Intermezzo

November 25, 2013 – Hazzard

Sarah Jane had banned discussion during lunch of anything other than how pleasant the weather would be for the afternoon baseball game and how many pigs-in-a-blanket she should make. When the conversation came around to Thanksgiving, she became introspective and concentrated on her plate.

"Oldest grandgirl's deployed to Iraq. Army medic," Rosco explained. "She won't be home with the family for Thanksgiving this year."

So, Rosco and Tyrone Lambert resumed their sit-down only after the dishes had been cleared.

"Thank you for lunch, Mrs. Coltrane. It was delicious."

"You weren't so sure at first, though, were you?"

"No…No Ma'am," he said with a sheepish sideways smile. "But I was pleasantly surprised."

"Well, I'll let you two get back to it, then."

Ty noticed that, although her smile was a little more friendly now, she still had a worried and wary expression in her eyes.

"You don't approve, do you Mrs. Coltrane?"

"Now you ask…no. We don't cotton to havin' our lives spread all over the countryside. It's unseemly. I remember how hard it was on everybody. Didn't do anything to deserve what they all went through then. Don't deserve to be forced back through the ringer again now."

"That is not my intention. I know Sheriff Strate. Or at least I knew him once. He helped me with a series of articles back in 2000 when I was writing for the Los Angeles Times."

Rosco suddenly remembered, "You're the one went with him to Washington for the Senate hearing."

"I did."

"Did you know about all this back then."

"Until recently, most of the actual evidence related material was in confidential police files. At the time, I only knew what I read in the Times' archives."

"Then, I have to ask, Mr. Lambert. If you already know the story, why are you here?" Sarah Jane asked, a suspicious expression repopulating the area around her eyes.

"I was just out of college in '98. I only know it from the news at the time, which doesn't always consider compassion as part of the equation. Those articles about human trafficking in California were my first big story, and he helped me see the 'human' side of the problem. I've tried to maintain that philosophy throughout my journalistic career. I hope I have, anyway. This is my first time producing for TV. I'd like to translate those same principles to visual media."

Ty could read the attitude change on her face and knew he'd struck the right chord with her. The fact that he was sincere definitely helped. He got the feeling she would have eaten alive any moron that dared to be otherwise with her. Just as he knew he should say 'Yes, Ma'am' and 'Yes, Sir,' he'd heard that when a Southern woman says, 'Oh, hell no!' one might as well kiss his ass goodbye because it's already too late.

Satisfied Mr. Tyrone Lambert wasn't a carpetbagger, Sarah Jane retreated to the kitchen and returned her attention to the washing of dishes and silverware. Still, she kept one ear on the conversation, which began anew at the dining room table.

Chapter 36

April 10, 1998 (Pacific Time) – Los Angeles, Parker Center

Johen Orwin Clepas was born on June 12, 1951, in Ithaca, New York, to Anna Clepas, a nurse. Johen was eighteen when his mother died from an aneurism. Though he had asked many times before she died, she had refused to tell him about his father. Her family, which consisted of an elderly grandfather and an aunt he barely knew, had no answers for him. He learned his father's identity only by going through his mother's papers after she was buried.

In a metal lockbox at the back of her closet, he found his birth certificate and his father's name: Matteo Lazzaro. The birth certificate also listed a sibling.

Somewhere, Johen had a fraternal twin brother.

Tracking Matteo down took the better part of two years and required the development of detective skills. In the end, he discovered his father, and consequently, the rest of his family in the state of Georgia's public records. Before getting fatally stabbed one night outside a bar in Alpharetta, Matteo had been a petty thief. The only advantage he'd bequeathed to his son was an uncle named Nicholas Lazzaro, a well-established kingpin of a Georgia criminal organization based in Atlanta. Since 1968, Lazzaro had been under the Georgia State Police scrutiny, then elevated himself by becoming a significant blip on the Georgia Bureau of Investigation's radar in the mid 70s.

After proving his lineage to 'Uncle' Niki, Johen went to work for him. Small things at first. Seeing potential in the boy, Niki sent him to college, believing he'd return an asset in ways other than being one of his regular gophers. However, Johen needed a name change, which could not be traced back to the Lazzaro family. In 1969, Johen Orwin Clepas became Joseph Rowin Lance. By 1973, after graduating from the University of Southern California, he became a candidate for the Los Angeles Police Academy. In those days, Nicholas Alphonse Lazzaro was well known for playing the long game.

