{"id":407,"date":"2024-06-26T22:23:06","date_gmt":"2024-06-26T22:23:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/?page_id=407"},"modified":"2024-07-09T17:40:03","modified_gmt":"2024-07-09T17:40:03","slug":"mourning-dove-2","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/mourning-dove-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Mourning Dove"},"content":{"rendered":"

[vc_section el_id=”booki-blo” woodmart_css_id=”666ce08fbeca7″ responsive_spacing=”eyJwYXJhbV90eXBlIjoid29vZG1hcnRfcmVzcG9uc2l2ZV9zcGFjaW5nIiwic2VsZWN0b3JfaWQiOiI2NjZjZTA4ZmJlY2E3Iiwic2hvcnRjb2RlIjoidmNfc2VjdGlvbiIsImRhdGEiOnsidGFibGV0Ijp7fSwibW9iaWxlIjp7fX19″ mobile_bg_img_hidden=”no” tablet_bg_img_hidden=”no” woodmart_parallax=”0″ woodmart_gradient_switch=”no” woodmart_box_shadow=”no” wd_z_index=”no” woodmart_disable_overflow=”0″][vc_row][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”These are drafts of the opening chapters from Mourning Dove,
\nthe Seventh Book in the Ro Delahanty Series, which is still being written\u2026” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:40|text_align:center|color:%23af2405″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718646290536{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1718411046127{padding-top: 50px !important;}” woodmart_css_id=”666cdf1e1f431″ responsive_spacing=”eyJwYXJhbV90eXBlIjoid29vZG1hcnRfcmVzcG9uc2l2ZV9zcGFjaW5nIiwic2VsZWN0b3JfaWQiOiI2NjZjZGYxZTFmNDMxIiwic2hvcnRjb2RlIjoidmNfcm93IiwiZGF0YSI6eyJ0YWJsZXQiOnt9LCJtb2JpbGUiOnt9fX0=” mobile_bg_img_hidden=”no” tablet_bg_img_hidden=”no” woodmart_parallax=”0″ woodmart_gradient_switch=”no” woodmart_box_shadow=”no” wd_z_index=”no” woodmart_disable_overflow=”0″ row_reverse_mobile=”0″ row_reverse_tablet=”0″][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Chapter One” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23af2405″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718411206520{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][vc_custom_heading text=”Poking a Hornet\u2019s Nest with a Stick” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23000000″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718646296879{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column]\t\t\t \t\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t

Wednesday, January 28, 2009, 9:30 a.m.<\/em><\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t

D<\/strong>oug Payne met Ro in the entrance foyer outside the front desk \u2013 in today\u2019s world now protected behind a bullet proof glass panel \u2013 of the Iowa State Police\u2019s District Five Headquarters adjacent to I-82, not far from the small town of Lipton, about forty miles west of Lee\u2019s Landing.<\/p>\n

\u201cWelcome, Sergeant,\u201d he said, even though she was not in uniform, \u201cmy office is back here.\u201d His manner was casual and friendly, as if Ro was a regular visitor.<\/p>\n

Ro had looked up the district headquarters number on the Internet on Sunday evening, then called him from her cell phone during a break from her now assistant<\/em>-armorer\u2019s desk on Monday morning. After identifying herself to the dispatcher who initially answered the phone, Payne immediately took the call. When she\u2019d asked if she could come see him, he\u2019d readily agreed, in fact, she got the impression he was not at all surprised.<\/p>\n

He led her through a heavy security door into the bullpen. All police stations have a bullpen, a good-sized room with desks for sergeants, computer stations for officers and, always, a table for making coffee, nowadays some variation of a single-serve dispenser. He made himself a mug of French roast, black, and Ro a cup of black tea.<\/p>\n

His office, down a short hallway, was not large, but neither was it cramped. His desk was one of those wall-mounted, corner modular units with file drawers underneath and a long storage cabinet up at eye level. He gestured for her to join him at a small conference table flanked by two chairs.<\/p>\n

Headquartered in Des Moines, the Iowa State Police, part of the larger Department of Public Safety, has eight districts. Those in the more populace eastern and central portions of the state cover eight to ten counties, while the districts in the more rural western part had more than a dozen. District Five was eight counties in the east-central section of the state, including Fort Armstrong County.<\/p>\n

Payne was an eighteen-year \u201cstatey,\u201d which is how locals referred to state cops, but always said with respect. In the cop pecking order, wearing a state uniform was a step up.<\/p>\n

