A/N1: Here we go again on the ownership of Chuck. Why? I ask you, why? I dunno. Now let's get cracking on the mystery.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Captain Wallace declined the invitation to take a front seat in Chen's car and settled himself comfortably behind Booker. While stopped at a red light, Booker showed Chen a text message he'd drafted, and Chen nodded his head with approval. Booker sent the text.
The drive to Acosta's office took a little over 45 minutes and the time was filled by Wallace telling them stories of his early days as a detective in the 1970's. The stories were so outlandish that the younger men wondered about their veracity, but knew for sure that the police behavior described by Wallace wouldn't be tolerated any longer. However, regardless of their truth, the stories were funny. Very funny.
Wallace directed them to park in a no-parking zone and throw the police placard on the dashboard.
The building housing Acosta's office was in the Hollydale section of Los Angeles, adjacent to a golf course. It was a simple four-story building with a blue glass and aluminum curtain wall, exactly like thousands of other small office buildings around the city. Both Booker and Chen noticed that Wallace didn't glance at the directory before heading to the elevator for the third floor. He knew where he was going.
A few moments later they were buzzing for entry through a plain glass door marked in frosted letters with the words ACOSTA ENTERPRISES. A pretty young Hispanic woman was sitting behind the reception desk and smiled at the arrivals.
"Hi. Can I help you?" she asked.
"Indeed you can. Thank you. Bill Wallace and friends here to see Tony," said Wallace.
"Do you have an appointment?" she asked.
"No. But please tell him I'm here," he said. He didn't speak to her harshly, but he left no doubt that he expected her to do exactly what he had asked of her. There was something about his voice that required compliance with his requests, almost, but not quite making them commands. Booker and Chen both noticed it and glanced at each other. Wondering if, given enough time, that effortless voice of command would come to them. She spoke into her phone and asked them to wait with a smile.
Chen noticed that Booker didn't flirt with the girl. Both men were tense, careful and (although they wouldn't admit it, except to each other) nervous. They were about to go into a meeting with the Mafia don of Los Angeles. With Captain Wallace with them, they automatically followed his lead. If he got angry, they would respond accordingly. If he didn't, they wouldn't.
The door opened and a man came out in a suit. He had a slicked back dark hair and a snarl. "Gotta frisk you first," he said.
Wallace looked at him deadpan and slowly raised the middle finger of his right hand. The man looked confused by his response. But then a voice came from the open door, "Forget that. Just send them in. You stay and hang with Rosa."
His snarl disappeared. The man stepped aside and gestured towards the open door for them to enter, closing it softly once they had done so.
And what was beyond the door was a disappointment. They expected that the Godfather's office would look like Vito Corleone's from the movie. But not. This was a sort of boring large sunny room. The floor to ceiling windows behind the large desk looked out over the green of the golf course. There was little dark wood. The desk, while large, was simply a table of brushed steel and some kind of light wood. There was a small table in the corner with chairs for four people to meet. Some chairs in front of the desk. Some chairs along the walls on either side.
There were three men waiting for them inside the room, all standing. The man standing behind the desk was clearly Tony Acosta. He was a big man, over six feet and heavy. But, for his size, he moved lightly as he came around the desk to greet his visitors with a happy smile, chuckling. Thick gray hair with black streaks, and somewhat swarthy complexion, a Sicilian son of Sicilians. He was dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, with soft loafers on his feet. The muscles of his forearms were impressive. So far as either Booker or Chen could tell, he was genuinely delighted to see Wallace, greeting the man with a huge smile and a hug (which was only halfway returned). He ended the hug with his hands on Wallace's shoulders.
"Bill, great to see you, old friend. You look great. I've missed you. You never come around anymore," he said.
"Yeah. People might take it wrong, Tony. What with me trying to put you in prison for the rest of your life and all. I mean, my bosses might get confused and shit."
"Short sighted. Not your fault. You just gotta get some better bosses," Acosta said, grinning, his hands still on Wallace's shoulders. Acosta's eyes shifted to Booker and Chen. He gestured with his chin. "Who're the pups?"
"Pups? They're detectives, you douche. Treat my guys with respect," growled Wallace, but with a tiny smile. "I want to introduce you to Detective Chen and Detective Booker. Homicide. Unless I miss my guess, these men are going to be a pain in your ass for years to come. They are rising stars. Better to meet them now. Guys, this is Tony Acosta."
