The Tower Page 7

  The FBI knew he was a risk. That was why they had asked him to resign. But in some cases, a risk was what was needed—an expert with a sharp tongue, a quick temper, and a quicker trigger finger. Sometimes, a threat arose that was so dangerous it was worth unleashing a tiger.

  Jade Marlow was a tiger burning bright. He fed on the hunt, and his eyes sparkled green and yellow from the thrill of the pursuit. When he was angry, his face became downright cruel, and when he smirked, a thin scar across his left cheek rose slightly and highlighted the disdain on the rest of his face.

  Jade left the San Francisco Fifth Precinct building, Hawkins and a group of officers behind him.

  A brown Honda Civic squealed to a stop at the curb. The left-front side of the car’s bumper was caved in, and one of the back brake lights was broken. A bumper sticker was stuck crookedly to the back, proudly declaring: MY SON BEAT UP THE STUDENT OF THE MONTH AT VISTA ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. A green, scented pine tree ornament dangled from the rearview mirror.

  A woman in her mid-twenties fumbled at the door to get out. Her mouth was a red line, stretched thin with fearful anticipation.

  “Oh my God.” She saw Hawkins and ran to him, her arms out-stretched. “Are you the lieutenant? Is it true? Oh my God. Where’s Dave?”

  Hawkins consoled her as the other policemen departed quietly.

  “The rookie’s wife?” Jade asked the nearest cop.

  “Yeah. Eight-year-old kid too.”

  Jade swore under his breath. “He should’ve fucking listened to me.”

  “Well maybe he didn’t—”

  “He didn’t fucking listen.” Jade pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I really need this right now.”

  The officer stopped and looked at Jade, not quite sure he had heard him correctly. “You know, Marlow, you’re a real asshole.”

  Jade paused and ran his thumb across his bottom lip. “He gets himself killed breaking cover and I’m the asshole. Astonishing logic.”

  “He died.”

  “He was my backup. He should have listened to me. If he had, he wouldn’t have died.”

  “You think you’re fucking flawless?”

  Jade leaned back against a police car, ignoring him.

  The cop bit his cheek and looked away for a moment before facing Jade again. “I heard you were a prick, Marlow. But this is unbelievable.” He pulled his shoulders back slightly, waiting through the tense silence for a response.

  “You’d better move on, junior,” Jade said, looking straight ahead. “You might hurt yourself.”

  The cop stepped forward. “You got something to say?” he asked, placing a hand on Jade’s shoulder and leaning toward him.

  The moment the cop touched him, Jade grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him into the police car. He moved his face right up to the cop’s until he could see through the darkness of his sunglasses. The cop didn’t move. His arms were out to his sides, hands opened passively. Jade held him for a moment, then let him go. He turned to walk away.

  Dave’s wife was walking toward him angrily, tears drying on her cheeks. She had overheard Jade talking about her husband.

  “You bastard,” she cried. “I knew it was trouble, him working with you.” She stifled a sob. “And now. How dare you talk about him that way? He died helping you on this job.”

  “‘Helping me,’” Jade said under his breath. He looked off in the distance, slowly shaking his head.

  Her voice was wavering and her words blended together, but she forged ahead. “I knew it. I knew it would end in blood. But he was so excited to work with you. The great Jade Marlow.”

  “I think we should just—”

  “How could you have let him die? He was there for you. He died covering you, and you didn’t even try to help him.” She raised a finger, pointing it at him. “You’re a curse, a fucking death curse.”

  Jade finally looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. “I hate to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but he was breaking orders when he got shot.”

  She slapped him, her hand ringing loudly across his face, leaving a red outline. She pulled back to hit him again, but Jade caught her arm and threw it away roughly. She collapsed on the ground.

  “You’ll get over it,” he snarled. “Start dating.” He turned and walked slowly to his car, leaving her sobbing on the pavement.

  14

  THREE women clad in green-sequined bikinis gazed out from the yellowed poster. Its caption proudly announced: STRAUDERS FULL-BODIED BEER—IT GLITTERS AS YOU GUZZLE. The women held sparklers and curled their hands suggestively around the large brown bottles.

