Ebb Tide Ch. 02

"For what?" Shell blathered.

"Face away, place your hands spread apart on the counter and spread your legs," Trixie Crowe demanded.

"What is this about?" Rothschild asked nervously. She backed two steps away from Shell as well.

"Manning-up is about to have a whole new meaning for you, Bart," I chortled. "See, you just signed in the drugs you planted on me. Felony drug possession, evidence tampering in a felony and filing a false police report involving a felony. That amounts three serious charges you've hung on yourself, Bitch."

I got what I wanted. Shell's anger got the better of him, he reached for his piece and Crowe shot him in shoulder from the side. That was an ugly, ugly wound. A projectile could nick a lung.

Bart bounced off the property Plexiglas shield protecting the Property room, then collapsed -- screaming.

"Don't move!" Trixie Crowe's partner yelled at Rothschild. I was seized with an idea.

"She had nothing to do with this," I stated firmly to Crowe. "It was all Officer Shell."

Shell was momentarily incapable of defending himself. Rothschild showed me a stunned look. Crowe and two other officers rushed Shell, shoved him onto his stomach and handcuffed his arms behind his back, which had to hurt like Hell. Lt. Buchannan began reading him his Miranda -- déjà vu, you Mother-fucker.

"Officer Rothschild, care to un-cuff me?" I politely requested.

"What?" she and Trixie Crowe's partner both replied.

"I'm a licensed paramedic," I explained. "I can help." The partner, R. Kerr, looked to Trixie Crowe...TC...who nodded. Rothschild saw the gesture and put her key to my handcuffs.

I got to work. A senior corrections officer showed up as did one of their orderlies. I took their stuff without asking and proceeded to make sure that Shell would be able to put both palms on the shower stall while he was being ass-raped.

"Why in the fuck did you shoot me?" Shell gasped at TC. She smirked, pulled out her phone and replayed the evidence I'd sent her for his viewing pleasure.

"You... bastard," he seethed at me. "You set us up."

"No, you set yourself up," I calmly related. "If it hadn't been for your partner, Officer Rothschild, you might have gotten away with it too." Kerr had already removed Rothschild from the immediate vicinity, so she couldn't contradict my lie. Buchannan also decided to keep mum.

She had already figured out what I was up to. Dividing up members of a criminal conspiracy and getting them to turn on one another was basic cop procedure. It was also the basis for tactical misinformation.

"Bitch," he gasped in pain. "I want a lawyer and my union rep."

"Play it that way if you wish, but our evidence is very compelling and I'm going for a full-court press on this matter," TC threatened.

"It gets better," I grinned at TC. "I'm going for a civil suit against Officer Shell personally. I'm going to bankrupt him and put his family out on the street."

"Mr. Vardanyan...I have no input in a civil manner," TC studied me. "I can assure you that Las Vegas' IAB will fully cooperate with you in this matter." She knew I was turning the screws. This time pain helped Shell restrained his outburst. He glared his hate. I ignored him. That was the conclusion of the first Act.

By saving G, I had stepped into what Lloyd Pharris felt was his arena -- G's life and the destruction he planned for her. He could be clever, yet he hadn't considered me worth any effort. He had unleashed a conceited bull my way, and I had disrespected him ~ mocked him. I had predicted his reaction -- show of force, threats via proxies and finally, corruption of the law.

I'd dealt with this shit from him fifteen years ago. I hadn't been skilled enough to defend myself then. This time it was different. I had waved a red cape in front of Lloyd Pharris, he had goaded the bull and now he was looking at some embarrassing blowback. If he thought this was a warning shot, or a spasmodic reaction, he was terribly mistaken.

I wasn't teaching him a lesson. Despite his keen legal mind and convoluted thinking, he wouldn't take someone like me seriously at this point in our war. That meant I had a slim window of opportunity to cause some real damage. I already knew how. What I needed was time and that meant soaking up some of these attacks.

Oh, I had to answer some questions about what might have inspired Officer Shell's actions. He would remain Officer Shell until the LVMPD and District Attorney determined what disciplinary actions matched up to the charges filed. The nature of this investigation was expected: attack the victim. Destroy my credibility and then some spin control and Shell would get a slap on the hand -- a good cop who made a forgivable mistake.

