Snitch

  “We don’t want this to be too complex. The fewer details, the better,” Ron said, hoping Kyle would quiet down. He’d just thrown something together to give him. It wasn’t supposed to be real. “I’ve given you a basic rundown on your biography, but you’ll have to fill in the blanks. Whatever you do, don’t add anything that isn’t real for you. If you end up hanging out with a bunch of guys who are in a garage band and you start talking about your guitar-playing days, chances are you’ll be asked to play at some point. So make sure you really can play the guitar.”

  Kyle grinned, and his hand shot up again. “I can! I took lessons in high school. Acoustic only. Boy, what I would’ve given to be able to play the electric. I was also first-chair tuba.” Kyle glanced around and cleared his throat. “But that probably won’t be relevant.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Jesse said. “There’s a huge black market for tubas.”

  Dozer laughed, and Ron waved at them to settle down. “Look, the point is, don’t tell people you’ve been to places you haven’t, or went to school where you didn’t, or know someone you don’t. Believable cover is critical. Getting caught in a lie could ruin it.”

  Jesse smiled. “Or in Kyle’s case, blow it.”

  “It’s called embouchure, and very few people can do it correctly,” Kyle said.

  Dozer shrugged. “He’s right. I tried to play the thing and could never get my lips to vibrate like they were supposed to.”

  Jesse cut his eyes sideways but stayed silent.

  “Your homework tonight,” Ron continued, “is to write a twenty-page biography about yourself and know it front to back.”

  “How could we ever remember twenty pages about ourselves?” Kyle asked.

  “Chances are you’ll never use any of it, but you have to be prepared. You don’t want to be caught off guard.”

  Jesse’s smirk told the whole story—this was kindergarten work. Ron smiled to himself. Half of Jesse’s battle was going to be getting through the training. Mackenzie and Lamar were studying the contents of their folders, and Kyle, in predictable fashion, was feverishly taking notes.

  “In your packet you’ve got a driver’s license, credit cards, and a social security card. When you put together your undercover wallet, make sure it looks real. Used. Worn.” Ron looked at Jesse, who was sitting at the end of the table shaking his head. “Jesse?” Ron asked innocently. “Do you have something to add?”

  Jesse threw up his arms. “I don’t know, Sergeant Yeager. I mean, we still have to cover what to wear, how to act, how to talk, how to fit into Thug Universe.” Jesse looked at Kyle. “Maybe Professor Khaki Pants isn’t aware of this, but we’re dealing with criminals here. According to Captain Gates, we’ve only got six months, and you’re up here lecturing us on how to put a UC billfold together? What’s next? Are you going to start handing out AC/DC T-shirts?” Jesse pointed to Mack. “Look at her. What is she, nineteen? From what I observed at that stupid cocktail party, she’s not going to make it in undercover work.”

  Mack stood up. “I’m right here. If you’ve got something to say to me, then say it.”

  Jesse gave a nervous laugh. “Fine. What’s your experience?”

  “Egos make people blind and stupid.”

  “Ooh!” Dozer said, turning to Jesse. “Score one for the khaki team.”

  Mack glanced down at her pants and then back at Jesse. “You’re judging me by what I wear to a meeting?”

  Jesse tried to look unimpressed. “All I’m saying is that you don’t have any experience and, from the looks of it, you aren’t cut out for UC work.”

  Mack suddenly threw her folder. It slapped the table, slid to the other side and spilled into Kyle’s lap. But nobody paid attention to the folder because they were all watching Mack’s face turn red. She pointed her finger at Jesse. “I am so sick and tired of people like you. You think you’re the best, that you can do anything. You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of. Let me tell you something. You don’t scare me. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re terribly insecure, and if anybody knew the real you, they’d see someone a lot different, wouldn’t they?” She glared at him, turned, and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.

  A couple of tense seconds went by before people released a collective sigh. Jesse broke the silence. “Okay, maybe I was wrong,” he said. “So she does have a little spunk. That’s what we want to see.”