Besides being fellow cops, Doug Payne and Ro Delahanty were also friends. They had competed against one another twice in shooting competitions; Ro had won the first one, he had beaten her in the second. He had once described her to fellow officers as the \u201ccoolest shooter I\u2019ve ever seen,\u201d adding if he knew he was going into a gunfight, she would be his first choice for backup.<\/p>\n

Once seated, he smiled and said, \u201cLet\u2019s skip the preliminaries, Ro. I\u2019d hire you for the ISP in New York minute. That is why you\u2019re here, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat obvious, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBelieve me, you\u2019re not the first deputy from your department to come see me in the last six weeks, given the, uh,\u201d he rolled his eyes, \u201cnew sheriff\u2019s management style.\u201d He made no effort to hide his disdain.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat I told the others is the standard, \u2018We\u2019re honored you would consider joining the state police. The first step is to go to the State of Iowa\u2019s website and complete an online job application.\u2019 You know the drill,\u201d he leaned forward, \u201cthen lots of hoops to jump through.\u201d But then dropped his voice, \u201cBut with you, my friend, I\u2019d pull every string I could get my hands on to make sure you joined the force ASAP.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoug, it\u2019s just not the same anymore,\u201d Ro said, shaking her head, still feeling like she needed to give him some explanation for why she was there.<\/p>\n

Payne nodded. \u201cI know\u2026 If you\u2019re not the best deputy in Fort Armstrong County, you\u2019re certainly in the top two or three, so why they\u2019re\u2026,\u201d he almost said \u201cbusting your balls\u201d but thought better of it and instead improvised, \u201ccutting your legs out from under you, I will never understand.\u201d Then frowned, \u201cDid they really try to push you off SWAT?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou heard about that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, the cop grapevine doesn\u2019t miss much. Look, if you join the department, I\u2019d love<\/em> to have you assigned to my district, but I\u2019m probably not that lucky. I\u2019m sure the SWAT folks would grab you up as soon as they could. We have three squads at the state level. One based in Cedar Rapids, one in Des Moines, and one in Sioux City. I have no doubt they\u2019d find a slot for you in one of those,\u201d he rocked his head from side-to-side, \u201cespecially because I\u2019d be telling them they\u2019d be damn fools not to.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro knew she was a good cop, she had no doubt about that, despite Captain Pettit\u2019s mind games. She\u2019d expected some degree of encouragement from Payne about moving over to the state yet was still taken aback by his enthusiasm. Now that she\u2019d taken the first actual step to leave her beloved sheriff\u2019s department\u2026 Well, it seemed to make sense. Mike was busy building a new life with Anna Trotter. Tuck was occupied with his roles as husband, soon-to-be father, and entrepreneur. Given the state of the economy, Tag needed to pay some attention to his business interests. So, maybe it was<\/em> time for Ro Delahanty to embark on a new life path as well. In fact, it was kind of exciting.<\/p>\n

But there was still that fiend out there, her Pribyl Thing.<\/p>\n

She took a breath, thinking to get to her real agenda.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoug, thank you for your support about my joining the state police. And yes, I would be honored to be on the force.\u201d Except she couldn\u2019t quite bring herself to just jump into it, so took a slight detour while mustering the courage to go where she needed. \u201cBut would I really have to wear one of those Smokey hats?\u201d The Iowa State Police uniform was a dark tan, including a flat-brimmed campaign hat.<\/p>\n

Doug knew he was being teased, so played along. \u201cI\u2019m afraid that\u2019s pretty much a deal breaker. Of course, you could always pin up one side, like the Aussies. I don\u2019t think anybody\u2019d have a problem with that.\u201d<\/p>\n

They enjoyed a common chuckle, but then Ro just blurted out, \u201cI do have one condition, though, for joining the department.\u201d<\/p>\n

Payne sat back in his chair and his left eyebrow went up, but more suggesting curiosity than surprise or irritation. \u201cAnd what might this condition be?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat I get to go undercover.\u201d<\/p>\n

There\u2026 It got said\u2026 She had finally articulated it out loud to someone other than herself, to someone who might be able to do something about it. It felt to Ro like some sort of commitment had just been made, but to exactly what she wasn\u2019t sure.<\/p>\n

Payne\u2019s other eyebrow went up. \u201cI\u2019ve had candidates tell me they wanted a promise they would only work weekdays. I even had one who wanted me to guarantee he\u2019d be a captain by the time he was thirty. But no one\u2019s ever asked <\/em>for undercover work. Are you simply curious about that area of police work in general, which, by the way, wouldn\u2019t surprise me, or do you have a specific investigation in mind?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, the Pribyls.\u201d<\/p>\n