"Oh, excellent. You're Chen, right? Guess I don't have to be a genius to figure that out. Booker, right? How're you guys doing? Good to meet you. Homicide, huh?" he said with a wide smile. Truth was, the smile was effective. The demeanor was also effective. If they hadn't known who and what he was, both men would have immediately liked him. They each shook his hand, a good handshake, solid but friendly. He was, for want of a better term, charismatic.
"I want you guys to meet the next generation of Acostas." He turned them to the other two men in the room.
The first was as tall as his dad, over six feet and also big. Someplace in his thirties with his dad's dark hair and features. But, unlike his dad, his size seemed to come from gym muscles. Puffed up for show, but not too useful for unloading a truck. He would be intimidating in a barroom confrontation, but probably be the first to hit the floor. Neither Booker nor Chen was impressed. He was dressed in a dark suit with an open collared white shirt, showing a mass of dark chest hair.
Tony said, "Here's my son Mike."
Mike stepped forward and said, "How ya doin.?" He took Booker's hand in his and did his level best to crush it. Booker was a very strong man, however, and easily matched Mike's grip.
But after a few moments, Booker said, quietly, "Now let's not be childish about this, huh, Mike?"
Once Tony realized what was happening, he said, "Aw, cut out that shit, Mikey. Stop being a jerk." Mike's eyes flicked to his dad and he immediately began to release his grip. But his eyes flicked back to Booker for a moment, and there was anger in his eyes.
He shook Chen's hand perfunctorily.
Tony said, "And this is my son Pete," gesturing at the other man.
Whatever the vicissitudes of genetic inheritance that had graced the brothers, Pete was nothing like Mike. A bit shorter and much more slender, he had the wiry build of a long-distance bicyclist or a runner. He had his brother's dark hair and features, but otherwise bore little resemblance to the bigger man. He was wearing a well-fitting dark suit with a white shirt and subdued tie. His expression was of slight amusement, probably at his brother's embarrassment.
He shook hands with each of the detectives with a calm, "Pleased to meet you." His eyes were intelligent and appraising.
Even without Wallace's earlier description, both Booker and Chen would have pegged Pete as the more dangerous of the two brothers, and by a wide margin.
Tony said, "Ok, how about we all sit down and you tell me what's going on. I don't expect you came to visit to talk about old times."
As they were sitting, Tony said, "Hey, detectives, did you know Bill is the only guy to ever arrest me? It's true. I did a year on an assault thing and it was Bill who nailed me for it."
"It should have been three years," groused Wallace.
"Good behavior. Overcrowded prisons. And the determination that I was no threat to society," said Tony with a smile. "And I'm not, you know. A threat to society, that is."
"Well," said Wallace, with a smile, "why don't we just agree that I can't prove you are. At least not yet."
Tony laughed merrily and said, "Ok. I guess we can agree on that bit, old friend. So, what's up?"
"Vincent Peralta," said Wallace.
"Yeah," said Tony. "The newspaper guy. I read about it. Somebody whacked him. What about it?"
"He was investigating you," said Wallace.
Tony looked genuinely surprised for a second and said, "No shit. And your buddies, the homicide guys, are looking into it. And you think I had him killed?"
Wallace said, "I don't know. Thought I'd visit and ask you. Did you have him killed?"
"Jesus, Bill, you know me better than that. You've known me for more than thirty years. How can you ask me that?"
Wallace said, quietly, "You didn't answer the question, Tony."
Annoyance flicked across his features just for a moment and Tony said, seriously and without the good humor he'd been displaying since they entered, "Fine. No, Bill. I did not have him killed. I don't know who did. I didn't even know he was looking in my direction. And, seriously, even if I'd known, I wouldn't have had him killed. That's stupid shit. There are much easier ways to spike a story in the media. After all these years you think I've never dealt with the press? I've spiked shitloads of uncomfortable stories. You think I have to kill a guy to stop a story? Killing a reporter is a surefire way to a hundred times more publicity than would be generated by even the worst story he or she might write. It's just fucking stupid." Tony was visibly aggrieved at the very concept, shaking his head in dismay.
"Would any of your people have had him killed without telling you?"
"Absolutely not. Anyone working for me would know that I would be...upset at such a course of action. Very upset," said Tony.
"Even James Robertson?"
Tony showed surprise at the mention of the name, but schooled his face quickly enough. "Yes, even Jim. You haven't met him. He's not the kind of guy to go off half-cocked. He's a very disciplined young man. Well, young to you and me. Not so young to them." He waved his hands at the other men in the room.