The problem for them was me. Yes, I had said I hated cops. Yes, I had an encounter with Bart Shell (I was now refusing to call him 'officer'). He had showed up at my domicile for no clear reason and later that night pulled me over at a traffic stop. Since I had retrieved all my 'non-weapons', I worked out a little electronic diagram for the two new IAB detectives (Rick Elkin and Kanani Kaimana) assigned to this case.

"An unknown source sent those two random officers to my door -- no charges. Randomly pulling me over in a traffic stop -- no citation. Another unknown source randomly sent them to search my car and find drugs there that all the evidence indicated this random officer planted there. How many 'unknowns' and 'randoms' could any sane person be expected to accept?"

They went after all the video evidence;

Why did I have such a set-up? I lived in a free country and had they missed out on the fact that I hated cops and didn't trust them for what proved to be very good reasons.

Could any of the video have been altered?

What? By me? No. By this investigative team? Yes, I believed those two were altering their ethics.

No. Could the video have been faked?

I doubted it, but even if it had been, his wife had been faking for years and he'd never figured that out either. I didn't bring up that the other guy was clearly divorced -- missing wedding band on a finger he rubbed plus his wardrobe's cleanliness was subpar. Neither guy got angry.

I simply parried their insinuations until I took a bathroom break. I called my buddy in the Netherlands with some work for pay. She edited (not altered) everything from Monday afternoon's encounter with Rothschild and Shell to my very recent interrogation.

She was going to distribute it to various media and legal sources, starting with the ACLU, the Nevada Attorney General's Office, KSNV (NBC-3), KVVU (Fox-5), KLAS (CBS-8), KTNV (ABC-13), KHDF-CA (Una Vex Mas-19), KELV-LP (Entravision-27), KMCC (MundoFox-32) and KVCW (CW-33). She wasn't a fan of our PBS.

That taken care of, I walked back to the interrogation room to await her call, and deal with these assholes a little longer. Then my lawyer showed up. That was rude of her. I hadn't called for any legal eagle and definitely not her in particular. Her name was Alesia Morton. After a bit of wrangling about me not being under arrest, the two 'other' IAB detectives left us alone.

"Mr. Vardanyan," she began.

"Credentials," I barked. She jumped slightly.

"I'm here to help you through this matter and to help clarify your possible situation," she carried on.

"Strike one. Credentials," I repeated.

"I don't think you appreciate..."

"Strike two. Credentials," I said yet again. "Believe me," I said in a low, deadly voice, "if your next actions are not to show me who you are and who you work for, you will not only have failed in your mission, you will have disappointed me -- shaken my faith in the American Legal Process."

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"I..." she gulped. My gaze hardened. She pulled her designer wallet out of her very expensive purse (she had an equally pricey briefcase) and showed me her Nevada BAR card. It didn't show me who she worked for. I still examined it, gleaming every bit of useful data I could.

"Are you a Girl Scout too, or a member of PETA?" I remained steady. "Those two and your BAR card are all in the 'that wasn't what I asked for' category. Care to try again?"

"I thought you would appreciate some free legal counsel," she tried to take the offensive.

"Alesia, do you really want me to answer that?" I lightened my mood slightly. For those next five seconds, she thought she was getting somewhere.

"Of course," she smiled, "If I'm..."

"If nothing. You are already ethically compromised, selling your integrity to people you know are wicked. That makes you a whore and a very naïve one at that. Whores never work for free," I smirked.

"You are a whore. Shut up," I let the mirth in my eyes die a chilling death. "You are a whore. You were sent here to prostitute your profession. For some reason, you think you are smarter than me. You may be. I don't know and don't care."

"Since you haven't flashed a corporate card -- you are clearly corporate -- and you were given access to me without protest -- those two detective's faux-outrage was amateurish and insulting -- you work for Lloyd Pharris," I laid out my reason. Criminal law was most likely not her favorite subject. Her face and body gave too much away.

"Mr. Pharris..." she tried to regroup.

"Shut up and listen, Alesia. Your boss is a sick, perverted piece of work. I know him. He doesn't know me. Because you are kind of cute, I'm going to give you your two, and only two, options. You can walk away right now, quit the firm and hang your shingle elsewhere."

"Or, follow your instructions and confirm for me you've pledged your body, soul and future to a monster," I stated.

"What if I simply leave, Mr. Vardanyan?" she bolstered her courage. Deep down in her little mammal brain, she knew I was a killer Wolf and she was a rabbit. She was trying hard.