He chuckled, but it was an ironic laugh. \u201cO-k-a-y\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro gave him a sidelong look because an idea popped into her head, that maybe her interest in the Pribyls was not a surprise, but when he didn\u2019t offer any further explanation, she let it slide.<\/p>\n

Payne held up both hands in a kind of surrender gesture. \u201cLook, don\u2019t get me wrong, I am taking what you\u2019ve said quite seriously here. But I\u2019d first ask you to do me the favor of explaining on what basis you think the Pribyl\u2019s need looking into.\u201d<\/p>\n

It took twenty minutes. Except she told him as much as she thought he needed to know now. She talked about following the growth of Pacifica Trading over the last couple of years and why it seemed odd to her it was located at the back of a junkyard instead of in some first class office space in town; \u00a0about the seeming overkill of their unusually large computer capacity; about the rather heavily armed security people, all suggesting there could be more going on in their modular office units than just buying and selling scrap metal.<\/p>\n

However, she figured he did not need to know about her clandestine \u201cspying\u201d caper from the adjacent railroad yards with Big Foot, mostly because she didn\u2019t want to get her friend in trouble, but also because if it didn\u2019t necessarily cross a line as an illegal search, it certainly flirted with it.<\/p>\n

She talked about some online research she\u2019d done \u2013 he did not need to know about Tag Halvorsen and his resources \u2013 and the seeming pattern she\u2019d found in their used car franchises scattered across the mid and eastern part of the country.<\/p>\n

She talked about her friend, but not by name, whose husband drove a car hauler for Central States Auto Auction and about his regular \u201cspecial runs\u201d to Philadelphia and Houston, two major ports of entry for containers, and for which he seemed to be inordinately well paid in cash \u2013 could they really be for drug pick-ups?<\/p>\n

She especially neglected to mention that Kate Delahanty, her mother, as well as herself, had prior connections to the Pribyls. She told herself it would be too complicated to explain but knew deep down such information might cause Payne to have second thoughts about her motivations for wanting to go undercover.<\/p>\n

Several times during her account she was careful to emphasize there was no hard evidence she could point to, that everything she was talking about could be entirely legitimate and that she might just be seeing bad guys where there weren\u2019t any.<\/p>\n

But then she shared what she thought of as the clincher, what she\u2019d seen on her recent visit to the World of Wheels, spotting two vehicles that might <\/em>have been DEA and that if true, their presence in the vicinity of the Pribyl\u2019s operation was troubling.<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus Christ, Delahanty, do<\/em> you enjoy poking a hornet\u2019s nest with a stick just to see what happens?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro shrugged, not knowing what else to say.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s say you might be on target with your suspicions with the World of Wheels\u2026 And let\u2019s say the Iowa State Police would <\/em>be willing to give you undercover status\u2026 Both of which are saying a lot, you do understand that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro nodded her agreement.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t suppose you\u2019ve given any thought to how you would get in?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes\u2026 I\u2019d resign from the sheriff\u2019s department. You said it yourself, there are more than a few deputies looking to bail out, so my leaving wouldn\u2019t seem too suspicious. Then I\u2019d apply for a job with Beacon Security, the Pribyl\u2019s internal security operation. Those private security folks like to hire ex-cops.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course, he did not<\/em> need to know about her private agenda for how she planned to wheedle her way into the inner circle of the Pribyl operation.<\/p>\n

Payne took a breath and held up his left hand, only the index finger extended, \u201cFirst, let\u2019s say, rhetorically speaking, you\u2019re not off base that something doesn\u2019t smell right with Central States Auto Auction.\u201d<\/p>\n

That got Ro\u2019s attention.<\/p>\n

He extended the left-hand middle finger, \u201cAnd, second, that getting someone on the inside\u2026\u201d He left the thought hang.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u201d \u2013 the ring finger unfolded \u2013 \u201cundercover work is very risky, especially for a female, so you\u2019ll forgive me, my friend, if I have some misgivings about sending you into that<\/em> kind of harm\u2019s way.\u201d<\/p>\n

They were silent for a few seconds, each watching the other with searching looks.<\/p>\n

Finally, Ro said, very quietly, \u201cThis is something I have<\/em> to do, Doug?\u201d<\/p>\n

