Serpent's Tooth (34 page)

“I’ll take the shitter.”

Decker said, “Arnie, after you paraffin his hands, give him some jail rags and let the kid clean himself up before you book him. Let him have his shred of dignity.”

Savvy kids
.

They all immediately asked for lawyers.

No prob, man. Just need to take your picture first
.

The station house had become a riot of activity. Twenty-one arrested as pounds of pharmaceuticals were bagged and checked into evidence. The firearms were entered separately. A mammothsized bust—children from some very high-powered families. Narcotics was elated. Parents were outraged. Throughout it all, Decker just did his job.

Not nearly enough cell space at Devonshire so the kids were transferred immediately to Van Nuys for booking and arraignment. Between the paperwork, cataloging, and car-pooling, Decker didn’t get to Malcolm Carey until hours later, about one in the morning. He brought Marge with him for backup.

Decker found the formerly out-of-control teen sitting comfortably, slouching in his chair, dressed in jail blues. He sipped water, smoked a cigarette. A square face, sporting patches of beard growth. A high forehead, strong jawline. Thin arched eyebrows. Pecan-colored hair clipped close to the scalp. Dull blue eyes. Still, they weren’t completely expressionless—not like the eyes of hardened cons. That would come later on.

Since Malcolm was of age, his parents had been excluded from the interview. But Dad had sent along his best wishes in the form of Rupert Flame—a fifty-plus criminal defense
attorney, whose haircut budget equaled a month of Decker’s salary. He was of medium build, gray hair, brown eyes, ruddy face with the wet complexion of the recently shaved. He wore a superbly tailored double-breasted navy nailhead suit.

Decker took his seat, exchanged glances with Marge, both of them waiting for the lawyer to begin.

Flame said, “He’s a kid—”

“Over eighteen,” Marge corrected. “Birthday was two months ago.”

“He isn’t what you’re after.”

“What are we after?”

Flame said, “You want the big guys, offer me something. He doesn’t talk until you lay something on the table.”

Decker said, “You know what we have your client on, Mr. Flame?”

“I know what you have—”

“In order of severity, we’ve booked him on two counts of attempted murder of police officers—”

“Man, I thought you were robbers,” Malcolm broke in.

“Mal, we
clearly
identified ourselves,” Decker said.

“I didn’t hear—”

“Malcolm, you mowed down the door with a semi-automatic,” Marge said. “And you did fire the gun. Paraffin tests don’t lie.”

Flame said, “He was panic-stricken, Detective. His judgment was less than ideal.”

Decker said, “Twenty counts of selling illegal substances. Five counts of possession—”

“I was framed, man. The Narcs put the envelopes in my pocket—”

“One count of resisting arrest. Two counts felony reckless discharge of a firearm, not to mention one felony possession of a firearm.”

“Nobody likes a pusher,” Marge turned to the kid. “Mal…can I call you Mal?”

The teen smirked, “You can call me sweetheart—”

“Lieutenant, listen to me. Malcolm
is
over eighteen. But
emotionally, he’s still a
child
, a dumb kid—”

“A basic
re
tard,” Carey broke in.

Flame snapped, “Unless you want your asshole reamed, buddy boy, you shut your mouth!”

Surprisingly, the kid blushed, turned quiet.

Flame took a deep breath, said, “He has a big mouth as you can see. Dumb and brash with a big mouth. But just bark, he turns into a lamb.” The lawyer kept Malcolm silent with a stony look. “Just rolls over and takes the beating. And that was what happened to him, Lieutenant. He started selling to be a big man on campus. Nothing heavy…maybe just a few joints of marijuana—”

“A regular saint—”

“We concede that the boy sold marijuana on his own. But within a few weeks, he was in
way
over his head, Lieutenant. He got involved with the
wrong
people. People you don’t mess with if you want to breathe.”

“Uh-huh,” Decker said. “Meanwhile, he’s racking up a grand or two a month.”

“The money wasn’t the reason he pushed,” Flame said. “Yes, Malcolm continued to push. We concede that as well. But
not
because he wanted to play Mr. Big Shot. He sold only to prevent some foreign animal from cutting off his dick and stuffing it down his throat.”

Marge said, “I see. He was
coerced
into making two thou a month. Slick defense, Counselor.”

