A/N1: Yeah. Whatever. Here we go again with the ownership of Chuck.
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FBI Agent Jenny Statler sat in the front seat of a black SUV before dawn. It was a quiet residential street in Durham, North Carolina. They were parked in front of a nice white house with handsome trimmed shrubbery in front. The temperature was in the low forties and there were old patches of snow scattered here and there next to driveways and on the edge of the road.
In the driveway they were facing were a Mercedes SUV and a Jaguar sedan.
She said into the radio in her hand, "Tony?"
"In place and ready," replied Tony Mulia.
"Don?" she asked.
"Rock and roll, Boss," said Don.
"Ok, guys. On three. One...two...three."
On three, more than two dozen FBI agents in three separate locations around the Durham suburbs exited their vehicles wearing their FBI windbreakers and began to swarm three suburban houses. In each case, the main force went to the front door while a back-up force covered the back door.
The Federal agents pushed the doorbell repeatedly, in a deliberately annoying maneuver. Jenny stood at the door with her badge in her left hand and her weapon in her right. A few moments later, a tousled haired middle-aged man in pajamas opened the door, still with sleep in his eyes.
He took in the assembled agents, the badge, the weapons and said, sounding disgusted, "Oh, for fucks sake, guys. I'd have gone to your office to be arrested. You're just breaking my balls here."
He was mostly right. The pre-dawn arrests were a way to unsettle someone before interrogation.
Statler said, "Mr. Mernski, you are under arrest for violation of the United States prohibitions against trading with North Korea."
"Let me go get dressed," he grumbled.
"We'll send someone with you," said Statler.
He looked at her for a moment or two and said, "Sure. Whatever. Have them bring a camera. It's very exciting."
He disappeared up the stairs, explaining things to his wife standing at the top of the stairs, while followed by a male agent.
Statler waited a few minutes and then keyed her radio. "Tony?"
"We're good. He's in the bag," said Mulia.
"Don?"
"Our guy tried to make it out the back door in nothing but his boxers. Didn't work out for him," said Don.
"Only his boxers? In December?" asked Statler.
"Yeah. I don't think he was thinking too clearly at the time," said Don.
"Guess not," she said.
"Yeah. Heading back to the office," he said.
"Well done, guys. Well, done," said Statler.
Mernski was escorted to the back of one of the SUV's, sitting between two agents, and they headed back to the local FBI office.
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ARAPAHO EXECS AND VIETS ARRESTED IN COORDINATED SWEEP
By Russell Becker
Exclusive: In a series of coordinated raids, three executives of the Arapaho Corporation and three owners of the Bihn Minh Trading Corp., a Vietnamese corporation, were arrested by Federal and Vietnamese authorities.
Vietnamese spokesman, Colonel Tran, said, "The extent of the cooperation between our governments is rock solid and cannot be overstated and this operation indicates that further joint projects are in our future. My government is confident regarding the possibilities of an ever-improving and expanding relationship between our nations."
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Colt's men were crashed out in a lounge area in the Haiphong police station on uncomfortable sofas and easy chairs when Colt and Lane, the FBI agent, came into the room. The men had been trying to get some sleep.
"Hey, fellas," said Colt. All three men woke instantly, Frankie began reaching for his nearby firearm but almost instantly stopped himself.
"Chill, guys." He made calming gestures with his hands as he said it. "I just want to give you guys the latest. Agent Lane and I just got finished watching Captain Trang do the initial interrogations. The North Koreans didn't say shit. I mean that literally. They didn't say a fucking word. On the other hand, the Bihn Mihn owners sang like crazy. But almost all of it was bullshit. And their stories didn't even match. No surprise, but there's more work to do here."
"Ok, Boss," said Jack, still rubbing his eyes clear of sleep.
"What was in the shipment?" asked Marty.
"High end hard drives. Exactly what the North Koreans would be looking for," said Lane.
"Oh, and these arrests are now public. The guy who worked with Peralta broke the story in LA," said Colt.
"Any luck there? They know anything about the hit on Peralta?" asked Jack.
"Nope. They claim that they didn't even know they were under investigation. They seemed genuinely surprised. Los Angeles as a focus in particular seemed to surprise them. Other than the investigation by the paper there's no connection to the city at all."
"Well, shit," said Marty.
"Yeah. If there's anything there, I guess the North Koreans figured something out."
"Or it's unrelated," said Marty.
"Yeah, that too," said Colt.
"In the meantime," said Lane, "the American half of the conspiracy got picked up in North Carolina. Maybe they'll know something."
"Maybe," said Colt.
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Booker said to Green, "What do you think?"
"He was there and is most likely the hitter. The story about the basketball game is bullshit," she said.
Chen said, "I agree. But I gotta say, he sells it well. I can usually tell a liar and he's pretty convincing."