He then held up both hands in a kind of \u201chere\u2019s the bottom line\u201d gesture, nodded and said, \u201cI know.\u201d Then, after a short pause added, \u201cAs far as I\u2019m concerned, Sergeant Delahanty, you can trade in your Fort Armstrong deputy\u2019s uniform for a state police version any time you want \u2013 that\u2019s the given here.\u201d He grinned, \u201cCan you start next Monday?\u201d<\/p>\n

They both chuckled.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, as for that other condition<\/em> you\u2019ve expressed interest in, that\u2019s not a call I can make, so I am going to pass it along to some folks up the line, see what they have to say.\u201d He pushed a small pad of note paper across the tabletop, \u201cGive me your cell phone number and personal e-mail address and I will get back to you as soon as I hear something, fair enough?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFair enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t[\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1718411046127{padding-top: 50px !important;}” woodmart_css_id=”666cdf1e1f431″ responsive_spacing=”eyJwYXJhbV90eXBlIjoid29vZG1hcnRfcmVzcG9uc2l2ZV9zcGFjaW5nIiwic2VsZWN0b3JfaWQiOiI2NjZjZGYxZTFmNDMxIiwic2hvcnRjb2RlIjoidmNfcm93IiwiZGF0YSI6eyJ0YWJsZXQiOnt9LCJtb2JpbGUiOnt9fX0=” mobile_bg_img_hidden=”no” tablet_bg_img_hidden=”no” woodmart_parallax=”0″ woodmart_gradient_switch=”no” woodmart_box_shadow=”no” wd_z_index=”no” woodmart_disable_overflow=”0″ row_reverse_mobile=”0″ row_reverse_tablet=”0″][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Chapter Two” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23af2405″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718412474420{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][vc_custom_heading text=”Clean Soul” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23000000″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718646449329{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”]\t\t

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Saturday, January 31, 2009, 5:25 p.m.<\/em><\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t

O<\/strong>ver the twenty months of their unusual relationship, Whiskey and Foxtrot had been together nine times. Eight what amounted to one-night stands every few months at a motel in Bloomington, Illinois, plus her visit to Indianapolis last summer. The rendezvous had a sort of ritual. Not one performed by rote and carrying little meaning, but the kind familiar and comforting.<\/p>\n

She would arrive at the motel between five and five-thirty in the afternoon, stop at the desk and ask for the spare room key because Foxtrot had already registered and texted her the room number, then let herself in. There was no mad initial mad clutch, knowing there would be plenty of that later.<\/p>\n

Rather, he would be waiting with a bottle of iced champagne \u2013 it was part of the ritual established the first time they were together after their SWAT basic training \u2013 and the room service\u2019s appetizer platter. Foxtrot would be lounging on a loveseat against one wall of the room. He would smile as she came in, which always reminded her of the famous photos of Louis Armstrong\u2019s huge smiles. Whiskey would plunk down in an occasional chair positioned at a right angle to the love seat, a small coffee table holding the champagne and food between. They would talk, eat, and drink for a while, then get undressed and climb into bed.<\/p>\n

Their conversation was usually small talk, mostly focusing on what was going on in their respective cop worlds. But not today.<\/p>\n

When they were in their appointed spots and Whiskey took a bite of a stuffed mushroom, with her mouth still half full, she looked across and said, \u201cWhat do you know about undercover work?\u201d<\/p>\n

Foxtrot was sitting forward, about to pour champagne into a flute for Whiskey, but instead carefully returned the bottle to its ice bucket, set the glass down, and looked across at his lover, his brow now dark with concern, his voice tinged with alarm. \u201cI sure hope the sheriff\u2019s department hasn\u2019t asked you to go undercover.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she said, shaking her head, trying to look innocent. \u201cI\u2019m just curious.\u201d Both statements were factual as far as they went, except they didn\u2019t add up to the truth.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood!\u201d He went back to pouring the champagne and handed it to Whiskey, then said, \u201cI trust somewhere along the way you\u2019ve heard a uniform say, \u2018The only thing a cop needs to keep clean is his gun and his soul\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

Whiskey shrugged. \u201cMore than once.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you know where it comes from?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t suppose some obscure cop with a poetic bent didn\u2019t just come up with it out of the blue.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNope,\u201d Foxtrot said, \u201cit\u2019s actually a line in a sixties-era Western film called The Magnificent Seven<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I read something about that. Wasn\u2019t it based on the Japanese legend of the Seven Samurai?\u201d<\/p>\n

Foxtrot nodded, \u201cIn the film, the lead gunfighter is recruiting six more of his kind to help a Mexican village being terrorized by a bandit gang. One of his lines is, \u2018The only thing a gunman needs to keep clean is his gun and his soul.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