  “You know, I never understood that shit,” Jade said, indicating the poster with a flick of his head.

  Tony Razzoni shifted heavily in his chair and turned to face him. “What shit, Jade?”

  “Why they always put chicks all over when they advertise. Beer, cars, power tools. I don’t get it. Are we supposed to be able to fuck these girls if we buy the shit?”

  “No. No, I think if we buy the shit, then we’re the kind of guys who can get laid by chicks like that.” Tony stabbed a meaty forefinger at the poster to emphasize his last words.

  Jade glanced at Tony’s rugged face, then down at his belly, which was wedged subtly beneath the bar. “Oh yeah. Right.”

  Tony had gone through six months of FBI training with Jade before dropping out. He’d gone into the police force and now headed up a squad for the small town of Falstaff Creek. He had remained friends with Jade, and now was one of the few people relaxed enough to endure Jade’s abrasive personality.

  Tony was a large man, about six feet, two-fifty. Much of his size came from muscle, though it wasn’t readily apparent from his appearance. His face was round, his features soft. A thin sheen of sweat seemed always to cover his cheeks, and his snug-fitting shirt usually showed spots of dampness on the back. Jade couldn’t remember ever having seen him when he wasn’t sweaty.

  Tony didn’t lose his temper. Because of his size, he never had to. And he had a gentle touch, even when he wasn’t being gentle. Tony’s personality could be read right off his face. He was never mean, and fair all the way through. If he ever hurt someone, it was deserved.

  “So …” Tony said. He paused to clear his throat. “I hear you were a real asshole at the day care shoot-out today.”

  “So I’m garnering the usual thanks already?”

  “I hear you yelled at the dead kid’s wife.”

  “She was being dramatic.”

  Tony realized that he was pushing too far and softened his tone. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Jade, but—”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What, bullshit?”

  “Whenever someone starts a sentence with ‘I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but,’ it really means ‘I’m gonna be disrespectful, but let’s pretend like I’m not.’ So just cut the shit and say what you have to say.”

  Tony sighed and set his jaw. “Look, kid. How long I known you?”

  “About eight years, Tony. About eight years.”

  Tony smiled affectionately. “How many people you known that long who still talk to you?”

  Jade pretended to count them on his fingers. When he got to ten, he turned to Tony and smiled. “None.”

  “Now, Jade, that’s gotta count for something.”

  “Sure, Tony. It does.”

  Tony smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. “Then shut the fuck up for a minute and listen to me. You can’t go through life like a wrecking ball all the time. It’ll fuck up your job, it’ll fuck up your broads, and it ain’t fuckin’ professional.”

  Jade lifted his black and tan and stared with one eye into the dark brown liquid. “Well, maybe I can’t do what I do and be nice.”

  “Believe me, I’d never expect that much from you. I’m just saying you don’t have to be an outright prick.”

  “That’s not my intent.”

  “I’m not saying it is.”

  Jade laced his hands
together on the bar, his thumbs touching, and stared at them. His eyes, though, were somewhere else. “A fuckin’ eight-year-old kid.”

  “What?”

  “He had a fuckin’ eight-year-old kid, Tony. The rookie.”

  Tony slowly tilted his glass back into the wet circle it had left on the bar. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well so am I.” Jade knocked down the rest of his black and tan and rose, pushing back the bar stool. “So am I.”

  He rolled through the crowded bar and a path opened up for him as people leaned out of his way. It was a policeman’s bar and Jade was known there, even if he was rarely spoken to. He was not the biggest man in the bar, but the look in his eyes was as hard as ice. It didn’t invite greeting. As he walked, he brought his fingertips up to the scar on his left cheek and absentmindedly traced its length.

  A cop with sharp features and sandy blond hair came over and sat down next to Tony. A cigarette dangled casually from his lips, so natural-looking that it seemed like a part of his face.

  “Hey, Robert,” Tony greeted him.

  “Sharing a drink with the infamous Jade Marlow, huh?”

  “Yup,” Tony said. “Infamous. Ever met him?”

