Corruption (9 page)

Oh shit. Thinking sometimes led to good things, sometimes bad. Spin the wheel and take a chance.

“You’ve had a lot on your mind lately, and so have I, what with these classes and assignments coming up.” Assignments
possibly leading to long separations. “Anyway, until the classes are over, and we figure out what’s what, maybe we should focus on
work, you know?” Bo dropped his gaze to the cup in his hand.

No, Lucky didn’t know. He sipped his coffee, mulling over the words. As letdowns went, this one wasn’t brutal, no name calling and no
blaming. Still, a knife started at his heart and plunged down to his innards. “Only another few weeks,” he said. “Yeah, I can
live with that.”

A relieved smile replaced the uncertainty on Bo’s face. “Good. I need to concentrate right now, put myself into the job. I’ve
even cancelled the rest of my house appointments. Once things settle back to normal, maybe we can get away somewhere for the weekend, talk things
over.”

“Talk things over,” not fuck each other’s brains out. Lucky gave a noncommittal grunt. “That’d
work.”

Bo kissed him while riding up the elevator. A consolation prize? Or goodbye?

When they reached their shared cube, Lucky waited until Bo left for the men’s room to pull the box of chocolates out of his backpack and toss them into the trash. He buried twenty bucks worth of truffles beneath the half-dozen empty Starbucks cups strewn across his desk. No way could he offer a
bribe when Bo had already made up his mind.

***

At a gesture from the teacher, a rookie from the Southwestern division stepped forward. Phillip snarled, “I bet you’re a fucking
cop!”

The newbie shrank back. “I am not!”

“Next!” O’Donoghue called.

A woman took his place. “No, I’m not!” she replied with more venom than the last denier, her performance still falling short
of sincere.

“Next!”

This time no words were necessary. The guy who’d sat way too close to Bo simply froze. “Way to go, asshole,” Lucky groused,
“on the streets you’d have earned yourself a ride in a body bag.”

“Next!” Apparently O’Donoghue either hadn’t heard Lucky’s jibe or chose to ignore it.

Bo stepped up. The chance to see his protégé in action piqued Lucky’s interest.

“Motherfucking cop!” Phillip screeched.

Bo paused, then threw back his head, howls of laughter pouring from his throat. “Man, you need to lay off whatever shit you’re
smoking.” He grabbed Phillip in a headlock, much like an indulgent older sibling, and rubbed a noogie on the kid’s head. “Cut
it out, man. Don’t go insulting me like that. And you call yourself my friend.” Bo’s eyes met Lucky’s, a question
clear. Lucky nodded.

“Excellent!” O’Donoghue crowed. “Mr. Harrison, would you mind showing us your technique?”

Goody. Lucky needed stress relief. Phillip needed hazard pay.

Phillip shouted, “Fucking cop!”

Lucky whirled, grabbed the guy by the throat, and slammed him against the wall. A woman shrieked, and Bo might have shouted,
“Don’t!” Lucky rose up enough to put his nose three inches from Phillip’s. “If you ever call me a cop
again, you’ll be getting half price discounts from your dentist. Got it?”

“Bravo!” The teacher approached, giving a slow clap. “Remember, folks, whenever strong emotion overtakes you, twist the
negative into something positive. The best way to confirm suspicion is denial. Humor or anger are the ways to convince your target you’re who you
say you are. To a criminal, the idea of being mistaken for a cop is either funny as hell or a huge insult. Harrison? Let Phillip go now. He’s
turning blue.”

***

“Now, when constructing a viable alias, you need to consider a few things.” O’Donoghue paced before a long table that held
books and other resources. Bo’s eyes never left the teacher except to glance down at the notepad he scrawled on. Newbie’s
eyes stayed on Bo. Maybe a fist to the mouth might change his preferred view.

Wait. Constructing an alias? O’Donoghue won out over Newbie Asshole for Lucky’s attention. “What if you’re given a
role to play?” Lucky wouldn’t dare be openly disrespectful about the bureau’s policies, but he’d always been handed
a new identity packet, usually containing some ludicrous name.

“Who knows you better than you do, Mr. Harrison? For instance, if you’re in a crowded room and someone shouts your name,
you’d be expected to react instinctively without thinking. If you choose a name close to your own, it’s easier to identify with. Also,
if you’re undercover in a place you frequent in your daily life, would answering to your actual name blow your cover? I want you each to give me
a name, first and last, that you believe would be a suitable alias for you.”

