FLAMES

Chapter Two

Later That Night……

Shane had been sleeping deeply when he was suddenly awakened by a noise his brain couldn't identify. He awoke with a start, glancing around the still semi-dark bedroom. He saw nothing. His sense tuned to the dark, waiting for the sound to some again. He glanced at the digital readout of the clock while he listened. 4:56.

It came again. Metal scraping on wood. From the back of the house.

Shane got quickly but quietly out of bed, drawing his weapon from the bedside table. He crept through the room quietly in just his boxer shorts.

Again, the stealthy scraping sound came. It was the kind of sound someone made when they thought they were being sneaky. But Shane's heightened sense of security had picked it up.

He slid along the wall of the hall toward the kitchen and the back door where he was now sure the sound had been coming from.

In the dim illumination from the alley streetlight, through his kitchen window, Shane saw a figure at the back door. He was using a metal object, probably a crowbar, to pry at Shane's back door latch. Shane could see the door was holding out, but just barely. Another pry and the lock would spring.

Shane waited, his gun cocked and held chest level; he was ready to leap into the kitchen and surprise the would-be burglar as soon as he popped the lock and opened the door.

The sound of the wood giving way was louder than the intruder would have liked. He waited a few seconds to see if the noise had disturbed anyone. When all remained quiet, including Shane who hid in the shadows, the man pulled open the back door.

Once he had taken a step into the kitchen, Shane launched himself out of the dark.

"Far enough asshole!" he demanded, drawing a bead on the intruder's chest.

The man, clothed in a dark hooded sweatshirt, thought for a moment, seeing the homeowner brandishing a gun in his face. But apparently, he thought escape was worth a try. He brought up the crowbar with force.

Shane was far enough away not to catch the brunt of the iron bar, but it was close enough to tap the gun barrel, sending it from Shane's grasp.

The burglar fled through the open back door.

Shane scooped up the pistol from the tile floor and gave chase out the door.

He ran into his back yard in time to see the other man making a leap over his high wood fence. Shane thought about taking a pot shot at him, but figured he'd wake the neighborhood eliciting a complaint to his prescient again. And he wasn't about to go chasing after the guy barefoot and in his underwear.

He resignedly went back through his ruined back door. He called division headquarters, using the private dispatcher number.

"Hey Nancy," he said when connected to the night dispatcher. "Detective Vendrell. Hey, can you send a unit by my place. I scared off a prowler but not before he jimmied my lock. Yeah, I'm fine. Little pissed. That'd be great. Thanks. Yeah, I still think you're a babe. Sure, drinks would be fine."

Shane hung up, trying to place who Nancy was, seeing as he'd all but made a date with her. The red head?

Shane went back to his bedroom to dress. There'd be no more sleep now.

He debated calling Vic, but figured this could wait until later in the day. It was probably just an attempted burglary, like he'd told dispatch.

Vic Mackey too was in deep early morning sleep. Apparently much deeper than Shane had been. Of course, he'd gotten a work out before crashing last night. Emma had come by his place and ended up staying. They'd had a romp between the sheets for a couple of hours before both falling into a restful sleep. It was nice to have a presence beside him once in a while.

But Vic came to wish Emma had never shown up. At least when he awoke with a start as he felt the gun barrel pressed to his temple.

His adrenaline brought him fully awake enough to realize there were two of them. One held a hand over a terrified Emma's mouth and a gun to her head. The other crouched by Vic's side, the gun to his head. They were both darkly dressed and ski masked.

"Back the fuck off Mackey," the gravely voice beside him warned, pressing the cold steel into Vic's skin.

"Who the hell are you?" Vic demanded, but realizing as soon as the words passed his lips who he was talking to.

"I think you know."

Vic did know. He had heard that voice hundreds of times before. It was the rough baritone of Joey 'Cowboy' Rossi. At least he confirmed what he'd know all along. His former partner, former LAPD cop, was alive.

"Look, I don't know what you're into Cowboy-"

"And you don't care. That it Mackey? For someone who don't care, you and Vendrell are damn pushy. You ain't gonna get nothing from my old lady. She don't know shit. Thinks I'm dead."

"We all did," Vic said, shifting slightly in the bed.

Cowboy kept the gun pushed against his head.

Vic glanced at Emma. Her eyes looked terrified.

"Look, can we cut the cloak and dagger routine?" Vic asked, trying not to let the prick know he was sweating. "She don't know nothin'. Can't we talk, man to man?"

