“Well, Mr. Jacobs,” Lombardi stretches his eyelids again and brings his intertwined fists to his mouth as he speaks, “Since May of this year, the Special Investigations Unit has been investigating a Detective Darryl Harrison and his alleged involvement in distributing and trafficking illegal substances. Your name has surfaced in the investigation as a partner in one of the largest drug rings in Southern California. I’ve been simply doing my due diligence of ruling you out as an accomplice or adding you as a target of possibly one of the most prevalent drug operations in recent years.” Lombardi pauses to read my reaction to his answer.
I take a moment to retort. “Distributing and trafficking illegal substances…with Detective Harrison,” I repeat for clarification. “Sergeant, serious allegations such as this one couldn’t possibly have you sniffing around in some of the most undesirable neighborhoods, asking about my activities, or a lack thereof, for a possible co-conspirator conviction,” I inform with incredulity in my tone. It sounds so ridiculous.
“I think you diminish the seriousness of it, Jacobs.”
“I’m simply regurgitating what my mind has processed.”
“Well, chew on this while you’re at it: if I learn that you do have any involvement with Darryl Harrison, which I’m certain you do, I will prosecute you along with that sorry ass excuse of a man wearing the badge that I honor and protect every day of my life.” Lombardi gives me a warning glare.
I nod my head tentatively. “Sounds like you’ve marked me a suspect already.” I’m now confident that he has no case against me.
“I’m good at what I do, Mr. Jacobs. I’ve been in investigations for nearly twenty years. It’s only a matter of putting the pieces together. If you don’t believe me, you can ask your buddy, Harrison, when he calls you collect to inform you of his recent arrest, happening…” Lombardi glances down at his watch. “…right now.” His gaze returns to me, sans a smile or cocky grin. He’s trying to play hardball.
Do they really have Big D?
“Sergeant Lombardi, I’ve invited you to my place of work—without my attorney. This seems like a witch-hunt that I will not engage in without my legal team.” I’m sure to give him a strong regard so that he can see how firm I am on his attempt to shake me like some street-level runner. If he’s out to get me on anything, he’ll have to come better than this. I know the game. My black ass would be down at the station in cuffs if Lombardi’s assumptions were solid. “Quite frankly, I don’t believe you have the shit you need to throw against the wall to watch and see if it sticks. Detective Harrison is a former friend of my father—”
“The man he murdered,” Lombardi interrupts. I pause at his words. I quickly decide that I won’t crack underneath his allegation. If he can prove it, then that would be the doom of Darryl Harrison. Lombardi’s inquisitive stare hooks into me, awaiting my reaction.
With lifted brows, I snort, “Shit just got more interesting. So, to be sure that I have this correct: you’re investigating a fellow decorated officer, who may possibly be trafficking and distributing illegal substances that I may be a party to. And said officer allegedly murdered my father?”
Lombardi doesn’t provide a response. He sits with his gaze keenly fixed on me.
I continue with, “Well, this has been a well-informed meeting, Sergeant Lombardi.” I rise from the table. “I’ll leave you to continue to waste tax payers’ money. Me, on the other hand, I have far more valuable things to do with my extremely limited time.” I extend my hand to close this conversation.
Lombardi glances at my proffered hand for countless seconds before rising from his seat. I can tell he feels it. He knows I can see the frailty of his case. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he’s fishing for evidence in the hood. That’s bold…and desperate at best. Never again will he get penciled in my appointment book.
“Introduction,” he utters.
“Pardon…”
“This has only been an introduction,” Lombardi states resolutely, ignoring my hand. “See, you may not be a low-level management hustler, but you are a scum peddler, no less. You may have the benefit of hiding behind your millions in legal armor, but crack crumbs will always trail back to the pusher. You, Azmir Jacobs, are the pusher of dope to the masses.” Lombardi finally takes my hand in a firm shake, one that I am prepared for in power. “Mr. Jacobs, I don’t know how I’m going to get you, but you will fall…and crumble. Darryl Harrison is en route to his knees as we speak. You’ll meet him there. I’m sure of it.”
With a smug grin etched to my amused face I murmur, “Good luck with that, Sergeant.”
Lombardi walks over to the door and inches away he turns to me. “Your fiancée you mentioned earlier while on the phone?” His face wrinkles and head angles, “How much are you willing to lose the possibility of a future with her? How important is that happily-ever-after with her?” If he thinks I’ll flinch, Lombardi is more deluded than I thought.
“Just as much as I am willing to bet that your far-reaching case against me is just as defective as your imagination. Good luck, Jimmy.”