Niki bided his time grooming his nephew, keeping him legit and untainted until he could be of optimal use. In 1988, Police Sergeant Joseph Lance performed the first task his uncle gave him by running two cops off a cliff in the north hills of Los Angeles.

Joe Lance was in his office at Major Crimes Division late when his mobile phone rang. Swearing under his breath at the number on the screen, he hit the button to answer.

"Hold on, I have to get out of the building." He could hear his uncle seething on the other end.

When Lance was in the relative privacy of his car, he put the phone on speaker and turned the key in the ignition.

"What now? I told you this morning I would take care of it."

"Like you took care of the tape?"

"There wouldn't be a need to take care of the tape if you and Hebert hadn't made it in the first place and on my turf." Stupid morons. "I'd have been the first one they suspected if that tape disappeared. A lot different than 'losing' the warrant on Hebert. Too many people know about it. The tape can't be used in court anyway. Thought you had a stable of shysters to handle that sort of nuisance. I have more immediate issues to deal with here. That eager-beaver from Mallory's unit is hot to find out who's interfering with their investigation…You should be worrying more about Adams sniffing around in your neck of the woods."

"Just never you mind about what's goin' on here in Atlanta. Ah set you up in SoCal to facilitate mah west coast operation, not put it in the crapper. Besides, Ah have a job for you here."

"This is federal, Niki, in case it has escaped your notice. And I don't see the Georgia Bureau backing off either. Looks to me like they're closing in on you. And I can't leave LA until I tie up loose ends."

"Those ends won't be danglin' anymore if the one here in Georgia gets tied up," Niki said, spittle hitting the receiver on his end.

"So, Uncle Niki. Your phone still being tapped by the feds?"

"You asshole," Niki drawled out tediously. "Mah people figured out a way 'round that little ole problem quicker'n you can say Jack Robinson. How the goddamn hell you think Ah've stayed out of prison all these years. Dumb luck? Fear and intimidation, that's how, and goddamn smart Atlanta lawyers. Those jokers at the GBI've been tryin' to nail me on something for thirty-odd years. Ah got flunkies for that…like you. And Ah'm not gonna' end up in jail with any of them 'cause of mah brother's dumbass bastard brat."

The sound of Lazzaro's artificial, saliva-laced southern voice grated on his last nerve. The deviant pedophile was a throwback, a dinosaur in a new world that needed new blood. The old man was losing it. His perverted addiction had screwed with his mind, and now Niki Lazzaro had become both a loose cannon and a loose end.

April 16, 1998 – Los Angeles

Suppose prostitution is the oldest profession, and spying is the second oldest. In that case, money laundering has to be the third, and a trade that provided salaries for the Detectives in the Financial Crimes Unit. One tradesman, David Shapiro, had not appeared on the unit's radar ten years ago or since then for one reason. Inez De Pina.

She would not have done it for David or done it at all if not for Aaron. The twisted irony of it often made her sick to her stomach. In those days, E couldn't read her as well as he did in the years that followed. The first time he touched her was in sympathy for the break-up with David without knowing what it was all about, what she had done to keep her son from finding out about his father.

E had even asked if there was someone else.

Yes, there was someone else, and he was touching her face at that moment. Neither of them understood at the time what it meant or the spark he had lit. When she warned Hebert of the impending arrest, she drove the first coffin nail that killed any hope she would eventually harbor of being with E – ever. The truth came crashing in on her a week later – while he held her to keep her warm, talked to her to keep her awake, and told her about his failure with Latoya. The well of his forgiveness was deep, but she hadn't known that then. Afraid of losing him, fearing he would turn away. Now, the time for forgiveness had long passed. For what her silence and fear had wrought, he would not be able to forgive or forget. So, the desire was locked away, replaced by the need to be in his life, no matter how chaste. She gladly traded any hope of physical intimacy for the family they became.

Lazzaro's responsibility for sending their patrol car over the cliff had made her angry. Living up to E's expectations had made her defiant. To keep the wolves from the door, she'd given her attorney enough documentation to put David, Hebert, and Lazzaro away.

The phone calls from David had stopped. She would not let him intimidate her or ever again use their son as leverage. As she sealed a manilla envelope and put it in her tote, she glanced at Thompson's desk across the room. He'd been trying to be surreptitious about watching her again. Didn't matter. She'd led him to the place he needed to be, let him and Turk Adams gather the information that would lead to the mole in the department. They would have figured it out on their own.

