A/N1: Ownership of Chuck should get off the stick and make a movie for goodness sake.
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"Rusty Becker," the man answered the phone.
"Hey, Rusty, it's Luke Booker."
"Hey, Detective. What's going on?"
"Alan and I wanted to give you a heads up. You're getting it before anyone else. We arrested Vinnie Peralta's killer this morning. It was his wife, Daphne."
"WHAT? No way. No way," he said, shocked.
"She confessed, dude," said Booker.
"What the hell? Why? Why'd she kill him?" asked Becker, still in shock from the news.
"He was going to divorce her to marry Liz Wilson. He knocked Wilson up over the summer," said Booker.
"What the flying fuck? You're kidding me? Vinnie and Liz? She's just a kid, for fuck's sake," said Becker.
"I know that," said Booker. "Daphne knew that too."
"Is this for publication?" he asked, almost breathless.
"You'll have to get the official statement from the Department or the DA's office, but this gives you the questions to ask."
"Wow. Thanks for the call, Detective. Thanks to you and Detective Chen both." He let out a heavy breath and said, "Gonna take me some time to digest this. Fuck, wait until Frank hears. Fuck. Thanks."
"Good luck," said Booker.
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"Pete Acosta," he said.
"Good morning, Mr. Acosta. This is Alan Chen," said the detective.
"Good morning, detective," he said. "Thank you for getting Jim released so quickly."
"Well, he didn't do it, so we let him go as soon as possible. And thanks to you and Ms. Verga, we knew that. But I wanted to let you know that we did make an arrest this morning. The killing had nothing to do with you or your family. Peralta's wife killed him and thought it was a cool idea to frame a mob hitman for the job."
"His wife? Was he fucking around on her?" asked Acosta.
"Yeah, he was," said Chen.
"Guys thinking with their dicks. Story never gets old," said Acosta. Chen could almost see the man shaking his head.
"Yes, Sir," agreed Chen.
"You know, framing Jim for it was pretty smart, actually," said Acosta. "In someone else's hands ... well, Jim would have been in serious trouble even though he was innocent."
"Well, perhaps, Mr. Acosta," said Chen with a bit of humor in his voice, "we ought to describe him as 'not guilty.' I'm not quite sure I'd go so far as to call him 'innocent.' I mean, all things considered."
Acosta laughed and said, "Ok. I'll accept that. Listen, you and Detective Booker played straight with me and my family. Lazier or less honest cops could have jammed him up just to get at my dad. We appreciate that. I'm not stupid and I know if I send you a case of scotch or something I'll only be fucking up your careers. I understand, and I won't make that mistake. But I do want to find a way to thank you. To thank you both. I'm going to be keeping my eye out for an opportunity."
"Just did our jobs, Sir. Just our jobs," said Chen.
"I know. And I respect that, detective. I truly do. Thanks for letting me know about the arrest and have a good one," said Acosta.
"You too," said Chen.
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Booker and Chen were waiting in the corridor for court to break for the holiday. Ms. Green had explained that, even with the jury trial for Harrington still ongoing, the judge would almost certainly adjourn until after Christmas. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve Day and Christmas itself was on Thursday. It was most likely that the judge would postpone until the following Monday, but it was always possible that he would order the trial to resume on Friday the 26th.
The timing wouldn't matter too much for them, as they had just testified, one after the other. The direct testimony, being questioned by Ms. Green had been uneventful and went according to their preparations. The cross-examination by Harrington's defense attorney, Kuftinec, had been more difficult. But both men thought they had handled it well. They hadn't been obviously tripped up and calmly handled his questions attempting to find contradictions in their testimony.
They had been dismissed from the courtroom when their testimony had concluded and were waiting in the corridor for Ms. Green. She was expected to be out shortly, as the trial was pretty much done for the day. The truth was, they were nervous. Their excuse for waiting for her was to ask if she needed anything else from them before the holiday break. The real reason, that they would only share with each other, was the hope that she would reassure them that they had done a good job and impressed the jury. A lot was riding on their testimony, after all.