He took a breath, then looked at the woman across from him. \u201cWhiskey, my point is any cop who goes undercover, especially<\/em> a female officer, will not <\/em>come out of the experience with a clean soul, guaranteed. When you are undercover, sooner or later you will be forced to do degrading things to protect your cover. You can tell yourself it was part of the job, you didn\u2019t have a choice, but you are still soiled in a place no shower will ever reach.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re speaking from experience, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Foxtrot closed his eyes, bit his lower lip, and nodded. \u201cI once told you my father was Haitian. I speak Haitian Creole, it\u2019s a kind of French-based dialect. I was on the Indianapolis City PD for only a couple of years when they loaned me to the Chicago PD to penetrate a Haitian gang operating on the West side that was recruiting underage girls from the island and selling them for sex. Whiskey, those girls weren\u2019t kidnapped or being forced\u2026 They volunteered because they could earn ten times as much and send money home to their families.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cWe had twelve-year-olds trying to pass as sixteen.\u201d<\/p>\n

He was talking quietly while looking down at the floor, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. His voice quavered on the edge of tears. \u201cI did things\u2026 Unspeakable things\u2026\u201d He paused to take a breath, to get his feelings under control. \u201cWe eventually busted the gang. The leader was killed. I was the one who shot him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Whiskey had the impression the circumstances of the shooting would not have passed muster by a review board as a \u201cgood shoot,\u201d but also thought she understood, as among cops the worst kind of lowlife was a child predator.<\/p>\n

She got up, walked around the coffee table, sat down next to Foxtrot, and took his hands in hers. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I didn\u2019t mean to open painful wounds.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t know,\u201d he whispered. \u201cIf they ever try to put you into undercover work, you want to turn them down flat, no ifs ands or buts.\u201d<\/p>\n

She squeezed his hand. \u201cI hear you.\u201d It was a nice noncommittal acknowledgement she\u2019d heard what he had to say, but no hint of a promise she would heed the advice. Anyway<\/em>, she thought, \u2018they\u2019 haven\u2019t asked me\u2026<\/em> But also knew that was nothing more than one more secret she was carrying, a secret from Foxtrot and maybe even from herself.<\/p>\n

Foxtrot closed his eyes and leaned back, resting his head against the wall behind the loveseat. Whiskey, moving with him, rested her head against his huge shoulder, hoping that by her closeness she could give him some comfort, and closed her eyes as well.<\/p>\n

When Whiskey opened her eyes again, she was confused by what she was seeing, or more precisely not seeing. It wasn\u2019t the room from the loveseat, in fact, she was looking back at the loveseat. Then understood, they were in bed. She was on her right side, her head resting on his broad chest, his left arm cradling her.<\/p>\n

They must have fallen asleep. He must have carried her to the bed and undressed her, except she still had on her sports bra and panties. He was undressed, too, except for still wearing his T-shirt and boxers.<\/p>\n

She wondered how long they\u2019d been in the bed but didn\u2019t want to raise her head to look at the digital clock on the nightstand.<\/p>\n

She had slept with Foxtrot enough times to recognize his breathing suggested he was not asleep. She smiled to herself. You\u2019ve just been waiting for me to wake up, haven\u2019t you?<\/em><\/p>\n

Her left arm was resting across his flat, hard belly. She pulled it back slightly, just enough so she could slide her hand under the boxers\u2019 waistband.<\/p>\n

He acknowledged her action by tightening his arm around her left side, in effect pressing her body against his, and muttering, \u201cHi.\u201d<\/p>\n

Taking his manhood in her hand, which hardened even as she grasped it, she said, \u201cHi, yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t[\/vc_column][\/vc_row][vc_row css=”.vc_custom_1718411046127{padding-top: 50px !important;}” woodmart_css_id=”666cdf1e1f431″ responsive_spacing=”eyJwYXJhbV90eXBlIjoid29vZG1hcnRfcmVzcG9uc2l2ZV9zcGFjaW5nIiwic2VsZWN0b3JfaWQiOiI2NjZjZGYxZTFmNDMxIiwic2hvcnRjb2RlIjoidmNfcm93IiwiZGF0YSI6eyJ0YWJsZXQiOnt9LCJtb2JpbGUiOnt9fX0=” mobile_bg_img_hidden=”no” tablet_bg_img_hidden=”no” woodmart_parallax=”0″ woodmart_gradient_switch=”no” woodmart_box_shadow=”no” wd_z_index=”no” woodmart_disable_overflow=”0″ row_reverse_mobile=”0″ row_reverse_tablet=”0″][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Chapter Three” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23af2405″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718412686382{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”][vc_custom_heading text=”Levi Tate (Part One)” font_container=”tag:h1|font_size:50|text_align:center|color:%23000000″ use_theme_fonts=”yes” css=”.vc_custom_1718646583726{margin-bottom: 0px !important;}”]\t\t