"Nothing to talk about. You need to stay off our backs. What we're doing ain't no concern of yours. Ain't gonna get you no news coverage or bail out that piss hole Farm. You and your wetback Captain need to get your headlines somewhere else."

"Yeah, okay," Vic said, going along with Rossi's tirade. "Fine, consider it done. Just morbid curiosity I guess. Wondered if I was loosing my marbles, is all. See some dead guy on the freeway. Well, now I know."

Cowboy pulled the gun back and nodded at his partner. "You say now. We'll see. This was just a friendly warning from an old friend. You keep pushing, and you'll get yourself knee deep in shit you don't even want to know about."

The other guy pushed Emma roughly back down on the bed at Vic. They two thugs backed out of the room, still keeping their eyes, and weapons, trained on Vic.

"I'll put your piece down on the way out," Cowboy said, holding Vic's gun in his other hand. Must have taken it off the dresser where Vic had left it in the holster.

"Just don't go trying to use it on me."

Vic held a frightened Emma with one arm, while watching the two leave.

"Good to see you too Cowboy," he called sarcastically after them.





Vic was already agitated by the early morning wake up call made by Cowboy Rossi when he got to the Barn. He made for his office immediately.

Shane and Ronnie were already there, discussing Shane's break in.

Vic slammed the door as he got in. "Where's Lem?" he demanded, without a 'good morning' to anyone.

"Running late," Ronnie Gardocki informed Mackey.

"We've got to hit the streets," Vic said, and then told Ronnie and Shane about the night's events precipitated on him by Rossi and another of the presumed dead cops.

"Son of a bitch!" Shane said. "I knew I shoulda called. My place got busted into too. About five this morning. I never thought…"

"You see who it was?"

She shook his head. "I ran him off. He didn't want to stick around for small talk."

Vic cussed. He knew the two incidents had to be related. "Cowboy sure wanted to get his point across."

"What exactly is that?" Ronnie asked.

"That we need to stay out of whatever he's into. Which is exactly why we're not going to."

Curtis Lemanski arrived then. "Sorry boss," he said, coming in the door. "Aceveda's looking for you," he said quickly before he took the lecture he thought was coming.

Vic cursed. "It's too early and I'm too busy for Captain Ass Invader. Cover for me," he said, taking his jacket and heading for the back door. "Meet me at Tino's in twenty minutes so we can figure out this Rossi shit."

Almost the minute Vic shut the back door, Aceveda knocked then barged in the front door.

Lem, Shane and Ronnie sat at the round table, appearing to be hard at work on open case files.

"Where's Mackey?" the captain demanded to know.

Shane looked up, as if puzzled by the question.

Lem shrugged.

Ronnie held up his empty hands. "Not in yet," he said.

"His truck is in the parking lot."

"Maybe he's takin' a piss," Shane said idly, shuffling some papers.

Aceveda smelled a cover up. "When you see him, tell him he can't hide from me all day. With any luck, I'll have a warrant for his arrest by this afternoon."

That brought three sets of eyes up as Aceveda stormed out of the office.

"What the hell was that about?" Lem asked.

Shane shook his head. "Who knows? But Vic ain't gonna be happy about it. Ronnie, can you nose around here, see if you can find out what the Campaign Boy is up to?"

Ronnie nodded.

Lem and Shane stood to go. "Call my cell if you hear anything."



Vic met Lem and Shane at Tino's, a greasy spoon restaurant on Calle Longoria. They ordered coffee and Shane told Vic about Aceveda's boast.



Vic tried not to sweat Aceveda's threat too much. After all, what could the Captain have come up with? He and his guys had been keeping their noses clean enough.



"Look, we got to get the Rossi shit cleaned up," Vic told them. "What ever he's into sounds pretty bad. Maybe if we get a line on it, it'll make Aceveda forget how bad he wants me. I think we need to check in with Vasquez, see if he got anything else. I want you two back out there, checking leads. Find those three 'dead' cops."



"And Aceveda?" Shane asked.



"Avoid him. If he's looking for me, tell him the truth. I'm working a case that will put Farmington in the headlines and can't be contacted."



So the rest of the team broke up, Vic heading off to find his former Lieutenant and Shane and Lem back to turning over rocks in the inner city.

Within hours, the 'rocks' the two cops looked under, unearthed small time fence 'Chokie' Roberts. The short, wiry middle aged unscrupulous salesman of stolen goods was working out of a watch repair shop.