Not even fifteen minutes had passed when the doors opened and people began to stream out. Among them was Harrington himself, still out on bail. He scowled at the two detectives. They had been relentless in their pursuit of the truth, which, as it turned out, pointed to his guilt. They stared back at him with studiously neutral expressions.
Shortly Ms. Green arrived to join them.
"Do you need anything else from us, Ms. Green?" asked Chen.
"Nope."
She kept her poker face in place until the corridor was mostly empty and then broke out into a happy grin. "You two were kick ass. You guys buried him. You fucking buried him. Kuftinec is really good and he still couldn't touch you. Didn't lay a glove on you," she looked delighted.
"Great," said Booker.
"How could you tell?" asked Chen.
"Because I wasn't watching you; I was watching the jury. And they were buying everything you were selling. Every word of it. You know what will happen now?" she asked, clearly excited.
"What?" asked Chen.
"Kuftinec calls me over the weekend to cut a deal. Accept a lesser charge and plead guilty. We had a deal on the table, until he decided to try his luck with a jury. But he can read a jury even better than I can. He'll come back now and try to get the deal," she said.
"Will you offer it again?" asked Booker.
"Oh, fuck no. That deal's off the table now. We'll offer him something, but not as good as what he would have gotten." She reached out and squeezed their arms. "You guys did good. Between this and all the accolades you're getting for nailing Daphne Peralta you guys are going to be the Department's new superstars. Expect some special treatment, fellas."
Ms. Green had been behind the mirror when the interrogation of Daphne Peralta took place and had been effusive in her praise of how they had handled the woman. Lt. Spengler had also been observing and had growled, "Good job, guys." For him, that was fulsome.
At this point, Booker, Chen and Green were all grinning.
Green turned to Chen and said, "Are you leaving town for the holiday?"
"No. I'll be around. My folks live in Gardena," he said.
"Good. Are you busy Friday night?" she asked.
"Um..no. No, I'm not," he said.
"Great. Can I buy you dinner? Maybe take you for a bit of dancing afterward?" she asked with a nice smile.
"Um...sure... I mean yeah. That would be great. Um...like a date?" he said, his brain trying to process the request.
"No, Alan, not like a date. An actual date," she said with a pretty smirk.
"Yeah. I'd like that, um, Milla. I'd like that a lot," he said with a smile of his own.
"Cool. See you Friday. I'll be in touch about logistics."
She walked away, but looked over her shoulder after a few steps and smiled at them.
Luke considered himself a bit of a ladies' man and was trying his best to look sour or jealous about the Green/Chen date, but he couldn't quite manage it. He gave up and just grinned at his pal.
"Way to fucking go, dude. Way to go!"
Laughing, they exchanged high fives.
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Jim Robertson walked into the Gin Mill and took a seat at the bar. It was about 6PM on a weeknight and it wasn't crowded yet. He ordered a glass of Budweiser from the surly bartender. When it arrived, he took a sip. Cold and crisp. Just the way he liked it.
So, the woman who'd tried to frame him was the wife of the journalist. He shook his head in admiration. She was one smart lady. She'd thought of almost everything. It had been a close thing.
As a professional he decided her plan was too complicated to work. He had carried out a few targeted assassination missions and knew that the simpler the plan the more the likelihood of success. Her plan fell apart on the frame-up. Pete had found that lucky video from the TV production company. And then the two detectives had proven to be honest honorable referees and called things straight. In other hands he might still be in trouble.
He sensed a presence near him as a man moved the adjacent barstool a bit farther away. After a moment he understood that the man wasn't being antisocial, he just needed the extra room. The man was huge, possibly the biggest man Robertson had ever seen. African-American, with a shaved head, he was dressed casually, in jeans with a light jacket. Robertson noticed the bulge of a weapon holstered in the small of his back under the jacket.
In a voice coming from the bottom of a deep cave, the man ordered an IPA. When the beer arrived, he took a sip and looked at Robertson.
"Evening, Mr. Robertson," he said.