"You can't. Leave and you fail. Do you really think the partners at your law firm will understand that someone like me couldn't be fooled by a pro like you?" I pointed out.

"Fine," she tossed her past-shoulder length brown hair, put her wallet back on her purse and made to leave. As she stood in the open door, she looked back and me and smirked.

"We'll see how a court-mandated psychological hold influences your willingness to play ball." I gave her an overjoyed closed-lipped smile then winked. She left in a huff. My phone rang as the two IAB idiots came back in. The girl in Holland gave me the thumbs up. It was time for me to go.

"Night gents. I've wasted enough of my time here," I stood and waved good-bye.

"Where to you think you are going?" the lead schmuck stood to bar my way.

"Sorry Leslie (a random gender neutral name)," I slipped past him. He put his hand on the door, trying to shut it. He should have worked more on working out in a gym instead of typing away on a keyboard.

"You are IAB, not criminal investigators. That would make your restraint of me rather problematic. This whole building is wired for sight and sound, so your current choices are very limited. As I said -- night gents," I calmly related as I slipped out the door.

Their pursuit was short-circuited by...

"Mr. Vardanyan," Lt. Trixie Crow greeted me. "Just the man I've been trying to see." She let her gaze flash over my shoulder at her 'buddies'.

"Talk as you walk, TC," I greeted her with a nod. "I'm out of here."

She was seriously frustrated with the morass I'd thrown her into. I counted myself lucky that she was such a pernicious bitch. Fate was finally repaying my idiocy involving G and Dabney.

"Sure," she turned and walked at my side. "Refer to me as Lt. Buchannan."

"No. I can see that all those footprints on your forehead haven't improved your looks, or outlook," I joked.

"You are really damn annoying," she groused. We stepped into the elevator.

"Property Room?" I looked at her. She glowered then hit one of the buttons. "If you were under the impression that I am out to befriend you, I'm not."

"Why did you decide to take a colossal shit on my career?" she reposed.

"Do you believe honesty is critical to any relationship?" I countered. She was annoyed alright.

"Yes."

"Then I'm glad we aren't in a relationship, TC. I'm not going to open up to you. I'm not going to be sympathetic. I asked you to do your job. That is all there is," I informed her.

"Fine...asshole," she remarked as we exited on the bottom floor. "Who are you? What are you?"

"I'm Vance Vardanyan, the paramedic. Why do people find that so hard to believe?"

"You used to be in the Navy..." she tried to draw me out. It didn't work.

I remained impassive through the process of me getting my gun and knife back. The rest of my belongings had been returned because they had to unless the charged me with something. Weapons they could hold on to until I decided to leave...like I was now.

"Yes, I was in the Navy," I said as I secured my two dedicated-to-lethality tools. I could kill people with all kinds of things common in a normal room, or with my hands.

"Smart-ass..." she grumbled. "Your service file ran right into the Great Wall of the DOD (Department of Defense)."

"Enlisted US Navy, January 1999 -- Honorable discharge -- September 2011. Hospital Corpsmen...Marine Expeditionary Unit...a passel of qualifications...and a lot of blank spaces. Were you some sort of black-ops soldier?"

"The navy has sailors, not soldiers. I was a Naval Corpsman," I sighed. "If I did something that the DOD blanked out, there was probably a good reason behind it."

"Okay," she allowed. "What did you do after you left the military?"

"I worked as an agronomist," I replied. "I have an Associate of Science Degree in Botany."

That was sort of/kind of true. I had numerous online credits, but I'd never completed all the required non-core curriculum classes. I was still awarded the degree, due to 'extraordinary circumstances'.

"So you are a medic who studies flowers on the side?" she narrowed her eyes.

"So what happened to your parents?" I switched things around.

"What makes you think anything happened to my parents?" she frowned.

"The man in police uniform on your desk would be too old to be your father, but you are close to him. An older version is out of uniform in your Academy graduation picture. No rings. You're nit-picky, abrupt and barely keep tabs on your looks. You are beyond attentive -- you are obsessive," I continued.

"I imagine most men find your abrupt, aggressive style to be intimidating. You aren't trying to prove anything to anyone else, which suggests you are battling internal demons. I'm guessing it was something traumatic with your parents. Since you aren't a traffic, or patrol officer, I believe it was beyond criminal related."

A long gap in the conversation ended with us at her car.

