CLUB JUSTICE (The Trinity Falls Series) Read online

  “I have to have some caffeine. You want anything?”

  “Diet Coke.”

  Zeke waved in dismissal as Jimmy reached for his wallet, and walked out of the squad room.

  “Where do you think you are going, Brawer?”

  “I’m going to the head, Kramer. Would you like to hold my hand?”

  “Your partner said you were going to the Coke machine.”

  “Then why the fuck did you ask me?”

  “I find it interesting that wasn’t the answer you gave me. Usually you and Lombardi are dead on getting your stories coordinated,” Kramer sneered.

  Zeke’s smile lacked humor.

  “Yeah well, we just couldn’t agree which was a better excuse for me to shed my ball and chain. I’m still thinking taking a piss has a better ring to it, but he’s a bit more PC than I am.”

  A vein throbbed in Kramer’s high forehead and his jaw muscle flexed. Zeke offered him a conspiratorial wink and strolled off to the men’s room.

  Captain Donovan‘s steps faltered as he spotted Brawer leaning against the hood of his car. He glanced around the parking garage, not eager to be alone with his old friend.

  “Whatever it is, can’t it wait for tomorrow? I have…”

  “Poker tonight at seven o’clock,” Zeke finished for him. “This won’t take that long.”

  Donovan nodded, fidgeting with his briefcase as he waited for the larger man to come to the point.

  “I just want to know when the Chief started keeping your balls as a trophy on his desk?”

  “Now you hold on right there!” Donovan sputtered.

  “It’s a legitimate question,” Zeke interjected. “The man I knew wouldn’t have let anyone tell him how to run his squad. You got a dick on the streets so green he tossed his cookies on a vic today, while forty odd years of experience sits around getting fucking paper cuts. You tell me how that makes for good police work.”

  “I.A. has the Chief’s ear and he doesn’t like what he’s hearing, Zeke.”

  “They have shit. I was cleared and reinstated and yet here I am tied to a desk with Kramer documenting when I take a piss. You tell me that’s right.”

  “I have no choice, Zeke. This is coming from above my head. You know how it works. Shit rolls downhill and you just grin and take it.” Donovan brushed past him and unlocked his car. Brawer’s stare bore into him as he got in and started the engine. Cranking the wheel to swing around his Detective, he stopped. Rolling down the window, he waited for Zeke to lean down.

  “File a grievance with the union. They’re the only ones that might be able to help you now,” he whispered, avoiding eye contact.

  Zeke stepped back as the Crown Vic’s tires squealed and Donovan was gone. He stood there lost in thought, the Captain’s resigned words playing over in his head. A greeting chirp of a siren pulled him from his reverie and he raised a hand to the uniforms before pulling out a stogie and heading for the Durango.

  Zeke stepped out onto the deck off the master bedroom. Puffing on his cigar, he leaned against the railing and contemplated the night sky. Donovan‘s words played through his mind. File a grievance with the union. They’re the only ones that might be able to help you now. Twenty-two years on the job came down to this. He snorted, flicking ashes. The men and women that pinned on the tin star were no different from their counterparts in the armed services. They were there to protect civilians from horrors they couldn’t handle, and didn’t want to know about. The average citizen didn’t give a fuck how they got it done, or at what cost, as long as it didn’t touch them. Kramer and the rat squad didn’t get that.

  Ginny’s arms coming around his waist drew him from his thoughts. He stroked her laced fingers at his middle, and she pressed her cheek against his back.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  “You must think I’m cheap.” He felt her lips curve against his skin, but she didn’t answer. He searched for the right words.

  “I’m tired, baby. Tired of the politics, the I.A. backbiting and just plain tired of the bullshit. I’m sick of people making a tough job impossible. Fuck, I got up this morning and for the first time in a long time I didn’t even…” He just shook his head and puffed on the stogie.

  “Last time I looked at one of your pay stubs you had over two hundred personal days accrued, big man. You do know you get paid for those, right? I think we can afford for you to take a day or two off,” Ginny said, trying to lighten his mood. He shrugged.

