No One Mourns the Wicked - Chapter 2
Steve and Danny parked outside a dive bar known for its seedy clientele. It had been closed down at least five times in the last decade but each time it quickly reopened with a new owner promising to clean the place up and cater to a more law-abiding type of customer. Never fail, within a few weeks the old crowd was back and the new owner had been "persuaded" to just look the other way and collect the money from the till at the end of each night.
"Jeez, I got a wave of downtown Newark going on here." Danny said, adjusting his collar as they stepped inside.
Steve scanned the room. It was dimly lit and shadowy but he spotted just the man he was looking for hunched over a drink at a table in the corner, prison tattoos telling of a lot of bad choices.
He wasn't a full-fledged informant but he had provided Steve and Danny with info a few times in the past as a way to lighten his own punishment. "Hey, buddy," he said, addressing the man. "Mind if we have a word?"
The guy glanced up, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You a cop? You smell like a cop."
"Just here to talk," Steve replied, pulling his shirttail back to reveal his badge. "We're looking for info on a victim."
"What are you doin'?" the man grumbled in a voice only loud enough for Steve and Danny to hear. "If I get seen talkin' to you I'm a dead man." He raised his voice. "I ain't got nuthin to say to Five-0 so you and your partner can just piss off."
"That your ride out front with the expired registration," Danny said, making sure he could be heard by the other patrons in the bar. "How about I get a couple of uniforms out here to search it and see what we find."
The man stood up drunkenly threw a punch in Steve's direction which he easily deflected. He pushed the man's upper body down onto the table, cuffed his hands behind his back, and led him out to the parking lot.
"You didn't have to be that rough," the man groused as the three men rounded the corner to a more secluded area away from prying eyes.
"I had to make it look realistic," Steve said matter-of-factly.
"We feel like you might know something we need," Danny said, stepping forward. "We're looking for anything you know about Milo Raines. Heard he hung out here."
"Raines?" the man said, looking around to make sure they weren't being watched. "Yeah, I saw him a few weeks back. I stayed away though because I heard he had some big problems."
"What kind of big problems?" Steve asked.
"The kind I don't want no part of," the man shot back.
Danny pulled his phone from his pocket. "Do you have a receipt for those expensive rims on your truck? I'm sure HPD will be happy to run the serial numbers …"
"Ok, ok," the man huffed. "You didn't hear this from me, but apparently Milo Raines was gonna turn on his partners. He was giving information to some cop back on the mainland."
"He was an informant?" Steve asked.
And suddenly all of the brick walls Chin had run up against while he was trying to get information on the victim's recent activity made sense.
"That's what I heard," the man said with an intense look at Steve. "And the kind of people he's in business with don't take kindly to people cooperating with the police."
"Ok." Steve nodded. "So you want us to get the HPD out here to actually toss your car and take you in so it doesn't look like you gave up any information?"
"If you wouldn't mind," the man said.
"If they don't find anything in your car they're not gonna arrest you," Danny warned.
"No worries there," the man snarked.
As two patrol cars arrived, lights flashing, the patrons from inside the bar began to file out, not wanting to get caught up in whatever was going on. Within minutes all the doors of the man's truck were open and he was sitting, handcuffed, in the backseat of a police car.
Steve and Danny stayed until one of the officers called out, "I found something," and then, satisfied that their entire interaction looked like a legitimate bust and not a meeting with an informant, hopped in the Camaro and headed back to the office.
"That would explain a lot," Chin said as the group reconvened around the smart table. "The question is … is LAPD not telling us anything because Raines was working with the feds and they don't know the details, or because it's an ongoing LAPD operation and they don't want us getting involved."
"That's the big question," Danny said. "LAPD might just be defensive about not being involved in whatever's going on. You know how territorial they can be."
Just then Steve's phone rang. When he looked at the screen he saw the name 'Glen Barlett'. The FBI agent that Catherine had called, trying to find any information on Raines.
"Glen. Hi. Thanks for getting back to us so fast," he said without preamble as he answered the phone.
"Catherine said the matter was time sensitive. You think there might be a shipment of trafficked women and girls being held somewhere on the island?"
"Either here already or on their way," Steve confirmed. "We're also hearing that Raines might have been in the process of becoming an informant and turning on his partners."
That certainly adds a whole new wrinkle."
"Sure does," Steve said. "So anything you can tell us about Raines would be appreciated."
"I wish I had more information to give you but the one thing I can tell you for sure is he isn't involved in any of the ongoing trafficking investigations being run by the FBI. If he was spilling the beans to somebody, it wasn't us."
"Must be LAPD then," Steve said. "They've been giving us the runaround."
"I know a few people in the trafficking division over there. I'll text you their names and tell them to expect your call."
"Thanks, Glen," Steve said. "I'll owe you one."
"We'll call it even. I still owe you for saving my ass that time in Afghanistan. And next time you and Catherine are in LA give me a call, we can have a drink and catch up."
"Deal," Steve said. "We'll talk to you soon."
A few seconds later a text came through with the names and numbers of Glen's contacts at LAPD.
"Let's give these guys a call," Steve growled. "And tell them it's time to stop playing games."
To be continued