  The words had hardly left his mouth when the door swung back open again and there Mack stood, breathing heavily, her hands on her hips, her eyes focused on the carpet. “I’m sorry.” She walked in and quietly shut the door. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I have a temper passed down from my mother’s side of the family, starting with my great-grandfather. As the story goes, he got so angry one day that he burned down his own house. That’s neither here nor there. The point is … I shouldn’t have shouted at you, Jesse, and I’m sorry.”

  Jesse paused, not sure what to say. But before he could open his mouth, Mack’s remorseful look gave way to what looked to be another fit of—

  “I said I’m sorry!” she yelled, then slapped her forehead. “See? There I go again!” She looked at Ron. “May I take a few minutes to compose myself?”

  “Um … uh, yes. Sure.”

  Mack walked out, this time only firmly shutting the door. Everyone stared at Jesse.

  “What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

  “You should’ve accepted her apology,” Dozer said.

  The door opened again, and everyone tensed for another Mack attack, but Captain Gates entered.

  “Good morning.” She looked around the table. “So, this is my team?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ron said. “Minus one. Mackenzie. Shell be back in a bit. She’s just … uh …”

  “Ironing the wad out of her panties,” Jesse said, grinning.

  Dozer cracked a smile. “That’s funny. Panties in a wad. That’s”—he looked at Captain Gates and the smile dropped off his lips—“totally crude.”

  She looked them over, especially Kyle, who seemed to hold her interest.

  “I came by to tell you we’re going to have to move. I thought we could share floor space with the UC narcotics guys, but they’ve run out of room.” Laura passed around folders. “Here’s some info about the house where we’ll be setting up operations. It’s already been secured by the narcotics guys, but they don’t use it. Stop by sometime today and check it out.”

  Ron said, “Move anything in there you think you’ll need, but absolutely nothing that would identify you as a cop. We’ll meet there tomorrow at noon.”

  Ron dismissed the group, then prayed Laura wouldn’t mention Kyle until everyone had left. As soon as they’d gone, she shut the door. “Who’s the guy in the khakis?”

  “He’s a decoy.”

  “A decoy?”

  Ron smiled. “He’s actually my pastor. I’m putting him into the group to see how they respond to something unexpected. Although,” Ron said with caution, “Mackenzie is kind of doing a good job of that already.”

  “So who’s your fifth officer?”

  “Five’s a crowd. Besides, Jesse’s ego is big enough to count for two.”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry. A few more years and that ego gets replaced by cynicism.”

  Chapter 13

  Jesse pulled his truck into the driveway of the house they would soon call headquarters. It looked like every other house in the neighborhood—old and rundown—except for the one across the street, with its fresh white paint, flower garden, and swept porch.

  Jesse took the key from his folder and unlocked the front door. The house was furnished with two old couches, a television, and a few odd knickknacks to make it look lived in. By rule, you were never supposed to bring acquaintances to the house. You were friendly but not friends. However, on the off chance that it could happen, you had to be prepared.

  He’d already changed out his issued weapon for one that didn’t scream “cop.” And
he’d shaved his head, keeping only the goatee. It was time to get inside the mind of Tony Ramone.

  Jesse set down his bag and pulled out a picture of Elvis. He chose one of the many nails pounded into the otherwise bare walls, hung the photo from it, then knocked knuckles with Elvis. “Don’t let me down now.”

  Before Jesse could take a look around, he heard a knock at the door. He knew immediately it had to be the mild-mannered Kyle, who Jesse was sure didn’t possess an alter ego. But instead of Clark Kent, a hunched-back woman in an aqua floral dress stood on the porch. Since the screen door was leaning against the wall next to the door, nothing stood between Jesse and the lady shoving a Saran-wrapped plate toward him.

  “Cookies,” she said in an unbefitting husky voice.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  She pitched a thumb over her shoulder toward the house across the street.