"Yeah," said Booker, "but the DNA doesn't lie."
"Yeah," acknowledged Chen.
Green said, "I think you should bring him in, arrest him, and sweat him for a bit. With the DNA I can get an arrest warrant immediately."
"That's the plan, but we have one call to make first. While you are getting the warrant," said Booker.
"Seriously, though," said Green, "we have to get a confession. If DNA is the only thing we can use, we lose in front of a jury. The guy's a war hero. Cook, or whoever, will sell that in a big, big way. Jurys will love him. I will not be able to sell him as a hitman with only that. No way."
"We understand, Ms. Green."
"Milla," she said.
They laughed.
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"Wallace," said the gruff voice.
"Captain, you're on speaker. It's Booker and Chen," said Booker.
"What's up, fellas?" asked the older man.
"Thought you should know, we are going to pick up Robertson for the Peralta murder," said Chen.
"Wow. No shit?" said Wallace.
"Yes, Sir. DNA puts him at the scene," said Chen.
"We thought you'd want to know, Sir," said Booker.
"Thanks. Can you connect it to the family?" asked Wallace.
"No, Sir. So far, he's sticking to an alibi," said Chen.
"Humm. So, you've talked to him already?" asked Wallace.
"Yeah, but it was before the DNA evidence came through and he had Cook with him. That foreclosed any conversation about the Acosta family. Our suggestion that he ought to have truly independent counsel didn't go over too well at all, as you might expect," said Chen.
"Yeah. With Cook there there would be no chance," agreed Wallace. "But it was a good idea. The DA would bend over backwards to give this guy a plea so he could take a shot at Acosta. He'd give the guy the keys to the fucking city, for chrissakes."
"We thought the same. We'll try to get that word to him," said Chen.
Booker said, "Ok, but he's a very smart man. I'm pretty sure he understands that on his own."
"A murder charge might adjust his perceptions a bit," said Chen.
"I agree with Alan," said Wallace. "He might sing a different song when he's really in a squeeze. When are you planning to pick him up?"
"Last time we invited him here to answer questions and he came with Cook. We were gonna do the same thing for this afternoon. You want in on the interrogation, Sir?"
"Naw. I'm gonna want to talk to him eventually, but let's let him sit in stir for a few days before I come in. Maybe soften him up a bit," said Wallace.
Booker gave a short laugh. "Sir, we've gotten a look at his military record. This guy is not going to soften up. No way."
"Shit," said Wallace. "Makes our job harder."
"Yes, Sir. But it is what it is," said Booker.
"You got that right. You think there's any chance he'd turn on them? You've met him." said Wallace.
"I don't know," said Booker. "I don't have enough about the relationship with the Acostas. I have to be honest, Sir. I think this guy is a straight up hero and I'd be shocked if he would turn on people who have dealt with him straight. I can't figure out the DNA, but I can't deny it either."
Wallace said, "Alan?"
"I think I like him for this more than Luke does, but I agree that he's otherwise a pretty admirable guy. ADA Green says she needs a confession or she can't sell it to the jury," said Chen.
"Ok, I hear you. Good luck, fellas. Thanks for keeping me in the loop," said Wallace.
"Of course, Sir," said Chen.
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"Thank you, Mr. Robertson. Thanks for coming in to speak with us again. Mr. Cook, thank you as well," said Chen.
Cook said, "You're welcome, Detective. I hope that this visit will not be as offensive as the prior visit."
"Yes, Sir. Like you, we hope to clear some things up." said Booker.
As everyone was sitting, Chen offered coffee or water. In this case neither man accepted.
Chen asked permission to record the session and both men agreed. When the recorder was operational and the formalities of names and dates had been dispensed with, Chen said, "Mr. Robertson, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, an attorney can and will be appointed for you at no cost to you."
Cook said, "Really, detective. Is that necessary?"
Booker said, "Yes." He was stone-faced as he replied.
Cook was a bit surprised by the cold statement, but tried not to show it. This was a different vibe from the last time they had been together.
Booker said, "Alright, let's start again from where we left off last time. Where were you the night Peralta was murdered?"
"Laker's game," he said.
"What did you do with the gun after killing Peralta?" asked Chen. Robertson looked at him and didn't answer the question.
Chen continued, "Mr. Robertson, how did the window get broken? We've been wondering."
Robertson looked at Cook for an instant and said, "I have no idea what you are talking about." He had a small frown.
"Ok," said Chen. "Stick with that. Next one. How did you know Peralta's computer put his back to the window? Not everyone would know that."
"Did Tony Acosta ask you to take out Peralta? Or was it Mike or Pete?" asked Booker
Cook said, "Stop fishing guys. We went down this alley before. I thought you two would have improved your technique by now."