  Robert shook his head. “No. And from what I’ve heard, I think that’s just fine.”

  “He’s a good man,” Tony said. “Well, not a good man. He’s a decent man, and a great fuckin’ agent, so I always figured they averaged out.”

  Both men laughed.

  “I hear you brought him in to crack a confession out of that robbery suspect. Falstaff Creek, right?”

  “Yeah, I brought him in. Worth every penny.” Tony ordered another beer and settled back to tell his story. “We had a guy robbed a string of Seven-Elevens. Shoots out the security cameras before they pick him up. Last one, he shoots the clerk too. We have no hard leads, but a pretty good suspect.”

  “Evidence?”

  “Circumstantial.” The two cops shook their heads.

  “But I call Jade in. He doesn’t charge us much because we came up together. I want to question the guy that Saturday, so I send Jade home with his file. Friday night I get a call. Jade says, ‘Cancel the interrogation. We’re doing it next Sunday.’ I have the mayor breathing down my neck for an arrest and this guy’s telling me to push it back a week?”

  Robert leaned forward, drawn into Tony’s story. “Why?”

  “Jade found out it was the guy’s mom’s birthday the next Sunday.”

  “So the fuck what?”

  “That’s exactly what I said. But Jade says you get ’em close to a birthday, an anniversary, something like that, it gets them thinking about the time they’ll have to serve. Gets them thinking it’s their last one if they don’t cooperate. Then you hit them with the ‘We’ll go easier on you with a confession’ speech and bang.…” Tony slapped his hands together.

  “So did you get him?”

  Tony smiled. “That’s not all.”

  “That’s not all?”

  Tony shook his head. “Jade says to get him in there first thing in the morning so the guy doesn’t have a clear head, not thinking straight. I have someone pick him up at six in the morning.”

  “You let him stay out on the streets for another week?”

  Tony waved him off. “We had an eye on him. We picked him up at 6:00 A.M. What time do you think Jade shows up at the station to get ready?”

  Robert shrugged, his eyes riveted on Tony.

  “Two o’clock in the fuckin’ morning. I get in at 5:00 A.M. He’s yanking folders off the shelves and stacking them on the desk. Papers are flying everywhere. I think he’s gone fuckin’ nuts. He’s made copies of all the newspaper headlines about the robberies and he’s taping ’em on these files and writing the guy’s name under ’em with a big black marker. He even puts the original articles all over the walls.”

  “What’s in the files?”

  “I don’t know. Traffic-ticket records. Blank memo paper. My dry-cleaning list. Whatever.”

  “Holy shit,” Robert said. He ordered two more Strauders.

  “So this poor miserable fuck comes in and he has no idea what’s in store for him. He’s scared, he’s tired, it’s fucking early, it’s his mom’s birthday. He sees these files with the headlines all over them and about shits his pants. He thinks we have the whole National Guard on his ass. He starts fingering this cross around his neck like crazy. He’s sweating and he keeps glancing at this one file labeled ‘Seven-Eleven Shooting’ in huge black letters, laying on the table all the way to his left.”

  “He’s turning to look at the file?”

  Tony demonstrated, swinging around his beer gut in exaggerated fashion and gawking behind him. He turned back to his beer and took a long swig.

  When he continued, his voice was much softer. His index finger waved in the air as he spoke. “And Jade notices this guy’s holding on to the cross around his neck like it’s gonna come to life and carry him off to heaven. So he starts talking really biblical.”

  “Talking biblical?”

  Tony nodded. “Yeah, like, ‘Who could have committed such an egregious sin? Perhaps someone who feels cast out, who needs help and forgiveness.’” He waved his arms over his head as he imitated Jade.

  “Giving the guy an out.”

  “Giving the guy an out,” Tony repeated, nodding his head. “And when this guy’s right on the edge, Jade circles the desk, walks over to him and ‘accidentally’ bumps a videotape off the desk where he hid it. It’s got a Seven-Eleven security cover, it’s got the date of the shooting on it, and the guy’s name across the front in huge red letters.”

  “No.”