  Ginny rested her forehead against his broad back, searching for the right words to reassure her husband.

  “Take some time off, Zeke. Let the witch hunt die down. We’ve been through this before. Even Kramer can’t keep his hard-on forever. Out of sight, you’re out of mind.”

  A low chuckle vibrated through his chest.

  “I can’t believe you miss me when I just had a couple weeks off. You have another honey-do list already?”

  Ginny grinned and swatted at his back.

  “I want to go on that ride you keep promising me, old man. You think your ass can sit a bike that many hours a day anymore?” She gave the anatomy in question a teasing grope.

  Zeke turned, wrapping her in his arms to return the favor.

  “I think it’s you that might want to worry, woman.” A hard swat followed the squeeze, drawing a yelp of surprise from Ginny and driving her up on her toes against him. “Be careful who you’re calling old. It’s even harder to ride bitch all day with a sore ass.”

  “Seriously, take a couple weeks off and spend some time with your old lady. Garrett leaves for football camp in Chicago on Wednesday so we’ll have a week to ourselves to sleep in, eat breakfast in bed, and have sex in any room in the house we want. When the kid gets back, we can all hit the road.”

  Zeke met the sparkle in her hazel eyes.

  “Any room I want?”

  “Any room you want without even having to throw our boys out,” Ginny said with an eyebrow wiggle.

  “Vacation never sounded so good.”

  Venders were still rolling up the sides of their tents and unloading their wares as Zeke and Ginny strolled into the market. Rows upon rows of tables groaned beneath the weight of fresh produce, antiques, clothing and crafts. There was something for everyone. Tiny trinkets and enticing treats beckoned to children, prompting them to tug at their parent’s clothing with imploring pleas. The scene brought a reminiscent smile to Ginny’s lips. She’d been coming to the market for years, many times with her own young boys in tow as she stocked the house and bar with fresh fruits and veggies. Zeke had seldom been able to pull himself away from work long enough to make the trip, and the boys, now grown, could no longer be bribed into coming with the promise of a new toy or cheap souvenir. Strolling through the elongated tents seemed such a mundane thing to do, but it was the simple pleasures, the trivial things that most couples took for granted that she savored with her workaholic husband.

  “What happened to breakfast in bed and sex?” he murmured in her ear.

  “You had that the last two days. Today you have to earn your keep and your nookie. Impress your woman with your bulging muscles and ready wallet.”

  “I knew paradise couldn’t last forever.”

  Wrapping her arm around her husband’s waist in a possessive display of pride, Ginny stopped to examine a colorful display of summer squash and zucchini. She could feel Zeke’s bemusement listening to her haggle for the best price. Walking away with a steal, she tucked a hand in his back pocket and leaned her head against his bicep to look up at him.

  “What?”

  “What what?”

  “I can hear the wheels turning.”

  “You just assured me that our finances were sound, so what’s with the fish wife routine?”

  Ginny laughed at his unflattering description.

  “I was not being a shrewish harpy. Haggling is part of the culture. It’s what makes garage sales and flea markets fun. It’s not a game for the meek and mild. Besides, how do you think I manage to tuck away a little Choo money?”

  “By demeaning and defaming a defenseless old woman?”

  “Don’t let Elaine’s prim bun and starched apron deceive you. That woman can out-haggle a Jewish fish wife,” Ginny said with a snort.

  “Obviously not an Irish one though,” Zeke muttered, earning him an elbow to the ribs.

  Bits of grass mingled with the sweat and dust coating Zeke’s bare torso as he trimmed the yard. Still early, the air hung muggy and still, promising the day would be a hot one. The last couple of weeks had been a welcome respite from the constant pressures of law enforcement. Ginny had gotten her ride. The whole club had made the trip down south through the mountains, before bringing Interstate 95 back up the coast. With perfect weather, a full turnout, and flawless cooperation from rival clubs along the route, it had been the Lord’s most successful run in the past couple of years.

