Diversion 1 - Diversion (22 page)

Bo left for work, leaving Lucky alone with too much time on his hands. How easily hed fallen into pretending to be someone he wasnt. At times he caught himself staring out the window, waiting for his lover to come home. Lover? No, Bo wasnt his lover.
All a fairy tale.
Yet when Bo lay beside him, offering up that magnificent ass, Lucky wanted to believe the fragile truce between them might last forever. But it couldnt. Where once hed counted the days in eager anticipation, now he dreaded them.

In the midst of his own pity-party, Walter showed up unannounced. “I have copies of new bills submitted to your insurance company, for appointments you didnt even have,” he said without preamble, stepping in from outside. “Ryerson tacked on several additional items covered by your plan. She keeps digging a deeper and deeper hole to bury herself in.

“I also had your prescription analyzed with interesting results. It goes hand in hand with the relabeling operation you uncovered at Rx Dispose.”

Across the street the neighbors were hanging Christmas decorations. Lucky shut the door, wanting no reminders of the swift passage of time. “Did you find the missing link?”

“Pos sibly. While the branded tablets tested as expected, the generics ranged in potency from eighty to ninety-five percent strength. Even with only two months dating left, theyd either been exposed to extremes conditions, or more likely, were expired to have so low a rating. We traced the manufacturer back to Regency.”

“The Raleigh facility leaked like a sieve. You read my report.” “Lucky, therere more hands in the proverbial cookie jar than you can even imagine. In fact, thats why Im here. This operation has now escalated. The Florida Attorneys Office is working with the DEA and local law enforcement. Weve been asked to pull out.”

“Pull out?” Bo worked hard and devoted long hours to the assignment. It seemed, after the “wannabes” of Diversion Prevention and Control put their collective asses on the line, the big boys intended to waltz right in and take over. While Lucky didnt personally give a shit for himself, his partner deserved better, deserved the kudos taking Ryerson down would earn. Had he really insisted that they get Bo out of there a few days ago?

“What gives them the right to call the shots? Weve been here from the getgo, busting our asses.”
“Weve done our job, gathered enough evidence to warrant a raid. We only waited long enough to put the other puzzle pieces in place. Regency Pharma, Rx Dispose, Ryerson Clinic, the nets are cast and are about to be dragged in.”
Lucky stared at the packages in the living room. The cactus appeared to droop in sympathy. From where he stood he could see into the sunlit kitchen, the horrible avocado walls looking downright inviting now that he counted his days as numbered. A magazine lay opened on the counter, and he wondered what Bo had planned for dinner.
“Where does that leave me and Newbie?”
Walter, adjusting his glasses and squinting at his cell phone screen, didnt seem to notice Luckys reluctance. “Bo will move on to a new assignment. Youll spend your remaining days working with me, tying up loose ends.”
Swallowing hard around a lump in his throat, Lucky asked, “And?”
“And I fulfill my part of our bargain. I agree that releasing you back out into the world isnt safe for you, and have received approval to take drastic measures. Youll be free to leave with a clean slate, like youve always wanted. Everything is in place.” He tore his gaze away from his phone, peering at Lucky over the top of his glasses. “Unless, of course, youd rather continue to be Richmond Lucklighter and stay with the department. Im authorized to offer you a choice.”
Stay on? Equal toKeith and Art and everybody else? Luckyd changed in the last few weeks, and had yet to decide if it was for the better or worse. Hed…mellowed. Reaching down deep inside to find the grouchy hard-ass he used to be, he rolled his eyes and spat, “Are you kidding? Ive counted the minutes for eight long years, biding my time to get the hell out.”
If I always wanted to escape, why dont I want it now?
“What happens after Bo does his time?” came out too fast for him to stop it.
“He, too, will be free to leave. Or he can stay on once his contract is up.”
Unbidden, Walter pushed past Lucky into the living room, plunking down on the couch. “Youre the one who gave him his chance. If youd proven to be more liability than asset, or worse, violated your probation, Id never be allowed to offer the same opportunity to someone else. Youve done us proud, and we hate to see you go. I mean it, Lucky; I truly do, for myself and the rest of the department.”
Eight years. For eight years hed dragged around a massive inferiority complex, thinking Walter and the rest of the crew looked down on him. “What now?” Lucky ventured, fearing he already had the answer.
“Now its time to pack. Tonight Bo will be heading back to Atlanta. The raid is scheduled for five oclock sharp. I suggest you spend the intervening time getting your proverbial house in order, then return to the office.”