All good things must end someday…37

Inez's time was quickly running out. The operation in Turkey would go down, and all hell would break loose. Before leaving the Parker Center lot, she made two phone calls: the first to her attorney to give him instructions on when to release the items to which she had entrusted him; the second to the private detective she'd hired to protect Aaron in Boston. The manilla envelope would be couriered to the FBI.

April 16, 1998 (Pacific Time) – Santa Monica

Returning to the bungalow after shift, Thompson began to think he'd allowed himself to fall victim to his imaginings about a future with Elektra. Parking in the lot across from her door, he observed a man around his age exit a Ruby Pearl '97 Lexus ES300 sedan and enter her bungalow. New at the 'trust' thing, he felt like a heel after running the plate.

Elektra's parents had died in a plane crash when she was eighteen. It was only Elektra and her brother, and, if he decided to get out of the car, he was about to meet Richard Daryl Van Der Pelt III, M.D. He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

Because his stepfather was still in prison, Gordon Scott Thompson had no immediate family. He'd been at every parole board hearing in the last twenty-one years to make sure the bastard that killed his mother then turned his fury on her ten-year-old son rotted there. His personal history was something rarely confided to anyone. At work, only Captain Mallory and the LAPD shrinks knew. Elektra hadn't asked about the scars, so he had not told her the same lie given to explain them away to the few sexual partners with whom he'd felt 'safe' in the last ten years. Early one morning, lost in the peace being with her gave him, she learned the truth.

Where their affair was headed or where Thompson wanted it to go was riddled with uncertainty. What he knew for sure was that Elektra and not her alter ego provided the best cure for what ailed him. Perhaps, because they were both someone other than the person they each exposed to the universe at large. Elektra was the profoundly thoughtful and yet beguiling free spirit he knew. Clarissa Van Der Pelt was a stranger.

Preoccupied with 'meeting the family,' Tommy walked the short distance to her door without paying attention to the sound of skateboard wheels clicking across the joints in the sidewalk across the street.

By the time Thompson put his key in the lock and turned the knob, the argument was already in full swing. For a moment, he contemplated hot-footing it back to the safety of his vehicle.

"You should have called first," Elektra said. Her eyes fixed on the door rather than her brother.

"And get another 'it's not a good time, Richard?' Been there, done that, got enough T-shirts to fill a boutique." Then hearing the key turn in the lock, "Ah, must be the boyfriend I've heard absolutely nothing about," Richard said without bothering to look at the man entering his sister's residence – obviously with his own key.

Whirling around, Richard offered his hand. "I'm the brother. And you are?"

Thompson's temporary reprieve came in the form of his mobile phone ringing. Ducking into the bedroom to answer it, the thought occurred to him that might not have been one of his most excellent ideas. Took a lot to frazzle Gordon Thompson. At least they had disassembled the murder wall, which previously could have been seen from the brother's current vantage point.

By the time he reappeared, Elektra had explained who he was. The knowledge accomplished little to enhance Doctor Van Der Pelt's attitude. The rest of the evening degraded into excruciatingly awkward.

April 16, 1998 (Eastern Time) – Hazzard

Jagged tendrils of lightning crackled across the heavens and made the world around her seem as if it was trapped inside a giant plasma globe. Thunder vibrated the ground in slow-rolling rumbles.

Daisy remembered a time when the folks in northeast Georgia hardly paid any mind to lousy weather. When she was little, night storms were frequent in the hills. An opportunity to play cards at the kitchen table by lantern light, make popcorn in the fireplace, and empty the pots placed around the house to catch leaks. Or perhaps that was just her perception, while Aunt Lavinia and Uncle Jesse did the worrying. As an adult, stormy nights were spent keeping a watchful eye on the sky, and both ears peeled for the sound of hail on the roof.

Harlon at WHOGG started his program every day with, "Good Morrrrr-nin' Dixie Alley." Too far out for warning sirens, rural Hazzard County relied on the CB and local weather alerts from battery-operated radios. Television was unreliable because the power went down in any old strong gust of wind.

Feeling her phone vibrate against her skin, she pulled it from under the quilt. The tiny screen lit up with a now-familiar Los Angeles number.

"Hi, Jay."

Daisy had been calling Turk 'Jay' since he introduced himself to Professor Duncan as J. Bertrand Adams. He'd refused to tell her what the J stood for, but he didn't hate it.

"Hi, Daisy. I was watching the weather for your area. I see you're under a tornado watch again."

"Third time this month…second time in the last week. Seems to be holding off here, though…for now. But Choctaw County's getting' hammered."