While Tony and Wallace were talking, Booker and Chen were watching the brothers when they weren't watching Tony. Mike was fidgeting in his seat and showing anger and alarm, watching his dad and Wallace verbally spar. Pete, on the other hand, was fixed on watching Booker and Chen, without expression, still as a statue.
"I understand he's a vet," said Wallace.
"Yeah, I understand the same," said Tony, not giving anything away.
"Would he have whacked Peralta if you told him to?" asked Wallace.
"Oh, come on, Bill. You know better than to throw hypotheticals at me," said Tony. "That's a waste of everyone's time."
Even Wallace laughed a little at that response. "Yeah, well, you know..."
Tony said, "You know what Peralta was looking at?"
"You're buying a building in the Valley with a Swiss company," said Wallace.
Tony started to laugh. If he was acting, he was a damn good actor, thought the detectives. "Seriously? Bill, seriously? You think I had a guy whacked over a real estate deal? Oh, come on. That's fucking insane. It's just a real estate deal, for fuck's sake."
"Kinda weird though. You and some foreign company getting in bed together...," said Wallace.
"Weird? Ok, right, first, you know I have a shitload of investments, including some real estate. Right? Second, because of the efforts of you and your friends, my reputation isn't the best with normal lenders. Banks won't touch me for a loan to make a purchase. Right? So, if I manage to seduce some foreign company into going into business with me, what business is it of some newspaper guy? Front page news? Come on. Or you and your guys gonna give a shit? There nothing at all illegal about the deal."
"Exactly. We were thinking the same thing. Why would this guy...a pretty serious guy, so far as we can tell, why would he be looking at this thing? And why would someone pop him for it? We got curious," said Wallace.
"Fuck, Bill. This makes no sense. Even if the building has a box of gold in the basement, so the fuck what? Capone's vault. An oil well? A vein of gold? Just means I made a good business deal. Good for me and good for the Swiss guys. Whatever."
Mike said, with a stupid grin, "Yeah. We're buying where the railroad is coming through."
Tony said, after a moment, "We found a good deal, Bill. That's all."
"So, why is this building special?" Wallace asked.
"Aw. Yeah. Secret. Sorry. Not gonna tell you that, my friend. It's the secret sauce to the deal and isn't within your purview in any event," said Tony. "Trust me when I tell you that, if you knew, you wouldn't give a shit. And I can promise you it had nothing to do with the reporter's death."
"So, you won't mind if we chat with your partner, the Swiss company?" said Wallace.
Before Tony could speak, Mike blurted, "Don't do that. It's none of your business." It was obvious that he regretted his outburst immediately.
Tony said, calmly, as if his son hadn't spoken, "Bill, of course, you and your friends will speak to whoever you want to speak to. We couldn't stop you if we wanted to. I will suggest, however, that you are barking up the wrong tree here. The newspaper man is dead. You should be looking elsewhere for his killer."
While that exchange was ongoing, both Booker and Chen were watching Pete, rather than Mike. Both men saw the same thing. Annoyance and disdain when his brother spoke, which then evaporated in an instant, leaving his mien as placid as it had been before. He looked back at the detectives and smiled a tiny smile, understanding that they had seen what they had seen. He raised an eyebrow, meaning, 'what can you do?' Both detectives nodded to him, in understanding. Like his dad, if things had been set up differently in the world, they might have liked the man. As it were, they were wary of being seduced.
Tony scribbled a note on a paper on his desk and handed it to Wallace. "Here's the contact info for the man you want to reach out to. I'll let him know you or your guys will be calling."
Wallace smiled a Tony and said, "Yes. I'll bet you will."
Tony smiled back.
Wallace stood up, so Booker and Chen did as well. "Thanks for your help, Tony. We'll be in touch."
Tony smiled at Wallace and said, "Yes. I'll bet you will."
Booker and Chen took out their cards and dropped them on Tony's desk. Booker said, "If anything occurs to you, please give us a call."
"Of course," said Tony. "Anything for the good men and women of the police. Protecting us solid citizens from miscreants." Turning to Chen and Booker he said, "Good to meet you fellas. Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope our paths don't cross professionally too often."
"Yeah," said Chen, nodding. "We get that a lot."
Pete took walked a couple of steps to the table and picked up the detective's cards. He looked at them for a moment or two and slipped them into the breast pocket of his shirt. He looked at the detectives and nodded.
Neither Booker nor Chen understood what message the man was conveying, but they would eventually conclude that it was not a hostile act.
When good-byes and handshakes were exchanged, they left the offices of the don of Los Angeles.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A/N2: You know I love to hear from you guys. That hasn't changed.