Silence descended but for the scratching of pens on paper. Agents should make up their own names. Cool. Too bad Walter wasn’t sitting in on this
afternoon’s session.

What name could Lucky put? He still didn’t automatically react to Simon. His sister called him Richie, which might get a reaction, but a version
of his own name might blow the lid off his deeper cover. Ricky? Close enough. Now for a last name. His grandparents were Getsingers, so he’d
heard the name all his life. He wrote down Ricky Getsinger.

O’Donoghue stopped walking a circuit around the room to peer over Bo’s shoulder. “Why Joe Swartzentruber?” He held
Bo’s paper up close to his nose.

A flush crept up Bo’s cheeks. “Joe rhymes with Bo, and Swartzentruber has the same first and last letter and a similar rhythm to
Schollenberger.”

“Very good reasoning. The key to remaining in character is not to stand out or draw attention to yourself. Don’t act any differently
undercover than you would in real life. If you’d order a beer at a bar on your own time, order a beer. No one says you’ve got to drink
it. Remember, the majority of the folks there drink. Ordering a club soda is an anomaly and makes you stand out in the bartender’s mind, even if
no one else recognizes the difference.”

O’Donoghue made his way through the other class members, stopping by Lucky last. He didn’t read Lucky’s alias aloud, merely
winked and murmured, “Well done.”

To the rest of the class he said, “Tomorrow we’ll further flesh out your background. As Mr. Schollenberger once said, ‘If you
say you’re a carpenter, you’d better have calluses and know about woodworking.’ Mr. Harrison, would you mind staying for a
moment, please? Phillip, you go on. I’ll catch up later.”

Bo gave Lucky a backward glance while leaving the room with the newbie. Some might find the new rookie attractive, with his shock of thick blond hair and
sky blue eyes. That is, if they like chiseled jaws and cleft chins. And tall men. Bo didn’t like tall men, or he wouldn’t be with
Lucky. He laughed at something the asshole said. Ice formed in Lucky’s veins.

“Mr. Harrison?” O’Donoghue called Lucky’s attention away from Bo.

“Yes?” The man better get this over with. Lucky needed to chase down his partner. He didn’t like the gleam in the new
suitor’s eyes.

“Why are you here?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Why are you here?” O’Donoghue plunked down in the chair next to Lucky, putting them eye to eye. Walter would
have done the same. “The bureau pays a lot of money for my time and for good reason. Agents take my classes and live to work a new case.
I’m not sure why you’re still here, but you barely pay attention, and as part of class preparation, I’ve viewed films of your
operations. You may have it up here…” he poked two fingers against Lucky’s forehead.

“Hey!”

“…but you don’t have it here.” O’Donoghue stroked his fingers lightly over Lucky’s breastbone.

What the fuck? “I’ll have you know I’ve never blown an assignment, and I’ve never been burnt.”

“And that’s how you measure success, Mr. Harrison? Can you return to a character you used two years ago and seamlessly pick up where
you left off? Can you? Can you get so deep in the mind of an alias that you nearly forget who you are?”

“Wait a minute—” The cocky little peacock went too far.

“No, Mr. Harrison,
you
wait a minute. You think you’re invincible, that you know it all, but you don’t know shit. You
have it in you to be great, but before you can reach your potential, you have to accept that someone else might, just might, have something to teach
you.” All traces of the Bronx cop left the man’s voice. He could easily have passed himself off as a college professor. Subtle
rearrangement of his shoulders, stiffer posture, and something different in the eyes totally changed the man. Lucky blinked hard. O’Donoghue no
longer resembled the former cop he’d been dealing with.

“I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Harrison. If you want my respect, you’ll respect me in return. With my help, you could very well
be the second best undercover operative in this room.”

Oh, now he
really
pushed too far. “And I suppose first place goes to you?” Arrogant little bastard. But what Lucky
wouldn’t give to be able to so easily don another persona.

“No. Mr. Schollenberger takes those honors. That is, he would if you’d get the hell out of his way and let him. You’re a
distraction.”

I am?

“He’s always glancing your way for approval, doubting himself until he wins it. On the job, distractions and doubts get you killed.
Either you toe the line and put in some effort, or stay out and let me do my job. Schollenberger listens and wants to learn. Learning will keep him alive.
Can you promise him that?” He paused just long enough to recognize Lucky had nothing to say. “No? Then put up or shut up. And by the
way, most of the class is meeting later for some practical application. You’re welcome to join us, providing you apply yourself.”