Thanks to an increase in tornado drills at the kindergarten, Luke and Sophie had spent a few nights with Emily snuggled between them in bed. Luke and Enos would someday bond over the challenge of raising girls, but for now, Luke was not complaining.

A blinding shaft of pure light pierced the ground a few miles away. The deafening boom that followed a few seconds later made the teacups in Emma's curio cabinet rattle with a tinkling sound.

"That sounded close. Where are you anyway?"

"Sittin' out on the porch, watchin' the light show."

"Is Miss Tisdale out there with you?"

Emma was fast asleep and snoring softly at 10:00 pm. At this stage of her life, hardly anything phased the wiry little elf. Rocking slowly over uneven boards, Daisy adjusted the quilt over her legs and wished she could say the same.

"She's been snug as a bug for an hour. As long as she's got acorns on the windowsills, she could sleep through the apocalypse. It's just me and the June bugs out here."

"You sure you haven't been back in Hazzard too long already? June bugs? It's April."

"Tell that to the armor coated critters committin' suicide all over this porch."

Turk stifled a laugh. "Speaking of overstaying Hazzard, you check out that apartment in Atlanta you told me about?"

"Paid the first and last month rent yesterday. I'm packed and ready to move. But I don't have to make an appearance at Emory for another couple of weeks. I thought I should stick around here until then. See what happens."

"Doesn't give you much settling-in time, Daze. Staying in Hazzard won't have any effect on what's going down half a world away."

"It's just...I told Bo about the rescue operation, but Annie doesn't know anything about it yet. I think I should be here...in case it's bad news. Annie and Bo are going through a rough patch right now. He's afraid to get her hopes up, and if...if something goes wrong…"

"Kate's alive. And Enos is going to keep her that way, or I don't know him at all. Look, the reason I called so late is to tell you…they set a date for the operation. Thompson and I talked to Enos on a conference call this afternoon. They're going wheels-up tomorrow."

[He had detected anxiety in her voice. Was it for the man she would always love as a friend or because she still harbored deeper, romantic feelings for Enos?]

"It's not just him by himself, you know. He and several other Interpol officers are coordinating it, but the Turkish government forces will be conducting the raid."

"I know, Jay. But I've been reading about some of the terrible things that go on there…How does Enos know he can trust a government with so much corruption? It's not like Boss Hogg's type of petty graft. That place is…real."

"Daisy. Real is what we do."

Another close strike of lightning jolted her, this time with an awareness that her apprehension regarding the realities of being a police officer was no longer exclusive to Enos.

April 16, 1998 – Santa Monica

While droning on about Elektra's current lifestyle, her brother refused to call her anything but Clairissa.

*Clarissa, why arent' you working on your Ph.D.?* (She had no intention of enlightening him.)

*Clarissa, why aren't you living in the house Mother and Father left you?* (Too big, inconvenient and not in the place where she could research her dissertation on 'Philosophical Foundations in California Beach Culture.')

*Clarissa, why do you insist on looking like you just crawled out of a vampire movie?* (Why the hell did he care?)

It went on and on.

'No wonder she avoided her brother,' Tommy thought. Was that how she had seen him in the beginning? Had he been that much of an ass?

Strate's genuine concern had been straight forward and come from respect – 'hurt her, and I'll mess you up.' That, Thompson could understand. That, he could accept. Then, he was suddenly struck with the image of Strate fetching corndogs for some parody of a backwoods country sheriff – like that would ever happen.

It was the third phone call that escalated the conversation and brought out Elektra's claws.

"Again?" Richard stood as Thompson went into the bedroom a third time like he belonged there.

"He's a Detective, Richard. He's on call. You know, like a doctor." Elektra enunciated each word slowly.

"Man wasn't paying attention before the phone call," her brother shot back.

"He might have if you had come in here with the right attitude. Tommy was invited. You weren't. So, go home, Richard, to your perfect wife and your perfect kids and your perfect life and leave the real people alone to do the dirty work for you."

"That was uncalled for."

"It was very called for. Go home! Get out of my face and out of my space until you can accept me for who I am and who I choose…I choose, Richard…to be with."

Sitting on the edge of the bed biting a blood clot into his bottom lip, Thompson could barely hear Angela Kim giving him the report he'd requested before leaving the office.

At the end of the street, surveillance distance from #20, in an unlit area of the lot, the argument was unheard and unseen. Inez De Pina sat behind the steering wheel and steadied a pair of night vision binoculars with one hand. She stuffed the last bite of a burrito into her mouth with the other. Reaching over to the passenger seat for a napkin without looking, she paid little heed to the food box sliding off the edge of the passenger seat. Spilling onto the floorboard, salsa splattered the mats, and tortilla chips flew everywhere.