An armed man who knew his name and had obviously sought him out. This could be bad, thought Robertson.
"Evening," he replied cautiously.
The giant extended a huge hand and said, "I'm Mike Colt."
"How you doing, Mr. Colt?" asked Robertson.
"Please call me Mike," said the big man.
"I'm Jim. What can I do for you?" he said.
The volume of the Colt's voice dropped so only Robertson could hear. "I work for an outfit based here in LA. We're the guys who gave your files to the detectives."
"Ah. Yeah, I was wondering how they knew what they knew. Not exactly common knowledge for cops," he said, intrigued.
"We got them top secret clearances to allow them to see the files. Took us less than twenty-four hours," said Colt
"Twenty-four hours?" said Robertson, amazed. "You're shitting me." He knew quite well how long it took to get a top secret clearance.
"Nope," said Colt, taking a sip of his beer. "No shit."
"How'd you pull that off?" asked Robertson.
"The guy who runs my outfit has more juice than anyone you've ever met. Put him toe to toe with anyone outside the Oval Office and he comes out on top. Every single fucking time."
"Wow. Impressive guy," said Robertson.
"You have no idea. His power isn't even the best thing about him. He's brilliant, funny, humble, loyal. He's all of those things in spades. But the best thing about him is that he's honestly good." At the look on Robertson's face, Colt gave a short bark of laughter. "Stupid word to use, huh? Outside of kindergarten or Sunday school that's just not a real word to use about a person. Not a real person anyway. I know. Took me a while to figure it out myself. But here I am."
"You sound like a fan," said Robertson.
"Yeah. More than I can even describe. I've got tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan behind me commanding ODA Five Triple Nine. I've seen a lot and done a lot. But I've never been with a better outfit than I am right now nor had more respect for my leader. Without hesitation I would follow this man into hell, certain that he's doing the right thing." Colt drained his beer and gestured for another.
"Why are you telling me this, Mike?" asked Robertson.
"I read your file and I talked to Alan and Luke, the detectives. I'm telling you all of this because you got screwed by the powers that be and thrown out of the Army. You got a raw deal. You did nothing wrong and got fucked anyway. Your career had been impressive as hell. You are a Tier 1 operator. One of only a select group of people on the planet who are at your level."
Colt's beer arrived and he took a long swallow.
"But the rumor is you are doing some favors for the local Mafia don. I wanted to try to head you off that road you're on, if I could. To tell you that even with everything going on in the world, there are good people in positions of power. People who will do the right thing and have your back. You didn't have enough of them on your side with that business in the UAE, but they exist. Those people exist. I don't want you to slide into a cynical place, Jim. You seem like a good man. Don't let what happened to you change that."
"Easier said than done, Mike," said Robertson slowly. "Circumstances sometimes dictate your choices."
"Yeah. I guess so. But it happened to me, you see. For various reasons three of my guys and I ended up working for the bad guys. The guys I wouldn't be proud of working for. Hell, the guys I'm frankly ashamed to have been working for. The outfit I'm with now, they nailed us without even breaking a sweat and we were dropped into a deep dark hole in the ground. After a while, the boss of my outfit thought of a use for us and pulled us out. Gave us another chance. A chance to redeem ourselves. We had to earn their trust and it wasn't easy, but we did it." Colt gave a laugh and took a sip of his beer. "You ever notice how converts to a cause are the most fervent?"
"Yeah," said Robertson, nodding his head.
"Well, that's me. That's us, my men and me. We'd do anything for these guys we are with now. Anything. We are three hundred percent on board," said Colt, finishing his second beer. "We would rather die than squander the chance we've been given."
"Is this a recruiting pitch, Mike?" asked Robertson.
"Nope. No one knows I'm here. This is just a fellow soldier giving you the benefit of my experience before you make the same mistakes I made," said Colt.
Robertson sat and looked at his beer for a while, then drained it and said, "Ok, Mike. Thanks. Sounds like this will be a longer conversation. This next round's on me."
