“I’ve got a trial shift tonight,” Matt said. “If she’s happy at the end of it, I’ve got the job.”
Hawthorn folded his arms. “The FBI’s been running this operation for over a year, and getting nowhere until a couple of weeks ago, when Ms. Webber walked in off the street and said Murphy approached her about using her bar to launder the money they’re making in the region. She agreed to be an informant and help us get him. She’s the connection the Feds needed to get the whole chain, from the buy-and-busts on street corners right up to the top guys.”
Carlucci whistled again.
“That’s the good news. The bad news is that somehow word got back to Murphy. McCormick was booking a Stryker when she walked in. Maybe he saw her, and reported back to Lyle Murphy. It doesn’t matter,” Hawthorn said. “She managed to talk her way out of the situation with Lyle but people who inform on the Strykers have a nasty habit of dying in a drive-by, or worse, disappearing off the face of the earth. So Detective Dorchester just got himself a job as Eye Candy’s newest bartender.”
“This is a big fucking deal. Shouldn’t we put in plainclothes officers?” Carlucci asked. “Hang out in the bar, keep an eye on the situation?”
Sorenson shoved her keyboard tray under her desk and looked at Carlucci, her gaze flicking over the buzz cut, slacks, and suit jacket. “Even plainclothes cops look like cops. They walk and talk and think like cops, and a ten-year-old in that neighborhood can pick us out of a crowd. Matt, on the other hand, looks like the kind of guy who’d bounce from job to job, city to city. Just the right amount of bad boy,” she said consideringly. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Matt said. He knew exactly how he looked, how to make it work for him, how to switch things up when it wasn’t working. It worked for Eve Webber. Anyone with eyes could see that.
“She refused a police presence in her place of business,” Hawthorn said. “Which works in our favor. If she knows Matt’s a cop, she might make a mistake, tell someone, give the whole thing away before we even get started. Murphy would kill her without thinking twice about it. She doesn’t know exactly how high we’re aiming either. All she’s thinking about is the East Side, not bringing down the whole Strykers’ pipeline. If she makes a mistake, we lose the whole case and look like boneheads in front of the Feds.”
Hawthorn wasn’t telling them everything, which didn’t surprise Matt. Hawthorn was the youngest member of the only LPD family with a longer history than Sorenson’s. He’d learned discretion at his father’s knee, grew up watching press conferences when his dad was the chief of police, and worked on his subsequent campaign for mayor. Hawthorn’s detractors branded him a political animal, not human. Normally Matt didn’t ask questions, but it was his ass on the line with Eve Webber.
“You don’t trust her,” Matt said. That’s emotion talking. Besides, you can’t go back now and tell her who you really are, then ask her out.
“I don’t trust anyone,” Hawthorn responded. “One, we offered her a police presence. She refused. Two, I know Eve from high school. She’s impulsive, tends to act before she thinks.”
“Great,” Sorenson said.
“Three, she needs money. We ran her financials. Opening the bar has her in debt up to her eyeballs. People have been tempted for far less than what Murphy offered her. I’m not looking to get double-crossed. This way we keep our cards close to our chest, provide protection, and keep her on our side. Best-case scenario, nothing interesting happens and she never finds out. We get the evidence we need, Matt quits when this is over, and everyone goes away happy.”
That was classic Hawthorn: get intel and trust no one, not even a high school friend. And the only thing Matt had to sacrifice was his honor. He was the expendable point man out in front, getting the most up-to-date, accurate information about a situation. Like walking point, undercover work was the department’s riskiest assignment, requiring ice water for blood and an ability to juggle identities over long periods of time. But they were dead wrong about her. No way would she take money from a guy like Murphy. He knew an honorable person when he saw one. He just didn’t see one in the mirror much anymore.
“Matt, what’s your read?”
“The bar’s right in that borderline neighborhood between the river and civilization. Two blocks north and you’re shopping for high-end goods in SoMa. A block south and you’re in those abandoned warehouses the city wants to knock down for the new business park. The building’s a basic cinderblock exterior with a very expensive, upscale interior and about as girl-oriented as you can get. Murphy’s smart. We’d never look twice at this place.”
“Did she ask for references?”
“I used Gino as my current employer. She knew the bar, so she might call him.”