Lucky sat on the edge of his bed, holding a shirt hed found underneath. Bos. In a few short days, his sentence would be over, like hed known it would—one day. He gazed at the pillows, imagining dark hair contrasting with the pillowcase, the steady rise and fall of Bos chest, the breathy little noises escaping while the man slept. For years Lucky had dreamed of this moment, the wrapup when Walter would finally let him go.

A complication had arisen in the form of a guileless pharmacist, caught in an act of compassion. While Bo considered himself Luckys kindred spirit, Lucky knew better. They stood worlds apart, growing farther apart by the minute. Bo sacrificed himself for a friend; Lucky sacrificed a friend, and more, to save himself, even if he hadnt truly known the full extent of his misdeeds at the time.

He buried his face in the shirt and breathed deeply of cologne and Bo,recalling the precise moment when hed discovered how greatly Victor had cared about him, and how horribly hed betrayed the man…

For the first time in weeks hed been allowed to change out of prison orange and into a suit, his lawyer determined to show the jury a respectable man. Though when Lucky checked his appearance in the mirror, he saw only himself—a two-bit, low-life, waste of a human being.

Head down, hed trudged quietly into the courtroom, swallowing hard when his lawyer led him to the exact spot where hed last seen Victor. He hesitated, as though sitting in the same chair somehow desecrated the dead. In the end, hed manned up and sat, whispering, “Im sorry, Victor. I had no idea.”

He spotted his sister seated in the back of the courtroom, giving him a reassuring smile even while wiping teary eyes. His parents and brothers hadnt come, nor did he expect them to. Theyd said their final and unequivocal goodbyes via a scathing phone call.

His lawyer took a seat next to him, absentmindedly laying a newspaper on the table. Lucky turned away from the image carelessly left in his line of sight, an image of Victor, taken in better days. A lump rose in his throat. Though too far away to read the print, he didnt need to. Hed seen the news on TV. Victor Mangiardi, forty-four-year-old millionaire, had hung himself in his cell rather than face life in prison.

Although on some level, Lucky felt it was wrong to cry for the bastard, he still did, remembering the caring side of his former lover, the man who tried to help him sleep, who gave him a shot at the good life.

Now, at Luckys trial, the one real threat his lawyer had feared was gone. Victor wouldnt be testifying.
In a daze Lucky held up his hand to be sworn in, answering every question with a simple yes or no, as hed been coached to do.
It wasnt until the final moments of his trial that the prosecution produced a piece of evidence theyd not shared with the defense, raising objections resulting in the summary dismissal of incriminating exhibit 4A fromthe proceedings. It didnt matter, for the damage had been done. Lucky didnt care one way or the other at that point, because he had seen, clearly seen, a passport in the name of Jeffrey Andrews…bearing his picture.
Me. Victor planned to take me with him to Rio.
After his trial hed wandered in a nightmare world, not understanding until much later that the only things proven against him were conspiracy, possession, and a few lesser charges, for which he was sentenced ten years.
He lay in his cell after his sentencing, tears coursing down his cheeks, alternately picturing Victor, alive and laughing, and Victors cold, still body lying on a slab. In the background of his mind, Pachelbels
Canon
played…
Knowing what was best and wanting what was best were two entirely different things. He willed himself off the bed to continue packing, determined not to be there when Bo arrived. What good would it do?
Does Bo have any idea how far Ive fallen? Does he know Id give up my shot at freedom to spend a few more days with him?
Dangerous thoughts.
He forced himself to take a few minutes to send a cryptic message, and hoped his sister understood, because to state things more clearly put them both at risk.

Remember how I told you Id always be there fo r you? Believe me, I will, always. Soon a stranger will contact you. I cant tell you his name right now. Listen to him. I love you. Give the boys a kiss and a hug from Uncle Rich.

Message accomplished with a knife steadily twisting in his heart, Lucky hauled his few meager belongings out to the car, determined to make a clean break.
Better for the both of us.

He loaded the car, and though he swore he wouldnt, found himself lying on the bed, hugging Bos pillow and breathing in the familiar scent he despaired of ever smelling again.