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Chuck leaned on the doorway of the dojo with his hands in his pockets. Sarah was in a bad mood. She'd been hitting the heavy bag in the dojo for almost 30 minutes and was standing in a puddle of sweat. It seemed that the ferocious workout hadn't ameliorated her feelings and the endorphins were going to waste. Fists, elbows, knees, and feet, all in rapid-fire combinations, were pummeling the bag. If it had been a living thing, it would have begged for mercy long ago.
Ever since she'd discovered that Daphne Peralta had murdered her own husband, Sarah had been walking around like a thundercloud just waiting to release its violence.
"I just got a call from the mother of the heavy bag. She's very upset about what you are doing to her son," said Chuck.
Sarah stopped with a short bark of laughter. She was dripping with sweat and her blonde hair was plastered to her forehead and the side of her face. She was breathing heavily as she stepped back, letting her arms hang loose at her sides.
"I'm just so pissed off," said Sarah, walking over to a towel and water bottle on a shelf off to the side. "I spent so much emotional energy on feeling sorry for that woman and she deserved none of it. She was the architect of the whole disaster. And to think that I had nightmares crying about how she must have been feeling. Meantime, she was laughing at us all."
"Well, yeah. She's some piece of work. To be able to lie as well as she did...I guess she'd have made a good spy," said Chuck.
Sarah gave him a funny expression and said, "Or conwoman."
"Yeah. I guess," he said with a shrug. "Well, both of us have egg on our faces from this one. We both pride ourselves on being able to read people. To get a handle on them. She flummoxed us...all of us. Even Alan and Luke for a while."
"Yeah. Yeah, she did. But that's not what has me so upset. It's not ego. How dare she trick me? Nothing like that. I just feel like I wasted all that empathy." She looked at him with an expression of exasperation that seemed to be laughing at herself a bit. "You know I only have so much empathy. When the tank is empty I won't give a shit anymore. All kinds of bad shit can happen in the world and I just won't care."
Chuck laughed and walked over to give her a hug.
"Stop," she said. "I'm gross." She tried squirming away but he hugged her anyway.
"I don't care. I think you're glowing. And I think you have reserves of empathy that you've never even begun to tap."
She put her sweaty head against his chest, her gloved hands resting on his hips. "You're just saying that cause you love me."
"I do love you," he said.
"And I love you," she said into his chest.
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A/N2: In talking to Acosta, Chen made a distinction between "not guilty" and "innocent." Innocent is not a concept recognized in the law. Someone is either guilty or not guilty. I'm a cynic and would take the position that anyone older than a toddler isn't innocent.
A/N3: Quick word about the numerical designation for Colt's Special Forces team, ODA 5999. 'ODA' refers to Operational Detachment Alpha, what we all used to call the A-Team. It's the smallest unit within the US Army Special Forces (colloquially known as the Green Berets – but don't call them that or they will tell you that a green beret is a hat not a soldier.) The first number, '5' in this case, is for the Special Forces Group. Colt's team was part of the 5th Special Forces Group, focusing on the middle east. The second number '9' would place the team within the structure of the 5th Group, in this case in the 9th Battalion (there is no 9th Battalion in the 5th Group). And the final two numbers, '99' are the designation of the team within that Battalion. Bottom line is, I made up the designation so that Colt's fictional team wouldn't have the same identity as a real Special Forces ODA.
A/N4: Colt called Robertson a Teir 1 operator. That's a military designation for the special forces operators in the most elite units in the US military (e.g., Delta Force and SEAL Team 6).
A/N5: Well, that's that. The end of the Peralta arc. Daphne's in jail. The Acosta family is going about their illegal businesses. Jim Robertson has made a new friend in Mike Colt. Alan Chen has a date with Milla Green right after Christmas. Both Booker and Chen are being lauded for their work solving the Peralta murder. And Chuck and Sarah and Devon and Ellie are all still preparing for the weddings of the century. Thanks to all of you who stuck with me for this diversion from Chuck for the last few chapters. Coming up next is the Weddings Arc which will begin with a Holiday Party at Castle Studios including a special guest appearance.