  “I’ve lived in that house for fifty-seven years. Had six children, three husbands, and killed a burglar over there. The day I die, this sorry neighborhood can go down the drain. But until then, I’m going to make sure that people like you don’t drive it down. I’m bringing you a plate of cookies and telling you that I’m the president of the homeowners’ association. The name’s Ruth. Ruth Butler.”

  Neighborhood association? This neighborhood had associations, but not the neighborly kind. A car drove by, squealing its tires and blasting heavy bass that shook the windows. It had a shiny silver spoiler, fat tires, and four people hanging out the windows. Ruth gave them a nasty look, but then her attention was back on Jesse. “Keep your grass cut, furniture off the porch, cars off the lawn, and we’ll have no problems. I like to listen to Buddy Holly, so if I hear so much as one lyric from a rap song, I’m going to come over here and beat some sense into you with a shovel. That’s right, a shovel.”

  Clutching the cookies, Jesse spoke in a calm voice. “Listen, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll stay out of your business.”

  “And I will stay in your business. Don’t think I don’t know what cars coming and going all hours of the night means. And just in case you didn’t read the homeowners’ association packet, this is a single-family dwelling, which means a man, a woman, and two kids. Oh, I know there are exceptions. A single mom with kids, or a man living alone. But a long list of people coming and going or coming and staying isn’t acceptable, unless they’re relatives or out-of-town guests. And if they are, I’d better see them carrying suitcases.” She pointed to the plate of cookies. “Those are homemade triple-delight chocolate chip cookies. To remind you that what keeps a neighborhood safe is the fact that one neighbor can trust another.”

  Jesse smiled. “So I can trust you didn’t put poison in them?”

  They both turned to the sound of a car and watched a Subaru pull into the driveway.

  “Who is this?” the old woman said, pointing to the car. But before Jesse could think up something to say, Mackenzie climbed out of the driver’s seat wearing khaki shorts, a white polo, and a warm smile. Ruth Butler gasped and put her hand to her heart. “Is this your wife?”

  Mackenzie sized up the situation as she walked toward them.

  “Mackenzie,” Jesse muttered.

  “Isn’t she precious!” the woman gushed, walking to the edge of the porch with her hand stuck out in front of her. “Welcome to the neighborhood!” she said.

  Mackenzie looked at Jesse and then back at the woman. “Thank you,” she smiled. “I’m Mack.”

  “Ruth Butler,” the woman said. “Aren’t you darling! You remind me of my granddaughter. She’s studying to be a doctor.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.

  “Ma’am! Oh! I could just squeeze you to death.” She turned toward Jesse. “Apologies to you … What’s your name?”

  “Tony Ramone.”

  Ruth looked at them. “I was giving your husband a hard time. What with the earrings and tattoos, I just assumed he was a troublemaker. But you look as sweet as a peach.” She glanced at Jesse. “Are you a musician?”

  “No … ma’am.” Maybe good southern manners went a long way.

  “Well, I’m so glad to finally have a nice couple move in. You can’t imagine the kinds of people I’ve had to deal with through the years. I’ve been praying for a nice young couple to move in. You are planning to pot some flowers, aren’t you?”

  Mack looked calm as she answered. “Maybe. We’ve got a lot of work to do inside first.”

  Ruth teared up. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here. Do you have any children?”

  “No,” they both answered.

  “In due time, in due time. I miss having the babies around. All my family is scattered across the United States. Five boys and one girl. They hardly ever come to see me.” She looked at Mackenzie. “Maybe we could have tea sometime?”

  “Sure,” Mackenzie said, patting her back. “Thank you for coming by to introduce yourself.”

  Ruth nodded, smiling, her dentures gleaming in the sunlight. “Good to meet you both. Enjoy the cookies.” She walked back to her side of the street.

  Jesse pulled Mack inside. “She’s going to be a problem.”

  “Why?” Mack asked.

  “Because she thinks we’re a married couple, and the team is going to be coming and going all night. Without suitcases. And I don’t think we’re going to pass Lamar off as a relative.”