The man rose and stalked off. Who the hell did he think he was?

Lucky’s TV dinner and soap opera reruns that night made a poor substitute for taking down bad guys, but he wouldn’t give
O’Donoghue the satisfaction of attending a classroom field trip.

***

“Everyone listen up.” O’Donoghue clapped his hands. “Last night Mr. Schollenberger, together with his Atlanta PD
escort, took down a major drug dealer.”

The most Lucky’d accomplished the night before had been reorganizing his CD collection. Atlanta PD escort. Major drug dealer. Didn’t
the group simply run more practice drills with Phillip during the off hours?

“Well done,” Walter’s voice boomed. Lucky glanced to the back of the room to find his boss filling the doorway.
“Bo, would you mind sharing your triumph?” Walter’s eyes twinkled when he winked at Lucky.

Bo flushed and ducked his head. “It was nothing. Right place, right time. I’d been following a suspect, and he led us straight to a
warehouse.”

O’Donoghue added details. “He’s being too modest. Last night’s bust yielded oxycodone and other narcotics with an
estimated street value of $400,000 dollars, $20,000 dollars in cash, stolen guns and jewelry, and eight suspects, one wanted for questioning in a murder
case in Ohio.”

Damn. Lucky wouldn’t let himself regret not hanging with the class last night. Nope. Not happening.

Walter slapped his palms together, leading the class in a round of applause. Bo hazarded a glance at Lucky. Lucky raised his hands and joined the clapping.

If Lucky’d known Bo intended to place himself in harm’s way, he’d have tagged along.
And done what, exactly?
Good
point.

So Bo did good without Lucky’s help. If Newbie high-fived the man again, or didn’t get his hand off of Bo’s shoulder,
he’d soon be turning in a worker’s compensation claim for a broken arm. Lucky mentally tripped the man and sent him sprawling with a
groin punch. Would serve the asshole right.

Lucky waited after class, even staying behind, expecting a scolding from the teacher that never came. Just as well. O’Donoghue couldn’t
possibly beat up on Lucky any worse than he beat himself. Especially since it wasn’t Lucky’s approval Bo sought today. It was the
newbie’s.

That night Bo didn’t answer his phone. Walter’s voice-mail message said he’d be in meetings until late. Cat Lucky was out
doing whatever tomcats did on their own time. A frozen dinner held no appeal. O’Donoghue’s words still ringing in his ears, Lucky drove
back to the office and parked his car in a nearly empty parking lot. Art’s car near the elevator didn’t surprise him. The man had no
life. A couple other vehicles might belong to employees up in the gym.

Bo’s truck sat in its usual place. Bo, best in the class. Took down a drug dealer. Well, what did you know? And asshole O’Donoghue
thought Lucky was in his way?
I’ll show him!

Yet when Lucky stepped off the elevator, he ambled down the hallway to his cubicle instead of turning toward the gym. He accessed the bureau’s
server and punched up training video number one-seventeen on his laptop, from a few months prior when Lucky busted a trio of dock workers pilfering bottles
of product from pharmaceutical shipments. Leaning back in his chair, he watched the footage of himself at the takedown, running from the cops, resisting
arrest, and being forcibly shoved into a car. A textbook training exercise, ending in the arrest of three felons.

And yet, no matter how thrilling he found removing scum from the streets, his heart hadn’t been in the job. Compassion rarely overcame him as it
did Bo, roping him totally and completely into a case. Hell, he hadn’t even bothered to learn his assumed name on the warehouse assignment. No
matter how good he pretended to be, if he were in the field dealing with big fish instead of relatively harmless guppies, he’d be fish food.

An icy chill settled over him. O’Donoghue had a point, further confirmed by three more training videos. Lucky took stupid chances. Look how
easily he’d been taken out of commission the summer before for not watching his back. He reached down and scratched an itchy scar, the
embarrassing reminder of his previous poor judgment.

What if he wasn’t as good as he boasted? He didn’t suck. Walter wouldn’t allow him to remain on the team if he did, and certainly wouldn’t have handed out praise for jobs well done. But only giving half of yourself, being more worried about reputation than actual
performance classified as sucking too, in Lucky’s book.