his heel and stalked back to his car, giving me a couple of over-the-shoulder glances on the way.
I watched him get in the car. He backed up, then chirped the tires into a U-turn and headed the other way. A moment later, his overhead lights turned off.
The citation on my lap was the size of a restaurant receipt. I picked it up and gave it a quick look. All the information I expected was there, just like the old tickets I used to scratch out when I was on the job. The fine was steep, but I guess that’s the idea.
I put it in the glove box, dropped the car into gear and started for home.
The ticket didn’t bother me. I’d contest it and mark the subpoena box for Burke to attend. Odds were he wouldn’t show and the judge would dismiss. If he did show, I was pretty sure I could trip him during testimony. I had another cell phone at the house that I rarely used and never for business. A copy of that bill showing no record of a call at the time of this stop ought to be enough to make Burke look like he was full of shit.
No, what bothered me was Falkner.
He knew about Matt, which worried me. How did he know that? And did he know about Brent, too?
I cruised up Alberta Street, mentally walking through all of the people I’d done business with over the past year. All of them were solid professionals. Under-the-radar types. No dopers. They didn’t have long rap sheets, didn’t break into occupied dwellings, didn’t carry weapons, and didn’t do any of the other things that enhance a burglary charge or move it up the ladder in a prosecutor’s eyes.
Still, could one of them have gotten popped and decided to tell Falkner stories in order to get off?
I didn’t think so. There just wasn’t enough teeth in property crimes laws to make it worth it. At most, someone might do a few months for possession of stolen property, if the case was actually filed, and if there was a guilty verdict. Property crimes were low on the totem pole, unless someone was caught while doing a burglary. That might get some attention, or at least more than mere possession of stolen property. But even burglaries were prioritized.
No, that wasn’t it.
What about Ozzy and Randall, then? They were definitely higher profile, and into things that not only attracted attention from property crimes detectives, but the drug cops, too. And since the drug business can be violent, I threw in the possibility of assault cases, too. Cops from multiple units might have a solid case against either one of those guys. Drag the guy in, question him, shake him up a little, then throw an escape route to him.
Who can you give me that’s bigger than you?
I thought about that.
I thought about that hard.
I was still thinking about it when I pulled in front of my house and shut off the engine.
Ozzy had to be used to police attention. Randall, too. Hardened to the tactics. So unless one of them was grabbed up while holding a whole lot of dope, the odds of either rolling seemed small to me. Even holding dope, my guess was that either one would lawyer up rather than work with the cops. The cops were the enemy, and if you ever crossed that line, there was no going back, especially in the drug world.
So probably not Ozzy or Randall.
Then why was Falkner up my ass again, after all these years? And with what leverage? What evidence?
I took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. The answer would come soon enough. Either he’d make a move if he had something, or fade away again if he didn’t. All I could do was increase my caution level, and watch for him.
I thought about my meet with Ozzy later.
Shit.
Cautious?
Easier said than done.
I needed to get my cash back and just taper back for a little while. Maybe take a road trip to Tri-Cities or Yakima and do a little business there instead. Let things cool off in Spokane. If Falkner didn’t have enough to charge me, his bosses would make him move
I watched him get in the car. He backed up, then chirped the tires into a U-turn and headed the other way. A moment later, his overhead lights turned off.
The citation on my lap was the size of a restaurant receipt. I picked it up and gave it a quick look. All the information I expected was there, just like the old tickets I used to scratch out when I was on the job. The fine was steep, but I guess that’s the idea.
I put it in the glove box, dropped the car into gear and started for home.
The ticket didn’t bother me. I’d contest it and mark the subpoena box for Burke to attend. Odds were he wouldn’t show and the judge would dismiss. If he did show, I was pretty sure I could trip him during testimony. I had another cell phone at the house that I rarely used and never for business. A copy of that bill showing no record of a call at the time of this stop ought to be enough to make Burke look like he was full of shit.
No, what bothered me was Falkner.
He knew about Matt, which worried me. How did he know that? And did he know about Brent, too?
I cruised up Alberta Street, mentally walking through all of the people I’d done business with over the past year. All of them were solid professionals. Under-the-radar types. No dopers. They didn’t have long rap sheets, didn’t break into occupied dwellings, didn’t carry weapons, and didn’t do any of the other things that enhance a burglary charge or move it up the ladder in a prosecutor’s eyes.
Still, could one of them have gotten popped and decided to tell Falkner stories in order to get off?
I didn’t think so. There just wasn’t enough teeth in property crimes laws to make it worth it. At most, someone might do a few months for possession of stolen property, if the case was actually filed, and if there was a guilty verdict. Property crimes were low on the totem pole, unless someone was caught while doing a burglary. That might get some attention, or at least more than mere possession of stolen property. But even burglaries were prioritized.
No, that wasn’t it.
What about Ozzy and Randall, then? They were definitely higher profile, and into things that not only attracted attention from property crimes detectives, but the drug cops, too. And since the drug business can be violent, I threw in the possibility of assault cases, too. Cops from multiple units might have a solid case against either one of those guys. Drag the guy in, question him, shake him up a little, then throw an escape route to him.
Who can you give me that’s bigger than you?
I thought about that.
I thought about that hard.
I was still thinking about it when I pulled in front of my house and shut off the engine.
Ozzy had to be used to police attention. Randall, too. Hardened to the tactics. So unless one of them was grabbed up while holding a whole lot of dope, the odds of either rolling seemed small to me. Even holding dope, my guess was that either one would lawyer up rather than work with the cops. The cops were the enemy, and if you ever crossed that line, there was no going back, especially in the drug world.
So probably not Ozzy or Randall.
Then why was Falkner up my ass again, after all these years? And with what leverage? What evidence?
I took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. The answer would come soon enough. Either he’d make a move if he had something, or fade away again if he didn’t. All I could do was increase my caution level, and watch for him.
I thought about my meet with Ozzy later.
Shit.
Cautious?
Easier said than done.
I needed to get my cash back and just taper back for a little while. Maybe take a road trip to Tri-Cities or Yakima and do a little business there instead. Let things cool off in Spokane. If Falkner didn’t have enough to charge me, his bosses would make him move
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