was torn and wet with blood.
"It's Marty's," she said, "where did you find it?"
"Over by the tire tracks where the SUV peeled out."
"They took him," she stumbled back, "I have to find him."
"Detective Wright, we have a scene to process, the commander is going to want…"
"I don't give a fuck what the commander wants right now! Sharpe has my partner and I'm not going to stand around while he kills Marty! Keys!" she held out her hand, demanding the keys to his cruiser.
"Give me your fucking keys NOW!"
He yanked them from his belt and handed them to her, flinching at the rake of her fingernails on his palm.
XxXxXx
She dumped the patrol car two blocks from the house, left the keys in it.
She took off her sooty, torn clothes, dropped them on the bathroom floor and took a quick shower. When she got out she checked her phone, five missed calls, all from familiar numbers – her commander, her father and brother. She slipped into a cream colored sweat suit and laced her tennis shoes tight. She tied Marty's necklace around her left wrist.
The phone buzzed again and she resisted the urge to fling it at the wall. Number withheld the screen told her.
"What?" she answered irritably.
"Cops." Damon Sharpe hissed, "I never would have suspected, you two have quite the jacket."
"What have you done with him?" she demanded.
""He's here with me, waiting for you."
"What do you want?"
"The same thing. Money."
She laughed, "And you think I can get it now?"
Marty screamed and she was shocked silent. She'd never heard any sound so full of pain before in her life.
"Bring. Me. My. Money!" each word was punctuated by the sound of a fist striking flesh.
Sharpe took a deep breath, and in a calm voice gave her an address, a warehouse on the dock.
"Bring me the money, do not bring your cop friends and I will give you back your partner. You have thirty minutes."
Marty screamed again and the connection clicked off.
Laura grabbed her car keys and ran out of the house slamming the door behind her. She peeled out of the parking lot and out onto the PCH ignoring the screeching tires, blaring horns and shouted curses.
She drove to the storage building they'd been to early this morning. It took her ten minutes to pick up two more cases. One, empty, she tossed into the car, the other she filled with more counterfeit cash. This wouldn't stand up to any scrutiny; each bill was an exact duplicate of the other.
There would be hell to pay from her commander when this was over but at this point she didn't give a damn.
Stopped at a red light, she caught a ghostly memory of Marty out of the corner of her eye. On one of the rare occasion they had taken her car, he'd gotten in pretending to have trouble adjusting the seat far back enough to accommodate his five foot, eleven inch frame. He hunched in the seat, eyes even with the lower edge of the window frame.
"Are we on the ground? Is this thing sitting on the ground? I feel like I'm in one of the hamster things. You know, that ball thing that you put them in and they roll around." he teased.
Laura shook her head and tromped the gas as the light turned green.
XxXxXx
Five minutes out from the dock she called dispatch to request a team, hopefully by the time they arrived everything would be over. She didn't want any mistakes made, like back at the garage.
When she pulled up, the door rolled up and she drove inside, the door closed behind her. She got out and manhandled the cases to the concrete.
Damon Sharpe was standing on the far side of the boat slip, beside him stood his remaining bodyguard. Marty was hanging by his wrists, ziptied to the arm of the winch that was used to swing cargo onto the boats.
The boat in the slip was smaller than the cargo boats; rode much lower than the dock, it was a slim blue cigarette boat, the engines idling.
"Let him go and I'll give you the money." she said, her voice not betraying the fear she felt.
"That didn't take you long, he must mean a great deal to you." Sharpe's hand moved quickly, she saw the flash of steel and Marty screamed.
"Stop it! Leave him alone, I brought you the money!" she rolled the cases to the edge of the slip.
"Drop them into the boat." Sharpe demanded.
Laura tossed the full case in; it thumped on the leather seat, then fell to the deck.
"Let him go and I'll give you the other one." she demanded.
Sharpe cut the plastic loop and Marty fell heavily to the concrete. He looked like hell, his back was bloody ribbons, blood on his face and chest and his right eye was swollen shut.
"Move away from him." she insisted, drawing her gun.
Sharpe and the bodyguard complied, stepping closer to the ladder that led down to the boat. The bodyguard had his gun trained on Laura as they climbed down into the boat.
"Now give me the other case." Sharpe ordered, his hands settling on the throttle.
She tossed the case and it hit the back deck, the latch sprang open.
"Bitch!" Sharpe cursed, pulling his own gun, they opened fire on her and she fired back. The boat engines growled, almost drowning out the sound of gunfire. The bodyguard fell overboard as the boat rose and roared out of the warehouse.
The only sound now was the faint shriek of sirens approaching. Marty climbed to his feet and stumbled to where Laura had fallen. He fell to his knees beside her and lifted her into his lap.
"Laura?" he stroked her cheek and she opened her eyes.
"You look like shit, partner."
"Hey, you don't look like no beauty queen either." he tried to smile.
Blood painted her lips and her breathing sounded thick and wet.
"I found… your lucky necklace." she tried to pull the silk band off but her fingers wouldn't hold on to it.
"You keep it for a little bit, huh?"
"I…" she gasped,
"Shh, don't try to talk. It's going to be alright."
"I have to… to tell you… something."
"No. No it's alright." he could feel her growing cold in his arms. "You can tell me later."
"I want… to stay… with you."
"You're not going anywhere. Hear that?" he raised his head and smiled, "Here comes the cavalry."
A SWAT van crashed through the door, men poured out of it.
"Laura?"
She was limp in his arms, her blue eyes staring at nothing.
Marty screamed as they pulled her away from him.