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Saturday, February 7, 2009, 11 a.m.<\/em><\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

\n\t\t\t

W<\/strong>ell, I guess it would make sense for the cop in-charge of undercover operations to have an \u2018undercover\u2019 office as well,\u201d Ro muttered to herself as she knocked twice on the solid metal door with a small sign that simply read \u201cPrivate.\u201d If she didn\u2019t know better, it would be easy to mistake it for the entrance to a utility room.<\/p>\n

Doug Payne called her Friday morning to ask her to meet with a Lieutenant Tate, who supervised undercover personnel in eastern Iowa, at his office in Cedar Rapids on Saturday morning, suggesting, \u201cSay around eleven.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course, she readily agreed, now impatient for her would-be undercover exploit to move forward.<\/p>\n

Payne gave her an address on Old Marion Road and warned her the building was a former funeral home converted into offices. \u201cThere\u2019re a couple of chiropractors, an insurance agency, an attorney, a local foundation\u2026 You\u2019ll find Tate\u2019s office at the end of the hall on the lower level, past The Geekster\u2019s Workshop, a computer repair service,\u201d he\u2019d said, then warned her not to be put off by the odd door sign.<\/p>\n

A tall, slender black man opened the door and stepped back for her to enter.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, Sergeant,\u201d he said, his voice was deep, although without the sinister timbre of a James Earl Jones. He half bowed and waved her in.<\/p>\n

Well into his fifties, his close cropped, tightly curled hair and goatee were salt and pepper gray; his face deeply etched, but with lines hinting they more easily slid into a smile than a frown. He was wearing blue jeans and a bold, black, and red checked flannel shirt. Except for the compact Smith & Wesson M&P 40 holstered on a wide belt on his left, he could easily be mistaken for a retired preacher.<\/p>\n

He sure wasn\u2019t the hard-nosed, probably humorless, buttoned up cop she\u2019d been expecting.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy birth name is Leviticus. I think my mother was trying to psychologically set me up to become a preacher, but to her dismay I became a cop and a drug dealer in that order,\u201d he said with a devilish smile that reminded Ro of her father. \u201cMy undercover assignment for four years in the late eighties was neck deep in the Denver drug trade.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro thought there was probably much more to that<\/em> story.<\/p>\n

Just as Tate didn\u2019t much look like a cop, the room did not look anything like a cop\u2019s office. In one corner was a dark purple, wingback easy chair with a long coffee table alongside piled with papers and files, several legal pads, a big coffee mug stuffed with pens and a laptop computer, apparently what passed as a \u201cdesk\u201d for Lieutenant Tate.<\/p>\n

The rest of the room, though, was dominated by a big couch, with two occasional chairs facing it across a coffee table. Even though the walls were bare of any artwork, posters or photos, the room still had a casual, comfortable feel.<\/p>\n

The coffee maker, a ubiquitous fixture in all cop spaces, sat on top of a squat refrigerator half hidden next to a cabinet that looked like a standalone closet, both lined up along the wall behind the door.<\/p>\n

Ro recognized his chit-chat was designed to, first, put her at ease, as their meeting was fraught with all sorts of portentous subtexts, and second, to establish that Tate was not a typical cop. It was working.<\/p>\n

Ro played along, extending her hand. \u201cGood meeting you, L.T. Are you originally from Denver?\u201d<\/p>\n

He took the offered hand, gave it a single shake, then said, \u201cNo, I was with the Minneapolis PD. They\u2019re the ones who loaned<\/em> me out to a Colorado state drug task force.\u201d Nodding toward the mini kitchenette, he added, \u201cDoug says you\u2019re like me, a tea drinker. Earl Grey alright?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMilk? Sugar?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStraight up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew there was something I was going to like about you. Go grab a seat,\u201d he said, gesturing toward the conversation grouping, \u201cwhile I get our tea.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro sat in one of the occasional chairs but kept her back straight and her feet on the floor, still not quite knowing what to make of this cop\u2019s obviously carefully fashioned informality. When Tate brought their mugs of tea, he plopped down in the other chair, lounged back, and threw one leg over the arm, revealing he was wearing a pair of black Converse high-tops.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the day-to-day cop world, to you I\u2019d be L.T. or Sir, and for me you\u2019d be Sergeant or Deputy, and that\u2019s okay, that\u2019s how it needs to be out there. But if we end up working together\u2026 And to be honest, from what Doug tells me about you, I\u2019ll be surprised if we don\u2019t\u2026 Well, titles and rank kind of lose their meaning. So, how about we get used to first names? Levi,\u201d he said, pointing to himself, \u201cRo,\u201d he added, pointed to her.<\/p>\n