"Guys," said Robertson, "Seriously, I have no idea what you are talking about. I was at the Laker's game."
"Right," said Booker. "The Laker's game. Which no one else can put you at, of course. And meanwhile, a reporter who was investigating the Acosta family was silenced. Same night you have a crappy alibi. A .45, like you used on the cartel guy? Like you used on Acosta's guy who raped someone's wife? Like that, right?"
"But that confuses us, Mr. Robertson. The other guys were bad guys. Peralta was a good guy. Doesn't match the pattern," said Chen.
Robertson's eyes flared for only a moment and he said, "I've never killed a good guy and I never will."
"But you have killed, yes?" asked Chen.
"You know I was in the Army. No need to ask me about that," said Robertson.
Cook stepped in, "Guys, what's going on? There's nothing new here. He's a combat veteran. Certainly there's no need to go into that. Why are you breaking my client's balls?"
"Counselor," said Booker, "there is, in fact, something new here. We can put your client at the crime scene. We have DNA evidence from the edge of a broken window. Please ask your client to explain how it ended up there. We all know that it this is the question of the moment, huh. He's supposed to be at the Laker's game and yet he's leaving DNA someplace else. Nuts, right? Please, convince us that this is all a big mistake. Go for it, counselor."
With nothing to say, Cook looked to his client who was, in turn looking at the policemen. Silently, the men all looked at each other. After a few moments, without expression, Robertson stood up and put his hands behind his back to be handcuffed.
"Let's go, guys," he said to the detectives. "I'm not answering any more questions." He turned to look at Cook and said, "Tell Pete I have to talk to him right away."
Chen cuffed the man's hands behind his back and said, "Mr. James Robertson, you are under arrest for the murder of Vincent Peralta."
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ARREST MADE IN MURDER OF HERALD EXAMINER REPORTER
By: Russel Becker
Exclusive: The LAPD has made an arrest in the murder of Vincent Peralta, award winning reporter for the Herald Examiner. While the police have not yet released the name of the suspect, informed sources indicate that the police are confident that they have sufficient evidence to hold the individual pending the results of the ongoing investigation.
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After processing, Jim Robertson was put into the general holding cell with a hundred other prisoners. While using a paper towel to wipe the fingerprint ink from his fingertips, he otherwise stood immobile while he looked around the room. Most of the men ignored him, but a handful didn't. Those were the ones he focused on.
His eyes flicked over those men, all of whom were looking at him with curiosity. After a minute or so, he focused on the biggest, meanest, toughest looking guy holding his gaze. He walked over to him and said, not unpleasantly, "You're sitting in my seat."
The guy, no stranger to the way prison worked, understood exactly what was happening. He stood up. He was at least a head taller than Robertson and maybe a hundred pounds heavier.
The two men looked at each other eye to eye and stone-faced for a few moments, as the bigger man came to some conclusions in his head. Almost a whole minute later the man said to Robertson, softly, "Excuse me."
Both men nodded to each other as the big man stepped aside to find another seat. While the man expected some other tough guys to challenge Robertson, he preferred his bones to be whole and solid. Let some other idiot who can't read danger in another man's eyes try that one out. Not him. The smaller black man can have the fucking seat.
"Thank you," said Robertson. Unexpectedly, he stuck out his hand and said, "I'm Jim."
"Max," said the big man, shaking Robertson's hand. Dominance had been established, but Robertson was showing that there was no animosity. It had merely been political.
Robertson turned to the next man on the bench and said, "Get up and let my friend Max sit down."
The man did so without a word, having observed the interaction. He wandered down to another part of the crowded cell.
Jim and Max sat next to each other peacefully while almost all of the remaining men in the cell tried not to get caught stealing glances their way.
"Why you here?" asked Robertson.
"Murder. You?" asked Max.
"Murder," answered Robertson.
Both men sat with their backs to the wall for a moment or two and then, simultaneously and without looking at each other, nodded and went, "Hummmh."
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After his arraignment later in the day, they called his name in the cell. The guard cuffed Robertson and took him to the visitor's area.
Waiting for him was Pete Acosta.
"Afternoon, Pete," said Robertson.
"Afternoon, Jim. Well, this sucks," said Acosta, shaking his head.
"Been in worse," said Robertson, with an insouciant shrug.
"Talked to your mom. She's calm," said Acosta.
"Thanks," said Robertson.
"And your boss knows to cover for you tomorrow," said Acosta.
"Thanks," said Robertson.
"You wanted to talk to me," said Acosta.
"Yeah. I've been thinking about the DNA they found and the best explanation I can come up with is that the family is under attack," said Robertson.
"Well, shit," said Acosta, shaking his head.
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A/N2: And the story keeps rolling on. Still hope you guys are enjoying it.