Sheer determination forced him up and out the door, to the car and down the street. With any luck hed soon be caught up with Walter and wouldnt have time to dwell on the past.
As if.
And he and Bo may still encounter each other at work sometime. What would they do? What would they say? Would Bo pretend theyd never been more to each other than coworkers? Two guys whiling away the time?

Noticing a speck of gray sticking up between the seats, he reached over and pulled out a CD case, heart dropping when he recognized it as Bos. Feeling a need to torture himself, he popped the CD into the player. When the first strains of Pachelbels
Canon
drifted from the speakers, he visualized Bo stretched out on the bed, wearing nothing but chaps.
I never saw him in the thong. Will he wear it someday for someone else, or will he simply throw it away?

He drove through town one final time. Unable to resist, he made his way to the parking garage across from the Ryerson Clinic. Picking up his binoculars and leaning against the hood of the car, he hoped to get one final glimpse at Bo. He discounted texting as too lame. What would he say?
Its been fun, see ya?

A red BMW pulled into the parking area, reminding Lucky of the executive lot at Regency Pharmas Raleigh facility, and he wondered why. His blood ran cold when the driver stepped out, dressed in a suit and wearing an ugly orange tie.
Oh fuck no!

A familiar SUV pulled up next to the pricey, four-wheeled toy, Elledge climbing out and striding determinedly toward the door. God-awful Orange-tieguy fell into step behind him. Luckys mouth dropped open.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!
The Raleigh manager had definitely seen Bo before and possibly had again at Ryersons dinner. The moment he set foot near the pharmacy, Bo was toast.

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, Lucky dialed, watching in horror as the two men approached the door.
Please dont go near the pharmacy, please dont go near the pharmacy.
Hed never prayed so hard for anything in his life.