\u201cRo and Levi, it is,\u201d she said, but then raised an eyebrow, now wanting to move past the opening small talk. \u201cSo, you\u2019re thinking I might be able to handle undercover work?\u201d<\/p>\n

He chuckled. \u201cWhoa\u2026 Doug did warn me you\u2019re a no bullshit person.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro got the feeling he meant it as a compliment.<\/p>\n

\u201cA qualified yes. Look, there are lots of traits that make a good cop, whether out on the beat or undercover. But the single most important one\u2026 The one that if it\u2019s missing, well, the others don\u2019t really much matter\u2026 Is the ability to stay frosty under pressure, which, if Doug is telling the truth about some of your, uh, exploits, you\u2019ve got in abundance.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro had a brief flashback to four years ago, when she\u2019d been called into the office of Lieutenant Schnell, at the time her commander on third shift patrol. Lieutenant Pease, the sheriff\u2019s department SWAT leader, was there as well and had pretty much said the very same thing as their reason for recruiting her for the newly expanded regional SWAT unit.<\/p>\n

Ro said to Tate what she always said when given a compliment, because it was how she felt inside. \u201cI was just doing my job.\u201d Then shrugged, adding, \u201cAnyway, you know how cops like to embellish those kinds of stories.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cActually, Doug confessed to me he spent a sleepless night trying to figure a way he could put me off on you as a possible undercover operative, but still be able to keep you as one of his highway officers.\u201d But then leaning forward to emphasize his point, added, now in a serious tone, \u201cRo, If Doug Payne thinks a lot of you, then so do I.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro just nodded and made a face she hoped was a kind of silent, \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Straightening up, as if to signal it was time to get down to business, Tate said, \u201cI know you went through all this with Doug ten days ago, but I\u2019d still like to hear for myself your<\/em> thoughts on why you\u2019re suspicious about the Pribyls. And remember, you\u2019re not on the witness stand here, so don\u2019t be afraid to share what your gut might be telling you. As you know, instincts are important to all cops, but they\u2019re the bread and butter of undercover people.\u201d<\/p>\n

With her recitation with Doug as a kind of rehearsal, Ro\u2019s sit rep to Tate took only fifteen minutes. Throughout, he would occasionally nod or raise an eyebrow, his body language suggesting not only that he was taking what she was saying seriously but was finding it of great interest.<\/p>\n

When she was done, he said, \u201cI\u2019m sure I don\u2019t have to tell you what we do in undercover work is an elaborate game of connecting dots for a picture we have no idea what it\u2019s supposed to look like in the end, and for that matter, may be morphing into a different picture even as we\u2019re working on it.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe take something suspicious regular uniforms might hear or see while on patrol, maybe combine it with information we may be getting from other sources, like the Feds and local PDs, maybe if we\u2019re lucky, find an informant or two that can share tidbits of inside stuff\u2026 And in today\u2019s world it might surprise you how much can be learned from online sources, if you know where to look.\u201d<\/p>\n

Actually, it wasn\u2019t a surprise for Ro, as Tag\u2019s thick report of a year ago on the Pribyls demonstrated.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it sure can be frustrating,\u201d he added. \u201cYou know in your gut there has to be a picture there somewhere, you just can\u2019t find enough dots to connect.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro bobbed her head. \u201cI\u2019m familiar with that feeling.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tate chuckled. \u201cI\u2019m sure you are. The Holy Grail, of course, is to get a cop<\/em> on the inside. They\u2019re a hundred times better than a snitch. They know what to look for, they know how to connect the dots, or try alternate connections if the first ones aren\u2019t working\u2026 Someone who\u2019s willing to literally jump into the picture, in a sense becoming one of the dots themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n