“It’s the
truth
, Detective,” Flame insisted. “When Malcolm tried to stop, he was threatened. Stalked. Even beaten. We have proof of that.”

“Uh-huh,” Decker said.

Flame leaned in close. “He’s a pawn, not what you and Narc are after.”

Decker said, “Actually, Malcolm is
exactly
what I’m after.”

“You’re missing the big picture,” Flame replied. “We can give you names, Lieutenant. Make you and Narcotics very,
very
happy. Just give us something to work with.”

“I want to talk about Sean Amos,” Marge stated.

Flame was taken aback. “Sean Amos?”

“The kid who was with Malcolm when we took him down.” Decker’s eyes shifted to the teen. “He’s sitting in a cell as we speak. I haven’t talked to him yet. But that can be remedied—”

Flame broke in. “What are you talking about?”

Decker said, “Specifically? The pictures Amos tried to flush down the toilet. What was the deal, Mal? Things flew so well first time out, you decided to do a repeat?”

Flame’s face was the picture of confusion. Malcolm turned pale, said nothing. But he was no longer smirking.

Flame stumbled, “Lieutenant, what are you
getting
at?”

Decker said, “Ask your client.”

“Then give me a minute with my client.”

“You take your minute now, you might as well make it an hour. Because you know what I’m going to do, Counselor? I’m going to talk to Sean Amos. He wants to go state’s witness against your client—instead of the other way around—it’s fine with me—”

“State’s witness?” Flame stuttered out.

“He’s bluffing,” Carey blurted. “He’s bullshitting—”

Decker lied, “I never bluff. I never bullshit. I want Sean Amos’s head, Malcolm. Either his or yours. So either you talk or we’ll talk to him.”

Marge said, “You talk to us now, Mal, maybe we can cut you a deal with the DA. You play mute, then Sean’ll do your talking for you—”

Flame cut in. “If you’re planning to bring new charges against my client, you have to come clean. You can’t conceal evidence.”

“I’m not concealing anything,” Decker said. “Counselor, we’re not at the discovery phase of this case because as yet, I haven’t charged him—”

“Lieutenant, you hold back, you’re in procedural error. Which messes up your entire case.”

“Now you got me quaking.”

“What are you
talking
about?”

Decker said, “We’re planning to charge your client and Sean Amos in a murder-for-hire scheme—”

“
What!
” Flame glared at Carey. “I thought you said you told me
everything
!”

The teen started to speak, instead looked down and stubbed out his cigarette.

Marge said, “The intended victim is a man named Wade Anthony. That’s why there were pictures of Anthony stuffed down the toilet along with Anthony’s daily schedule—”

Flame stuttered, “Who is Wade Anthony?”

“A paraplegic tennis player.”

Flame said to Carey, “Do you know this Wade Anthony?”

Carey whispered, “He’s talking shit.”

“Actually, it was probably Sean Amos’s idea,” Decker went on. “He felt that Wade had stolen away his girlfriend. Looks like Sean got desparate, was in the process of hiring your client as a hit man when the bust went down.”

“We hadn’t agreed on anything yet,” Malcolm said to Decker.

“Shut up!” Flame ordered.

Coolly, Carey said, “Can I just talk for a moment?”

“No, you may not!” Flame ordered.

Malcolm discounted his counsel. “Since when is it against the law to talk about things? Even things like murder? I mean, how many times have you said you’d like to kill someone?”

“It’s isn’t against the law to talk,” Decker said, “but it is against the law to
contract
. More important, it’s against the law to
act
on that contract. And you’ve climbed that mountain before, son. In the form of sticking dope into people’s veins. And we both know what I’m talking about.”

The teen blanched.

“What are you
talking
about, Lieutenant?” Flame asked.

Marge said, “If Sean drops first, you go home without a pot to piss in.”

The boy stumbled, “You have no proof—”

“We have fingerprints,” Decker lied.

“That’s fucking
impossible
! I used glov—”

“
Shut up!
”

The room fell quiet.

Decker went on. “Not to mention the dragon we collected from you, Malcolm. It has the exact same gas chromatography spectrum as the heroin pumped into David Garrison’s veins. Know what the odds are of that, son?”

“Evidence doesn’t lie,” Marge fibbed.

“Who’s David Garrison?” Flame demanded.

The teen broke out in a sweat. “You’re trying to freak me out—”

Marge interrupted, “Sean or you, Malcolm?”