The phone rang five times before a recorded message said, “Sorry, I cant take your call right now…”
He leaped into the Mazda, throwing it into reverse and leaving rubber and smoke in his wake. Punching in Walters number, he swerved to miss an oncoming car, taking a corner on two wheels.
“Hell…”
“Walter!” Lucky shrieked, “Its gone to shit! Burnetts at the clinic with Elledge. He knows Bo! Get that team in here now!”
“Calm down, Lucky…”
“Bos going down if you dont get his ass out of there!” He heard a chime, and switched to text mode to accept an incoming message. His heart skipped a beat and then slammed against his ribs as he read:
“Bo says, „Help! Locked in BR! They know Im in here!”
A second later another message appeared:
“Bo says, „Wont b home 4 dinr. Luv u.”
Lucky hung up on Walter and dialed Bos number, but the phone went straight to voice mail. A moment later Walter called back. Lucky took the call while cursing a delivery van blocking the garage exit.
“Oh for fucks sake! Move your mother fucking ass! Now, damn it!”
“Lucky, calm down. Ive alerted the team. Keep your head down, and whatever you do,
do not
get involved. I repeat: stand down, let those better prepared take care of this. Theyve planned the raid start to finish. Dont get in their way. Bo might not even be noticed.”
Blood trying to boil and freeze in his veins at the same time, Lucky took a deep breath. How he hated Walter for being right, but flying off the handle halfcocked wasnt going to help anybody. “He texted me our code for „Ive been made.” He didnt repeat the “luv u” part, and didnt have time to dwell on those words right now. They clouded his mind and he needed his wits about him.
The van rolled forward; not enough to let Lucky out, but enough to let him see a mass exodus from the clinic. Car doors slammed in rapid-fire succession, patients and smocked pharmacy staff fleeing the premises.
What the fuck was going on down there?
Once the parking lot nearly emptied of all but a handful of cars, Elledge charged out the clinic door, Dr. Ryerson tottering on spiked heels behind him. Orange-tie-guy came next, wrestling with a pissed-off pharmacist.
Bo kicked and flailed with his elbows, landing a solid head-butt on his captor. Holy shit! They had his hands tied behind his back.
Dear sweet lawdy no.
I will fucking kill you for that, you bastard!
Lucky promised.
Bo shrieked in outrage and Elledge whirled, smacking him across the mouth with the flat of his hand.
Righteously indignant and ready to rend Elledge limb from limb with his bare hands, Lucky laid down on the horn, screaming, “Move your damn ass!” to the top of his lungs at the driver of the van.
To Walter he shrilled, “Theyre going mobile, in the SUV. If Keith has ever done anything right in his life, get him tracking that damned piece of shit. Ryersons with them and theyve got Bo. And no, Bo isnt going willingly.”
He pounded his hand against the steering wheel, chanting, “Move it, move it, move it,” to the van. The van inched up and Lucky gunned the engine, metal screeching against metal as the two vehicles traded paint. The brake lights of the Tahoe glowed crimson and the hulking vehicle slowed to turn left, two blocks away.
“Lucky, what are you doing?” Walter kept his voice low, as usual, but he didnt sound happy.
“Im going after them.”
“Lucky, stop! This is out of your hands. Were tracking, and will have the team there in five minutes.”
“Theyll be too fucking late.”
“I order you to abandon pursuit. Right now! This is not your fight!” For the first time in eight years Walter raised his voice.
Lucky ignored the order. “It is my fight, damn it. Theyve got my partner.” He slammed the phone to the passenger floorboard, needing both hands on the steering wheel, and tuned out the steady, “Lucky? Lucky? Lucky, answer me, damn it!” squawking from the floor.
Instead he punched the stereo button, turning up the volume to drown out the noise.
Canon
exploded from the speakers at high volume.
Many times in the past hed pushed his driving limits: when stealing Victors car, the first time hed jacked a load in Chattanooga. All those times fading from memory, Lucky clutched the steering wheel in a death grip, entire being focused on catching and stopping the SUV.
He recognized the moment they spotted him and took evasive action, swerving the top-heavy Tahoe too sharply to the left. It wobbled and tipped, then righted and accelerated, eight cylinder engine putting the Mazdas four cylinders to shame. The heavier vehicle leapt ahead, and Lucky shifted hard, spurring every bit of performance available from a car not designed for high speeds.
The SUV cut off a car, tearing across lanes and shooting through a red light. Blaring horns sounded drivers displeasure. Luckys shoe hit the floor, coaxing a few more RPMs out of a high-mileage car already pushed to the breaking point.
He slammed on brakes and fishtailed, barely missing a pickup truck that screeched to a halt in front of him. Swearing up a blue streak, he threw the car into reverse, scratching tires in his haste. Spying an open spot of road, he dropped the shifter into drive, resuming the chase. He nearly stopped breathing when he finally got free, only to realize hed lost the SUV. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement—a black blur, streaking down the highway to his left. His lips pulled back in a feral grin.
“You can run, but you cant hide, mother fuckers!” he snarled at the assholes topping his shit list.
In the distance sirens wailed, but he couldnt afford to wait and see if they meant friend or foe. Whipping the car down an access road, he had a clearer shot at open asphalt, sans red lights, and raced parallel to the Tahoe. He hoped like hell theyd think theyd lost him and drop their guard.
The SUV veered sharply, nearly toppling the vehicle by swerving into the parking lot of an abandoned shopping center, slowing it enough to let the Mazda gain some ground. Luckyd about reached the lot when the Tahoe hit a speed bump, a back door popping open and a body tumbling out. Bo hit the ground hard, bolted upright, and ran stumbling and nearly falling, hands still tied behind him. Bobbing and weaving, he made for the nearest building, in what seemed to Lucky to be slow motion. The Tahoe spun around in a cloud of dust and squalling tires, aimed like a giant weapon at Bo.Hed never make cover in time.
One thought rang crystal clear in Luckys head: “Oh
hell
the fuck no!”
He stomped the gas. The tires spun, scratching for a purchase on the cracked asphalt, and then grabbed hold, rocketing a fourwheeled missile across the lot on an intercept course.
His entire body jerked like a rag doll on impact, the crunch and squeal of the dying Mazda screaming protest. Head thrashing back and forth before crashing against the steering wheel, Lucky felt a slick of warm wetness slide over his forehead and down his cheek.
An airbag slammed him full in the face, and he clawed at the plastic to get it out of his line of sight.
He tried to focus, unable to figure out why he was staring at the bottom of a vehicle. As his vision blackened and tunneled to a pinpoint, he whispered, “I love you, too.”
His last conscious thought was, “Walters gonna kill me.”