She had no time for housekeeping. The kid in the board shorts who had been surveilling Thompson and his weird girlfriend had caught her attention. It was not the first time, or the second, or even the tenth. He and his skateboard had frequented that strip of sidewalk more than any other.

Lazzaro's reach was long.

Pulling her vest from the back seat, Inez opened the passenger door and slipped out, staying low until she reached the cover of thick plumy pampas grass along the sidewalk. She had reconnoitered the area days ago. Lazzaro didn't hire idiots, but he didn't hire the brightest colors in the crayon box either. She got the drop on him with her service weapon faster than he could react. He was on the ground and being cuffed before he could get a good look at her.

"Just keep quiet, and you won't get hurt."

"Who the hell are you? You a cop? I was minding my own business."

"Never mind who I am. You got a name, son?"

"Who wants to know? If you're a cop, you gotta tell me why you're arresting me."

"Oh, I'm not arresting you."

She put a blindfold over his eyes, picked him up from the ground, a bit of a comical sight, and was likely embarrassing for him, considering he outweighed her by about a hundred pounds. It might have been the cold steel barrel she had poked in his ribs that had convinced him to keep quiet and cooperate. How was he to know she had no intention of shooting him?

The argument inside the bungalow stopped dead when Inez pounded on Elektra's door.

By the time he heard the third strike on the door, Thompson was out of the bedroom with his Baretta drawn, motioning Elektra and her brother to get down. When Inez identified herself, he relaxed and puffed out a relieved breath.

Angie Kim's voice came from the phone still in his hand, "Detective Thompson, are you in trouble?"

"No. At least I don't think so. Hold on."

Without reholstering the gun, he asked through the door, "Detective De Pina. What are you doing here?"

"Let me in, and I'll tell you…unless you want the neighbors to know."

"Do I need to send a unit?"

"No, I got this. I'll get back to you later."

He hung up the phone, raised the gun, and unlocked the door.

"You can put that away, Thompson." Inez led the blindfolded man into the bungalow and sat him in one of the two chairs at the kitchenette table. With her back to Thompson, she didn't notice the exasperated expression on his face.

Richard Van Der Pelt was neither impressed nor amused, and he expected an explanation.

"De Pina, what the fricking hell are you doing here, and why do you have this guy cuffed?"

"He's been watching you for days."

Elektra looked mildly amused, and Richard looked as if he would go ballistic if someone didn't explain what was going on.

"No, Inez, he's been watching Elektra for weeks."

"If you knew, why didn't you do anything about it?" Inez asked.

"You think I could get this blindfold off?" asked the guy in the board shorts.

"Because," Thompson said as he pulled out his cuff key. "He's an off-duty Sheriff's Deputy I hired to watch over her while I'm at work."

Now Inez was confused.

"Because she went snooping around Downtown Movie Rentals trying to find some evidence of where that tape was made…without telling me."

He glared at Elektra. They'd shouted more than a few angry words at each other on the subject.

"I wanted to help find that little girl."

"It was colossally stupid." Thompson was still glaring, and his ears had reddened. The subject was always one that could turn into an argument between them.

"If Mom and Dad are done fighting…blindfold, cuffs…still on."

Thompson removed the blindfold from the Deputy and released him from the cuffs. "Some protection you turned out to be. How'd she manage to get the drop on you?

"It would be kind of hard to explain to my supervisor why I slugged an LAPD Detective, especially since I recognized her. I took the better part of valor."

Inez berated herself for being so off her game that she'd exposed herself to a suspect. "You know who I am."

"I was LAPD before I joined the Sheriff's Department. You were an instructor when I went to the academy. You made an impression."

"What, were you twelve?"

"Detective De Pina meet Deputy Nathan Dunn." Thompson said. He almost smiled.

"By the way," Dunn asked, pointing at Richard, "who's he?"

"Well, I'm glad someone around here finally acknowledged my presence."

Elektra rolled her eyes. "Told you to go home."

"Clarissa, what in God's name have you gotten involved in?"

"It's called life, Rich. You ought to try it sometime."

After another rehashing of her questionable life choices, Richard departed, leaving Inez to make up a plausible excuse for why she had been watching the bungalow.

References:

(37)"All good things must end someday..." - From the song by the same title by Chad & Jeremy, 1964