"Who are you?" she was truly curious now.

"I'm a guy who wants to get my car and go home," I told her. "I don't know where you people stuck my car. Is it on the side of the road on Delhi St., or has it been towed someplace?"

"So there is something you don't know?" she huffed. I shrugged, pulled out my phone and checked my car's GPS. Sure enough, it was close-by aka towed.

"It is over there," I pointed across the street. "Do you want me to walk it?"

"Get in," she grunted. In I got, and off we went.

"I don't understand you, but I will," she promised herself.

"That's not your job. If I become your hobby, you are bound to be disappointed," I warned her.

"Does anyone like you? You get off on being obtuse," she countered.

"Like me? Only if they don't know me," I joked.

That was wrong. The only people who liked me were the ones who knew me. I didn't interact with strangers in any meaningful manner if I could help it.

"Since you are either ignoring the obvious, or trying to wear my alibi down, I will repeat. I don't like cops," I restated. "Today's activities have done nothing to change my attitude."

"I helped you," she reminded me.

"No. You did your job," I reposed. "All I did was dump information in your lap. I didn't make any of those cops corrupt. Since IAB wasn't addressing the issue of their corruption, I forced your hand. I aimed the watchdogs at the lawbreakers then let nature take its course. Had you dealt with this last week, we wouldn't be sharing our mutually disagreeable company."

"Why do you hate cops?" That question by TC aroused the impound guy's concern.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Cops help people?"

"I don't want your help," I grinned. "I want you and the rest of the fraternal order to leave me alone."

"You help people. Don't you want people to like and respect your profession?"

"Not really. What's the point? I am not likely to ever see them again. I do my job because I like it, not because I want children to give me Teddy Bears, or have junkies credit me for them finally going straight," I said. "Honestly, I think you and I are alike." She mulled that over.

"I think you are right," she gave a depressed groan. "That's pathetic." I signed some papers, retrieved my car and got ready to part ways with TC.

"What are you doing for dinner?" she inquired. The vexatious cunt was asking me out. She was more desperate for male companionship than I thought.

"I have dinner plans with a friend," I answered. She assumed it was a dodge. "You are welcome to come along."

"Where are you meeting them?"

"I'm going home, picking them up -- their choice of restaurants tonight," I failed to let her know the 'them' was another woman.

"Fine," she nodded. "I'll follow you to your place." That was reasonable. She didn't ask for a real contact number and she verified that she'd been officially taken off my case. A dedicated professional like TC would never cross the officer-suspect line. I didn't try to shake her and I didn't call Dabney to warn her because that would have been cruel -- making her sit there in my place, afraid to answer the phone, but bored out of her skull.

(Dabney and Trixie)

To me, the best part of the night that far was the look of fury on TC's face as I headed for the door to my home. Ah, the news outlets had finally gotten around to ask the LVMPD to comment on the data packets my contractor had anonymously dropped in their laps. Dutch Girl was worth every penny.

She also possessed strong anarchist tendencies, which was another reason for me to trust her. Helping governments and corporations were mortal sins in her book. She only liked me because I'd saved her older brother's life and helped her evade justice. She felt she owed me and I was loath to dissuade her of that opinion. She also felt she could trust me, which she could.

"What have you done?" TC snapped as she rushed to catch up. I didn't reveal my code to the door's lock while I answered.

"Is this your investigation anymore?"

"No, but..."

"But nothing," I cut her off. "If you still think this case is about you punishing bad cops, let me clear up that for you right now. It isn't. It isn't a matter of me not trusting you -- I don't. It was a matter of you knowing how pernicious this matter is and who it touches. It turns out you are the best person for the job. That is not what your bosses want. They want this problem to go away."

"That's very cynical -- is this what you are truly like?" she murmured. She was caught off guard by Dabney.

Dabney threw herself into my arms, wrapped her body around me and attempted a French kiss. My lips rejected her attempt, so she settled for multiple smaller kisses.

"V, I missed you so much," then...

"Who's that?" the both echoed.

"Dabney, meet Lt. Trixie of the IAB," I motioned the cop's way. "TC, meet Dabney, my childhood friend." I recognized the female body language exchange -- 'Whore' vs. 'Cop/Pig'.

"You failed to mention you have a girlfriend," TC grew down-right frigid. I imagine she was prejudiced toward any man failing to live up to her rigid standards.