  Mack glanced out the front window. “She’ll be okay. We’re undercover officers. Surely we can make up a story to fool an old woman.”

  Jesse gestured toward her. “The tennis outfit is going a long way in helping with that.”

  “Too bad it didn’t come with a racket so I could smack you in the head.” Jesse didn’t have time to retort before she sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to take advantage of the fact that I’m better at comebacks than you are.”

  Jesse’s words froze on his tongue because she looked genuinely remorseful. “Uh … I’m good at comebacks.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean anything by that. I really am sorry.”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever. Let’s just drop it.”

  Mack was looking at the picture of Elvis on the wall. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. Just leave it alone. Don’t touch it. Nobody can touch it but me.”

  “But that Elvis is … you know, puffy. Why don’t you have a younger picture of Elvis, when he was thinner and sang gospel songs?”

  “Back away from Elvis, okay? He’s off-limits.”

  “Whatever you say.” Mack bit her lip. “Look, there’s a Wal-Mart a few miles away. Why don’t you come with me, help me pick out some clothes?”

  “Go shopping with you?” Jesse dropped the cookies onto the table. “Its official. You’re insane. I don’t even do that with my girlfriend.”

  “You have a girlfriend?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Maybe you should’ve gone shopping with her.”

  “Surely you have a basic understanding of what people wear. I mean, it’s not like you just got out of the academy.”

  “I know. But … well, there’s a certain style. It may not be our style, or at least mine, but it’s a style. I don’t want to look like an imposter. I want to look real. I could probably pick out a few things, but I don’t want to look like I’m just playing the part.”

  “Okay. You asked for it. First of all, you might want to think about getting your ears pierced.”

  “I’m not allowed to.”

  Jesse wanted to knock himself unconscious.

  “I mean, when I was a kid.”

  “I guess a tattoo is out of the question.”

  “As is getting rid of that attitude.”

  “It’s all about attitude. You have to look like you belong there, no matter what you’re wearing. You have to stand in front of the bad guys and give the impression that you might be just a little crazier than they are.”

  “I have a lot of acting experience. I did children’s … uh, theater.”


  “I’ve been doing this for three years. Before that, I trained at an elite undercover school in Louisiana. I served in special forces for four years. Don’t you get it? You don’t fit in. You won’t ever fit in. And more than that, you’re probably going to put our lives in danger.”

  The front door opened, and Lamar walked in. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi, Lamar,” Mack said.

  “Call me Wiz.”

  “As in a high IQ?” Jesse asked.

  “As in I need to pee a lot.”

  Jesse exchanged glances with Mack. Great. Not only did he have a partner with June Cleaver tendencies, now he had one with an overactive bladder.

  Wiz glanced out the front window. “Who’s the old lady out there waving?”

  “Her name is Ruth. And you’re a family friend with a lawn business, got it?”

  Rhyne Grello was not a paranoid man, but he couldn’t kick a nagging feeling about Mason. Something about the explanation of how he got out of jail seemed off. A guy named Craig bailed him out, so he said, but he wouldn’t offer any more information. Mason often bragged about his connections. But other than the fact that he flew out of jail, there wasn’t much to support his claims.

  Josie’s Bar, unusually crowded for late afternoon, kept Rhyne hidden in a corner booth. He watched Mason move from one table to another. Either he was being unusually social or he was looking to make a hundred and fifty bucks ratting one of these people out. Maybe even Rhyne himself. The word on the street was that informants could earn up to two hundred dollars and a get-out-of-jail-free card, just for an introduction.

  Of course, Rhyne earned much more than that, and he hadn’t even scored big. Yet. He had entrusted Mason with one of his biggest business secrets, but first he had wanted Mason to prove himself, that he had what it took. So far, Rhyne wasn’t impressed. He left the booth and headed for Mason, who was hanging onto a woman like he might just tip over without her.

  Rhyne pulled him toward the bathroom hallway. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”