  A blur of color crossed Zeke’s peripheral vision. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned as the unmarked Crown Victoria pulled into the driveway. The driver and passenger were detectives from his squad, though Zeke didn’t consider them his friends. This was way outside their jurisdiction. A prickle of unease ran down his spine. Something was up. Zeke killed the weed-eater motor and squared his shoulders.

  McElroy rounded the front of the car and Evans fell into step with him. Outwardly calm, Zeke dissected the situation. Their body language was more apologetic than aggressive. Neither uncovered their side arm as they approached. His gaze flickered briefly to the street, searching for backup. If this were another of Kramer’s pissing matches, he would have pulled out the whole dog and pony show in an effort to humiliate him in front of his neighbors. Cops or not, Zeke felt naked without his Glock.

  “Braw
er.” McElroy extended a hand.

  “McElroy,” Zeke replied, taking the offered hand while keeping an eye on Evans who had stopped behind his partner.

  The younger man fidgeted under Zeke’s scrutiny, but didn’t meet his gaze. The click of the front door opening drew the visitor’s attention. Zeke didn’t turn to look at his wife.

  “I’m sorry.” McElroy cleared his throat, swallowing against the anguish etched into his lined face. “There is no easy way to say this. Someone put a hit on Lombardi this morning. He didn’t have a chance.”

  Evans said something. Zeke saw his lips moving. He could read the genuine sorrow on his youthful features, but the words didn’t pierce the numbing fog. Ginny was behind him. He found comfort in the press of her body and the Glock’s penetrating chill as she slid it into the back of his waistband.

  “How?”

  “Execution style, up close and personal. The son-of-a-bitch shot him in the forehead while he was taking out the garbage. No one saw or heard a thing. When he didn’t come back…Jennifer went looking. She found him in the ally by the dumpster. It was too late.” McElroy shook his head, clearing his throat again. “You did the job when Bobby…” his voice trailed off. “I owed you this.”

  Zeke nodded, remembering McElroy’s partner. The old man had taught them all a thing or two.

  “Who caught the case?”

  “O’Halleran and Pancamo.”

  “Good cops. I’ve worked with them both.”

  “We’re going to get this son-of-a-bitch,” McElroy promised.

  Zeke didn’t have to say a word. The steely glint in his pale eyes spoke volumes.

  Ginny hugged the distraught woman tight.

  “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  “I didn’t know if you would come. I’m so sorry about what I said at the Memorial Day party, Ginny. I really am,” Jen stammered.

  “Honey, that’s water under the bridge. Families fight, but when it comes down to it, we’re here for one another. You know whatever Zeke and I can do to help…”

  “I just can’t believe it. There were so many mornings I wondered to myself, ‘Is today the day?’ It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  The pain and confusion in the woman’s eyes stabbed straight to the core of Ginny’s own fears. How many times had she watched Zeke pull out of the drive with the same thoughts playing in her head? She had sat this helpless vigil with too many women. Having a husband that pinned on the badge or fought for his country was a lonesome and frightening life.

  A murmur of discontent pulled Ginny from her memories. Her lip curled in disdain spotting the man standing framed by the front door. Internal Affairs had the unenviable job of policing law enforcement officers. She had no doubt that some of these men and women simply did the job assigned to the best of their ability and went home. Paul Kramer personified the stereotypical prying, back-stabbing, rat that most people associated with I.A.

  His colleagues avoided him as he made his way through the crowd. Thinly veiled contempt and unease marked him a leper in their midst. Pausing before the new widow, he offered words of sympathy devoid of substance. Squeezing Jen’s hand in support, Ginny struggled with her Irish ire. Snakes, like the one before her, made a mockery of the dedication and sacrifice good men and women made every day. He hid behind the letters of the law with little regard for the meaning in them. He would never be the one to put his life on the line, and yet presumed to judge the actions of those brave enough to do so. She felt Zeke step close behind her and was grateful for his strength.

  “This must be the beautiful Mrs. Brawer I’ve heard so much about. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” Kramer sneered over her shoulder.