  “I shit you not. He practically knocks it into the guy’s lap and then grabs it back real quick, all embarrassed-like, and acts like the guy wasn’t supposed to see it.”

  “And he spills?”

  “Like a glass of milk,” Tony said grandly. “He starts crying about how he didn’t mean to shoot him and it was an accident and it’s his mother’s birthday and he wants to see a priest and on and on.”

  “No shit?”

  “None.” The men drank their beers in silence for a few minutes.

  Robert took a long final drag on his cigarette, then stubbed it out. “What was the videotape?” he asked.

  “Blondes Back on Top. He got it outta my top desk drawer.”

  15

  SETTLING into the seat of his ’81 banged-up black 320i, Jade rolled the radio tuning knob through a cacophony of static. Giving up, he reached into his glove compartment, pulled out a CD, and slipped it in. Miles Davis, Kind of Blue.

  The green lights floated overhead, one after another, as Jade swerved from lane to lane, darting between cars. He drove along the streets with his left arm extended out the broken window, his hand tapping the car roof furiously to the tune: “Du nu nu nu nu nu nu na. So what. Du nu nu nu nu nu nu na. So what.”

  The music was turned up so loud that even with the window down, Jade was sealed away in his own vessel of sound. It flowed over him, clearing his mind. Screeching down one-way streets and alleyways, he cut off cars, arriving first in line at red lights. Or he circumvented stoplights altogether by turning right, then zooming back to the street through corner gas stations and parking lots.

  Du nu nu nu. His tires flew through puddles, spraying water into the air, reflecting the headlights of oncoming traffic and soaking the left sleeve of his shirt. Nu nu nu na. He rolled the wheel with one finger, bringing his steering hand down near his crotch to hold the turn as his car whipped around corners. And the movement he saw through his dirty windshield—the cars passing and the flare of the water and the pedestrians walking on the sidewalk—were all choreographed pieces of his dance, of his song, and he watched as they moved to the beat he pounded on the roof of his car. So what.

  As he cruised, he focused on a green station wagon three cars back in the left lane. It had been with him for some time. Jade brought his arm back inside the car, and he hummed th
e music more softly as he tapped on the steering wheel. His eyes were glued now to the rearview mirror.

  He made three consecutive lefts, which the station wagon followed, then he threw on a false signal. The station wagon imitated it, then also drove past the turn, just as he had.

  “Rookies. Don’t send me that,” Jade muttered, smiling crookedly.

  He jerked off the road suddenly, into the gravel parking lot of a small bar. The building was low-roofed, with flashing neon signs and an eternally pouring Strauders bottle in the window.

  The two men in the station wagon had been baffled for some time.

  “What the fuck is he doing?” Andrew asked, running his fingers through his greasy brown hair.

  He wore a buttoned-up shirt with dark stains under his armpits; sweat dotted his forehead and cheeks as well. “You think he spotted us?”

  “How the hell would I know any more than you? Maybe he’s just drunk. He was in that last bar forever,” his friend Kyle replied, scratching his neatly trimmed beard.

  They both watched in horror as Jade’s car skidded into the parking lot of the bar. They slowed, watching him as he got out of his car and headed inside.

  “Keep going, keep going,” Andrew hissed. “Speed up. Let’s circle the block so he doesn’t notice us.”

  Jade watched the car’s reflection in the front window of the bar. He saw it slow to a halt, then accelerate rapidly, pulling out of view. Two men. Mid-thirties.

  He pulled open the door, disappearing into the smoky haze. All right, you fucks, he thought, I’ll wait for you.

  He went up to the bar and signaled the bartender. A robust Greek man came toward him, grinning widely.

  “Ahh. Mr. Jade. How are you, my friend? Would you like a black and tan? Your favorite, eh?”

  “Actually, Nick, I’m okay right now. Just wanted to warn you I’ve got a tail. Might be a bit of trouble.”

  Nick’s face darkened. Obviously, he had seen this drill before. “Fine. You keep it to the pool-table area.” He started to go, then turned back, raising a finger. “And no guns. Mr. Jade. Not like last time.”