He paused, dropped his voice, and gave Ro a grave look. \u201cAnd you think you\u2019re ready for that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro smiled, but it had something of a rueful tinge. \u201cWell, ready or not, as I told Doug, this is something I have<\/em> to do. Forgive me for a bit of hyperbole, but I sometimes feel like my soul will never rest until I find the answer, one way or another.\u201d<\/p>\n

Throughout her recitations to Doug Payne earlier and today to Levi Tate, she left out the real <\/em>motivation driving her need for answers, the nagging question if the Pribyls, the DEA, and Kate\u2019s death were all somehow of a piece.<\/p>\n

And, of course, purposefully failed to mention anything about her connection to Ron Pribyl, the lodge, and his cadre of party girls.<\/p>\n

Tate\u2019s eyes narrowed and he looked at Ro for a long assessing moment, then said, \u201cYou know, I get the feeling you would probably move ahead with your plan to infiltrate the Pribyl operation on your own, even without the sanction of a law enforcement agency.\u201d<\/p>\n

During her hours of agonizing about the idea of being undercover, the thought of going freelance had crossed her mind, but was pushed aside, maybe because she hadn\u2019t really wanted to deal with its possible complications. But Tate\u2019s question now forced the issue.<\/p>\n

She knew there was only one response. \u201cYou\u2019re right, I probably would.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn fact, I suspect you may already have.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro flashed him a \u201cMoi?\u201d look, but at the same time pretty much knew what he was getting at.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know those dots we talked about? Well, you\u2019ve given me some interesting new ones, which, by the way, I doubt you could have uncovered without some effort, maybe even a clandestine endeavor,\u201d he said with a sidelong look silently asking, \u201cAm I right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Then continued, \u201cFor instance, we knew about the new metals trading operation and their modular offices at the back of Bi-State Reclamation. But as I understand it, they\u2019re located several hundred yards from River Drive, the closest public property, in and of itself a bit suspect. Even with a good pair of binocs \u2013 which, by the way, would have been a dead giveaway we were watching them \u2013 there is no way anyone could have seen the kind of detail you did. I sure hope you didn\u2019t risk sneaking onto the property with all those armed guards roaming around.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro just shook her head, \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood,\u201d he said, then held up a finger, like he had a thought. \u201cAh, the railroad yard. It butts up against the back of the junkyard, doesn\u2019t it? You could have found some hidden spot in the underbrush behind the junkyard where you could check things from close range.\u201d He narrowed his eyes, as if thinking. \u201cLet\u2019s see\u2026 How might you have been able to get onto the yards property without risking getting arrested?\u201d Then, with a look that was half smug and half knowing, said, \u201cAh, I bet you have a friend who works there and you two pretended you were paying a visit to the roundhouse.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ro was taken aback. \u201cYou know about the roundhouse?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s been around for a very long time, so I wouldn\u2019t have much confidence in our ability to know our patrol patch if we weren\u2019t aware of its\u2026uh\u2026late-night attraction.\u201d Then smiled, \u201cTrying to slip onto the junkyard or the railroad property would have been reckless but using a trip<\/p>\n

to the roundhouse as a plausible cover\u2026 That<\/em> was resourceful, another trait I\u2019m pleased you have. I hope you didn\u2019t have to tell your friend too much about why you wanted to look at the trading outfit\u2019s layout.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have a special relationship,\u201d Ro said, letting Tate draw his own conclusion as to what exactly that meant, \u201cand he\u2019s the one who two years ago originally spotted something new was happening at the junkyard that turned out to be Pacifica Trading and flagged me about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t[\/vc_column][\/vc_row][\/vc_section]<\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[vc_section el_id=”booki-blo” woodmart_css_id=”666ce08fbeca7″ responsive_spacing=”eyJwYXJhbV90eXBlIjoid29vZG1hcnRfcmVzcG9uc2l2ZV9zcGFjaW5nIiwic2VsZWN0b3JfaWQiOiI2NjZjZTA4ZmJlY2E3Iiwic2hvcnRjb2RlIjoidmNfc2VjdGlvbiIsImRhdGEiOnsidGFibGV0Ijp7fSwibW9iaWxlIjp7fX19″ mobile_bg_img_hidden=”no” tablet_bg_img_hidden=”no” woodmart_parallax=”0″ woodmart_gradient_switch=”no” woodmart_box_shadow=”no” wd_z_index=”no” woodmart_disable_overflow=”0″][vc_row][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”These are drafts of the opening chapters from Mourning<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-407","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/407","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=407"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/407\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":500,"href":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/407\/revisions\/500"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/demolinks2.com\/david-ramacitti\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=407"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}