  “And you won’t have it now.”

  Kramer’s gaze snapped back to Ginny. The flush to his face and the furious way his jaw worked, said that her scathing words had cut deep. Tension crackled between them and Kramer took a step forward. Crowding her personal space, he used his height to look down at her. His cheap bullying techniques didn’t draw a flinch. A derisive smirk toyed at the corners of Ginny’s lips as she straightened to match his height and return his stare without blinking.

  “Where were you this morning at approximately 0700 hours, Detective Brawer?” he inquired tightly.

  “Making love to my wife. Before you ask, she can vouch for my whereabouts. It’s one of those little advantages to the real deal versus blowup Barbie.”

  A muscle twitched in Kramer’s cheek.

  “You might want to be thinking on a better alibi than that, Brawer. I doubt very much that ‘fucking my wife’ would hold up well in court.”

  “And me without my politically correct partner. I guess I’ll just have to hope the Judge isn’t a five finger fellow like you.”

  “I would like you to leave,” Jen choked through fresh tears. “Zeke and Jimmy were like brothers.”

  “Did you not tell me when we spoke on the twenty-second that you had your doubts about Zeke Brawer’s honesty and where he got his money?”

  “We’re a family, Detective Kramer. Families have their petty jealousies.”

  “You were asked to leave.” Zeke’s reminder was pointed.

  “So you can get your story straight with her the way you used to with her husband?”

  “That’s enough, Kramer. I’ll show you out,” Captain Donovan said between clenched teeth. “This is neither the time nor the place.”

  His nod forced, the muscle in his cheek working furiously, Kramer allowed Donovan to escort him to the door without another word.

  “I’m sorry, Jen,” Ginny said, her voice soft with genuine regret.

  “It’s ok. Thank you for reminding me what actually matters. Jimmy always said when the hour is darkest, your true friends show themselves.”

  The sun cut through the early morning haze, glinting off the gunmetal gray casket. The smell of fresh turned soil hung heavy and cloying. A carpet of faux grass under foot seemed but an attempt to hide the gritty evidence before them. Hundreds of officers in their stiff dress blues lined the graveside to pay their respects.

  Putting the last crease in the revered stars and stripes, Zeke stepped over to present it to Jen. Fresh tears flooded eyes already bloodshot and puffy. Bending, he brushed her cheek with his lips and then stepped into line beside her. As the final words were uttered, most remained rooted to the spot. Walking away hammered home the finality of the day and reminded those left behind of their own mortality.

  Zeke started at a hand on his arm and looked down into Ginny’s concerned hazel gaze. At the unspoken question there, he nodded. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze in reply. They walked hand in hand, threading their way through the maze of stone markers in silence. Handing her into the passenger seat of their Charger, Zeke leaned on the open door. The impressive contingent of motorcycles and squad cars that had escorted the funeral procession were slowly clearing out. People walked to their cars, talked on their cell phones and made dinner plans. All around them were people preparing to go about their lives. A lump formed in his throat and he found himself wondering when he would feel that same sense of normalcy again, if ever.

  Ginny hesitated coming out of the master bath. Zeke sat on the end of the bed, stripped to the waist. His elbows rested on his knees, his head in his hands. He had been quiet since the funeral. Kneeling on the edge, she crawled to her husband. Kneading the tense muscles along the top of his broad shoulders, she waited. His eyes drifted shut. She could feel him relaxing under her hands, and hear the low rumble of pleasure.

  “I want the son-of-a-bitch that did this,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “If I go back, it’s just going to be more of the same. Kramer’s not letting up. With him up my ass I won’t be allowed anywhere near this case. With Jimmy gone, I have nothing holding me there. I have my retirement. I know I said I was going to work until the house was paid off …”

  “The Lantern is doing well. Money is the least of our problems. If that’s what you want then do it, baby. I just want you to be happy. Tell them to go fuck themselves and retire. I have stuff you can do here.”

  “Great. The honey-do list from hell,” he said with a mirthless snort.