CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Former LAPD sergeant Hank Costabile finished his shot of whiskey. It was his sixth but, as far as he was concerned, by no means his last.

He"d been in this San Fernando Valley bar for an hour now, and in addition to the shots, he was nursing his second beer. He felt like he was owed it.

After all, a man deserved to drown his sorrows from time to time. It hadn't been a great couple of days. He'd spent them canvassing his old comrades from the department, seeing who could help him mete out a little justice to Jessie Hunt.

But everywhere he went, he found cowards. Sure, there were folks who resented the way the woman went after good cops who made mistakes, like he had. And there were people in power who would love nothing more than to see her brought low or disappear entirely. But no one was willing to step up and offer the resources or access required to get close to her.

Yes, if he wanted to just drive up to her when she was out on the street investigating a case and shoot her dead, he could do it. But the cops that Chief Decker had tailing him all the time would catch up to him. And if they didn't take him down then and there, he'd ultimately end up back in the very prison he'd just gotten out of. And that wasn't the outcome he was looking for.

He wanted to take her out without having the deed tied to him. That required the money to make it happen and the people to give him cover. And right now, he had neither. All he had were a bunch of dithering weaklings who talked a good game but got cold feet when it mattered. So for now at least, he was on his own.

The guy sitting three barstools down from him started singing. It was an off-key rendition of the theme song to The Dukes of Hazzard TV show, which he'd apparently chosen from the jukebox in the corner. Hank didn't mind the song. And in this bar, which was populated largely by cops who saw the world the way he did, it felt appropriate. But the singing guy, who was both sloppy drunk and not a cop, was getting on his nerves.

"Hey," he called out, "keep it down."

The singing guy had five empty beer mugs in front of him and was wearing a mechanic's work shirt with an iron-on patch on the chest that read "Lenny." He looked over at Hank in annoyance. His eyes were watery, and his longish greasy black hair was disheveled.

"How about you mind your business, friend," he slurred. "I'm not bothering anyone."

"You're bothering me," Hank said, turning to face the guy directly. "If you want to sing, do it in key or take it outside. But don't make the rest of us suffer."

The mechanic sighed in exasperation, slid off his chair, and stood up. Hank hadn't realized how big Lenny was. Easily six foot three and 250 pounds, he looked like he might have played linebacker somewhere before he let himself go. His stomach rode over his belt, straining against his shirt. At one point he might have been intimidating to folks. But not to Hank.

"I think you should go back to your beer, friend," the man sneered. "Maybe it'll put you in a better mood."

"Lenny," Hank said, sliding off his own barstool, "You have two choices. You'll either enjoy your beer in silence or you'll eat your mug. It's up to you."

"Oh yeah?" Lenny challenged, taking a step toward him.

"Yeah," Hank said calmly.

He didn't wait for the guy to reach him. Instead he picked up his barstool by the seat and swung it at the guy's legs. Lenny tried to leap over the thing to avoid tripping. While he was briefly in the air, Hank stepped forward and punched him in the neck just before his feet hit the ground.

Lenny"s legs crumbled, and he hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. His body had barely stopped flopping when Hank was on top of him, punching him in the face with rapid, vicious blows. Lenny's face was a pulpy mess when Hank brought his right arm up over his head, ready to deliver a final, brain-damage-inducing strike.

"Don't," someone said firmly from behind him.

He glanced around to see Trevor Tinsley, an old cohort from Valley Bureau. He'd heard the guy had recently been named Deputy Chief of Operations. Gray-haired and craggy faced, the man was scowling. Hank would have happily taken him on too, but Tinsley didn't seem interested in that. When he spoke again, it was in a harsh whisper. "Come with me."

He walked toward the back of the bar, near the "employees only" area. Hank, surprised at the man's reaction, lowered his raised fist. He glanced around the bar. There were about a half dozen guys there. All of them were staring at him in shock, but none of them made a move toward him. He got up and followed Tinsley, ignoring Lenny's dull moans.

Tinsley walked through the employee entrance to the back, past the small kitchen and stock room until he reached the back door. He turned around just as Hank caught up.

"Nice to see you again, Hank," he said with a crooked grin.

"You too, Trevor."

"I see you're doing all you can to get thrown back into lockup."

"Are you planning to arrest me?" Hank asked.

"No, I'm trying to help you. Decker's guys, the ones who are parked out front, assigned to keep an eye on you, are going to get suspicious when an ambulance shows up in a few minutes. They'll probably ask a few questions. Don't worry. Once I go back in there, no one will have seen a thing. And I'll convince Lenny that he isn't able to come up with a description of his assailant. But you should still go home out this back door, and while you're at it, wipe the blood off your fists."

Hank wasn't sure what to say. Tinsley didn't seem bothered by that as he continued.

"Were you paying with cash, or did you have a tab going?"

"Tab," Hank said.

"I'll get your card and cover your drinks. Eli, the bartender, is a friend and he'll keep quiet too. This won't turn into anything, but can I give you a piece of advice?"

"You can try."

"You need to cool it for a bit," Tinsley said. "Word is out that you're trying to recruit people who aren't fans of Hunt. They are out there. Hell, I don't love the chick. But she's extremely popular these days. If you want to knock her off her pedestal, you've got to be patient. Lay low for a while, at least for a few months. Maybe Chief Decker will lose his clout or get tossed. The mayor loves him, but I've heard some city council members don't like how hard-charging he is. Once he's in political trouble, you can dirty her up a little. But right now, you're headed down a dangerous road."

"What if I like that road?" Hank asked.

Tinsley sighed.

"Get out of here," he said. "Go down the alley and wait at the corner. Give me two minutes to clean up this mess. Then we'll call your guard dog officers inside. When they come in, you can hop in your car and get out of here."

"Thanks, Trevor," Hank said. "You're the first person to show me any love since I got out."

"I'm afraid this is as far as our romance goes, buddy," Tinsley said before patting him on the shoulder and heading back into the bar.

Hank stepped outside into the cold and walked down the alley to the corner, just as he was told. He peeked around the corner and saw that the officers tailing him were still sitting in their sedan, parked two cars behind his. While he waited, he thought about Tinsley's recommendation. He could follow the guy's advice and wait it out, hoping that Chief Decker lost some power and could no longer protect his star student.

But he knew he wouldn't. It just wasn't in him. If he couldn't get anyone else to help him, then he'd just have to take down Jessie Hunt on his own. Of course he'd think it through so whatever plan he came up with made sense. After all, he didn't intend to get caught. But it wouldn't be the end of the world if he did.

It wasn't his favorite place, but he'd survived in prison before, and he could do it again. One of the things he"d learned from his decades on the force was that if a man was willing to pay the price, he could do just about anything. And Hank was willing to pay.