Flame stood up. “Before you go two
any
further, I need to consult with my client. Obviously, we’re in a different league now.”

“We don’t have all night,” Decker said.

Marge said, “And Sean’s awaiting—”

“No!” Carey protested.

“I insist that I converse with my client privately.” Flame’s voice had become as wound up as a catapult. “But, please, I am asking both of you to hold off talking to this other party. Just give me a few minutes.”

“You know what? I’ll give you five of them.” Decker started for the door, turned around, looked at his watch. “Starting now.”

Outrage was stamped across the defense lawyer’s face. But he maintained an even voice. To counteract Flame, Decker had brought in Morton Weller—a man who had packed in over twenty years with the DA’s office. Scrawny, with a narrow face, deep-set eyes, and a long neck bisected by the node of an Adam’s apple. White downy fuzz sat atop his head. He had on a gray single-breasted suit, white shirt, and red tie. He shook hands with Flame, sat down.

Calmly, Flame said, “Give me a show of good faith.”

Weller scratched his ear. “No death penalty—”

Carey screamed, “Fuck that! I didn’t kill anybody!”

“Malcolm, calm down. He’s trying to rile you.”

“I assure you, Rup—”

Flame talked over him. “You want me to start, Mort,
I’ll start. For turning witness, you drop everything except the murder two. Twenty-five with a minimum of five years—”

Carey screamed. “I’m not going to
jail
for five years!”

Decker said, “Penitentiary, Malcolm. Not jail.”

Weller said, “Murder one, life—”

“No—”

“
With
possibility of parole—”

“I’ll take my chances on a jury.” Flame stood.

Weller said, “Rup, be reasonable. How can I deal effectively unless I hear what your client has to say?”

Flame said, “You take a chance here or take a chance with a jury.”

Decker said, “Murder two, twenty-five to life, minimum fifteen years—”

“Seven,” Flame said.

Weller said, “Counselor, he’d get a harsher sentence from the drug charges alone.”

“Not after I finished with the jury.”

Weller said, “Murder two, twenty-five to life, minimum twelve—”

“Seven.”

Decker said, “Now he’s bluffing. Morton, I
know
I can get the other kids to turn against him—”

Flame interrupted. “Murder two only, twenty-five to life, seven minimum before possibility of parole, no time off for good behavior. Do we have a deal or not?”

Morton and Decker traded glances. The assistant DA nodded.

Carey banged the table. “No way I’m spending
seven
years in jail!”

Decker said, “Penitentiary.”

“Fuck you!”

“And it may even be longer than seven—”

Flame shot out, “Malcolm, you refuse, they talk to your friend and
he
takes the deal. Then look at what you have. The same evidence, the same charges against you…except now they have a witness to back up a first-degree murder charge. You want me to go to court with Sean
Amos as state’s witness, I’ll take the money. But you’d better believe in miracles, son, because that’s what you’re going to need.”

The room became silent. Flame broke it. “We’ll take the offer.”

This time the teen didn’t argue. All eyes went to him.

“Go on,” Flame said. “The worst is over. You have nothing to lose. Tell them what happened.”

Carey spoke softly…deliberately.

“Sean came up to me one day…said he had a problem. There was this guy…a hype…who was harassing his girlfriend. He wanted the problem taken care of. Could I help him out?”

He scratched his fuzzy chin.

“I asked him what he had in mind. I figured maybe he wanted me to spook him or something like that. But as he kept going, I figured out he wanted something more permanent.”

Weller said, “What did he ask of you specifically?”

“Sean asked me to whack him.” Carey looked up. “I was shocked, man. I wasn’t in the business of murder. I told him he should watch who he talked to, man.”

He stopped, fidgeted.

“Go on,” Decker said.

“Then…then Sean starts asking…‘Well…do you know anyone who’d want to do the pop?’ So I’m like playing along. I ask him…how much? He told me ten grand. Then I asked him how he could produce that much cash.”

“And?” Marge prodded.

“He told me he had this trust fund with over two hundred and fifty grand coming to him in a couple of years. Now, I’m making, on my own, like one to two grand a month. So why would I risk my ass for only ten grand? But there are people out there…ten grand would be a lot of money.”

Marge arched her brows. “Hard to believe, but I suppose that’s true.”