He looked none too happy when Vendrell and Lemanski walked into his shop.



"Hey Chokie," Lem greeted with a wide smile. "Got any Rolexes this week?"



"Aw, geeze guys. Why you gotta come down here bustin' my balls? I ain't got shit," the little man said, perched on a stool behind his counter. An issue of 'Playboy' was open on the counter. Various watch parts and accessories were laid out in the glass display case.





"We're looking for some guys. Maybe someone might have come in here looking to 'repair a watch'."



Chokie knew, as well as the two cops did, that anyone they were looking for was into a lot more than a hot watch.



Shane laid out three pictures on the counter. They were file copies of the personnel IDs of Joey Rossi, Denny Fontaine, and Mark Wilson.



Chokie studied the photos, then rubbed his stubbly chin. He gauged the two cops. "I mighta seen one or two of 'em," he said vaguely. "Memory's a little fuzzy."



Shane made a face. How many times had he heard that one. He pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket. It was from the 'advance' money Vic used to loosen tongues on the street. He peeled off a fifty.



"Yeah, maybe this one," Chokie pointed to Rossi. "But I can't quite remember…"



Shane peeled off another fifty. He laid them on the counter.



"Yeah, this guy, and this one," Chokie pointed to Wilson. "They were here. Couple of times."



"What'd they buy?"



Chokie shrugged. "Don't recall."



"This is getting old," Shane peeled off two more bills. Hundreds this time. "That's it. Spill or my patience will run out and I'll just take you downtown for a fire code violation."

Chokie pocketed the money. "Okay, okay. Don't get testy Detective. They came in first about a year ago. Looking to get rid of some guns. Dirty guns I guess. Wanted new ones."



"You sell 'em?" Lem asked.



Chokie held up his hands. "I don't buy or sell guns. I just pointed them in the right direction."



"What else?"



"They were by about two weeks ago. Again with the gun thing. Seems the first guy I sent them to, well, in the meantime he's taken a serious powder. Like a six foot under powder. They wanted a new contact."



"And you got them one?" Shane asked.



Chokie nodded. "I guess they were happy. They never came back."



"Who's the dealer?"



Chokie made a face. "You guys are ruining a beautiful partnership you know."



"The contact," Lem pushed, leaning in a little closer to the little man.



"Fine, fine. He goes by the name Delgado. Works out of a machine shop on fifteenth. 4825."



Shane gave Chokie a slight smile. "Always nice doin' business with you Chokie."



The wiry fellow waved as the two cops left the store. "Thanks for shopping at K Mart."

Vic waited for Jesse Vasquez outside after calling his private office line. For more than a few reasons he didn't want to be seen inside the Parker building again. He didn't know who else might be working with Rossi that might tip him off to Mackey's continued presence.



Vasquez, today in a tailored navy blue suit, met him in the parking lot.



"Vic," he greeted.



"Lt, I got a little unexpected house call last ngiht. So did Shane. It was Rossi."



"You sure?" Vasquez asked with a frown.



"Positive. He was three inches from my face. Whatever him and Wilson and Fontaine are into, it's big. He warned us off."



Vasquez grinned. "Didn't work I see."



Vic shook his head. "You find anything?"



"Yeah. A couple of disturbing little tidbits. Like I said, those guys have been receiving paychecks from the department this whole time. The only way that could happen is if someone high up authorized it."



"High like Gilroy?" Vic suddenly thought.



"Exactly."



"But wouldn't the new regime have investigated after Ben got busted?"



"Not necessarily. Unless someone in payroll voiced a complaint, they just process the checks."

"So Gilroy could have set the whole squad up, but to do what?"



"My best guess was to look through the evidence manifests. It seems that like clockwork, every three months or so, a shipment of weapons taken as evidence leaves the division, but never makes it to the warehouse. It would take some fancy computer work and someone working inside to make that happen."



Vic racked his mind through the old team's faces and landed on one: Pete Sinclair. He had been in the service with Rossi. He was well known back then as a computer geek and hacker. But he had not 'died', so Vic had never even thought about him.



Vasquez nodded. "Sinclair," he confirmed. "He's been the Sergeant at the warehouse for three years."



Vic nodded. "They'd have to have someone there. But they can't be getting their jollies and making money off of a few hundred stolen evidence guns."



Vasquez agreed. "There has to be more to it."



Vic knew there was. And he had to find out what.